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saturnsummer · 3 years ago

Text

i don't mind forever.

AU: When Sol is handed a case, she doesn't realise how big the case gets. Luckily for her, her best friend is here. (AU of lawyers at Hankuk Law Firm.)

notes: all credits go to @thenerdywriter !! she gave me this prompt just days after i joined tumblr, and i’ve been working on and off on it ever since. my first au series, so please go easy on me! i know i’m practically killing myself for doing two series at once, but i’ll deal with it later. as always, big love to everyone! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4035 words

one.

Sol scrunches her hair in frustration. She twists her long, wavy light brown hair in a bun, fixing it with a jab of her white, long chopstick hairpin. She adjusts her bangs for good measure and resumes with her report. She reaches over to her coffee mug, only to find it empty. Great, it’s the third coffee she had today, and it wasn’t even lunch. Hearing her colleagues nagging on drinking too much coffee in her head, she stands from her desk and pushes the glass door of her office to the staff pantry. Her heels click against the marble floors as she strides across, filling her cup with iced water before retreating back.

It would have been a normal day at the Hankuk Law firm, but it wasn’t when she had such a pressing case.

It's been weeks. A client of hers has pressed charges against Lee Man Ho, claiming that he scammed her life savings. Lee Manho was a convict that was charged for raping multiple women and on several occasions, sexual harassment. He had been on good behaviour after his release for a couple of years, with no complaints and no news. Only now did his name resurface. He was snarky in his speech, manipulative and quick with his tongue, but most of all had a sinister smile that sent shivers.

Sol, being Sol, couldn’t say no to the poor woman. How could she? She experienced her fair share of poverty from growing up in a single-parent family that made enough to get by. She sympathised with her feelings, knowing just how stressed this poor mother must be when she can no longer afford to pay rent for her home, even less so the necessities for her toddler kids. Because, too many times, Sol was found broke and skipping meals so she could have her younger sister, Byeol, be fed instead.

With the help of the local police, she found more victims to be scammed, all similar in their scenario. Manho would call under the alias of a financial aid consultant, sometimes an insurance agent or bank teller. Then, he would extract their bank numbers from them, effectively draining their money away. By the time they victims tried to call back, the number would be out of order, or picked up by another voice, evident that he used another number to cover up his.

None of his victims had anything in common. Some were rich, some were poor. Some were female, some were male. And Manho had long disappeared in the wind the moment he got out of jail. He was said to be sighted once and when the police placed eyes on him, they lost him that same day.

His digital footprint was an utter headache as well. The police had other things to matter, and figuring out his digital footprint was the least of their concerns when they had important murders and urgent matters to solve.

But two could play this game.

Seungjae was a good friend of Sol’s. They were close acquaintances in school and kept in close contact. He, unlike Sol, was a whiz with computer codes and had his fair share of hacking experience. She remembers how he would hack into the system during school events and broadcast short music videos on the school televisions during breaks. Despite their age gap, he was always courteous, nice and kind hearted in helping others.

Seungjae eventually found a job with the police force, using his skills to legally hack criminal networks and dark nets. He was essentially part of a task force that identified suspicious activities like mass radicalisation, fake news and essentially tracking down internet hackers. It was a no-brainer that Sol would approach him, even though she knew that he could only legally hack under his work orders, not for personal favours.

Well it’s best she at least try.

She called Seungjae, who was fortunately free, and agreed to meet at a cafe. The sun was out, warming them from the autumn breeze that chilled them. Sol grabbed her coat and placed a post-it on her door, informing her colleagues of her business. Sol, while dressed in a warm coat, was undoubtedly freezing from the breeze. If only she could go back to law school, where she wore jeans and sweatshirts all day. Instead, she had a light blue long sleeved blouse, a knee length pencil skirt and a midnight blue blazer, and her only coat she had weakly shielding her from the cold.

“Sol A, what gives me the feeling that you aren’t calling for the purpose of catching up, but for a favour?” Seungjae asks as soon as his ice coffee arrives. Sol is amused at his habit, that he still calls her Sol A to differentiate her from Sol B, her colleague just working next door to her. But in response, she gives a small frown.

“Oppa, please? You have to help me with this. This case is driving me nuts!” She says in frustration as she stirs her ice tea. “Look, he’s off the grid, like properly off. I can’t even track his number or his email accounts. When the police placed plainclothes on him, he was like a ninja and they lost him within the first hour.”

Seungjae’s frown deepens. He knows of people who are good on the internet, but for an ex-convict to be running this alone? Furthermore, a convict who had no criminal record of scamming, conning and IT based crimes? There was definitely more to this.

“Sol A, do you think that he’s working alone?” Seungjae asks, stopping Sol in her speech. She tilts her head, the way she does normally when she puts the puzzle pieces in order. From her bag, she takes out a notebook and scribbles down the facts, then pushes it to the centre of the table.

“Okay, so we know that Lee Manho was convicted of rape and sexual harassment long time ago. Now, he’s running scams, and has no known background of coding or conning people, yet somehow the money appears in his bank account and it disappears the next moment.” Sol states as she circles her notes with a pencil and Seungjae nods.

“I think… I think you’re right, oppa. He’s definitely not working alone. And he could just be the middleman bringing the cash from one place to another.” Sol breaths out, realising how big the case has gotten. She’s not just going after Lee Manho, but she’s going after an entire team.

“You said that you can’t track his whereabouts, people he communicates with and where the money is going to?” SeungJae asks. Sol nods.

“Looks like someone is covering up the transfers and his tracks.” Seungjae concludes. Seungjae furrows his eyebrows. Sol recognises his thinking face and tries to plea once more.

“Please, oppa? You helped me check out and verify Yeseul’s boyfriend, which saved her life! Please, oppa…” Sol pleads with him. Seungjae knew how much Sol was going to dedicate to this, and besides, he was legally going to hack. He was fighting for those who couldn’t fight. What difference would it make? It felt wrong to ignore such a desperate plea.

“Fine. But you have to let me use a laptop that isn’t mine. I can’t have my superiors know I’m hacking into a case that wasn’t submitted to me again. God, Yeseul’s ex-boyfriend case got me a bloody earful from the captain.” He finally agrees, getting up from his seat and grabbing his coat. Sol lets out a relieved sigh and picks her coat too.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Save it for later, when I’m done hacking. Let’s head back to your office for now.” He says and walks to the door. At that moment, Sol’s phone rings, and she picks up, knowing who will call at this time of the day. If it’s lunch, it has to either be Yeseul or Joon Hwi.

“Are you joining us for lunch, sunbae?” Sol takes a moment to close her eyes in frustration. This man is going to drive her insane.

“Yeah. Are you all ordering?”

“That’s right. Extra pickles?”

“Always. Add one more jjampong and kkampungi, too.” The receiving end goes silent.

“Who’s joining?” Sol gives a knowing smile as she unlocks her car.

“An old friend of ours.”

-----

“Wah, it’s been a long time since Seungjae-hyung could eat with us!” BokGi says, as he passes out the chopsticks and Yebeom unpacks the meals. Seungjae only gives a small smile while helping out with the food.

Despite the cold weather, the odd group of friends found pleasure in eating outdoors as opposed to their office pantry. It was too noisy some days, too quiet on some, and knowing how chaotic the group can get during lunch, it only made sense to have their meals downstairs at some benches. Besides, they could use a break from being stuck in their offices all day and look at trees changing their colours to shades of red, oranges and brown.

“Thank your noona here, for convincing me to come.” He says as he nods his head over to Sol, who is busy unpacking her pickles and noodles. Joon Hwi gives a smile as he stares at the delight on her face when she sees those yellow pickles on a plastic saucer.

“Hyung, what are you here for?” Joon Hwi asks, as he unpacks his noodles.

“This lady here has enlisted my help once again for a case she is working on. But it has to be off the books. Thus, my presence here instead of my cubicle back at my headquarters.” Sol chokes and she quickly takes a sip of her tea.

“Oppa, why do you make me sound so law breaking…” Sol grumbles. Yeseul, sitting next to her only gives a small smile and squeezes her hand.

“Seungjae-oppa did help me bring Yeongchang to jail. So I would consider his work, whether under his boss orders or not, to be lawful.” Yeseul quips quietly. The table grows silent for a moment, knowing how this topic took a mental toll out of them, but Yeseul was hit the hardest.

When Yeseul first started dating Yeongchang, everyone didn’t mind it. Only when Sol witnessed how Yeseul would be frightened to pick up his call and spotting bruises on her arms did she get Seungjae to dig into his personal life. Lo and behold, not only was he abusive, he was seeing two other women and they were treated badly, if not, worse.

Yeseul’s heart broke, this being her first love and the man she envisioned marrying. But with her friends' support, she took it upon herself to press charges on him, for the women he tortured and for herself. Representing herself and the women that he had failed to protect and taken advantage of, it wasn’t easy for her, having been so blind in love and still harbouring feelings.

The group stood by and silently supported. They accompanied her trials, no matter how busy they were. Sol remembers Jiho running from one courtroom to another on one occasion when he had to immediately attend a court hearing for a client he was defending. Sol had Yeseul stay over at her apartment during the entire situation, while Yeseul searched for an apartment nearby after moving out of his house. Even Sol B, who was usually cold, bought her meals and stayed to eat when the girls spent late nights in silence and drinking.

Finally, the judge ruled that Yeongchang was to be charged in jail. For the sexual, mental and physical abuse of these women, including Yeseul. It has been months since then and time can only tell how much she has healed. The rest can only give their silent support and be there for her.

“I didn’t mean to make the mood bad. Come, let’s eat. Also, what is the case about, unnie?” Yeseul quickly breaks into a smile, an attempt to let everyone know she’s okay. Sol gives a brief description of her case to everyone while she slurps her noodles and pickles.

“This is going to be difficult. If you guys are right, you might be dealing with something bigger than just Lee Manho.” Sol B states and Sol gives a nodded reply.

“Please don’t tell Superior Kim or Superior Yang about this. I really need to break this case and Seungjae-oppa is my only way to.” Sol informs her group. They give half hearted murmurs, not wanting to be meddled into Sol’s affairs. Well, all but one.

“Yah, why didn’t you come find me? I have my own contacts in the police as well.” Joon Hwi asks, a slight frown on his face. From anyone else looking, it would have been easy to miss. But for Sol, she knew that he was upset, interpreting his complaints as “Why didn’t you come and tell me about this first?”

“Because, Mr. Second Round Judicial Exam Pass, you have been too busy! Do I really need to remind you to eat every damm moment? You drive me crazy some days!” Sol argues. They launch into a light hearted argument, as the rest of the lunch group watches with equal fervour as they eat their meals.

“Guys, stop arguing, my ears hurt.” Jiho said, his tone in slight annoyance as he dove straight into the kkampungi and tangsuyuk. Sol finally gave up fighting, earning a teasing smirk from Joon Hwi. They continued their noisy meal, chatting and catching up with Seungjae. Seungjae gives them some updates of his pregnant wife and some interesting cases.

After their meal, they separated their trash neatly. The sun now hides away in the clouds, leaving little warmth against the chilly breeze of autumn. Sol brushes her coat and rubs her hands and arms. If only she could afford a better one than this old coat she’s been using since her first year in university.

Joon Hwi notices her trying to warm up against the cold and takes his coat from the chair, layering it on her. He honestly didn’t feel cold, but he knows he has always been the stronger one to resist against the cold. For Sol, it must be freezing.

“Take mine.” He simply says, taking the packs of plastic from Sol. If Sol had a hint of blush, he pretended to not notice.

“Oh, thanks.” She said as she took wipes from her bag and wiped down the mess on the benches and tables. “But I don’t need it. We’re heading back to the office anyway.” She shrugs his coat off and drapes it over her arm, returning it to him. He pushes it to her, and leans in closer to her.

“Help me carry it, so I don’t have to, sunbae.” He teases with a smirk, sending Sol in a fit of frustrated squeaks, chasing him as best as she can in her heels. Sol knows Joon Hwi gets a thing out of his teasing, and sends him annoyed glares as she continues to clear the tables. Jiho manages to sigh and Sol B rolls her eyes as she dumps the trash in the bins.

The group grabs their bags as they head back into the office, where Sol checks Seungjae in as a visitor at the reception. The receptionist hands him a blue lanyard with a visitor pass as Sol leads him to the elevators. Jiho and Bokgi are off to meet clients, and Sol B is headed to court for a hearing. Yeseul stops at another floor to her office with Yebeom, who needs to pick up some reports from a colleague.

Joon Hwi follows Sol to her office with Seungjae, despite his office being upstairs. Sol grabs her personal laptop from her bag, which is separate from her desktop computer and passes it to Seungjae, who takes a seat opposite her and starts programming the computer to begin hacking.

“What, did you just let him use your personal laptop?” Joon Hwi asks in concern as he takes a seat on a spare chair.

“Let him do it. Don’t you have your reports to do?” Sol asks as she turns to her own reports before typing in her findings for the new Lee Manho case. Joon Hwi doesn’t reply, and Sol sends an annoyed glance. He’s not going to leave unless he knows all the information of this case.

“Okay, I got it.” Seungjae says after a series of clicks and turns the screen to show Sol what he has found. Sol leans into a chart of bank transfers.

"From what I can tell, it seems like the money enters his bank account and is transferred to an offshore account. I can't trace where the money goes from there anymore." Seungjae explains as he uses the cursor to show them. "I can't tell who owns the account either. If I could take a guess, it's probably the mastermind of this."

"Wait, look. Lee Manho is getting paid a constant amount every single time before a large sum comes in and leaves." Joon Hwi points. Sol grabs her printed papers as she matches the amounts that her clients have given here. They match exactly to the large sums, but have no relation to the constant amount that he gets every scam.

"He's getting paid to scam? Tch, God, I hate this crook." Sol says through gritted teeth. Joon Hwi sighs and observes the anger rising in Sol. He places a hand on top of her clenched fist for comfort and her fist stops clenching as she sighs in response.

"Sol A, I can't track his location with your laptop. It's not exactly ideal, since it can be tracked back." Seungjae says, eyes darting while continuously typing. Joon Hwi could sense the disappointment in Sol's face, but it can't be helped. It was too dangerous from her location and IP address.

"Oppa, thank you for helping. I owe you one." Sol says as Seungjae scrubs her laptop clean from hacking traces. Seungjae returns her laptop and stands up. "You should go back, oppa. You've been gone too long."

"I'll keep you updated." He says as Sol guides him out of the office. Once she shuts the door, she pulls the hairpin from her hair and crunches her hair in frustration. She has the information on where the money is going, but it's no use when she can't find out where he is. Joon Hwi takes a seat opposite her.

"Don't stress." He says softly, and Sol bites her lip in frustration.

"Don't stress? How can I not? The police aren't giving me any information on him, delaying his location tracking! I can't even find him! How am I supposed to get evidence to charge him, if he can't even appear to show up to court?" Sol angrily spills, her hands flailing. Joon Hwi sighs but grabs a hold of her wrist.

"Don't get swayed by your emotions." Joon Hwi firmly says, sparingly into Sol's anger-filled eyes. She pulls her wrist back, taking a deep breath before gathering her hair up again.

"Fine." She grumbles. "Get out of my office, Prosecutor Han. Don't you have work?" This earns a soft smile from Joon Hwi. As he heads to the door, he turns back before he leaves.

"Don't... Don't do anything stupid or impulsive, you hear me?"

Sol clicks her tongue and gives a half-hearted nod. She turns back to her report and updates her findings and tries to diffuse the thought of asking Seungjae to hack with her laptop to find Man Ho's location.

For Kang Sol A, such thoughts don't leave easily.

-----

"You sure?" Seungjae asks, seated in Sol's car. Sol takes a deep breath in and nods.

It was a few days after Seungjae visited the office. Sol called the police as much as she could, but they always left her on the line or just said "we're working on it." Thus, Sol told Seungjae to meet her at a park, before driving to a random alley and passing him her laptop.

"Yeah, I'll take my chances." She replied. Seungjae sighs and begins typing away.

"You know you're putting yourself at risk?" He asks, eyes never leaving the screen.

"I'll put myself at risk for the justice of my clients." She says firmly. A few minutes pass as Sol stares out of the car and watches the bright moon and the clouds floating by in misty swirls.

"Got it." Sol turns her attention to Seungjae. On the screen is a map and a blinking red dot of Manho’s location. Sol reads the map and puts her car back in drive before turning out of the alley.

"Woah, do you know where you are going?" Seungjae asks, grabbing onto the overhead handle for support and his hand securing the laptop.

"Seungjae-oppa, don't tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not Joon Hwi." Sol ignores his question as she speeds up the car, turning into a drop-off point of a train station.

"Sol A, you're-"

"Sorry, oppa. But I need to find him. I can't sit and wait for the police anymore. I promise you, I'll be safe." Sol says. Seungjae couldn't say no. He knows how stubborn Sol is, how when she decides on something, she will commit to it wholeheartedly.

"If he's armed, you could get yourself in danger." Seungjae exasperatedly sighs. It was too big a risk to see the junior he treats as a little sister put herself at risk.

"I'll be fine. Look, you're on my speed dial. You know that I can handle myself. There's a reason why I took years of self-defence classes." Sol tells him. Seungjae nods his head unwillingly.

"You better call me after you're done." He says as he opens the door and gets out of the car. "Please, please stay safe." Sol nods and gives a small smile.

"Thank you, oppa." Sol drives away immediately, leaving Seungjae to pinch his nose bridge in frustration and concern. Silently, as he boards the train, he prays for Sol's safety.

-----

Sol knows the area well. As she parks her car at a carpark, she checks to make sure Manho is still at the bar. The blinking dot stays stagnant at the bar, not moving ever since she dropped Seungjae off. Getting out, she tightens her coat around her and thanks herself for the long trousers she's wearing. At least she isn't wearing a skirt, if she needs to beat someone up.

Entering the bar, she naturally takes a slow walk around. But hidden by the corner of the bar tables sit a lone man, with a cap, dressed in black button up and holding a glass of golden whiskey. She knew that was her target.

Taking a seat next to him, she orders a glass of soda water from the bartender. Man Ho chuckles next to her as he sets his glass down. Turning his head, he faces Sol with sly eyes, lips curled at the corner.

"Prosecutor Kang, you're quick." She hears him say and a chill goes down her spine. She lets her eyes meet the cold stare of Manho.

"Oh, you think I don't know you? You're the one after me more than the police are for the past weeks." Man Ho sinisterly says, a sick grin on his face. Sol grits her teeth and takes a deep breath to soothe her anger.

"Why are you doing this? You think it's fun?Watching my clients suffer?" Sol says through her gritted teeth. He only scoffs.

"My, my. Don't want you getting agitated now, don't we? We just started." He says, sipping from his glass again.

"Answer my question." She says with force. Man Ho sips on his glass, swirling the golden brown liquid against the large square cubes of ice as he exhales.

As the words fall from his mouth, Sol grows as cold as the glass in her hand. Her hands slightly shake as she hitches her breath. When her shaky eyes turn to Manho’s, his eyes are sly with a mocking grin. No, he can’t know.

"You’re just as feisty as your sister, aren’t you?”

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dilfbane · 3 years ago

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Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic.

Word Count: 7.8k.

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy!

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.”

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D.

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties.

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town.

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed.

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air.

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening.

“You don’t see that problem with that?!”

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor.

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now.

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.”

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed.

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?”

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you.

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end.

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.”

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.”

He smirks at you, then. He knows.

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?”

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks.

Tonight?

One bed?

You are screwed.

***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers.

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay.

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy:

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it.

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful.

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one.

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you.

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG?

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all.

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting.

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse.

Actually, though? Not really.

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’.

“What the fuck does that even mean?!”

“Sorry?”

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow.

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.”

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.”

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but -

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.”

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch.

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.”

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him.

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.”

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.”

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things.

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.”

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.”

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers.

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.”

“Why?” He asks you.

“You - really?”

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.”

“Yeah,” You tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.”

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say.

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.”

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.”

In reality, it’s several someones.

***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?”

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring.

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment.

“I’m working on it,” He says.

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’”

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.”

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.”

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts.

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like.

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes.

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.”

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply.

“Did Tony not -“

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.”

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t.

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says.

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret -

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time.

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you.

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and -

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.”

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?”

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet -

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles -

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said.

That you will survive this.

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue.

“So what do we do?” You ask him.

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin.

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

“Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze.

And then the Pink Cobra walks in.

***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with -

It might be easier not to -

Fuck.

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on.

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by -

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong.

You’ll never trust him again.

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell.

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out.

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger.

He’d looked as scared as you feel.

And you have no idea why.

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce.

You can’t do anything, much.

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can��t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles.

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look.

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear.

Next, he addresses Loki.

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?”

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose.

And you know that you can’t let him choose it.

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?”

“The thing could be managed.”

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life.

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?”

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess.

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down.

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.”

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?”

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth.

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says.

And then your body knows pain.

***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head, drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still.

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm.

You breathe, and your body knows pain.

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain.

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged.

You blink, and your body feels pain.

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.”

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again.

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this.

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on.

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.”

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?!

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.”

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch.

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content.

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin.

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body.

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.”

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this.

***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it.

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him.

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm.

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly.

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking.

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.”

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word.

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.”

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.”

That’s… different.

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.”

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.”

You nod.

“Best get it over with, then.”

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says.

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore.

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted.

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back.

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all.

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad.

“Will I have to - “

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.”

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate, quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern.

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.”

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.”

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.”

“And you wanted to -“

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it.

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t.

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety.

You’d failed him.

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.”

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware.

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.”

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.”

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you.

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.”

“Enlightening.”

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.”

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale.

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.”

“I don’t -“

He holds a hand up. You still.

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.”

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort.

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing?

He could not - he can’t - feel the same.

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.”

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.”

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.”

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous.

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip.

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.”

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice.

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow.

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that?

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you.

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart.

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?”

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr.

“Go to sleep.”

#picture1000wordswc #pic 4 #loki/reader #female reader #crack #so much crack #just a lot of references to bad memes and cringe movies that turns into all the angst #because for some reason i’m like this #guess which character from another popular franchise i based my crack villain off #soundtrack to this was 800 percent mouth moods #in all seriousness though huge congrats to @startrekkingaroundasgard #you deserve all the love #unfortunately i showed my love by writing insane crack fic but HEY #loki is in it so hopefully that makes up for the c r i n g e

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terrainofheartfelt · 4 years ago

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"It's you, it couldn't be awful"

A Playlist For Dair Appreciation Week, Day 7 - Fave Quotes & Lyrics

I haven’t the faintest idea how to make gifs (seriously I think all of you are witches) so I made this playlist, because there is nothing I love more than scrolling through my spotify library and just projecting all over it.

Track listings and links with opinions & lyrics under the cut, because this thing is long, because I have no restraint.

(Note: I intentionally left off all tswift bc if I didn’t, we’d be here all day)

Section 1: The Bops

Little of Your Love - HAIM

A bop that embodies the energy of the 4b arc, and an energy of “Oh for crying out loud, Humphrey”

You’re just another recovering heart / I wasn’t even gonna try / you wouldn’t even give the time

Stop runnin’ your mouth like that / ‘cause you know I’m gonna give it right back

Hate That You Know Me - Bleachers

It’s “You owe me ten / You owe me twenty!” & “I was hoping it would go away / I was humiliated” & basically all of While You Weren’t Sleeping, tbh

Some days I, I wish that I wasn't myself / No luck! / And I hate that you know me so well

I Like Me Better - Lauv

Heavily featured in all y’all’s gifsets—and rightfully so!!! It’s also like the perfect counter to the previous song.

To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me

Sweet Talk - Saint Motel

It’s about Blair roasting Dan for filth and him being completely charmed by it.

when you laugh / I forget that it's about me / But it's alright / Yeah, cause being your punchline / Still is something

No Reason to Run - Cold War Kids

In the perfect version of the show that lives in my head, this is the end credits song that plays as the two of them frolic in Rome.

I have evolved like a fish growing legs / Woke like a lightbulb clicked in my brain

You Make Lovin' Fun - Fleetwood Mac

The song for the couple that fucked in an elevator. Bless the work.

Sweet wonderful you / You make me happy with the things you do

No Matter What You Do - covered by Jakob Dylan and Regina Spektor

The energy is “I have a lot of affection for you but you are so annoying.” And this is the obligatory post-breakup s6 song.

No matter what in the world you do / Hey, I'll always be in love with you

Don't Take the Money - Bleachers

I see so much love for tswift on this website (valid) but I feel like the world as a whole sleeps on her collaborator Jack Antonoff bc he is brilliant and his act Bleachers has some of my favorite songs ever. Like this one. Antonoff has said before that the title phrase is more metaphorical than literal, like an idiom that means don’t take the easy way and give this up, because it’s genuine. Real “I want to have a sleepover with you” vibes.

Somebody broke me once / Love was a currency / A shimmering balance act / I think that I laughed at that

In the Morning - Nina Simone

It’s about the domesticity! And the “Our relationship is our world”! And the “we’re young and still have so much life to live so everything’s gonna be okay.” did i title a smut fic with lyrics from this song maybeso.gif

Please be patient with your life / It's only morning and you're still to live your day

This Must Be the Place - Talking Heads

This is a canon dair song bc @mysteriesofloves titled a fic after this song, them’s the rules. But for real, this is such a good one. The lyrics are intentionally scattered, a little bewildered, like “how did we get here? how did this happen? who found whom?” and finally “who cares? we found a home in each other.”

The less we say about it, the better / We'll make it up as we go along

Cleopatra in Brooklyn - Frank Turner

Chosen for the title obviously, but the lyrics capture the royal/5b arc pretty well, I think. The narrator carries this tongue-and-cheek comparison of the woman he’s singing to to Cleopatra through the whole song, comparing himself to Marc Antony, and ending with this really earnest kind of declaration. I’m obsessed with this songwriter he’s a genius please give him a listen.

These people are adjectives to your proper noun

I'll come find you when your fortunes fail you / I'll die with you when the gods desert you

Morphing into Section 2: Pure Vibes

Walking on a Dream - covered by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness

The original is by Empire of the Sun (and omigod I just realized the coincidence), but I first heard it covered by McMahon, and he’s one of my favorite musicians of ever so I just love his rendition. And this song is sort of like...about finally deciding that the reality of love with someone is so much better than the idea of it.

Thought I’d never see / The love you found in me / Now it’s changing all the time

Wake Me - Bleachers

Jack coming for my life yet again. This song is so romantic but also so melancholy? Which is such a Daniel Humphrey Vibe.

And I'd rather be sad with you / Than anywhere away from you

All I Want - Joni Mitchell

I’m a white girl with a mother who grew up in the 60s, so I love Joni. And this song is so bubbly and joyful, but it’s also about a relationship between two imperfect people and wanting it to work anyway. Big “Despicable B” vibes!

All I really want our love to do / Is to bring out the best in me / And in you, too.

Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars

A friend in undergrad got me into the Civil Wars by showing me their live videos, and they have such incredible musical chemistry - like, the synchronicity of their ensemble is so good that it even comes through on their studio recordings and it makes these simple lyrics hit SO HARD.

You're just lonely / You've been lonely too long

NFWMB - Hozier

Ok, this had to be like the first ask I ever sent @bisexualdanhumphrey bc they wrote this fantastic meta post about Hozier and Derena but I said: “consider: NFWMB is a Dair song.” And they said, “You right.” I stand by it, and that’s why this song is on this list.

If I was born as a blackthorn tree / I'd wanna be felled by you / Held by you / Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Friday I'm in Love - covered by Phoebe Bridgers

This song - especially this cover - gives such Secret Friendship Arc vibes a la the end of 4x16...the inherent romance of eating pizza and falling asleep on the couch together

Always take a big bite / It’s such a gorgeous sight / To see you eat in the middle of the night

A Case of You - Joni Mitchell

Queen Joni again. Like! I am a lonely painter / I live in a box of paints. & The “You’re the star of Dan’s book” of it all in these lyrics!

I remember that time you told me / You said “Love is touching souls” / Surely you touched mine / ‘cause part of you pours out of me / In these lines from time to time.

Longing to Belong - Eddie Vedder

This is my thinly veiled attempt to tell more people about this: a song written and performed by Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder on ukulele, that is actually the softest love song in the history of western music.

All my time is spent here / Longing to belong to you

Bones - Josh Record

Okay, so, that Moment on the Couch at the end of 5x02? That’s this song.

And darling, when your feet are cold / Wait up, I'm coming home / And all of you I will hold / My love will clothe your bones

Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey

The song for when you reach the end of plausible deniability - One all consuming paralyzing thought & You need to go back to Brooklyn - and it scares the heck out of you.

There's things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you live / Like if you hold me without hurting me / You'll be the first who ever did

You and Me - You + Me

You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person

Section 3: Songs for Dancing in the Kitchen with Your Lover at 1 am

Cigarettes and Coffee - Otis Redding

The “Dan and I have a real connection song.” It’s about the romance of commonplace things when they’re with the right person.

But it seemed so natural, darling / That you and I are here

I'd Be Waiting - Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats

It’s “I just want to spend the day with you” but in like, slow-dance, sexy harmonies format.

If you ever get lonely if you never did

Never My Love - covered by Jakob Dylan and Norah Jones

The “Words of Affirmation” love song they deserve, and an underrated love song from Laurel Canyon, imho

What makes you think love will end? / When you know that my whole life depends / On you

Dancing in the Dark - covered by Morgan James

Okay so these lyrics are such Dan lyrics to me, it’s charmingly self-aware and self-deprecating. And this cover by Morgan James turns this staple rock song into something ~sexy~

I'm dying for some action / I'm sick of sittin' round here trying to write this book / I need a love reaction / Come on, gimme just one look

Oh Me Oh My (I'm a Fool for You) - Aretha Franklin

They’re literally always making each other laugh! It’s about feeling safe enough to be uninhibited and unselfconscious in your joy.

To make you laugh / I would be a fool for you

I Fall in Love Too Easily - as done by Chet Baker

No one, but no one sounds as sweet or as smooth as Chet. I know it, you know it, Hozier knows it. And this song and it’s titular thesis is so Them, it’s such a central part of their respective characters, and one of the things that makes them compatible.

My heart should be well schooled / 'Cause I've been fooled in the past

For Me Formidable - Charles Aznavour

Due entirely to this fic (Part II of a god tier s4 au) This is the end credits song for their full feature length Nora Ephron romcom.

NSFW Honorable Mention: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier

it’s the definitive “men get pegged” representation, iykyk

#dairaw21 #playlist #i may have gotten a *little* carried away...#i regret nothing #dair

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years ago

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An Unlikely Suspect

A Sanders Sides Among Us AU (Semi Janus Centric)

Pairings: Hinted Romantic Prinxiety, Romantic Logicality (might get clarified if I write a follow up), Platonic Virmile, Platonic Moceit, Familial Creativitwins, Platonic Moxiety Trigger Warnings: Character Death (Some semi descriptive), Gore, Light Body Horror descriptions , Remus being Remus, swearing Word Count: ~ 3600

When an Imposter is found aboard the Skeld, life for the crew is turned upside down. Accusations, betrayals, and too many lies to count, can the crew survive the parasite’s attempt to take over?

[All characters belong to @thatsthat24 , I hope I did them justice ]

Life aboard the Skeld had never been easy.

Even Janus couldn’t lie about that. The work days were long and never ending aboard the flying crapshack (seriously, was health and safety a joke to their superiors back on Earth?!) but no one was prepared for the Imposters.

The crew had treated them as a distant worry when the warning came through communications. The kind of warning that they regarded with a snort, perhaps a retort of “that sort of thing would never happen to us, it only happens to other people��. The same kind of blissful dismissiveness you’d expect when talking about the chances of dying on a rollercoaster, or being caught in the middle of a mass car pile up.

Complacency, unearned comfort. No one spared more than a passing thought for the Imposters for months..

Then Dr. Emile Picani was found dead at his desk and suddenly the threat was all too real, all too quick.

With a check of the medical records, once the crew found out one of the scans had come back as an Imposter, accusations had flown all too hastily in the beginning.

“Patton, you were in charge of manning the airlock! Didn’t you check the cargo properly?!”, Roman had accused him, alongside a couple of other crewmates.

“B-But I did!! I swear!!”, the cyan-clad crewmate had protested, “I checked every single crate-!”

“Sounds sus, I say we make sure he never forgets to check the airlock ever again!”, Remus had all too cheerfully suggested. Thankfully their first in command, Logan, had stepped in to diffuse the argument, “Nonsense. We have very little evidence of any wrongdoing on Patton’s part. There’s only seven of us now, all crewmates will be crucial to our survival. Thus, no one will be taking action against him, or any other crewmate, without my strict approval. Is that clear?”

Aside from disgruntled remarks and some small accusations of favouritism, Logan was in charge, and the only crewmate able to prove his humanity since his medical scan was the only one left with the name undisturbed in haste, and thus was able to keep the crew in order, saving Patton from a horrific execution.

For three days.

The implementation of a buddy system of sorts had been a flawless plan, allowing Logan to remain the only solo crewmate, checking in on each duo; Patton and Remy manning storage and the medbay, the twins handling waste disposal and electrical matters, and Virgil and Janus managing weapons and navigation systems. A smooth journey, only to be shattered by a blackout.

Pandemonium had ensued almost immediately; halves of duos unwisely tried to head towards electrical, armed only with their tiny standard issue flashlights, leaving their other halves to try and find them or remain calm in the pitch blackness. Ten minutes felt like an eternity as Remus, with the aid of Janus, finally got the electrical wires properly repaired. The rest of the crew were quick to head towards electrical, hoping to account for everyone. However, a headcount carried the awful realisation that they were one short.

Logan.

Patton was the first to head for security, followed right after by the crew, only to find a gruesome scene. Logan Croft - what was left of him - lay motionless on the floor at the end of a blood trail that led towards the vent across the room. A distraught Patton stayed behind to guard the body alongside Virgil and Remy, while Janus and the twins tried to figure out where the imposter had come in from. Knowing that the vent system capped off certain sections, they only needed to check two other locations; electrical and medbay.

The former came up empty, so Janus led the group to the latter, kneeling down to check the vent and noticing a blood stain at the edge of the vent. A closer inspection revealed the print to be a hand, but the blood was too thick to leave identifiable fingerprints.

“So, the Imposter used the vent to travel here. And the only people who wouldn’t be out of place...”, Roman uttered under his breath. Janus could already hear him and his twin jumping to conclusions.

“Ah yes, jumping to conclusions is always the right answer, without exception.”

Janus hoped his sarcasm got through to them how bad of an idea it was.

“But Jan, look at this shit!”, Remus gestured between the vent and the area next door where Logan’s body was still lying, “There’s blood in the vent and the two fuckers who were in here are stuck with Virgil and the body!! For all we know, we could go back and two of ‘em could be dead-!”

“Alright, alright!”, Janus massaged his temples, thinking it over.

“... Fine, Remus, call the emergency meeting.”

Without hesitation, Remus made a beeline for the cafeteria’s emergency button. As Janus waited for the teleporter to pick them up, he noticed Roman anxiously running a hand through his hair. “Nervous?”, Janus questioned with a sincerity reserved for tense situations like these.

The red-clad crewmate hummed worriedly, “Just… the thought of Virgil being left with them...”

Janus gave a fond but tired huff, about to reassure Roman when the teleporters built into their suits shifted them to the cafeteria. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anyone missing bar Logan, and the previously deceased Dr. Picani. Letting his mismatched eyes roam over towards the trio from security, Dee noticed that each was in a state of shock. Remy seemed to be keeping a stoic mask up but Janus knew those tremors in his palms that came from his reliance on caffeine, one he had been unable to indulge in as desired due to the rationing of supplies. Virgil gnawed his thumbnail while his arm jittered anxiously, probably aching for his anxiety medication more than ever. And Patton….

Patton looked devastated, emotionally and physically so. It was clear he’d been yanking on his hair in distress, and while it wasn’t immediately noticeable, his olivine cheeks bore tear tracks still.

Janus found himself hoping, praying almost, that Patton could save his skin somehow.

“We found blood in the medbay vent,”, Roman began, snapping Janus out of his thoughts and back to reality. “Which means the Imposter must be Remy or Patton.”

Once kind green eyes tainted with distrust and distress fell on the poor cyan crewmate, “And considering everything up til now…. Patton, I hate to say it…. But you’re-”

“You’re looking pretty fucking sus, Padre!”, Remus finished for his twin.

Janus could see Patton jolt, the hurt in his features at a once friendly nickname being used so callously felt far too cruel. The yellow crewmate prided himself on being able to see through a rouse, and Patton didn’t show any such signs of deceit, but…

“I-!! I’d never-!!”, Pat gasped, the pain clear, “I could never hurt Logan!! Or Emile, or ANY of you!! Please, I-!”

“Give it up, Pat, you alien bitch.”

Remy’s voice laden with venom and a notable shakiness cut through the words trying to scramble out of Patton’s mouth. “Like, it has to be you. You were in charge of the airlock. You were close enough to them to get at L and Emile. Worst of all, you were the only other person in medbay with me.”, Remy wrung his hands into his black jumpsuit frustratedly, “And when the lights came back on…. You weren’t in the room anymore!”

Patton shook his head, “No, Remy, I-!! I was in the hallway, I couldn’t see you-!”

“Popstar, come on...”, Virgil’s shaky voice came from across the table, “I… I don’t wanna believe it, but we… we have to face the facts here. Logan’s body didn’t show signs of a struggle, so he was probably comfortable with whoever did this. You fit that bill…. You even ran straight to Logan’s body, Pat!! Do you have any idea how suspicious that looks?!”

It all made sense, so much sense, but Janus’ brain still told him it was wrong. That something wasn’t right.

“But!! But Logan liked being in security!! We all knew that-!!”

“But that still doesn’t explain any of the other evidence!!”, Remus chipped in, looking ready to condemn the poor man. Frantically, Patton looked to Janus. God, he’d never forget that look, the primal fear of death lingering behind terrified light blue. “Janus, please, you know I’m not lying, right?!”

What could Janus do but nod? He believed Patton. It wouldn’t do anything in the long run, but at least the poor man would know someone was on his side.

“I do believe you, Patton. This feels far too ludicrous to-”

“Jan, you’re a fucking idiot if you believe that bullshit!”, Remus interrupted, “He’s just trying to manipulate you!!”

The conversation abruptly halted as Remus rounded the table, grabbing Patton’s arm, beginning to haul him towards the airlock. The cyan crewmate tried to protest, wriggling to free himself, but Roman and Remy both secured him, sealing his fate,

“PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS-!!”

“Just stop, Pat, don’t make this-!”

“NO, LET ME GO, PLEASE, IT’S NOT ME, I SWEAR-!!”

“Shut up, you parasite bastard!!”

Patton struggled for his life against the twins’ strong hold while Remy readied the airlock’s inner door. Janus couldn’t bear to watch, “This is a mistake, you’re going to kill an innocent man, Roman-!”

“Stop, Janus!”, Roman snapped, “We… We can’t afford to turn a blind eye or more of us will die! It’s-! It’s the right thing to do-!”

“You know that’s a lie, do I even need to spell that one out for you-”

“Babes, with all do respect?”, Remy spoke up, opening the inner door and letting the twins toss Patton inside before shutting the door, “Shut the fuck up. Like, this is our chance to stop all this!”

The countdown as Remus set the airlock to open was harrowing, even for the demented twin. The group watched through the reinforced glass window as Patton slammed his fists into the door, his voice silenced by the sound proofing, but his desperation was so palpable no words were needed. For God’s sakes, a man was begging for his life! How could they let this happen? Janus felt Virgil turn away next to him, clearly unable to watch one of their closest friends die.

A surge of righteous justice threw Janus into action. Despite the alarmed voices of the others, he tried desperately to somehow undo the countdown. To somehow get the stupid control panel to cease the damned timer ticking away til Patton would meet his end in the vast nothingness of space. His efforts were for naught. Between the safety programming and the others prying him away, Janus was hauled back just in time to see the outer door open. The force tore Patton into the terrifying cosmic wasteland.

Just like that, the crew lost Patton Hart.

Janus felt his ears ring in the sudden silence, feeling like his head had been submerged in ice water. He could hear Virgil sobbing, muffled by what he assumed would be Roman’s shoulder or chest. In his peripheral view, he noted Remus’ green gloved hand clench and release in an effort to calm his nerves, surely. Remy sunk to his knees, not uttering a word edgeways. Human nature would kick in eventually, tell them in the end that they did what they could. That they’d eliminated a threat that took the form of their dear crewmate. But Janus knew. He knew this wasn’t the end, he’d just failed to save Patton’s life.

Days passed; just two but to Janus and the others, it felt more like two centuries. They’d given Logan’s remains a decent cremation, using the ashes to mix with the plant food in O2. Logan had always wanted to help the planet, and now at least, in a way, he would do just that.

The schedules he’d set the others slowly crumbled. Remy avoided the med bay, “too many awful memories”, he’d said. The twins stuck together more so out of a shared lingering guilt, Janus theorised, still going about their manual tasks, though neither could bring themselves to sing a cheery tune or R-rated space sea shanty about banging an Eldritch Deity. Life aboard the Skeld felt as dead as their former crewmates these days.

Virgil caught up with Janus leaving Navigation; the anxious man had felt far more at ease sticking with his assigned duo partner than being alone. Janus couldn’t fault him.

“... It’s fucked.”, the lankier man in purple had mumbled, “This whole situation is so, so fucked...”

Janus sighed exhaustedly, “That’s one way to put it, yes.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Neither man usually minded such a thing, but it felt unbearable now. So much so, Janus was thankful as Virgil spoke, “Why’d Dr. Picani have to die?...”.

Both of them were aware of why, but Janus assumed it was rhetorical, a theory confirmed as Virgil continued to mumble, “He was so nice, man. Never pressured me with my medical anxiety or anything, never made me sit through tests that’d freak me out. Helped make me feel secure but... Now nothing feels safe anymore...”

“Indeed, we lost a good man. Several good men.”, Janus felt Virgil cringe beside him, looking away.

“...... I didn’t….”, Virgil huffed, his eyes trained anywhere else but Janus’ face, “I never wanted to… to see Pat like that. He was my friend, Jan! Shit, he was like a father to me! He made me feel welcome when I transferred here but-!!”

A reassuring yellow gloved hand rested on Virgil’s shoulder, “I’m sure he knew, Virgil.”, Janus reassured him, “What’s done is, regrettably, done. Irreversible. We cannot get back those we’ve lost, but we can survive in their name. Let’s just hope that you were all right to stop me-”

Crunch.

The wet crisp crunch of something organic tore Janus from his thoughts.

“... Did you hear that, Virgil?”

Frozen rigid, Virgil gave a shaky inhale, “I… I don’t think so-”

CRUNCH.

Janus didn’t bother to ask if Virgil heard it that time. He took off down the hallway, headed for the nearest room; Electrical. Virgil’s footsteps began to gain on his own, giving him the reassurance of backup when they reached the doorway. Damn. It was locked. The disgusting wet tearing sounds from inside made his stomach churn, “Virgil… on three.”

Virgil looked mortified at the idea, but he nodded, readying himself as he and Janus got ready to break in the doors. Thankfully for their shoulder joints, the doors opened. Not so thankfully, both men were treated to a horrendous sight.

The twins had always playfully argued over which of them would come out on top.

It seemed now they had their answer.

Hunched over the remains of his brother was Roman Prince, his red suit absorbing the bloody remains splattered across it, leaving almost no trace. In his hands, Roman held various chunks of flesh torn from his own kin whose lifeless eyes were open wide in a twisted expression of surprise and betrayal. Roman himself had gone rigid, caught like a deer in the headlights, pitch black eyes darting between Janus and Virgil as they sunk back to their familiar emerald green.

“I-! This isn’t-!”

With Virgil unmoving beside him, Janus sprung to action, using their reporting device to activate the teleporter again. He cursed every extra second it took compared to the emergency button, watching as Roman managed to morph and clean himself up before they found themselves once again around the table. Remy’s eyes darted to the empty space Remus had once occupied,

“.... No. Don’t you fucking tell me...”

Virgil went to speak but Janus got there first, pointing a deadly determined finger towards Roman, “Roman’s the Imposter!”

Roman stiffened, “Wha-!?”

Janus wasn’t about to let him go free; he had a witness now, and a good chunk of evidence to condemn him with; “Virgil and I walked in on you eating your own goddamn twin! Everything else begins to make sense if it’s you too; the blackout especially, since you were working in electrical. You were also rather vocal with your accusations too, which would make sense considering it took the attention off of you!”

The defeated look in Roman’s dull eyes was the most delicious dessert in existence, seeing the monster look ready to confess, Janus gestured to Virgil,

“Virgil can back me up, right?!”

Silence.

“.....Virgil? Back me up here-”

“Janus,”, Virgil’s voice was ghostly fearful, his eyes hidden behind the long purple dyed bangs he sported, “Stop lying.”

“.... What?..”, the shiver of fear, bone chilling fear, that rattled through Janus’ marrow and constricted his lungs was a harsh turn from his formerly confident demeanor.

“Roman and I saw you eat Remus, Jan...”

This wasn’t happening.

“We walked in on you tear… tearing him to shreds in electrical…!”

This wasn’t happening…

“Just like you did with poor Logan! And Emile!”

This couldn’t be happening…

“Playing like you were the one who wanted to save Patton when…!! When you were the one who-!!”

Janus’ head swam with nausea. His mismatched eyes finally locked on to Virgil’s, barely visible to Remy, but all too familiar to Janus…

“Disgusting, lying Imposters like you-!!”

Those pitch black eyes that betrayed his glee even as his broken tone relayed the false narrative.

“Should rot in space!!”

Remy cast his gaze between Roman and Janus, landing on Roman, “Ro, babes, is that true?!”

Roman nodded, dumbfounded, “I-It’s true, he-”

“He tried to get us too,”, Virgil continued, faux shaky voice ringing in Janus’ ears.

Everything made terrifying sense now.

Virgil, a new transfer from a sister ship, who had his own (likely fabricated) medbay scan on hand and who was too anxious to have Dr. Picani perform a second, making the crew think there was just one Imposter.

Virgil, who would think to tell Roman remove the names on the medical files, even if the red crewmate didn’t do a perfect job.

Virgil, who was close with Patton, and had begun to befriend Logan, earning his trust, leaving him one of the few people who Logan wouldn’t suspect approaching him in the dark.

Virgil, who was smart enough to drag Logan’s top half into the vents and leave a handprint in medbay to frame Patton further. All too willing to throw the poor man under the bus.

Virgil, who stuck close to the only person left smart enough to suspect their scheme, waiting for the right moment to strike when Janus sealed his own fate.

“..... You son of a bitch.”, Janus breathed in disbelief. His anger bubbled to the surface before he could stop it, “YOU SON OF A BITCH-!!!”

Roman and Remy’s arms wrapped themselves around Janus’ arms and body, holding him still while all he could do was writhe, “What do we do now, babes?”

Virgil answered Remy’s question with a firm, faux anxious reply, “The airlock..”

Janus’ heart stopped in his chest.

“We… We had to lose Patton that way so…. So it’s only fair the REAL Imposter goes that way too!!”

He didn’t go without a fight. Janus made damn sure of that. The alien bastards wouldn’t get the satisfaction of him going quietly. He clawed at Roman’s face, ignoring the parasite’s tightening grip on his arm to the point he thought perhaps it would break. He spat hellfire and vitriol at Virgil who watched from a distance, content to let the smirk he’d been hiding show now that Remy couldn’t see.

Oh god, Remy. Janus tried desperately to appeal to the last true human left,

“Remy, you HAVE to listen to me, they’re not human, both of them are-!”

But Remy didn’t listen, following Roman’s lead of tossing Janus once more into the airlock. Fortunately, Janus had been able to hold onto his helmet as the door closed, sealing his - and by extension, Remy’s - fates. Trapped and waiting for death, he locked eyes with Remy who looked as sincere and guilt ridden as expected. Is this how Patton felt? So helpless and scared to die? Janus felt almost guilty knowing his suit still had a full canister of oxygen left to last him…. Hours? Maybe a day? Then he’d be at the mercy of space the way Patton was without his helmet to protect him.

As the countdown reached 15 seconds, Janus watched helplessly as Virgil gestured to give Remy a hug. The way Remy accepted the arms of death only for Virgil’s stomach to split and devour the poor man tore the last of Janus’ resolve to shreds.

With the countdown reaching zero, Janus Dolion faced the two Imposters watching him with a smug sense of glee, flipping them both the double bird as the outer door opened...

The Imposter couple watched Janus be sucked into the vacuum of space with a sick sense of victory. They’d done it; the Skeld was theirs and theirs alone. Of course, that was until a rescue ship could come for them and the cycle would start over again. The thought alone was intoxicating.

“... I’m sorry.”, Roman murmured from beside Virgil who’d already taken to fabricating injuries they could use to trick the rescue party. The purple suited alien snorted, wiping the last of Remy’s blood from his mouth, “What for, Prince Parasite?”

The crimson clad Imposter scoffed affectionately.

“I nearly got us caught.”, Roman’s suit growled, “I was just… so hungry…!”

Virgil softly wrapped his arm around Roman, gently caressing his beautiful jawline with a softness no hostile alien parasite should be able to use.

“It’s fine, you drama queen. We still did it,”, he grinned, shark toothed and infectious going by Roman’s own razor smile, “Now you just have to put those impressive acting skills to use once I call in a rescue ship.”

“Aww, you think my acting is impressive?”, Roman’s chest puffed up in pride.

Were they not standing right next to a pile of gore that has once been a fellow crewmate, Virgil figured the starry look in Roman’s blackened eyes would have been endearing. Adorable even. Instead, the Imposter rolled his eyes, they still had work to do after all. There’d be plenty of time to properly celebrate later..

“Shut up, Roman... ” --

Man that got dark fast...

I hope you guys still enjoyed it and that the reveal was nice and shocking~!

If you like this, I’ll write some supplimentary stuff, perhaps some fluff prequel snippets, and perhaps a little sequel?

Idk yet, but I hope this was a good read.

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom @patton-cake @does-this-look-logicality-to-you @justalittlecorrupted @irritating-lady-knight @katlikethesword @ali_is_lazy

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coldtacosaladwasntfound · 3 years ago

Text

dissimilant • feral boys + oc series • 1

super powers au

I remember when I was at that age; everything changing, hormones rushing through your body. You know what most people don't associate with puberty? Fucking super powers.

It wasn't a surprise by any means. I'd been raised with the knowledge that eventually I'd get my powers. My parents are both dissimilant, so I was bound to get that gene. If I didn't gain any powers, I probably would've been disappointed; especially considering it's considered the best day of your life when you're like me.

I was maybe 11 years old when I realized I was dissimilant (also, off the record, what the hell is that title? Dissimilant? Like... dissimilar? Way to make me feel normal). I always expected something totally badass. Maybe I would get fire powers and be able to burn things to a crisp. Maybe I'd end up able to control electricity or something actually useful. But you know what I got stuck with? Healing. Of course healing abilities have their own benefits, but I don't wanna end up working in a dissimilant hospital for the rest of my life. I want to be on the frontlines, using my powers the way everyone else does.

The Dissimilant Association of Justice (DAJ) is a group of highly trained professionals who do all the work the government can't capitalize on. This generally is exclusively dissimilant crime, seeing as you can't put someone with beyond human abilities in a normal human made prison. How am I, a healer, supposed to be working as an agent with DAJ? It's dream I had to give up on almost as soon as I started training my abilities.

I hear something buzz. It catches my attention, causing me to look over from my laptop to my bedside table. I've been studying for an exam coming up (for college, not some cool super power school). It's not my phone, so it has to be my DT. A DT is a device you're given by "The Force"; a local dissimilant program that helps youth practice their abilities safely. Don't let the cool name fool you, it's just to distract you from how lame it actually is. The device is meant to let you know current news and information within the community, as well as let us access our progress.

I pick up my DT and look at the screen.

INCOMING MESSAGE

38.987124, -74.811566

What? These are definitely coordinates. I quickly type them into a search engine, my eyes scanning the results. The Wildwood Boardwalk? I have tons of questions. First, why am I being sent coordinates? Second, who's sending me coordinates? And last, when is someone sent coordinates that they shouldn't go to? I live a walk away from the beach, so the urge to check it out is strong... so I'm going to.

I've snuck out millions of times, this is hardly different. Just gotta go through the usual process of sneaking out as if I'm a 16 year old trying to go to a party and not a grown adult trying to... do whatever it is I'm doing. I grab my backpack and a jacket before opening my window, phone and DT in hand, and climbing out of my family's apartment through the fire escape. When I reach the ground, I put the numbers in my phone's GPS and make my way to my bike.

As I ride in the direction I'm told, I can't help but second guess what I'm doing. I'm going to coordinates sent to me by god knows who for crying out loud, this is a sketchy decision and I'll admit to that. Deep down, though, I just had this feeling that I needed to see what was there. I saw that message for a reason and I have to find out why. So I rode down to the boardwalk, stopping at the exact point of the coordinates and hopping off my bike.

There's nothing here. I looked around at the closed booths and rides, the beach only a few yards away. I saw a figure in the distance. It was getting closer, soon getting close enough to be recognizable as a person. My DT started buzzing again. I pulled it out of my pocket and read the words on the screen.

INCOMING MESSAGE

Arrived. Please wait for your teammates to arrive.

Teammates?

The person got closer, now fully visible to me. They pulled something out of their pocket. It illuminated their features with blue light as they looked at it. A DT. They made eye contact with me. "Uh, hello?" They stood about 2 feet in front of me, and I could now see them clearly. "I'm, uh, Alex."

"Alex? Why did you bring me here?" I question. He looks fairly normal to me. His beanie sits on top of his head of slightly messy hair, just a plain T-shirt and sweatpants on.

"I didn't bring you here. I thought you brought me here." He looks down at his DT again. "Do you have one of these?" He holds it up, showing the screen. The same text that was on mine was displayed on his.

I nod. "Yeah... that's a DT. It's what told me to come here here." I pull out my own to show him. "I guess we're teammates... whatever that means."

"I was actually hoping you knew what that means." I shake my head. Silence falls, almost like the two of us are waiting for something. Another voice quickly ends that and grabs our attention.

"Hey!" We both look over, seeing another guy walk up to us. "Who are you?" He seems to keep a distance. He also looks pretty average, blonde hair and green eyes plus a normal wardrobe for a guy his age.

Unsure what to respond with, beanie boy let's out a "Um, Alex?" like he's questioning his name.

"Jordan," I say, plain and simple. "We don't know why we're here. Do you?"

A look of what seems like slight confusion takes over his face. "I'm Clay. I wish I knew." I feel a bit disappointed at the lack of closure.

"Let me guess, your DT got your here?" He nods, looking surprised at my knowledge of what a DT is. "Okay, so we're all dissimilant. That's a start."

"This is epic and all, but I can't shake the feeling that we shouldn't be here," Alex admits.

"Considering the circumstances, who knows if we even have a choice," Clay says.

"He makes a good point," I agree. All of our DTs buzz in sync, causing us to look at the newest message.

INCOMING MESSAGE

3/6 teammates arrived. New location pending.

"What does that mean?" Alex rhetorically questions.

"I guess we're gonna be moving soon." Clay stays silent, probably thinking. "The sooner we have everyone on our 'team' the sooner we get answers."

"I can't tell if I want answers or out of this." We look to Alex as he speaks.

"Something tells me you're not gonna get one without the other," Clay says.

INCOMING MESSAGE

38.977922, -74.823873

The three of us all check the notification, seeing exactly what I expected. I type the coordinates into my phone, the address of a hotel coming up. "It's the Adventurer Oceanfront Inn, a 20 minute walk," I read off of the screen.

"Guys, I think I made a mistake coming out here," Alex says. "This all seems so sketchy."

"We need you to help us find answers. Plus, you came all the way out here, you don't wanna know what's going on?" I push. "There's two more people. Let's go find them."

"I agree," Clay says. "We're already here, we might as well."

I get on my bike, and start my GPS. "I'll lead the way, let's go." Without objection, the guys follow me as I try to ride at a slower speed. "We're gonna be traveling for a bit, we might as well get to know each other." They nod in agreement.

"I'll go first then," Alex starts. "I'm Alex, I'm 20, and I have mind powers, because I'm just so incredible." Clay rolls his eyes before talking.

"I'm Clay, I'm 22, and I have superhuman strength... because I'm even more incredible." I wouldn't have pegged him as the type to have super strength, or the type to be phased by a cocky comment like the other guy's.

"I'm Jordan, I'm 21, and I'm a healer," I introduce myself. "Not so incredible."

"Who says? Healing powers are super useful," Clay reassures me.

"Not when you wanna be an agent." Clay gives me a weird look. "What?"

"Be grateful, you have an actually helpful power. So what if you can't be an agent?" I roll my eyes at his obvious lack of understanding. He has super strength for gods sake.

"Easy for you to say, you could be an agent without even trying." He lets the discussion stop there, looking ahead of us at the empty street.

"I think your powers are cool, Jordan," Alex says, breaking the silence.

"Thanks." The conversation falls flat again, and nobody picks it back up. It's just the atmospheric noises of Wildwood, New Jersey at 2 am. I guess this gives me some time to think about what exactly I'm doing right now.

I'm out of the house in the middle of the night, guiding some random people to a hotel because the coordinates on our 'superhero' devices said so. We could be about to get kidnapped, but also, why would a kidnapper lead us to a location that's open 24/7? I guess we're about to find out.

"So, mind powers? Show us," Clay says to Alex, a 'prove it' tone in his voice. How immature.

"See, uh... I can't really do that." The blonde quirks a brow in question. "It's triggered by my feelings, I can't just do it whenever I want to."

"Lame," He remarks, childishly.

"Shut up, it's not lame!" Alex says in defense.

"It totally is."

"Shut your trap, blondie, you're being a menace," I butt in, stopping a possible quarrel in it's tracks. With that, both of the boys quiet down. I glance down at my GPS, seeing the time estimate says there's only 10 minutes left of our journey. "We have 10 minutes left, I don't want either of you scaring off whoever we meet."

"I'm not scary at all, you should be talking to Mr. Bully over here," Alex jokes.

"I'm talking to both of you," I say, letting out a sigh of annoyance.

After traveling for another 10 minutes, we reach the parking lot of the hotel. We see three guys conversing by the entrance.

INCOMING MESSAGE

Arrived. 6/6 teammates arrived. Approach.

They pull a device out of each of their pockets and look at the screen before their eyes find us. I get off of my bike and walk forward with the other boys. "I'm Jordan. This is Alex and Clay. Who are you?" I say, skipping any other formalities.

They all look fairly normal, although one of them looks like he actually got dressed to come here. One of them speaks up, "I'm... Sapnap. You can call me that." I try to think of why he'd pick that as a nickname before just ignoring it.

"Karl," the dressed one says. He seems nervous.

"I'm George... why are we here?"

I can't help but snicker at how many times I've heard that question tonight. "Who fucking knows."

"What she means is, we're not sure either," Clay says, finally talking to them. Alex seems to be distracted, staring off at a phone booth.

"Guys... I know this may sound weird, but I think we need to go in the phone booth," He says, still staring off. We all look him weirdly. He walks off towards it, me following after him to see what he's on about. He steps inside it, waiting a second, his hands on the walls. Before he can do or say anything, the floor beneath him suddenly disappears. He yells out, drawing the attention of the group.

"Alex!" I scream out. I look at the boys before making a decision. "We have to jump down after him!"

"Are you crazy?" Clay says in attempt to stop me.

I let out a nervous breath. "You know what... I think I am." I jump down after him, hearing my name being called after me but only seeing darkness.

#mcyt #feral bois #quackity #karl jacobs #sapnap #georgenotfound #dream #dsmp #dream smp #fanfic #au #dsmp au #mcyt au #feral bois au #feral boys

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kindofcashton · 5 years ago

Text

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 • chapter 16 (Calum Hood AU)

MY LIFE WAS a never-ending paradise. For the first time in months, I woke up with a smile on my face that lasted until I fell asleep again that night. Never had I experienced such tranquility, such persistent joy as I felt now. It was nearly impossible to worry about anything, feel sad about anything. Not when he was next to me, near me, with me. Calum and I spent nearly every night together, our hands perpetually entangled, our bodies constantly connected. We woke up together, went to bed together, spent the day dreaming about one another. Being away from him, even for something I enjoyed like work or shopping with Hannah, became a nuisance. I spent all my time thinking about him and the next time we could be together.

But the thing is, we weren’t together. There was no label slapped onto whatever relationship we’d formed. I didn’t consider him my boyfriend, and I certainly wasn’t his girlfriend. We spent the nights together, and then when daylight came we were elusive lovers, dancing around each other so as not to alert the others. Hannah I had told, of course. She knew every detail of my affair with Calum, and squealed over how “romantic” it was. I firmly told her there was nothing romantic or emotional about it; we were merely two adults sleeping together and having fun.

As for the guys, I’m sure they’d caught on to something. Seeing me emerge from Calum’s room or him from mine was definitely a dead giveaway. But when we were downstairs, Calum and I rarely interacted beyond hastened smiles and loaded glances. Occasionally his hand would grace mine in the kitchen, reminding me of where his fingers had been the night before. Just a single look from him sparked butterflies like I’d never known before, and I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning.

When we were really at our best was when we slept together. The chemistry our bodies shared was unparalleled, and I’d never experienced such passion with anyone before. Calum knew my body like he’d spent his whole life mapping it out, knowing all my favorite places and secret spots. I knew every curve of his back, every stretch of skin and cluster of moles. We explored each other until nothing was foreign territory, every part of ourselves bared for the other to glimpse. But we didn’t grow tired of each other; every night was a new discovery, the excitement never waning. If I could, I’d spend the rest of my life in bed next to him, our bodies naked and pressing together.

Neither of us let emotions complicate things. Despite my bold display of breaking up with Nick for him, I knew that was no indication of a deeper relationship with Calum. We were barely even friends, as we didn’t hang out together outside of the bedroom. And as for exclusivity, there wasn’t really any. If a guy flirted with me at work, I flirted back. I’m sure Calum did the same when he disappeared during the day. For me, I knew I’d never consider sleeping with anyone else, but just the idea of having the option was comforting; exclusivity was suffocating, and the last thing I wanted was to ruin the carefree fun Calum and I were having.

His normally brooding, mean personality actually turned out to be different than I thought. Calum’s sense of humor was dark, not mean. He wasn’t brooding, just thinking hard. Now I enjoyed his snarky remarks, the way he’d tease me with a smirk. Things that used to infuriate me now fired me up, and I giggled at his scowls. I hoped he felt the same about me, that I wasn’t annoying or stubborn but dedicated and organized. Seeing a new perspective of him was refreshing, and I looked at him with hungry new eyes. I couldn’t keep a smile off my face when I was with him, and I saw his usual smirk twist into a crooked grin.

One morning, I stood up out of bed a little earlier than normal. After a long night in my room leaving us both blissfully exhausted, I wanted nothing more than to sleep all day, but I had something important to do. I’d been in touch with an advisor at the local community college, and today we’d be meeting to discuss my possible enrollment. I felt secure enough at the cafe to start planning to go back to school, and I was both nervous and thrilled about the upcoming discussion. I hoped it would be seamless, an easy process that wouldn’t strain my nerves or my wallet. Things were going so good lately, I would hate for something to ruin it.

Calum groaned from the bed, and naturally my lips spread into a smile. I was fishing through my closet, wearing only panties and his tee shirt that I’d hastily put on to cover up. It smelled like him, and I almost wished I could wear it to the meeting for good luck and comfort.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, voice gruff from sleep. I glanced back and saw his ruffled hair and tired eyes. He looked about ready to fall back to sleep, but when he looked over at me his eyebrows raised approvingly. Clearly me in his shirt had pleasantly surprised him.

“I have an interview,” I explained, turning back to find the right clothes. I wanted to look professional and mature, but not too stuffy. After all, this was a community college, and my transcript spoke for itself. I opted for a white skirt and matching blazer, then pulled a black turtleneck to wear underneath. This was probably my nicest outfit, and I chewed my lip contemplating which heels to wear.

“Where at?” Calum yawned and stretched his long arms, chest bare as the blankets fell around his waist. I began to undress, pulling his shirt over my head so I could put on a bra.

“The community college,” I answered, but he seemed too distracted by my body to care. I rolled my eyes as I hooked the bra clasp, shimmying into the skirt and fighting with the zipper. Calum whistled as I stood only in the skirt and my bra, leaning on his forearm with a smirk.

“You expect me to let you leave looking like that?” His suggestive tone made me flush, and I pulled the turtleneck over my head with a shy smile.

“I’m actually really nervous,” I admitted, fiddling with my hair and wondering how much makeup I’d need to cover the dark circles under my eyes. Calum leaned back onto the disarrayed pillows that we’d strewn about during last night’s antics.

“You have no reason to worry, you’re like the smartest, most collegey person I’ve ever met.” Although his eyes were closed and his tone was breezy, I took his words to heart. It touched me that he saw me so highly, and for a second I wondered if this is what it felt like to have him as my boyfriend. Someone supportive who helped me achieve my dreams, someone to come home to after a long day to unwind and just be with.

Shaking my head, I forced these thoughts out of my head. Calum was not my boyfriend, and I didn’t want him to be. He was just saying what I wanted to hear, and his voice was breezy because he didn’t really care. Swiping on some mascara and enough concealer to brighten my complexion, I exhaled deeply. You’ve got this.

Not wanting to seem clingy or overly invested, I simply stepped into my black heels and grabbed my bag, giving Calum a distracted goodbye before leaving him behind. As I descended the stairs I missed him already, yearning for his touch and his gaze.

Hannah caught me before I left, piece of toast in her hand as she hugged me, careful not to get crumbs on my crisp blazer.

“You’re gonna kill it, Scar,” she declared. “Seriously, this college is gonna be begging just to have you enroll.”

I nodded, letting her words give me some encouragement. “I hope so. I hope I’m not a desperate, fumbling mess.”

She straightened my blazer and flattened my hair with a smile. “You don’t look like a mess from the outside.” I gave her a grateful hug before hurrying out the door, making sure to get to the bus stop on time. I’d contemplated asking Calum to drive me, since it was easier, but that approached boyfriend territory. So instead, I took a seat on the crowded public bus and braced myself for the upcoming meeting.

The campus was smaller than my other school, but that was to be expected. The groundskeepers clearly did their best trying to spruce up the boring landscape with sculpted bushes and brick paths. The buildings were plain but architectural, with lots of windows and glass roofs. For such a small, cramped college it could have been a lot worse. I felt slightly embarrassed to be downgrading so much from the fancy university I’d previously attended, but then I reminded myself that a degree was a degree.

I found the building I was meant to be in and located the advisor’s office rather quickly. A plump, kind-faced secretary told me Ms. Price would be with me in a few minutes, and I took a seat by a big window. Some students were milling about below, and I imagined myself here. Just the prospect of getting back to school was exciting, no matter where I went.

Five minutes passed by in a flash, and then I was seated in front of Ms. Price herself, crossing my legs to fight off my nerves. She was a middle-aged woman with short, wispy red hair and leathery skin. I watched as her eyes scanned my records, glancing over the notes about my parents’ death and my subsequent bankruptcy, but all this information did was make her brows lift slightly.

Her unreadable expression deterred me, and for a second I panicked that she was going to reject me. But then she snapped the file closed and laced her fingers together, thin lipstick-rimmed lips tilting into a polite smile.

“Well Miss Mercer, your transcript speaks for itself.” I smiled slightly as she confirmed my earlier estimate. “Your grades are immaculate, and I’m surprised you’re such a put-together young woman after everything you’ve been through.”

I smiled graciously. “School was my motivation through it all, really. I just want to get my life back on track, and that means finishing my degree.”

Ms. Price nodded. “A wise decision. An education will do you well later in life. I assume you have a career path laid out for yourself?”

“Yes, I’d like to become a social worker. My degree is in psychology, but I have a focus in counseling.” Bringing up my future goals reminded me how desperately I wanted to achieve them. Even though my fling with Calum was fun, I also wanted my professional life to start as soon as possible so I could settle down.

Sifting through a few papers and peering over her glasses, Ms. Price was quiet for a moment. I took her long pauses to just be results of her no-nonsense, blatant disposition. She wasn’t going to shower me in praise, which was fine. All I needed was confirmation of my enrollment.

Finally, she said, “You have your finances in order? Community college is less expensive, but still an expense all the same.”

I nodded. “Yes, I have a steady job that should help me pay for it.” I could even afford to move out with Hannah, if I wanted to, but that was still a huge proposition that I was not all that inclined to take.

Ms. Price gave a final nod of her head, and set down the papers in her hand. “Well then, Miss Mercer, I don’t see why we can’t admit you for the next semester.”

Pure jubilation flooded through me, and I tried to keep my wild grin contained and professional. Reaching out to shake her hand, I thanked Ms. Price profusely. “This means the world to me, ma’am, truly. I won’t let you or the college down.”

My exuberance must have cracked her resolve a little, because she gave me an amused expression. “I’m quite sure of it, dear.”

It was all I could do not to skip out of the office. I felt on top of the world, and I whipped my phone out to spread the good news. For a second my finger hovered over Calum’s number, and I wished I could call him up to gush about my success. But then I kept scrolling and called Hannah instead. She picked up instantly and I practically screamed the news at her, causing her to scream herself. I wandered through campus with a stupid smile on my face, rushing my words as I tried to articulate my excitement.

“We have to celebrate tonight,” I insisted. “After my shift, we should do something.”

“Totally,” Hannah confirmed. “I’ll rally the troops.”

I hung up and sighed, thinking about how I would celebrate with Calum specifically. I let the stupid grin shine on my face as I stared up at the bright sky. Things were better than good right now; they were damn near perfect.

- - - - -

Roger gave me the biggest hug I’d ever received when I told him about getting into community college, and even Mack emerged from the back room to congratulate me. He jokingly warned me not to prioritize school work over my work here, and I vowed nothing would ever be more important than making coffee. I also filled Roger in on my recent activities with Calum, and he swooned with each story. Roger insisted we were made for each other and needed to just get married already, and I always waved him off. That comment was too close to Hannah’s soulmate explanation, and I refused to get my hopes up.

The shift ended quickly, thankfully. I was so excited about the night out that time seemed to fly by unusually fast. I sprinted home and burst through the door, finding Hannah in the kitchen and giving her a tight hug.

She pulled back and pretended to get choked up. “I’m just so proud,” she said emotionally, wiping an invisible tear from her eye. “My little girl off to college--again.” We laughed, and I tentatively smiled at Luke over her shoulder. He shot me a thumbs up, and my anxiety lessened. I think I was finally back to normal with Luke and Michael after a rocky few weeks, and I was grateful. I loved them as friends, and wanted to celebrate as a group.

I was surprised to see Ashton in the living room, and even he managed to offer up a sincere congratulations. I sent Hannah a glance, full of wordless questions that she pursed her lips at. One tilt of her head towards the basement told me she’d fill me in later.

“So, are you joining us tonight?” I asked Ashton after the excitement over my news died down. “You’re more than welcome to come, I want everyone to have a good time.”

Ashton nodded, not looking at Hannah. “Yeah, should be fun.”

I followed Hannah downstairs to start getting ready, throwing off my blazer before crossing my arms with an expectant look. “Well? When the hell were you gonna tell me about Ashton?”

Hannah fell onto the pullout bed from the couch, shrugging with a small smile. “There’s nothing to tell, really. We...talked, recently. Decided to be civil.” She shrugged again. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be the same, but at least now we can be in the same room again.”

I knew she was secretly overjoyed at being on speaking terms with Ashton again, but it was smart not to get her hopes up. We had both worked on this, now careful and cautious instead of overly optimistic. We got ready to go out together, curling each other’s hair and critiquing outfits. The dress I wanted to wear was up in my room, so I padded upstairs with my hair and makeup done.

Emerging into my room, I saw the bed had been sloppily made and the pillows rearranged. I smiled; it was a thoughtful gesture from Calum. I slid the white skirt down my legs, tossing off the turtleneck and breathing in relief as the restricting fabric was finally off. I found the dress I’d been searching for, pulling it out triumphantly. It was made of a royal blue crushed velvet material that hugged my body perfectly. I’d bought it recently with Hannah, and was excited to show it off tonight. I hoped one person in particular noticed it, or more importantly how good I looked in it.

As I fumbled with the zipper, there was a knock at my door. Calum peered in, and I smiled. “Perfect, get over here. I need your help.”

He shut the door behind him, taking in my appearance as he approached. I turned around so he could reach the zipper, inhaling sharply as I felt his fingers at the base of my back. He stood very close to me, breath washing over my neck as he gently pulled the zipper up. His knuckles grazed my exposed skin as the dress began to cover it, and when he finished he ghosted his fingers across my shoulder and down my arm.

“I heard the news,” he murmured into my ear. “Congratulations.” I turned to face him, resting a hand on his chest. His brown eyes sparked slightly, and his full lips were upturned in a small smirk. I leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips, and I felt him smile into my mouth. Just like always, heat spread out from our point of contact, and I felt my fingers tangle into his curls. His large hands cupped around my waist, pulling me close until I broke the kiss off.

“This is new,” I commented, running my fingers over the army green fabric of his bomber jacket. The color complimented him well and I admired the way it fit his broad shoulders.

He rolled his eyes at my obvious ogling. “I do go shopping, you know.”

I laughed. “Really? Most of your tee shirts have holes in them.”

Calum’s smirk transformed into a smile, making the butterflies flutter in my stomach. “You don’t seem to mind the holes when you’re wearing them,” he said darkly, and I felt a familiar heat building in my stomach. I gave him another kiss, dragging this one out slightly longer.

“Maybe I could wear one later tonight,” I suggested, hinting at another round of late-night antics. Calum snorted, squeezing my bum lightly.

“You can’t tease me like this when we’re at the club, you know,” he informed me, and I sighed.

“Fine. I guess I’ll save all the teasing for after, then.” At my seductive wink, he groaned, and I ducked away from his attempt at a kiss, giggling at his frown. We joined the others downstairs, and I saw Hannah and Ashton awkwardly standing next to each other. Hannah’s shoulders were stiff due to their proximity, but even with her tight posture she still looked good in her blush pink dress. Ashton was clearly trying not to look at his ex in such a short dress, and cleared his throat when Calum and I entered.

“Can we go, already? I’ll drive Luke and Scarlett, you take Michael and Hannah.” Ashton signaled to Calum, who nodded curtly. Already our bodies naturally drifted away from one another like they always did in public. I didn’t mind riding separately since we weren’t supposed to be dating and the guys thought we didn’t care. I watched Calum head for his mustang and already missed his warmth, but pushed away this feeling as I climbed into Ashton’s car.

I chatted with Luke about our shifts at work, me relaying a story about a crabby customer and him complaining about his boss. Ashton chimed in every now and then, which I appreciated. I really did like Ashton, despite being on Hannah’s side in their civil war. I just hoped he would forgive her soon, because I knew how much she was still hurting.

We tried out a new club tonight, this one bigger and grander than the ones we’d previously been to. It was mobbed, and I had to hold Hannah’s hand to keep from losing track of her. I wanted Calum to grab my hand too, but didn’t let the disappointment get to me that much when he didn’t.

Michael ordered a round of shots and dedicated a toast in my honor. We all knocked back a shot and I felt the fiery liquid blaze down my throat. I managed not to cough, and instead grabbed another. Calum was to my left, and he watched me take a second shot with sparkling eyes.

“Easy, killer. I don’t want to have to carry you home.” He was joking, but his hooded eyes gave me a different impression. I could tell he was savoring my appearance under the roving lights, watching me down shots and smile carelessly. I licked my lips, tasting a hint of alcohol, and gave him a coy wink.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” I purred, causing his jaw to clench. “But for now, I’m gonna go dance.” I knew Calum wasn’t a fan of dancing, but I knew watching me from a distance would kill him. I grabbed Hannah’s hand and wove through the crowd until we found a good spot on the dance floor. Hannah threw her arms around my neck with a grin, and we danced to the loud remix playing over the thundering speakers. Our hips swayed and our feet jumped, throwing our hair back as we let ourselves succumb to the night.

I felt multiple pairs of eyes on us, and glanced around to check who was looking. To my surprise, Ashton had his eyes glued on Hannah, and I whispered this in her ear. Immediately, a stupid grin spread onto her face as she let out a laugh.

Calum was also watching me, but his eyes were much darker than Ashton’s. His fingers were tight around a scotch glass, and his tense posture told me everything I needed to know. He wanted me, and the distance between us was driving him crazy.

With an evil grin, I told Hannah I’d be right back and began to move toward the bathroom. Without even looking I knew Calum was following me, and my grin only widened when we both entered the small bathroom alone. The click of the door locking made the hair on my neck stand up, and I sat back against the sink. Calum stayed by the door, brows low over his eyes as he smirked at me under the dim lighting.

I shook my head, making a tsk tsk sound. “For someone who’s trying to keep our fling under wraps, you sure can’t keep your eyes off of me.” I knew mocking him was dangerous, but I loved making him squirm.

Calum pushed off the door and came closer to me, hands sliding up my sides as he sighed. “What can I say? Seeing you like this does things to me.”

He leaned in to kiss my neck, and I let my eyes close as I exhaled in bliss. He sucked at a point below my ear, causing my hands to grip at his biceps. I angled my lips toward his ear, whispering, “And what things would that be, exactly?”

I heard a small groan rumble in his throat, and he pulled back to meet my devilish eyes. His fingers closed around my wrist, pulling my hand down his front all the way to his pants. I felt the mound growing there, grinning as he sucked in a breath when I pressed against it gently.

“Ah,” I responded. “That thing.” I lifted off of the sink and used one hand to push Calum back until he was against the far wall. His breathing was hard, brow furrowed in slight confusion as he anticipated what I would do. Grinning, I took his ear lobe gently between my teeth and tugged, eliciting another groan.

My hands, now experts at working his belts, toyed with the buckle until it released. I then undid the button of his jeans, leaving a trail of wet kisses along his jaw as I did this. I placed a chaste kiss on his lips before looking through my lashes into his eyes, dropping to my knees and causing his eyes to spark with lust.

Delicately, I pushed his jeans aside and revealed his straining boxers, smiling slightly as I kissed down his stomach and gradually bringing my lips lower. I pulled the elastic band down, revealing a soft trail of hair before running my hand along the smooth skin, springing his erection free. I admired his long, stiff length, touching my fingers ever so slightly to the warm skin. Gently grabbing hold of it and bringing it towards my lips, I let a warm breath wash over the throbbing tip.

Calum groaned at the sensation, and when I glanced up I saw his eyes were shut with pleasure. I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, feeling it twitch with excitement. Leaning down, I slid my tongue up the side of his shaft, earning a muted growl of satisfaction. Reaching the tip, I closed my lips around the head of his cock, beginning to swirl my tongue around the warm skin.

“Shit,” Calum breathed when he felt my mouth on him. His hands wrapped into my hair as I sank my mouth lower onto him, taking as much of him as I could. He hit the back of my throat, and his hiss echoed in my ears as I used my hands to work the part I couldn’t reach.

I dragged his cock in and out of my mouth, tongue massaging as I went. My lips formed a tight O around him as I moved my lips, bobbing my head rhythmically. Carefully I used my tongue to lick at his slit, and his hips bucked forcefully. Grinning, I pulled him out of my mouth and used my hand for a second, licking around his tip teasingly.

“Holy--” Calum started, gripping my hair tighter. His cock was rigid and trembling now, telling me he was close to finishing. I licked the flat of my tongue back up his length, then took all of him in my mouth once again. I moved faster this time, focusing on getting as much of him as I could. Swear words echoed in my ears as he unwound above me, fist banging against the wall to keep from moaning too loudly.

I pushed him against my throat particularly hard, and when I heard his strangled cry I knew he had been pushed over the edge. His cock twitched in my mouth, shooting out a sticky liquid that I promptly swallowed. I slowly took him out of my mouth, kissing his swollen tip before rising off of my knees.

Without hesitating, Calum smashed his lips to mine, not caring where I’d just been. He kissed me with a fervor, and I felt waves of gratitude rolling off of him. I grinned into the kiss, happy to have pleased him so much. When he pulled away to redo his belt, I sucked at his neck and kept my hand on the side of his face.

He caught my eye and smirked at my triumphant expression. “You’re evil,” he growled, squeezing my hips and earning a chuckle from me. I pushed at a bit of hair that covered his forehead, marveling in his spectacular brown eyes.

“Only for you, baby,” I drawled. The smirk on my face faded as I saw something flash across his face. It was there for only a brief instant, but I saw the change nonetheless. His lust-filled eyes had warmed for a second, his expression more than just pleased that I’d gone down on him. The way he held me in his arms communicated more than he would ever say, and when his lips parted my heart stopped.

“We should go.”

Those were not the three words I was expecting. Anger at myself and humiliation at getting so excited over nothing pricked at my mind, and I couldn’t help but frown. What was I thinking? What about this situation was romantic? It was dirty, and hot, and definitely more than a little bit fun. But that’s all it was; I shouldn’t have been so stupid to look deeper into it.

He kissed me one last time before taking my hand and leading me out of the bathroom, and when he faced away I dropped my fake smile and took a shaky breath.

Calum and I separated for the rest of the night, like we normally did. We both tried to appear nonchalant, coming up with different excuses for where had just been. I danced with Hannah more, giggling when Luke and Ashton joined us. I danced with Luke while I spied on Ashton and Hannah, who were closer to each other than they’d been in weeks. Ashton’s hands were awkward on her hips, careful not to roam, and she looked stiff beside him. But I also detected a bit of optimism in her eyes when she gazed up at him, and I prayed he didn’t break her heart again.

When it was time to leave, I rode home with Calum this time. Hannah had asked me to switch in a hushed voice, and reading her wide eyes I knew she’d had a decent night. I was glad to switch, since it meant more time with Calum. I refused to let my slip up in the bathroom shake me, and instead met Calum’s eyes in his rear view mirror as Michael drunkenly explained something I couldn’t quite make out. Calum’s eyes were light and joking, and he pretended to nod along with Michael’s story. I leaned against the window and stared out at the dark night sky, pleasantly buzzed and positively exhausted.

It was no surprise when Calum and I went into the same room. Tonight it was his, since we’d stayed in mine the night before. We didn’t have a set routine, but we were so in sync we did the same thing anyway. He helped me unzip my dress, once again igniting sparks where his fingers touched. Neither of us had enough energy to do anything but sleep, and my eyes were already heavy.

As Calum pulled on sweatpants, his top half bare like usual, he tossed me one of his shirts. I caught it with deft hands and smiled, gladly diving into the dark fabric and inhaling the scent of him. His open arms invited me into bed as I crawled across the mattress, sighing into his skin and resting my head on his chest.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said after a few minutes of quiet. It was dark, and I could barely make out the tattoos on his skin. I smiled drowsily.

“Anytime.”

I could sense he wasn’t ready to go to bed yet, and shifted so I was looking at him. Even in the dim lighting I knew exactly what his face looked like, the angle of his jaw and the curve of his mouth. I reached a finger out to trace his lips, enjoying his soft breath on my hand.

“What are you going to do in the future? You know, after college?” I was surprised at his question, and my finger stalled in its movement. I felt his lips purse into the pad of my index finger, the gesture causing an odd squeeze of my heart.

I rolled over to lay next to him, hand spread out across his abdomen. “I would have said find a job, buy a house, settle down.” I fidgeted with the ends of my hair, staring up at the black ceiling.

“‘Would have’?” Calum repeated, and I could hear the frown in his voice. “You don’t want to do that now?”

I shrugged, my shoulder brushing his. “I don’t know. I used to have all these plans, I swear I knew exactly what I was gonna do down to the week.” I paused, remembering the old me who used to love writing in her planner. “And then my parents died and I left school. It seemed like life was telling me to stop making plans and just...live, you know?”

I wished I could see his face, gauge his reaction. All I heard was a small sigh. “I hate planning,” he replied. “It just opens up more opportunities to be disappointed.”

Surprisingly, this made a lot of sense to me. The dejection I felt whenever a plan fell through was tiring, and lately it seemed that was all that was happening. Without any expectations, I couldn’t be hurt when they didn’t work out. I realized Calum’s carefree attitude inspired this change in me; he opened my eyes to a different lifestyle, one I found myself enjoying. It was nice not knowing what we were, not having to conform to any boundaries or boxes. We could just be, whatever and whenever we wanted.

Laying beside him, our hearts beating in tune and our bodies in perfect harmony, I curled into his side and he draped an arm around me. I buried myself as deep into him as I could, closing my eyes as another realization hit me: maybe Calum wasn’t the one in love. Maybe it was me.

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qobiin · 5 years ago

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the trust of the heart

pairing: erasermic (aizawa x yamada)

genre: fluff, light angst | f2l au, high school au, canon-compliant

warnings: implied child abuse, emotional constipation

word count: 1759

summary: Hizashi is loud, obnoxious, and annoying at the best of times, but Shouta still likes him anyway.

Shouta makes sure to keep his head down as he enters the classroom.

He knows that none of his classmates would call out to him considering the fact that many of them often forget they are classmates in the first place, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be cautious. He remembers primary and middle school much too often to forget how cruel children can be. Not to mention that his shoulders are still smarting from last night as well when he returned home after curfew. Today he wants to keep to himself.

His lips spread into a thin line when he catches sight of the occupied seat beside his own, sighing deeply as he prepares himself for another loud and irritating day. No doubt his seatmate will never let him have the peace and quiet he has been hoping for since they first met the year before.

"Aizawa-kun!" Hizashi screeches, grinning at the approaching teenager.

Shouta doesn't bother waving or replying, hiding back a wince as he feels everyone's eyes momentarily stray towards them before looking away again. He sits down, pulling his notebook and pencils out of his backpack before rolling his shoulders back, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that gives him, and turning to give Hizashi his attention.

"What," is his sparse reply.

Hizashi continues to smile at him, used to Shouta's less than bubbly personality after spending a year in his company. "Kayama-senpai wants to get ice cream after school. Shirakumo-kun said he'll buy yours if you come with."

Shouta doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. "No."

"Please?" Hizashi pouts at him.

"No," Shouta repeats.

Hizashi leans towards him, always moving slowly enough to loudly broadcast his every move to Shouta. Honestly, Shouta is certain that Hizashi isn't capable of doing anything quietly. "What if I buy your ice cream for you instead?"

"Why would that change my answer?"

"Because that's what a boyfriend is meant to do and you can't refuse if it's a date," Hizashi jeers, waggling his eyebrows at Shouta when his expression remains unchanging.

"We aren't dating," Shouta replies, finally unable to stop his eyes from rolling.

A minute into the conversation, that's a new record for him when it comes to Hizashi and his ridiculousness. Before that, Shouta had been at fifty-five seconds. Now it's sixty seconds exactly. How much he wishes that was more of an accomplishment that the average person would appreciate.

Hizashi frowns then, still edging forward. "We went on a date last week."

Shouta blinks at him, surprised despite himself. "No, we didn't."

"We went to the aquarium, I paid for our tickets and food. You let me hold your hand and everything!" Hizashi rushes to say, his thin brows pinching together in distress.

"You insisted on paying," Shouta points out, the corners of his mouth dragging downwards as he is unable to stop himself from frowning. "And we were in the deep sea exhibit, you said you didn't want to lose me in the dark."

Hizashi gapes at him before deflating. "Man, just when I thought my luck was finally looking up."

Shouta studies him, taking in the defeated line of Hizashi's shoulders. His blonde hair sticking up in a tuft from the back of his head seems to wilt under Shouta's very gaze as Hizashi leans away from him. He turns until his entire body is no longer facing him and Shouta swallows back the sour taste in his mouth, not understanding why he is beginning to feel upset now that Hizashi has withdrawn from their conversation.

He should be ecstatic about this. Everyone knows how much Hizashi bothers him with his incessant talking and shouting, loud and unable to be ignored no matter how well Shouta tries to anyway. Hizashi leaving him alone is what Shouta has been trying in vain to achieve ever since they met... Right?

That question plagues him as class begins. Hizashi doesn't glance his way for the rest of their homeroom period, scribbling down notes in his messy scrawl and staring up at the chalkboard with a blank look on his face.

By the time English rolls around, Shouta has not torn his eyes away from Hizashi's side profile. He tracks the blonde boy's every move, a niggling thought in the back of his head that won't leave him alone as he continues to study Hizashi.

He just doesn't understand why he feels so dejected while looking at the boy who has pestered him into being friends for the past year. It is true that Hizashi got on plenty of Shouta's nerves, but they still became friends despite that. Regardless of how often Shouta has wished for Hizashi to simply let him be, he would not have allowed Hizashi to be around him so much if he didn't consider them as friends at the very least.

Shouta is capable of being friends with someone who irritates him on a daily basis. He is capable of being friends with Hizashi because despite all the negative emotions Shouta may harbor for him, he has never once felt the need to direct hostility in Hizashi's direction as he has his other classmates.

Hizashi is loud, obnoxious, and annoying at the best of times, but Shouta still likes him anyway. Shouta likes Hizashi despite all his misgivings because Hizashi has stuck by his side through Shouta's bouts of silence, quiet anger, and aversion to physical contact. Through the days where he will show up to class with dark bruises that Hizashi is well aware he did not receive in training but won't prod him insistently for answers about them either. Through Shouta's gruff answers and dazed expressions on those days where he cannot be bothered to pay attention to his surroundings and the conversations people try to hold with him.

Shouta knows that he is not an easy person to get along with at all. In fact, he is proud of being someone who is difficult to become friends with. It means that anyone who does manage to succeed despite all of Shouta's less than likable qualities is a genuine friend that Shouta won't have to worry about looking over his shoulder so much.

Even with how annoying Shouta believes him to be, Hizashi is still his friend and Shouta doesn't want him to think he cares so little for him. Because he does, care for him, that is. A lot if you were to force that out of him through gruesome torture but never of his own free will, of course.

Ah, that's the problem then, isn't it? Shouta has come to like Hizashi a bit too much.

Shouta sighs to himself as he finally comes to terms with his stupid emotions and wrenches his gaze away from Hizashi's less than happy expression beside him. Well, there's nothing for it. Shouta will have to put his pride aside and reassure his friend that his feels are reciprocated. After all, Hizashi isn't one to tease when it comes to Shouta and his abysmal love life or anyone's love life for that matter.

If Hizashi said they were boyfriends, then that was due to the fact that he truly had believed they were in fact romantically involved as of last week. Looking back on the afternoon they went to the aquarium together, Shouta can see how Hizashi easily convinced himself of this. Shouta still remembers the strange twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach that fell under his notice when Hizashi interlocked their fingers in the near darkness of the deep sea exhibit and continued to bubble within him until hours after leaving the blonde boy's company.

At the time, Shouta had merely ignored it. He was out with a friend who was excitedly leading him around while pointing out all the different fishes and making up backstories for them while he listened and occasionally offered his own suggestions to make the backstories more interesting. The feeling in his stomach was probably just indigestion or something trivial. It mattered little to him when he was enjoying himself for once.

Emotions are something Shouta does not have the best of skill with but he has always tried his best to be honest by his at the very least. Now is the time to put that into practice he supposes. It would not be fair to Hizashi otherwise.

So when they are dismissed for the lunch hour, Shouta reaches out and snags Hizashi's sleeve before his friend can bustle away.

"I want to apologize for what I said before classes began this morning," Shouta says as Hizashi turns to face him. "I did not know that you felt that way and did not mean to hurt your feelings."

Even behind the colored lenses of his glasses, Hizashi's eyes are a startling green that ignites that strange feeling in the pit of Shouta's stomach once more. Hizashi's brows pinch together as the rest of his face frowns, his usual excitement gone for the moment.

"It's fine, Aizawa-kun," Hizashi finally replies, a forced smile on his face that Shouta finds he despises. "I shouldn't have assumed so much and forced us into such an awkward situation."

"Months ago you said it was fine for me to simply call you by your name," Shouta responds with as he blinks rapidly at Hizashi. "I am late with reciprocating, but you can call me Shouta, Hizashi."

Hizashi's smile becomes more strained then, not looking like much of a smile anymore. "You don't have to do that."

"You're right, I don't," Shouta concedes before continuing onwards when it looks like Hizashi is about to say something else. "But I want to and that's what people do when they begin dating, right? Exchange names and such."

"I, ah, wouldn't really know," Hizashi admits, a faint blush blanketing his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. "I've never dated anyone before."

Shouta finds himself smiling, this bit of news pleasing him to his very core. "Me neither. A first for both of us then."

Hizashi nods, some of his usual excitement beginning to return to him despite the darkening blush spreading across his face. "So, you're up for it? Dating me, I mean."

"Yes," Shouta responds simply because truthfully, it never was much of a difficult question even with his uncanny ability to avoid speaking of his emotions out loud. "As long as you are as well."

"I am," Hizashi assures him with a grin, his green eyes twinkling under the classroom lights.

Shouta smiles back. "Good."

a/n: written for @cruria as part of the secret santa exchange held by @tdbkdkdiscord! sorry it’s so short, but i got this as a pinch-hit and i’m a very slow writer, so i really hope you like this (:

#erasermic #aizawa x yamada #shouta x hizashi #tdbkdkWE20 #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #oneshot #f:bnha #g:fluff #t:oneshot #p:aizawa/yamada #m: fic

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dazais-guardian-angel · 4 years ago

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This post has been sitting in my drafts since like mid-November around when I finished replaying the game, long enough for me to write and upload a fic about some of the concepts I wrote here, what the fuck. DGS brainrot is real. But aNYWAY finally, here are my massive thoughts on Unwound Future, the golden child of the PL series. This is literally *checks* 8k words, because I can never shut up!! and because there is just SO much going on in this game at all times, so many different interweaving plot threads and funny moments and incredible, fascinating characterization, especially combined with the games that come after it; I just had SO much to say. So much analyzing and headcanons and crying galore. :’) There’s a reason this is considered the best game, and that’s why I had so damn much to talk about.

behold the incoherent, rambling, unconnected mess of a novel that I hope makes a modicum of sense under the cut:

Continuing the trend, this game has simply AMAZING graphics/art/music, with a huge uptick in cutscenes and voice acting, and I feel like the sound/music quality is greatly improved too? I love the main bgm for London in this game, never really remembered loving it before, but it’s just *chef’s kiss* and so is the song that plays in other areas like the hospital and subway

Quickly mentioning the gameplay, I really love all the minigames, and the storybooks are especially hilarious to play with putting the wrong things in the spaces to create mad libs-esque crack that makes no sense; it’s so fun lmao

The beginning flashback segment with the time machine demonstration is honestly just so funny, for so many different reasons: Dimitri droning on and on with time travel technobabble while Luke, Bill, Chelmey, and Barton represent the definitive last four brain cells. Hershel being skeptical about successful time travel after all the magical shit they went through just like a year or two ago. The way that Bill’s sprite slowly and nervously shuffles onscreen after Dimitri calls him to the stage, like omg I don’t know why that cracks me up so much but it does. Dimitri’s lowkey savage shade he’s throwing at Bill throughout this whole thing. The way Bill says “wHAT” when Dimitri asks him to help, clearly about to shit his pants. Dimitri just standing there completely unfazed as the smoke from the machine flies past him. And of course, “sOmEtHiNg’S gOnE vErY wRoNg!”

…okay but in all seriousness, am I just stupid or do they never explain how they get Bill to the underground city, like the machine CLEARLY explodes with him in it, there was no secret elevator built into the thing like at the clock shop, so…???

also the presenter’s voice is really funny lmao

Still disagree that this is the biggest mystery they’ve ever encountered, despite being near the top; Luke you say that literally every game!! so what is the truth!!

Spring’s face is terrifying as FUCK in the two cutscenes in the clock shop… why they decided to show both of them in ominous, shadowed lighting in those scenes I do not understand a;lskdl;fds

I need someone to draw a diagram of how exactly the shop looks as a giant elevator because frankly I still can’t wrap my brain around it-

THE FACT THAT WE NEVER GET TO MAKE UP WITH HAZEL IS A TRAVESTY, HONESTLY

Belle… why…… ugh

Wish they’d had “Schrader” drop a casual nod to the events of Diabolical Box; it would have been cool :’) (especially since this is Paul so he’d know about all that)

College-age Hershel is just….. the pinnacle of adorableness. someone protect him from all the pain

One of the few flaws/plot holes in the story of Unwound Future that I only noticed during this replay with more media under my belt, is the that the developers didn’t really decide on what kind of time travel they wanted to portray, or more likely just didn’t scrutinize Clive’s fake role enough when writing it. This is blatantly obvious upon the very first meeting with Clive where he desires to test Hershel to make sure he’s really him. Obviously in a closed loop scenario, everything Luke and Hershel are doing “Future Luke” should remember doing himself in his past, so a test would not be necessary; this is a major trip-up on his part that it’s very odd Hershel doesn’t notice for how smart he is, imo. However, later on when meeting “Future Layton”, Paul calls Dimitri out on this exact principle, proving that he’s not actually Future Layton because he doesn’t remember the absence of a pen in Hershel’s pocket in this moment in his past, and it’s a nice little touch that Paul, on the other hand, an actual scientist, would mention this. Back to Future Luke, though, he should know how everything goes down with stopping Future Layton, because he lived it all as a child with Hershel, which makes it even more dubious to the fact that after seeing all this, Hershel still goes dark and everything plays out the exact same way it’s portrayed in the “future” of the game; it’s the idea that destined fate can’t be changed, but the suspension of disbelief is quite high, especially since we already doubt that Hershel would ever do such a thing, knowing what kind of person he is. Of course this wouldn’t be the case in an open-loop/branching timelines universe, but since the game uses the former type with the pen argument (and something else important I’ll mention in a second), I feel like the rest of the game should have adopted this idea as well and addressed it. Because Dimitri is outed via the fact that he should have memory of things he doesn’t, so it would have been easy to simply add Hershel adding that argument into his final explanation in the bar (”my suspicions were first raised when we first met Big Luke, and he didn’t know if I was really who I said I was- [etc etc]”). Even if they didn’t want Hershel to bring this up early else the entire story would fall apart, they could simply draw attention to the fact that he notices something in these moments, like with a “...” or “Hmm”, and then he explains it at the end like I said. Interestingly enough, Clive actually addresses these concepts at one point in the game with Luke in the statue plaza: he doesn’t want to tell Luke how things play out in his future, so that… things play out the way they’re supposed to…? Even though his entire story here is that he wished Hershel hadn’t gone dark and distanced from him, and ruined the city? But then he makes the suggestion that they could instead be operating on an open-loop/multiple timelines system, where in his past he never travelled to the future, but in our Luke and Hershel’s timeline they do. This is only a hypothetical he gives though, with him seeming unsure of how things truly are, which… again, in this story he’s concocted, he should know for sure, because if he doesn’t “remember” time traveling and how everything went down, then they’re operating on different timelines and it shouldn’t matter how much he tells Luke about his future. You can definitely argue that in-universe Clive didn’t think all this through when planning his dialogue for this role (but I honestly find that hard to believe, since he’s so intelligent, and he nailed the realism of everything else to a T), but it’s obvious just that the writers didn’t think it through, because like I said Hershel really should have picked up on his blunder when they first met, as well as later when Clive is surprised to see Flora suddenly with them and didn’t know for a fact that she and Chelmey/Barton would arrive there. Since the time travel scenario in 99% of the game isn’t actually real, I don’t entirely fault the writers for not getting every single detail right… and yet, that 1% exists where time travel is real, with Claire’s situation. It’s a very isolated incident though that wouldn’t be replicated, with only her going to the future… and yet, she does return to the past again, if only for a split second before dying and thus not enough time to do anything with her future knowledge, the real thing to note here being that they took care to show that she was wearing the same outfit when she died that she gets in the future, one she wasn’t wearing when she entered the lab originally. So they DID think about some things very well, like such a minor and easily-overlooked detail here (but that blows your mind once you realize it). All this is hardly enough to ruin the game or break the immersion completely though, especially since the player is already predisposed to heavily doubt everything with PL’s “the town is a lie” track record lmao, but I can’t help but be bothered by it now after playing games like Zero Escape and watching time travel shows like netflix’s Dark, which have bootstrap parodoxes and timeloops galore looool. My friend who watched me play the game blind this time around brought up all these questions as Clive said things, as someone who didn’t know if it would end up being real or not, and so I spent a lot of time puzzling (har har) it out with her… even though it wouldn’t matter lmao.

……In short, if it wasn’t obvious, despite Unwound Future’s time travel setup being completely fake, I’m really fascinated by the notion of how it would all work if it was real. >.> …and I mean, I know I’m not the first one; monocle Layton aus are popular, after all, but I don’t really care quite as much about the allure of an “evil Layton” as I do just about how everything else would be, I think.

Because, like, lets be real? taking the prequels into account with Unwound Future’s proposed setup, the potential is endless. It honestly KILLS me that the prequels didn’t exist yet at the time of UF, because!! so many people from Hershel’s past!!! SO MANY REASONS FOR HIM TO WANT TO HARNASS TIME TRAVEL AND CHANGE THE PAST, NOT JUST FOR CLAIRE’S SAKE. FOR RANHENGELA’S SAKE. FOR LUKE AND EMMY’S SAKE. FOR HIS PARENTS’ SAKE. FOR DESMOND. listen, listen, you don’t understand how much the idea of Desmond being involved in UF’s concepts destroys me. I wrote about this in my last fic but. imagine if Desmond learned about Hershel going down a dark path for his sake and everyone else’s, just like he did. Or imagine if, instead of Hershel being the one to do it, it was Desmond himself; he’s willing to play the bad guy once again, one very final, this time definitely final, time, if it means he can undo everything that caused all of them so much pain in the first place: his betrayals, the death of his former wife, he and Theodore’s separation, their father’s betrayal, ALL of it, and Hershel would never know. When Luke first is like “oh it’s gotta be Don Paolo right” and Clive says no, i LITERALLY screamed “BUT IT COULD BE DESCOLE!!”. JUST. PAIN. And where would Randall be in this future; what would he, too, think if it was Hershel going after time travel? Imagine him trying to smack some sense into him just like Hershel does in MM, trying to tell him that despite those lost 18 years of his life, despite everything wrong he ended up doing, he’s still happy, and so are Henry and Angela. So is Desmond. And Emmy, she wouldn’t want undone those years she had with Hershel and Luke and then Aurora and Desmond, despite how sadly it ended. Just… so much pain. So much potential. I hurt :’)

and adding on to this, i love love LOVE the idea of Clive knowing about some of this stuff in Hershel’s past, in order to faithfully play his role as Future Luke. Like obviously he wasn’t in Misthallory with them all, he wasn’t on the island in ED, he wasn’t at Monte’dor, and he wasn’t on the Bostonius or at all those Azran ruins that I can’t remember the names of right now, of course he wouldn’t know the intimate, specific details of what all went down, but if there was just one npc who was in the right place at the right time at any of these locations, who knows what beans they could spill? Maybe even an ex-Targent person or something. Hell, fucking Bronev is in jail for at least a little while before the events of UF. There are possibly MANY people Clive could have gotten information from to pull off this role - he’s a reporter, he’s skilled at digging for stuff. Not to mention just reading and hearing about large incidents in the news. And this makes his character so much better because he’s admired Hershel for so long, grateful that he saved his life all this time, to the point that he asks him to unknowingly come and save him again… and he most definitely didn’t know back when he first encountered Hershel that he’d already experienced so much loss and pain as well (some of which Hershel hadn’t even gone through yet by that point), but learning about everything he’s suffered? I think it would really affect him, and possibly contribute to why he asks him for his help in the first place in UF: because Hershel has suffered just as much as he has, and he feels a connection to him, feels like he can relate to him, and wants someone who can empathize with him, and show him how to cope. All of these reasons and emotions would probably be completely on an unconscious level, but they would exist - he’d use this limited but meaningful knowledge to try to connect with Hershel more when he’s still in Future Luke mode, to try to convince him he’s really Luke, at first, but unconsciously it’d be an effort to get closer to him emotionally, which is what he truly desires deep down, until his so-called act somewhat stops being an act, and talking about these things makes his vulnerabilities start to show (again, i wrote a fic about this). This all just adds to why Hershel is the perfect person to help and support Clive - the prequels make their similarities even stronger, more than just with Hershel losing Claire, and those accidental parallels when the writers hadn’t even conceived the prequel trilogy at the time of UF are just *chef’s kiss* beautiful.

THE CASINO SCENE IS JUST ICONIC, IT’S SO FUNNY. LUKE BEING SCARED OF THE SHOOTING AND HERSHEL JUST DITCHING HIM. CLIVE’S LITTLE HOP AND ROLL BEHIND THE SLOT MACHINES. THE SLOT MACHINE GUN IN GENERAL. THE CLONE FAMILY MEMBERS FALLING OVER LIKE DOMINOS UPON BEING HIT. BOSTRO CRYING AND SPLINTERS AND LOCKJAW RUNNING IN CIRCLES PANICKING WHILE LAYMAN JUST IS LITERALLY PUSHED BACK SLOWLY WITH ONLY A CHAIR TO DEFEND HIMSELF, I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW FUNNY LAYMAN AS A CHARACTER IS TO ME. it’s just so glorious, oh my god. this series is ridiculous i love it so much lmao

Luke wanting to use the time machine though… there are so many reasons why he might want to, mainly from Azran Legacy. :’)

The statue is the worst thing ever for multiple reasons. The fact that it represents Hershel & Luke’s relationship, the two main characters, who have been through so much together and have such a strong bond that can never be broken, and how it ties into the whole Evil Layton scenario and seems to foreshadow that their bond does end up breaking, as “Future Luke” seems to be proof of (though the game doesn’t really put much emphasis on this; Luke is more worried about the fact that he’s moving away soon straining their relationship, and not the whole Future Layton thing. imo it would have been interesting to see his actual thoughts on/feelings about it, since he’s surprisingly calm throughout the entire game before the reveals happen; you can argue he just has complete faith in Hershel and doesn’t think he would ever go dark, but then why doesn’t he bring this up, insist that this can’t be true? I think he should have). The fact that as I just said it foreshadows how Luke will leave Hershel at the end of the game, something that Luke worries about later on in the game. And most of all, the biggest, worst thing it foreshadows… Hershel’s relationship with Clive. Clive had that statue made himself, put it in his giant set. He WANTS that kind of mentor-student bond with Hershel, that’s how he sees them, just from their one interaction in front of the exploding buildings… or at least, that’s how he wants to see it. He sees how close Hershel and Luke are throughout the entire game, and he yearns for that kind of bond with Hershel, too. The fact that the boy in the statue story has an illness that he eventually dies from, but that their friendship withstands… it’s probably meant to represent Clive’s insanity, that he hopes Hershel will save him from - he is Clive’s light of hope in his despair. Or, to be more accurate to the statue, even if Clive’s madness ends up killing him (which it very nearly does, and by that point he fully expects that it will), he’ll still have had those memories of that time he spent with him, and Hershel will never forget him, and that will mean something special. man though can you imagine an AU where Clive is literally terminally ill too, and that’s why he’s yolo-ing this entire thing so hard and doesn’t care if it ends up killing him in the end, at least he got to be with Hershel one more day; ahahahaha turn up the angsttttttttttttt-

Shmelmey and Shmarton do not at all look like Chelmey and Barton, smh

For everything Clive accounted for with his role and setting, he’s honestly way too rude and crass sometimes to be Luke lmao, even if you try to imagine a world where Hershel did go dark and Luke was changed by it… at least imo

the like 4 puzzles that give Clive’s solving animations/dialogue are the most serotonin-boosting things in the world

“you will come back, won’t you?” Clive asks Hershel about his trip to visit Chelmey, desperately wanting him to stop him before it’s too late :’)

Rosetta and her....... sessions....... with Hershel........ hajkkALSKDLD

Okay but Hershel is kind of dickish sometimes though, despite his whole “gentleman” thing??? There’s the elephant in the room which I’ll Get To, but like first he guilt-trips Chelmey into getting him access to confidential information about the lab explosion, and then he has the absolute balls to tell him “Bill Hawks is being held in the future” and that’s IT. No explanation, nothing else, just THAT, and then he LEAVES, after he’d promised to share every last detail with him. I don’t blame Chelmey at all for tailing them and barging in to get information himself, like damn Hershel, why so savage sometimes in not a good way

which brings me to Ranting About Flora’s Treatment, Part 3: The Finale. Y’all I literally cannot even BEGIN to describe how much the way Hershel and Luke treat Flora in UF specifically makes me seethe..... It was already bad in DB, no doubt, but in this game they are straight-up rude to her, mostly Hershel, for absolutely no reason, and I CANNOT fathom why. He constantly makes the excuse that he’s concerned for her safety, and that the places they’re going to are too dangerous for her, but it all exudes a level of thinly-veiled annoyance, even confusion as to why Flora is so upset that they never bring her along and wants to go with them at all... almost like her “frail” feminine appearance (which isn’t helped by how the games make her feel sick or dizzy or tired multiple times), compared to someone like Emmy who could fight and has more masculine traits, means she’s less capable in Hershel’s mind, which, like, even if it’s unconscious on his part... how about no?? I could accept being worried about her, even if I’m still frustrated at her being left behind, and her constant kidnapping (which isn’t Hershel’s fault, even if he probablyyy could do a better job both times at protecting her), but I CANNOT excuse how short and dismissive Hershel is with her in this damn game; it honestly borders on ooc to me for him, I don’t know what the writers were thinking; do they just hate Flora that freaking much??? He treats her like a burden the entire time, apologizes to people for her, acts irritated at having to accommodate for her, when poor Flora just wants to spend time with him and feel like an equal to him and Luke. Meanwhile Clive of all people is the first one to treat her with kindness and respect and pleasure to see her when they first meet, like when Luke bitches about Flora being excited to see the river and not taking things seriously and Clive tells him to go easy on her (Clive, the one who has been rushing them along this entire time himself). honestly can see why it’s so easy to ship them, when literally everyone else treats her like crap It’s SO depressing honestly. Flora asks them if they thought to wonder where her future self was, and Hershel is just like hhhhh we’re kinda busy thinking about... you know.... important things... sorry not sorry....... like BITCH I WILL STRANGLE YOU, BE NICER TO YOUR DAUGHTER!!! Luke at least is a kid, but Hershel??? there’s no excuse!!! Luke be like “damn I hope Becky doesn’t look down on us for leaving Flora behind... >.>” THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW IT’S NOT RIGHT BUT THEY DON’T CARE AND DO IT ANYWAY. I’M SO MAD

Beasly just gets... straight-up murdered yo... between him and Subject 3, what were they smoking when coming up with the animals in this game, jfc. Test subject animals?? that’s unnervingly dark, despite how glossed over it is and how hilarious Subject 3 is a;lksd

LUKE LOVES SHERLOCK HOLMES THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THE DGS CROSSOVER IS WAITING, LEVEL-5 AND CAPCOM. MAKE LUKE’S (AND MY) DREAMS A REALITY

the intentional zoom-in on Clive’s sinister face in front of the tower will never not amuse me, and baffle me as to why they drew attention to it lmaooo

And okay back to time travel bullshit shenanigans, WHY the fuck does Dimitri not pick up on why him not remembering about the pen is such a big deal as soon as Paul first brings it up?? bruh. bruh. aren’t you a fucking TIME TRAVEL SCIENTIST. WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW SUCH A BASIC CONCEPT THAT BREAKS YOUR WHOLE FACADE IN SECONDS. It’d be one thing if he just couldn’t provide the right answer, but no, he straight-up HAS NO IDEA WHY HE SHOULD HAVE TO KNOW ABOUT THE PEN. “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW-” bruhhhh. Dimitri. my dude. i love you but you are actually so dumb sometimes, like holy shit (more on this later though)

Paul talking to Dimitri about his plan is really good; he has a “...” moment before telling him what he’s doing can’t be excused, like “oh shit let me jump on board, wait fuck i gotta stay in character, Layton is a wuss he would never agree to this god dammit Layton-”. jokes aside though, I’m honestly confused as to how much he actually knew before Dimitri’s exposition in the pagoda, and why exactly he goes along with helping Hershel stop him... and what Dimitri was thinking roping him into this. Because I can’t really figure out Paul’s motives here and how they changed, if they did at all. The only information we get about how he first became involved is that Dimitri was paying him a lot of money to get Hershel to the pagoda and to him - he knows that “future London” isn’t real, he knows Future Layton isn’t real, so the extent of his knowledge seems to be that “this man wants to screw Layton over somehow and is giving me $$$ to get it done; there’s no downside here, never mind this suspicious as fuck fake London and all these people that shouldn’t be here”, but then Hershel gave him more information, probably that Claire was involved in what Dimitri was doing, and his concerns about a traitor being involved if he had already begun to suspect Clive by that point, and then he suddenly decided to turn against Dimitri? Even though you’d think saving Claire would be a reason for him to want to help him...? Or did he plan to turn against him from the very start, and wanted Hershel to come because he knew he could stop all this (part of his character development)? The latter is the most likely, though I still don’t entirely understand or maybe I’m just having a brain fart, that’s very likely too. And Dimitri on the other hand, did he know that Paul liked Claire too and would want to save her (and maybe about his salt for Hershel too), and that’s why he got his help? That makes more sense... but also doesn’t, cause as I said it seems like Paul didn’t know Claire was involved until Hershel told him and then Dimitri told everyone at the pagoda, so maybe he literally just said “here’s some money, help me fuck over Layton, not telling how” and just trusted in him that much, even though Paul is an evil genius who could and does put a stop to all his plans with his machines... once again, Dimitri looking dumb....

Clive, in the most deadpan voice ever at the top of the pagoda: oh no, the prime minister is in danger, someone help him

Flora as they’re escaping the tower: “professor no please take me with you instead of future Luke” Hershel: *ignores her feelings and makes a decision for her yet again* Clive: “shhh don’t worry Flora; i know i’m going to kidnap you in like an hour but i’m just trying to rescue you from these insensitive jerks. not Don Paolo though; he’s a gentleman.”

It’s interesting to me that Luke and Hershel keep acting as if Future Luke and future London are legit even after Future Layton has been revealed to be a fake. Hershel at least probably knows none of it is real by now, even if he hasn’t exactly figured out Clive’s role in everything yet, and is just not revealing his knowledge for now, but Luke is still rolling with it... wonder what’s going through his mind by this point. again, it frustrates me that Luke really has no emotional reaction to anything in UF, aside from the statue and his worries about leaving Hershel soon and how that in particular will affect their relationship

I also wonder what Clive is thinking by this point. Now that the Future Layton jig is up, what kind of story is he going with now? We never find out because Hershel reveals everything completely the next time Clive joins up with them again, but in the (unreasonable) case that he hadn’t, would Clive have just acted like he didn’t know that Alain Stahngun was actually someone named Dimitri, who was actually pretending to be Layton, and that the real Layton was somewhere else out there that they needed to find? I don’t know WHY I’m so interested in details like these that don’t matter at all in the long run a;lksdfklfd, but I am... he tells Flora to continue the “investigation” without him, so clearly he still had something in mind, and didn’t expect Hershel to out him quite so soon after that even if deep down he wanted it

Chelmey really cares for Barton and it’s actually so sweet, oml :’)

I didn’t really praise Paul’s character development in this game enough before, but I really do love it, even if I don’t quite understand the circumstances that started it. It’s not something I would have expected with how he’s presented in CV and DB, but it’s very nice to see this be the culmination of his character, and it’s kinda sad that it feels a bit more natural than Descole’s sudden shift in backstory/character between ED and MM/AL... It’s very funny and good to see him and Luke bicker at each other, and how he seems to have a soft spot for Flora... it’s all cute. I just wish there’d been a bit more time for him to talk to them, but that’s what fanfic is for

Don’t make me have to see Hershel beaten up in the street :’(

The sprite of Dimitri standing in the bar is incredibly hot.... damn why are all the older male characters my type >.>

Alright but it’s about time I finally talk about Dimitri without dissing him for being stupid sometimes and say that in short, I love him. He might even be my favorite new character in UF, even more than Clive; I don’t know if it’s just the Liam O’Brian Tragic Sexy Tired Villain effect or what (nah let’s be real, that’s a huge part of it lmao), but he’s fantastic and utterly breaks my heart, in a much more understated way than how the game shoves Clive’s angst in your face, but his tragedy is nonetheless impossible to ignore. The flashback with young Dimitri is my favorite scene in the entire game, it is devastating and feels so cinematic, so raw and painful, and I’m glad they animated that part because it humanizes him so much more. Claire was his everything, he loved her so much, but it is so obvious to me (and to a lot of the fandom too, I think) that his love was entirely selfless - he might have been a little sad, but he was still mostly content letting Hershel have her, and when it comes to after her death, Dimitri would have been absolutely happy not being able to have her if he managed to save her life; he just wanted her to live. He was in love with her, yes, but he also loved her, as a friend, as a scientist, as a person whose time was cut far too short for entirely selfish and unnecessary reasons, and the majority of his anger and bitterness and drive came from a desire to fix such an injustice - to save an innocent person’s life. And the saddest part of him doing all this and trying to sustain Claire’s existence in the present once he finds her, if you go with the closed loop time travel theory, is that Dimitri should already know it’s impossible for him to succeed in this as long as he remembers finding her body in the past - him succeeding would create a paradox, thus, he can’t save her. But he’s so deep in his despair and obsession and insistence on preserving her life that I don’t think he ever stops to think about this - or he does, but refuses to acknowledge it. I’m sure he was incredibly sweet and kind and soft in the past, with her, and with his passion, and it’s heartbreaking to see how broken he is now, how miserable and tired he is, how much everything changed him. And wanting to get back at someone like Bill, who had it all to begin with and then carelessly used them to gain even more, well, I don’t blame him for that. >_> Not to mention his relationship with Clive, which is all kinds of fascinating to think about: the most chaotic, dysfunctional mess of a half-business partnership half-father/son relationship there is, ahaha... Both of them are unhealthy to the extreme in different ways, but with how much time they spent together, it’s inevitable they had vulnerable moments around each other... Clive is the only other person Dimitri would have around during his research to possibly grow to care about, even if it was entirely unconsciously. Learning he was using him would, well, ruin their relationship even more than it was already messed up, but maybe he would visit Clive in prison at least once, assuming Hershel was. I just crave content for them, ugh. Dimitri just deserved so much better, he makes me so sad </3 and I honestly hate that we don’t get to see him say goodbye to Claire at the end before Hershel; sure it would have utterly killed me, but surely he deserved that much...

The utter, frankly amazing, stupidity of Flora’s kidnapping has been stated everywhere, we all know it, but just.... yeah. smh

Seeing the mobile fortress be like *war flashbacks to the Detragon* “Not This Shit Again” Hershel why tf you putting Luke in more danger AGAIN???

The car scenes with the mobile fortress are, at least to me, the funniest parts of the entire game, even better than the casino, oh my god they’re AMAZING. Luke screaming and flailing his arms while Hershel deadpan flings the car towards the fortress, all the bumps they hit riding across it later on, the car just FALLING and Bill almost falling out of it, and then the plane, all the while Hershel displays no more than mild frustration while everyone else is PANICKING... “a plane? This is an automobile!” ...iconic. top PL moments ever. Luke don’t you recall the time when Hershel built an entire mini plane out of a chainsaw and a barrel in ED, come on now

Onto Claire. Claire doesn’t get much screentime, but some of the moments she does have are very good; she’s one of the best and most fleshed-out female PL characters imo, and like a lot of things, I appreciate her a lot more after this replay than I did years ago... LayClaire is a cute ship and all, but I was never really obsessed with it; rather, I’m realizing now I’m more invested in what Claire has to offer by herself. I hate to use the term “strong female character” cause that sounds so cliche... but she really is strong. The entire part with her wanting to save Clive, their conversation, and her bringing him out... god it gets me, it really does. She’s known she’s going to die for ages, and at this point in the game she knows it could be any moment now, so she has no reason to try to keep herself safe; she’s doomed no matter what, so she might as well spend the last few minutes of her life saving another life, and not just anyone: someone who’s just killed countless people, who anyone else would see as insane, who doesn’t care for her, doesn’t care if he lives or dies - but Claire is compassionate enough that, despite everything, she fiercely believes he deserves to live. Because of her own guilt and sins she believes she bears, yes, but also simply because she believes he can still change, and doesn’t deserve to die, despite the HORRIBLE atrocity he just committed. She’s just that good a person. It’s no wonder she and Hershel loved each other and were made for each other; both of them are such kind, loving, selfless people who see the best in anyone no matter what. Perhaps she hoped and suspected that Hershel would look out for and care for Clive once he was in prison, so she wanted to make sure that could happen, even if she wouldn’t be around to ever see it.

sorry I just get really emotional about this part, about the entire mood and tone of Claire desperately trying to save this kid, and the way the camera focuses on the massive scale of the fortress and how it dwarfs them in size... It’s a really powerful and melancholic scene (just like Dimitri’s flashback scene; have I mentioned how much I adore the atmosphere and cinematic direction of this game? cause god I do) with the knowledge of her real identity and circumstances, the visuals and the music are so good, ugh i just have so many feels. mom Claire hurts me </3 she’s so good... Despite the fact that she dies, and so much of what everyone is doing is because of her death, her presence in the story is so strong, and it never feels like her only purpose is to die for everyone else’s development and that’s it (unlike... well, a lot of other pl females :’); she has her own things to do, she stops the fortress alongside Hershel, and literally saves the main antagonist’s life. Seriously I just adore the fact that she of all people is the one to rescue Clive in the end even though she wasn’t at all obligated to (although I’d be interested and cry over an AU where Hershel saves him instead; it honestly surprises me that he wasn’t going to until Claire said something...), because Clive is the only character (of the adults) who doesn’t have a direct relationship with Claire, but they’re still connected by the explosion, and so it makes for an interesting and terribly sad dynamic, even if they only have a few minutes with each other, for all the reasons I said earlier. Claire doesn’t think what he did was right, but she knows what she and the other scientists did wasn’t right either - and it’s too late for her now, but it’s not too late for him; she knows he has a kind heart, deep down, and that he needs help if he wants to redeem himself. She feels responsible for him, feels like she owes him that second chance, after indirectly taking his parents from him and causing him such misery and brokenness... She’s so brave and strong-willed to be able to do and admit all that she does; I just love her. It clearly kills her to leave Hershel, I don’t think she intended at first to ever let him know who she was (hence Celeste), but she’s not too upset in the end, because she (rightly) knows that he will be all right. ;; She’s so beautiful, too... wish we could have seen her interact with so many of the other characters </3

and so my favorite “insert Descole into the main trilogy” AU is where Descole intercepts Claire and makes some sort of body for her, like how everyone headcanons that for Aurora post-AL. (or/also just mobile fortress vs. Descole robots, that’s cool too lol)

And finally, Clive, the infamous star of Unwound Future, thought I talked about him a bit already (and also in this post a few weeks ago). Clive is probably the PL series’ best written villain Anton excluded, I absolutely love him, like everyone does. Nothing really about him hasn’t been done before elsewhere, but that’s not a bad thing; when I was younger and first played the game I really only paid attention to his sympathetic side, but now I’ve also grown an appreciation and fondness for that kind of unabashedly awful, manic, evil insanity a villain like him has, it’s just SO entertaining to watch. If PL was a more mature/higher rated series I’d love to see his chaotic crazed energy played up even more, just to really hammer in how messed up he is, ahaha, but of course that would make it harder to sympathize with him..... and unfortunately, it already is kind of hard, because.... shit, the number of people he must have killed? It’s a LOT. A FUCKTON. The level of sympathy the game gives Clive and the way it presents him at the end is not at ALL relative to the astronomical amount of people that had to have been squashed to death by his machine, to the point that it honestly makes me uncomfortable, and I try to just retcon that in my head, as hard as it is to imagine a scenario where that thing could have come up to London and not hit any houses, because like..... There’s no coming back from that. He knew exactly what he was doing, madness or not, and I honestly just... don’t want him to be such a mass murderer. Maybe it’s wrong to ignore it, but the game wants me to feel sorry for him and see his potential for redemption, and his relationship with Hershel is so good... dammit game, why’d you have to show those houses being crushed. Ugh. Because Clive is so compelling as someone who feels betrayed by people in power, who desires revenge not only for himself but for all the people who suffered just like he has that he says he bore witness to as a reporter; it’s a very relatable position and a good story, for his well-meaning intentions to be skewed and lost in the midst of his rage and despair and hatred and insanity, where his very valid point of “hey people in government are fucked up and don’t give a shit about us and that needs to change” gets turned into “they all need to die even if the very innocent people I want to save get hurt by this as well”, and I really wish that whole angle of it had been played up a bit more, and there had been more of an opportunity for Hershel to reason with him and argue that in the midst of his blind need for revenge, he’s become even worse than the people who need justice handed to them (cue some Descole allusionssss). He wouldn’t have to win him over, Clive is already too deep by that point despite how much he wanted to be stopped, but just having more of that than just what happens in the surveillance room would have been sooooooo good, I love that conversation. It would have made Clive even better and really drive home that he’s 1) kinda right about some things and wants better for people 2) still very fucking wrong and selfish at the same time and has taken it all way too far 3) very fucked up and broken. Not that the third point isn’t already abundantly clear, but... yeah. It would have given him even more depth, made him more sympathetic, and helped juuust a little to offset how much the game handwaves his mass murders... just a little... One of my favorite Clive scenes though is when the fortress is breaking down and he’s still there, desperately trying to save it, still in denial about the fact that all his plans have failed and that everything he’s done (and himself) is about to go up in flames; I know everyone loves making fun of him and that that scene is pretty memeable (he does get bodied so much in the game, lmaooo), but it makes him look so vulnerable, all alone in there by himself, like a child, which is what he really is, deep down: he never truly wanted to do something so abhorrent and evil, but his emotions and mind spiraled so badly out of control and it led him to such a dark, horrible place, where he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how much he wanted to, and in the end all he can do is watch helplessly as the reality of what he’s done and his unwound future all comes crashing down in front of him, never to be salvaged. And he believes wholeheartedly that he is going to die, that he deserves to (this is my favorite Clive scene; he’s so hurt and resigned, the voice acting kills me ugh), he doesn’t understand at all why Claire wants to save him, especially if he knows she’s one of the scientists (as his line of “why are you of all people helping me” implies), because he always thought none of them ever cared about him and people he saw as like him, thought everyone was like Bill Hawks, but Claire still cared enough to want to save his life, even though she was one of the people he was actively targeting with his revenge... I wonder how he would have felt at the time if he had known about her situation and that she was dying. </3 I just want so many good things for him, as so much of the fandom does. He’s so messed up but that’s what makes him so interesting, and his potential relationship with Hershel that the ending of the game suggests could happen is so touching and lovely and uplifting, one of my favorite kinds of relationships in fiction: Clive’s issues would persist for so long, for forever, really, but Hershel would support him and help him heal, and be there for him always, no matter how much Clive would feel like he didn’t deserve it. I eat this dynamic up, I really do, every single time I encounter it in a story, and it’s made even better by the fact that as I’ve said, Hershel has so much in common with Clive, and so they would get along very well for that reason, and Clive could unknowingly help Hershel just as much Hershel tries to help him. They’re so good for each other. Add Luke too, and Flora, and Desmond...! just ahhhhh........ there’s so much goodness. Clive you absolute glorious, fucked-up mess of a character, I love you. :’) and I love fic writers who explore facets of his personality and write about him. He’s only in one game, and there’s still a few hiccups, as I said, yet he’s handled far better than Descole or Randall in my opinion (though I love them too)... just an amazing fucking villain, and character. I wish UF could have gone deeper with him than it did, but even so, the possibilities with Clive are endless. I love him, so much ;;

and some of the themes of the plot in this game, uhh, hit a little close to home in good ole’ 2020/21 time we live in? :’) #FuckBillHawks

Hershel saying goodbye to Claire.... god. One of the top scenes in the entire series, probably the #1 most iconic I’d even go so far as to say. I don’t even really ship LayClaire, but there’s an indescribable emotion that finale gives me... it’s just breathtaking, in the most gutwrenching, nostalgic, beautiful way. I still maintain that Diabolical Box’s ending is sadder than this one, for a multitude of reasons, just comparing the stories and situations the characters are in, but I 100% don’t blame people for bawling at this scene more than any other, just because of the way it’s done yes I know I won’t shut up about the cinematography; the lighting, the camera angles, the pacing of it, Hershel’s fucking kicked puppy faces, the dialogue oh god the dialogue; it ALL hits like a TRUCK and comes together beautifully. At this point in his life Hershel has been through so much loss, so much so that it is unbearable - when he cries that he doesn’t want to say goodbye again, that he can’t say goodbye again, that he refuses to, nothing in the world is more true: this man has been through too much, and he’s hit his breaking point. even if you don’t have the prequels in mind when watching this, as most people don’t/didn’t the first time through, the overwhelming sense of burden and loss Hershel is feeling is so palpable, so painful - you get the sense that this isn’t just about Claire; Hershel has never shown emotion like this before up to this point, so for him to finally break down like this... it speaks volumes. After so many years of holding everything in, he finally can’t take it anymore, and basically stabbing me in the fucking chest would hurt less </3 I complain about Hershel never showing emotion like this (never crying) in the prequels whenever he’s hit with an equally horrible bombshell, and I still feel that way, but at the same time a part of me is also glad that’s the case, because it makes the very last (two) scenes in the entire series hit so much harder, knowing that he finally loses his composure after dealing with so much. As the titular character of the series, Hershel’s development is very understated and subtle, so it’s all the more meaningful when he actually snaps, because it makes him feel so much more real and human than he ever is the rest of the time, when he maintains his facade of being a perfectly composed, calm, and together gentleman; this scene finally say that, no, Hershel is a person, and he is broken in a lot of ways, because some puzzles you just can’t solve no matter how hard you try, and it’s so sad. And this sad tone of loss and longing permeates the entire cutscene; the way the title is dropped in Claire’s dialogue (both versions equally haunting imo), and Hershel taking off his hat for the first time ever, and the pan up and transition back to show the falling snow as “Time Travel”, my favorite instrumental in the series, kicks in... y’all there is no other feeling in the world like the feeling that elicits, there really isn’t ಥ⌣ಥ ❤️💔 the only thing that might even come close to it is the ending of Azran Legacy with Surely Someday, simply because it was the ending of the series, but the ending of Unwound Future hits me harder knowing it’s the end of the timeline, and with everything else in hindsight. And then an unknown amount of time later, even with Luke gone and Hershel only having Flora there with him anymore unless we headcanon DESMOND COMES BACK BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DID RIGHT, Hershel is still no longer wearing his hat, to show that he’s finally started to heal from his pain, and accepted the loss(es), because throughout all of UF Hershel had never really gotten over Claire’s death no matter how much he tried to pretend like he had, but you don’t realize that until you see the ending, until he got one final chance to see her. I just... ugh I love it so much, so much. It means so much, for Hershel and for the series, and that’s why it makes me cry (and don’t even get me sTARTED on Luke’s goodybe, and how upsetting yet beautiful THAT is. yes, Luke isn’t a gentleman yet, and Hershel finally learns that maybe he doesn’t always have to be one, either :’’’’’’)

Unwound Future is a masterpiece. Diabolical Box has my favorite characters and story for the new characters, and favorite settings, personally, but Unwound Future is such top-tier storytelling and writing; it feels so epic and sweeping and (here i go again) cinematic, it’s so polished and everything flows so well, the pacing is wonderful, everything ties up so perfectly and there’s very little I would change Flora bitching aside and practically nothing that feels like filler, even though some of it technically is. The tone stays consistent and they really push the boundaries of how serious and heavy these games can be, and it works, and doesn’t feel silly or glossed over or too unrealistic or too heavyhanded like some of the other games are at times; the plot twists/reveals feel the least absurd and the most grounded in reality, despite still being wild, and it focuses on some really relevant stuff and themes (again, it feels really grounded and raw, and the least fantastical, which isn’t a bad thing for the other games/movie per se, but being more realistic works in this one’s favor. No one is going to have their family separated and murdered by a criminal secret organization working to unearth ancient advanced civilized ruins, or lose years of their life and memories in said ancient ruins, or have their life ruined in an eternal unaging state from hallucinogenic gas, but being screwed over by people in government who will do anything to make sure they never have to face consequences? now that’s a mood). It’s just a really fucking good game, by far the best Professor Layton game, and I’ll always stand by that, despite preferring DB just a bit more cause it hits more of my personal tastes (DB is still very good too though, don’t get me wrong), and it’s also enhanced even more by the prequels, though it stands perfectly on its own. The perfect culmination of Hershel’s character arc, and the absolute high point of the series. It’s one of the ones I keep coming back to the most, just because it has so much to offer; as someone who is absolutely enamored with near-perfect stories of this caliber, I couldn’t ask for more. ❤️

#professor layton #professor layton spoilers #meta #who wants to read 8k words about a 12 year old game: no one #who's still gonna post it: this bitch #i actually got emotional near the end writing hjklskdfkfldlksk watching the end of uf always hurts :' )#me: 'db is my favorite' also me: 'rants and cries about uf for almost double the length of the db rant'#It's About The Potential.jpg #i didn't even talk about the puzzles much at all lmaooooo none of them really stood out to me #just........ story........ so good...... emotions go brrrr #i need ALL the dimitri fanfic tbh #and dimitri and clive #and CLAIRE and clive #and clive and hershel ofc #catch me being obsessed with time travel in a game where 99% of it isn't time travel ahjsdffkldskkdfl #It Could Be That Deep.jpg #need to write my other uf ideas.... and then get to the prequels already #but i also wanna replay pl vs aa... and the aa trilogy...... so much to doooooo

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sonicringbond · 4 years ago

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Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 27

Thank you everyone for your patience, we finally have a scene with a little action in it. I won’t keep you away from it as I know everyone has been waiting for it for a while, so please enjoy, after just a bit of opening exposition in...

~I really do love travelling. Especially with friends!

~Tee-hee~♪ Though my current friends aren’t as enthusiastic as I am. Draw has been with me for a while, but he’s always either teasing me or being too serious. I feel kind of bad for him and really hope our journey together will help him open up and have more fun. I kind of forced our new friend on him though, as well as a Ring Bond.

~It really surprised me that the weird little creatures we saved were fairies. The one we befriended we’ve taken to calling Mote as they don’t have any names normally. But they glow like the motes of light that Rings leave behind so it’s now a really cute name~♥ Now if only Mote was nicer to me.~

From the back of a covered truck bed, Rosy watched Draw as he looked at the gray ocean beyond the truck. As a storm raged on and turned the ocean violent and hostile, the truck bumped along as though it was unconcerned. In the comfort of the truck, Rosy barely paid the storm any mind and spied the fairy they named Mote resting. As she smiled and waved pleasantly, the fairy took note and ducked out of sight to which Rosy puffed up her cheeks.

~According to Draw, the reason why Mote avoids me and won’t even stay out long enough for me to look at them is because I’m a medium and fairies don’t have the right to talk to someone chosen by the gods. I don’t really remember the adventures I went on with friends as well as I do the ones I went on alone and talked to them about, but maybe I’ve met some. I don’t remember. But it’s not the first time I’ve been called a medium either. A friend back home once did and Ix also called me a medium. Is it really so special being able to maybe talk with gods using my tarot cards?

~Well, I’m sticking to talking to spirits today!~

Not giving up on making friends with Mote, Rosy skipped over to the back of the truck and leaned out as well. The rain immediately slicked her quills, and salt water just as likely sprayed her as the ocean smashed tumultuously against the rocky and jagged coast. In the distance among one particularly rocky outgrowth, an old stone brick castle could be seen rising up and reaching towards the sky with its numerous towers.

~After Draw, Mote, and me started traveling together, my goal has been tracking down Sonic so we can get him to help Mote save all their friends from whoever it is who is capturing them and shoving them into those awful autogolems. Unfortunately, Mote doesn’t know who it is and finding Sonic isn’t easy either, but fortunately I have a record of being good at finding him. Mote is also a Ring Fairy supposedly, so that inspired me to try also tracking down another Red Star Ring. Trusting my cards is fine, but we also need one to hopefully get back home. And I’m sure just like me, Sonic is looking for one too as well all our friends.

~And that brings me to that big castle that we’re heading for right now. Supposedly it’s haunted, but claims that if you stand in the highest tower that you can hear the wailing of the ghosts who still live in it have lured me to it. Other people argue it’s just the sounds of the ocean rising up from the whole set of ruins that extends out some ways under it. I kind of wonder if it used to be a big city above water before the ocean came in. Or maybe the ocean or the city were dropped here by a Ring Shift. It’s so hard to tell with our world.

~Still, as much as I hope the local ghosts can help me find Sonic, some people say that in the ancient underwater city there are tiles in the road that look like the big Red Star Ring that Sonic and I accidentally put up in the sky. But if that’s really true… Well, the ghosts will surely know!~

~|~

“Why does every idea you come up with lead us into danger!” Draw cried out from the top of his lungs as he clung on to Rosy for dear life.

Running as deftly as she could through the crumbling ruins she laughed and would have scratched at her cheek if she were not giving Draw a piggyback ride. “Well, everyone calls me a rascal–”

“You call yourself a Rascal!” Draw yelled at Rosy and was nearly drowned out by a crack of thunder beyond the castle wall.

Skipping and jumping from one crumbling wall or staircase to the next and down the occasional hall, Rosy attempted her best to outrun the ghosts that were anything but friendly. Barely more than what resembled a sheet draped over a ball, the ghosts were possessed of terrifying eyes of darkness and had long curved horns growing from their foreheads. Rosy had already encountered the receiving end of the horns once and lost most of her Rings. Attacking the ghosts did no good either as they simply dispersed and reformed. As a result, Rosy chose to flee.

“Well, getting into trouble is part of adventuring too.”

“Do all of your friends get into trouble like this!”

“Maybe…?”

“You’re going to get me killed, aren’t you?”

“Don’t talk like that Draw,” Rosy tried to cheer up her koala companion, but as she ran out past a broken wall and into the storm, the slick brick floor stole her traction from her, and she slipped and slid about uncontrollably.

“WOAH~!”

The two screamed out together and Rosy desperately tried to press her feet into the ground beneath her, but all she managed to do was provide herself more surface to slip on. Her red ballet flat like shoes were not well suited to running as it was, though Rosy made do as she called them cute. She was getting fairly decent running with them on reasonably dry terrain and some grass, but here in the old castle they proved disastrous.

With yet another slip from an attempted step, Rosy slid down into involuntarily performing a full leg split and continued to slide with even less control than before. Trying to bring her legs back under her merely made her spin and she and Draw crashed into a wall and tumbled right over the parapets.

“Ow~,” Rosy laughed as much as complained as she held her head and looked up into the violent storm clouds above. A bolt of lightning tore through them and a tremendous crack of thunder shook Rosy and the castle through. “Hee-hee. It’s a good thing Tails isn’t here. He’d be too terrified to move. But then the ghosts would get him.”

“If you didn’t first,” Draw argued as he walked over and looked down at Rosy. “Besides, it looks like the ghosts won’t come outside.”

“Really? Rosy questioned as she sat up and extracted herself from the mud she was sinking into. Using the pouring rain to clean herself off, Rosy looked around noticed that they really were not being chased anymore. “Wow! In that case we should probably find a way to get to the tallest tower before the sun goes down.”

“You really still want to go up there. It looks like it’s covered so these ghosts will probably be waiting for us.”

“Well, I’m still hoping to meet a nice ghost who can point us to the Red Star Ring or even Sonic.”

“You are so weird you weirdo girl!”

“Hee-hee! Don’t be like that Draw. It’ll be fun! Promise!”

~Draw of course was fussy about it, though that could have also been due to his coat being soaking wet. It’s funny he how called me strange for wearing a leotard in the snow, but he’s been wearing that fur coat ever since I met him. I wonder if it’s that cozy.

~At the least, Draw’s coat was definitely cozier than the castle’s highest tower. But that didn’t make the tower less amazing. Though it was mostly exposed to the elements and the roof seemed to stay up as though it were magic, the view of the city under the waves was breathtaking. Also sad in a way. This once massive city now rested beneath the ocean with only the castle full of ghosts to show where the city was now. But if the rumors were true, and Draw and I could definitely hear something up there in that old rickety tower, then there were ghosts who still talked and likely lived down in the city. I just needed to get in touch with them. To do that with the shape the tower was in I was going to have to use up a lot of Rings to protect my tarot cards from the rain. But it would be worth it. I came up here hoping to find a clue to where Sonic was and maybe snag a Red Star Ring too! It was just a matter of following my destiny as it unfolded!~

Scene 27 · CLEARED A Tide of Ghosts, to be continued

-----

And there we have it, quite a bit of action, and Rosy having a fair bit of clumsiness while it’s going on. I really hope everyone enjoyed and is looking forward to the next scene. It’s my personal favorite so far and has plenty of action as well. Please look forward to it, and thank you so much!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – What Makes the Sky Blue – Tsutomu Narita – Granblue fantasy Original Soundtrack: Promise

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan fiction #sonic au #sonic au series #sonic ring bond #the journey #classic amy #amy rose #rosy the rascal #au amy #amy redesign #sonic oc #patch #draw the koala #mote the fairy

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coolnerdgardener · 4 years ago

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Sony Sound Forge For Mac Os

The 3.0 version of Sound Forge for Mac is provided as a free download on our website. The software relates to Audio & Video Tools. This software for Mac OS X was originally developed by Sony Creative Software Inc. Our antivirus analysis shows that this Mac download is clean. Sound Forge Pro Mac is the second-generation audio editing application designed exclusively for OS x, with expanded editing features incorporated by popular demand. Configurable viewing panels allow you to toggle to any project view you need in seconds-see everything at once or toggle your view to see only the features you want, when you want. Sony has now officially announced Sound Forge Pro Mac, noting that it will launch this month at a price of $299. “People who work on audio editing platforms recognize the need for a fresh option in the marketplace, one that’s built for OS X as opposed to something that’s simply been ported over.

Sony Sound Forge For Mac Os X 10 5 8

Sony have finally stepped up and introduced a completely new, native Mac OS X version of their popular audio editor, Sound Forge Pro. Sure, we hoped for it... but how does the Mac version measure up?

The Mac OS has always has its fair share of industry-leading DAWs and music applications. Many consider it the platform for us audio types. However, until recently, it was missing one of the most highly acclaimed audio editors: Sound Forge. In truth, when I was first given a tour of Sony's flagship audio editor back in the days of Windows XP, I was green with envy. As much as I enjoyed using Soundtrack Pro (now unavailable), and tinkering in BIAS Peak (also gone the way of the dodo), I recognized that Sony had created something special.

So, there was with much waving of arms and general cheering within the Mac community when Sony recently announced the arrival of Sound Forge Pro for Mac. I was initially tentative as many apps ported from Windows just don't behave in the same way as native Mac apps. Fortunately, Sony has created Sound Forge for Mac from scratch, and not only does this give it an integrated Mac OS X GUI, the speed and feel of the app makes it a pleasure to use.

8/10 (6 votes) - Download Sound Forge Mac Free. Sound Forge is the most complete professional suite for digital audio production. Download Sound Forge and get everything you need to process audio. Regarding the great amount of tools on the market to produce and edit audio, few can be compared to.

Installation & Interface

A simple and fairly speedy download was pretty much all that was required. The complete app weighs in at under 200 MB, and once downloaded you're instructed to simply drop it into your Applications folder, and enter the serial number once you've launched it. All in all a painless process.

Sound Forge Pro for Mac sports a clean and uncluttered interface.

The interface is clean, uncluttered and split into re-sizable panes, perfect for editing audio without extra distractions, or bells and whistles (yes, I'm pointing an accusing finger at a number of DAWs). Over on the left is the Media Browser which can be hidden away using the disclosure arrow. Of note is a favorites section. Simply right-click on an audio file and choose to add to your favorites to find it quickly in the future. The search field makes finding audio files a simple task... and of course you can preview any files in the browser by clicking on the play button next to its name.

Effects & Info

The central area is taken up by the wave editor. This can be set up to display multiple editors either along the horizontal or vertical axis as desired. A nice touch! The right pane contains usefully colored level meters, plug-in chain and chooser, where you can choose from a number of effect plug-ins, including the included iZotope Mastering and Repair Suite. You can access all your own AUs and VSTs very easily too. Plug-in interfaces can be opened by clicking the gear icon, and you can also choose to view an envelope for each parameter of your plug-in. More on that later.

Using effect plug-ins is very intuitive.

The bottom central pane can be customized to display a host of info as well as a nice large recording level meter. It's simple enough to select your input audio device from here too. The Transport and Tools selection areas are fairly self-explanatory for anyone who has used any audio application before. Don't be fooled by the clean and tidy interface, as there are a number of useful panels and options neatly stored within a click or two, but hidden away to help you concentrate on the most important tasks, namely recording and editing!

Sound Forge for Mac comes with excellent plug-ins by iZotope!

Recording & Editing

When it gets down to the nitty gritty, Sound Forge Pro is a very capable editor. You can quickly record single or multiple tracks, and of course edit them quickly. I particularly enjoyed having quick access to sections of an audio file by inserting Regions by hitting 'R' on the keyboard. This essentially creates two markers either side of a selection. Then clicking on the Region number in the Regions list will engage that selection. A great way of being able to quickly define and navigate to important sections of dialogue.

Sound Forge for PC users will likely be familiar with the Envelope mode. It's straightforward to adjust plug-in parameters over time (e.g. lower gain) by selecting the parameter in the right-hand pane, enabling the envelope, and then drawing directly in the waveform editor. Each level of automation can also be bypassed with a single click in the same area. Very neat. Right-clicking on an envelope segment allows you to change the fade type, flip the automation envelope and more. It's also possible to cut, copy and paste envelopes too.

Sony Sound Forge 10 Support

Try right-clicking on an envelope segment to choose alternative fade properties.

What's Missing?

Considering that Sound Forge Pro has been completely re-written for Mac and is less expensive than its Windows counterpart, Sound Forge Pro 10, it may come as no surprise there are some differences. I was hoping to be able to assign custom keyboard shortcuts to menu commands, but as yet this is not possible. Importing video is not yet supported, and batch editing is also not possible, yet. The later is something I'd love to see Sony introduce soon. Being able to batch edit multiple files would surely be welcomed by many Mac-based musicians and audio editors. I also missed the 'Repeat' command, which is very handy to repeat the last process via a shortcut key.

Sony Sound Forge 10 Pro

Of course, this is just the beginning for Sound Forge for Mac and, considering there have already been a couple of updates with bug fixes and new features added, I am quite confident that the above features will be added in future updates.

Conclusion

Sound Forge Pro is likely to comfortably fill the void of audio editing apps in the Mac community. That it is less expensive than its Windows cousin is an unusual bonus, and that there are some features not yet implemented might put off some users. But there's plenty to like here. Overall, Sound Forge Pro is a very capable and quick multi-track audio editor. It's complimented by a clean and easy to navigate interface which can be easily customised to suit whatever task you wish to perform. If you're in the market for an audio editor Sony's Sound Forge Pro for Mac deserves a closer look.

Find out more on the Sony Sound Forge Pro for Mac website.

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kariachi · 4 years ago

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@kuphulwho A long bit of fic (like, nearly 2000 words) that isn’t quite for that au we were talking about earlier. More like, vaguely adjacent to it.

Kevin has a suitor. Looma sets Tasks. It’s a whole thing.

Coming to the palace at all should’ve been considered an act of courage. Or foolishness, as his friends swore up and down. Kreth was an adequate enough fighter, but the prince- The prince, who came into his shop three times a week to buy parts, could more than easily beat him. May the Goddess help him, he was a more powerful fighter than his sister, who’d proven herself unweddable already. There was no way he could win an engagement challenge, but he had to try. He couldn’t imagine another way to get a prince- adopted yes, off-worlder yes, but still a prince- to notice him.

Maybe he’d get lucky and be challenged in turn to better results.

So of course, when he’d declared his intent to the royal family, it had been the princess to step forward. Immediately Kreth began fighting off panic. This was off script, it should’ve been Overlord Zaell stepping forward to accept his challenge in her son’s stead. Maybe this was part of preparing for her eventual takeover? She’d looked back at her mother, then turned to him with a grin.

“My brother’s aren’t Khoron,” she started, and Kreth could’ve died right out of pure nerves (this is why he’d never become a warrior, he didn’t have the constitution for doing more than defending his store), “and I’ve questioned whether it’s appropriate to marry them off the Khoron way.” Somehow her grin got wider and more frightening. “Especially since they’ll most likely be supplying my heirs, surely the challenge would have to make up for both of us.”

He was going to die, a sentiment only heightened when he glanced towards the princes and saw ‘his’ with his face in his hand. The elder of them looked horribly amused.

“We’ve spoken before about the differences in these things between our cultures,” she continued, “and from Earth there’s a challenge I think is very appropriate for the situation.” She managed to stand straighter and taller and Kresh tried to do the same. He was well taller than her, but she still seemed to loom over him. Named appropriately, apparently.

“If you want to marry my brother, Prince Kevin of the Red Wind Kingdom, you will bring me three things- the sweetest sound, a star from the sky, and the fresh head of a forgehunter.”

Yep, definitely going to die. How? He ran a shop too small to have employees, how was he supposed to get a fucking star? And a forgehunter head?!

And then there was Kevin, out the corner of his eyes. A smile, small and apologetic and sending his heart straight into his throat like it always did…

“As you ask, Your Highness.”

~~~

Of course saying it was easier than doing it, and three days later found the door to his shop closed and Kresh sprawled behind the counter, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t know where to start.

“Are you alive in here?”

“Well since none of you will let me die in peace I suppose so.” The door to the backroom slammed loudly shut and his sister Prehra knelt by his side. She too looked horribly amused.

“Still trying to figure out how you’re going to win your little prince?” He didn’t even turn his head.

“I’m a failure. I can’t do this.” Tutting, she shook her head and stood up. The till chimed, but Kresh ignored it. He owed her money anyway.

“You know how his brother sometimes shops at Luxxi’s?” Her sister-in-law’s shop, little everyday things- hairclips, pens, that sort. The elder prince was an uncommon customer, but Kevin’d once said he enjoyed the quality of buttons they sold there.

“Yes?”

“Well, according to her, Zin asked him to confirm the gossip about this whole weird situation and he said that the key to the whole thing was to the smart about it.” The entire royal family hated him, he was sure of it.

“Because that answers any question ever asked.”

“I think,” she said as she knelt by his head, counting out money, “it means your expected to be creative with it.”

“There’s only so many ways to get creative with bringing in a fresh forgehunter head.” Prehra tutted again.

“You’re a smart man, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

~~~

‘The sweetest sound’ was the least straightforward of the ‘items’ required of him, so Kresh decided to start there. It was practically a riddle. What was the sweetest sound? It had to be subjective, right? So was he looking for what she considered the sweetest sound? What Kevin did? That of the greatest segment of the population? (If the right answer turned out to be the sound of sugar boiling or something, he was going to throw something and someone, possibly Princess Looma herself.) In the end, he decided to hedge his bets on his own preference and gossip that the princess was just as bad as he was.

The next time Kevin walked into his shop, flashing him one of those heartsnatching smiles, he started recording.

~~~

‘A star from the sky’ was somehow easier and harder at the same time. At least there was a riddle and hope involved in this one, it was a straightforward request, but oh was it a request. There were plenty of creative ways to interpret it, and things he could do for it, but he didn’t want to risk not meeting standards…

He wasn’t a wealthy man, but he also wasn’t new to risky investments. There’d been no time limit, so he took a few months to track down and purchase a boxful of iron meteorites that he immediately upon delivery took to one of the smaller local forges to be worked. On his way back, he’d stopped into another local store to commission a simple box in the dimensions he needed.

A week later he had had a star-shaped box in his livingroom, along with a cut sheet of meteorite iron to match and the equipment to attach it to the lid.

He was careful to fill the box with the sort’ve parts Kevin was always looking for.

~~~

The forgehunter head that really had him worried. He wasn’t a warrior, not anywhere close, and it often took several of them at once to kill one of the great, spider-like beasts. It was a certainty that bringing back the head of a baby one wouldn’t be near enough, not for a prince, not for Kevin, not when he was already being smart enough with the other items that he kept thinking this must be some sort’ve trap. No, he couldn’t go easy, he couldn’t go smart, he was going to have to get an actual head, actually fresh, from an actual adult forgehunter.

As soon as he figured out how to do it without dying.

He’d been in the process of fretting over this, compulsively cleaning the shop into the night as he considered if he could maybe scrape together the money to get somebody to kill one for him when a loud thud had sounded in the backroom. Rarely a good thing, especially since he knew none of his kin would be visiting. It was a tense Kresh we made his way to the door, grabbing his battle axe along the way and slowly, cautiously, opening it to find a forgehunter head.

A forgehunter head, as fresh as could be expected, its wounds cauterized to prevent mess, and a stripped tail passing out of sight outside, familiar to anyone in the capital by now.

Kresh’s heart lodged in his throat.

The next morning, as the papers talked about the fresh meat gifted in the night to the orphanages, schools, and hospital, he packed up the head and his other gifts and made his way back to the palace.

~~~

His gifts- a star box with a meteor lid, a forgehunter head, and a recording of his prince’s laughter gathered over several visits that was playing on repeat- sat on display in front of him as Princess Looma and Prince Argit looked them over with critical eyes and Kresh tried not to fidget.

It was very difficult.

They kept muttering between themselves as their family watched on, in tones too low to be understood even if Kresh had known the languages they were speaking. There was gesturing, eye rolling, snapping of teeth, checking inside the box and then more muttering over the contents.

“So,” Overlord Zaell asked when, he assumed, she got bored of the show, “has he met our exacting standards?”

“Well,” the prince said, still eyeing the items, “the head’s pretty small.” Kresh glanced up to see Kevin, stood at Warlord Gar’s side, silently glaring murder.

“We already knew he wasn’t a warrior,” the Warlord pointed out, and his children hummed a reluctant agreement. Crossing his arms, Argit looked Kresh over.

“Don’t make us regret this,” he said, “or you’ll regret it.”

All the tension of the past months sloughed away like sand from a glass as the princess lifted him off the ground in a hug and the warlord and overlord stood to clap hands on his shoulders. Everyone was talking, congratulations he thought, but there was nothing in his world but Kevin, still stood by the thrones, with such a smile on his face.

Like a hidehund who’d managed to snatch a whole beast from the dining table.

~~~

“So, were you hoping to move into the palace or…?”

“I assumed I had three years to judge the extra space versus your sister’s… enthusiastic reputation.” Leaning on the counter, Kevin snorted, still with that smile on his face after two days.

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a spitfire-” Kresh would’ve have been surprised if she could, if some of those rumors were true “-but she’s a nice sort. And she likes you, she and Argit both, no matter that little show they put on to rattle you.” Pausing in the sorting of his latest purchase (Prehra had pulled him aside when he’d told his family to remind him that fiancés got a discount, no more) Kresh levelled him with a concerned look. This wasn’t the first time they’d spoken since his won his prince, but they hadn’t really talked about… things.

“Even if I’ve put their brother’s honor in danger?” He’d been thinking about that since the head had been dropped off, a stone of guilt sitting in his stomach even as he couldn’t bring himself to reject it and get one himself. It was cheating, he hadn’t earned this, and though the damage going along with it would do to his reputation if anyone realized was great, the damage to Kevin’s was…

Kevin looked at him in confusion, then realization, then simply waved the matter off.

“When a man’s set Tasks,” he said, the capitalization audible, “there’s no rule saying his potential spouse can’t help if they want. In fact, there’s some very famous stories where they do pretty much half the work.” Kresh resisted the urge to chew his cheek.

“Really?”

“Yep.” A wicked edge came to his smile. “Besides, like I said, they like you. Why do you think you got set Tasks in the first place?”

“I assumed to ensure an early grave.” Kevin chuckled.

“I’d have never forgiven them.” Flashing teeth, he used the counter to lever himself high enough to kiss him, a welcome surprise that killed all of Kresh’s higher brain functions. “Looma knew damn well you couldn’t win me in an actual fight.”

“I, suppose I should thank her then.” He could never remember sounding quite that faint.

“Yeah, we probably should.”

#fanfic

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stars-and-rose · 5 years ago

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Can you make an AU where Virgil and Logan are supervillians and Patton and Roman are the heroes? I see a lot with the vice versa, but I want to see some villainous Analogical! But, of course, they start falling for the other two and vice versa. And if your not going to write it, can you point me in the direction of one or someone I ask for one?

really? i thought it would be the opposite!i thought i being creative when i made Ro and Pat supervillains in a.s.h.es, ashes (we all fall down). darn it! anyway, i don’t think i’m capable of writing another superhero au, butttttttt will a bullet fic suffice?

also i’m taking this as LAMP because i think that’s what you’re asking for here but a) i have one working brain cell and b) i’m in a mood to write some LAMP

also trigger warning! violence, blackmail, kidnapping

so i’m recycling the powers from my au and the aliases because i’m ridiculously proud of them, so Logan is Glitch and has a control over technology and can teleport, Virgil is Adrenaline and has super strength/speed/etc, Roman is Knight and controls illusions, and Patton is Nova and controls energy.

ANYWAY ON TO THE FIC

Logan and Virgil are roommates, both living in a busy city and hiding their superpowers.

but Virgil accidentally revealed to one of his coworkers than he has powers, and in a panic said he’d do anything to keep his secret hidden

the coworker is an ass, and uses his knowledge of Virgil’s superpowers to blackmail him

Logan has been trying to convince Virgil to stop letting his coworker blackmail him, but Vee refuses to listen to logic and Logan eventually agrees to allow Virgil to handle his own issues

until Virgil comes home with a black eye

and Logan loses it.

(it’s definitely not because he likes Virgil. no. not all at. illogical)

Logan uses his ability with computers to track down the coworker, dig up some dirt on the man, and after dressing in dark clothes, teleports to the coworker’s place.

he confronts the coworker, threating to reveal the man’s secrets if he keeps blackmailing Virgil

it gets physical

Logan was not prepared for that and gets punched in the face

and just when the coworker is about to hit him again, the man gets thrown into a wall

when Logan gets up he sees Virgil, also dressed in dark clothes, looking at his coworker and disgust, and then his eyes meet Logan’s

they both realize, at the same time, what they’ve done, how many laws have been broken and Logan gets them out of there

but not fast enough, as a neighbor managed to get video footage and know they’re being labeled as SuperVillians on the news

and after an hour of panic, they decide to screw it

why not become SuperVillians? people are assholes, society sucks, both Logan and Virgil are bitter, so why not go against that?

within two months, they’ve become the top SuperVillians in the city. labeled as Glitch and Adrenaline, they run unchecked, none of the SuperHeroes able to stop them, and people fear seeings glimpses of violet and navy after dark

and no one suspects them. serious Logan and anxious Virgil would never be considered SuperVillians

(however, Virgil’s coworker stays far away from him)

but in their third month, something changes

The duo is robbing a bank, and are coming out of the bank when their surroundings change. the bank becomes an alley, and the money fades to dust

‘that was too easy.’ another voice enters the alley, and soon the voice becomes a figure. two figures, actually.

the four stand in the alley in silence, studying each other and ignoring the heavy beating in their hearts

realizing they’re not equipped for the situation, Lo and Vee teleport away and spend the rest of the night trying to figure out who that others are

they quickly learn the duo is the SuperHero team Knight and Nova, from the next city over, come to stop them

their nights suddenly become more interesting

at every crime, Knight and Nova are there to stops. nights end in impossible victories and bitter defeats, nights end in bruises and blood, and now, reporters are waiting up at night, waiting for the streaks of red and blue and violet and the sounds of battle to fill the dark

but there was a spark that first night and that spark began to grow

the battles become filled with thinly veiled flirting and suddenly the Heroes and Villians are unable to truly injure the other side, and now the battles are lasting longer and longer and the people are confused. why are there no victories?

until an anonymous post goes viral, talking about how the Heroes and Villians are infatuated with each other

and since honestly the civilian’s lives have gotten boring without interesting battles, they jump on the idea like twelve-year-old girls at a boy band, shipping them like crazy

but the fun part?

said Heroes and Villians are obvious.

and by obvious, i mean completely utterly clueless

let me back that up for a sec, actually.

other villains and heroes are aware of their own feelings, but there’s no way that feeling is reciprocated, right?

and then someone gets sick of their obviousness. it has bene going on for almost a year now, this pining game. he isn’t anyone special, he’s just sick of these SuperHeroes and SuperVillians lying to themselves

so he forms a plan

a week later, the news is interrupted by a recording of a masked man holding the mayor captive. he threatens the mayor’s, a kind man who had just stepped into office, life. they only why he claims the mayor will be spared is if both Nova and Knight, AND Glitch and Adrenaline show up to a secret location.

our SuperVillians are curious and our SuperHeroes want justice, so they show up at the location. they find the mayor tied to a chair, and the masked man next to him, but the strange part?

the four chairs on the opposite side of the room and the powerpoint set up

‘have a seat’ the masked man says.

they don’t

the man rolls his eyes and then starts his powerpoint

the four were expected a plan for world destruction.

they were given a powerpoint explaining how all four of them are madly in love with each other

at the end, the room has four blushing SuperHumans

the mayor smiles at them, before looking at the masked man. ‘can i go now? the masked man nods, untying the mayor, and they leave

the next morning, Roman Aurum and Patton Lark ae waiting at a cafe when Virgil and Logan find them

they order coffee, and the spark they’ve been feeling for months grows overwhelming, and the day ends with two fewer SuperVillians, two fewer SuperHeroes, and more dates on the way for a group of soon-to-be-boyfriends

the city is sad they don’t have any more action, but soon more action appears through the SuperVillian DreamWalker and the SuperHero Animator, who are clearly in love-

(i’m sorry, this is definitly not what you wanted-)

#roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sander sides au #superhero au #supervillian au #LAMP #romantic LAMP #superhero! roman #superhero! patton #supervillian! virgil #supervillian! logan #im so sorry #this is not what you wanted-#i actually took about an hour and half to write that #oh my god i cant believe myself

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k-llama-llama · 6 years ago

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Wipeout Pt.4

Stray Kids AU: 10th member

Tori x Stray Kids

The end of the saga: at the hospital

A/N: Okay I need to do a little disclaimer. Firstly, this is based off my own experiences with concussions (I’ve had 6!!!).And secondly, this wasn’t meant to push forward any romantic plot. Tori’s story is not limited to romance. This is leading into the preparations for the comeback, and her just her general relationships with the SKZ family.

I want to talk to you guys. Let me know your thoughts.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Requests are OPEN : I see that little thought bouncing around inside your head. Send it to me!

MASTERLIST

When they arrived at the hospital, Tori had to let go of Minho’s hand while they unloaded her stretcher from the ambulance. She was awake, but blinking blankly at everything around her. The second she was back on the ground, she started tapping her fingers, and didn’t stop until Minho had grabbed her hand.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” The paramedics started pushing her into the building. They informed him that they were taking her up to a private room, and he quickly texted Chan and told him where to meet them.

They were led quickly through a few hallways, before reaching a room at the corner of a hall. The paramedic from the ambulance placed a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “You’ll have to wait here.”

He nodded, giving Tori’s hand a squeeze and kissing her on the forehead. “I’m right outside, okay? And Chan is on his way.”

She nodded weakly as they wheeled her away.

Once the doors closed, Minho sunk to the ground. He placed his head in his hands, trying to take deep breaths. It was still hitting him. Tori was in the hospital. Tori had a head injury. Tori had to be okay.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and he looked up, expecting to see Chan. Instead he saw a doctor heading in to the room. He nodded politely as the man disappeared into the room.

He stared blankly at the door for a few minutes.

He heard footsteps again, but this time there were many more. The entire Stray Kids group was running down the hall. Even Felix and Hyunjin, who’d been left behind at the studio after the accident.

“What took you guys so long?” Minho asked.

“We had to go through security. There’s press outside.” Seungmin said.

“Is she okay?” Felix said weakly. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were red and he had tear tracks down his cheeks.

Minho shrugged. “The doctor just went in. The paramedic didn’t seem too worried.”

Chan moved towards the door, reaching for the handle. Minho grabbed him. “They’ll come get up when they’re ready.” He pulled Chan to the floor next to him, while the other boys took up their own spots. Hyunjin and Jeongin sat next to Minho, all of them staring at the white walls and just waiting.

“Why is it taking so long?” Chan asked. “She’s okay, so why is it taking so long?”

Hyunjin took a shaky breath. “They’re...they’re probably just being thorough.”

Chan kicked at the ground. “What happened? She was supposed to be careful.”

Felix swallowed. “It was my fault. I dropped her.”

“It was an accident.” Minho insisted. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Who cares who’s fault it is? Tori is in there and we aren’t!” Jeongin exclaimed.

As if on cue, the door opened. A nurse stepped into the hall. “Oh my. There’s a lot of you. I don’t...” She took a look at their desperate faces. “Be quiet and come in. I think the doctor is going to speak to you.”

They filed in. They were all timid, tip-toeing to the bed. Tori was asleep, with a little monitor taped to her forehead. They all stayed back, except for Jeongin, who grabbed her hand and glared at the doctor when he looked like he might correct him.

“Here is the situation..” The doctor looked at them all, looking exasperated. “Who is the guardian?”

Chan stepped forward. “I am. Is she going to be okay?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes.” A collective sigh of relief filled the room. “By some miracle, we don’t think it caused a more severe concussion, it just agitated the one she already had.”

Felix took a shuddering breath. Changbin wrapped his arms around him. “And what does that mean?”

Woojin nodded. “Are there any potential risks?”

The doctor tilted his head. “We want to monitor her overnight. Just to be safe. She fell asleep about halfway through the examination. And she’ll have to take it easy for a while. But, other than headaches, I don’t see any reason to be overly concerned.”

“So..”Chan began. “Can we stay with her overnight?”

“There are a lot of you..” The doctor said.

“We’re so quiet!” Changbin insisted.

“You won’t even know that we’re here!” Seungmin promised.

“Please.” Jisung whispered. “Please just let us stay with her.”

The doctor relented. “Fine. But if I feel like you’re disturbing her, you’re out.”

They all nodded. The doctor left, assuring them that someone would be in to check on her every hour.

Chan was breathing very heavily. Minho looked around the room; there weren’t enough chairs for everyone. He grabbed Chan’s arm. “We should go get more chairs.”

The leader followed without complaint.

The second the door closed behind them, Chan broke down. Minho didn’t know if it was because he was all cried out or what, but somehow he was able to keep it together as he pulled his leader into a hug.

“It’s okay, Chan. She’s going to be okay.”

Chan choked on a sob. “I know. I know but...”

“But what?” Minho asked, rubbing his back.

“But all I could think about was that she was hurt. That she was hurt somewhere and I wasn’t there and I should’ve kept a better eye on her. I knew she still had a concussion and I wasn’t careful.” He sobbed.

“I know. But it was an accident, Chan. She’s going to be okay. And if I know Tori, she would hate it if any of us blamed ourselves.”

Chan nodded shakily. “I know.”

“Okay.” Minho said. “So we are going to grab some chairs, and then we are going to go sit with her until she wakes up. And we’re going to be happy, and we’re going to make her feel better.”

Chan took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

They returned to the room, dragging two chairs each behind them. They spread out in the room, making sure everyone had a place to sit. Chan did his best to give every boy a reassuring smile as he did.

Most of them smiled back.

Felix didn’t.

He wasn’t crying, which was usually a good sign. But he was staring at Tori’s sleeping form with a level of focus that could only be considered concerning. After about a half hour of awkward chatter and general silence, Changbin had had enough.

“C’mon.” He grabbed Felix’s wrist. “We’re going to get food. Anyone want to come?”

Woojin stood slowly. “I’ll go. We’ll bring stuff back.”

The three of them left the room, hoping that food and a walk would shake Felix out of whatever dark place he was in.

Chan sat on Tori’s other side, choosing not to hold her hand like Jeongin was, but rather to play with the strands of her hair that were spread out on the pillow. Hyunjin had pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed, and was on his phone, trying to get a handle on what they were going to do. JYP was already trying to release an official statement, and their managers were on their way. He was just trying to make sure that nothing was getting out that Tori wouldn’t want.

Minho paced in the corner, biting his nails.

When the boys came back to the room, they were hiding Macdonald’s bags in their jackets.

“We’re not supposed to have food up here.” Woojin explained as he handed Minho a burger. Minho didn’t even open it, he just held it in his hands.

Chan smiled kindly as he took his cheeseburger. Diets aside, they were stressed. And burgers were always good for stress.

Tori took a sudden gasping breath, her eyes shooting open.

“Tori!” Jeongin exclaimed.

“What’s wrong? Does something hurt?” Chan asked, standing and reaching for the call button.

“I smell french fries.”

“What?”

Tori sniffed slowly. “And burgers. Did you guys bring food?”

Hyunjin came closer, sitting next to Tori. “Tori, you’re in the hospital. You fell and hit your head. Do you remember?”

She nodded. “Vaguely. I was talking to the doctor before I fell asleep. Is it bad?” She asked nervously.

Chan shook his head. “Lots of rest. Dark rooms. No noise. And we’re wrapping you in bubble wrap.”

“Okay. Can I have a bite?” She gestured to Chan’s burger.

He pulled it back. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to eat.”

She pouted. “You can’t say no to the girl with a concussion. That’s literally a hate crime.”

“Here.” Felix said. He hadn’t said anything, just hovering by the bed. He offered her half of his burger. She winced as she tried to sit up, and Chan and Jeongin carefully helped her prop herself up.

She dug into the burger, before looking up at Felix. She licked some ketchup off her lips. “Felix? Why do you look so sad? Is there something no one is telling me? Am I going to die? Will this be my last meal?”

“No!” Minho came forward, gesturing for her to calm down. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Then why does Felix look so sad?” She looked back at the boy, reaching out for his hand. He gave it to her, more out of habit than anything. “Why are you sad?”

He sniffled. “It’s my fault. I dropped you.”

“What?” She said. “No, come here.” She pulled him around the side of the bed and made him sit right next to her, practically in her lap. She wrapped her arms around him. “It was an accident. We were just having fun.”

He sniffled again. “I still should’ve been careful.”

“I shouldn’t have been dancing in the first place. It was all a mistake, but it’s over now.” She promised, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly she looked at Chan in alarm. “What about the comeback? Am I still allowed to do it.”

Chan bit his lip. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And you need rest.”

“But Chan...”She gasped.

“The songs are mostly recorded. And she choreographed everything.” Seungmin offered.

Minho nodded. “And she can consult while we finish the last choreo. There’s still a few weeks till the comeback. She can rest.”

Chan nodded slowly. “We’ll talk to the doctor, but we aren’t having our first comeback without you.”

She reached out a hand for him, even though she was still wrapped around Felix.

Chan gave her a scolding look. “Lots of rest. You’re going to get headaches, and you’re going to take the pills you need to take. And you’re going to rest when you need rest. And you are not even allowed to walk up a flight of stairs without someone holding on to you.”

She laughed slightly. “Overprotective much?” But when she was met with equally stern looks from Hyunjin and Minho, she nodded. “Fine.”

She tried to settle back into her pillows. Jeongin fluffed them up for her and tucked the thin hospital blankets around her. “See, noona. It’s not so bad letting us help you.”

She nodded tiredly and closed her eyes. “Fine. But the second one of you tries to follow me into the bathroom I’m going to scream.”

Chan rolled his eyes. “The bubble wrap is still an option.

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fvckyouimaprophet · 6 years ago

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All Summer Long | Chapter Eight

The walk to the chair in the center of the room seemed so far with all eyes on him. The entirety of the Wizengamot was seated, and the moment the doors opened and he stepped in, their voices dropped first to a whisper and then to silence. The back of his neck heated up, and he tried to focus his attention on the chair alone. The chains dangling from them did little to ease his worry. The last time he’d seen this chair, they had wound their way around his father’s arms and legs, keeping him in place even though there hadn’t been much of a fight in him to begin with.

Draco took a deep breath sat down, and Harry made eye contact with him as he passed by to sit at the chair behind Draco’s, but for the first time, it did little to reassure him.

Looking up directly at the members of the Wizengamot only made it worse. There were few kind faces. Kingsley’s stood out in the center, but Harry had warned him, Kingsley’s word weighed the same as everyone else’s when it came down to the vote.

It only took a moment for Draco to find Matthews. He looked down at Draco with a cold and calculating look that made Draco’s stomach drop. Before Draco had too much time to dwell on what it could mean, Kingsley cleared his throat. “I believe everyone here wants to get this over with. It’s been a while since we’ve needed to convene.” A quill beside him perked up and began to scribble, presumably taking notes. “Are you ready to start, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I am.” Draco’s voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat before repeating, more firmly, “I am, sir.”

“And you as well, Mr. Potter?”

“I am,” Harry called out behind him.

“Excellent. Interrogators are Averill Tyne Matthews, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Freya Malvoia Tyndall, high-ranking official within the Office of Aurors. Witness for the defense is Harry James Potter, high-ranking official within the Office of Aurors. Today’s date is September twenty-fourth. Mr. Malfoy is called forth for breaking the Decree for the Registration of Animagi. I will let Averill Tyne Matthews proceed.”

Despite Matthews’s best attempt to appear calm and balance, Draco spotted the malicious glint in his eyes. “Mr. Malfoy, are you aware that under section two of the Decree for the Registration of Animagi, wizarding law clearly states that all wizards who are attempting to transfigure themselves must register themselves in the Ministry’s official records no later than the first day of successful transformation.”

“I am.”

“When – may I ask – was your first successful transformation?”

“Three years ago. Maybe a little more.” Draco could see a few members of the Wizengamot glancing between themselves. Harry had warned him that the closeness of his first transformation to his father’s imprisonment would be easily manipulated by Matthews.

“And are you aware why the Decree was set in place?”

“To ensure wizards did not abuse their powers as Animagi.”

“More specifically, do you know the history of the law?” Matthews asked. He tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. The history of the law hadn’t come up, and Draco looked behind to Harry, who looked just as bewildered. When Draco looked back at Matthews, an unmistakable smirk had formed.

“Why is the history of the Decree relevant to Mr. Malfoy?” Harry asked. Draco couldn’t help but think his name sounded strange coming out of Harry’s mouth like that.

“I take it that you don’t know the history either, Mr. Potter. Then this will be a learning moment for both of you.” Draco wanted to object. It was clear that Matthews was attempting to belittle both of them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see where Matthews was going with this.

Harry must not have either because Draco saw him step forward out of the corner of his eyes. “But why is it relevant?” Harry asked again.

“It is relevant because if Mr. Malfoy had known the history, he would understand what a clear abuse of power this is, and considering his family’s history with such matters…” He trailed off. The tips of Draco’s ears burned, but he knew better than to push back.

“Mr. Malfoy is not his father nor his family history. In fact, he and his mother were cleared of charges seven years ago.”

“Pardoned and with your recommendation, if I remember correctly,” Matthews said. Draco hadn’t known whose recommendation it had been, and despite the pink tinge to Harry’s cheek, the defiant look in Harry’s eyes only grew.

“With almost unanimous agreement from the Wizengamot that they did not deserve the same fate as Lucius Malfoy.” Harry’s voice was surprisingly steady. Had Draco closed his eyes, the two would have sounded no more unnerved than they might have been over a friendly debate over a Butterbeer, but their tight-lipped expressions said it all. “I won’t press any further. If you’d like to continue with your history lesson,” Harry said.

“I agree. I think we would all like to hear the point you’re trying to make,” Kingsley said, cutting through the tension. Underneath his kindness, a sharp edge in his voice warned not to press their luck.

“In the late 1920s, there was an unsettling amount of people using their Animagus forms as disguises to commit crimes. They were not tracked easily. Floo Powder, Portkeys, even Apparition to a certain degree – these were all easy methods to trace back to a specific witch or wizard. But no one was looking for an animal, so it was easy for Animagi to leave stealthily without people knowing that they’d ever left at all. There was an increasingly high rate of Animagi linked to the uprising of the Dark Arts. So, in 1933, the Ministry decreed that all Animagi must be willing to sign themselves to a registry so that Ministry officials could better keep track of them.” Matthews paused. “Why didn’t you want to come forward if you had nothing to hide, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco stared blankly at Matthews, trying to process the implication. “You believe that I’ve been using my Animagus form to – what – scurry off and practice the Dark Arts like some wizards did almost a century ago?” He knew he was supposed to remain calm. It was the one thing Hermione had warned him about most in their practices, but the jump between Matthews’s points seemed impossibly ridiculous.

“No one said anything about the Dark Arts, Mr. Malfoy!” Matthews shook his head. “I merely asked if you had anything to hide. If that’s what you heard, though, I think that speaks more of you than it does of me.”

“The implication was there,” Draco said, trying to steady his voice. “And I had nothing to hide. I just wanted peace and quiet.”

“From what?”

The truth sounded bad. To say he wanted time away from the Ministry’s watchful eye would only make cement the belief that he had something to hide, but it was the only explanation he had. “I spend eight to ten hours a day at St. Mungo’s for work. I understand why the Ministry wanted me under close surveillance, but I couldn’t leave to go grab a drink without being followed.”

“So you go to Knockturn Alley to grab drinks, then?” Matthews asked.

“Yes.” Matthews didn’t say anything for a moment. The lingering silence felt heavy, and Draco shifted in his chair.

“How has your financial situation been since the war?” The sudden switch of topic surprised him.

“Did you want to know my salary?” A sarcastic edge crept up in his voice that made Draco wince. But beside him, he heard – just barely – Harry chuckle quietly enough that only he could hear.

“That won’t be necessary.” Matthews scowled. “Compared to before the war, how is it?”

Draco could feel bile making his way up his throat as he realized where this was likely going. He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before replying. “It was better before.”

“Your general standing in the wizarding world must have gone down following your father’s imprisonment,” Matthews said. “That must have been hard.”

“You’re leading,” Harry interrupted. “I think you’re insulting the intelligence of everyone in this room if you pretend like we don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“Fine, then I’ll cut to the chase. Mr. Nott offered evidence stating that he believed Mr. Malfoy was using his Animagus form not to grab drinks in Knockturn Alley – which, if we think about it, is a relatively flimsy excuse – but rather to attend some underground meeting of wizards, several of You-Know-Who’s former followers, who were attempting to revive the Dark Arts.”

A murmur broke through the Wizengamot as Draco saw red. His hands twitched, and his throat closed as he stared at Matthews. He was afraid if he opened his mouth that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from yelling in protest. He could only imagine the glee on Theo’s face as he lied.

Harry stepped forward, moving in front of Draco and ran a hand through his hair, sending it every which direction. “Impossible. I presided over our conversations with Mr. Nott, and he never said any such thing.”

“After you stepped forward saying you were going to represent Mr. Malfoy, I asked Freya to conduct interviews of our own to ensure we had the complete story. Mr. Nott told us that he could tell you were biased toward the defendant and did not feel comfortable trusting you with this information.”

“Mr. Nott also told us that he had no idea of Mr. Malfoy’s whereabouts.”

“Did he know that Mr. Malfoy was at your residence?” Freya asked. She smiled coldly as both Harry and Draco looked at her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Mr. Nott did not, in fact, know of Mr. Malfoy’s whereabouts.”

“He was the one who cursed Mr. Malfoy in the first place! He had his wand. He knew where it took place, and when we questioned him about the altercation in front of the bar, he told us that it was Mr. Malfoy casting that spell in an attempt to hurt him.” Harry’s voice rose steadily as he spoke. “I don’t think I can name a single more unreliable witness.” The murmurs among the Wizengamot grew, and Draco’s eyes darted around, watching as people observed him, half with curiosity, half with disgust.

“Oh, I can,” she cut back, her eyes narrowing.

“Mr. Matthews. Ms. Tyndall. Both of you know better than to use a witness that has lied under oath,” Kingsley said.

“Fine,” Freya said. “But we should still consider what he said as a possibility. If Mr. Malfoy has been practicing the Dark Arts under our noses, I believe we’d all want to know.”

“Those are very serious claims,” Kingsley said. “And unless you have evidence –”

“What about his years at Hogwarts, tormenting other Muggle-born students? His hand in Albus Dumbledore’s death? I refuse to believe a boy like that would simply use transfiguration to grab himself a drink, in Knockturn Alley of all places!” Freya scoffed.

“If you are questioning his character, I am happy to call forth our first character witness,” Harry said. He turned to look at Draco. Draco wasn’t sure what it was, but the moment Harry looked at him, the anger on his face melted away. Instead, it was replaced by a calm, resolute look, and he offered Draco a fleeting smile before turning back around. “I’d like to call Hermione Granger.”

The doors to the courtroom swung open, and Hermione stepped in. She had changed from her work robes into dress robes and had since put up her hair. The worry flooding Draco began to ebb away, at least a little. This they had well-rehearsed, and there was only so much margin for Freya or Matthews to manipulate Hermione’s words. If nothing else, she was too clever to let them.

“Ms. Granger, can you please state your relationship with Mr. Malfoy,” Harry asked.

“Now or prior to the past few weeks?” Hermione asked.

“What was your relationship with him up until a few weeks ago?”

“Strained, I suppose is the nicest way of putting it. Mr. Malfoy was not particularly kind to me while we were at Hogwarts.”

“In which ways?”

“Well, it was clear he had grown up in a certain type of Pureblood family. He had been brought up to believe that Muggle-born magic folk were inferior to others.”

“How so?”

This was a script Draco knew well. He knew what Hermione was going to say emphasized his past for what it was – his past. Still, no matter how many times he heard it, the brutal honesty of it made him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Mr. Malfoy general went out of his way to call me names, to insult me, and to try to get me in trouble.” Hermione ran a hand down her robes, smoothing them out. “He made it clear that he did not think I had a place at Hogwarts.

“And when would you say this changed?”

“By the end of our Sixth year, he seemed to realize that he was in over his head. His father had been linked to Voldemort –” People shifted at the name. “— by the end of our Fifth year, and as a compromise of sorts – from what I understand – he had agreed to take the Dark Mark.”

“Over his head doesn’t necessarily mean that he had changed his opinion on Muggle-borns.”

“No, it does not.” Hermione glanced over at Draco. “I don’t think I can answer for him when those opinions changed, but when we were captured by Snatchers during the war, we were taken to the Malfoy Manor, which had since been taken over by Voldemort. He had an opportunity to turn us in, and he chose not to. It would have been an easy way to get back into Voldemort’s good graces and to have us – well, I suppose to put it kindly – eliminated. But he chose not to. He lied.”

“That was several years ago?”

“Correct. It was during the war.”

“So, since then, you haven’t had much interaction with him?”

“Only recently.”

“And how would you characterize him?” Harry straightened his back, and Draco felt the painful knot in his stomach ease up a little more.

“Remorseful. Gentle. Definitely not the boy I knew. I’m not on my way to becoming friends with him, but had he been this way when we met, I am sure we would have been.”

“That’ll be all,” Harry said.

Matthews wasted no time in jumping in. He must have sensed that the resolve of certain people within the room was fading. Had Draco not been petrified and had he not heard it rehearsed before, he was certain he would have felt touched by Hermione’s words. Rehearsed or not, he knew they were sincere.

“How long have you been friends with Mr. Potter?” Matthews asked.

“Since we were eleven.”

“You, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter have even been characterized as best friends in articles and books.” He pressed his lips together.

“Yes.”

“There’s very little you wouldn’t be willing to do for Mr. Potter, then, I’m sure.” He chuckled, but it was devoid of any mirth.

“I would never lie, Mr. Matthews,” Hermione said, her voice still, “and frankly, I don’t appreciate that type of insinuation. It’s offensive.”

“I am certain you have your biases nonetheless. If Mr. Potter tells you that Mr. Malfoy can be trusted, naturally, you’d believe him.” Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but he interrupted her before she could. “I have friends whose word I would trust over all else as well.”

“I trust him. I don’t think he has any reason to lie in this matter. But I have always approached his claims with healthy skepticism.” As Hermione took a steadying breath, Matthews opened his mouth, but this time, Hermione cut him off before he could interrupt her. “More importantly, I am appalled that you think I would not tell you if I believed Mr. Malfoy was a serious threat to Muggle-borns. I understand that your family suffered losses in the war, Mr. Matthews. But this war was waged over people like me. People like me who were told that they not only didn’t deserve to be part of the wizarding world but didn’t deserve to live. If there was any part of me that believed that Mr. Malfoy could possibly be dangerous, I would not hesitate to inform you.”

For the first time, Matthews seemed stunned into silence. “Are there any further questions?” Kingsley asked after a moment. It was as if Draco could see the gears in Matthews’s head start moving as he tried to think of another question.

“No,” Freya responded. “I believe that’s it.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She turned on her heels, making the briefest of eye contact with Draco before walking out.

“If that’s all, we’d like to address the question of –” Matthews started, but Harry, clearly emboldened by his success with Hermione, stopped him.

“I’d like to call a second character witness. Neville Longbottom.”

Neville Longbottom? Draco furrowed his brow. Everything had been rehearsed over and over, yet no one had ever mentioned anything about Neville joining them. They had discussed other people, but Neville had never come up. All Draco wanted to do was to look to Harry for some explanation, but Harry wasn’t facing him, and even if he was, with all eyes on them, he wouldn’t be able to ask.

The doors opened, and Neville walked in. It was clear that he was making an active effort to keep his back straight and to appear calm, but he nonetheless looked more uncomfortable than anxious. He moved to the front of the court.

“Mr. Longbottom, will you state your relationship to the accused,” Harry said.

“Dra — err, Mr. Malfoy frequently tends to my parents. He is the primarily Healer for their ward.” Neville folded his hands in front of himself and looked around the court, making eye contact with several people.

“This isn’t how the two of you met, however?”

“No, it is not. We met at Hogwarts.” Neville chuckled nervously.

“Judging by your laugh I’d say you two did not have the best relationship.” Draco looked away from Neville. In the times that they had interacted, it had never come come up, even if he had frequently thought of it. “Mr. Malfoy, as everyone is well aware, used to be a certain way and hold certain beliefs. We went over this just before you with Ms. Granger. But I was wondering when you first interacted with Mr. Malfoy after your time at school.”

“We first interacted at St. Mungo’s four years ago, almost immediately after Mr. Malfoy began working there,” Neville said.

“And this was because of your parents.”

“Yes, they’re patients there.” Neville’s cheeks turned pink, and Draco felt a wave of pity. He had seen first-hand how hard this was for Neville. “There was an incident in the First Wizarding War.”

“And since you’ve known Mr. Malfoy at St. Mungo’s, how would you characterize him?”

Neville paused, clearly trying to find the right words. “Distant. Guarded. But very kind too. You’d never know it, though. I don’t think he wants you to.”

Draco had no clue Neville felt that way towards him, and his warm words caught him off-guard. Tears welled in his eyes, and he did his best to push them back.

“Can you elaborate on that?” Harry asked.

“Well, for example, two years ago was the first year I couldn’t spend Christmas with my parents. I had to stay at Hogwarts, and I felt incredibly guilty. I decided to leave the next morning and met with Ms. Edevane, and—"

“Who is that?”

“The head Healer on staff. And she told me that Mr. Malfoy had spent the entire afternoon and evening with them. I don’t think Mr. Malfoy would have ever told me himself that he did that.”

Draco’s cheeks flushed. He wanted to object. If he had just been Neville there and not a whole court, he would have. He had signed up for the Christmas shift as it was. It had only been his job. But it wasn’t his turn to speak, and Draco knew better than to interrupt.

“Thank you, Mr. Longbottom,” Harry said.

“Any further questions?” Kingsley asked, turning to look at Freya. She must have decided that there was little she could get out of Neville that she wanted because she did not hesitate before responding.

“That’ll be it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Longbottom,” Kingsley said, and Neville, after throwing Draco one final glance, walked out.

Once the doors had shut behind them, Freya spoke up again. “So both of the character witnesses you called are long-time friends of yours, Mr. Potter?”

“If you’d like, I could call Ms. Edevane, who Neville mentioned, to the stand. She graciously offered, but I told her it wasn’t necessary.” Harry tilted his head slightly and looked at Freya as if challenging her to test him.

As much as he didn’t want to rely on hope, it was obvious that Harry was beginning to feel more comfortable with where they were. Draco too had to admit that as far as he could tell, it was looking positive.

“That’s not necessary,” Freya muttered.

“Fine, presuming Mr. Malfoy’s character and motivations aren’t under scrutiny, he still broke a law, and under paragraph F, section three, the Decree for the Registration of Animagi states that ‘any witch or wizard who does not comply with these guidelines can be sentenced to up to one year in Azkaban!’” Matthews said. The witch to his right jumped and looked at him in concern as his volume steadily rose.

“What came of Rita Skeeter when she was discovered after the Second Wizarding War?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?”

“She was unregistered, and yet it was never a question with her. Even though she’d been unregistered for decades. If we are going to administer punishments for these trespasses, we have to do it equally, don’t we?”

The final piece fell into place. That had been the crux of their argument when they had planned it out. Judging by the faces that Draco looked up at, it had landed.

“It seems we should take this to a vote,” Kingsley said. “Unless you have more evidence,” he said to Matthews. Matthews shook his head. “Then let’s vote. Those in favor of sentencing Mr. Malfoy, please raise your hands.”

This was it. This was the moment he’d replayed in his head since Theo had cursed him. Draco could barely watch. His stomach clenched, and he felt suddenly and strangely dizzy. But after what couldn’t have been more than fifteen hands — Matthews and Freya included — people stopped raising them. Kingsley glanced around. “I’d say we’ve reached a decision then.”

Before he had a chance to sink into a wave of relief, Matthews spoke again. “So he should just be pardoned? He was under watch. He was given explicit warnings by the Ministry to be on his best behavior. We can argue whether Rita Skeeter should have been punished if you want, but Mr. Malfoy clearly violates the terms of his pardoning. If not for breaking the Decree, for breaking his pardon, he deserves punishment!”

The floor fell underneath him. He had been so sure that was it. Of course it wasn’t, and Draco was already kicking himself for underestimating Matthews.

“I don’t understand what you want,” Harry said, the hard tone back in his voice.

“I want everyone to take a vote to decide if they believe Mr. Malfoy deserves some punishment, even if it isn’t Azkaban.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed, and Draco could tell this was not a scenario he had planned for. He let out a small huff and nodded once. “Fine.”

“A vote then. Those in favor of a punishment — to be decided — outside of Azkaban, please raise your hand.” Kingsley sounded wary, but there was little he could do from his position presiding over the trial.

This time there were more hands. Draco counted as he saw them, first ten, then twenty, then—

“Twenty-eight to twenty-four in favor of a punishment.”

Draco wanted to collapse in his chair. It seemed wildly unfair. They’d been so close to getting free. Matthews, who had looked defeated only moments earlier, began to smirk again.

“Since it was your idea to call for a vote, I believe we should ask you if you had any suggestions for a punishment you see fit,” Kingsley asked. Draco’s gaze moved to Harry, and he saw Harry bracing himself for the worst as well.

Matthews pursed his lips together, contemplating, but Freya spoke first. “Might I suggest a year of house arrest.” She glanced over at Matthews, clearly aiming for his approval, and, after a moment, he granted it in the form of a terse nod.

Harry looked back at Draco as well. It was obvious he wanted to fight it just from the look of determination on his face, but Draco couldn’t stomach anymore of this. He had been so certain he was going to wind up in Azkaban. If house arrest was the worst they could do, he would make it work. “I’ll take it,” he said

Kingsley looked momentarily surprised as well but quickly recovered. “I believe we can adjourn then. We will schedule a follow-up meeting with Mr. Malfoy to discuss the terms of his house arrest.”

Draco sat in shock as the room cleared out. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt an odd floating sensation across his body. This was it. He was free. No Azkaban. He covered his mouth as he let out a choked laugh and turned to face Harry.

“I could have probably gotten you a lighter sentence. I don’t know why you didn’t let me.”

The giddiness was unstoppable though, even with Harry’s furrowed brow and frown. Draco couldn’t find it in him to be upset. Instead, he walked over to Harry.

“No really,” Harry insisted. “I wish you’d let me try to —“

Draco acted before he could entirely process what he was doing. Reaching up, he wound one hand into Harry’s hair and leaned down, pressing their lips together. He felt Harry tense up, but just as he was about to pull away, the gravity of his actions settling in, Harry reached a hand up as well and cupped Draco’s cheek.

Harry deepened the kiss, his lips parting as he let out a soft moan. Everything was clicking into place for Draco. He supposed it has never really been that far out of reach. After all, he had woken up this morning with Harry in his bed. And now —

Now he closed his eyes, smiling against Harry’s lips as he imagined his indignant scoff when he inevitably recommended him some chapstick to try out. Not that he cared that Harry’s lips were dry. After all, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Harry bit his lips constantly. A thrill went through him as he realized that there were many things he was sure he didn’t know about Harry that he was going to find out soon enough.

Draco let the scent of Harry’s cologne wash over him as he nipped at Harry’s lower lip, and his breath hitched. His hand loosened from Harry’s hair and moved down along his jawline, and Harry shivered under his touch. His stomach flipped as Harry lifted another hand and placed it on the small of his back, pulling him closer.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing a bit deeper, it struck Draco that they were still in the empty court room, and he beamed. “You did it. You really fucking did it!”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, but he decided better in the end and just leaned forward, kissing Draco again.

- - -

Chapter Nine

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #hp #my fics #my drarry #fic: asl

4 notes · View notes

moodring89 · 6 years ago

Text

Wedding Crasher CH. 03

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Romance / Smut Rated: M / NC17 Tags: Wedding!AU, Badboy!AU, Violence, Debauchery Summary: It was always a little bit tragic for Hoseok whenever he got caught, which wasn’t often. He had enough experience with crashing weddings to be considered a veteran. One easy lie after another, from the church to the reception hall. Previous chapters: 01, 02

If you're having trouble reading my story with the tumblr themes, read here.

‘Couldn’t keep it locked away, couldn’t take it to the grave.’ Hoseok had spent a majority of his Saturday on FB, looking through the boring, predictable lives of Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin. It was almost laughable how well they suited each other, like a friggin’ rom-com drama adapted from a webtoon. Hoseok had read this story, time and time again. He’d personally witnessed it, having attended his fair share of weddings as an active habitualist, but what he really enjoyed though, was the lie, in which one person stared directly into the eyes of another, and promised to be there in sickness and in health, ‘til death… It was all a masquerade, an artfully constructed ball made up of finesse, excellent gourmet, and women. Sad, lonely women – friends and family watching the vows of love entangle two souls together. Or was it more like it entrapped them? Either way, the sanctity of marriage wasn’t off limits to the keen prowess of Jung Hoseok. He lived to watch others parish. He wanted their hearts to burn hot and angry with betrayal. He abhorred their happiness, because he craved it for himself, but he’d never had a taste of true love. He wouldn’t know its flavor, even if he swallowed it whole. Love was an image that never stayed still long enough for Hoseok to take a picture – never in focus, completely unrecognizable. When Sunday arrived the next day, he knew exactly what he was going to wear – the crisp black button up with the red heart-shaped patterns. It was an unusual, yet ironic choice given the fact that he was outwardly celebrating love, even when he did not believe in it. He slipped into a black silhouette fitted jacket and matching slacks. Breaking out his red leather shoes, he dug into his accessories next, going with his gold bullet back cufflinks and a L.U.C mechanical watch that sat heavily upon his wrist. Jimin’s bedroom door cracked open, the shark slippers Hoseok bought for him last Christmas scuffing across the tiles of the kitchen floor. The boy had just woken up, eyes still shut with sleep as he searched the fridge for his jug of water. He slapped the milk a few times. “That’s the milk,” Hoseok said, leaning over the counter with his bowl of cereal. “A bit more to your left. No, your other left…” Jimin grabbed the jug and stood there taking a long, generous sip. In doing so, the length of his precious dongsaeng’s neck was exposed, revealing Jeongguk’s heavy claim. “We didn’t really get the chance to talk about Friday,” Hoseok said, before rinsing out his bowl, and setting it aside. He leaned back against the surface behind him, taking a closer look at his friend, going over his body like he was taking inventory, accounting for things that might be misplaced – observations of what could be hurt or broken by the impromptu tryst. Jimin had to think for a moment, squinting through the haze of sleepiness, “Friday?” “That tall, dark, and handsome boy you left me all alone at the club for,” Hoseok reminded him, still somewhat bitter over the whole ordeal. Yoongi had to come and get him, again. He had to share another awkward conversation with his hyung, again – feeling like a scolded child by the time the blonde was finished with him. “Oh, Jeongguk? He left about an hour ago and I went back to sleep.” Hoseok stilled, wondering how the fuck he hadn’t heard him. To be fair, he’d been locked in his room, staring holes into his computer screen, memorizing family members like they were his own. If they’d fucked at all, Hoseok had zoned it out completely. “Isn’t he going to be late?” Hoseok asked, as he glanced down at his watch. The kid was ballsy. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with him on a daily basis, which might end up being a thing. He put in the information for an Uber, before noticing that Jimin was still staring at him. Jimin started, “Hyung…” The elder grinned from ear to ear, because Jimin could be eighty years old with a walker, and still be the cutest person on the planet. “What, Minie? Do you want to kiss hyung goodbye?” “I really like Jeongguk. So, if you could please not ruin it for me tonight…” The fact that Jimin had to ask him to refrain from doing such a thing should say a lot. The guilt of it coiled cold and unwanted within the pit of Hoseok’s stomach. He gave a slow nod, the excitement he felt moments prior dulled. “Of course I won’t.” Hoseok would never intentionally hurt his friends, but that didn’t mean that it never happened. Sometimes it was unavoidable. At least, that was the lie he told himself. It was thirty minutes and three wrong turns later that Hoseok was standing outside the venue. One he’d never been to before, which was surprising given his track record. Both the ceremony and reception would take place inside the wedding hall. This should have made the planning lot easier and cost efficient, like with most Korean weddings. So, really, Hoseok didn’t know what the fuck you were on about in regards to Saturday being exceptionally busy. Hoseok wondered if there was a small piece of him that felt tempted to seek you out tonight. If that was perhaps the real reason as to why he even considered attending a same sex wedding in the first place, because if he didn’t find someone better, you’d still be a viable option. Nothing too serious. It wasn’t like he’d palmed his dick to thoughts of you on Yoongi’s shitty, uncomfortable floor that evening – except that he did, thus soiling his briefs like he was a fucking teenager. The great thing about most wedding halls was that you didn’t need an invitation or to RSVP. Slipping in was easy and Hoseok enjoyed a good seat. He placed himself amongst the immediate family, testing the waters, gauging how well he could fit in with them. A small taste, a façade of recognition, Namjoon’s father was a gentle person. Hoseok took the man’s hand into his own and gave it a firm shake. It was a happy day. All cheesy lines would work on anyone right about now. Hoseok smiled so big that his eyes disappeared into twin crescents, spewing out the first Hallmark he could think of, “They say love conquers all.” Namjoon’s mother was similarly too overjoyed to question Hoseok’s presence, all too willing to accept his hug when he gave it. He went in for another taste, seeing how much he was able to get away with. “It’s sad that grandma couldn’t make it today. This is the best opportunity to bring our family together.” Her eyes were clouded with unshed tears, as she took Hoseok’s hands into her own, running her thumbs over the top of his knuckles. “Oh, I know. She was really upset, too. If you want, you should stop by and see her. She’d love it.” It was settled then, Hoseok was from Namjoon’s side of the family. He’d been gunning for it during his research, knowing that it would be easier. Aside from that, Seokjin’s family looked like a bunch of refined, chaebol bastards. That entire section of family was stiff as fuck and the complete opposite of Seokjin himself. Namjoon must’ve been determined or a goddamned saint to have made it this far into the relationship without being swayed to quietly move the fuck on with a payout. Hoseok could tell by the tension that there was probably an argument or several in order to make this blessed day come to fruition. The ceremony started a few moments later with the photographers. Yes, plural. Photographers were ready and waiting for each groom to enter. Soon it was a deafening choir of flashing cameras and celebratory clapping, until the ceremony was ready to officially begin. Hoseok enjoyed tuning it all out, reserving every bit of inward amusement for the vows. This gave him ample time to look over the guests, catching a glimpse of Jeongguk – the silent as the grave creepin’ motherfucker. Next to him was Taehyung, the guy with the set of paws, as well as Yoongi’s rapt attention. Hoseok dragged himself the short distance to the bathroom, tossing his briefs into the garbage. They were beyond salvageable and he wasn’t interested in the work. He proceeded to clean the dried cum from off his skin with one of Yoongi’s decorative hand towels. He then rinsed his mouth out with wash and was smart enough to avoid the mirror this time. Swinging open the door, he was startled to find Yoongi standing there. “The fuck, hyung…” The elder extended his hand out with a pair of clean boxers, “Here.” “So, you heard me? Great. Were you able to get off, too?” Hoseok asked, as he wordlessly dropped his jeans in front of the blonde, sliding the boxers up over his legs. Yoongi’s steely eyes bore into Hoseok’s, disinterested, “Do you remember the guy who took care of you last night?” Hoseok snickered, a sharp, bitter sound to anyone who knew him. “It wasn’t that deep, alright? The kid carried me to your car. Why?” “That ‘kid’ had enough sense to call me when you were in trouble and yeah, he had to carry your heavy ass. You’re like, 80 percent muscle, you ungrateful little shit. Why are you so…? Forget it.” Yoongi didn’t know how to properly place his anger or why he felt the need to defend Taehyung so fiercely against his oldest friend. Hoseok laughed with mirth at the elder’s strong reaction, “Well, Jimin is probably being fucked by his friend right now. Would you like me to go and ask him for Taehyung’s number for you?” He stepped closer then, using his height to set Yoongi back a couple steps. Despite being impervious to most bullshit, he really was no match for Hoseok, which was something the younger was all too aware of, especially cruel and spiteful in his delivery, “Anything to help you get over me, hyung.” “Don’t…” Yoongi closed his eyes, able to feel the warmth of Hoseok’s breath against his skin, the very heat radiating from off his body. “Don’t ask. I was just curious.” “How curious,” Hoseok said, wondering if the bitter taste in his mouth was the fact that he was losing Yoongi, even though he’d never be able to return his feelings. Yes, Hoseok was hideous inside and out. You were beside Taehyung, seeming to stand out in a large sea of black formal and boring, opaque cream attire. You were dressed in a deep red floor length gown with an open back, showing off a smooth expanse of skin that followed down to the last knot of your spine. It was an elegant number in comparison to what you’d worn to the club. The thought of matching had Hoseok feeling oddly satisfied. Red was such a bold color, but then again he was bold. It was possible that you were something else entirely, an enigma, as all women started off, until they were deemed as less. There were girls on Seokjin’s side of the family he’d love to play around with. Spoiled princesses were his favorite type, possible heiresses to fortunes were smart investments and yet... He was more focused on you, which was a rather annoying anomaly. You were stealing his attention from other potential, no more than a fucking eyesore. He was too hyperaware of Taehyung’s hand lingering on the small of your back. He held you against him just as a smile lit up your face, staring up at him – your lips were saying something, and Hoseok found himself wanting to be let in on it, almost resenting the intrigue that had manifested over such a small thing. The ceremony came to an abrupt end, the vows as good as muted with Hoseok being so utterly distracted. Rose petals were tossed at the couple as they walked by. He watched as you turned with the motion, making sure to sprinkle your handfuls onto Namjoon’s shoulders. Taehyung gave you more petals from his stash and Hoseok wanted to slap the basket from his hands. As difficult as it was, he held it in, trying to be less obvious about his staring problem. Food was being served in a large room. It was the second stage of the wedding, leaving the reception as the third, and final stage of this shit show. This part was always a bit more personal, lights no longer dimmed with the tables stretched far, and able to fit so many. Hoseok decided it was a safe bet to casually make himself known to you, despite his original plan to remain inconspicuous. He walked towards the buffet and started filling up his plate. There were several people separating you from him in line. Slowly, they started to dwindle. Hoseok was patiently waiting for you, wondering what the hell the holdup was, and why you were being so indecisive. Several minutes of pretending like picking out food was difficult, Hoseok was at the tray of food that you were currently stopped at. He watched as you meticulously scooped out the meat, but didn’t bother with the vegetables. “Poor vegetables,” Hoseok tsked, using tongs on a serving of japchae. “Being left behind like that, unable to provide proper nutrients.” You turned on your heel, mouth already parted around a smart retort, when you grew completely still. The last person you were expecting to see was the guy from the Bizarre. Hoseok. You’d remembered everything the following day after the club, somewhat embarrassed and ashamed of yourself, having thought that your behavior had come off as desperate. And perhaps on some level, you were. You vividly recalled being easy for him, that you would have done anything he wanted, if only he’d wanted. “Oh, wow…” you stammered, trying to recover. The real struggle was figuring out what to do with your hands. Put down the plate? Pull him into a hug? That might be a little forward. The both of you were sober and standing under bright lights now. “So, you weren’t kidding when you said you had a wedding to attend.” Hoseok’s quirked his lips, dimples prominent and on full display, “What would be the point of lying about it?” Except everything. “Although, I had no idea that Namjoon was your friend.” You nodded a few too many times, still surprised by his presence. “Well, yeah, he’s like, one of my best friends. How do you know him?” Hoseok mentally scrolled through his index of Namjoon’s relatives. Some for reference, others for excuses. Distant relatives, family who’d responded to the FB post to regretfully inform the grooms that they couldn’t make it. The redhead smiled once it clicked perfectly into place. “We’re cousins, actually. Last time I saw Namjoon we were in diapers. My mom – well, Aunt Soo, couldn’t make it though.” Jeongguk was the first to come and check on you, your crew of overprotective friends once again coming to your rescue. The younger pouted visibly, “You’re taking forever, noona, and I’d like to eat sometime this century.” He blinked his large doe eyes at Hoseok, just now noticing him standing there. “No shit. Hey.” “Hi,” Hoseok practically bit out, finding it difficult to adjust to Jimin’s new boy toy. It took every ounce of self-control to remember that the entire evening was an act, one that he had to skillfully play through in order to get the bonus ending. He smoothed out his expression with that in mind, smiling tartly, “Jimin told me that you left this morning. I was like, wow, this guy is really fucking quiet. Creeper quiet, B&E quiet. Hide grandma’s good silverware quiet…” Jeongguk flashed him a confident smirk. “Your opinion is important to Jimin hyung and I didn’t want you to judge me too quickly.” “What’s there to judge?” Hoseok asked, dropping his eyes down at his plate, a partial lie slipping through a little less convincingly than all the others. “I’m glad that Jimin is happy.” Just not with you. Not with some guy that Hoseok could easily resonate with, their darkness matching in pitches – an asshole recognizing another asshole. “Come sit with us,” you offered, looking up at Jeongguk for confirmation that it was indeed a good idea. He seemed just as eager to have Hoseok join. “Yeah, hyung…” The ‘hyung’ a bit awkward from out of Jeongguk’s mouth, since it was the first time he’d used it. All for the sake of mannerisms. The table consisted of the groom’s closest friends, Taehyung seated amongst them. Hoseok purposefully sat across from him, wanting to see firsthand what Yoongi saw in the boy, since he hadn’t the faintest idea apart from the visual appeal. “Oh,” Taehyung breathed, somewhat stunned to see Hoseok sitting there in front of him. Seokjin, who was seated next to him, looked just as surprised, if not annoyed. Hoseok shot both men a wink, a coy smile gracing his lips. The last time he and the groom saw one another, it had been less than favorable. He figured there was still time to mend their relationship with some cringey aegyo bullshit. Hoseok could be cute and over the top when he wanted to be. “Small world,” Seokjin said with a huff of disbelief – like he’d spent years finally getting rid of Hoseok, but there he was again. “I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but why…?” You squeezed in on the opposite side of Taehyung, head leaned against his shoulder. “He’s Namjoon’s cousin,” you said, a little excited about the discovery. Here you’d thought you’d never see Hoseok again, just to find out that he was tied to your best friend’s family. You didn’t believe in fate, but this came pretty close. “Aunt Soo’s son.” “Really?” Seokjin asked, immediately dropping the iciness in his tone. Gently nudging his new husband, he inquired, “What was your Aunt Soo’s son’s name again?” Hoseok’s laugh was infectiously loud, a disruption. It was enough to startle you from your spoonful of jjiggae. He was expecting this much, answering with ease like a well studied test, “It’s Bumkun, but I don’t really like to go by that name. It’s sort of impractical in my line of work.” Jeongguk peered over at him, genuinely curious. “What is it that you do exactly?” Namjoon frowned after a seconds worth of digesting the information. He raised a hand up to pause the conversation, “Wait, wait, wait a damn minute. You’re Bumkun?” “Technically,” Hoseok started, trying to bite back his amusement. Technically – he was Bumkun tonight. It was an unfortunate name and Hoseok would really hate for you to end up calling him by it, or anyone else for that matter. “…I’m happy that I was able to make it today. I haven’t seen you…” “In a long time,” Namjoon said, finishing the sentence. He reached his hand out for a bro’s embrace. “Man, how’s your mom?” Fuck, who knows? Hoseok took his hand, holding onto him. “You know, so-so. Still working on the farm.” “See? We gotta move her up here. The country air is good for her, sure, but she’d do better financially if she lived by the ocean,” Namjoon said and you could tell that he was about to list off all the reasons as to why fishing was a wealthier business, and thus more imperative. It would result in a long tangent that had the potential of lasting for hours. Desperate to change the topic, you turned to Hoseok, “You still didn’t answer Guk’s question. What is it that you do, Bummie?” For whatever reason, you thought that teasing Hoseok would be a good idea. You knew you’d thought wrong, when Hoseok narrowed his eyes at you then. It wasn’t unlike drowning in a dark abyss, falling without any hope of ever reaching the end. The intensity within that single glance alone was enough to send a violent chill down your spine. “Hoseok,” you said, rectifying your mistake. “Wait,” Namjoon paused, using his grip on the redhead to lean in over the table, undeterred by the fact that Hoseok was still burning you through. “Aunt Soo said that you couldn’t make it, because you weren’t granted military leave.” Hoseok grew still – now, he’d played tons of roles in order to secure his past lies. Luckily for him, he’d watched Descendants of the Sun a grand total of four times from start to finish. It wasn’t quite the same thing and he had zero past experience to speak of, considering the fact that he’d personally seen to the sabotage of his own future enlistment. Fuck it. Why not give it a whirl? Taehyung raised one of his thick eyebrows, “This guy?” It was absurd thinking that someone fresh from the military could also be the irresponsible bastard from just the night before. “At the last second, I was permitted to leave,” Hoseok said, starting to shovel in some of his food, before it got cold. Maybe he should have felt a little insulted by Taehyung’s obvious bout of disbelief, but eh – he didn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he’d left the best impression on any of them anyway, including you. Jeongguk nodded, seeming to understand the situation a bit better, “You’ve been in the service this whole time? Jimin hadn’t mentioned that to me.” ‘Who are you? His fucking keeper?’ Hoseok wanted to snap, but alas, he had to swallow it with a glass filled high with soju. Instead, he replied, “Jimin is soft.” Then it started to dawn on him that one too many people were involved for his farce to carry on seamlessly. Eventually, he would be found out. If not today with Namjoon and his questioning, then later when Jimin would gracelessly choke on the mention of his new military career. It was only a matter of time. “And he’s also not the type to discuss my business with perfect strangers.” Mm, perfect strangers… He wondered how much Jeongguk enjoyed that wedge he placed between them. Could he feel it, the very tangible, arguably unnecessary hate coming from Hoseok? Well, he fucking hoped so. The rest of the table talk revolved around Hoseok’s time in the service, coming up with the most absurd stories; that time when he was exposed to gas as a part of training, the asshole instructors, and the slow climb from trainee to becoming a private – the battalion that had become his home. Every now and then, Hoseok would lift his eyes to meet yours, catching you watching him, but he didn’t react how one usually does when confronted head-on. He didn’t bother with smiling or flashing you his dimples. No brows were raised in question, no basking in your embarrassment. He simply held you there, taking you in with such slow deliberateness, that you felt the dull familiar ache of arousal at the pit of your stomach. He didn’t even have to touch you in order to rile you up. A rush of excitement started to settle in when the room cleared out. Hoseok was trailing after you towards the reception hall, bringing his bottle of soju along with him, which was odd since there was an open bar waiting for him in the other room. Every time you looked over your shoulder to see if he was still there, you found him staring directly at you, coming closer with sure steps, until you made a point to stop. He mimicked the action, paused. For a long moment, that’s all that it was, leaving an insufferable space between you and him. Your world turned monochromatic, black and white for the exception of his too red hair, and smart ensemble. You just noticed how your own attire matched him in color and noise – you’d been inspired, for whatever reason not to be typical. As a result, you looked like you were his, and that wasn’t such a bad thought, being Hoseok’s… Taehyung was the one to pull you from your reverie. He took you by the wrist, intending to lead you towards the table that seated Namjoon and Seokjin, when he gave the redhead a backwards glance, “Hoseok, you’ll fit at the table with us, too.” He would fit, too? This really wasn’t how Hoseok saw his night progressing. Lingering in one place for too long wouldn’t be good for him and yet there you were, so wonderfully transparent and receptive to him. His little hook, line, and sinker. He knew that he could have you with minimum effort on his part. In many aspects, he felt that he already did, just not where it mattered. Not yet. Unable to deny the level of expectancy that Taehyung was putting out, Hoseok had no other choice, but to join you at the table, where Seokjin was trying to land one of his dad jokes. Unable to laugh, even with his boundless sense of humor, all Hoseok could do was cringe. They were that fucking awful. Namjoon seemed to be enamored by the elder, resting his cheek against his palm, like he was falling in love all over again, listening to another joke. Hoseok was almost relieved when the wedding toasts came early, since it put an end to Seokjin’s tirade. They were given by an awkward assortment of people. Namjoon’s family was weird, but the good kind of weird. His sister was the first one to go, a sweet little thing that Hoseok wasn’t allowed to go near due to his borrowed identity. The only person to speak for Seokjin was a friend and Jeongguk seemed eager to have that responsibility, casting pointed looks. Hoseok could tell that the kid wasn’t used to these types of things, mumbling throughout his speech, but finishing strong. The chaebol bastards almost seemed beside themselves with guilt. Almost. He really didn’t want or need a reason to like Jeongguk. You were the last person to give your toast and from the endeared looks of all your friends, it was probably the right choice. “I’d like to point out that I called this…” You gestured between Seokjin and Namjoon. “I was the one to say it, five years ago on the night that these two first met. We were fresh from our graduation ceremony. I told Changsub, wherever he is…” Changsub held up his wine flute, so that you could find him. You pointed at him, the two of you subtly hyping one another, “And I said, ‘Namjoon is going to fall in love tonight’ and I’d hoped that it would be some romantic, Lion King type o’ stuff…” Hoseok was about to dispute this, because Lion King was fucking tragic, you monster. Instead, he lowered his gaze at you, fighting against the smirk that was already tugging at the corners of his lips. Captivated by your energy, he was interested in seeing where you were going with this. “Seokjin, the moment you opened your mouth, I knew that you were Namjoon’s equal. You were talking way, way too much, and way too fast.” Everyone seemed to share a laugh at that, knowing from experience. “Your intelligence matched Joonie’s so well and that isn’t something I’ve ever recognized in any other person. You do it in a cool way, not in the nerdy way like he does it. You’re nicer about making people feel dumb.” You waited until the loud guffaws (mainly Namjoon’s) had quieted down, before you continued on a serious note, “No, but like, Namjoon does this thing, where he closes his eyes when he laughs. He does it all the time, to the point where people accuse him of being disingenuous, but that’s not true. Seokjin, you cracked a joke that night. Do you remember what it was?” You could tell that he didn’t, so you gave it to him, “What do you call a fake noodle?” Seokjin squinted, finding it difficult to remember the answer. You were still amazed that you could, that you did, and that your useless brain managed to hold onto a copy. “An impasta…” Namjoon said, before dying against his chair. How ironically fitting given his current predicament, Hoseok mused. “Seokjin told this joke and for the first time in a long while, Namjoon didn’t close his eyes when he laughed, and I knew. I knew it then. He doesn’t close his eyes when it comes to you. Thank you for coming into his life,” you said, trying to calm the shaking in your voice. “You’re two of the greatest men that I know and I love you guys. Please spend the rest of your lives happy.” How sweet. Hoseok clapped his hands together in a slow yet sharp succession, like the snapping of teeth. The entire room lit up for you, aside from Seokjin’s family, of course. They were too busy finding bigger sticks to shove up their rich, pampered asses. He fell deeper into his observation of you, dropping his cheerful expression for something more glacial and calculative. Tonight, you were a beacon, drawing him in close, despite the distance he’d specifically placed in order to separate you both. There were other women there, obviously – some of them prettier than the summer lilies back in Gwangju, but Hoseok was having a difficult time being super-fucking-ficial at the moment. He chose to avoid the dance floor, which was a pity, but he needed to strategize on how he was going to get laid tonight without interacting with any other living person. You scooted your chair out when Taehyung offered you his arm, claiming that you were overdue for a twirl. Namjoon and Seokjin had already shared their first dance and were well into their third by then. You’d been holding off, expecting Hoseok to ask you, but it was starting to become obvious that it wasn’t going to happen. You were grateful that the song was slow, Taehyung’s large hands finding your waist, and bringing you against the firm line of his body. You were never one to resist your friends, weak for them – the affection welcomed, soothing your silent cry for it. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, hoping that you were well hidden from Hoseok’s scrutiny. “You okay?” Taehyung asked, the deep timbre of his voice laced with genuine concern. The question almost threw you off a little. You raised your head toward him, but were unable to look at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You held him closer to you, trying your best not to sound so sad. “I was just thinking about how the wedding turned out really nice.” He grew silent, dark brown eyes searching you for what had felt like a long eternity. You wondered what the hell you’d end up giving away to him in the process. Taehyung’s stare differed from most, because he stole – literally stole whatever he needed from you, and if he knew you well to top it off, then you were as good as screwed. “You were happy seeing Hoseok again,” he stated, accusingly. The slow, rhythmic sway of your bodies had come to a stop. “You really like him? He looks bougie and practically reeks of the typical fuck boy aesthetic. It’s a bad combo.” Taehyung’s friendship was much like Jeongguk’s, both possessive and suffocating. You could handle it in small doses, but it was twice as overwhelming when Taehyung took your face into his palms, and forced you to finally look at him. “Even if you choose not to answer me, I can see it very clearly. I know you.” You briefly shut your eyes at that last bit, allowing Taehyung’s word to pick you apart. You placed your hands atop his own for stability, listening intently as he continued, “I haven’t told you this, but one of Hoseok’s friends picked him up the other night. He’s from Daegu. A bit short, but you know how I find that sort of thing cute, especially when they’re bound to top me…” You narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion. “So?” “So, I wouldn’t mind it if you and Hoseok got along together,” Taehyung finished, dropping his hands from your face to recapture your hands, remembering to move you along with the music. “Even if it is a recipe for disaster.” “Wow! What a relief to know that I have your permission,” you said, sarcastically. He took wider steps, taking in the way you smiled at the rush of movements. “Besides, I’m sure that Guk had the same thought already. The more the merrier when it comes to further entwining himself with Jimin.” You’d nearly forgotten all about Jeongguk’s interesting evening. A good friend would have checked in with him, maybe seen how it went. Well, most likely, considering the fact that he’d been in good spirits all night, shedding himself of the perpetual cloud that seemed to loom overhead wherever he followed. Jeongguk was practically glowing, giving you the impression that he’d had his fill, and then some. Taehyung skimmed his fingers down the length of your spine, “Let’s test Hoseok and see how long it takes for him to snap, hm?” Each time Taehyung looked over at the redhead sitting alone at the table, his eyes had been trained on you, contempt easily discernible. “There’s no point. He’s not even interested,” you argued, feeling somewhat irritable about it. Taehyung grew serious, “You wanna bet?” You snorted, because really – really, nothing was going to happen. Then the younger was giving you his bedroom eyes. Taehyung was attractive. One of the most gorgeous men you’d ever seen. Your mouth went dry when he spoke to you in a voice like velvet, “I always thought you were pretty, noona. Too pretty for your own good.” He emphasized his statement with the soft brush of his knuckles against your cheek, putting on a full performance that had laughter bubbling up inside your chest. He hissed through his teeth, scolding you, “Be serious or else this won’t work.” You pressed your hand on his chest, trying to prevent him from coming in any closer. The space between your lips and his own was already compromised, your breaths mingling. You whispered to him, “What should I be doing?” “Closer, noona,” Taehyung murmured, softly. You were both already so close – close enough to taste the alcohol on his breath. His eyes flickered to something past your shoulder, “You should see the look on his face right now. He looks like he was set on fire. So, if I die tonight, know that you were the one responsible.” Taehyung was trying his best to cheer you up, the least you could do was play along, childish antics or not. There would be no harm in doing this much. A little closer, he’d said? You fisted the front of his shirt, using it as leverage to pull him down the rest of the way. Taehyung’s mouth curled into a boxy smirk right before he captured your lips into a kiss that appeared hungry and consuming to anyone peering in from the outside. Meanwhile, your mind was wandering to other things, like what it would be like if Hoseok’s veins did house fire. If his every touch would scorch you all the way through, right down to the very marrow – if he’d set you ablaze as opposed to the frigid cold that you had succumbed to a long time ago. Your grip on Taehyung’s button up faltered. It was back to the frost that awaited you, off to that place where you felt nothing. When Taehyung parted from you, it was with a harsh breath. You were quick to compose yourself, eager to see the lie for yourself – the lie in which Hoseok cared, and that whatever you did mattered to him. You turned in the direction of the table to find Hoseok’s chair abandoned, catching a glimpse of him walking out of the hall. “You better go get that,” Taehyung said, smug in the fact that he’d been correct. “Be sure to thank me later.” There was no way in hell that Hoseok’s reaction was due to the kiss you shared with Taehyung. No – you weren’t convinced, however if that was the case, then you were obligated to chase after him, right? Although, why would he care? You’d only met him twice and you hardly knew each other. All you had was a very palpable tension, which really wasn’t enough to establish anything. You stepped out into the main lobby, calling out to him, “Hoseok, wait.” The sound of your voice seemed more desperate, as it echoed back. He paused in his steps, affording you enough time to catch up. You stood so that you were in front of him, obstructing his path – unprepared for the weight of his stare then, dark and accusatory. Maybe Taehyung was right? Hoseok looked furious, but surely it wasn’t because of you. “Where are you going?” you asked, wanting to confirm his reason for leaving. His response was immediate, “Go back inside.” You shook your head at him, “The whole point of me dramatically following after you is so that I can stop you from leaving.” The muscle in his jaw ticked in annoyance, teeth clenched. “And I’m leaving, so that I can prevent myself from making a scene.” Probably not the best moment to be flippant with your responses, but, “I think you’ve already accomplished that with your suit.” He laughed, humorlessly, “Yeah, you have five seconds to head back in by your friends.” “Or else you’ll do what?” you asked, trying to ignore the thrill of being threatened by him. You were never one for following orders. “God, look at you…” he said, tucking his hands into the pocket of his slacks as he stepped closer. You made no plans to move away from him. He tilted his head at you with bitter intrigue. “Too stubborn to heed my warnings? Come now. You’re a smart girl. You should go with your instincts and run while you still can.” You rolled your eyes at him, thoroughly done, “This is how you’ve chosen to spare me? Well, you can save that self-deprecating bullshit for someone else.” He grew still at the iciness in your tone, mentally bracing himself for the next sentence out of your mouth. “Did you think that I wanted the heroics, to be saved, to be courted?” You patted your hand against his chest, right over his heart, “As if I would ever dream of scaring you off with the threat of commitment, Hoseok.” He narrowed his eyes at you, carefully. “Do you enjoy getting hurt?” “No, quite the opposite, actually. I just want to feel good again.” He searched your eyes, before quickly grabbing you by the hand that was still on his chest, using his grip to pull you deeper inside the lobby. There was a semi secluded area covered with framed artwork and large roman pillars. You’d found yourself hidden behind the one furthest in the back where the lighting was most scarce. If Hoseok was being honest with himself, girls like you frightened the shit out of him. It wasn’t difficult to spot the potential of forever in another person, especially upon first meeting them. Everyone tried to sell the best version of themselves, before ever allowing their flaws to shine through. You kept proving to be real and unfiltered, and it was that reason alone that made Hoseok want to take his own advice – to stay the hell away from you. He even opted to leave the reception, too overcome with jealousy that he had no right to be feeling. He pressed your body against the cool surface of the pillar, while long, ring adorned fingers slid around the front of your throat. He took in the anticipatory tremble of your lips – your breaths too short, before he inhaled you into his lungs. Parting his mouth against yours, it was all light contact and stolen air. Hoseok was so slow in his approach with you, because he knew that his resolve was about ready to break, and that he’d forget to savor your act of submission. It was unusual for Hoseok not to be drunk during occasions such as these, yet there he was, hardly even buzzed from his bottle of soju. Fuck – he wanted to hate you so badly. It would be easier on the both of you that way. He tightened his grip around your throat, determined to swallow each pitiful gasp and whimper you made just for him, enticed by it. But then he wondered if you’d ever made the same sound for Taehyung. How many of your friends weren’t able to keep their fucking hands to themselves? You moved your jaw in languid rhythm against his own, moaning softly when he teased his tongue past your lips. The empty space made even the smallest of noises too loud and amplified. You tried your damndest to be quiet, until Hoseok was suddenly a force. The back of your head met the stone surface with a dull thud when he’d surged forward. The incessant press of his hips kept your body pinned between the pillar and his body. It felt like you were drowning, a startled gasp echoing when he pulled at your lips with the slow drag of his teeth. Your hands went to the top of his arms, seeking purchase, “Hoseok…” He gripped your face and turned your head to the side, fingers roughly digging into the line of your jaw to keep you still for him. Tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear, he left you exposed to the tickling warmth of his breath, “I gave you so many chances to leave, but you didn’t listen…” His mouth caressed your skin for each syllable, as he spoke evenly, “Should I fuck you right here? What if your friends were to overhear their little princess begging for my cock?” “Shut up,” you warned, growing silent from just the thought of it. You felt his teeth when he grinned into the side of your neck, thoroughly pleased with himself for striking a nerve. The air in the room grew thick with tension and for awhile, you could even hear your own pulse. He’d actually shut up. You were about to question it, when he took your earlobe into his mouth, suckling loudly. The diamond studded earring you wore kept catching on his teeth. Each touch felt inescapable, as he started to mouth at the side of your neck, working his tongue in wet circles over your skin, purposefully sucking down hard enough to leave bruises. Your hand covered his own, trying to pry his fingers from your face, but it was useless. “Stop marking me,” you gasped, inwardly seething when he nipped at you in response. The heat in your lower stomach had long since pooled over – your thighs rubbing together tightly. You could feel the mess of already being soaked through, your walls clenching around nothing each time he swiped his tongue across your skin. You quivered, body betraying you, “You’re the worst...” “Awe, but you already knew that about me,” he said, mock-pitying you as he pulled back far enough to inspect his work and felt satisfied with all the pretty red splotches covering the delicate line of your neck. He’d love to see Taehyung’s face the second he eyed them up. Hell, even Seokjin’s reaction, being the overprotective bastard that he was… “True and as much as I appreciate all the foreplay, we have to be quick.” Your absence wouldn’t go unnoticed and you both knew it. You dropped your hand to his belt buckle and had it undone with admirable speed. Hoseok hardly had time to be impressed, when he smoothed his hands down your sides, hiking your dress up on his way back to your waist. He then reached into his pocket for his wallet and removed the condom packet, tearing it open with his teeth like he’d done countless times before. You leaned against the pillar, allowing him to guide your leg around his hip. You could smell yourself, thick and heady, as the cool air swept over the arousal coating your inner thighs. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he murmured, voice torn as he stroked his fingers over the red lace of your panties, lightly grazing your swollen clit with his thumb. He gauged your reaction, watching as you sucked in your bottom lip to hold in all your sounds. “Such a good girl you are…” he cooed his appraisal, taking in an audible breath and there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that Hoseok could smell you, too – his eyes darkening, pupils dilated into two stones of black. It felt like you were in trouble. Unzipping his slacks, Hoseok rolled the condom between his fingers. He was ready to have you – to sink into you slowly, to stretch you open, until – Jimin flashed at the forefront of his mind, the little prick, reminding him not to ruin the evening. You’d made it clear that you didn’t want anything more than this moment. This was textbook. Hoseok had his share of women and men, left behind a long, miserable trail of broken hearts, and failed expectations. You were just another number, one more fuck, and it didn’t matter that you already felt perfect to him. You were open and soft for him, which kinda pissed him off. He seized you by the throat again, desperate almost, when his lips parted over yours – delving his tongue in deeply, filling you up. You breathed through your nose, bringing your hands to the side of his face, skimming his cheekbones with your fingertips. He rolled his hips against your own, the hard outline of his cock pressing into you firmly. You could kiss him forever, if time allowed it, but it didn’t and it felt like he was stalling. You went to tug at his briefs, when he caught your wrist midway – applying enough force for it to be considered painful. Hoseok released you slowly, your leg slipping from his body in the process. You watched as he took a couple steps backwards. Unable to look at you, he focused on tucking his shirt back into his slacks, before he adjusted his belt. Long, slender fingers brushed his blood red hair back into place. Despite how calmly he collected himself, Hoseok was about ready to fucking lose it. Any words or questions you currently had for him felt trapped, like they wouldn’t properly formulate past your lips. Your lungs burned, chest heaving for air that seemed to come in too slow. You were too stunned in the wake of what had seemed like obvious rejection and it made you feel sick to your stomach. You pushed your dress down over your legs with shaking fingers. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to say anything for himself. You returned the sentiment, as you wordlessly rounded the pillar. Hoseok hadn’t bothered with stopping you, too busy searching his pockets for his phone so that he could get the fuck out of there. He must’ve left it on the table in the reception hall. Oh, well for a smooth getaway. He gave you enough time to leave and space that you didn’t require, but would have in abundance from him anyway, before he headed back inside the hall. He dodged Namjoon’s family as though they were the plague, laughing obnoxiously whenever they approached him. He walked briskly towards the table where his phone was waiting for him. There really was no need for him to stick around, avoiding making any eye-contact. He could always step outside to set up an Uber. You returned from the bathroom, having calmed yourself down some, ready to face the party. Taehyung patted the seat between him and Namjoon. You joined them, allowing Taehyung to pull you against him. You only had a few moments of peace, before the younger would notice that something was wrong. You felt numb, as Hoseok was getting ready to take off. It would be rude to leave without saying goodbye – cousins and all. Hoseok extended his hand to Namjoon, congratulating him one last time. After this, he’d make sure not to fuck around with these people. They made him feel weird, confusing things. “Man, you’re going already?” Namjoon asked him, disappointment evident in his voice. “We were about to cut the cake. It’s bad luck if every person doesn’t have a piece.” Seokjin corrected him. “That’s only with birthdays.” Taehyung was doing his job of overanalyzing you. He’d assumed that things were going well when you didn’t immediately return after following Hoseok out. He’d even held Jeongguk off from finding you, hushing Seokjin’s curiosity just to buy you some alone time. Maybe he was wrong for doing so, sensing the tension between you and the redhead, and determined the outcome for himself. Namjoon’s family or not, Hoseok was walking on thin ice. “The ride back to base is going to be long and exhausting,” Hoseok said, back to smiling too wide and absurdly, as though it would somehow help to better conceal the blatant lie. “You don’t wanna know what happens when we don’t meet curfew.” Namjoon nodded, understandingly. “Alright. Well, it was nice seeing you. Tell Aunt Soo about moving up here. I’d help her get settled in.” Hoseok was about ready to respond, when he heard Seokjin’s, ‘Who the hell is that?’ He followed the groom’s eyes towards a young guy dressed in army fatigues who was currently hugging onto Namjoon’s mother. He waved his arm in a spastic manner at Namjoon, eager to rush on over once he was freed from the embrace. Fucking Bumkun. The redhead tried pulling away, but Namjoon was still holding onto his hand. It seemed like he was unwilling to let him go now more than ever, making it seem possible that the groom had doubted Hoseok since the very beginning, which was a terrifying thought. He tried once more to remove himself, but Namjoon wasn’t budging. Truth was that Hoseok didn’t want this to happen in front of you, not after the piece of shit move he’d just pulled. He also didn’t want it to go down right in front of your friends. He’d have to continue seeing Jeongguk after this fuck up, serving as an unpleasant reminder of the lives he’d meddled in. The guy held out both hands, expectantly, “Namjoon!” Contemplative, the groom decided to give it a try. He had a feeling, “Bumkun?” The guy’s face lit up, “Yeah, man! Hey, I know I’m late, but I made it.” Hoseok’s head fell back with a groan, “Fuck.” Seokjin’s eyes were about the size of saucers, as he stood up from his chair. He pointed a finger at Hoseok, “Who the hell is this, then?” Jeongguk snorted, unhelpfully, “Not Bumkun?” “Taehyung…” Hoseok heard you say in warning, your voice tight and raw with emotion. Ah, yes. Taehyung. It was a moment later that Hoseok found himself being ripped from out of Namjoon’s grasp and was roughly turned to face the younger. Taehyung was a big guy. Hoseok couldn’t help but wonder what the outcome of a real fight would have been if he hadn’t chose to stand there, waiting patiently for the violence. “Taehyung, don’t…” you tried, as you shot up from your seat in a desperate attempt to put a stop to it. Whether you were trying to protect him or the mood of the party, Hoseok couldn’t tell. A part of him hoped it was the latter, for your sake. Sadly it was too late for all your good intentions, when Taehyung wound his arm back, and let his fist fly forward, bone meeting bone with a sickening crack. Hoseok fell to the hardwood floor, palms flat against its surface where he caught himself. The last thing he recalled before slipping into total darkness was the warm, comforting touch of your small fingers. You were cradling his head in your lap, murmuring his name. He tried telling you he didn’t deserve you. He fucking tried. Seeing red still, Taehyung had to excuse himself, before he went on a goddamned rampage. He scooped up Hoseok’s phone on his way out. The summer air did little for his temperament, since he was already so hot with anger. It was rare that the younger was ever this livid, but once it happened, it was nearly impossible to set him back to normal right away. Taehyung pressed on the familiar name in Hoseok’s contacts and clicked Call. After a few rings, the background noise of a fan indicated that someone had answered. “It’s too early for you to be calling your hyung like this, ‘Seok-ah,” rasped Yoongi, who was nice and snug under his many layers of blankets. Taehyung shut his eyes and swallowed thickly against the familiar gravel in the blonde’s voice, “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” “Mm, guess not,” Yoongi said, sitting himself up in bed at the sound of Taehyung’s baritone. “You don’t have to keep stealing Hoseok’s phone just to talk to me, you know. You could always just give me your number.” Taehyung sighed deep from within his chest, trying to let go of some of his anger – failing. “You’re right. Sexting would get awkward if it had to be done using your piece of shit friend’s piece of shit phone.” The profanities tended to flow freely whenever Taehyung was this upset. “Did you fucking know that he was going to come here and crash my friend’s wedding today?” Yoongi paused, feeling his blood run cold when the realization dawned on him. “No, I didn’t know, and even if I did, there would be no reasoning with him. So, where is he now?” “Knocked the fuck out is where he is and I’m not sorry,” Taehyung said, as he uncurled his swollen fist, his knuckles already bruising. He’d wanted to break Hoseok with one punch. “I’m calling you, because I’d like it if you would come and get him.” Yoongi already knew why it had to be him, but he couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. “Jimin would be a better choice in this situation, being Hoseok’s roommate and all. Why does it have to be me?” “Are you really playing with me right now?” Taehyung asked, somewhat incredulous, too riled up to care about the consequence of his answers. “You know it’s because I want to see you again and I know…I know that you want to see me, too. I’ll text you the address.” Yoongi heard the call end and dropped his arm back down to the sheets. He was tired of Hoseok’s shit, but for once something interesting could blossom from it. The thought of Taehyung, so beautiful and strong, punching his best friend into the next realm was oddly erotic. He could hardly contain his smile, laughing into the quiet of his dark room. ‘Oh, Hoseok. You fucking idiot.’

TBC

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