#never-ending heap of yang thoughts

[bestworstcase]

Thanks for your response ala Ruby & Yang, great stuff!

Idle aside, but do you have any thoughts on Yang's role as the sort of black sheep of the family by dint of Raven associations?

Cos like, Tai overtly favors Ruby, projects Raven onto Yang, resents Raven being rough up and is bad enough about reminders of her Yang feels she has to apologize for his negative reactions. Let alone his... Everything else.

Then there's Qrow who doesn't seem to interact with Yang over much at all and one of if not their most major interaction. Involves him straight up saying he thinks she's either a liar hurting people for fun or "crazy".

I recall someone I was chatting with wondering: Imagine doing everything you can to keep your family from breaking apart & being compared to the woman who left you when you were a baby?

Cos I do wonder how Yang feels about all that given she seems to downplay and or try to work around her family's issues when she can. Let alone what it says about the adults in the room.

smth i think about a lot is the way yang’s narrative about her childhood shifts between v2 to v5

’cause in v2 it’s: “it was tough. ruby was really torn up, my dad kind of shut down. it wasn’t long before i learned why…” all to provide context for this anecdote about putting ruby in a wagon and running away to find her mother. and then her conclusion is “my stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.”

and while there is a degree here of yang framing the story to emphasize the point she wants blake to understand, it’s also very obvious in her delivery that the emotional reality of this memory for yang is “the time my stupidity and stubbornness almost got me and ruby eaten by grimm”—when she was [checks notes] like five, six years old, and regularly left at home unsupervised.

but in v5, it’s: “my mom left me. ruby’s mom left too. tai was always busy with school, and ruby couldn’t even talk yet; i had to pick up the pieces. i had to pick up the pieces. alone.”

aside from the telling slip (tai, not dad)—yang centers her own feelings and the harm this situation did to her this time. which is something she’s always felt but i don’t think she could have brought herself to say it out loud to anyone during the beacon arc, because it was pressed down under the guilt on display in burning the candle, the feeling of having been inadequate and too stubborn and too selfish and and and–

coughs quietly. “my stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.” / “you were predictable. and… stubborn. and maybe a little boneheaded.” yang’s narrative about the wagon incident—which happened when she was five or six!—pinning the blame on the thing tai imagines to be her fatal flaw is…probably not coincidental. yang in v4 after a year of being loved by her team and supported by mentors like glynda / oobleck / port has the perspective to know that tai doesn’t know what he’s talking about; but as a small child who’d just had a terrifying near-death experience with her baby sister… 😶

it definitely had a big impact on the way yang sees herself

BUT i do read qrow's talk with yang in 3.8 pretty differently ->

because the context is: yang saw mercury attack her and struck back in self defense, then had like a dozen synthetic soldiers point guns in her face, then looked up and saw the replay footage of herself walking over to shoot a boy who was just kneeling on the ground. and some of the most powerful authority figures in the world are pushing this narrative that stress and adrenaline "clouded her judgment."

like this would make anyone doubt their sanity. bc holy shit.

yang, though...a couple weeks ago, yang after being knocked unconscious woke up and blearily saw someone she thought was her mother walk away from her and disappear in a flash of red light. she hasn't mentioned it to anyone, because it's just so bizarre—yang doesn't know about raven's semblance yet—she must have just been seeing things. right?

aside from raven (who isn't here) and yang (who believes she hallucinated), the only other person who knows that yang saw her mom on the train is qrow, because raven told him about it. he also knows that:

tai insisted on not telling yang ANYTHING about her mother, and qrow respected that up until now; so yang doesn't know about raven's semblance and can't make sense of what she saw.

salem's infiltrators are the same people who attacked amber, and qrow didn't get a good look at them because they seemingly vanished into thin air—pretty damn good chance that one of them has a semblance that manipulates what you see.

ozpin wants #2 kept secret, so yang has some very powerful people actively trying to convince her that she's crazy. ironwood is straight up gaslighting her.

qrow also—based on the first thing he says, which is "why'd you do it?"—seems to consider it a possibility that it is what it looked like but yang did have a good reason, and i actually do not think that is an outrageous thing for qrow specifically to think. because qrow was emotionally abused as a child, and he knows yang, and in the event that yang really did suddenly turn around and punch a guy who was kneeling on the ground, why would she do it?

glances at shay d. mann. well. maybe this kid has been harassing her? maybe he said something horrible or threatening to her and in the heat of the moment she just snapped? maybe "he attacked me, i saw him attack me" isn't really a lie per se, she's just scared that "he's been picking on me ever since he got here and he made a disgusting remark and i just couldn't take it anymore" won't be taken seriously? as in, he did attack her—verbally/emotionally.

it's probably worth asking, at least!

so, qrow leads with "why'd you do it?" in case there is some invisible reason justifying the apparent action. yang says "you know why." qrow goes okay, well, i only know what i saw, so you're either lying (i.e., yang had a reason she now isn't telling) or crazy (i.e., yang saw something different from reality that was very real to her).

she says "i'm not lying." qrow believes her: "crazy, got it."

at this point, he knows the most probable explanation is that one of salem's infiltrators fucked with her head. the inner circle's gaslighting doesn't sit right with him; he's not going to buck ozpin by telling her the truth outright, but he wants to make sure yang knows she isn't losing her mind. he also has all the info needed to guess that yang is actually really really scared that she might be crazy.

which is why he kicks off the wall and begins to pace around. the language he uses sounds dismissive, but his tone is mild and his body language implies "let's talk about it, let's figure this out."

leading to:

YANG: Who knows? Maybe I am. QROW: And here I thought your dark-haired friend was the emo one. YANG: I saw my mom. …I- I was in a lot of trouble, took a pretty hard hit. But when I came to, the person attacking me was gone, and I thought I saw… her. Her sword. Like the one in you and dad’s old picture. QROW: You’re not crazy, Yang. That was your mom, alright. Let me guess—she didn’t say a word, did she? YANG: How did you know that? QROW: I don't see my sister very often, but she does try to keep in touch... whenever it suits her. YANG: Wait—you mean you talk to her? That was real!? QROW: Yeah, she found me. Had a tip from my most recent assignment and wanted me to give you a message.

it's really telling that yang responds to him this way. 'cause we've seen how yang acts when she feels dismissed or belittled:

TAI: Well, "normal" is what you make of it. YANG: What is that supposed to mean? Do you want me to just pretend like nothing happened? I lost a part of me. A piece of me is gone. And it's never coming back. TAI: You're right. It's not coming back. But that doesn't have to stop you from becoming who you wanna be. You're Yang Xiao Long, my sunny little dragon. You can do whatever you put your mind to. So whenever you're ready to stop moping, and get back out there? I'll be there for you. YANG: I– I...

she freezes and shuts down! her teachers have to come to her rescue!—but when qrow goes "crazy, got it" and suggests she's being "emo," yang blurts out her big secret. i saw my mom. to me that suggests a level of trust and understanding that isn't there with tai: qrow says stuff like "okay, so you're crazy" and "here i thought your friend was the emo one" but what he means is "hey, i know something's really bugging you, tell me about it," and yang picks up what he's putting down.

it's akin to how ruby goes "did you miss me? DID YOU MISS ME??" and qrow's like "nope" and they both laugh. or the back-and-forth ribbing between him and the girls in 3.4. there's this layer of mild ironic meanness in the way qrow converses with his nieces that all of them are fluent in, and in this scene he's using that mode to signal that "crazy" is not off-limits, that it's okay to talk about openly.

crucially, there's a code-switch in the middle of the conversation: as soon as yang gets real and says "i saw my mom," qrow reflects that seriousness back to her. you're not crazy, that was your mom, she found me afterward and told me about it. it was real. you're okay. qrow's ability to do that—to shift into a more serious mode when irony isn't appropriate—is why yang can have this rapport with him that she doesn't have with tai, because tai isn't... being ironic when he says mean or dismissive things to her.

anyway, qrow passes on raven's terrible message and then kind of annotates it: "raven's got an interesting way of looking at the world that i don't particularly agree with, and she's dangerous." (which is a very diplomatic way of saying he thinks raven is full of shit. lol.) but then he connects this whole conversation about raven back to what happened after the match: "you're a tough egg, kiddo. don't let this tournament thing getcha down. you had a slip-up; sometimes bad things just happen."

implicitly: yang isn't crazy. what she saw on the train was real, a product of raven's personality and her semblance. sometimes bad things just happen. qrow believes that yang had the experience she says she did when she punched mercury. he doesn't know why she had that experience—yang doesn't either!—but he knows she isn't just "crazy." sometimes things that seem crazy are actually real.

remember what he tells the girls in 3.4? "you may be acting like huntresses, but you're not thinking like one." same thing here. he's telling yang, hey, you're not crazy, you know what you saw, but you don't know what or who caused you to see it. "you cut off the head of the king taijitu, but now the second head's calling the shots."

hint, hint.

it's subtler than the hints qrow drops for ruby in 3.12, but very much in the same vein, and yang is plenty smart enough to figure it out. she might... not have? in the couple of hours between this conversation and everything going to straight to hell, but if they'd had literally just one more day, just long enough for the wheels turning in yang's head to click together with what ruby heard from velvet about coco hallucinating during her and yatsu's 2v2 against emerald and mercury, she would've had it.

more... generally, i've never gotten the sense that qrow projects raven's flaws onto yang in the way that tai does; qrow is definitely a lot closer with ruby than yang, but i think that has less to do with favoritism on qrow's part than it does ruby thinking he's like the COOLEST uncle ever and wanting to use a scythe like he does.

'cause like, qrow isn't their parent, he doesn't live with them, he's not responsible for raising these kids like their dad is, so while he obviously did contribute to fucking them both up because: alcoholic, ultimately there just isn't the same degree of betrayal or emotional abandonment; he's not their dad. both times yang talks in detail about her childhood, it's "my mom left, ruby's mom left, tai wasn't really around, ruby couldn't even talk, i was alone"—she doesn't mention qrow. there isn't that deep hurt, that feeling that qrow is someone who left.

when he isn't drunk, yang seems to feel pretty okay around him, and qrow likewise treats her... honestly a lot better than tai does:

he stops by their dorm in v3 to hang out with both his nieces; yang is fully in sister mode—cheers for ruby to beat him until ruby loses, immediately shoves her out of the way like "my turn!! >:D"—and qrow ribs them both, takes ribbing from both of them in good humor, tells both of them "you two are gonna go far."

qrow nicknames to show affection; ruby is "pipsqueak," yang gets "firecracker."

we only see qrow's goodbye to ruby, but in 5.4 yang indicates that qrow came to talk to her before he left, too. she also has complete trust that he's keeping the promise he made to look after ruby.

yang, as noted, opens up to him about seeing her mom; she's also shocked that he's still in contact with raven and indignant that he didn't tell her sooner, but—unlike with tai—she doesn't seem surprised that qrow is willing to talk about raven in general.

which tracks with what tai says in 4.11: "despite asking him numerous times not to, i know qrow told you where you're mother's been at these days"—meaning, this was a point of contention between him and qrow. behind the scenes, while tai refused to discuss raven at all, qrow was going okay well, let me tell her then, she deserves to know. and then ultimately he just bit the bullet and told her behind tai's back. i wouldn't be surprised if it turned out qrow had been straight with yang that her dad wanted to be the one to tell her the important stuff, and he wanted to be respectful of that, but raven wasn't an off-limits topic.

general contrast between yang-tai and yang-qrow dynamics; for example both of them say almost verbatim "you've got a long way to go before you're ready for the real world" (3.4/4.4). from tai it's belittling, he's insulting her; from qrow, it's meant to encourage, it's "remember you're still new to this, you'll make mistakes, just keep learning, keep trying." (rwby does stuff like this all the time, refracting an idea in different directions to highlight contrasts between characters; ozpin's advice to ruby vs port's advice to weiss is another example.)

a lot of qrow's resentment toward raven is centered on her abandonment of yang: "did you know yang lost her arm? [...] rhetorical question, i know you know. it's just obnoxious that you'd bring up family and then carry on like your own daughter doesn't exist. [raven: "i saved her."] once. because that was your rule, right? real mom of the year material, sis." like he is PISSED on yang's behalf that raven won't even try.

my impression is that qrow—although a) often away on long missions in far away places and b) an alcoholic who sometimes got blind drunk and became a burden yang and ruby needed to take care of—when he did manage to be there, made a serious effort to connect with both of them. he ended up being closer to ruby bc she wanted to learn scythe-wielding, but i do think qrow would've trained yang too (or instead) if the girls had different combat interests.

and while his relationship with ruby has a mentorish aspect, i don't get the sense either of the girls see him as a parental figure: he wasn't part of their household, he traveled a lot, his alcoholism in combination with tai's neglect eroded the adult-child boundaries because they had to be responsible for him as often as the reverse. he's a friend who also happens to be related to them. and that's especially true for yang, because he wasn't her teacher.

(i know it's a... pretty common headcanon / fanon that qrow lived with them, but i really don't think that's supported by the text? whenever ruby or yang look back on their childhoods, the family unit is always them + tai, and qrow isolates himself out of fear that his semblance will injure those he cares about. plus ozpin sending him all over the place as the one member of team strq still active. it makes way more sense to think he lived alone, and visited when he had the chance. which is the main reason i'm WAY softer on him than on tai, 'cause qrow wasn't in a caretaker/parent role; at most he was an occasional babysitter. so while his incidents of turning up drunk on the doorstep contributed to the harm... it's like, it would absolutely have been better for them if qrow were sober, but that wouldn't have changed anything about their home life. they'd just have somewhat easier relationships with qrow.)

TO WRAP THIS BACK AROUND TO THE QUESTION, tai is unfairly judgmental and harsh with yang bc he projects his idea of her mom onto her; yang also has a better relationship with her mom's brother than she does with her dad. how do these two dynamics interact? how does yang feel about hearing from tai that she's too branwen, so to speak, while also getting along better with the branwen side of her family? how might that fuel her desire to find raven?

if her uncle treats her better than tai does, then... maybe her mom would too, if only yang could reach her?—obviously it's not rational, but like. i don't think five year old yang put her baby sister in a wagon and ran away to find her mom because she thought she would ask "why did you leave me?" and then get her answer and go home. as yang grew older and developed a more realistic perspective it shifted to "i just need to know why she left" and she projects that backward onto herself as a child, but at the time what she wanted, what she was looking for, was someone who would take care of them.

[shyminmin]

༄𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐗 𝐟.𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Fantasy, Mermaid AU | ༄𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.9k + ༄𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Negative/depressive thoughts, panic attack

This isn't good.

Everything has gone wrong.

What am I supposed to do now?

It can't end like this, not after all my searching.

There has to be more!

Right?

After Dongha and Sungwon had dropped me off back in front of the 'Seascape Inn,' not without ensuring that I was alright and failing to hide their solemn expressions, I had spent the rest of the day holed up in my room like the little hermit I was. They figured I could use some space and time to myself which I was more than grateful for.

I didn't want them to see me fall apart.

Crumpled in a pathetic curled-up heap on my bed, I had eventually fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. The whole interaction with Mr Yang had taken its toll on my body and here I was now, early hours of the afternoon the next day, still utterly spent and no further settled about my situation.

A great, big storm cloud had slowly been forming since yesterday, looming over me and blocking out any possible remnants of optimism that may have been hovering around in regards to my search, imploring me to continue, that there was still something for me here in this old, deserted seaside town.

I swallowed down a painful sigh, filled with all my suppressed emotions, cursing my naivety.

I regretted ever obtaining any form of blind hope in the first place. I was setting myself up to fail from the very beginning but I refused to see it, wanting that childish happy ending.

I let myself believe that I would definitely find the missing pieces of my life here, that all of this was worth the hassle and time and I would come back with results, with a completed image of myself. Dongha and his friends had initially added fuel to my positive outlook on this, when they eagerly told me stories about my past. It made me think that my adoptive father would share similar musings, filling in the blanks of the person that was Cheong Y/n.

But who was I kidding, this was the real world.

It's harsh, unfair and ridiculously cruel to the people within it. Nothing ever comes easy unless you have a sizable amount in the bank and a fair share of shady connections. Yang Chinhae made sure to extinguish that steady growing flame of possibility, spouting out make-believe testimonies as a way to cope for the loss of his wife, putting the blame on me when it was no one's fault to begin with. He left nothing but a cold, damp lifeless pit in the fire's place, ensuring that it would be impossible to ever make it light up again.

Now I was once again stuck in a grey limbo, still mostly clueless about my existence. Yeah I gained a few tidbits here and there but nothing big enough to formulate a smooth, cohesive understanding of things.

My mouth trembled and my breathing became shaky as I continued to ponder.

I should have never come here...

It was all just a huge gamble that I had stupidly roped myself into and as a result had lost completely.

I couldn't even see myself enjoying the rest of my stay here, my hopeless thoughts would take up too much of my attention.

By the end of the week, I would go back to my dull, uncoordinated life where I'd continue to juggle my three odd jobs, all while trying to make ends meet. I'd still be that lost, clueless girl who wasn't living, just purely existing, nothing but a mindless zombie. Unlike here where the kind fishermen lived, I would have to return to the gruelling city where I would be alone with no family or friends to confide in or seek solace with, no one to rely on if times get tough.

I hadn't eaten anything since the drive to Chinhae's place, food being the least of my worries, even when hunger pains kept poking and prodding at my stomach, begging and pleading for me to get some god damn sustenance.

What was the point?

What was the point of making the effort to eat to survive if in the end I was still lost and unhappy?

The surroundings of my room got fuzzy, making everything morph together into one chaotic, blurry mess of colours, the beginnings of tears. The dam of my emotions had finally reached its limits, crumbling as the pent up emotions wanted release, too painful for me to keep them down any longer.

"Why?" I whispered to myself.

"Why me?"

My body hunched over and shook uncontrollably, steady salty streams fell and coated my cheeks as short, stuttering sobs left my lips. I reached up to rub my eyes trying to make them stop but it was useless, more just took their place.

Was this all my life was ever going to be?

My limbs went limp and heavy from all the built up tension and I couldn't help it when my body fell forward and collapsed down onto the bed once again, tears dampening the rumpled sheets from where my face was buried within, my louder and more frequent cries getting muffled by the fabrics.

Was it really worth it feeling sorry for myself, it's not like it was going to change my situation or make anything better. Crying won't fix things. No one was going to swoop in and whisk me away to a place where problems didn't exist, no this was reality. Everyone was out there for themselves.

I couldn't help it when more liquid proceeded to leak out from my now most likely puffy eyes. Numerous choked out gasps and whimpers initially consumed me as I was helpless in trying to stop everything from just flowing out. It was like my body had unconsciously switched to autopilot.

Tightly fisting the sheets, tremors erupted throughout my slumped out form from how hard I was crying now. Would I ever find the strength to stop? Maybe life would be lenient for once and make me die from it. It's not like the world would stop turning if I did succumb to death. It would sure as hell put me out of my misery.

Grasping my chest, I struggled to breathe, as an onslaught of violent screams came tumbling out making it almost impossible to get in any ounce of oxygen. My throat and lungs seized up and burned hot embers from the continuous fits I was being subjected to, needing some form of relief but getting denied. The muscles in my diaphragm getting overexerted.

Breathe!

I shook and thrashed around, messing up the sheets more, eyes scrunching shut as my panic increased, needing air.

I...I-I can't breathe!

Scratching at my throat, I tried to get a grasp on my bearings, to assume and gain back some control, but my now fitful screams just weren't having it. I had realised that I had descended into a full blown anxiety attack, something I haven't experienced since my early adolescence.

Letting out small tears in front of the fishermen that day in the cafe was a bitter forewarning for what was happening to me in this current moment. Just like with my severe panic attacks it had been forever since I had poured out my feelings and emotions in the form of crying.

Screaming and hyperventilating out all my pain and struggles, pulling at messy strands of hair till it hurt, and clawing at my neck leaving red marks, I grew fed up with this life I found myself living. My body eventually going completely lax after the last of my energy was used up, laying my head on the heavily tear stained blankets.

What was the point anymore? I thought as I just lay there pathetically.

I'm sick of this, I'm tired..

I'm too tired to care about anything anymore.

My vision began to fade in and out, eventually settling into a pitch black abyss which sucked me into unconsciousness as my whole being had finally had enough of everything.

Hopefully I won't wake up this time round.

My hand unknowingly fell to the side where it rested against a certain black hat.

How am I still alive?

Similar thoughts were displayed on Ms Jee's face the moment I descended the stairs of the inn after my mental breakdown. My eyes were extremely swollen and red from the excess amount of tears that were shed as she took in the sight with a weirded out expression.

I had slowly made my way to the exit, totally devoid of life before she spoke up.

Urgh, I don't have the energy to handle you..

"Who went away and died to get you looking like crap? Oh hun, was it your boyfriend?"

Where she would've thought I would finally lose it and fire back something in offense, I surprised her and even myself with my words.

"You w-were right...Nobody gets what they want in life...T-thank you for telling me the facts...I should've taken your word for it sooner...

"Well I..." She uttered, astonished. Clearing her throat, she continued nonchalantly, "Good to see someone taking my advice for a change. The sooner you realise where we all stand in life, the amount of disappointment you will save from experiencing when stuff fails to go your way. Things can't get any worse if you're already at rock bottom."

Standing there in the centre of the lobby, nodding at her words in agreement, I couldn't help but give her a small smile, further shocking her. Maybe everyone has the ability to be somewhat supportive, even if it is through harsh advice. She continued to remain speechless when I finally made my exit.

"Thanks again Ms Jee..."

Finding myself idly sitting along the sandy shores of the town's beach, I forced down bites of a basic lettuce and tomato sandwich which I snagged from a random store that was just about to close. Not tasting it at all, I focused on the fact that at least it was making my stomach finally shut up.

The moon halfway to first-quarter, oversaw me trying to be enthusiastic about my pathetic lunch as it hovered in the still daytime sky. I stared at it for a moment, admiring its simple beauty.

Even a ball of rock orbiting the earth has a purpose... I thought in dismay. It ensures that the tides always have a reason to move and is the lone lantern of the night that guides one through the dark.

But what am I? What's my reason for existing? As far as I know, all I've been doing is wasting precious air. No scratch that, I'm a supposed half-fish person who curses people. Scanning my legs for fun, I tried to look for the scales I apparently shed. Nope just boring skin, I wish I was that cool.

Maybe Chinhae was drunk that night and mistook the skin condition on my feet for scales. Or perhaps he really is looney, it's hard to tell. Although, out of all the delusional words that Yang Chinhae spouted, one thing stood out.

He stated that he witnessed others that night, others who had supposedly left me on those sandy shores. Could they have been my parents, relatives even? If he saw them just dump me and run, why didn't he go after them?

If I did go back and demand answers he'd probably stick to his fairytale story and say that they jumped back into the sea to their underwater palace or something ridiculous like that. However, that's provided he doesn't murder me before I even get a chance to speak. He seemed pretty intent last time on spearing me like some fish.

Crumpling up the plastic from the finished sandwich, I stuffed it in my pocket letting out a sigh.

No, I truly have hit the end of the road for answers..

Should I pack up and leave early? Three more days here is going to be pointless.

Lost in my world of depressive thoughts, I wasn't expecting to be greeted by something that caused an unexpected sense of déjà vu.

A long shadow was cast upon my seated form, blocking the late light of the sun and my view of the waves. I was overcome by a strange feeling that rocked my very core as butterflies proceeded to flutter around in my stomach, the person standing in front of me in those all too familiar clothes making my nerves go haywire.

Clearing his throat from where it was above me further clarified as to who this person was, that deep audible sound sending tingles that went straight through my whole being.

Trying to appear like I wasn't affected by his presence, I directed my gaze towards the man's face, heart beating erratically against my rib cage when I was once again struck by his otherworldly appearance, like that day back in the cafe. Déjà vu indeed.

Midnight hair subtly swaying with the breeze, his pearlescent skin accentuated his rosy lips as he stared directly at me, no hint of expression.

"I-I....um..uh.." My brain failed to compute, as I awkwardly stumbled over my words, sounding more like I was trying to talk while being strangled. How embarrassing!

"I... um...you...y-you are man..."

Oh god what even?! I mentally smacked myself. Just stop talking!

Gulping, I settled on just staring, his eyes breaking our gaze, roaming over my form instead, analysing and calculating like he was hoping to find something. I tried my best not to seem intimidated and shrink in on myself like I was so used to doing in these types of situations. Unfortunately, that's kind of hard to do when he's sporting such a stoic look while standing over me like some frickin giant. Is he going to say something or?

"Well I should hope so... I was the last time I checked," he uttered out, soothing, raspy tones that could just lull anyone into a gentle, wistful sleep.

"Wha-?" I looked at him dumbfounded, soon realising that he had responded to my retarded, choppy statement that I randomly let out under pressure. Rubbing my arm for comfort I put on a forced smile.

"Oh yeah haha, o-of course you are... silly me, forget I said that, uh...you ok?"

Nodding his head in reply, his cerulean eyes come back up to rest on my own, I try to will myself not look away out of habit. Oh boy this is hard.

"My eyes could be deceiving me, but I'm pretty sure that's mine," he said, motioning to the item of clothing placed beside me that I had mindlessly brought along with me after my tearfest. Ever since that hat had found itself in my possession it had provided a weird sense of grounding for me, a steady comfort that I took for granted.

"O-oh right! S-sorry for not realising sooner! My m-mind isn't all with me at the moment....Yes, I've been l-looking to give it back to you...e-ever since that day at the beach."

Picking up the black headpiece, I pushed myself up off the sandy ground, dusting some grains off from where they stuck to my shorts. Now standing in front of the man, he was still a great deal taller than me as I quickly held it out for him to take.

"H-here I kept it safe, just a little sandy in places..." My hands shook out of nervousness from our close proximity, his dominant aura not helping in the slightest.

Giving me a low hum I presume in 'thanks', he reached out and took it, one of his large, pale hands gently brushing over one of mine amidst the exchange.

Everything would've seemed normal with this, that was until the moment his skin decided to touch mine. A great big surge of what I can only relate to as electricity, spiked from the point of impact, running through and filling every little crevice of my body. It wasn't hot or cold, but made me jolt and waver on my spot, my eyesight going stark white for a moment hindering my vision.

I let out a surprised gasp as I clutched my throbbing head, my knees going weak before completely buckling. Feeling myself falling dangerously to one side, my body continued to fluctuate from the strange wave of energy.

I braced myself to hit the ground, hoping the powdery surface of the sand would absorb most of the impact. I waited in anticipation until a pair of strong arms caught me around my middle, firmly holding me up by the waist and preventing my fall.

"Hey!" I heard the man shout out, shock evident in his deep voice.

What's happening to me?

After a few more seconds of being lost in a sea of white, my vision slowly cleared and returned back to normal. The strange electric sensations dissipated, leaving a faint buzzing feeling in their wake.

Did I just have a seizure?

Now coherent, I blinked a couple of times as I scanned my surroundings, realising I had been brought back to the ground to rest against one of the man's knees while he looked down on me clutching my arms. The blue in his eyes turned a shade darker from the sudden situation.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked softly, his whirlpool orbs darting back and forth between my own. I shivered at his masculine tone and where his large hands held my weakened body in place.

"I-I...I think so.."

Helping my body to sit upright, all the while maintaining his firm hold on my arms in case I get dizzy, I thank him shyly. Silence surrounded us as I caught my breath, legs feeling like a bunch of pins and needles were jabbing them from the inside out.

I ran my hands over them trying to ease the weird sensation, all the while I could feel the mystery man observe me quietly from the side. The warmth from his body slowly seeping into my own.

I meekly looked up to see his face was awfully close to mine, making heat rise to my cheeks. "Who are you?" He suddenly asked, glancing over me again.

Raising an eyebrow at his off topic question, I decided that no harm could come out of me telling him my name.

"C-Cheong Y/n... why?"

Shaking his head at my response he began again, changing the wording slightly, "No, I mean what are you?"

Huh?

Looking at my clearly confused face he sighed in annoyance, his gentle demeanor changing drastically into something that was more rough and dangerous.

"Don't play games with me, I felt it too, when we touched," he shot out, making me shrink backwards, the task proving difficult with our current position and him holding me firmly in place.

Tension filled the air as he gave me a look as to speak, however I had no idea what he wanted me to say. When he realised I wasn't going to reply he let out a groan in frustration and settled his sight instead on my feet. I certainly wasn't expecting him to go ahead and start randomly taking off my shoes and socks, much against my protest.

"W-what are you doing!?"

He ignored my shrieks, taking off my footwear, all while I thrashed around in bewilderment. My struggles proved useless as I realised he was a great deal stronger than me.

Once the last sock was off and tossed to the side somewhere, the hideous condition of my feet was revealed to him, in all their scarred glory. I looked away ashamed at suddenly being exposed like this, knowing he'll most likely be grossed out at the sight.

"Thought so.." he muttered to himself, as he eyed them carefully.

"Y-you have a f-foot fetish or something, y-you pervert!?"

Scoffing at that, he delicately traced the lines of the uneven skin making them tickle slightly. Self consciousness took root as I grew nervous and flustered at being touched so intimately like this by a complete stranger, a man at that.

"Stop...D-don't t-touch me!"

"Do you always stutter?"

"W-what's that g-got to do with what you're doing!?"

"Nothing, but it's annoying."

"L-let g-go of me!" I shouted, dismissing his insult, tugging my feet against his iron grip which he refused to let go of.

"I knew there was something different about you, you didn't have that typical human aura. Why are you on land so often, don't you know it's not wise. Where did you get the elixir?"

His sudden statements and questions left me dumbfounded, not shedding any light on our current predicament or justifying his actions. What was with me encountering nut cases lately? He must be related to Mr Yang by the way he's acting.

"W-what are you even talking about!? Are you high?"

Elixir? Is that a new drug or something?

"Urgh, would you calm down! You really want to keep up that human act? There's no point in lying when I know! You've given me all the proof I need."

"If you don't let me go then I'll scream!" I huffed out.

"We're too far away for anyone to hear so don't waste your time."

Relenting, I decided to play along with his ludicrous assumptions. "I'm human, a homo-sapien, I come in flipping peace! I have no idea what your drugged up mind is thinking, so let go!"

"You're unbelievable," he spoke out enthralled. "Do I have to drag you into the water myself to spell it out for you."

Feeling my eyes going wide with fear, not liking his intentions at all at this point, I discreetly grabbed a fist full of sand from behind me. Was this psycho going to drown me? "Y-you've got your hat back, s-so just leave me alone."

"You really don't know do you? What you are, why your feet are like this? Just like mine..." His voice calmed down a teather, seeing the clear panic on my face. His steady grip on me loosening ever so slightly to try and make him seem like less of a threat.

Using this opportunity when he was in this more docile state, I quickly flung my handful of sand into his face, causing his eyes to widen in surprise as it effectively blinded him. He let out a pained shout as he let go of me bringing his hands up to his eyes.

Getting up as fast as I could, I made a mad dash towards the buildings of the town, not faltering in the slightest. Why does my luck with people run so short?

Packing up the last of his gear, the elderly man was just about to head in for the night before he was suddenly alerted by someone's presence.

Turning around to face them, the man's eyes lit up when he recognised the familiar face of his long time friend. He was about to capture him in a bone-crushing hug until realisation dawned on him about his sudden visitation, his carefree manner turning slightly more serious.

"What're ye doin' back so soon? Ye know it's hard on ya body. Somthin' up?" Uncertainty etched into his voice.

His friend made a low hum as he contemplated his words of reasoning. Scratching the back of his neck, he stared into the aged man's face with assertiveness.

"What can you tell me about a woman named Y/n?"

| 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 | ༄⋆

[novankenn]

Reluctant Hero?

= Thirteen = (Chapter List)

It took Cardin only a minute or so to catch up to Jaune, who he found pulling his chainsaw-hand out of the ground the white eyed top half of a Beowulf head laying at his feet. The body just off to the side, with black ichor spurting from the gruesome wound.

Jaune: Are you good? You ready to do this?

Cardin just nodded.

Jaune: Remember, if they look like how your friends did... they're already dead. You're not killing them, you're ending their pain.

Cardin just nodded again. Jaune nodded to him and moved off, heading north, or what Cardin thought was north. He hesitated only for a second before falling into step behind him.

/==/ Ten Minutes Later - the Ruins /==/

Ruby lay in the fetal position, as a black haired woman with cat ears tore the guts out of her sister. Yang had rushed to her aide, only to be overwhelmed. Her screams of pain had only just ended. With blood dripping from her hands, the thing hissed at her, and started to move forward.

Between them, Weiss stood. Her eyes wide with panic, and her hands shaking as she tried to hold her rapier steady. The whatever it was closed, a wickedly twisted and malicious grin on her face.

????: I am so going to enjoy ripping your heart from your chest... Schnee.

Weiss: (Her voice wavering with fear) Stay back! I'm... I'm warning you!

????: (Laughing darkly as she closed even more) You can't stop us. You are nothing, all of you are nothing but flesh and souls to consume!

The blast of a pink smoked grenade, tossed the twisted form of a faunus backwards tumbling through the air. It landed in a heap and remained still.

????: That's for Rennie!

The orange haired, gore streaked woman closed on Weiss, her weapon never straying off the crumpled form. Weiss' breath still came in ragged gasps, as the other woman, finally, took a place right next to her.

????: Are you okay? I'm Nora, by the way.

Weiss: Weiss Schnee, and I... I don't know.

Nora: (Pointing towards the whimpering form of Ruby, with a movement of her head) What about her?

Weiss: I don't know.

Nora: We need to get out of here, like now.

Weiss: I need to check on her (pointing with her shaking rapier towards the sprawled out form of Yang.)

Nora: Ah, her intestines are all over the surrounding ground... I don't...

Weiss: I think she was her sister. I have to check.

Nora: Okay. Be careful.

Weiss nodded and with hesitant steps approached the form of the blond haired woman. Weiss was pretty sure there was nothing she could do for her, but still she had to make sure. Once she was close enough, Weiss reached down and gently pressed her slim fingers against the woman's neck.

Suddenly the woman's eyes snapped open, and with a lightening fast twist of her head, she sunk her teeth into Weiss' wrist. Weiss screamed in pain and terror as she dropped her weapon and tried in vain to yank her hand free.

Nora: Weiss, get out of the way!

Weiss: I'm TRYING!

Weiss threw all of her pitiful body weight backwards. She didn't succeed in freeing herself, in fact, she did nothing but cause herself to fall to the ground. With a sickening fleshy tearing sound, the woman that was grinding her teeth into Weiss's wrist, pulled her top half free of her bottom half.

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Fics: New Discoveries-- Haze and necromance by astronaught

astronaught has a distinct, fluid style that takes a thought, sits with it, and turns it inside and out for greater alliteration and metaphysical connections. Not only is she talented at what she does, but I swear her writing is on the same wavelength as Duchovny's writing (and that's high praise because I love his 'switching from thought to though only to surprise with a connected stream at the end' style.)

Links at the bottom.

Here we go~

Haze

Haze is about Mulder's grotesque existence after Scully's loss-- ashes of vampires, California's sunbaked fakery, and an informant from wheat country that has to work overtime to even get the listless fibbie to take the case. Mulder tries to escape escalating disappointment by creating a story about he and Scully meeting up in the 30s (because, at this stage, he might as well go all in.)

""Everything was a bit grotesque in L.A. and so was everything out of L.A. Who said that Hollywood lied?

He wanted to bury himself in it, and he supposed he had. Now there were pits in the paint on the hood of his car where smoldering flakes of Kristen and The Son had been. He’d lose his deposit for it, probably. He’d put it on his own card, probably. He was glad. Suck his blood, suck his money. May as well.

Someone had left a note beneath one of the wipers yesterday. sonic–10am. tomorrow . He’d almost forgotten it. But there it was, still on the dash, the words somehow pulsing in time with the ringing of his ears. Sonic boom , he thought crazily.

He didn’t want to go, he really didn’t want to go. He wanted to lie on a bed in a smoke-dank motel room and lose three hours to contemplating the chance of asbestos in the popcorn ceiling. It’s like an inverse sky, he’d think. Black stars, white space. Yin and yang, yang and yin. Salt and pepper and pepper and salt and It’s gettin’ to be a real drag around here, you know what I’m sayin’?

But he went, because what if he didn’t? That was always the question. What if he didn’t go? He didn’t go quickly enough last time, and look what happened.""

necromance

Open-ended and unresolved, Mulder is contemplating his brewing resentment a Scully's gentle surety in the wake of her recent recovery from cancer and his "takesy backsy" move he made. A corpse with gigantism, a WW II veteran who let himself be locked up for a crime that is now legal while never telling anyone the dead speak to him, the backstory of how Diana and Mulder fell into each other, and a con artist who believes in himself-- is all tied together in a crazy, jumbled, knotted heap.

""He doesn’t have the detachment for clinical work, nor the patience for experimental. He ended up in Behavioral Science because what he does have is an instinctive sense that there is neither wonder nor dignity to be found in human physicality. People call Fox Mulder fanciful, but there is a brute practicality to him in this respect, one either belied or expressed by his tendency to be flip when it comes to the subject of biological needs. Workplace liaisons with Miss July and all. He will speak sparklingly of Giglioli’s whale, but any attempt to coax him into romantic admiration for the serial murderer or the High Noon hijinks of law enforcement will be met with an unimpressed impasse. To understand something without loving it is a talent, and Fox Mulder has it. He stopped profiling not because he did one too many method acting masterclasses on behalf of Uncle Sam, but because as childish as it might sound, something in him was starving from a lack of magic. Hungering for things that he instead might love but not understand.

Speak of the devil.

“Mulder, this is incredible” she’s telling him, bicep-deep in the abdomen of a man five times her size. Dr. Scully, always finding enough wonder in the physical for both of them.

“Give it to me, Scully” he says. She acknowledges the potential for amusement with a potential smile.

“In cases of conventional gigantism, subjects will suffer from any number of conditions.” She retracts her arm and leans back from the autopsy table as if sated. Satan, sated. Religious suspicion of satisfaction. Doesn’t matter, pay attention. “It’s usually caused by a tumor on the pituitary gland, and puts tremendous strain on the body’s system. Musculoskeletal and circulatory breakdown is endemic. The human body simply isn’t meant to be larger than a certain size.”

“But?""

Haze here

necromance here

astronaught's Ao3 here

[dangermousie]

#agreed to everything stated in post(s)#they in someways speedrun the heck out of here's how a hero has fallen-- a fallen angel symbolism of somesort#i just like to add: that in addition to how YX is not the stereotypical char that goes through these motions#there's usually a 'hero' or somesort of contrasting belief that is presented to the audience in that he has fallen thus root for this one#ex: EB's lord yang and peter ho's fox volant char-- you're being presented the background which makes you understand the why BUT#it does not negate that what said char is doing is 'wrong' thus you root for his adversaries or the 'good guys' per se#that is not the case AT ALL with this one (at least for me) in no way shape or form have i ever believe myself to be presented w/ reasons#to root for YX adversaries even as he descent further and much as i root for YY waaay back when; i genuinely just thought#just.... just get out of his way with CQ (which funnily enough is the novel's ending)#princess agents#楚乔传

@aysekira your tags!

And yes, I always root for YX. I am never tempted to go "oh, if only X will take him down, this would be a triumph of good." Because it would not be.

I know we've been talking about how it's interesting to watch EB at the same time as rewatching this, because they are in an unknowing dialogue with each other, without meaning to be (AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THIS PARENTHESIS PEOPLE NOT WANTING EB NOVEL SPOILERS - like Di Lin's future rebellion really makes even more sense when you watch something like this - Lord Yan was loyal and all it got him is his and his family's heads in boxes; Di Lin may lose if he rebels but if he doesn't, then the possibility of death becomes certainty and it wouldn't just be him who'd be dead but his family as well. In a way, he ends up winning in his mad gamble - sure he's dead by the end, but if he didn't rebel he'd have been dead anyway, and this way at least his family gets to live. END OF NOVEL SPOILER)

This is a system that is designed to reward monstrosity, to encourage disloyalty. Nobody gets to keep their morals and win. That is why the novel ending feels a little too pat for CQ - you know without authorial hand at the end, she'd not have her little kingdom and her husband both; there would never be peace - the more I dwell on it, the more I like the drama ending as an ending because nobody truly wins - YY is dead, CQ alone, and YX is the victor in that particular game of thrones but as in the novel, he's a victor who's left with no prospect for personal happiness.

In fact, I think the drama this reminds me the most of is not a cdrama at all but kdrama - Empress Ki. Sung Nyang, starts the narrative the same way Yan Xun does - she's capable, righteous, fun. And then the narrative breaks and break and breaks her, and love does not save her. Nothing can save her in that environment. And by the end she becomes as monstrous as the ones who hurt her; and she's left the winner of all the power games - empress dowager, on top of the heap. But any possibility of personal happiness is gone forever.

"Let's throw an execution party!" From the people who brought you "let's throw a human hunt!" I cannot wait until Yan Xun ends you all, freaks! (However mad he becomes, you know at least he'd never revel in an execution and murder party of people who he doesn't even hate because it will be entertaining and fun and relaxing way to spend an afternoon.)

The way they walk in and see that people are throwing a festivity out of their murder. It is worse for Yan Xun, because from the moment she opened her eyes in this world, all CQ saw was monsters, with few exceptions - she expects nothing more. But for him, he knew how cruel Wei was, but these are his friends, his family! People he lived with since childhood, who professed love and friendship for years.

The way you see him go from terrified to steeling himself bit also a bitter acceptance.

Hands!

Love how feral she consistently is btw!

This bit!!! "Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee" literally - the bell is for him and his family.

God, them, THEMMMMM

Side note - as I was telling @numerodix, I find it hard to care for YY's angst for having to be in charge of executing his bro (and the girl he fancies), because I am too busy with the angst of the actual people he's executing!!!!!

[swaps55]

Mnemonic

This is an AU version of a standalone scene from Cantata that I rewrote with kissing. Because there was a lot of UST and I am weak. 

Ao3

14 June 2180, Hades Gamma, Farinata System, SSV Myeongnyang

For a biotic, the armor never really comes off. What they carry under their skin is like a live wire, a current always in need of grounding.

Standing face-to-face with half a dozen L2 biotics holding the chairman of the Parliament Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies hostage on the MSV Ontario makes it a lot easier for Kaidan to see how much he takes for granted having a safe place to do it. And knowing how.

Reparations for the L2 side effects are a pipe dream. But a pipe dream Colin Daggett and his people needed to cling to, whatever the cost. And it had almost cost them everything.

Shepard doesn’t say much as they arrange for the survivors to be transferred to the Madrid’s brig and the engineering crew arrives to secure the Ontario for the trip to Arcturus. He says even less on the way through the airlock back to the ‘Yang, and the rest of the squad take their lead from him.

When they’re back on board the ship he disappears, sucking the air out of the room with him. They kit down without him.

“You’re an L2, aren’t you?” Pendergrass asks as she shoves her arms through the sleeves of her uniform, armor plating in a heap at her feet.  

Beaudoin jabs her with an elbow.

“Yeah,” Kaidan murmurs, fingers tracing the amp port on the back of his neck when he removes the protection plate. He flexes his fingers, gravity well jumping into his touch. As he reaches for his chest plate to store it in his gear locker, an electric shock passes through him.

When 23:00 rolls around, Kaidan shows up in the mess as usual, figuring he’ll keep it simple tonight and just make some pasta. Shepard is there waiting, as usual, picking at a spot on the table while Kaidan pulls out a pot and finds a container of pasta. The entire time the water boils Shepard doesn’t say a word, stubbornly lost in thought.

Kaidan tells himself he’s not going to do more than olive oil and garlic – it’s been too long of a day for effort – but by the time he gets it to the table there’s parmesan cheese, parsley, and even a little red pepper in the mix.

“You going to tell me what’s up, or do I get to guess?” Kaidan asks when he sits down across from him and hands off a fork. He spent too much energy on going above and beyond with the red pepper to bother with a second bowl. They’ll just have to share.

Shepard looks up, almost in surprise. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking ever since you got Chairman Burns through the airlock. Maybe you should think out loud.”

The gravity well churns as Shepard stirs eddies in it, in tune with the twirl of his fork in the pasta bowl. “Everything that happened on that ship hinged on what Daggett did with his pistol.”

His toying intensifies, until blue energy shimmers around his knuckles. This one’s been chewing at him. A snap of electricity skips between his finger and the fork, and he drops it with an annoyed mutter. He looks up.

“You pulled the gun out of his hands,” he says.

And Shepard had put a bullet between his eyes. The fight had gone out of the rest pretty quickly.

“He wasn’t going to put it down,” Kaidan says. “We all knew it.”

“No. He wasn’t. And if you hadn’t been there, that standoff turns into a clusterfuck where everyone dies.”

A soft smile tugs at Kaidan’s lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I was there.”

Shepard picks up the fork again, staring at it with an unfocused gaze before he stabs it back in the bowl and twirls more pasta.  

“I couldn’t have done what you did. I can’t refine a field like that. I was prepared to shoot everyone in that room. But you pulled the gun right out of his hands.”

Only because Shepard had given him the chance. Whether Shepard had done it with purpose or actually hesitated is a question he hasn’t been in a hurry to examine too closely.

“We work together, remember? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Shepard huffs. “Yeah. We have.”

“But you’re just gonna get bent out of shape about not being able to do everything yourself, anyway.”

“Have you met me?” Shepard says with a helpless shrug.

“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure,” Kaidan says with a chuckle. He pushes his chair back. “Come on, then.”

Shepard casts him a suspicious look. “Come where?”

“To the gym.”

“Alenko—”

“Come on.” He nods towards the elevator and starts walking, smirking a little when Shepard’s chair scrapes against the floor and his feet hit the deckplates.

“You’re just dying to give me a taste of my own medicine, aren’t you,” Shepard grouches when they board the lift.

“Oh, definitely.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Apparently not when it comes to taking people’s pistols out of their hands.”

Shepard chuckles, though he tries to choke off a smile by looking down at his feet. When they get to the gym Kaidan digs a canteen out of his locker and sets it down on one of the sparring mats.

“I’m guessing that your training didn’t include a lot of control drills,” he says.

Shepard shakes his head. “Tulak wasn’t big on control. Overwhelming tidal force tends to be the krogan approach.”

“You don’t say.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Alenko.”

Kaidan grins and points to the canteen. “Start simple. Just lift it off the ground.”  

Shepard rolls his eyes, but taps into the gravity well, corona enveloping him in a shroud of snapping blue tendrils. The hairs on Kaidan’s arms stand on end.

It’s so rare he gets to just watch Shepard work. All unrestrained power, from the loose, angry snarl of his corona to the sweeping mnemonics, make him seem larger than life. When he swipes the canteen off the floor he does it with his entire arm. The canteen leaps into the air, nearly hitting the ceiling before Shepard wrangles it. He only holds it still for half a second before sending it skidding to the other side of the gym.

“Hm,” Kaidan says.

Shepard gives him a withering look before marching off to fetch the wayward canteen. “It’s small. I don’t do well with small.”

“Not sure the size trips you up as much as you think it does,” Kaidan muses. “That mnemonic of yours applies some pretty impressive force automatically, so you’re already playing catch up if you’re trying to control the speed or direction.”

“See, I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or giving me shit.”

“Both.”

“Har.”

Shepard resets the canteen and comes back to Kaidan to try it again, standing close but not so close their fields intersect. Kaidan watches through three variations that all end almost the same way, too much force being applied to the canteen, making it nearly impossible for Shepard to control where it goes, or where it doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter that he’s not accomplishing what it intends. The way the gravity well cants under his touch, the way his corona lights him ablaze like a flickering star, the way it caresses every nerve in Kaidan’s body like a swash of silk is mesmerizing. Kaidan swallows before trying to speak.  

“Good news is, if we ever need someone to punt a suspicious canteen into space, I know who to call.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “And if you’re not around to yank pistols out of terrorist hands?”

“Well, first, I will be around. But second, as for the pistol, yanking it towards you isn’t so different from kicking it away from you.” He cracks a grin. “In your case you just need to be prepared to duck.”

“Have I mentioned that separating the pistol from the person holding it wouldn’t end well for anyone?” Shepard says. “If you were to go hold that canteen in your palm and ask me to do what I just did, you wouldn’t like me very much.”

I doubt that.

“One problem at a time,” Kaidan says. “Let’s work on controlling the canteen by itself, then we’ll add clutter.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“You need a new mnemonic. You’re fighting yourself by adding force and trying to take it away at the same time.”

“I’m sensing a metaphor.”

Kaidan smirks. “Think that says more about you than it does me.” Before Shepard can protest he raises an arm. “Watch me. You don’t have to use my mnemonic, but I want you to see something different so you can visualize it.”

Shepard folds his arms across his chest, but does what Kaidan asks. A nervous thrill runs through him at the undivided attention.

Kaidan waves a wrist, a hard-learned, hard-fought mnemonic that now feels as natural as breathing. Dark energy rushes through him, responsive and willing, as his fingers flex and settle a field over the canteen. Very little mass-shifting needed to pick up a light-weight canteen, which makes it tricky to keep from doing exactly what Shepard did – send it spinning out of control. But Kaidan has spent years perfecting his ability to do exactly this, so the canteen rises off the floor until it reaches eye level. Kaidan closes his fist and holds it still, floating almost motionless in mid-air.

“That mnemonic is so damned subtle,” Shepard says with an appreciative shake of his head. A flush builds at the back of Kaidan’s neck.

“Easier for me that way.”

Shepard grunts and unfolds his arms. “I was never good at levitation.”

“Because your mnemonics always apply force.”

“Need force to yank that pistol.”

“Sure, but if you want to control it, you need to learn how to hold it still.”

“I’m not good at still.”

“I know,” Kaidan says, lips curving into a smile. “So come here and let me show you.”  

Shepard strays a step closer into Kaidan’s biotic field. The blend of auras creates a low keen through his nerves, familiar but always striking. The canteen wavers before falling to the ground.

“Sorry,” Shepard mumbles, but doesn’t back away.

“It’s fine,” Kaidan says, lifting the canteen again with another float of his palm.

Their eyes lock for a moment before Shepard clears his throat and looks down at Kaidan’s hand.

“You put everything in your wrist.”

“Yeah,” he manages. “You do it all with your arms.”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe, if you’re looking for finesse, try to create a mnemonic that’s a little, uh, smaller.”    

“With my wrist.”

“Right. Um, I’ll show you. Here.” He steps in front of Shepard, angling his body to align their right arms. He takes Shepard’s right hand guides it to his wrist, tingle running down his spine when his fingers close around it. Shepard glances at him with soft eyes that stop the breath in his throat, but doesn’t object.

“Hands-on teacher?”

“Best way to learn,” Kaidan replies, gaze flicking to Shepard’s mouth before going back to the canteen. “Just follow my lead. Don’t act on the canteen. Concentrate on what my arm does. Visualize it.”

“Sure,” Shepard murmurs.

Kaidan reaches into the gravity well, his own corona unfurling, a steady candle to Shepard’s flaring torch. Goosebumps rise on Shepard’s arm, a subtle reminder that he’s human after all, one Kaidan is almost never close enough to witness.

He takes a deep breath and flexes his wrist, Shepard’s fingers loose and feather-light against his skin. A crackle of dark energy passes between them before he snares the canteen and turns his wrist palm-up to lift it off the floor, Shepard close enough his breath washes over Kaidan’s cheek. The canteen wavers but Kaidan keeps it afloat for several seconds, the mingle of auras, ripple of kinetic energy and closeness of Shepard enough to make him dizzy.

He lets it go with a clatter and puts space between them.

“Does that help?” he asks, trying not to sound breathless.

“Yeah. It does.” Shepard’s gaze stays on him, still and steady. “Might take a while to hard-wire my brain for something in the wrist.”

“Doesn’t have to be that. It could be something else. But you associate those big movements with force. Take that away, you might have more luck with leaving velocity out of the initial execution, so you can add it how you need it. Have more control over it.”

Shepard’s mouth crooks in a half-smile. “Sure I’m not a lost cause when it comes to control?”

“I’m sure.”

Shepard breaks his gaze and focuses on the canteen, brow furrowed in concentration. Twice he catches himself using his arm, then nearly wrenches his wrist trying to restrict the movement.

“It’s so ingrained,” he says with a shake of his head.

“That’s why they work,” Kaidan says with a smile. “Here.” He steps close once again, positions reversed with his hand on Shepard’s wrist this time. “Let me help.”

“Fuck, your hands are cold,” Shepard says with a laugh.

Hastily, he loosens his grip. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shepard says with a grin.  “Go on.”

Gently, Kaidan closes his fingers again. Shepard trains his eyes on the canteen, though they dart to Kaidan ever so briefly.

Shepard’s corona is so bright, so fierce, it’s a wonder he can wrangle it at all. Kaidan breathes in deep, letting his own kindle, the snick and crackle as they blend together forming a resonant hum that hovers just under his skin.

When Shepard’s arm moves, Kaidan tightens his grip, keeping the motion small. Instead of his usual languid, fluid posture, Shepard’s arm is stiff and resistant against him. The canteen spins in a circle but stays on the ground.  

“Breathe, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly. “Just let it happen.”

Shepard inhales deep, like someone trying to relearn how. This time they move together, Kaidan picking up the slack when Shepard falters, until the canteen hovers briefly in the air. It’s more under Kaidan’s control than Shepard’s, but it’s a start, and that’s what matters.

They gutter out and the canteen falls, but Kaidan doesn’t let go and doesn’t step away, not yet, not quite yet, not while the remnants of kinetic energy are still sharp in the air and he has to remind himself to breathe, too.

“How do you do that?” Shepard murmurs. “You worked around me, without…taking over. How do you do that?”

Their eyes lock for just a moment. God Kaidan could get lost there if he’s not careful. “Practice. Years of it.”

Let go.

He means to. He means to. In his head he loosens his hold on Shepard’s wrist, drops his hand away and puts space between them. That’s what he tells himself to do. That’s what he intends to do.

But while he does loosen his grip, instead of fall away, Kaidan’s fingertips brush Shepard’s knuckles, the pad of his thumb running along the round muscle of his palm.

It’s an accident. Just an accident. So many of their touches are, but rather than move or pull away, rather than let it be just another one of those excusable, explainable slips, Shepard exhales, the breath fluttering out of him, then splays his fingers wider, as if making room for Kaidan’s to slot between them.

Let go, let go.

But instead he explores the open space Shepard has left for him, fingertips light, hesitant, ghosting Shepard’s skin as he finds where they fit, hovering, hoping, but never daring to rest. Never giving up the ruse.

It’s an accident. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does.

Shepard stays still as a stone save for the rise and fall of his chest. They’re close enough now their cheeks almost touch, though whether Kaidan moves or Shepard does to close that gap he can’t say.

The next time Kaidan’s fingers trespass through that open space, Shepard closes his around them and traps them there.

Kaidan’s breath hitches.

The gravity well sighs as Shepard calls to it, glow of dark energy limming their hands, accompanied by a soundless hum that strums every nerve in Kaidan’s body before settling in his groin. Without thinking his other hand comes to rest on Shepard’s hip, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

A soft sound stirs in Shepard’s throat. Kaidan’s hand doesn’t stay on that hip for long, because Shepard seeks those fingers out, too, lacing them together. Kaidan folds both arms until Shepard is surrounded by them. There’s no imagining any space between them now – their cheeks rest against each other, Kaidan tightening his hold until Shepard is snug against his chest.

Shepard turns his head, but after briefly meeting each other’s gaze, his eyes drift down to Kaidan’s mouth.

Kaidan can still let go. There’s still a way out. Chalk it up to adrenaline, nerves leftover from the standoff on the Ontario. They can walk it off, laugh, pretend it never happened, continue on like they always have.

But he doesn’t let go, and then the millimeters between Shepard’s lips and Kaidan’s no longer exist and the window is gone.

Shepard’s mouth is warm, soft, lips tinged with the salt of his sweat. They start out slow, cautious, neither of them daring to think about it too hard, but that’s not a problem for long, because soon there’s no room to think about anything at all.

Nothing else matters but this.

Slow and cautious becomes deep and headlong, Kaidan pushing his tongue between Shepard’s teeth, Shepard sighing into his mouth and taking him in. His fingers tighten around Kaidan’s, the glow of dark energy rippling out from their joined hands until it swallows them whole. Kaidan gasps at the sensation.

Shepard kisses him harder.

God.

Kaidan wants to spin him around, throw his arms around his neck and meet him head on, give in to everything, all of it, but he can’t bear the thought of turning loose of that hand.    

They part when they run out of air, both straining to catch their breath, fingers still entwined, Shepard still firmly ensconced in Kaidan’s arms as his corona fades.

Shepard rests his cheek against Kaidan’s, ensconcing himself a little further.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Shepard’s fingers flex within his, twining and retwining, never letting go.

“You…don’t seem surprised.”

Kaidan closes his eyes, breathing him in, a star he’s somehow pulled down out of the heavens and trapped right here in his arms.  “No. Felt it…for a long time now.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

Their coronas may have faded, but the mingle of their biotic fields is a constant, soothing whisper under Kaidan’s skin. A small, contented sound slips from Shepard’s throat.  

“Why didn’t I see it?”

Kaidan huffs. “To be fair, I don’t think either of us are very good at this kind of thing.”

Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s fingers and pulls them to his chest. The race of Shepard’s heart thrums under their joined hands. If Kaidan had any illusions about letting him go, they’re gone now.    

“I think I’d like to learn,” Shepard says.

Kaidan’s stomach flips. “Me too.”

They stay still, Kaidan content to hold him, Shepard content to be held, until their lips find each other once more. Kissing Shepard is easy, effortless, like it’s something they were meant to do, a safe place for the live current running under their skin to go to ground.

Shepard, against all evidence to the contrary, is…safe.  

Shepard gazes at him when they part, and butterflies cut loose in Kaidan’s stomach.

“You’re very good at that,” Shepard murmurs.

“We’re very good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah. We are.” He draws Kaidan’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Kaidan admits. “What do you want?”

“You.”

A shiver runs down Kaidan’s spine, the euphoria of that one, single word enough to make him lightheaded. So simple. So complicated. They’ll have choices to make, all of them with compromises and consequences. But that’s something for tomorrow. Right now there is only the truth.  

“I want that, too.”

Shepard releases Kaidan’s hand to turn until they’re face to face, then runs his fingers through the hairs growing over Kaidan’s right temple. All the while those glittering eyes search Kaidan’s face, as though reconciling all the things he knows with the things he’s learning for the first time.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across his face, pure, open, and full of possibility. “Taste of my own medicine, huh?”

“Well…” Kaidan shrugs helplessly, and Shepard’s grin only gets deeper.  

“Seems like I should have let you teach me a few things a long time ago.”

Kaidan flexes his fingers, a curl of dark energy igniting in his palm that draws out goosebumps along Shepard’s arm. “All in the wrist.”

Shepard laughs. It’s like music. “You and me.”

“I like that,” Kaidan murmurs, before kissing him again. “I like that a lot.”

[binxyu]

It’s Jeongin’s birthday and you wanted to spoil him as you always did. Except, these gifts had a little more meaning and would change your lives for the better. It is safe to say that it was the best bunch of gifts that Jeongin could ask for.

>>Pairing: Yang Jeongin (sub) x fem!reader (dom) | birthday boy!jeongin x girlfriend!reader

>>Word Count: 1.9k

>>Genre: Oneshot / Requested / Smut

>>Warnings/Kinks: Aftercare, bondage, choking, creampie, hair pulling, marking, mentions of food, oral (giving), riding, and scratching

“Baby! It’s your birthday”, you smiled as you shook Jeongin’s arm gently. He groaned before his eyes fluttered open.

“And you’re not going to let me sleep in?”, he joked as he looked up at you.

“Nope. Not when I put in the effort to make you breakfast”, you shook your head and pecked his lips sweetly before you handed him the plate of food you made. He smiled and slowly sat up to eat.

“So, what do you have planned angel? You always make a big deal out of today”, Jeongin smiled as he watched you crawl onto the bed, laying on your stomach.

“I have to! You’re my boyfriend and I love you”, you smile and lay your head on his knee. Jeongin ran his hand through your hair as he ate the delicious food with his free hand.

“Well, I love you too and this is delicious”, he hummed happily and you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth that spread through your body when he said that he loved you. You always felt like that no matter how long you two had been dating.

“I’m glad you like it. So, how about I take you out to eat and then we can go to that amusement park you like? Then, once we’re home, I’ll give you your gift and post-gift”, Jeongin’s eyebrows furrowed at the last sentence, making him put his fork down and look at you.

“Post-gift?”, he questioned and you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“You’ll see~”, you cooed and he shook his head with a chuckle before pecking your lips.

“Can’t wait”.

“Y/n!”, Jeongin cried out when you jumped onto his back, making him stumble slightly.

“Oopsies”, you innocently giggled and held onto him as he put the bags of prizes down and unlocked the door to the house.

“How can you say you’ll spoil me and then make me carry everything and you?”, he chuckled as he went inside of the house, setting down the bags onto the counter.

“Have to make it even somehow”, you shrugged and got off of his back, moving to in front of him. Your hands instinctively cupped his cheeks, your thumbs caressing them softly.

“Did you have a good birthday so far?”, Jeongin smiled at the question and nodded happily.

“An amazing one. Thank you so much baby. I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else”, you felt pride go through your body when he said that.

“Well, lets end it right”, your demeanor had completely changed and that once innocent smile was replaced with a teasing smirk.

Jeongin noticed this and his cock twitched in his pants.

“Right how?”, he asked, gulping nervously.

You had always been the innocent one in the relationship and Jeongin would always make the first move, but that was going to change tonight.

He was surely in for a surprise.

“You’ll see~”, you hummed the same sentence you had this morning and then walked towards the living room. “Okay, come see your gift!”

Jeongin grinned and walked behind you into the living room. You quickly covered his eyes and then guided him towards the little giftbox on the floor with your hand intertwined with his.

“Y/n, if you scare me or something I swear-“, you cut him off with a giggle and a soft kiss before you uncovered his eyes.

Jeongin smiled at the sight of the little heart made of roses around the gift and the candles that smelt like you.

He slowly opened the gift, putting the lid into your lap and you watched nervously in preparation for his reaction.

“Baby...”, he opened the box and tears welled up in his eyes at the sight of the engagement ring. He looked at you and wrapped his arms around your body. You giggled and took the ring gently, holding it in front of you.

“I was going to wait because this is your day, but I couldn’t wait any longer”, you smiled and continued, “will you be my husband, Yang Jeongin?”.

He immediately nodded before chuckling under his breath.

“Wait, what’s funny?”, you tilted your head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Well, it’s kinda funny that...”, he cut himself off as he took out a box from his own pocket.

It looked just like the box that the engagement ring that you got was in.

Wait.

“I was going to propose too”, he chuckled and you started crying too through your giggles.

“So, will you, the love of my life, marry me too?”, he asked, his cute smile on full display and you quickly nodded.

You both put the rings on each other and you moved to sit in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him passionately.

He cupped your face with his hands and returned the kiss, groaning when you started to grind onto him slightly.

“Since when did you get so bold? First a proposal and now you’re trying to dom?”, Jeongin shook his head and you smirked.

“It’s a good surprise, isn’t it?”, you asked and grinded down harder, feeling him grow harder underneath you.

“An amazing one”, Jeongin bit his lip and you licked a strip up his neck, making him shiver.

“To the bedroom we go then”, he nodded and picked you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked to the bedroom. He sat on the bed with you still on top of him and you hummed as you thought of what to do with him.

You slowly lifted his shirt off of him, gripping his wrists behind him. You rested your chin on his shoulder to look over as you tied his wrists tightly together with the fabric.

“Ah fuck, you’re so hot”, he groaned when your knee brushed against his crotch. You pulled back to look at him, his head back from the pleasure and you felt confidence slowly come over you since you could tell you were making him feel good.

Your hand went around his throat, lightly squeezing the sides of it to heighten his pleasure. He let out a beautiful moan and all you wanted was for him to make that sound again.

You let go of your throat and stopped your movements, making your fiancé let out a whine. He looked at you with desperation, a lustful gaze with his pupils large.

He looked similar to a puppy begging.

“If I knew you were this needy and cute then I would’ve done this a long time ago”, you giggled, the sound so sweet compared to your words.

Your hands swiftly worked on unbuttoning his jeans and you pulled them down, letting them land in a heap on the floor. You took off his boxers next and rubbed your thighs together at the sight of his dick. 

It was swollen and throbbing, the tip covered in precum. 

You practically drooled as you wrapped your lips around it, starting to suck on the tip. That alone had Jeongin groaning and when you took the rest of it down your throat you could feel him shaking beneath you. 

Jeongin squirmed underneath you, not being used to not being able to control or touch you. His hands gripped each other as they were bound together, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to control his shaking. 

Your head moved quickly up and down, his cock rubbing against the walls of your throat. The sensation burned but the sounds that Jeongin was letting out made the feeling worth it and you hallowed your cheeks in hopes to make him louder. 

“Baby! I’m going to cum!”, you smiled and nodded, giving him the permission to cum that he had been looking for and he came into your mouth. 

You pulled away, swallowing the bitter seed the best that you could but you could feel some of it run down your chin and you got an idea.

“Lick it off”, you ordered and Jeongin’s heavy breathing became heavier as he became hard again from your harsh tone. He nodded and leaned forward slightly to lick at your chin, tasting himself on his tongue as he swallowed it.

“Good boy”, you praised him, making him even needier to be inside of you. All he wanted was to feel you around him and you knew that.

“Do you want me?”, you asked as you looked down at the man, taking off your jeans and tossing them to the floor. You straddled his lap as you waited for his response, your wetness soaking through your panties and rubbing against his tip.

“P-please I want you”, Jeongin nodded, a moan coming out of his plump lips and you started to kiss his neck, sucking marks on his sensitive spot.

Your hand reached down to move your panties to the side, slowly lowering your hips down to take him inside of you. He stretched you out perfectly, making a whimper come out of you as Jeongin’s cock was all the way inside of you. 

“Fuck, you’re huge Innie”, both of your heads were thrown back. You two had never done this position before and the feeling of Jeongin so deep inside of you made you want to scream. 

You started to move your hips at a steady rhythm while Jeongin thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot with ease. Your legs shook from the sudden pleasure that went through your body and your nails dug into Jeongin’s beautiful skin, leaving red marks in your wake. 

You held onto his shoulders as you rolled your hips faster, your thighs rubbing against his own. You could feel your orgasm approaching and you moved your hand to grip Jeongin’s hair, pulling his head back to kiss him roughly.

He obediently opened his mouth and your tongue went in, exploring his mouth and moaning into it as your whole body shook in pure bliss.

“I’m going to cum again!”, Jeongin whined once you pulled away from the kiss and you nodded, gently peppering his shoulder with kisses.

“Me too baby. Let’s cum together”, you whimpered and he nodded. You both came together, Jeongin’s seed filling you up as you came around his cock. The cum mixed inside of you and warmth went through your body at the feeling. 

You continued to move your hips until you had milked Jeongin dry and got off of him, kissing him gently as you worked on untying his wrists.

“I-I love you so much”, your fiancé sounded breathless and you took pride in knowing you had managed to do that to him. You smiled and wrapped your arms around his back to help calm him down.

“I love you too. More than anything”, the confession made Jeongin grin and he rubbed his raw wrists, leaning into your hug.

“Even more than your stuffie?”, he asked jokingly as he looked at the little stuffed rabbit sitting on the corner of the bed. You gasped and quickly covered the bunny’s eyes, making Jeongin laugh at your innocence. That was who he knew you as, but that little surprise was more than just arousing.

“Don’t get greedy”, you scolded him and he pouted as you hugged your stuffie. 

“What about me?”, he huffed and you giggled, opening your arms to him too. He grinned and laid on your chest, hugging you tightly.

“Happy birthday my love”. 

[bandaigaeru]

gravitational pull - seo changbin

→genre: brief fake dating, childhood friends to weird enemies to fake lovers to real lovers →synopsis: he was a glimmering star of hope until he exploded, suspending your relationship into a seesawing gravity. →pairing: changbin x gender neutral reader →word count: 8.1k →warnings: hyunjins kinda mean at one point, mentions of alcohol

i.

Mulch crunches beneath the adolescent shoes of your classmates. One intention is shared, in this playground warfare, and it’s to get a swing.

You disregard the heap rushing towards the ones closest, for your gaze is set on the far end of the swingset. And it is just within your reach. Your eyes narrow as you outstretch a palm, prepared to feel the coolness of the rusty chain.

The chain sways away from you beneath the harsh touch of another boy.

You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth fallen agape.

He smiles, the plastic seat dipping beneath his weight. “This one’s mine.”

A small shake in your tone as you return, “I was here first.”

“So? Everyone knows this is my swing.”

You slowly nod, taking small footsteps backwards. Hwang Hyunjin is bigger than you. And more accustomed with goons of friends. There’s no point in fighting.

Though as you start for the abandoned monkey bars (their vibrant red paint chipped to a sad haze) with blurry vision faulting your path, a voice booms over the rush between your ears.

You glance in the direction. A short boy sits in a stationary swing, smiling as though it is all he’s ever known. He waves you over.

Taking all of the precautions, you glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s talking to you. When you confirm, you drag your feet along the mulch.

You flinch when he stands, bringing guarding forearms to protect your face. The blow never comes.

“You can take my swing,” he says. You peek at him through your shield. His puffy cheeks are still indented with the smile. And his hands, not balled into a fist, lay calmly at his side.

You blink, slowly lowering your defense. “W-Why?”

He laughs, “That’s what friends are for. Duh.”

The laugh that trembles over your lips is shaky and foreign. You reach for the chain.

“I’ll push you!” he declares, rushing behind you as you steady yourself in the small seat.

He pulls you from the ground, the tips of your shoes trailing back amber woodchips.

The tip of your nose kisses the blue sky. Though, inevitably, the time comes when you must fall back to the earth. Steady hands push against your back, returning you to freedom. You find yourself grinning each time.

The next day, Changbin saves you the swing beside him. He waits until you are ready before kicking off on the ground. You swing in sync, sharing a few glances under the sun’s hugging rays.

It only takes a week before he’s begging his mother to arrange a playdate. And to your luck, he follows through with the promises, meeting you at your doorstep that Saturday. He guides you a block over to his house. He must be a good kid if his mother entrusted him with such a task, bringing two first-graders over. One returning home and one in need of a home away from home.

His mother is extremely nice, smiling at you each time you catch her eyes. She sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table while you and Changbin battle over the next Spongebob episode. His sister comes out of her room, too, asking you whether you prefer Barbies or Matchbox.

Elementary school passes like this. Recess is spent with his presence, as is lunch and gym and any class freetime. On the off days that it rains, barring you inside the school, you play Mancala. It’s totally civil. Not once does Changbin storm off when he loses. He merely shrugs and offers to set up the next round.

So unusual, though each time you find yourself smiling.

After an emotional graduation party—emotional for the teachers and family, you mean—he hands you a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” you curiously look at him. His tie has loosened since the ceremony and his hair is ruffled by his father’s hand.

“My phone number. I won’t be in town this summer, but I still wanna keep touch with you.”

You smile down at the small digits. Neatly, you fold the post-it before slipping it into your pocket. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into his touch as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m gonna miss you,” you announce, voice muffled by his shoulder.

“It’s only one summer,” he reassures. “Plus, I’ll bring you back something nice. A keychain or something.”

You laugh through the sting that stabs your body, nodding. One summer cannot mark the end of the world, you tell yourself as you watch his car drift over the hill leading into town.

ii.

On the first, dreaded, day of middle school, you scan the halls carefully. The new faces do not scare you as much as the lack of his does. Each call was sent to voicemail. And each time the dial sounded, you frantically returned the phone to the receiver. Maybe he had accidentally miswrote the number. Or maybe he was too busy to return your calls. Summer has that effect on people, you think, where you have so much fun you forget the things you used to do daily. Like a memory disorder.

You finally see him in the lunch line. A breath of fresh air invades your lungs as you rush over to him.

“Changbin! How was your summer? I called, but you never answered,” you grin, nudging his shoulder.

He does not shoot you a glance, nor does he send a glare. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on his shoes. A sharp pain strikes your chest—that breath might have been poison.

You gently shove his shoulder again, forcing a shaky laugh as you continue, “Hello? Anyone in there?”

The boy in front of him spins on his heel. His eyes are cold, painful, as they meet yours. “Can’t you tell he doesn’t wanna talk to you?” Hyunjin scoffs. “Go somewhere else, dumbass.”

Hesitantly, you look to Changbin. Surely, he’ll defend you, right?

Right?

His eyes have traveled to the lunch menu, displayed on a TV in cheap font. Far away from this conversation.

You nod, looking back to Hyunjin. His abrasive eyes are still waiting for you, eagerly begging you to move on. “Sorry, then,” you murmur as you start for the bathroom that will become your haven.

Behind you, Hyunjin’s loud laugh taunts you. Hidden beneath it is a quieter one that stabs you in the chest. Something painful blurs your vision, twists your insides, and curls the corners of your lips as you try to fight it.

You were a fool to think he was different. Elementary promises should never be trusted.

Secondary school passes in dreary blinks. Watching Changbin run for class president. Bubbling in his name despite everything. Hearing Changbin got the lead role in Cinderella. Showing up despite the physics test you had to study for.

You wonder momentarily if Newton was behind this twisted feeling in your chest. Drawing you to him—like a moth to a flame. You even scan his sister’s Instagram from time to time, finding a picture of Changbin framed carefully beneath the stars, a twinkle in his eye.

You watch from afar as he accepts his diploma, a careful smile seated on your lips.

A bitter taste haunts your tongue as you pack for college.

“This is good for me,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll be far, far away from him. I can move on.”

Some things are better left unsaid.

iii.

Awkward introductions replay in your memory as you get ready for your first college class. Seven fifteen, physics with Professor Kim. Denoted as one of the best in the country. Physicist and professor, respectively. It would be a lie to say he didn’t take part in your decision to attend this college. And the ocean, which is only a fifteen minute walk (that’s what the RA told you when you moved in).

You arrive with a hot americano precisely on time.

As you climb the lecture hall’s steps, your eyes drift among the sea of unfamiliar faces. One in particular sticks out—a glimmer of hope among the trenches. You raise a hand to wave, a smile quirking your lips. But, at the face directly next to him, you drift back.

Evidently, you didn’t move far enough.

You stand at the edge of the aisle, glancing down at the empty seat. “Hey, is this spot empty?”

Hope looks back at you with shock glazing his features. “Oh my God, Y/N! Of course. I didn’t know you decided to come here,” Minho smiles, tugging his notebook closer to allow you more room.

You pull out the chair, glancing at the boy on the other side of him. “I didn’t really tell anyone where I was going.”

He fills the silence with his tales of life, occasionally glancing at Changbin to see if he wants to add something. Each time, he is met with the boy’s indifferent profile. Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though not once stopping to read one of the passing captions or like a picture.

Professor Kim claps, fizzling any remaining conversation. The syllabus fades in your mind as you wonder how Changbin’s summer went. Maybe he spent it with his sister. Or perhaps he accompanied a love interest to a string of dates.

This thought shoots a concoction of contradicting emotions through your heart. You return distracted eyes to Professor Kim just as he’s dismissing class, burying a content fist into the customly tailored pocket of his navy suit. Minho turns to you immediately, filling your ears with proposals to coffee and lunch and maybe you could come to the dorm later and catch up. Changbin’s ears perk up as he begs for Minho’s eyes.

For a split second, his eyes fall on you before they dart away.

“I need to get back to my dorm,” you announce when you can finally slip into Minho’s breaths of pause. “My roommate’s waiting.”

“Who’s your roommate? Maybe we know him.”

You fight a laugh when he finally glances back at Changbin, who has long since given up. “His name’s Yang Jeongin.”

iv.

While Minho is overly focused on you, begging you to tell him what happened after he moved in tenth grade, Changbin pretends you do not exist. When the conversations trail outside of the lecture hall, he clings to Minho’s side but does not speak. His eyes stay glued to the sidewalk. Or his textbook, whose cover he seems very invested in.

So when Professor Kim announces a project, your heart thumps a little too fast.

Minho grabs your arm, “Be my partner?”

Changbin kicks his leg. “Dude.”

He glances back at him, as though nothing he has said goes against him. “What? Just join our group.”

Changbin’s eyes find yours reluctantly. They ignite a spark in your fingertips as you reach for a pen. “Can I?”

You smile as your head twitches in a nod. “Of course.”

The plan is this: meet at the library on October 15th (a Saturday, you realize) at 1 P.M. “Expect to be there long, I wanna get this done ASAP,” Minho adds as he downs the rest of your americano.

When the day finally comes, despite your daily prayers that time would somehow freeze or somehow skip over the day, you leave your dorm right when you need to. Early October aids a brusque breeze, and you wrap your jacket around you as you approach the small crosswalk. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dread the inevitable message.

Lee Minho [12:59 P.M.]: Sorry guys, I can’t make it. Mama Lee’s in town and wants to see her favorite son.

It’s too late to go home, you realize, when shoes scrape against the cement and a sigh penetrates the silence. “I cannot stand him,” the voice mutters behind you.

You turn to him, offering pitied condolences with a small smile. “Just the two of us, huh?”

He nods. “Guess so.”

A loud hum draws closer as his foot leans down for the asphalt. You look to the source, seeing a red car barreling down the street. You gasp, grabbing Changbin’s sleeve and tugging him back on the sidewalk. The horn echoes in the back of your head like an alarm.

His eyes are wide when they find yours. “T-Thank you,” he stutters, cocking his head a little. As though, for the first time, he is taking in your appearance.

You realize your grip is still tight on his wrist and you let go, tensing up. “You’re welcome.”

In the library, you work in silence. As though nothing happened outside. As though your entire history lies merely within the timespan of a few weeks. Minho serving as the mutual friend to your forced, awkward friendship.

He shoots you a dizzying look as he turns his packet to you. “Can you look this over?”

The tip of your eraser taps a number. “This has to be meters per second, not centimeters per second.”

A small sigh tumbles over his bottom lip as he realizes, “That’s why the final answer looked so weird. Thank you.”

The corner of your lip must have an opposite gravity to it, because it curls upward without intent.

v.

Returning to class the next Monday leaves the soft hint of a calm lavender in the air. You share a quick, almost childish, glance with Changbin before settling back into the tune of physics. Newtons and joules and all the fun things that make up energy.

The next few weeks pass with a quiet hum, one that hangs in the background and, if you lose sight of it, you’re scared you’ll lose it forever. It’s a time of your life where you will look back with a sigh and whisper, “How did I not realize how good I had it?”

At your peak, you fall onto your bed on a Friday night. Jeongin scribbles impatient homework answers while your eyes fall shut.

The storm of your phone blaring its tune awakes you.

Lee Minho calls to remind you that he expects you to arrive at his ‘rager of a birthday party.’ He tells you the address, enthusiastically repeating himself (like an auctioneer) as you try to find a pad of paper. Jeongin’s jumping up to fix his hair before you even hang up.

You’re really not sure what you expect as you drag your roommate in tow towards the destination. Though, when you feel the tremble of music and hear shouts from the lawn of the frat house, you somehow know you’re in the right place.

The foyer is packed with jumping bodies. Leaning on the stairs, a red solo cup in hand, is the man of the hour. His cheeks are dusted in a light coating of heat and, as you approach him, you notice that glitter brushes soft highlights along his cheekbones.

“Happy early birthday!” you shout over the music.

He dizzily turns to you and drags you towards his chest in a swift motion. “Y/N! Thank you for coming!”

You had no choice. It was either come to the party or admit yourself to Lee Minho’s terrifying grudge list.

Despite this, you return with a grin, “Of course!”

When he lets you go into the stale air, he shoves his cup into your hand. “Try some,” he nods.

You tip the plastic to your lips. As the liquid scrapes the back of your throat, you flinch back. “What is this?” Your face twists.

“Just vodka and Coke.”

You hastily return the cup to him and glance around. Jeongin has disappeared to a desolate corner, you presume. A spark of jealousy runs through your veins.

“Where’s the bathroom?” you find yourself asking Minho.

He points down a vacant hallway and tells you it’s the last door on your left. You thank him before scurrying in that direction.

Your knock echoes, though nothing returns. The pale wood feels cold against your cheek as you listen for any life inside. You find it safe to enter. Instantly, you press your palms against the cold marble. Identical eyes stare into each other in the mirror until your eyes slip to the pale, spotless basin. You stare into the milky dome absently, pondering why you feel so odd being here. And for a moment you forget where you are, lost in the dizzying world of your thoughts.

Until you hear the choked sob from behind the shower curtain.

It takes you by surprise. Hesitantly, you reach out for the navy shield.

“Ch-Changbin?” you stutter, staring down at the boy in a mess of shock.

His legs are drawn to his chest as trails of tears line his cheeks. He lets out a squeak as he looks up to you. Arms fall to his sides as he leans forward. Though, he appears to have no intention of stopping, surrendering himself to gravity.

Your hands find his shoulders merely moments before his nose slams into the porcelain. “Are you drunk?” you whisper.

Though, in return, he sobs. “I’m sorry.”

Something pierces your chest. Your lips part to say something, but the words are clogged in your throat.

“I was such an idiot,” he slurs, swaying gently.

“What’re you talking about?” you finally ask.

His balled fist slams against the tub. “You!” he shouts, face twisting as he releases another cry.

You flinch back.

“My mom always asks how you’re doing, no matter how many times I tell her. My sister still has a grudge. Hell, even Hwang Hyunjin thinks I’m an idiot and he’s the one who tricked me into leaving you!”

He leans his cheek against the wall, once again releasing a cry. Though, this one, he fights to hold back. It scalds the air in a whimper.

Quieter, he admits, “You were the only person I’ve ever felt safe with.”

You sigh, looking down at your shoes. Those days when you wondered what had gone wrong, staring up at your blank ceiling and trying to relive his smile as quiet tears fell to your pillow, wash down the drain.

He watches intently as you climb into the tub. You do not look at him as you slowly lean against the wall he rests his cheek on. Instead, you stare at the mahogany finish of the small cabinets. Regardless, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek. In this cold porcelain cage, all you can hear is the distant thumping of music and the occasional sniffle from the boy beside you. You smile at the familiarity of it, returning you to your former years cozied up on a playground. No worries back then, you jealously note with a muted snicker.

“I missed you,” you finally say. Tears blur your vision, warping the defined lines of wood into a mess of color.

When you bring yourself to look at him, his eyes are closed. You lean a little closer to see if he’s sleeping. Reluctant lips part as he whispers, his breath hot and reeking of tequila, “I missed you too.”

vi.

One of the things you come to realize is that Changbin’s smile has never changed. There’s still that little indent where his cheeks fold over and each time he offers a glimpse at it you are returned to the days of the swing.

Thanks to the drunken night (half drunken night, you should say, since he had enough for both of you), Changbin has allowed a sneak peek back to his life. Strictly over text, though. You’re not sure why he’s never asked to meet up—maybe it’s too much too fast, you think—but you cannot find it in you to complain. He’s back after all these years and that seems to be enough.

So you endure it, texting him until the early hours of the morning and fascinating yourself over all of these things you have missed.

Seo Changbin [2:39 A.M.]: My sister and I went to the elementary school a couple of weeks ago.

Looking at your phone burns your eyes, as does the weird feeling in your chest.

Y/N [2:40 A.M.]: Really? Has it changed much?

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: The kids after us got all the cool playground equipment :(

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: I should take you there one day haha. I think that’d be fun.

You fight the giggle that wishes to flee, glancing up at a sleeping Jeongin for reassurance.

Waking up in the morning is aided with fleeting regrets, though beneath it you realize there is a small skip in your step. One that flares a heat in your face when you walk into the physics classroom and reach to meet Changbin’s eyes. And there, waiting, is his gaze and a small smile.

Maybe you have it bad for Seo Changbin, you think, as Professor Kim begins talking about Newton’s Third Law.

vii.

Yang Jeongin is broadcasting his homework onto the cheap projector he bought on Amazon for $50. “Isn’t it so cool?” he marvels as his red pen underlines a key part of his notes.

You absently nod, glaring at your textbook. Between the lines is a screaming thought that cascades a waterfall of forget towards your upcoming exam. You fail to notice your phone buzzing against your bed. Daydreams are dangerous like that.

“Y/N,” Jeongin’s voice finally snaps you out of it. You look to him, standing at the door and lazily holding the knob. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as you rush to take his spot. Before you can tug the door open, he presses a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful around him, please.”

You watch as he struts and flops down on his bed, opening a comic book above his head.

As you open the door, a little more hesitant than before the interaction with Jeongin, you smile.

Changbin is watching the end of your hall and playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. When he senses your presence, he finally breaks his trance and offers a smile. He keeps his voice low, “Can I talk to you?”

You nod, ignoring the annoying thump thump of your heart, “Sure. What’s up?”

“In private,” he adds, peeking over your head at Jeongin. Maintaining his hold on the comic book, though his eyes have drifted to you with a parental glare.

You shut the door behind you. His footsteps draw towards the common area, and you follow. There’s a silence draped over you until he abruptly stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to you. “I need you to pretend to date me.”

You blink. “W-What?”

He draws his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before continuing, “I made a stupid bet and I kind of really need the money.”

A shroud of toughness hides your instant willingness to help. “What do I get out of this?”

His eyes radiate the innocence of a child. They draw you to a distant memory, one that you might have seen in a movie and forced into a memory, but you’re not sure. You were at his house after he broke his arm and he cried, those same eyes staring at you as he whined about how much it hurt. And how itchy his arm was beneath the cast.

Your heart softens, and you have to fight the crumbling beneath your feet.

“Whatever you want,” he assertively nods. “Seriously.”

You sigh. “Do you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” he smiles, pulling you into a grateful hug. His hoodie smells vaguely of ramen with a hint of sealike cologne you might find in Lee Minho’s bathroom. You find yourself smiling as your hands rest on his back.

viii.

His hand, admittedly, feels a little odd in your hand. The last time you had held his hand was in second grade, when you went to the zoo on a field trip. Your class was already flooding into the bird exhibit with anticipation and exuberance. But you were crying your eyes out at the mere thought of seeing a parrot. (This unfounded fear is all thanks to Spongebob)

Changbin’s hand slipped into yours and slowly urged you in, mumbling that if you didn’t go you’d get stuck there forever. And then, he had whispered, the parrots might eat us alive. Even then, his hand was oddly clammy and a little sticky.

But now, as he guides you through the small neighborhood, you feel a calm mix of elation and awkwardness. Sure, this is groundbreaking material for you and your “small” crush on him. However, he’s not doing this because he likes you. He’s doing this because he needs some cash and you were a means of aiding him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, a cloud of your breath expanding from your lips. It’s only the beginning of November.

“You’ll see,” he glances over at you, a small smile painted on his pale cheeks.

There’s a small line of shrubs on your side of the sidewalk. Serving as a break in them is a metal archway, accompanied by a small wooden sign reading: Gyeonghwa Park. He turns into it, guiding you into the small fenced area. A two person swing set stands in the corner, absent seats trembling in the breeze. There’s a few wooden benches, though most are tainted in a layer of leaves.

“Ta-da,” he says, gesturing with his free arm at the small park.

You look around to the little duck statue in the corner. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are we here again?” you turn to him. His hand burns against your skin like a constant reminder.

“I can’t take you to our playground, so I thought we could settle for here as our first fake date,” he smiles. “Plus, we need couple pictures and I think this works well.”

You’re grateful for the breeze that dashes pink across your cheeks, disguising the heat that has rushed to them at his words. “R-Right,” you stutter.

He takes a seat on a leafless bench and slips his phone from his pocket. As you reluctantly sit beside him, you watch as he sends texts to his friends. Nothing regarding you, you presume, but when he feels your eyes he quickly closes the chat.

The pictures are poised carefully, his arm resting on the top of the bench behind you, your head tilted towards his as you smile. Without warning, he presses his lips to your cheek as the shutter clicks. You try not to make your flinch obvious.

He pulls back, smiling slightly as he inquires, “Should we kiss to seal the deal?”

Fire poisons your veins as you stare back at him. The invisible mark his lips had left sizzles in the air. “Do you think we should?” you whisper.

He shrugs. “It’ll make it a bit more believable. We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, though.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Kiss me.”

The corners of his lips upturn a little further, sending a shiver down your spine—though maybe it was just the wind. He readjusts his phone, glancing to assure you’re both in frame, before leaning in. At first, his lips merely wander in the air before yours, as though he is thinking about the best way to do this. But then, confident lips press against yours. His touch melts away the numbness in your fingers, the shiver of the cold. In this moment of freedom, you wonder if he had ever wondered what your lips tasted like. Because you sure have.

ix.

Each of your fake dates is constructed with careful attention to detail. A trip to the movies (seeing a film you had mentioned wanting to see very briefly over text). A study ‘date’ that didn’t really feel romantic, though he brought you an americano and a fancy pen he stole from his dad’s work.

But your date today is very special. The diner is filled to the brim with hungry college students and elderly couples. In the back, bunched up against the upholstery, are Changbin’s friends. They throw their heads back to laugh as one tells a stupid joke. Changbin leads you down the aisle slowly. He squeezes your hand, whispering over his shoulder, “Thank you, again, for doing this. It means a lot.”

You smile against your will,“That’s what friends are for.”

As you approach, the new and familiar faces turn to you. Some hold smiles, others hold gaping lips.

“I didn’t think you actually found someone willing to date you,” a boy marvels.

“Let alone Y/N! How come I didn’t know you were dating?” Minho shouts, garnering certain harsh looks from neighboring booths.

A glimmering smile finds your lips as you slide into the booth beside him, “You never asked.”

He scoffs. “Am I supposed to ask when anything life-changing happens?”

Changbin files in beside you, sighing, “Not necessarily, but you talk a lot.”

“How long have you been dating?” a boy across from you asks. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and a friendly smile paints across his lips.

“Nearly two months,” you glance at Changbin, who nods. The finer details, he stressed, must be known like the back of your hand. A single hair out of place could be the end.

“Are you serious?” Minho booms. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted. Even his eyebrows raise in awe, scratching dull wrinkles across his forehead.

“You do talk a lot,” you mumble.

Before Minho can have the chance to shout profanities aiding his awe, another boy sighs. “Shut up and congratulate them, okay? This is karma for laughing at him when he wanted in on the bet.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Changbin smiles, wrapping an adept arm around your shoulder. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder.

As the night unfolds, queued by digging questions and the occasional groan from Minho, you nearly forget that this is an act. That when Changbin presses a kiss to your forehead it’s not real.

Outside of the diner, as his friends disperse into their means of transportation, he cups your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your lips. When he parts, there’s a small smile and a gloss hanging over his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers.

x.

He promises to pick you up at five. All that remains is the reward, you realize. A simple favor has brought you here, waiting impatiently for his knock on your door. Your heart beats harshly against your chest.

“Why are you even messing with him?” Jeongin mutters, stirring his ramen with the tips of his chopsticks.

You glance up at him, sighing, “I’m not messing with him. I’m doing him a favor.”

“Yeah, but, why? He’s an asshole, Y/N,” he shakes his head. As he shoves the steaming noodles into his mouth, he hisses at the heat and tilts his head to the side.

You watch him as he gulps down water.

At your prolonged silence, he adds, “When is he supposed to pick you up?”

You tap your phone screen, illuminating the time. “Five minutes ago.”

Jeongin drowns his harsh words with more noodles. Though, in between bites, he says, “Maybe he’s standing you up.”

The thought has crossed your mind, though a hollow in your chest wants to believe he wouldn’t do that. Friends, if that’s what you are, don’t do that.

Seconds drift into minutes. And minutes turn into an hour. Jeongin’s gone through three more ramen cups. Your lips ache as you nervously bite them, jumping for your phone at each notification.

At half past six, Jeongin rests into your bed beside you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he wraps a cautious arm around your shoulder.

Though, you do not feel anything aside from the irritation blurring your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks. These simple words open the floodgate.

xi.

His eyes avert yours as though they had never known you in the first place. Minho doesn’t say anything when you lower yourself in the seat beside him. Instead, he cautiously slips you a small note. Large, scratchy words read: are you okay?

You crumble the note in your palm before tucking it into your bag. He does not bother you for the rest of class. Class travels by in grueling moments. Professor Kim’s voice seems slowed, stripped of any tone. When he finally dismisses class, warning that the semester is ending soon, you haphazardly shove your things into your bag and leave.

Over your shoulder, you hear a low smack and Minho mutter, “What the hell is the matter with you?”

It hurts to admit, given that you had known from the beginning, but Seo Changbin used you. Though, despite the anger you should be feeling, you can only find yourself wondering what he needed the money so badly for.

Back at the dorm, Jeongin silently pulls a piece of cake from the small fridge and hands it to you. “Here,” he mumbles. “My friend made it for you.”

You look up at him. “Why?” Your voice is raw from desuetude, crackles like an old radio.

Jeongin bites his lip, eyes slipping to your comforter. “I told him you were having a rough time. Plus, he knows Changbin, so he knows the story.”

You take the paper plate in your fingertips, dragging it toward you. You poke the delicacy with the tip of your fork. “What’s the story?”

A sigh slips past his lips. “That you guys dated and you broke up. That’s all Changbin told them.”

You nod. He must’ve gotten the money and thrown you away.

Your phone buzzes against the mattress. Jeongin leans over to check who it is. When his eyes meet yours again, he informs, “It’s just Minho.”

So you allow yourself to look at your phone.

Lee Minho [9:20 A.M.]: I’m outside your dorm. Let me in please.

You look up to the door, though your energy is below zero. Jeongin grabs your phone, reading the message, before going to answer the door.

“Hey, Jeongin,” Minho pushes past him. He sits at the foot of your bed. “What happened?”

You blink, eyes staring into his absently. “What?”

“With Changbin. Tell me what happened, please. He won’t tell us anything and I’m starting to get worried for both of you. He’s never this quiet and you’re never this sulky,” he reluctantly rests his hand on your knee.

You look at Jeongin, who stands there with arms against his chest. He shrugs, silently telling you it’s up to you.

You sigh. “Where do I start?”

“The beginning, preferably.”

“I think I fell in love with him, but I can’t tell you when. Maybe it was when we were kids. Maybe it was at the party when he apologized,” you slowly say. The words do not feel like yours. A small pit rumbles in your stomach, begging you to continue. “He wanted a favor, to pretend to date him for that bet you guys made. I didn’t ask why he needed the money or why I should do this for him, given all he did to me. I just went with it. And things were great, as far as fake relationships go.”

In your break of silence, you find yourself smiling at all the fake dates. You wonder if the pictures still live in his phone or if he discarded them the moment he got rid of you.

“So you guys faked the whole thing?” Minho’s eyebrows furrow.

You nod. “He was supposed to pick me up on Saturday, but he stood me up. And now we’re here.”

Minho blinks. “Either Changbin’s a good actor or he’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s the latter,” Jeongin announces as he crosses to his bed.

Minho shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t tell him what I said,” you rush. “About loving him or anything.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

After he leaves, Jeongin loudly sighs. “I knew you were in love with him.”

You look at him, slowly nodding, “I didn’t really make an effort to hide it.”

xii.

There are tears irritating your skin as you pull yourself out of bed. Surviving off of Felix’s cake and Jeongin’s ramen cups is less than attractive, but you cannot build enough will to leave your dorm. You ask Minho to take notes in physics for you and he quickly obliges, no questions asked.

Changbin, still, plagues your mind like venom. Each time you think maybe a nap is in order, you shut your eyes and see his smile. Or you’ll think of his lips on yours as he smiles into the kiss. Your eyes shoot open, chest rising heavily. Even when you stare at your ceiling too long, your brain deems it a screen for a memory to play. Casted like Jeongin’s cheap projector.

There was this once, in fourth grade when you grew bored of the swings so you relocated to the plastic blue tunnel. He blocked off one end while you took the other. On hotter days, you’d lay on top of the tunnel. One day, he looked at you across the plastic and asked, “Do you ever think we’ll be grown ups far away from each other?”

You shook your head so confidently. “No. We’re gonna live together. Like roommates.”

Jeongin comes home from his classes with a cup of coffee. He sets it on your nightstand as he whispers, “I’m spending the night at Chan’s tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

You take a sip of the americano. “Thanks, have fun.”

In his wake is a dreaded silence that reminds you of Changbin’s laugh. Time has only plagued it with a dash of depth.

Your phone buzzes. Hesitantly, you roll over and grab it. The metal is cold against your fingers.

Lee Minho [4:29 P.M.]: Hey, I need you to come to the beach. There’s something I want to show you.

The thing that tipped you over the edge when looking for a college was the beach. As you carefully scouted, the grains of sand kept drawing you back. It’s ironic as you realize that you haven’t been once, despite its proximity. You can already feel the bitter cold against your cheeks as you rise from your bed. Dots of dizziness scatter across your eyes.

The mid November air is cooler than you expected as you step out of the complex. You shove balled fists deeper into your hoodie pocket.

The walk to the beach is shorter than you had expected, only passing ten minutes. You see Minho waiting on the wooden slats leading to the sand. He jumps to preserve his heat.

“Hey,” you call out to him.

He looks to you, daring to unveil a pale hand as he waves. When you’re closer he says, “It’s fucking cold out here.”

You nod, looking out onto the vacant sand. Huddled like a speck of trash is a small figure.

“Why’d you want to meet out here?” you return to look at him, a piercing cold slashing your heart at the realization.

His face softens as he glances out towards the black speck in the sand. “Well, he wanted to meet you here but he wasn’t sure if you’d come if he texted. So he dragged me out here.”

You find yourself laughing. “And you agreed?”

“I didn’t know it was negative twenty out here,” he mutters. “So go and talk to him so I can get back in my car.”

You smile. Your heart thunders against your chest and, even though you know you shouldn’t, your feet move towards the small figure. He tugs you in, time and time again.

You glance over your shoulder when you reach him. Minho’s already gone, as though his presence was merely a ghost. You squat next to Changbin, wrapping your arms around your knees.

He looks at you, though you keep focused on the pale water. Brushing up on the sand, pulling back into the ocean.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You nod. “You always say that.”

“I really am,” he admits. “I know you probably think I’m an asshole, reasonably so, but I really am sorry for everything.”

You finally look at him. “What’d you need the money for?”

He’s taken aback. He had expected more of a heartbreaking confession, a perspective he had not once explored. “Music equipment,” he says. “It’s really for me, Chan, and Jisung.”

You nod, looking back at the water. “I was just a ragdoll so you could get that.”

“Not really,” he whispers. “It was kinda a double positive for me.”

Furrowed eyebrows turn back to him.

“I got the money,” he starts, “and I also got the luxury of pretending to be yours.”

You blink. Your voice is small, barely audible over a gust of wind, “What?”

“Every time I did something stupid that got in between us, I always knew I’d find my way back to you. I was the tide and you were the moon, reaching out and tugging me back into reality. Time and time again, as we’ve come to understand,” he nods, glancing at his red fingers, bitten by the air.

You stare at him. “So why do you keep pushing me away?”

He shrugs. “There was always the fear that you didn’t want to bring me back.”

You scoff, remembering your childhood and the way he kept drawing you closer. You shake your head, words failing you.

“So truly, I am so sorry. You still have your end of the deal, you know. You get whatever you want. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll go home. Sure, I’d be a little heartbroken, but-”

You cut him off, “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because I treat you like shit to fuel this stupid ideology that you don’t hate me,” he admits. “Even when I don’t try to be, I’m a selfish asshole. I only kissed you because I wanted to, not because of the stupid pictures for the bet. I only asked you for the favor because I wanted to paint this stupid little picture in my head. I only stood you up because I couldn’t bring myself to face you and admit that my stupid fantasy was over.”

“That’s not selfish,” you say. “That’s just very Seo Changbin of you.”

“I really cannot tell if you hate my guts or not,” he sighs, picking up a handful of sand and watching as it trickles down again.

You shake your head. “Minho didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

You look back at the empty space where the ghost once stood. A sigh of a distant nostalgia slips from your lips—the times you’ve pictured this moment over and over in your daydreams. However, you did not imagine the bitter bite of the wind nipping at your cheeks. “That I’m in love with you.”

“You what?” he gawks, leaning a bit closer. As though his ears deceive him.

Your eyes return to his as you nod. “I love you. I probably have since we were kids. That’s the only reason I agreed to your favor. Because I, too, wanted to be a little selfish.”

His lips slowly curl up into a smile as he releases an abrasive laugh. “How much did Minho pay you to say that?”

“He didn’t. I’m being completely honest. Why else would I be here if I wasn’t stupidly in love with you, huh?”

“Really?”

“Yes, now can we speed this up? It’s fucking cold out here.”

He presses his lips against yours. You expect them to mold against yours like they had in previous weeks, but now they are fiery. It sends tingles down your spine as he cups your cheek. With those internal feelings finally suspended from your body, you can sigh a breath of relief.

You wonder if younger you would be proud.

xiii.

“Are you guys actually dating now or are you just fucking with us again?” one of Changbin’s friends, Jisung, asks as you slide into the same booth as a few weeks ago.

“They are,” Minho intervenes. “I watched them confess and everything. Like a minister.”

“Bullshit,” you mutter. “You went back to your car as soon as I got there.”

Changbin’s laugh tickles against your ear as he scoots in next to you.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t revoke the award,” the freckled boy, who you’ve now concluded is Felix, observes.

“Why?” Jisung asks, bringing the straw of his soda to his lips.

“Because we would have had to give it right back.”

His friends are very welcoming of you, despite the deception that marked your first greeting. Chan catches you in the parking lot as Changbin and Jisung fight over the extra mint the server placed on the table.

“I just want you to know,” he starts with a smile, “that he really loves you. It’s not a front, I promise.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you ask, “Those are suspicious words. How should I trust you?”

“Because he talks about you all the time. I know more about your childhood than I know about mine. Plus, he’s written three songs about you and we don’t even have the equipment to record anything yet.”

You laugh, “You’re in luck, then.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’ll find out.”

Changbin returns to your side, a sullen scowl pressed against his lips as he watches Jisung pop the mint into his mouth. Chan dismisses himself to attend to Felix attempting to teach Minho a taekwondo move.

You look over at Changbin, “You’ve written songs about me?”

His eyes widen, “No? Why would I ever do that?”

A giggle bubbles up from your stomach as you shake your head, starting off to his car. Behind you, he repeats the same question urgently.

xiv.

Seo Changbin is like a pest that flies around your head, begging your attention at all moments of the day. He invited you over to his dorm so you could study together, though when you arrived with your textbook and notes, he appeared offended.

“What?” you asked as you settled on his bed, fluffing pillows before leaning against them.

“Studying doesn’t mean studying, it means cuddling,” he pouted.

It’s lucky for him that Minho isn’t home because if he ever heard those words falling from his lips, he’d never hear the end of it.

So that’s why you’re laying your head on his pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you read over your notes.

“What’s the formula for Newton’s law of universal gravitation?” you quiz him when you feel his arms start to loosen with the temptation of sleep.

He hums, “I don’t know. You’re the one with the strong magnetic force. Shouldn’t they call it Y/N’s law of universal gravitation?”

You sigh, setting the spiral notebook on his nightstand before you turn in his arms to face him. The hint of a smile already greets you. You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “What’s your grade in physics?”

He looks up at the ceiling as he pretends to think. “38.”

“What?” you hiss, pulling back away from him as though he has an illness you didn’t know about.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he whines, pulling you back. “I only signed up for the class because it reminded me of you.”

You smile. “Why?”

He shyly pouts, “I may have gone out of my way to hear about you when we were in high school.”

“And you never thought to apologize?” you counter, your smile still reigning.

“You looked like you were doing fine without me,” he shyly admits.

“Changbin,” you shake your head. “I had no friends after Minho moved. I chased after you, thinking maybe something would happen.”

He closes his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t see me in Cinderella.”

“I saw you in Cinderella,” you laugh.

He throws his head back and whines. “The pants they put me in were two sizes too big.”

The memory of him standing on stage and having to hold up his pants, disguising it by having his hands on his hips, brings another laugh to the air. “Did they really not have any clothespins or anything?”

“No!” he exclaims, looking back into your eyes. “Fucking Hyunjin was hoarding them all!”

You feel the vibrations of your laugh against the pillow. It’s good being like this, having him tethered close.

He’s in the middle of saying something, probably further pursuing his complaints about high school or Hyunjin, but you do not care. You press your lips against his. A moment of stillness, thanks to his shock, before he kisses you back.

The only word to describe this feeling brewing in your stomach: bliss. Pure, hot bliss.

You hope gravity will keep you grounded here.

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 4/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: fam this response is crazy it really is…thank u all so much for the love, kudos and comments, i’m so sorry if i’ve not managed to reply to urs yet but know that i’ve read them all and cherish every one and i will get round to replying and yelling some love and thanks at u soon!!! pls enjoy this chapter in which A'whora does not possess the flat’s shared brain cell at any point. that being said, i wish all the readers of this fic a very pleasant italicised ‘oh’ xo

last chapter: January-Tayce and A’whora still had unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December.

this chapter: October- The gang make plans for their first year together, Tia gives everyone plans for the evening, and A'whora has a realisation that will change the dynamic of her friendship with Tayce forever.

***

“Bimini, what is it you’re actually doing?”

A’whora’s intrigued by the way her flatmate’s sitting on the sofa: legs crossed, notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and looking deep in thought. They’ve not long since stretched over the smoke detector with a sock, having long since established nobody in the flat minds them smoking indoors as long as the windows are open. Lawrence is beside them on the other end of the sofa having been to all the lectures that’re required of her already today and has got a bright pink, blue and purple-flecked ball of yarn hanging from two knitting needles, with which she seems to be knitting some sort of cosy accessory. It’s a wholesome picture that’s playing out in front of A’whora, one that’s miles away from the raucous, drunk nights they’ve all shared in the first month of uni so far.

“Okay, here’s what it is,” Bimini starts, clicking their long nails together. “I am making us a freshers bucket list, and I want your input.”

“Ooh!” Lawrence perks up beside them, and A’whora, interest piqued, picks up the bowl of pasta, butter and cheese she’s spent all of five minutes making and crosses the room to sit beside her flatmates.

She knows it’s only been a month so far, but she really loves everyone she’s living with. For a start, there are four of them that take classes at the art college (the ‘art hoes’, as Tayce calls them), so they all get to walk to lectures together and hang about between classes and workshops with each other depending on how their days are going. Bimini is almost always in the flat, with not a lot of contact hours making up their journalism degree, so they’re a comforting presence for A’whora to come home to at whatever hour of the day, always asking how she is and always offering to make her coffee. Tia is sweet and funny (if ever-so-slightly grating to her at first) and they’ve bonded over being the only two flatmates seemingly able to keep the place clean and tidy. Lawrence is endearing and big-hearted, if A’whora spends half her life hoping that her next prank isn’t involving her in some way (Ellie is usually the butt of them). Ellie herself is one of A’whora’s closest flatmates; they’ll often stay up half the night finishing prototypes or assignments together, all while watching a film which they have spookily similar taste in- they’ve agreed on 101 and 102 Dalmatians, Hocus Pocus, and The Wizard of Oz so far.

And then there’s Tayce, who A’whora thinks is both the absolute carbon copy of herself and yet also so different, the yin to her yang. Tayce has been her closest friend in the flat since day one when she booted the door to her room down and dragged her out of her emotional stupor, and that’s really what’s set the tone for the rest of their friendship; Tayce, upbeat and motivating, constantly and infectiously helping A’whora feel the same way even when she doesn’t want to go out, or doesn’t feel like dragging herself out of her room for a chill flat night with the others, or even when she just feels like a heap of shit. She’s such a fun and positive person to be around, relentlessly optimistic and goofy, and she brings out that side of A’whora too. As opposed to during sixth form and high school, where she’d put up a front to make sure nobody fucked with her, A’whora finds that at uni she can be the person she truly is and let her guard down a little.

This includes being open about her sexuality for the first time ever. She’s out to her family (for the better or worse), but nobody else back home knows (not even her friends) and she wants to keep it that way for now. But at uni things are different- nobody knows her here, nobody has these preconceived ideas of who she is and who she has to be, so she’d taken the plunge and been open about everything. None of the others had cared of course, in fact they’d all been too excited about the fact there’s not a single straight person in their flat comprised of four lesbians (Tayce, Lawrence, Tia and A’whora), one bi (Ellie) and one pan (Bimini).

“What’ve you got so far?” A’whora asks Bimini, sitting down on the sofa opposite her two flatmates.

Bimini reads off their notepad. “Casino night, bottomless brunch…get the train down to Newcastle, have a big night out, stay out all night an’ get the first train home-”

“Christ, that’ll be a challenge for me, you know I get sleepy around midnight,” Lawrence chuckles.

Bimini shrugs. “We’ll just get you an IV drip of Ellie’s Monster, you’ll be alright.”

“What else’ve you got?”

“That’s it so far.”

A’whora spears a pasta spiral, tilts her head in thought as she eats it. “Get drunk in a lecture.”

“Aw, good one!” Lawrence cries enthusiastically. Bimini, for their part, frowns with disapproval.

“Wait, no! Not a good one. Not a good one at all. It’s alright for you art school bitches, you’ve got some lectures together and you can coordinate, where does that leave me n’ Tia?”

“I guess that leaves you…downing a bottle of five pound chardonnay on the back bench of a lecture hall like a tramp with a drinking problem,” Lawrence shrugs, A’whora yelping out a laugh as Bimini shoves Lawrence with their foot.

Just then, there’s movement in the hall and as A’whora turns around she’s greeted by the sight of a tired-looking Tayce and Ellie walking into the kitchen. They shrug off their coats and take off their shoes and dump their bags on the kitchen table with a huff before they walk over to the others. Tayce spreads herself out over the sofa that A’whora’s sitting on, thudding her feet onto her lap without asking permission, to which A’whora instantly pushes them off her and gets a glare and a smirk in return.

“Lawrie, are you knitting?” Ellie laughs, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“Yeah? And?”

Ellie snorts in amusement. “Just didn’t realise we were living with a wee granny.”

“Well actually, bawbag! I was in the middle of making you a scarf because I can’t stand to listen to you talking shite about how you’re cold every time we leave the flat, but I can leave it if you want,” Lawrence explains. A’whora thinks it’s funny how Ellie backtracks immediately; she can’t tell if she’s blushing or just out of breath from scaling their block’s stairs. Bimini gains control of the conversation, tilting their head in intrigue.

“How were your lectures, huns?”

“Shit, thanks for asking,” Tayce groans, thudding her head down dramatically against the sofa cushions. “I don’t know, I just can’t concentrate when I’m getting talked at for an hour at a time. I need to be doing stuff, you know?”

“Feel that,” Ellie joins in, deflated. A’whora can sympathise- she loves the practical elements of her course, but not so much the lectures. She’s glad she shares a lot of them with Ellie, and the two of them can dick about and text each other and doodle designs in their notebooks while keeping one ear on whoever’s speaking.

“Well if you want to be doing something, you can help us with this,” Bimini suggests, explaining the bucket list they’ve been making.

The girls get settled and the ideas start to flow, Lawrence putting her speakers on for background noise as they all come up with new and increasingly more chaotic exploits. Ellie suggests trying every cocktail in Levels which gets scribbled down into Bimini’s notepad, and Tayce suggests going to Levels sober, which doesn’t get afforded the same appreciation. A’whora comes up with crashing the catered halls for breakfast one day, which they all agree is a good idea but the chances of it actually happening are low considering the earliest riser in the flat is Tayce and even she doesn’t waken up til half nine on a weekend.

“What’re some clubs we’ve not been to yet?” Bimini asks, shrugging. “Could put those down, try an’ visit every one in the city?”

Lawrence snorts derisively. “You go to Underground if you want your phone stolen, Velvet if you want to be bullied by fifteen year olds in the toilets, and Crystal if you want to subject yourself to painful misogyny and probably some light sexual assault.”

“So none of those, then,” Bimini murmurs.

“Those are all really het as well, though,” Ellie wrinkles her nose up in distaste. Then her face lights up as she gets an idea. “Oh! Put down Pride in July.”

“Nice one,” Bimini nods as they scribble down Ellie’s suggestion, the others making little hums of approval.

The conversation goes on for quite some time. Halfway through it Tayce seems to decide she’s bored of lying down and instead moves to sit on the floor between A’whora’s legs, asking her to play with her hair. They’ll do this sometimes- it’s a routine they fall into, A’whora being able to style Tayce’s endlessly long, straight hair and Tayce finding the whole thing therapeutic. They have a lot of little routines like this: they’ll sit close together on the sofa during a flat movie night and take turns leaning on each others’ shoulders, spontaneously give each other hugs at random points throughout the day, trace patterns into each others’ palms when the other seems stressed.

It’s nice. A’whora’s never really had a friendship like this, soft and caring and kind. In school her group was the kind that made catty jokes about each other then buffered them with a “love you!” afterwards and took kissy-face group selfies only to bitch about each other on a private group chat mere hours later. If it was a wolfpack then it was rabid and cannibalistic, and it had seemed like a full-time job ensuring she was never the runt of it. What she’s got with all her flatmates now- especially Tayce- makes her feel like she can finally breathe.

“What about the Centurion Challenge?” Lawrence suggests with a small gasp, breaking A’whora’s reverie as she expertly twirls Tayce’s hair into a loose and chunky French plait.

“Jesus Christ, Lawrence,” Ellie mutters in amusement.

“What’s the Centurion Challenge?” Bimini asks, pulling a face.

Lawrence gives a blythe shrug as she elaborates. “A hundred shots in a hundred minutes.”

A’whora ruins Tayce’s braid in shock, her hair untwisting itself from the braid as if it’s outraged too. The cry she gives joins in harmony with that of Tayce’s and Bimini’s. “A hundred shots? You’d fucking die!”

“Not of vodka! Obviously not of vodka! I know we all have one communal brain cell between us but Christ, can one of yous not use it?!” Lawrence protests. “It’s a hundred shots of beer. Don’t shit yourselves.”

“Aw, well that’s alright then,” Bimini pipes up sarcastically. “What’s actually wrong with Scottish people? Is your breastmilk spiked with whiskey? What d’you get instead of Cow and Gate formula, just cocaine?"

“Actually, a hundred shots of beer sounds more doable to me,” Tayce shrugs, and A’whora can feel her relax against her lap.

“I’d need to change it, I can’t stand beer,” A’whora considers. Ellie cocks her head in consideration.

“Well what alcohol do you like?”

“Fucking none of it,” A’whora laughs. “Cocktails. Vodka cokes. Anything where there’s juice to cover it up.”

Tayce twists her head to look up at her, a little twinkle of mischief in her eye. “I think the challenge ceases to be a challenge when it’s reduced to one hundred watered down shots of Woo Woo, Rory.”

As the others blurt out a laugh A’whora glares down at Tayce, but she can’t help but break out into a giggle too when Tayce grabs her knee and gives it a playful wobble, letting her know she was only joking without even having to say a thing.

A’whora’s not sure what time it is when she hears the front door swing shut and Tia emerges from the hallway, her long hair all messed up from the seemingly ever-present wind outside and almost obscuring the bright smile plastered on her face. “Hey, huns!”

“Oi oi,” Tayce greets her from her position on the floor. “What’s got you so smiley?”

“Nooothing,” Tia smirks, dragging the word out playfully. “Just got an invite to the night out of a very cute girl in my MT society…and she said you guys can all come too. Pres at her flat and then out to The Avenue. Evening plans sorted?”

“Oh, love that!” Bimini gives an enthusiastic clap. “Go on then, who’s the girl? Whose night are we crashing?”

“Her name’s Veronica,” Tia smiles bashfully. “She’s so lovely. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind you coming! She’s got one of the big flats over at Gourock Court so it’s not like it’ll be packed.”

“You don’t exactly want to go to a party that’s not going to be packed,” Ellie screws up her nose. She looks unimpressed and her tone is flat. “And even if it is, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a flat party with a ton of new people, Tia.”

A’whora’s face drops and she locks eyes with Lawrence simultaneously, who’s got an equally incredulous look on her face. “Els, are you unwell? You never turn down a night out.”

Ellie shrugs quietly, not giving much away on her face. Tia, obviously keen to move to the girl she’s crushing on, carries on persuading her. “C’mon, Eleanor, don’t be such a fucking…square! It’s the musical theatre society, we’re just a walking Pride festival who all happen to be able to hold a tune. There’s loads of fit lesbians?”

“Well if I wasn’t convinced before, I sure am now,” Tayce purrs, a little smile appearing on her lips and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. A’whora feels her laugh come out weakly. She doesn’t know why, but an odd, uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in her gut. She can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is or why it’s put itself there.

“And there’s gonna be so many musicals on the playlist!” Tia continues to insist, despite being met with Ellie’s sour face. “I know you’ll love it! They’d probably even play stuff from Shrek if you got them drunk enough.”

A’whora can’t help but scrunch up her nose in distaste. “Hey, I’m only coming if they play fucking…normal people music as well. I’m not gonna be sat in a room with twenty white kids trying to rap to Hamilton or whatever the fuck it is.”

Tia rolls her eyes, plants her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Calm down, A’whora, you’ll still get all the top 40 dance-pop shit you love so much.”

“To be honest, it sounds class. And The Avenue’s always good,” Bimini cuts in calmly. A’whora does have to agree with that. They’ve not been there in a while- the bar across the road from the city’s most popular LGBT club- and its selection of early 00s pop princess tracks combined with its deal of two vodka mixers and a shot for a fiver makes it a guaranteed good night out.

“Well it seems like we’re all down, even if this stroppy cow isn’t,” Tia smiles happily, sticking her tongue out at Ellie for good measure. Ellie finally heaves a world-weary sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically as she relents.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, but this Verruca or whatever the hell she’s called better be the hottest bitch on the planet for you to drag us all out with your MT weirdos, Tia Maria,” she grumps. Tia ignores her bad mood and lets out a cheer which the others join in with, and A’whora resolves to interrogate Ellie about her Bitter Betty attitude later on. Preferably when they’re both drunk. That always makes things easier.

In the melee of excitement, Tayce twists round from her position on the carpet, folds her arms and rests them on top of A’whora’s thighs. “Right. You need to come help me choose an outfit if we’re going out. I need to look fit.”

A’whora smiles with pride. “Ooh, personal stylist duties? I’m honoured.”

“Well I’m hardly gonna ask Tia, am I?” Tayce giggles quietly, and A’whora joins in like it’s a little secret they’re sharing. “Or Ellie. She’d just send me out in one of her bodysuit/skirt combos. I swear to God that girl is like Marge bloody Simpson. Open up her wardrobe and she’ll have twenty sets of the same outfit. Serial killer behaviour, that.”

At this point A’whora is laughing so much that it draws the attention of the others, who eye them with suspicious stares. “What the hell’s so funny?”

A’whora gives Tayce a mischievous look. “Tayce just called Ellie a serial killer.”

Tayce yelps in outrage at having been called out, and as Ellie narrows her eyes Tayce leaps up from the floor and tugs A’whora off of the sofa with her. “That’s taking it out of context, you absolute hound! Come on, help me pick something.”

Tayce’s fingers stay curled around A’whora’s hand all the way down the corridor and into her bedroom. It’s a feeling that A’whora likes because it makes her feel close to her friend, and Tayce taking her hand is like an affirmation and a reassurance all in one; that she likes her, that their friendship has reached the level where hand-holding has become acceptable, that A’whora is worthy of being liked, of being someone’s friend- their real, proper friend. The validation sets her heart off like a flare. It’s nice to feel wanted.

A’whora perches on the edge of Tayce’s bed as she scrapes the coat hangers in her wardrobe and throws outfits onto the bed like a tornado, each more gorgeous than the last and all ones Tayce would look stunning in. That’s something that always strikes A’whora about Tayce; just how beautiful she is, how absolutely blessed with the God-given good genes. The way she looks serene and ethereal without makeup, walking to lectures in the morning with the sun hitting her face and giving her skin a glow. The way she paints for a night out and knows how to accentuate everything about her face that’s already perfect, a feat that would seem like an exaggeration if A’whora hadn’t seen it for herself to confirm it’s true. She frequently finds herself having to hold back from giving compliments to Tayce because if she started she’d never stop.

“Okay, first thoughts are…” Tayce announces unnecessarily loudly, and A’whora laughs at the way she’s talking as if she’s a stylist on a morning TV show. “…I’m thinking something black.”

“Of course you are,” A’whora interrupts with a laugh. “Tayce wearing black. How predictable.”

Tayce gives her a shove on the shoulder that’s too hard and makes her fall back against the mattress. “Shut up! I’ll wear something other than black when Lawrence wears something other than purple, how’s about that?”

The pair of them giggle at the joke as Tayce rifles through the clothes she’s shortlisted, holding up a black leather jacket and a black bralet with an intricate lace hem. The combination makes A’whora’s eyes fly wide open in appreciation.

“This?” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her inquisitively. The fact she’s obviously seen her reaction makes A’whora feel a little self-conscious and she doesn’t particularly know why. “Because I’m wanting to wear either my wet-look leggings or my black vinyl skirt with the zip up the front, and I don’t know if that’s too much leather effect stuff?”

“It’s too much,” A’whora nods, physically unable to help her honesty. “Also I think you should wear the skirt because you’ve got good legs and you should get them out any chance you get. But also the bralet won’t go with it because it’ll make your proportions all wrong.”

Tayce smiles appreciatively as she throws the bralet back into her wardrobe as if A’whora’s given her a command and not a suggestion. “See, this is another reason why you’re the queen of outfit advice. Bimini wouldn’t give me this level of honesty, they’re too nice.”

A’whora feels a warmth spread in her chest at the compliment, but she doesn’t show it. Instead she snorts, nods in agreement. “Yeah, because you could come out dressed in a pair of child’s pyjamas and they’d still say they love it. They’d say it’s very Y2K or something.”

Tayce lets out a cackle before holding up the skirt and leather jacket, humming in thought. “Okay, so you’re saying ditch the jacket but keep the skirt.”

“Yes.”

“And ditch the bralet.”

“Yes.”

“So you want me to go out in a skirt and a pair of heels and nothing else,” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her, and as A’whora bursts out laughing and protests she has to fight off a blush at the thought of her best friend topless in heels. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt with a zip that could just be pulled down to leave her in-

The heat floods A’whora’s face like she’s been smacked and she shifts on the bed in an attempt at dissipating the feelings that’ve hit her like a tsunami. Inappropriate. Weird. Way too weird. Don’t do that again.

“What about the bright blue fur coat you’ve got? Because you could have an all black outfit with that as a bit of colour,” she suggests, shrugging lightly in an attempt to pretend that she hadn’t just been thinking about Tayce in the way she had.

Tayce’s face lights up and she points at A’whora with one hand and reaches into her wardrobe with the other. “Love that. Okay, top?”

“Are you addressing me? I’ve never topped for anyone,” A’whora attempts a joke. If Tayce can make jokes like that to her then she can do it right back.  

“That’s very clear, baby,” Tayce shoots in response without missing a beat. Before A’whora realises it, she’s flexing her toes. What the fuck is happening to her? She needs to steer this conversation back on track.

She thinks for a second. “You’re a size eight, right?”

“In theory. The amount of pot noodles I’ve been chucking down my neck since I moved in is very quickly rendering that a distant memory, I’ll tell ya,” Tayce says, as she leans against the door of her wardrobe and folds her arms.

“I’ve got a black lace bodysuit that would go with that. It’s a ten so it’ll fit. D’you want to try it?”

“Well despite the fact a skirt and a bodysuit was the very thing I just roasted Ellie for always wearing…that sounds lush. Thanks, Rory Roo,” Tayce agrees, the nickname-of-a-nickname setting off the click of a small pilot light in A’whora’s heart. She’s about to ask if she wants to come try it on just now when she hears both their names being yelled from the kitchen.

The pair of them head back through to find that Tia has changed the playlist on the speakers from the chilled-out, calm acoustic one that had been playing to her early 00’s tunes. Combined with Bimini half-singing, half-yelling along to Murder on the Dancefloor and the blast of the extractor fan as Ellie stirs something in a big metal pot at the hob, it’s a far cry from the calm, cosy scene that A’whora had witnessed in the kitchen some hours prior.

Ellie had been the one who had shouted on them, and she whips around from the cooker when she realises that Tayce and A’whora have come through. “I’m making dinner for me, Bims and Tia, you wanting some?”

“Depends what it is. Come on, talk it up, Ellie. Give us some options,” Tayce shrugs with feigned disinterest, and A’whora can’t help the bubble of laughter that bursts from her mouth as Ellie narrows her eyes at her.

“It’s spaghetti and meatballs, and your alternatives are fuck off or die,” she shoots back savagely, and the whoop of shock and laughter that goes up from the others soars above the music and the fan. Tayce laughs good-naturedly in spite of the barb.

“I’m joking, ‘course I’ll take some.”

A’whora wrinkles her nose. “You’re making meatballs for a meal that Bimini is gonna eat?”

“They’re not real ones, dipshit,” Bimini pipes up from over on the sofa. “It’s that Birdseye Green Cuisine shit, innit.”

“Birdseye Green Cuisine shit,” A’whora repeats disdainfully. “If you ever go on The Apprentice, Bim, Alan Sugar’s gonna shit himself at your selling abilities.”

Tayce snorts, tries and fails to cover it up. When her eyes rest on A’whora they share a little smile, and A’whora’s grows bigger when she thinks about the way they’re both so in sync all the time.

“They’re nice, I promise! Veronica’s talked them up loads, she told me she’s been trying to eat more veggie things,” Tia insists, with an entirely unnecessary namedrop of her crush. A’whora relents and says she’ll have a small bowl before jumping out of her skin as Ellie bangs the spoon against the pot somewhat aggressively with a face like thunder.

Before A’whora can ask Ellie about her bad mood, Tia speaks again as she scrolls her phone to change the song. “Honestly, Ellie, you’re a star for doing dinner. Thanks so much.”

“Aw, don’t be silly, doll! It’s nothing!” Ellie turns around from the hob and bats the compliment away, shooting Tia a dazzling smile in return. It’s funny the way her demeanour seems to instantly do a complete 180 at the praise, and it makes A’whora wonder what’s changed.

She’s distracted, though, by the way Lawrence enters in her dressing gown with her hair up in a towel, obviously having come straight from the shower. She pouts and whines in a very un-Lawrence way as she lingers at the doorframe between the hall and the kitchen.

“Guysss, does anyone have an ID they can give me for tonight?”

“What about your friend? Who was it…Rosé?” A’whora shrugs, and Lawrence fixes her with a wide-eyed stare of incredulity.

“Oh my God, A’whora! I never thought about asking the girl I’ve been borrowing ID from since the start of uni! Thanks for that!” she says sarcastically, Bimini giving a yelp of laughter and A’whora leaning off the countertops and swiping at Lawrence in retort. “She’s using it. She asked her girlfriend and her flatmates for me but they’ve all got plans. I felt like a fuckin’ daytime TV charity advert.”

“For just one pound a week, you could help an underaged child get blackout drunk on triple trebles,” A’whora puts on a dramatic, concerned voice, proud of the way it makes Tayce blurt out a laugh.

“It’s such fucking bullshit,” Lawrence huffs, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. “I mean my eighteenth’s in five days and I’ve been drinking in parks since I was fourteen, how can I not just be let into a fuckin’ bar?”

“Grow up and order a fake one,” Ellie shakes her head with incredulity, smashing the wooden spoon against the pot again with a bang-bang-bang to get the excess pasta sauce off.

“Just you pipe down, hen, you shouldn’t even be at uni. In fact, have you even completed primary yet?”

The two girls stick their tongues out at each other, a mirror-image of petty bickering that makes A’whora laugh. Luckily Bimini steps in, shrugging as they open their purse.

“Here, babe. I’ve still got my course friend’s provisional from when she dropped it on Gordon Street when she was off her face. I ain’t given her it back yet an’ I’m sure she wouldn’t care if you borrowed it. She’s chill.”

Lawrence accepts enthusiastically, bouncing over to Bimini and thanking them gratefully. A’whora watches her face drop, though, when she takes a look at the photo.

“There’s no way this’ll work.”

Bimini tuts and shakes their head, the picture of casual composure. “It’s fine, babes, they never look properly anyway.”

Lawrence drops the hand that’s holding the license to her side and fixes her friend with an astounded glare. “Bimini. This girl is black.”

As the others screech with outrage and mirth, Bimini waves Lawrence’s concerns away blithely. “It’ll be dark! It’s fine! Asttina an’ you have both got similar…well…you’re both girls, an’ you’re about the same height. Give or take a few inches.”    

“Christ. I’m going to have to just forward roll past the bouncers, aren’t I? Then draw a fuckin’ club stamp on my arm in Sharpie.”

“Oh my God, stop moaning!” Ellie sighs from her position at the hob, bangs the spoon again for emphasis. “Look, I’ll ask Pippa from flat 2, alright? You both have brown hair, so…that’ll probably be enough.”

A’whora thinks it’s interesting the way Lawrence doesn’t shoot something back in her foghorn of a voice like she normally does. Instead she smiles warmly, dashes over to the kitchen where she hugs Ellie from behind, squeezing her tightly at the stomach and making her flinch in surprise.

“Thanks, Ellie-Bellie,” she sing-songs, swaying her aggressively from side to side until Ellie bats her away, flicking the spoon in a way that threatens to shower them both in marinara sauce.

“Right, that’s plenty. Don’t even do things I enjoy for that long.”

“When’s this gonna be ready, Els?” Bimini shouts through as Lawrence lets go. “ ‘Ave I got time to do my makeup before it?”

Ellie shrugs. “If you can do your makeup in ten minutes.”

A’whora kicks her leg out in Tayce’s direction and jerks her head towards the hall. “Do you want to try on that bodysuit before tea?”

Tayce nods enthusiastically in agreement, so they go back along the corridor with a shout to the others telling them they won’t be long. A’whora holds the door of her room open for Tayce and her heart sinks in embarrassment when she realises she forgot to make her bed this morning.

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologies, to which Tayce gives a cry of a laugh in response.

“A’whora, have you seen my room? You’re fine, kid, don’t worry.”

A’whora thinks that’s true- Tayce’s room is a state, but somehow it seems to suit her. Tayce’s room with the crowded bulletin board, desk covered in sweet wrappers and sketches, floor carpeted with clothes that need washed and outfits that didn’t make the cut. The cracked picture frame on her window-sill of the first selfie the six of them all got together on the first night of freshers and the huge cheese plant that sits next to her bedside table, Tayce’s pride and joy. They’re all little intricate shards that join up to form a perfect picture of her personality, and A’whora thinks it’s sort of perfect.

She looks out the bodysuit from its neatly Marie Kondo-d place in her wardrobe and hands it gently to Tayce. “Try it and see. It’s a small 10 anyway so it’ll probably be fine for you.”

Tayce accepts it gratefully and hooks a finger around both of the straps, letting the rest of the material fall out of its perfectly folded little parcel. She gives a little gasp of appreciation as she looks at it. “Oh yes, baby. I think this’ll do just fine.”

A’whora feels good- proud that she’s managed to find the perfect piece for Tayce’s outfit, to help her look as inevitably gorgeous as she knows she will. The smile on her face falters, though, when Tayce shoots her a wink and leans against the wall with her shoulder. “This is gonna get me someone I can pop off my acrylics for, I can tell. You’ve got the best taste, girl.”

“Are you actually going to try and get with someone tonight?” A’whora injects a laugh into her question that she’s banking on sounding genuine, otherwise it comes across as accusatory and that’s not what she means it to be. Or is it? She doesn’t know. “You know how messy nights at The Avenue always get. Last time we were there Lawrence got so drunk she told us she couldn’t see, remember?”

Tayce laughs her off with a shrug. “Well then I’ll just have to be careful with my drinks, won’t I?”

A’whora gives a false laugh, tries so hard to get it to meet her eyes. Why is she so pressed about this? She gets with girls on nights out too, she’s brought the occasional one night stand to the flat. Tayce is allowed to do the same.

So why does she feel ever so slightly gutted?

If her smile looks fake (which it is) then Tayce doesn’t notice, and she only shoots her a smile as she opens the bedroom door. “You’re an angel. I’ll pop this on then be back in five.”

A’whora takes the opportunity of Tayce having left to make her bed, and as she does so she feels lots of little thoughts dart around her mind like minnows, none of them staying in the same place for long enough to be able to be deciphered. She manages to catch a few before they flee away and she clings to them, turning them over in her head: why does she feel so bothered about the prospect of Tayce finding a girl at the party, talking to her and making a connection and laughing at her jokes? Why had it felt like a punch to the gut when Tayce was joking about doing so? Why does she have this part of her that feels like an idiot for setting Tayce up to look her best and knowing that it’s for the benefit of somebody else, somebody that doesn’t know her like she does?

And then her bedroom door opens and A’whora turns around and lays eyes on her best friend. Tayce in her high heels and bare legs and the skirt with the zip. Tayce with her baby blue fake fur coat and her straight, dark hair tumbling over its shoulders. Tayce in the bodysuit- A’whora’s bodysuit- with the lace and the mesh that clings to her chest like it was designed just for her. There’s something about the fact that she’s wearing something that belongs to A’whora that makes something inside her chest tingle, the fact it’s a little piece of her in Tayce’s jigsaw puzzle that seems to fit regardless of the difference.

“What d’you think?” Tayce smiles, all too aware of how drop-dead stunning she looks.

And then the realisation hits A’whora like a train.

Oh.

Fuck.

She’s screwed.

[needtherapy]

Huaisang’s Hit List

or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my cursed dick

Technically Huaisang never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Remember that Top Cultivator’s list? You know the one, the one where the Twin Jades were the two most eligible cultivators and Wei Wuxian was ranked higher than Jiang Cheng?

Yeah, that was Huaisang’s fault. But no one regrets it more than he does.

Except maybe all the dead people.

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

Notes: Sort of explicit, and there’s definitely some terribly silly cursed sex acts. If you want to read it on AO3 instead, you can do that too! Many thanks to @coslyons​ and AO3′s mongrelmind and effienell who probably will regret being tagged. Read their fantastic work instead of this absolute travesty.

⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸

In hindsight, Huaisang should have realized way before the Wei Wuxian Incident that he was cursed. But to be fair, people die all the time.

He should know. He has personally killed eight people with his cursed dick.

“So,” Jiang Cheng says, hands tucked under his head, staring up at the sky, “You’re telling me that everyone you have sex with dies. And therefore, you must be killing them?”

“More or less, yes.”

“Isn’t that a little…” Jiang Cheng pauses and kicks the water his feet are dangling in, apparently trying for once in his life to be tactful, which makes Huaisang even more miserable. If Jiang Cheng is being tactful, it must be the end of the world. “Conceited?”

Huaisang pulls another leaf off the branch he is mutilating. He really doesn’t think he’s ever been conceited. Conceited would imply a lack of justification, and he is quite sure he’s right about this.

“A-Cheng, I have evidence. Hard evidence.”

Jiang Cheng chokes a little, and Huaisang glares at him. “Could you not? This is serious. I am never going to have sex again.”

Jiang Cheng chokes again, this time gasping with pained laughter, and Huaisang throws the branch at him. “Fuck you a-Cheng.”

“Thank all the gods you never have!” Jiang Cheng is howling now, curled in a ball and wheezing, and Huaisang has never been so insulted in his life.

Huaisang gathers what remains of his dignity and stands. He doesn’t care how beautiful Lotus Pier is in summer, or how many different shades of pink the flowers blanketing the lakes are, or how wickedly indulgent the sun feels through only two layers of robes, he is going to walk back down this dock and leave.

“Oh sit down, you big baby.” Jiang Cheng grabs the hem of Huaisang’s green robe. “I know you’re just dying to tell me about your ‘hard evidence’ and as much as I would rather rather erase all knowledge of your sex life from…”

Jiang Cheng's utter inability to disguise any thought he has is a gift, Huaisang thinks. Not only does it mean that in almost twenty years, Huaisang has never lost a game of weiqi, it also means he knows the moment it occurs to Jiang Cheng exactly what he means. Or rather...who.

“You. Did not. Fuck. My brother.”

Huaisang glares at a pair of ducks flying noisily overhead—those bastards were probably using their wings to escape awkward conversations—and silently bemoans his sudden and inexplicable flirtation with honesty. Why precisely had he wanted to share the details of his humiliating curse with Jiang Cheng? He frowns down at Sandu Shengshou’s tight, angry slash of a mouth, crackling dark eyes, cheekbones that could slice open his fingers if he ran them over the ridges…

Oh yes. That was why.

“Well, not first,” Huaisang says, deciding that if he’s in for a piglet, he’s in for a hog. “What happened first was Wen Xu.”

Jiang Cheng rolls into the lake. Huaisang is speechless. As rude escapes from his presence go, it is unprecedented. Wen Xu only snuck out of the window.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang wasn’t biting his lip because he was nervous. That would be preposterous. He wasn’t a virgin after all. But he had also never picked anyone up in a tavern...well, certainly not a tavern in Hejian...okay, definitely not anyone at a tavern in Hejian as spectacularly handsome as the man whose name he couldn’t recall and really didn’t care about currently stripping in front of…

He lost his train of thought when—what was his name...Yang...Tian...something about the sun—threw his undershirt on the ground and looked expectantly at Huaisang, flexing the outrageous muscles on his chest just enough to make Huaisang’s blood boil. Yes, oh yes, he was definitely going to bite Sun Man right over the top of his left nipple immediately. And then he was going to make Sun Man beg for mercy. He stepped forward, his mouth stretching wide in a practiced seductive smile, and everything went wrong.

Sun Man stepped forward too, eyes closing, an arrogant tilt to his mouth. Huaisang tried to avoid the kiss—who kissed a stranger in an inn?—but he avoided to the left, and Sun Man lurched to the left. Like a slow motion fall off a cliff, they crashed into each other, arms and legs flailing everywhere. Sun Man’s head smacked into Huaisang’s chin, and worse, Huaisang’s knee collided with the soft—well, not that soft, some distant, smug corner of his brain noted—flesh between the man’s legs. He grunted in pain, grabbed Huaisang, and they fell on the floor in a fairly uncomfortable heap.

Fuck. Well, there goes that, Huaisang thought. Another thrilling night listening to da-ge rant about the damn Wen dogs loomed in his future.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Sun Man said immediately, sprawled on top of Huaisang, and Huaisang realized he meant it, judging by the considerably less soft space between his legs that was currently pressed against Huaisang’s hip.

He cheered immediately. Sun Man liked being hurt. It wasn’t a great start, but he could work with that.

Yes, he thought, as he slapped Sun Man hard on his spectacular ass and Sun Man let out a hearty moan, he could work with this.

Later, history books would describe da-ge as glorious in battle, cutting through the Wen army to the Wen heir, knocking the arrogant smile off his face and the man off his horse, laughing when he begged for mercy and dismembering his body as a lesson to the others, all to the triumphant cheers of the combined army.

What the history books did not mention was da-ge dramatically throwing the head on the ground at Huaisang’s feet in the music room.

“I will take his head to Xichen,” da-ge announced proudly, and Huaisang winced. How could anyone be so bad at romantic gifts?

He looked down despite himself—it had been almost a week since da-ge had thrown a Wen body part on the floor—and gasped.

Huaisang tried to look away from Sun Man in time but in the grand tradition of brothers everywhere, da-ge was unfailingly observant at the worst possible times.

“Huaisang, what did you do?”

Nothing, Huaisang thought, snapping his fan open and trying to blink the hysterical laughter away. Just spanked the daylights out of Wen Xu the night before he died. Just made him cry and climax and collapse in snoring exhaustion before Huaisang had a chance to finish any kind of reciprocal satisfaction, the bastard. And then just watched him climb out of the window before dawn. He sighs. What a wasted night.

“Nothing, da-ge. It’s just...he’s leaking on the floor.”

Da-ge grunted and rolled the head out of the room with his foot.

“I was expecting it to last longer, honestly,” da-ge said, and Huaisang thought, me too. “He seemed spent before we even started.”

Huaisang covered his giggle with a sympathetic cough. “How disappointing for you, da-ge.”

“The thing is,” da-ge continued, eyes sharpening in a very worrisome way. “I noticed a distinctive shade of lip color on his neck, right before I separated it from his body. Almost...like...the mauve you’re wearing right now.”

“This is raisin,” Huaisang snapped before he could help himself and then cringed. He was in so much trouble.

But instead, da-ge sank into a chair laughing. “You could have just drugged him, Huaisang. You didn’t have to fuck him. Next time, tell me before you decide to single handedly give our enemy the serpent’s kiss?”

Huaisang decided to take credit for the tactical fucking, but did not want to be assigned any future war jobs, hand, blow, or otherwise.

“I am not having sex with any more Wens,” he said virtuously, sitting in a chair across from his brother. He did not appreciate the roar of laughter.

⟹ ⟸

“Oh gods, how many more Wens did you have sex with?” Jiang Cheng demands, wringing out his dripping hair next to the hearth fire in the kitchen. “The whole army? Wen Ruohan? Truly, you are the unsung hero of the Sunshot campaign. We should have made you chief cultivator.”

“First of all, I would be a phenomenal chief cultivator, thank you.” Huaisang throws a towel at Jiang Cheng, whacking him on the side of the head, but Jiang Cheng just grins charmingly, the wretch. “Second of all, none of course.”

Technically he never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Jiang Cheng twists his hair into a knot on the top of his head and starts stripping off his wet clothes.

“Okay, so then you slept with my brother?”

Huaisang slumps in a chair and stares at the carved ceiling, not looking, not looking, not looking. Pretty, he thinks, focusing very diligently on the wood. It looks like a giant lotus flower.

“No, only the number sixes at first,” Huaisang mumbles, wondering if the splotchy paint marks on the carving are actually tiny lotus flowers. If so, he really has to admire how committed the Yunmeng Jiang are to the aesthetic.

Suddenly Jiang Cheng’s face is next to his face, his hands on the arm of the chair, and he looks angry again. Wet and angry. Like a scandalously unrobed cat that just crawled out of a well—Huaisang fumbles the metaphor, too distracted by Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“Are you talking about that plague of a ‘most eligible cultivators’ list? If I ever find out who ruined my life with that list, I am going to tie them to something very hard and beat them within an inch of their life,” he growls, and Huaisang is afraid he might be a little turned on by that. He tries something. A sort of experiment.

“I made the list.”

Jiang Cheng turns white, the blood draining instantly from his face. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare, and Huaisang decides that yes, indeed, he is terrified and aroused. He really does learn something new about himself every day.

“You asshole,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “Why?”

“I don’t remember,” he lies. “Maybe I was bored. Maybe it was a list of people I wanted to be friends with.” It was certainly not a list of people he and Meng Yao had wanted to see naked. Not at all.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t move. If anything, his nose gets a little closer to Huaisang’s nose. Tantalizingly within biting distance.

“It was a sex list, wasn’t it,” he accuses, entirely unfairly in Huaisang’s opinion. But then he frowns. “Your brother was on that list. That’s...a bit much, even for you.”

Huaisang sticks out his tongue, almost licking Jiang Cheng. Wisely, Jiang Cheng jumps back, protecting his precious nose with his hand.

“Okay, that was Zewu-Jun’s fault! He found out that da-ge wasn’t on the list and he looked so sad. You know how he is! ‘But Mingjue-xiong is so handsome and kind. Why wouldn’t he be considered the most eligible cultivator? You know I have no interest in such worldly things, but oh, woe, life has been too cruel to my dear, dear friend Mingjue-xiong.’” Huaisang knows he does a killer Lan-zongzhu impression, and Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitches at the corners.

“Fine. You didn’t fuck your brother. Good for you. Go ahead, tell me who you did kill. Since I apparently can’t stop you.”

“I didn’t know I was doing it, a-Cheng. I wouldn’t kill people on purpose.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t hesitate to reassure him.

“Of course you would.”

Huaisang is friends with Jiang Cheng for this exact reason: because he is the kind of friend who would steal chickens and bury bodies with you and not judge or ask questions.

Jiang Cheng freezes, closes his eyes, and asks a very judgmental question. “Don’t tell me you were responsible for Jin Zixuan too?”

Huaisang winces. “Not...only.”

⟹ ⟸

“So you’re second cousins,” Huaisang asked, drinking another cup of the finest wine he can afford, and staring at Jin Zixuan’s increasingly handsome face, already a work of art.

Naturally, it was the other one who answered, because nothing was easy today except for Huaisang.

“No, his mother’s sister’s husband’s sister is my mother. They were married in the same ancestral hall as my mother’s brother’s wife’s brother, though, and....”

Huaisang didn’t give two fucks about Jin Zixun droning on about his relations, but he liked the flush on Jin Zixuan’s cheeks when he caught Huaisang staring at him. He’d had two bottles of wine, and he seemed to be one of those drunks who got quieter and quieter until he fell over. Huaisang wanted to catch him.

He had found Jin Zixuan in Yudao Tang, looking at the map of the Sunshot Campaign without da-ge, and although he was fairly sure it was innocent, he was also fairly sure da-ge would absolutely qi deviate if anyone touched his little metal horses and toy soldiers. He was just going to shoo him away, but Jin Zixuan, the third most eligible cultivator, had given him A Curious Look, and Huaisang had shifted tactics with a military precision he thinks would even have impressed his da-ge.

“You’ve been working so hard, Jin-gongzi,” Huaisang said, testing out Jin Zixuan’s bicep with a soft and gentle squeeze that lingered long enough to promise something hard and rough. “Let’s go share a bottle or two to loosen up for the night.”

He hadn’t even realized the other one was there.

“You’re too generous Nie Huaisang! We accept your offer,” crowed the unwanted Jin, whose name Huaisang was unwillingly informed was Zixun.

So now Huaisang was sitting in an inn in Hejian trying to get Jin Zixun pass-out drunk faster than Jin Zixuan. It wasn’t working. The man had a hollow leg. Possibly two hollow legs. Definitely a hollow brain. But then he felt a hand on his knee, and Jin Zixuan was looking at him from under eyelashes as long and thick as butterfly wings.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked quietly, and Huaisang could not have been more relieved than if he had been plucked from the coils of a liangren she.

“Yes please,” he whispered under Jin Zixun’s droning. “You go first. I’ll follow.”

Jin Zixuan stood gracefully, only swayed a little, and was up the stairs before Jin Zixun had completely explained the intimate details of his mother’s sister’s son’s wedding tea service. Huaisang endured the description of osmanthus cakes for two whole minutes before he laughed loudly, interrupting Boring Cousin.

“Stop! I need to relieve myself and I can’t bear to miss one single detail! Wait right here and I’ll be back.”

Jin Zixun looked disappointed to be robbed of an audience even for a heartbeat, but he stayed, and Huaisang fled.

He found Jin Zixuan waiting in the doorway of his room, and he didn’t waste another second. Pushing Jin Zixuan onto the bed, Huaisang practically launched himself at the man, kissing him viciously, thrilled when Jin Zixuan groaned and locked his hand around the back of Huaisang’s head. He looked rumpled and flushed, and he tasted like heat and honey. Absolutely delicious. Huaisang didn’t understand why Wei Wuxian didn’t like Jin Zixuan. Probably because he’d never bitten the skin at the base of his throat or heard how sweetly he moaned when Huaisang got his pants down and started to stroke him, sliding his hand expertly along the smooth curve.

“There you go sweetheart,” Huaisang encouraged, when Jin Zixuan reached between Huaisang’s legs and finally wrapped those long, thin, elegant fingers around his shaft. He was exactly what Huaisang had hoped: beautiful, strong, and eager, if a little unskilled.

And then Huaisang heard the worst sound he had ever heard in his life.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Jin Zizun slurred from the door. “I want to join.”

⟹ ⟸

“And then he did, a-Cheng,” Huaisang whines, taking a bite out of the dumpling Jiang Cheng hands him. “It was the worst.”

Jiang Cheng looks unsympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you done detailing how you fucked my brother-in-law and his abhorrent cousin to death? I tuned out somewhere around the extremely comprehensive description of my sister’s father’s daughter’s husband’s dick, which I could have lived my whole life without hearing.”

“You asked,” Huaisang points out.

“‘Yes’ or ‘no’ would have been sufficient,” Jiang Cheng retorts.

Huaisang hadn’t considered that.

“Oh. Um, yes. I was responsible for Jin Zixuan. And Jin Zixun, although I didn’t mean to be. And...um...Ouyang Xi and Yao Shui. They were both number sixes. Ouyang Xi was the only girl I ever put on the list. Remember her? She was amazing.”

Jiang Cheng sits back, thinking. “Wasn’t she taller than Hanguang-Jun?” When Huaisang nods, Jiang Cheng whistles appreciatively. “Oh yeah, I remember her. She was something. I can’t even be mad about that one.”

He seems to realize how that sounded and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous. You aren’t killing people. They died in the war. They died because they were assholes. They died because people die. That’s not proof.”

Huaisang does not want to tell him about Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian is proof.

“It was twice with Wei Wuxian. And he died twice. Once his heart. Once his life. That’s when I realized, and that’s when I stopped having sex.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth drops open a little and he stares at Huaisang, obviously dumbfounded, probably horrified. Finally, Huaisang thinks, Jiang Cheng doesn’t have anything sarcastic to say.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he finally replies, and Huaisang shrinks. “Once you realized, why the fuck didn’t you sleep with Hanguang-Jun? You could have made my life so much easier. Gods, Huaisang, you are never thinking about me.”

Huaisang’s mind spins futilely, a dog chasing its tail, but he finally processes Jiang Cheng’s sparkling eyes, the slightly raised left eyebrow, and the extremely provoking way he is biting his lip as “teasing.” Huaisang expects his eyes to stop there, but the traitors keep going, looking at Jiang Cheng’s muscular chest, disappointingly garbed in dry clothes, his long legs stretched out in front of him…no! Focus on being truthful! His mind—okay possibly not his mind—objects to both truthfulness and not ogling Jiang Cheng but he perseveres.

“You...you aren’t angry? About Wei Wuxian?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “He’s alive now. What can I change about the past? And I’m not sure I want to hear any,” he pokes Huaisang in the chest, “ANY details about whatever you two did.”

Huaisang thinks about Wei Wuxian at sixteen, full of sunshine and curiosity, kneeling in front of him in the woods behind Cloud Recesses, and he thinks of Wei Wuxian during Sunshot, his jagged edges so beautiful and sharp, begging Huaisang to tighten the rope a little more, hurt him a little more, distract him a little more.

“Nope, nope, see, that face is exactly what I don’t want to hear,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “Not a word, Huaisang. Not a word.”

He leans forward and pours more wine into Huaisang’s cup. “Look, just stop making the list and you’ll be fine. You can go back to doing whatever, whoever, you want.”

“I did! I haven’t been in charge of the list for years! For a while, no one was updating it, and then I handed it over to Jingyi, oh, about a year before Wei Wuxian came back, but...it still works.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes roll back so hard, so long, Huaisang hopes they get stuck. “I assume you know because you tested it personally. I compliment the rigorous dedication to checking your theory, Huaisang.”

Huaisang sniffs. That poor Zhao girl (an exceptional number seven—Huaisang couldn’t argue with Jingyi’s taste, at least) had died horribly, he thinks, falling from her sword after a tragic mid-air goose collision.

“Well, I had to check, because…” If he is ever going to face a consequence, Huaisang thinks, today is the day. “For once, I wanted to use it.”

And then he waits for the dao to fall.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang had planned of course, planned for years. Found evidence. Found witnesses. Found proof. But nothing was as good as a sure thing. So he would do this distasteful thing to ensure that no matter what happened, no matter how it happened, his plan would succeed.

Winning was so close he could taste it, like salty tears, like bitter fruit. It was a taste he remembered well.

“San-ge,” he sobbed, drinking his wine and immediately burning off the alcohol, “I just don’t know what to do. I’m going to die alone.”

Jin Guangyao, who Huaisang never thought of san-ge in his mind anymore, looked a little annoyed, but Huaisang poured him another cup of Emperor’s Smile, and his brother’s murderer relaxed.

“A-Sang,” he said in a patronizing tone, as though he was so much older and more mature than Huaisang. “We can visit another matchmaker and try again.”

“Noooooo,” Huaisang wailed. “I just can’t. It won’t help. You must have advice. What can I do to make a woman love me?”

There it was. The flinch. Huaisang loved the flinch. The flinch was winning. He gleefully drove the sword in deeper.

“Oh no, I’m a fool,” he moaned, with a dramatic sniffle, drying his tears and touching the back of Jin Guangyao’s hand, the lightest feather, only the tip of his finger grazing one knuckle. “I’m being selfish. This is such terrible timing, with everything that’s happened. I’m just so lonely. I miss…”

Huaisang sighed and turned away morosely, watching Jin Guangyao out of the corner of his eye. He really wasn’t as good at hiding his reactions as he thought he was. For instance, he bit the inside of his lip the way he always did when he was thinking of the past. And his eyes shifted to the right the way they always did when he was about to lie, so Huaisang beat him to the punch, pouring more wine. Four bottles down.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you never think about...well...you know.” He let his eyelashes flutter. Jin Guangyao looked a little alarmed, so Huaisang ratcheted the flutter back to a flicker. “But it was the best time of my life,” Huaisang said with a wistful jab, adding a twist of longing, and the thrust hit home.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said, sounding a little like he was drunk and a lot like he was weakening. “That was a long time ago.”

Huaisang was aware. He was aware that Meng Yao was never on The List, so sleeping with him never counted. He was aware that it was, perhaps, a bit callous to put a man whose wife died two days ago on a list of most eligible bachelors but he is Jin-zongzhu and chief cultivator. It would honestly be a crime not to include him.

“Maybe...maybe tonight I could help you and you could help me? Think of it as therapeutic catharsis, a-Yao.” Huaisang suggested, this time touching Jin Guangyao’s knee, and, when he got no objection, sliding his hand up further.

This is no worse than Su She, he reminded himself. Actually, a lot less worse, he decided, remembering the flash of raw meat that was Su She’s chest with a repressed shudder. He definitely can’t think about that, or he won’t even be able to coax The Cursed One into working order.

“Sang-er,” Jin Guangyao whispered, and Huaisang knew he’d won.

In more ways than one.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang can’t tell what the look on Jiang Cheng’s face means.

“Ha!” Jiang Cheng shouts, and then tips sideways onto the couch laughing.

No, laughing is a polite word for polite people. Jiang Cheng is braying, quite a bit like Wei Wuxian’s donkey. It is frankly, very unbecoming behavior for a sect leader.

“You sound like Lil’ Apple,” Huaisang says crossly, and Jiang Cheng laughs harder, falling on the ground at Huaisang’s feet.

“You named your dick ‘The Cursed One’? No wonder it hates you. I’d hate you too. Here’s a suggestion. Try naming it something nice!”

“Oh, like ‘Princess?’”

Jiang Cheng shuts up.

But not for long. Never for long. The only person who shuts up less than Huaisang is Jiang Cheng. Huaisang considers himself a model of restraint compared to Jiang Cheng.

“What if you just kiss someone? Does that kill them?”

Huaisang eyes Jiang Cheng suspiciously, but he is sitting up, not laughing, and looks genuinely curious.

“My lips aren’t cursed.”

Jiang Cheng nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Not really, but I’m trying to be supportive of your bout with insanity. What happens if you have sex with people who aren’t on the list?”

“Nothing. But I never know who is on the list anymore. Jingyi and Sizhui are very protective of it. I don’t think they trust me not to tell anyone they write it.”

Jiang Cheng gives him a disbelieving look. “I can’t imagine why.”

Huaisang can’t either. It is a very unfilial lack of faith in his well-proven ability to keep secrets.

“Well, I guess if it’s the only way you’ll ever have sex again, I’m willing to sacrifice myself,” Jiang Cheng announces, holding out his arms and wiggling his hips suggestively. “Come and get it, Huaisang. I’m sorry, but this is your best, no, your only option.”

Huaisang kicks Jiang Cheng’s foot viciously. “You are so mean, a-Cheng, and it doesn’t help, because you’re still on the list, okay? Stupid Jingyi and his stupid crush. You’re number three now.”

Jiang Cheng grins so broadly, Huaisang hates him. Hates him a lot. Stupid, vain, irritating Jiang Cheng. He can’t remember why they’re friends. He can’t remember why he likes him.

“That’s so sweet! I knew I liked that kid for a reason. I should invite him over for tea sometime.”

Huaisang pops to his feet. “You go right ahead. I’m leaving.”

As fast as a striking snake, Jiang Cheng sits up and grabs Huaisang around the waist, pulling him down, startling a squeak out of Huaisang as he lands on Jiang Cheng’s lap.

“You idiot,” Jiang Cheng tells Huaisang fondly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Have you ever tried having sex with anyone on the list who isn’t a fragile flower? Or who thought you were worth risking a little death for? Maybe you aren’t cursed. Maybe you just have terrible taste.”

He kisses Huaisang, so gently and tenderly, eyes closed, nose rubbing Huaisang’s cheek, and it is nothing like Huaisang expected, but it does feel a little like something breaks. Maybe it’s the curse. Maybe it’s the brittle ice around his heart that formed when da-ge died. Whatever it is, he can’t be bothered to think about it. He kisses Jiang Cheng back with everything he’s wanted to say since the day they met.

“Wait!”

Jiang Cheng wrenches away and glares at Huaisang. “Number three? Three? I can understand two, because ugh, Xichen, but who else could possibly be more eligible than me?”

“Cheng-gege, I’m probably just remembering wrong. You know how I am with details. I’m sure you’re second,” Huaisang soothes, wanting to return to the kissing part without having to tell Jiang Cheng that er-ge had put his foot down a long time ago about being on the list. It is actually his nephew who is number two and Ouyang Zizhen who is number one. He doesn’t think Jiang Cheng will see the humor in it.

“That’s true, you do have an atrocious memory,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “For instance, you seem to have forgotten that you spent the entire afternoon detailing your exploits with half the cultivation world.”

Huaisang’s thought process is somewhat compromised, and he can’t make himself connect Jiang Cheng’s words with the feel of his hands, those wide, strong hands cupping Huaisang’s ass.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tipping his head back and letting Jiang Cheng nibble a path down his neck. “They were all terrible. I do not recommend any of them, especially not the dead ones.”

Jiang Cheng laughs, a rumbling sound that makes Huaisang’s fingers fumble at the lotus clasp on his belt.

“I didn’t hate it, but we’re going to start a new list, Sang-er, called ‘Huaisang’s Best Sex,’ and I am going to be the ony person on it,” Jiang Cheng informs Huaisang, biting his earlobe.

“It’s not…” Huaisang kisses Jiang Cheng’s exquisite collarbone, having cleverly freed him from his robes, “...a list if…” Huaisang wraps his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck and rocks against him, “...there’s only one person on it.”

With a growl that might be hiding a laugh, Jiang Cheng flips Huaisang onto his back and grinds against him. “Stop arguing, Sang-er. I am busy writing my name on your new list, and I expect it to take the rest of the night.”

Now that he thinks about it, Huaisang decides, lifting his hips so Jiang Cheng can pull off his pants, it’s really a brilliant idea. The best idea Jiang Cheng has ever had. Jiang Cheng’s mouth engulfs Huaisang’s very much forgiven dick, and with a gasp and a moan, he vows to henceforth let Jiang Cheng have all the ideas.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang stretches like a cat in the morning, as pleased with himself as the sun is to rise, and stares down at Jiang Cheng’s unfairly beautiful face. Last night, Jiang Cheng had seemed very determined to break the curse, or break Huaisang’s back, and Huaisang isn’t surprised that he’s still asleep. With one finger, Huaisang traces the line of Jiang Cheng’s jaw and leans down to kiss his cool, smooth lips.

Cool lips.

No.

No!

Huaisang flails out of the bed, scrambling backward, falling, shaking his head as though not looking directly at Jiang Cheng will change what he felt.

He knew he should have listened to his gut and not his traitorous, evil dick.

“No no no no no no,” he chants softly, like it will make Jiang Cheng any less dead if he says it enough times.

And then a ton of rocks falls on his head. He is in the Jiang zongzhu’s bedroom with a dead Jiang-zongzhu. The self-preservation instinct that has kept him alive this long kicks him in the ass. He hurries to Jiang Cheng’s side of the bed and rolls him over, tucking the blanket around him like a mushu pancake. First, roll up the body, he mutters to himself. Then, dump him in the lake. Then, run away. This would be easier if he had someone to help. Like Jiang Cheng.

He stops and frowns. Is that…

The rolled up blanket shakes and Huaisang leaps back, clearing the entirety of the lotus-shaped rug—gods, they are devoted to that theme—and landing on a chair as far away from the undead Jiang Cheng as possible.

The wildly panicking rabbit in his head only slows its escape as he recognizes the sound from the bed.

Laughter.

Fucking laughter.

Fucking Jiang Cheng rolls himself out of the blanket. Not dead.

Not yet, at least. Huaisang is formulating some very definite ideas on how to change Jiang Cheng’s living status right now.

“Your face! You should see your face. I swear, I will cultivate immortality just so I can remember this moment for a thousand years. I never thought there would be a reason to use my qi to slow my heart rate like that but I was so wrong. You were going to dump me in the lake!”

“What is wrong with you!” Huaisang shouts. “I thought I’d killed you!” He stalks over to Jiang Cheng, intending to make his assumption reality, but Jiang Cheng wraps his legs tightly around Huaisang’s waist and kisses him soundly.

“I don’t die easily, Nie Huaisang. Not for you, not for anyone. Besides, I’ve waited too long for you to figure out you’re in love with me. Now, come back to bed, and I’ll let you try to kill me again, as many times as you want. If you’re very good, maybe Princess will return the favor and try to kill you too.”

Dammit, Huaisang should have known he’d like the name. He’s going to be stuck calling Jiang Cheng’s dick Princess forever.

He grins and shoves Jiang Cheng backward, straddling his waist, and the aforementioned Princess twitches enthusiastically. Forever is a nice amount of time, Huaisang decides, and Princess is a small price to pay for forever.

[demonic-cultivar]

Hello! I'm just curious but who are your top 10 MXTX characters?

oooooh this took a bit of thought to whittle down!!! this is only kinda in order!!

nie huaisang - my baby baby boy. i think about this man literally constantly. honestly, his character is a fragmented little heap of contradictory traits that you get to assemble however you like, and i've spent like... a year just building my perfect version of him. at the same time, there are so many other takes of him that are incredibly dear to me. he's like his own little multiverse! i am lost in the nie huaisang sauce.

wei wuxian - i FELL IN LOVE with this man as i read mdzs. brilliant, irreverent, devious, volatile, empathetic, SELFLESS...!! he's tailor-made to be one of the most magnetic protagonists i've ever encountered!!

hua cheng - the perfect man, would marry in a heartbeat. HUGE supervillain vibes, 100% committed to The Aesthetic, morally ambiguous as FUCK, but literally devotes his life to the man he loves. swoon city!!

lan xichen - i LOVE that such a soft boy somehow lives in such a harsh world. i ESPECIALLY love thinking about how canon was a major test of that softness, and how he might possibly be able to recover after having his world shattered. he's so Vulnerable, despite his immense personal and political power, and i adore that vulnerability!!

jin guangyao - gorgeously crafted villain, fascinatingly fucked up mindspace, i love delving into his motivations and obsessions. he's a pile of neuroses that puts on a hat and pretends to be a well-adjusted person, and i have no choice but to stan

nie mingjue- wonderfully complex in his simplicity. he's bull-headed, completely sure in his own convictions, a black-and-white-thinker in a morally-gray world. and he cares SO MUCH!! he's got the weight of the world on his broad, sculpted shoulders!! his fatal flaw is FEELING TOO MUCH!!!

xie lian - DOING HIS GODDAMN BEST AND I LOVE HIM FOR IT!! the dichotomy of goofy, humble wanderer vs supremely powerful, supremely kind martial god.... he's got layers and im here for them. he had so many chances to break, and he got close, but he never gave up!!

mo xuanyu - listen. i know we never actually meet him. but i love him so much?? canon is kinda awful to him without ever giving him a chance to exonerate himself, and with the themes so centered around ferreting out the truth among nasty rumors, i can't help but feel supremely protective of him. justice (and therapy) for mxy!!

a-qing - hands down THE most badass mxtx character. she's got grit. she's got brains. she's quick on her feet and cool under pressure. she faced down XUE FUCKING YANG and walked DIRECTLY into his sword without fucking flinching!! her scam powers are off the goddamn CHARTS

wen ning - in the novel he did this sexy little journey where i originally thought of him as wwx's "henchman," but by the end i was fully invested in him as a character. i want the nicest things for him!! he also did the "ill keep all my emotions right here, and then, one day, ill die" bit, but after he died he got to unleash all of his bottled emotions in a primal blood-rage, which is #goals

honorable mentions: qi rong - horrible little gremlin man, we love to see it shang qinghua - he really went out there and fucked his own oc, an icon zhuzhi lang - soft snake boy wants to be loved! adorable! jin ling - awful little boy doing his absolute best <3

[pandoraswrld]

FALLEN GRACE

— in which kasper is sick

characters / oh aejung, kasper yang

words / 2k

warnings / mentioned drug use, vomit/throwing up, bad vibes all around — if i missed anything please let me know!

수파 at 9:31: aej

수파 at 9:36: aejung

Aejung hadn’t seen the string of messages Kasper had sent her within the last hour, she had no immediate reason to, she had only just gotten back to the dorms a couple minutes ago.

This was one of the few nights she had picked out to hang out with the girls, ones she had promised them all when she moved out only a few months ago. The whole event had been planned to the detail by her: go out with the girls and do what they like and then come back to the dorms and stay the night there. It was pretty simple, and it was supposed to be a fun night.

After having spent hours walking around with everyone, Aejung was glad to finally reach home and call it a day. She missed her bed back at the dorm and it was the perfect opportunity to indulge in the freshly washed sheets she had left there.

She had only kicked off her shoes before she realised her phone had been blowing up with notifications, each one a message from Kasper slowly getting more and more concerning and ending with several missed calls.

수파 at 9:43: aejung please answer me please

수파 at 9:43: please answer me i need you i’m so scared

수파 at 9:44: help me

She almost raced to her contacts, immediately calling him after reading each text. He picked up quickly but there was no noise coming from his end, rather just the static of his phone taking up the space.

“Kasper what’s wrong? Where are you?” Aejung was worried now, even when he was high with her he never talked like this, and to be greeted with nothing but silence? She couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t know what’s happening, I’m at home but please, please just help me.” She sensed urgency in his voice, an urgency she hated hearing. Fuck she had no idea what to do.

“Okay just stay where you are and I’ll come to you, please don’t do anything bad before I get there.” She hung up the phone and ran towards the apartment door, barely stopping to grab her coat and keys.

It’s times like this that Aejung is glad she finally got her driving license. She knows it’s a more mundane thought to have right now, especially when her boyfriend seemed to be having the worst experience of his life but she had to fill her head full of mundane thoughts, anything to get the idea of something seriously wrong happening to leave her head.

With the rate she was going at she was surprised she made it all the way to their apartment without getting caught for speeding. The elevator had never seemed slower than it did as she waited for it to bring her to the right floor, speeding out to their apartment as soon as she saw the door opening to the familiar hallway.

“Kasper!” She called out his name, worried when she couldn’t see him slouching on the sofa like he always did.

“I’m in here.” His voice was so weak, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the sound of anything else.

Aejung slammed the front door shut and ran towards the bedroom, finding his limp body only a few centimetres away from the pool of vomit near the door, the sight almost made her tear up.

“What did you take?” Aejung threw herself onto the floor beside him, careful not to step in the vomit.

“Please just hold me.” He sounded exhausted, his sluggish body heaped on the floor and his head just barely resting on the edge of the bed.

She pulled his body into her arms so that his head rested over her shoulders and his legs were laid over her own. He seemed so lifeless, like some doll that she could just throw about.

This wasn’t the man she had known for the past three years. A couple of months ago he would have been the one cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair and singing her to sleep. She didn’t mind, she thinks she shouldn’t anyways, she likes taking care of him but this time was different. He was different.

Still, she continued to run her hands up and down his back and hum some childish lullaby, anything to get him to calm down, “It’s okay, this will be over soon.”

“I-I took a tab, I think, Insung gave it to me.” He was shuddering, clearly cold despite the warmth radiating around the room.

“You took something from Insung?” Aejung knows she can’t be mad, not in this moment, he was too vulnerable. Really she should place her frustrations with Sera but that’s at the back of her mind once Kasper starts talking again.

“He said I would be fine, I thought I would be fine, b-but I don’t know what happened. I was just thinking about you and then the next thing I know I’m throwing up and suddenly everything was so dark.” God, he sounded so scared, she hated seeing him like this.

“How long has it been since you took the tab?” She kept her voice calm, she didn’t want to freak him out even more.

“I know that I took it at around three but god it feels like it’s been so long Aejung, is it still the ninth?” He looked up at her and she had to hold herself back from sobbing right there.

She caught his eyes first, his eyes that were once so full of love just staring back at her entirely empty and dilated. She saw that his eyes were now accompanied by incredibly dark circles in the space where they once were faint, Aejung used to adore his eyes.

She chose to exhale deeply, a shaky breath exiting her mouth before she began to speak, “It’s about ten o’clock now which means you’re seven hours into a trip, but it’s okay I’ll stay here with you for the rest of it.”

“But weren’t you doing something with the girls today– oh god I’m keeping you here, I’m so sorry.” There was genuine concern in his voice, it was unmistakable and it only made it harder for Aejung to want to stay.

“Please, it’s okay.” She rests his head back down on her shoulder and goes back to rubbing circles on his back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He just kept repeating those same words over and over until he had stopped shaking.

Something had changed in the room. Aejung wasn’t sure if it was the fact that the only thing she could see was the streetlight through his window or the fact that both of them were crying silently, almost as if they didn’t want to alert the other of their tears.

“We have got to get you into a better mood!” Aejung tried to be positive as she wiped her tears away and quickly put on a lighter voice.

“I feel like I’m going to die.” Aejung supposed that she shouldn’t take his statement to heart, people say all kinds of things on acid but he just kept on repeating it.

Over and over the words rattled in her head, slowly going from “I feel like” to “I’m going to die” and she simply couldn’t put a stop to them. She couldn’t be here, she couldn’t deal with the thought, but there’s no way she could leave. She was stuck, with her boyfriend breaking down in her arms, she had nowhere to go. This was her home now, he was her home and she couldn’t just leave him here.

“Please, stop.” She sighed, “You’re not going to die, I’m going to make sure of it.”

“How do you know that? This feels like the end Aej, I’m scared.”

“I know you are, but you’re strong, you can do this!” She tried believing her own words but it was so hard when he just seemed to be decomposing in front of her.

“Oh god I’m gonna be sick again.” Aejung took that seriously, trying to pull both herself and the five foot ten man towards his bathroom as quickly as she could.

She had only made it about halfway there before he had thrown up again, thankfully nowhere near anything important.

Aejung slumped back down to the floor, her back leaning against his bedroom wall. She was going to have to clean this up at some point, wanting to groan at the thought.

Out of all the thoughts she had processed within the last hour the ones that hurt her the most were her own musings of the situation. She wished and wished that Kasper hadn’t texted her, that she could’ve just gone to bed and got the sleep she had desperately been needing. She knew it was selfish of her to think such thoughts but it also wasn’t her job to take care of a grown man through a bad trip, actually it wasn’t her job to take care of him at all. It was his.

Every time, Kasper always promised to be safe, he always told her where he was going, what he was doing and with who. He trusted her, she trusted him, and they respected that all throughout their relationship. She didn’t have to ask him to tell her things and yet he decided to keep this one hidden, she reckons this is his consequence but she shouldn’t think such things.

“Do you want to lay down on the bed, it’s comfier.” She tried talking to him again.

He simply nodded at her words and tried getting himself up this time. His arm was slung over Aejung’s back, desperately leaning into her as they both walked over to bed and laid themselves down side by side.

Aejung’s hand went over to brush the stray white hairs out of his eyes. He was beautiful, he always was, even in his moments of fallen grace.

“I don’t – no – I can’t sleep, not now, not tonight.” The panic started rising in Kasper’s again. She sat up, preparing herself for just about anything from him now.

“Why not, love?” She tried her best to be understanding, using a mellow voice and leaving her hand over his, but she wanted nothing more than to be asleep.

“I won’t wake up, I just know it.” There he goes, Aejung expects another mortifying rant from him to take up the next few minutes, “I feel it Aejung, like the moment I drift off that that will be the end for me.”

“I will watch over you, think of me as your guardian angel,” She gave him a tired smile, “As your angel, I don’t think I’m ready to let you go just yet.”

Kasper noticeably softened, his once tense expression now painted with soft lines and the glimpse of a smile. His knuckles were no longer white as he loosened his grip on the blanket and Aejung could’ve sworn she saw his familiar brightness begin to fill up his face again.

“You know you’re glowing right now,” he looked up at her as though she were the only thing in the world.

“Am I?”

“Mmmh, you’re glowing slightly golden, just like how I imagined you would.” She can’t begin to fathom what Kasper was seeing with his brain on acid but hearing his words made her feel warm inside. They made her feel loved, probably for the first time that night.

“Does that make you feel better?”

He nodded, shuffling up the bed to sit by her side. His head rested on her shoulder ever so delicately, he seemed calm. Aejung only hoped that he had finally made it out of the deep end.

Everything seemed as it normally would, Kasper and Aejung hand in hand, resting on their shared bed with only the fluorescent beams of the streetlight outside highlighting their faces. Aejung finally felt at peace, her fingertips were no longer cold and her heartbeat attempted to match Kasper’s. He had finally stopped thinking at sixty miles per hour and enjoyed the slowed moment, trying his best to push all the dark thoughts out of his brain.

Aejung was his guardian angel, she was there to protect him. He couldn’t fall tonight, not any more than he already had. For now, both of them could just revel in the moment of comfortable silence between them, all worries to be left for another day.

[mcfanely]

The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon

Chapter 13 - Of Earth, 4703 words

A single, quiet breath of puthered ice forced its way out of his throat and into the open air. 

Cole had promised himself. 

A promise that from the very beginning, he was going to keep his brother safe. He had told himself, made a silent pact that he wouldn't accept anything less. He couldn't accept anything less. 

He was still doing that.

He was. 

Cole had volunteered to go out and catch fish more often so he was the one exposed to the elements. Provided food, collected the firewood even though nothing had come of that little plan. Cole had stayed awake as the sky had finally started to darken into a true night and not into another oncoming snowstorm. His back was always propped up on the chest plates of the mech, fingers fiddling with his once ragged gi as he watched as his brother dropped off into an undisturbed sleep beside him. It had always been about safety and preservation, because Cole knew that he was getting the same in return. In the early mornings when the sun had barely risen and the Earth Master found himself sitting at the mouth of the cavern, legs crossed comfortably beneath himself as he waited for the arcs of sunlight to break into the sky and through the darkness. To then be joined by a familiar, comforting and cool presence just beside him. In the intense training and worried glances and quiet lectures shared afterwards when any injuries accidentally sustained were assessed and cared for, followed by the routine of their morning video log. What they planned to do for the day, all set out in a recording. Just to keep them focused, so they didn't flounder in the foreign realm. 

Cole protected his family as much as they protected him, that was his job. 

That was still his job. 

So, standing by the throne, watching as torrents of chilled air rolled off the walls and collected in dense and low clouds over the floor, tumbling and thinning out as they spread through the expanse of the room. In the feeling of new clothes scratching his skin, a much thicker fabric than what he was used to but even then, the absence of rips and holes were welcoming. 

He was keeping his promise. Even after everything that had taken place on that one day. 

The memories were all still there, and Cole had made it his job to sift through each and every one with a fine toothed comb. From the battle that had started it all; returning to the cavern as the snow storm had raged so violently, to losing the fight and waking up in a cell. To his meeting with Vex and... The feeling of the damp chill seeping through his old ruined clothes, the feeling of his extremities growing numb with the bitter atmosphere that was always a constant presence in the Ice Palace. The staff, roaring to life with power, the bright light that always accompanied it and the phantom licks of blue fire that he was sure he'd been able to see exuding from beneath that frosted helmet. 

Cole let his eyes slip closed for a brief second. 

He started back from the beginning again, with his first analysis of the scene. Walking into the sheltered cavern with only a small dagger in hand, he hadn't even spent much time figuring out what he'd do, or even what he could face once he rounded the corner. There was no way he could have predicted anything that would have followed. Not really. So his reaction was understandable and justified. 

The fight? In reality, there had been no contention as to who would win. Whether it had been drawn out longer or not, whether that one debilitating final blow had come or whether he'd been felled by different means, the ending would have always been the same. He could acknowledge that. Cole wouldn't have ran away from that fight. 

Which would have led him to the cell again, which in turn would have meant he would always end up having that audience with Vex. 

There was so much he could have done differently, that he would have changed if he would just be given that impossible second chance. That the moment the cuffs had fallen away from his wrists in a shattered heap he should have gone for the staff, or that when he'd turned into a dragon he should have used that to his advantage. He should have moved, gone for Vex, anything other than what he'd actually done. Anything other than falling into that state of blind and confused panic as he tried to force his mind to understand what had taken place. 

Or he could have said something different. He could have stayed quiet, to not buy into Vex's traps, not give away any information. He could have stayed knelt on the floor in utter silence and that could have provided such a different result than what he'd gotten. 

He could have attacked even with the chains around his wrists. He could have used any opportunity when he wasn't flanked by the Blizzard Warriors to strike - any action like that could have swayed the ending.

Or even, he could have just tried harder than he actually did whilst trying to get through to his brother. 

Cole could have shouted, could have ignored everything Vex had said and only focused on the single objective of surfacing any possible memory he could think of. 

He shouldn't have even spared a single glance in Vex's direction. 

It had been a week since that day, or at least that's what Cole had figured. Even with all the time that had passed by, with everything that had taken place, he still couldn't get his failure out of his head. It bit and hummed at the edge of his mind, always vying for some form of attention. 

You could have done this, you should have done that. If it had been anyone else in that scenario then they would have done such a better job than what you did. 

Cole shut his eyes. 

Any of them at all. The one in red, that old man, anyone. Why did it have to be you?

He was dragged from his thoughts when he heard the clink of ice to his side, his eyes snapping open and focusing on the throne beside him. The way flurries of frost had begun to float in the air around him. Them. 

The Ice Emperor was a man of very few words, Cole found. Maintaining his guard position beside the throne didn't exactly make for much riveting conversation. Standing in silence, the slightest sound from the surrounding hallways, echoes of footsteps and scrapes of swords in sheaths seemed to be amplified by the magnitude of the room. Cole's breathing seemed louder too. More gravelled, deeper almost, reverberating with every chilled puff of air that left his mouth. Though that could have just been his imagination. When there was silence, complete and total, any sound seemed so much more oppressive. 

When he was the only one actively breathing, out of a room of currently two people? That just made him all the more hyper-focused. 

However, it wasn't as if Cole could actively break the oppressiveness of the present quiet.

He'd tried. Earlier on in his… Service; he'd tried. Even though he'd known the coming outcome. That hadn't made the first couple days any easier. 

There was a present agony about the situation he was in, some form of cruel irony because the one thing he was always afraid of was now his reality. Isolation, being alone. All the way through his time in the Never-Realm, he'd never been alone. Maybe at the beginning, landing in the pile of snow with a minor head injury and not knowing where he was, only seeing miles upon miles of snowy tundras and not another living being in sight for a good few seconds. There hadn't been any time for panic to set in since before Cole had even had time to take in what had happened, he'd found out that he wasn't the only one who had been on the receiving end of Aspheera's magic. 

So he'd never been alone. Day to day, with every job and each training regime, every night as the sky darkened and the temperature seemed to get that bit lower and dangerous, he wasn't alone. 

Even in that cell for however many days, he wasn't alone. He'd had hope and ignorance so he wasn't on his own. 

Then the power of the staff, and a command searing itself into his mind and suddenly he was cut off from the world. 

It was just like the Day of the Departed all over again. Not the fading away, not the nearly getting trapped as master of house in Yang's Temple, but being alone. Being left by his friends, going forgotten, not being seen when he'd reached out to them and received nothing in return. It was like that. Every single day was like that.

Cole was present, he was there; dressed in leather armour and thick clothes, metal plates secured over his shoulders and down his arms, the etched design of scales overtaken by a build-up of frost and veins of cyan and black ice. Boots lined with fur and hide, a belt with an assortment of small blades and a sword hanging at his hip. 

He was there, but he was alone. He was alive, but Cole likened the situation to his time as a ghost. He didn't exist until he was acknowledged, and that was the key. 

Until he was told to talk, told to do something, he was just there. A guard. A puppet almost, suspended and tangled in his strings just waiting for guidance. He was alone because without orders, he was trapped in his head with his words sealed in his throat just waiting for something. Anything. A task, an order, something that allowed him to function more physically instead of mentally. 

Until the Ice Emperor acknowledged him, he was isolated and alone. 

He was no different to the Blizzard Warriors that made their rounds around the building. 

He could try and talk, but there would be no noise. He could move, flex his fingers, tilt his head, analyse the room. Though there wasn't much use for much else. He protected and guarded the Emperor, so why would he need to stray from his side?

But those early days, trying so hard to make his words work. Trying to get absolutely anything out because his brother was right there, in the throne right beside him, and Cole could do nothing. 

Or maybe I'm just not trying enough? 

"Formling."

Cole's attention snapped to the side in an instant. His eyes dragged from the closed door of the room and it's frozen walls surrounding it over to the Emperor on his throne. 

The fact that all it took was one word, and everything else fell into the background. He may have wished to have his voice back, but sometimes he preferred the silence, since silence didn't force unwanted words from his lips. 

Cole's face was stoic, his expression neutral as he turned just barely towards the voice, "Yes, my Emperor?" 

He didn't want to say that, he didn't want--

He forced out a level breath and tilted his head to show he was listening, even with his body mainly angled towards the rest of the room. He could pay attention, but he had another job to do. That was to protect the person beneath all that corrupted ice and armour. 

He was exactly where he needed to be, in a twisted way. If he was anywhere else, if he was locked in his cell? Then his brother would be at the mercy of anyone else that would talk to him, he'd be solely in the company of a manipulative man who didn't care for anyone but himself. Vex wasn't in the room at that moment, he'd left around an hour ago claiming he had something to do and he'd simply strode out the door. No questions, no explanation. He could do what he wanted, that was the level of trust that man had been given. That he'd forcibly taken. 

The very thought of Vex being the only influence? That as much as Cole wished things had turned out differently, that he'd succeeded in surfacing any single memory he could find, if he was in a cell? 

If he was in a cell then he wouldn't be able to protect anyone. 

"Your scouting mission this morning to observe the nearby villages and their population, did you find anything interesting or of issue?" there was a careful rhythm to the speech, as if the underlying meaning was being guarded behind faux interest. 

Is there a reason for me to take further measures in their compliance? Cole could read between the lines. 

When he'd flown just above the clouds, his bi-coloured gaze focusing down on the tiny people below in so much more detail than his regular human vision could ever hope to achieve, Cole hadn't seen anything unusual. 

At least, nothing more than he'd seen on the couple previous missions. People fishing in the lakes or hunting in the surrounding forests. Dragging back their spoils, only there always seemed to be less and less even over the course of a few days. The ice on the water seemed to grow thicker, the snow on the ground deeper, the chill in the air more and more brutal and unforgiving. People rushed from door to door, bundled up in furs and layers upon layers of clothes to keep out the chill. Fires did burn, but they were tiny. Flickering, dying. 

Not so long ago, knowing that there were so many people living and thriving in the realm that he'd called home for a while already, it would have been amazing. Had they found a village instead of a cavern? People instead of nothing but vast wilderness? It would have changed so much. Everything would have been easier, not as terrifying. 

Though now, looking down at them all forcibly having to embrace a whole new level of cold that had overtaken their world. That had blown out their hearth fires with an unforgiving wave of elemental energy, culled their food source, chilled them to the bone. 

Their world had turned against them, and word had spread of the new ruler that had taken over the Ice Palace with a vengeance. That the previous Emperor was no longer on the throne or had any sway. That he was gone and in his place? An inexplicably powerful being. 

What did he see on his scouting missions? Nothing other than a suffering population trying in vain to survive as everything turned against them. But he couldn't say that. 

Cole cleared his throat, wetting his lips. "They have heard news of your rule. There seems to be no present change to their habits other than they seem to be stocking up for the colder months ahead." The sheer idea that the realm could grow colder? 

"So they seem to be taking my leadership well?" It was phrased as a question, but it could be heard as a statement. "Good. And what of the Mountain settlement?" 

"They're," He paused and blew out a frosted breath. "Dealt with, my Emperor. Your warriors reached there just a day prior and were heading back. Nothing but kindling on the ground. Prisoners were taken." 

Sometimes he wished for the silence back. "The great village by the lake is still going. They have many flames still burning and haven't yet experienced the full effect of your power." Cole winced internally, one hand coming up to grip at his weapons belt tightly. He needed to do something to distract himself from the words pouring free. These observations, they could easily spell disaster for the places he reported on should he word the reports incorrectly. "But they will. They know the cold is coming, and they're aware of your presence. Your power is spreading gradually. Eventually there won't be a place free from your corruptive power."

He clamped his mouth shut, but it had already been said. 

Corruption. Sometimes things slipped through the cracks of the scrolls power. 

The creak and crack of ice and previously immobile metal permeated the silence as the ruler's head turned. 

The staff began to glow, the light permitting through the ice that surrounded it. The blue glow fracturing out in places, washing tiny areas with a kaleidoscope of rainbow colours. Cole could feel his chest tighten, the power dormant inside him flickering into wakefulness. 

The Emperor's eyes flashed brightly. 

Then the door to the throne room swung open, scraping across the floor and leaving grooves in the frozen floor. 

The light by his side died away, but Cole's heart continued to jackhammer. 

Into the room walked a large group of Blizzard Warriors, all marching in formation around an unseen individual at the centre. Out front with a small smirk on his face was Vex, apparently the issue he'd gone to deal with was extreme enough for it to be brought to the attention of the Emperor. 

Or it wasn't, but Vex simply wanted the satisfaction of displaying the level of power he had. Even from where he stood, Cole's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He may not have been able to do anything, but his hatred of the man wasn't going to fade any time soon. 

Infact, it only seemed to be able to grow. As the flanking Warriors parted just before the base of the steps up to the throne to reveal an unknown individual at the centre of the group, a lead weight dropped in his stomach. 

There was a man. He seemed middle age, if a little bit older. A wispy dark beard on his chin and hair that was either frosted from the cold, or had the odd streak of grey slicing through it. He was wearing a leather shawl that draped down past his knees and layers more beneath it. It was clear that he was cold in the room, a small tremor to his shoulders that even Cole could see from where he was standing.

Or that could have been fear. The malevolent presence of the Ice Emperor was becoming well known to the surrounding population. 

Cole opened his mouth, though let it fall shut when nothing came of it. He wanted to question what a harmless man like himself was doing in the midst of the castle? What he was doing in chains, surrounded by upwards of ten guards as if he was a criminal and not a person who was scared out of his wits? What sort of reason could there be that warranted an audience with the Emperor? A single man, and Vex needed help dealing with the situation. 

This wasn't right. Whatever had happened, this was too much. The man had more guards than Cole had been appointed when he'd been pulled from his cell. 

Yet, all he did was stand, and stare, his eyes roving over the scene in silence. 

For a brief second the man in chains caught his eyes before the attention rapidly flickered away. 

He wasn't just fearful of the Emperor… 

Cole swallowed hard. 

"This man here," Vex stepped forwards slowly, giving a short bow in greeting, though not once did his expression shift from subtle glee. "Was caught making his way into the Palace," 

"Wait, what? No--" 

"Silence!" General Vex roared, as if he’d heard too much dithering already.

The man's jaw clicked shut. It was clearly audible. 

This wasn't right. The fear in his eyes, the clenched jaw, tense shoulders. His eyes flicking about everywhere. 

"This man," Vex continued promptly, "Broke into your Palace, my Emperor. We do not know what he was here for but we can assume it was for nefarious means."

This was so wrong. 

Cole's gaze slid just to the side, where the Emperor was still seated on his throne. He didn't seem to be making any effort to move from where he was; statuesque almost, moving nothing but his eyes behind the helmet. Yet, the Earth Master could tell to an extent what was going through his head. He'd had a week to get the tells down, or at least some of them. He was thinking, buying into his advisors words because what else did he do? There was more trust for Vex than there was for anyone else. 

Why would he even believe that he was lying, even if Cole could see the clear truth. 

If it was true, and the man had entered the Palace then it must have been for a reason. Help, aid, shelter? 

A small tilt of his head, and letting his eyes slip closed, Cole focused in on the noise. Past the deep breathing of the man and the chime of the ice, all the way to the outside. It was feint, but there was feedback. Quiet billows of noise deadened by the walls of the Palace. A storm was raging outside, and this man had been caught out in it. 

"But I didn't come to take anything, I just--" 

"My Advisor told you to be silent, thief." The deep and echoed voice of the Emperor rang out suddenly, and Cole couldn't help but feel for the man. The situation he was stuck in, he didn't know of the person behind the mask, or the truth of anything. All he saw was an unforgiving Emperor who was buying into lies.

And they were lies. 

"I'm not--" 

"Stop. Talking." The Emperor spat out, and the telltale sounds of splintering ice joined the fray. He was getting up, no doubt to deal with the situation himself. 

At least, until he paused and settled back down on his throne, the broken ice promptly fusing back together haphazardly. 

"Formling, how would you deal with this… Issue?"

Cole faltered, though his gaze was measured as he looked at the Emperor. One hand was raised casually, gesturing down to the man on the floor. 

He wanted… To see what he would do? He could feel the block on his words fall away almost entirely, but he kept his mouth shut. He was being given free reign, ability to state his thoughts on the issue. His opinions, how he would actually deal with the man. His true thoughts.

In reality, that wasn't what was being asked. This freedom, it was a test. Cole could tell that from a mile off. He wasn't being given his speech just so he could defy the Emperor. If he did that, in front of a witness, in front of the man? If he stood up to the ruler and said something he didn't like then that would be undermining his power and influence. It would be embarrassing, but it would also show that no matter what people thought of the Emperor, his will could easily be questioned and rejected. 

How strong a ruler could he be, if his supposed guard could outright go against him and let someone off for a crime. 

Let an innocent man off for a lie. 

Cole was being observed, his loyalty tested. If he did this wrong then the stance he'd gained over the past few days would come crumbling down, but it could also mean the punishment of someone who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

He needed a bit of time to think on what he could do, could suggest, but there wasn't that liberty. 

Cole slowly descended the stairs, the metal of his armour scraping together with each new step. The man cowered back. 

What was expected of him, at that moment?

"I'm sorry, but please! I didn't take anything." 

I know you didn't. Cole swallowed hard, walking in a slow circle around the man. The Blizzard Warriors had stepped back, giving him more reign of the area as each footstep echoed off the floor. I just need to think. 

If the man was thrown into a cell, it would be likely that he'd never see light of day again. Or at least, not as a free man. Odds on, he'd probably end up like the warriors around him, of some form of use and an extension of the already growing army. Or he'd just be left on his own to rot. The cells had to be avoided. 

He couldn't be set free either, that would pleasantly undermine Vex's status, but also the Emperor's. He couldn't do that either. 

He was expected to be brutal, as ruthless as the ruler he protected. He wasn't, but he had to be. Cole hadn't noticed that he'd come to a stop to the left of the man. 

 "Might I recommend dealing with him promptly and being done with the issue?"

Cole didn't even grace Vex with attention at that option, he just looked down at the shaking man. Yet he couldn't just ignore what it was insinuating. It was a life or death situation. 

"Where are you from, thief?" He questioned after a moment of silence, the accusatory name sitting heavy on his tongue. He had to play the part. 

"I'm not--"

Cole glared. 

"I'm- I'm from a village up north. I went out hunting."

"North? The village at the base of a sheer cliff, stone bridge over a river's rapids?" He questioned slowly. Then, when he gained a nod in return, it just served to confuse him more. It barely took a day's flight for him to get to the small inlet he'd described, but by foot? Days. Through snow, and a storm? So much longer. 

He'd been out hunting? The man must have gotten so turned around and walked for so long. Cole felt for him, someone who just wanted to escape the cold of the worsening storm. Who had been seized and put on trial for false accusations. Who probably just wanted to go home. 

"How can we be sure you haven't stolen from the Emperor?" 

"Because I didn't! I promise, I was just looking for a place to rest!" There it was, the bitter truth right in front of them. But a honest admission was never going to be taken so easily. 

"He lies!" Vex hollered, stepping up to the man, "Why else would he be here, if not to take advantage of our grandeur?" 

"General Vex," The Emperor called out sharply, "Let my dragon deal with the situation."

At that, Vex had the decency to look like at least a little sheepish, though Cole wasn't laughing at the chiding. He was still wracking his brain, still thinking. 

The man was staring with wide eyes up at where Cole was standing, almost as if he was gazing past the armour. "Dragon? You're the beast we've seen above the clouds? You're human?" 

"I'm a formling." He said slowly, not missing a beat. 

He was well aware that the Emperor and Vex was watching his every move, and as much as he hates it, he needs to stay by the Emperor's side. He has to do what is expected of him. He can't risk losing what he's gained. 

Cole spared a glance at the nearest Blizzard Warrior; Grimfax if his memory served him right. The one in charge. "Strip him of his belongings. We don't know what he may have been here for." 

"But-- I wasn't-!" 

His eyes chose that moment to flicker a bright orange and a cold bitter blue, as a deep growl seemed to breath free of his throat. A sudden bout of anger swirled in his chest, and it felt foreign, far too sudden. A glance up to the Emperor showed that the feeling seemed to be mirrored. Staff gripped lightly, glowing just barely, frost edging over his helmet. The anger wasn't Cole's. 

"The Ice Emperor is being merciful. Take his bag, and then let him on his way. Make sure he leaves."

The man's eyes widened, but Cole just stared back with a forced level gaze. "No matter the weather outside."

-

From the beginning

Ch 12 > Ch 13 > Ch 14

AO3

[rwby-musings]

Time travelling kids are always a heap of fun. How would Ruby react to meeting her time travelling kid from a future where Salem won and and she ended getting killed early in her child's life? Either headcanons or a drabble is fine.

I went with headcanons for this because I kept trying to write a drabble but I just couldn’t

---

Ruby’s never really thought about having children especially since her journey started

So seeing someone who was basically just a miniaturized version of herself came as quite a shock

When she learnt that she dies early in her kids life she automatically adopted this kid that was technically hers in the first place

And learning that they grew up in a world where Salem won she decided she had to let this kid have some fun

Immediately takes the kid out to an amusement park or something similar

Yang goes crazy about the fact she now has a niece/nephew

Blake won’t stop staring at them and poking them every so often

And Weiss is the only one confused as to how this child actually appeared

+

Team JNPR’s just watching from the sidelines with some ice cream

---

Asks are open!

[faimrpg]

Name: Daghan Le Beau Age: 30+ Occupation: Mage and tutor Suggested Faceclaims: Jasmine Sanders, La’Tecia Thomas, Go Min Shi, Yang Yang Pronouns: Up to player Currently: Open

YOU HUNGER FOR —

Security. Magic cuts its way through you like a river. It was obvious from the very beginning that you were different from the others, like you knew something they didn’t. The start of your life was unremarkable. Your parents abandoned you, you were left to fend for yourself, and you’d become resigned to a life of loneliness. Fate had other plans. At six you begin to have strange dreams full of fire. It is not long before you almost burn down the orphanage. You are a bizarre prodigy, and so you’re quickly sent off to study under the best of the best at one of the academies in Val Faim to prevent you from burning the world down, too. Your years there are difficult, but your focus on your studies keeps you sane in the midst of darker, more intense dreams. When it becomes clear you have learned all there is to learn, you are given a choice: go out into the world, make yourself a legend… or stay behind, and teach others the way you were taught. You choose the latter, because the world seems so big, and your head is still so loud. Under your tutelage, your students are some of the most powerful magi Celestine has ever seen. You preen under your own successes and slowly allow yourself to break out of your shell, accepting invitations and proposals to dinners and events you’d once rejected. The most recent one that’s arrived on your doorstep is strange, however, even to you. From the Empress, heaping praise upon you for your skills and dedication, alongside an invitation to trial inside her Court, see how you do, potentially even become one of her Advisors. You know you can’t stay static in the same place forever. If the Empress can offer you something sturdier than your position, you know which option you’ll choose. You wonder what your dreams will have to say about that.

CONNECTIONS

Bastile Gerard: Basile is, frankly put, your greatest failure. They had such potential and they chose to spurn it rather than pursue further knowledge under you, and try as you might to cross the long bridge that’s built itself between you, they refuse to even give you an inch. Maybe you were difficult, maybe your words were colder or sharper-edged than they should have been, but you never meant to cause them any harm. You only wanted to see them thrive, in the way you did. They have a truly unique talent, and you hear stories fairly often of their journeys across Celestine. You’ve written letters, sent flowers, poultices, trinkets, but you’re beginning to think that repairing your bond and going back to the way things used to be is simply out of reach.

Sidonie Dupont: Sidonie watches you with the eyes of a hawk. They terrify you not just for that, but for their magic as well. You’ve heard of what they’re capable of, and they might outmatch you, something you hadn’t thought possible until now. When you got the letter inviting you to Court you were overjoyed, but now, a few days in, you’re worried you may have to tread lightly. As far as you know, Sidonie has been Calandre’s only magical advisor in all her years as Empress, and you’re coming to discover it’s possible you may have been hired to replace them. This is something you never intended, but the will of Her Imperial Majesty is not something to speculate on, so you try and dodge Sidonie as best you can.

Sainte Cadieux: You’ve never much felt any care for Odeline, or any other Gods in the world’s wide pantheon. You’re certainly aware of them, and their hold on those around you, but you believe that conviction and strength come from the self and not some higher power. You think their beliefs border on fanatical, but still, something about them fascinates you, and you draw closer and closer every day. You are a student at heart, in the end of all things, and you’d like to know more about the way they worship and their deity. It might just be more knowledge for you to tuck away in your pocket for later, but you’ve forged several friendships on hot coals. Maybe this will be no different from the rest.

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

New Record

https://blake-belladonna-defence-force.tumblr.com/post/189567334067/alright-its-happening-now-i-just-need-to-figure

So @styxkid287 gave me the above idea.

This is just Blake’s workout. Let me know if you want to see Blake being put through her paces with Yang’s... including maybe a little bit of admiration on Blake’s part.

I uh. I’m asexual so I’m not super confident when it comes to writing about physical attraction. I may be an aromantic who can write okay-ish romance but physical attraction is another kettle of fish. Any advice is greatly appreciated.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Yang wasn’t quite sure how they got here, but here they were. She and Blake were going to walk each other through their work out regimes. Today was Blake’s turn.

“I’m just saying that there’s no way that yoga could possibly be tiring.” Yang said with a scoff as Blake unrolled two mats.

“What’s wrong? Is the big, strong kick-boxer scared?” Blake teased as she adjusted her baseball cap. Considering that a bow would be a little uncomfortable, Blake had opted for a hat.

“Uh, no!” Yang snorted again. “I’m just worried that you might hurt yourself with my workout. You’re so-“

“So what, Yang?” Blake asked as she stood up, hip cocked. Yang just barely stopped herself from staring. Blake definitely looked good. Sports bra and leggings and all. “I’m so what?”

“Um.” Yang laughed nervously. She knew better than to mess with a woman that took that tone of voice. Especially a huntress in training that passed their entrance exam as easily as Blake did. “… you’re so built for agility?” She finished with a cheesy grin.

“Uh huh. Sure.” Blake said with a smirk. “Now, horrific attempts at back peddling aside, let’s get started, shall we?”

Yang huffed as she stepped onto her own mat, stretching lightly. She allowed a small burst of pride when she saw Blake’s eyes linger on her biceps. Thank you, tank top and sweat pants.

“Alright, yoga master. What do I do?”

As Blake walked her through the yoga steps, Yang found herself struggling for three reasons.

One; She was competitive as hell and naturally tried to outdo Blake. This usually resulted in Blake turning up the difficulty level and watching as Yang fell to the ground in a groaning heap.

Two; Yoga was hard. Like really hard. Yang quickly discovered that she was not flexible. At all. She could only just touch her toes, despite her insistence that it was all her muscle stopping her. Blake, however, was very flexible. Which brought Yang to her final struggle.

Three; To be as blunt and crude as possible? Blake was hot. Granted, Yang had already noticed how beautiful her partner was. But this was a different kettle of fish. Her back and shoulders were out on display and Yang soon found herself admiring them.

‘God. Her shoulders and back are insane. She could totally bench press me.’ Yang thought to herself as Blake faced away from her in a “Sun Salute.”

“Okay. Warm up is done. Now we can move onto cardio.” Blake said as she walked over to the simulation track.

An obstacle course designed to test one’s agility. Yang took a deep breath and walked over. Agility was not her strong suit. But she sure as hell wasn’t going let Blake know that.

“Alright, lets start you off small.” Blake said with a quiet, thoughtful hum.

“Pfft. No way. Go big or go home.” Yang said with a cocky grin, punching her fists together. She certainly want trying to impress Blake. Nope. Not at all.

“I don’t think that-“ Blake cut herself off with a sigh. “You know what? Go for it. I doubt that I’m going to change your mind, stubborn as you are.”

“See? Now you’re getting it, partner.” Yang said with a wink, bouncing lightly in place when Blake hid a laugh behind her hand. A day where she can get Blake to laugh is a day well spent. Even if she looks a little foolish.

And she certainly ended up looking a little foolish at the end of her run. Dodging, jumping and stumbling past the finish line with a very poor time, Yang knew that she had overdone it as she flopped to the ground.

“You know…” She glowered at the smug voice that called out to her from the starting line. “We’re already partners, Yang. You don’t need to impress me.”

“I’m not trying to impress you!” Yang defended as she climbed to her feet and cracked her back. “I was just… testing myself!”

She was definitely trying to impress Blake. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud.

She let out a huff at the amused smirk Blake gave her and moved to sit on the bleachers and watch.

“Now, pay attention, partner.” Blake called out as she turned up the difficulty setting, a sort of calm confidence flowing from her. “You might learn something.”

And Yang paid attention. And she couldn’t help the way her jaw hit the ground as Blake ran and flipped and slid under barriers. She bounced off of walls and vaulted over enemies effortlessly. Blake twisted and somersaulted through the air with an elegance that Yang had never seen before.

She watched as Blake charged through the finish line and slowed to a light jog as she came over.

“I think I did pretty well.” Blake said nonchalantly, hands tucked behind her head as she breathed heavily, sweat dripping down her face and neck.

“Blake Belladonna; New personal record.”

Yang blinked in surprise before looking at Blake. Blake appeared very pleased with herself.

“Hmm.” She hummed, grabbing her towel and wiping down her face and neck before moving to her chest. Yang felt her cheeks heat up and quickly looked away. Confidence fit Blake a little too well. “Not bad.”

“Meanwhile, I’m like, dying over here.” Yang said as laid down on her bench. “Seriously, that was insane.”

“Not really.” Blake said as she threw Yang’s towel at her. “You’re just so built for punching.”

Yang squinted her eyes at Blake. She had learned that Blake had a playful side to her. And it was great. But she didn’t appreciate the sass right now.

“Feisty.” She snorted as she sat up and wiped her neck.

“You love it.” Blake said teasingly.

“Ugh.” Yang groaned as she reached over to cuff Blake’s shoulder playfully. “Whatever.”

Blake grinned happily at her and strolled off to the showers. There was a confident, pleased bounce to her step. And as Yang turned to look at the new record, she realised something.

There was a new personal record for that particular level because it didn’t have a previous one recorded. Blake had had yet to go on that setting. And she chose to do so when she was working out with Yang.

‘Huh. Looks like I’m not the only one trying to show off.’