#now excuse me as a physically restrain myself from reading too deep into it

[nite-puff]

y’all ever think about how hiroko just gave takemichi a special nickname right away?? just took one look at a picture of him, read that he was in a biker gang and went “i like this kid. he’s mine now.” and how she did that for none of the other captives (other than komaru ofc)??? y’all ever think about that?? because i totally don’t. no. never. what are you guys even talking about???

anyways. i want to see them interact. how would that look like?? damn you chunsoft for cutting out the other captives!!

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. I - Lucky Find

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: On a visit to his home country, Sebastian LaCroix has the good fortune to find a beautiful and powerful Marquis dying of a bullet wound. Why not take him home as a ghoul?

Author's Note: Okay, um...remember when I said this was a one-shot? Excuse me while I spit out another enemies-to-lovers slowburn because I can't help myself. I may or may not finish it, but I'd rather give the story plenty of room to breathe than rush through it, even if I don't get to the end. I'm excited to see where it goes!

TW: hallucination, kidnapping, religious imagery, vampires doing vampire stuff

If you have a century or two to wait, sometimes the world delivers gifts, just lying there, ready to be pocketed. A seashell, pearlescent and only a little chipped at the edges. A shiny new quarter forgotten on the sidewalk. Los Angeles.

It even might deliver what Sebastian LaCroix would have called, in his day, a “dandy”, freshly dying, on the steps of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica.

Only minutes remained until sunrise. LaCroix’s heart, though it had no need to beat, contracted in terror at the nearness of sunlight, at the piercing golden glow already illuminating that beautiful creature’s parted, breathless lips. This was risky business, swooping in like a vulture at such a time. A little longer, and they might never have met. Sebastian thought of that too often in the days and years and centuries that followed.

Only minutes remained until the bullet in his brain would have laid waste to the most vigorous life force Sebastian had ever encountered.

But as matters stood, he watched from the shadowy columns where he had chosen to shelter during the daylight hours of his visit to France, and clung to the sound of a distant pulse. It persisted (though feebly) even once its scent exploded into open air.

A great bulk of a man in a dark overcoat bowed down his head and sighed. He lifted Vincent’s body with the solemnity of one who knows what death means, and carried it within, into the shadow where Sebastian waited, under those forgotten awnings just beyond the pews. The carnival of stained-glass light pouring through the windows did not penetrate there.

As they passed, the man halted, overcome with a sudden unease, and could not move his feet. Sebastian smiled on him, an open hand outstretched. “Would you allow me to bless this man before he passes on?”

The man had, of course, no choice, and he would not remember laying his charge at Sebastian’s feet, or saying, “Who are you, sir? A man of God?”

“Think of me as a healing angel.”

He stared, knowing quite frankly that this was bullshit. He could see a barely restrained urge to devour flaring up within Sebastian even now, not so different from the look his own superior had worn on occasion, equally recognizable on both kindred and kine. “If you are an angel, then so is he.”

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

There was never total certainty that it would work. A headshot was unfortunate to say the least, and even with a truly massive outpouring of vitae, the bullet still had to be pushed out of Vincent’s brain, dragging on the neurons as it went.

There wasn’t physical pain, exactly. No nerves are to be found in the grey matter. Inside the brain itself, the only pain is mental.

Time and place fragmented themselves, breaking apart in front of Vincent to form a dazzling kaleidoscope. He was drifting on his back, through a flooded Château de Versailles. The water must have been deep, because he was lifted so high, close to the frescoed ceiling where angels leaned down over him amongst the roiling clouds. Why was the palace full of water? No…not water. Blood. Of course. He was being carried up to judgement on the tide of blood he’d spilt, that was it. He could hear his own music coming from another room, the reveries he used to play at the piano, but it was wildly distorted, devolving into devils’ trills. The angels crawled down over the mountains of clouds, over the ledge of the upper moulding, down the columns on all fours to descend on him, snarling as angels never snarl, with fangs at their lips. Their unnatural motions sparked a total horror in him but he could not flee, could only float paralyzed on the sea of blood that was starting to seep into his mouth, into his eyes. They were upon him, someone was bending over him, a face that flickered and distorted and jeered. A devil. His father. Then John Wick. His heart strained with wild terror.

“Your heartbeat is growing stronger. Good. It took long enough.”

And the face resolved. It was, at least, none of the faces he had feared a few moments ago. And it wasn’t unpleasant to look at, with strikingly high cheekbones and full lips, with a strawberry blond slick of hair and eyes like pools of pale honey. It had a magnetism about it, deeper than its inherent charm and beauty. He had trouble looking away from that face – it was in focus even though the rest of the world remained blurred, and it made something sickly sweet well up inside of him. He could have forgiven the cruel satisfaction painted all over it, but that sweet magnetism, tugging on his heartstrings…he could not forgive that. He decided that whoever this was, he disliked them very, very much.

For a few moments, Vincent tried to speak, but his brain had not yet made contact with his tongue, it seemed. He just gasped and gasped until the man laughed and held up the bullet, coated in blood. “Can you believe this little scrap of metal was all it took to put you into a state of such total confusion? And you would be far worse off if I hadn’t taken a liking to you. Life is so fragile.” And the man…well, there was no getting around it. He popped the bullet into his mouth like a candy and licked his fingers, apparently savoring the taste, before pulling it out of his mouth again, sucked clean of blood. He swallowed and grinned widely, this time baring fangs.

Okay. So he was still hallucinating, then. Good good, nothing to worry about. Just slowly breathing his last breaths on the steps of the Basilica, hallucinating violently while John Wick probably gloated over his body. It was fine! Everything was fine. The world started to go fuzzy and dark at the edges as his wild gasping continued.

“Oh no no no, you’re not passing out again just yet. Solo jet rides are interminably dull. We ought to use our time wisely and get to know each other.” The man slapped lightly at his cheek, trying to keep him conscious. Vincent felt his brows furrow, and couldn’t control his muscles enough to wipe that affronted look off his face.

“Who…who…” do you think you are, that had been his intention for the sentence. But he couldn’t quite get there, and the man answered just the same.

“Sebastian LaCroix, Camarilla Prince of Los Angeles and your new regnant.” The man took his hand and shook it. “Of course, none of that means anything to you just yet, but it will very soon.”

It didn’t, except for “Los Angeles.” Vincent was still catching up to the part about “jet rides,” and noticing that the ceiling above them was curved in the manner of an aircraft cabin. Where the hell was he? Was he…kidnapped? A feeling set in then. Whether it was made of greater parts relief or sinking dread, he couldn’t tell. But he had the feeling that this was far too vivid to be a hallucination.

He wasn’t dead after all, and Sebastian LaCroix, whatever he may be, was real.

[bnhasimpgirltm]

Why Is It That You Only Ever Hurt Me? (Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)

Pairings: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2130

Genre: Angst? (It seems less angsty than it should but maybe my mental angst meter is all screwed up)

A/N: I had an idea and I acted on it. I hope it’s okay. It’s a pretty common fanfic idea, but I wanted to try and write one of my own. There is a lot of yelling, but I didn’t want to use all caps for loud yelling because it’s kinda annoying to read. Reader has a quirk that allows them to manifest emotional energy into a type of physical energy (i.e. Thermal, Gravitational, Sound)

Read Part 2 HERE 

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

“Why are you so damn clingy all the time?” Bakugo shouted out, alerting everyone in the common room of your current situation. You had these fights with Bakugo quite often, small things that were a little bit annoying. Your ‘clingyness’ was never the topic of any of them. Usually they resolved after you both got over yourselves and apologized, but little did you know, this wasn’t going to be a small fight.

Laughing cruelly, you roll your eyes. You weren’t even being clingy, just asking him if you two could go on a date later, to which he responded that he ‘had better things to do than go out with you’. He should have been grateful that comment didn’t set you off, but of course he had to take it further and call you clingy.

Narrowing your eyes at your supposed boyfriend, you stood there with your fists clenched by your side and the muscles in your face tensed up. It was taking everything you had not to let all of your anger out at Bakugo, because if you did, your quirk would most likely injure everyone in the common room.

Breath. Slowly. Deep breath in, 

1. . .

2. . .

3. . .

Exhale. Slowly. Repeat. 

“Aren’t you going to say something? Or are you going to just stand there like a dumb bitch?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

You let the dam crack, just a little , and the anger dripped out like a faucet. Everyone felt it, and they were all waiting for your anger to cause your heavily emotionally based quirk to lose control.

“You know what?” Your ‘yelling’ was barely above a regular speaking voice right now. You were still trying to protect everyone else in the common room, not losing control fully. Not yet, at least.

“What? Are you going to say something about how I’m an awful boyfriend? About how I neglect you and never want to go out with you?” Bakugo has a smirk plastered on his face, and his smug look makes you want to punch him into orbit. 

Your lip is still trembling, and your eyes are starting to water, the overwhelming sense of anger that you felt at the moment spilling from your eyes.

I will keep my emotions in control. I will keep my emotions in control.

You didn’t want to hurt anyone in the common room, especially not Bakugo.

Bakugo steps forward, yelling in your face, “Say something!” 

“Fine!” The dam broke. Your quirk causing the anger to become thermal energy, making the room hotter than a sauna. “You’re an egocentric, self-centered, tunnel minded, asshole-”

Bakugo cut you off, starting to yell again in his deep, threatening voice.

“What the hell did you just call me?” Explosions popped in his palms, an intimidating threat to others, but to you, it was just a childish antic of his.

You humored him, starting to repeat what you said earlier. “Do I need to repeat myself? I said you were and egotis-” 

He cut you off again, “It was a rhetorical question! I heard what you said the first time! God, were you always this shit brained?” 

That one stung a little, but you ignored it and kept going. “Were you always this selfish?” 

“You think it’s selfish of me to have a goal? At least I’m better than you! You’re just another damn extra in my way that has an incoviniently powerful quirk. You’re nothing without me,” he laughs and continues. “You’re worse than that half-and-half, icy-hot bastard. At least he uses half of his quirk. You don’t even try to use yours even half way. Maybe instead of asking me to go out again you should train so you can become more than a sidekick to a D-list hero.”

That was it. You thought that you couldn’t get any angrier, but here it was, punching you in the face, begging you to say something offensive back. Bakugo knew why you didn’t want to push your quirk to the max during training. He knew that you constantly had to worry about hurting your friends. He knew, and here he was, using it against you.

“You know exactly why I can’t push my quirk too far during training,” you say, trying to remediate the already out of hand situation, and also trying to push the anger to the back of your mind where it belonged. It suceeded, because the room slowly went back to room temperature, and the students of Class 1A in the common room visibly relaxed.

“I do know the exact reason, and you know what I think? I think it’s a load of bullshit.”

This shocked you. Bakugo was always so supportive of you and understood when you had to hold back sometimes.

“Excuse me?” You ask him, your anger reheating the room, making everyone tense again. 

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said it’s bullshit,” he repeats, emphasizing the ‘bullshit’ part of the sentence.

“You don’t know anything about my quirk! You don’t know how hard it is to con-” Once again he cuts you off. You should have left this conversation ten minutes ago, yet your pride wasn’t letting you. You wouldn’t let him win.

“You always whine and bitch about how hard it is to keep your quirk in control, but the only reason you can’t control it is because you’re a lazy extra who has no goals. You’re weak and a constant pain in the ass, and you’re so damn pathetic that you have to cling to me all the time because no one cares about you if I’m not there,” he scoffs and starts to turn away.

He absolutely does not get the right to walk away from this conversation.

“How could you say that about me?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. At this point you were more hurt than angry, but the mixed emotions running through your mind could seriously make your quirk act up.

“Because,” he stops for a moment, as if he’s thinking about his words, “I never loved you.”

Your heart shatters. Dumbfounded, you stare at him, the tears that you held back earlier escaping from your eyes and cascading like waterfalls down your face, the energy of your emotions shaking the room violently. You don’t care though.

“Was any of it real?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“None of it. You don’t mean shit to me,” he speaks at a normal volume for once, something that you wanted him to do more often.

You just didn’t think that it would be in a situation like this.

“I hope you have fun pushing people away Bakugo, because when you get to the top, you’ll realize that it’s pretty lonely up there. Maybe you’ll tell yourself that you couldn’t have both relationships and success, but just know that I would have been with you all the way.” You snap at him, but it’s oddly calm. Taking the finishing blow, you say, “You’re the weak one Bakugo. You’re too weak to show your emotions to others, to pursue things other than your goal to become the number one hero. I hope you’re happy with yourself Bakugo.”

For once, the explosive blonde didn’t have anything to say. 

You walk up the stairs, taking your broken energy with you back to your room.

“Bakugo, you obviously upset (y/n). They don’t want to talk to you right now,” Jiro, your close friend, glares at him, and he glares back. 

 Wordlessly, Bakugo follows you up the stairs, ignoring Jiro’s statement from a minute ago, and presses his ear to your door.

You were crying. Sobbing, actually, loudly, something you never did in front of people, no one except him. Usually you could restrain your emotions, somehing that you learned as a part of your training. He heard you scream, then go back to sobbing, and decided that he needed to apologize now. Fuck giving you time to cool off, he didn’t mean anything he said. Once again, he let his anger get the best of him, and this time, the consequences were too much for him to handle.

“(Y/N), let me in,” he says, knocking at your door.

“God just fuck off Bakugo!” You yell through the door between sobs.

“I didn’t mean anything I said babe. Let’s talk this out okay?” He tries to sound kind, but it comes off as annoyed and it pisses you off to an endless extent.

“I don’t want to talk it out, go away,” you choke out.

 Pushing him away was so hard for you. Every part of your heart belonged to him and it hurt so much when he tore it out and stomped the pieces on the floor. It hurt so much when he said he never loved you.

“I love you so much and I didn’t mean anything I said. I was angry for fucks sake,” he’s yelling through the door now, having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. 

You swing the door open, your eyes meeting his, and you see a relieved look cross his face.

“Thank god you’re not mad at me. Let’s go on that date you talked about-” 

This time you were the one who cut him off.

“I didn’t open the door so you could apologize Bakugo,” you snapped at him, making the infamous Bakugo flinch. “I opened the door so I could tell you that we’re done.”

“You’re fucking joking. Tell me you’re joking,” he yells, the attitude from earlier already rising again.

“All you do is train and pin for that spot at the top. You never were able to make time for me because you thought I would always be there to run back to you. Well news flash bitch, I’m leaving now.” The edge in your voice is tinted with a tremble, and Bakugo notices.

“You don’t fucking mean that.” Bakugo grabs your hand. “I love you so much and I know I never said it enough. I love you and I know you love me too (y/n). Please say it back.”

Bakugo had never begged for anything in his life, yet here he was, completely at your mercy.

“That’s the problem,” you start, “I love you with everything that I have, but all you do is hurt me. The fighting, the yeling, the neglect, and I still run back to you. Tell me Bakugo; Why is it that you only ever hurt me?” 

There. You said it back, just not in the way he expected.

Your voice projected through the hallway, filled with agony, longing, and sadness. 

He never wanted you to feel like this. He promised to protect you from these types of feelings, yet here he was, making you feel the very feelings that he vowed to protect you from. 

Once again, Bakugo was speechless.

“That’s what I thought,” you begin to close the door, laughing darkly, and leaving your hollowed-out soul for Bakugo to look at as a reminder of how royally he fucked up.

As the door shut, Bakugo stood in place, staring at it for hours. When he got tired of standing, he sat with his back to the door, hearing sobs rock you for what seemed like forever

At midnight, Kirishima and the rest of the Bakusquad snuck out of the dorms and came to check on Bakugo. 

There was no Bakugo in that hallway.

All they saw was a boy, a boy who had lost something so dear to him that the loss had torn him into two. A boy who had torn down his walls for someone so important to him, only to be crushed by the bricks as it all came crashing down around him. A boy who in the process of destroying the very thing that he loved, had self-destructed himself. 

Little did the broken boy know that on the other side of the door, there was another person, a person more broken than he was, a person who despite their heart being torn out and stomped on by the person who they gave it to, still loved the broken boy. 

Little did the broken boy know, you also had your back to the door, but you weren’t sobbing anymore, just staring off into the darkness of your room, not even bothering to turn the light on. 

He didn’t know you were almost back to back with him, the only thing separating you being the thin layer of the door, until he heard you speak.

You said the same phrase that you said to him earlier, except this time, it was hollow and cold. Despite that fact, it hit the broken boy ten times harder than it did the first time.

“Why is it that you only ever hurt me?”

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Dream Analysis

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: vomiting, detailed crime discussion, mentions of sexual assault (to victim, not reader)

A/N: THIS IS PART ONE TO A POSSIBLE THREE PART IMAGINE. It’s based on a request. I’ll answer the request after I post this. Uhm, as always, make sure to like, comment, share, and send me asks! I am but a humble writer in need of validation. Thank you for giving my last Spencer Reid post lots of love, it helped me to motivate myself enough to write this one. I hope you enjoy! (Also, this would be a season five Spencer. Like, just after he stops using his cane. (But also that cane, ugh. He such a little old man and I love it. Jesus this Man™.))

—

The dream started with a kiss.

One of those movie kisses where the rain is soaked in your clothes but you can’t feel the cold for the heat coming from the body pressed so close to you that you can feel his heart beat through your shirt.

His hands are splayed on either side of your face, and while everything about the kiss is rough and passionate, like he can’t get enough of kissing you, his hands are gentle. When he pulls away, it’s with great reluctance. You try to follow his mouth with your own, desperate for more, but you stop when he chuckles.

“I’ve played this over and over in my mind but I’ve never thought I would actually be here, kissing you.” You reach up to push a wet curl from his forehead only for the image to change.

You’re still just as close to the man in front of you, your hand is still raised to push back his hair, but there are tears in his eyes now. They’ve spilled over his cheeks and puddled into the floor. The tears come up to your ankles and fill the room wall to wall, the water is so clear that you can see each individual fleck of gray in the marble flooring. Tiny fish dance around your toes, thousands darting back and forth between you and the man.

“Spencer, why are you crying?” You step around the fish nibbling at your ankles, finally pushing back the lock of hair that curls on his forehead. But Spencer is gone, and in his place is a little boy with the same curls and big brown eyes.

“I broke my glasses, but I didn’t mean to.” He says, tears pouring from his eyes. The room continues to fill up, the water just as clear as before. You wipe the water from his cheeks, giving what you hope is a gentle smile. His glasses, broken just as he said, have sunk to the floor.

“That’s okay. Let’s just find your mommy and daddy, I’m sure they’re looking for you. Do you know where they are?” This isn’t something new for you, you deal with a lot more kids then you would like in your line of work. Usually missing from their parents or in extremely dangerous situations.

“They don’t know where I am.” You rub his tiny arms in your hands, looking around the otherwise empty room for anyone. It’s only you and the little boy, and then just a quickly it’s only you. You’re floating in the water now, but you aren’t afraid.

Maybe there is more to the dream, maybe there isn’t, but when you wake up that’s all you remember.

The sun doesn’t even filter through the window when you open your eyes for the day, the clock on your nightstand reading 5:40 in the morning. Behind you, your fiancé has wrapped you into his chest with an arm draped over your side. His breath fans across the back of your neck and his hair tickles your shoulder.

You could stay like this all day long, cacooned into the arms of the man you love, except the paranoia that hits you is like a truck and you physically can’t restrain yourself from going to check on your daughter.

As quietly as possible, you slip from his arms, being careful not to make a sound as you slip off the mattress and across the floor. The door creaks on its hinges and Spencer stirs, his hand opening and closing at the empty spot like he was trying to find you.

When you finally make it into the nursery, you relax at the complete normalcy of the surroundings. No smashed or open windows, no lights left on, no one hiding behind doors or under cribs. Just your five month old baby asleep in the corner of her crib, the small stuffed bunny Spencer bought from the hospital gift shop is tucked under one of her chubby arms.

When you reach out to smooth a tuft of her feathery soft hair back into place, she stirs just a little and you freeze. You love her more than life itself, but if she could just stay asleep for now that would be spectacular.

“We’re going to have a hard time getting rid of that stuffed animal when she gets older, aren’t we?” You heard him coming from the creak of your bedroom door, not even bothering to turn around as you directed the question over your shoulder. Spencer comes to stand beside you, his hands gripping the top of the crib as you both watch your daughter sleep.

“Yes, but on the plus side, studies show that children with comfort objects are less shy and more focused than children without them. Even more so, children with comfort objects are more adventurous and independent because it helps them to go outside of their comfort zones without their parents.” You lean your head on his shoulder, content to stay like this forever.

“We’re not weird for watching her sleep?” He places a kiss to your temple, a smile tugging at his lips as your daughter reaches up to rub at her tiny ear.

“It’s common practice among parents.” One of his hands slips behind you to rub circles into your lower back. You’re not sure how long you stay like that until you peak a glance at the clock on her dresser. You and Spencer have to be at work in about an hour.

Lifting your head, you playfully pat his butt before making your way to the bathroom in your bedroom.

“Meet me in the shower?” You keep your voice pitched low, looking over your shoulder and winking mischievously.

“Actually, most sex-related injuries take place during shower sex. Penile fractures, sprained ankles, there are even reports of broken ribs.” The door to the nursery clicks shut as you step through your bedroom door, not even bothering to grab an outfit before heading to the bathroom.

Spencer stands in the doorway, his shoulder leaned against the frame as you begin fiddling with the water faucet. You make sure to keep the temperature cooler than you normally would, Spencer doesn’t like the water too hot.

“So you’re telling me that you’re going to pass on our first chance to have sex since about two weeks ago because you’re afraid you might slip?” Turning to face him, you grab the hem of you nightshirt, a t-shirt he got from Caltech but never wears, and pull it up and over your head. The morning air in the bathroom nips at your skin and goosebumps form.

His eyes darken, his tongue sweeping across his lips before he steps into the bathroom. He pulls you to him by hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, burying his head into the crook of your neck. You didn’t bother with a bra at night.

“No, I’m just saying you’re worth the risk.” He practically growls into the soft skin connecting your neck and shoulder, his lips hot as they suck a hickey there. Hungrily, he makes quick work of his own clothes, stumbling with you into the water stream and pulling the shower curtain close behind him.

Suffice to say, you and Spencer were just a little late to work. What with your morning shower sex that, funnily enough, resulted in you slipping and hitting your head on the wall, and rushing your daughter to the nanny’s, coupled with early morning D.C. traffic, it wasn’t really a surprise.

“Sorry, sorry.” Your head throbs as you guiltily follow Spencer into the conference room, taking your seat between Garcia and Prentiss. Hotch watches you both with eyes narrowed in disapproval.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve said before that I only let tardiness slide once. I won’t say it again.” Spencer looks at you from across the table, and the man actually has the balls to wink at you in front of everyone on the team. Now they will all know that any excuse you try to come up with will all be a lie to cover up your sex life.

Sure, they already know you sleep together, for heaven’s sake you have a five month old baby together. But they didn’t need to know that you had shower sex in the morning before coming to work.

JJ clears her throat, a small smile on her face as she turns back to the screen and continues with the case briefing. Her smile fades with every passing second, each murder being splashed across the screen with every gory detail enhanced for your eyes to see.

“Every victim is a girl between the ages of sixteen and nineteen, with brown hair and blue eyes. Each bearing signs of a sexual assault, their hands cut off and a cross cut into their foreheads post mortem.” Your stomach rolls around uneasily, your chest constricting with every picture.

You make it through the entire brief without barfing. You waste no time in grabbing your go bag and calling the nanny to let her know to drop Graeson at your mother’s tonight.

The flight to small town Texas isn’t long, but the whole way your head pounds and your stomach does flips. You wave off Spencer’s worry, chalking it up to plane sickness.

“I just need a nap, I’ll be fine.” You squeeze his hand reassuringly, leaning back and closing your eyes against the nausea that rolls through you. Your fiancé shuffles a little in his seat, squeezing your hand back to get your attention.

“You hit your head this morning, pretty hard. I mean, it woke up Graeson. What if you have a concussion?” His voice is a whisper, his eyes searching for any other symptoms of a concussion. You shake your head, sure that a concussion is not your issue.

“I’m almost certain that I don’t have a concussion, Spence. It’s been hours, I remember everything, my pupils aren’t dialated, right?,” He nods, looking deep into your eyes like he could x-ray the inside of your head that way, “I don’t feel dizzy, and I’m not even tired. I just think a nap will help. I’m okay.”

“Well do you feel sick?” He lifts the back of his hand to your forehead, his knuckles cool against your skin.

It’s funny that, even just checking you for a fever, his touch is enough to heat your cheeks. You try to swallow the urge to jump his bones when you think about this morning. Pre-slipping and hitting your head.

Spencer’s lips twitch when he catches the look in your eyes, trying to focus on your fever and not the sudden blush on your cheeks coupled with the dialation of your pupils. He knows it isn’t a concussion that caused that based solely on the fact that you shift in your seat to press your thighs together.

“Somebody keep an eye on the bathroom, they might try and join the mile high club.” Morgan teases from the couch, a smirk pulling at his cheeks. You send a mischievous smirk of your own his way as Spencer pulls his hand back into his lap.

“We did that before I got pregnant, Morgan.” Prentiss laughs, JJ smiles in amusement, and Hotch is quick to enter the conversation and cease the inappropriate teasing. He assures Morgan that no one will have or has had ‘relations’ (as he so gracefully phrases it) on the jet.

You lean back into your seat again, hoping for the love of God that you don’t have a concussion and that you’ll make it to Texas without throwing up. Spencer sits beside you, pretending to read. You know he is only pretending because every time you open your eyes, he still has his finger under the same paragraph. He doesn’t even bother to flip the pages for effect.

By the time you make it to Texas, the plane jostling you around as it makes contact with the runway, bile is starting to build in your mouth.

Hotch goes over where everyone is going one more time, collecting his things as the ride smooths. You and Prentiss have been assigned to the morgue to see the latest victim, seventeen year old Hillary Gutsham. Although looking at a mutilated teenager does not sound like the best idea while you’re fighting nausea, you don’t protest.

Rossi and Morgan are sent to the house of the last victim, and Reid and JJ are dispatched to the police station to set up the evidence board and get a geographical profile started.

“My favorite.” Spencer mumbles sarcastically against your temple as he presses a kiss to your head, giving you another once over before you part ways. “Tell Prentiss if you feel sick at any time. Maybe even have the ME double check you for a concussion.”

“I’m not having the medical examiner see if I have a concussion, Spencer. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.” Not even ten minutes later, Prentiss is holding your hair as you spill your guts onto the side of the highway.

“Are you sure you aren’t sick?” She asks once you’re back on the road, glancing over at you at the same time that she takes a turn the GPS won’t stop screaming at her to take. It says you’re another five minutes away from the morgue.

The voice seems to grate against the very nerve that throbs in your head, and finally you’ve had enough of it. You shuffle around in your bag for some ibuprofen and practically moan with relief when you find it in the bottom corner. Two clear blue pills sitting side by side in plastic and tin foil packing.

“If it isn’t motion sickness then I probably just have a really bad migraine. I used to get them bad when I was a kid, don’t let Spencer get in your head. He worries too much.” You swallow the pill dry, unwilling to wait for a pit stop at a gas station or even the now three minute wait to the morgue before getting a drink to take it.

Emily doesn’t argue, trusting that you know your own body better than she does. She does, however, lean forward and turn the volume on the GPS down. You can’t help but think how much you love her for it.

At the morgue it’s quiet. The lack of car horns, massive truck engines, and overall clamor of the road is like music to your ears.

A older lady named Dr. Hardy, the ME, leads you back as she discusses her findings with Emily. You mostly just listen, going over scenarios and theories in your head as they speak. It isn’t until Dr. Hardy reveals a new bit of information that your ears perk up.

“I did find signs of sexual assault along with some semen, both of which didn’t come as a surprise after the last five victims I autopsied from your case, however, I did find out that she was fifteen weeks pregnant. I had a DNA test run on the embryo and the semenial fluid but they weren’t a match.” At the same time, Dr. Hardy lifts the white sheet from her body.

The girl underneath is young and pretty, the only thing marring her beauty would be the deeply cut cross centered on her forehead. You don’t look to the hands, knowing that they won’t be there, instead you turn the new information over and over in your head.

You gasp.

“What? What are you thinking?” Prentiss and Dr. Hardy both look at you with curious eyes, unaware that the revelation you have just made is not about the case at all. You clear your throat, shoving the thought as deep as you can so as to not let it affect your work.

“I, uhm, she’s just so young... to be a mom.” Prentiss furrows her brows because she knows you’re lying. You know she’s going to let you get away with it when they smooth back into place.

“There’s only a nine year difference between you and her, (Y/L/N).”

“Nine years is more than people like to admit.” You look away from the girl on the table, wanting to be finished already. Prentiss doesn’t start saying her goodbyes for another fourty-five minutes.

She pesters you the whole way to the police station, but gives up when you exit the car and make a beeline for Spencer. The nausea is back, your headache gone, and your nerves are so tightly wound that you feel like you can hear the rushing of your blood in your ears.

If you were right, it had been nearly two months since your last period. But surely you would have noticed long before now if you were two months pregnant? Right? You’ve been pregnant before, infact you had done it just five months ago.

The bile rises like a wave in your mouth and you swing toward the bathroom, hand flying to your mouth just in case you don’t make it to the toilet. What help would your hand be if you throw up?

Thankfully, you make it to the toilet before you have to find out, throwing up everything but your stomach during your time in the precincts lovely restroom. The tile is just the right amount of cold to help the reality set in as you lean back against the stall door.

“Please let me have a concussion, please let me have a concussion.”

[makeste]

not a cavalcade of Katsuki panels

damn, anon. you stone cold came for me with that last part. and just fyi to all onlookers, this was before I had posted the headcanons ask proving this exact point lmao.

but a challenge has been issued now! so I will do my best to pick a variety of impartial panels featuring a veritable medley of characters. not sure I can really provide much in the way of insightful analysis of symbolism and metaphors and stuff, but I can certainly type a lot of words about the pretty pictures, and about how cool people look when they’re standing around all serious surrounded by clouds of billowing smoke.

why I like it: I figured we’d start off strong. no point in holding back. can the other panels possibly even hope to compete. maybe. we’ll see.

why I like it: because, you see, he punched a giant robot, and it exploded. you see that, there? and the text was all “SMAASH” in humongous comic book letters, and it was pretty cool. also Deku is very tiny and the robot is very big. and just to clarify, most of the time if a tiny fifteen-year-old child tries to punch an 80-foot robot, it’s not actually going to go all that well, and the robot probably will not explode. but in this case it did! and so this is a very novel and unexpected outcome, which makes it all the more visually striking, which is a very good thing to be when you are trying to show off the brand new superpower which your protagonist just inherited, and letting people see it in action for the very first time.

why I like it: so you may have noticed we just skipped a whoooole bunch of chapters lol. this is because there are almost 300 of them, and so I’m going to have to use a bit of discretion. anyway so this is a gorgeous panel. just, everything about it. the lighting; the expressions; Shouto’s hesitation; and his mom facing away, not looking back yet, and us not yet knowing how she’ll react. and the fact that they’re visually separated by as much distance as possible -- at opposite ends of a two-page spread -- and yet they’re so close, closer than they’ve been in years. mm. anyway it’s pretty.

why I like it: first of all because there’s nothing like seeing a deserving character get punched in the fucking face, and few characters IMO have been as deserving as Stain. and second because this is Deku, showing up to save the day out of nowhere at the last minute, because excuse you, but he’s a motherfuckin’ hero. sorry to interrupt your evening plans of stabbing a kid while lecturing him about why, philosophically, he deserves to die. but I’ve got a package here for a Mister Stain. it’s from Mister Smaassh, with two A’s and three S’s.

why I like it: fyi, anon said nothing about a cavalcade of BakuDeku panels. you didn’t think I’d let that loophole go to waste, did you? but nonetheless I will try to restrain myself until we get to the second ground beta fight. anyway, I like this panel because All Might’s canonically 7′2″ self looks about twelve feet tall here, and he is just TOWERING over these two boys, who’ve been tasked with somehow outwitting him during this curiously sadistic final exam. and it’s just an interesting perspective, because we know they both look up to him, and here they are physically looking way, way up, up, up at him.

why I like it: now this is how you do a villain entrance. I love absolutely everything about this. the sheer scale of destruction, and the way he’s just sort of casually hanging out there in the middle of the panel almost dwarfed by all this dust and smoke and carnage, and yet is unquestionably the focus of the page. the way that you can’t actually see his face, not yet. not until the end of the chapter. the way the clouds are drifting so calmly and peacefully in the night sky in stark contrast to the horrific events that are about to take place on the ground. this panel gives me literal chills, especially when I think about All for One’s creepy theme music playing in the background.

why I like it: this panel is so iconic to me that it’s one of the first ones I immediately knew I had to go and find when I got this ask. this entire fight is perfection from start to finish, and there are other panels that are more artistically striking if I’m being honest (in particular, the ones where he’s half-transformed with his face perfectly split down the middle between Muscle Might and Skinny Steve). but there’s just something about his determination in this panel, though. something about the fire in his eyes, and the way he clenches his fist. “my heart is still the heart of the Symbol of Peace.” I remember being sooooo fucking anxious when his true form was revealed, wondering if this was it, if the people watching were going to turn on him, if he was going to lose both the fight and their faith. turns out I was wrong on both accounts. basically what I am trying to tell you guys is that this panel was and is still the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.

why I like it: because he’s just a frail old man doing what he can to protect the last flickering embers of the thing that enables him to fight on. there’s something so fucking desperate and yet so determined about this image. he knows it’s futile, but still he persists.

why I like it: damn it was hard to find a “you’re next” panel with just the right angle I like best. this is probably as close as it gets, but I kind of wish Deku was somehow visible in this image as well. but at any rate this is an amazing moment, and All Might is dramatic af for basically no reason but IT’S BADASS. “no I’m not going to actually look where I’m pointing. it’s cooler this way.” or was it because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the emotion off of his face if he actually turned and looked? in this moment of knowing that it was finally over for him, that he would never be the Symbol again, and knowing that he had no choice but to move on and entrust that burden to the next generation? damn.

why I like it: I... fucking... okay, here’s a fun fact. did you know that I still get emotional over this panel almost a full two years after reading it?? obviously a good 84% of it is the context -- All Might losing his power; Deku being forced to take up the mantle before he feels ready; All Might feeling responsible for him; and both of them being so desperately grateful to have each other in that moment. but don’t underestimate that remaining 16% either though! this is just an extremely well-drawn hug, on top of everything else. All Might pressing Deku’s head to his shoulder with his fingers laced in his hair is some mighty fine fiercely protective hug tropes there, you guys. and the way Deku is clinging to his shirt so tightly his knuckles have probably gone white?? while he cries?? while both of them cry? ON THE BEACH? WITH THE WAVES LAPPING SOFTLY AT THE SHORE IN THE PEACEFUL NIGHT AIR?? jesus fucking christ. this hug contains more emotions than I am capable of carrying inside me at once. I just sort of have to let them flow in and out little by little until they finally subside.

why I like it: you bet I skipped right from Kamino straight to Deku VS Kacchan Part 2. no regrets. anyway, so these two panels are an absolutely gorgeous one-two punch. so much has changed from the days when they were innocent little kids marching off into the woods to have adventures. they’ve changed. their relationship has changed. and yet, at the end of the day, Izuku is still willing to follow Katsuki even without being given any kind of explanation. and Katsuki still seeks out Izuku when he’s on the verge of having a spectacular emotional breakdown. because he doesn’t know who else to turn to. and because despite everything, there is trust there still, on some deep, fundamental level neither of them fully understands or knows how to acknowledge. anyway, so these two panels just give me a ton of feels all about the passage of time and how everything changes and how you can’t get back what’s lost, but also sometimes if you look deep enough you find that parts of it were never fully gone.

why I like it: because in a striking display of dramatic main character energy, these boys decided to stage their life-changing destiny-affirming rival fight on the coolest possible stage in the middle of the goddamn night. and then Katsuki made it even better by producing WAY MORE SMOKE than his attack by all rights should have produced! and then they went and crouched down all symmetrically so as to more poetically make intense eye contact at each other. I really like panels with smoke and/or dust clearing dramatically. there are like four more of them coming up on this list. what can I say. it’s cinematic.

why I like it: I actually had this one as my icon for a while. it’s rare imo to see an action panel that’s so balanced and has so much going on and is so clean and easy to read. both of their poses are so dynamic. I like the way the arc of Izuku’s kick is drawn, and I love the way you can clearly see that Katsuki propelled himself backwards with his quirk in order to dodge it. it’s just a really cool little panel that for me perfectly sums up the general feel of this fight, and its awesome choreography.

why I like it: actually you know what, before I go any further, let me skip ahead a bit and add three more panels with this same energy.

I just really, really love these rare moments when all differences between them are momentarily forgotten and they’re just two teenage boys caught up in the intense pressure of an awkward social situation. the one enemy neither of them is the least bit equipped to handle. anyways Horikoshi clearly enjoys it too because he seems to delight in drawing it over and over and over.

why I like it: because it’s more billowing smoke and dust. because it’s Endeavor, the guy we all swore we would never ever root for, and then 160 chapters later Horikoshi pulls this shit without an ounce of shame. because it’s All Might’s pose, but tweaked juuuuuust enough so that Enji can avoid copyright claims. because he knew that pose well enough to know which arm not to use. because Endeavor is a profoundly flawed human being, wholly incapable of filling the void All Might left behind. and yet he still tries. because it’s better than nothing, and because it’s all he can do. it’s the one thing he can do, his sole redeeming virtue. he tries. he doesn’t give up. anyway so yeah, Horikoshi didn’t have to take the single most unlikable person in the entire manga and give him the world’s most controversial and openly scorned redemption arc. but he did! and I think it’s one of the best things about this entire manga.

why I like it: because nothing in BnHA is just black and white!! it’s messy and layered and complex, just like in the real world. Shouto despised his dad for almost his entire life. with good reason! Enji was abusive and selfish and treated his son more like a prized possession than a person. we as readers are fully aware of all of this, and we sympathize with Shouto 100%, and that’s completely by design. Horikoshi is well aware of this. so for him to still give us this little moment, where Shouto is so relieved that Enji survived that he drops to the floor and presses his face against his hands in this little prayer gesture -- whatever you think it might mean -- is just so fucking powerful, and again speaks to his commitment to refusing to let anything in this series be completely clear-cut and unambiguous. I love that the characterization of Shouto and Natsu hating their dad exists side by side with the equally authentic characterization of them being terrified that they’re about to watch him die. because those two things aren’t contradictory! sometimes that’s just how it is. anyway so this is a beautiful moment of nuance that instantly adds so much to this relationship with just a single panel.

why I like it: for once the symbolism is so obvious that even I can’t fail to miss it! Izuku’s face half in light and half in shadow as he thinks about the power bestowed on him. “All for One’s power.” anyway so in my mind Izuku having AFO could not be any more fucking foreshadowed if he was wearing a freaking t-shirt with the Musketeers saying on it and the background was peppered with little Sistine Chapel-esque images of AFO giving his quirk to his brother lmao. but regardless of how it does end up playing out, this is nicely done.

why I like it: I wasn’t sure whether I should include this image, given that I just made a whole separate post about it a few days ago. but I just really like it, okay. this is one of the all-time great entrances in the series. Bakugou being perched on that pole for absolutely no reason other than to add visual interest. Todoroki’s hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Katsuki’s frayed pant hems and characteristically asymmetrical facial expression. the fact that you just know both of them spent the ride home with their faces pressed to the windows of their taxi cab hoping desperately for an opportunity to break in their brand new licenses, and then lo and behold. that’s amazing you guys. it’s almost like you’re main characters or something.

why I like it: they did great.

why I like it: because I lost my fucking shit at this fucking reveal and can you even blame me?? we knew coming in how much trouble Endeavor and Hawks had dealing with just one of these Noumus, and then Horikoshi goes and divulges that the villains have at least A DOZEN MORE waiting on standby. including Hood right there in the foreground, which is a fantastic touch! this panel, for me, almost instantaneously established the League as a legitimate threat once again, and gave me the kind of spine-tingly evil vibes I hadn’t felt since the Kamino arc. and while the payoff might not quite have lived up to my expectations, the Mirko fight at least was more than worth it.

why I like it: BILLOWING SMOKE AND DUST CLOUDS. you just see this vast landscape of destruction that Tomura has oh-so-casually wrought, and this once-powerful enemy utterly defeated on his hands and knees bowing before him. and it’s just like, oh. Tomura just became a fucking king, didn’t he. he finally stepped up and became the main villain. really the main villain, not just an awkward fumbling NEET whose adopted dad is not-so-secretly pulling all the strings. he did this himself. he went out and conquered and Awakened and won himself a fucking army. and he’s just standing there so cool and casual in the aftermath of it all. and then he goes “oh wait, you guys have money right, that means you can buy us the good sushi.” yes, Tomura. yes.

why I like it: um because this panel is fucking amazing?? hello?? do I really need to explain this one. the detail is jaw-dropping. he’s got the little scars which are either from the head wound that caused his death, or from his Noumufication. his expression is fucking heartbreaking, and the transition from Kumo to Kuro is so subtle and seamless, and yet it distinctly is both of them. this panel is gorgeous and fucking haunting and almost made me gasp when I first saw it.

why I like it: the decision to have the night sky take up so much of the space in the panel was [chef kiss]. nothing says existential like the night sky on a cold winter’s night.

why I like it: this is the best panel in the entire fucking series.

why I like it: dude. showing his actual family holding onto him with their hands in the same spot as the severed fashion!hands was a stroke of genius in and of itself. but combining that with the emotional tension of them desperately trying to hold him back and protect him from AFO?? that’s just so fucking smooth it’s almost inhuman. just how much meaning can you cram into a single image?? sometimes I wonder just how far in advance Horikoshi plans these things.

why I like it: guess I’m just a big fat sucker for panels of Tomura calmly standing around in the ruins of his own senseless destruction. the sense of scale on this one is really great, too. and yet again, those dust clouds. gotta love it.

why I like it: because Tomura literally appears out of nowhere, like he’s ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space. it’s so fucking sudden and he looks evil as FUCK, and Deku and Kacchan are totally caught off-guard, and it is scary. this is one of those panels that made me say “holy shit” out loud. in fact I practically screamed it. and the angles are all funky and weird, and the sky is all BLACK FOR NO REASON, and it really just feels like Tomura could reach right over and just MURDER THEM like it was nothing. just like that. this panel is so incredibly effective at conveying how hopelessly outclassed the boys are. they’re not even in his league, and it’s honestly terrifying.

and on that happy note, we have come to the end of my list of favorite panels! and I gotta say, it’s really gratifying that a good deal of them are from this year alone. I said it in another post a few days ago, but imo the overall quality of the series has been insanely high as of late, and it honestly just blows my mind whenever I stop to think about it. the art is still this good six years into the game. the story is still this good. we are spoiled goddammit.

[silverlightqueen]

21 Things To Do This Summer PJM

y/n has a week left to live and 21 things she wanted to do this summer. Jimin vows to help her do them all before she dies and give her the summer of a lifetime.

jimin x reader - angst, fluff, comedy, non-idol!au

Part of BangtanHQ’s ‘Bangtan Boardwalk’ at the ‘Summertime Sadness’ booth!

Rating: Mature (heavy themes and strong language - read with caution)

Word Count: 16.9k+ (she’s a monster omg)

Warnings: death and illness, discussion of death and illness, jokes about death and illness, brain tumour, discussion of eating disorders, brief mention of murder and crime (y/n jokes that Jimin could be a murderer or a thief), explicit language throughout, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed that I missed anything

a/n: here’s the first part guys! if you enjoy it, make sure to check out the other fics in the Summertime Sadness booth, and the other booths on the Bangtan Boardwalk! a huge thank you to @silverlightprincess​ for proofreading this massive fic, I love you so damn much x

silverlightqueen masterlist

y/n’s Summer Bucket List

21 Things to Do This Summer

1) Make a new friend

2) Dye my hair

3) Go on a road trip

4) Do pavement chalk

5) Get everybody I talk to to sign a shirt

6) Have s’mores at a bonfire

7) Get drunk and skinny dip at the beach

8) Make a wish balloon

9) Go to a fairground

10) Have a picnic

11) Get a tattoo

12) Sleep under the stars

13) Cloud watch

14) Try camping for the first time

15) Have a water fight

16) Make homemade ice cream

17) Have a pyjama day

18) Send a message in a bottle

19) Watch fireworks

20) Go to a drive-in movie

21) Make a photo album of it all

‘Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey, wait, you dropped something!’ I can hear someone shouting and, despite the tears running down my face, I roll my eyes, wondering why the idiot who dropped something doesn’t stop to get it. ‘Excuse me! Hey, wait!’ I hear, the voice getting closer, before I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I realise; I’m the idiot.

I turn around to see a boy. The first thing I notice is the piece of paper in his hand. The second thing I notice is that I already know him. ‘You dropped thi- oh, y/n! Hey! Long time, no see. Wait, whoa, are you crying?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again as I frustratedly wipe away my tears. ‘No, Jimin, why? Does it look like I am?’ I spit out sarcastically. ‘Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was because you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m going to be a good person and return this to you,’ he says, holding out the piece of paper. When I realise what it is, I snatch it from him, tucking it safely into my bag and mentally chiding myself for nearly losing it.

‘Thank you. Sorry for being rude,’ I say before I turn away, continuing to head home. It’s only after a few seconds I realise he’s walking beside me, and I speed up, trying to get away from him. He speeds up too. I slow down. So does he. I stop in my tracks, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, and he merely grins back at me, blinding me with his annoyingly handsome smile.

‘What do you want, Jimin?’ I ask tiredly, deciding not to be rude after he returned my list to me. ‘Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, so I thought it’d be nice to catch up. And I also know you, and you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m not going to abandon somebody who I have history with if they’re crying. And, as well as being a very caring and empathetic person, I’m very curious, and so I have to find out why you’re upset,’ he says, and I frown, continuing to walk, even more annoyed when he continues to walk alongside me.

‘It’s none of your business, Jimin,’ I say sharply, hoping he’ll leave me alone. ‘Well, obviously. It’s your business. But the nature of being curious is wanting to know other people’s business,’ he says as though he’s speaking to a little child, and I shoot him another look. ‘You’re practically a stranger.’ ‘I am not! We had classes together through the whole of high school!’ ‘I’m not going to tell you my business,’ I say with a note of finality, hoping he’ll leave the subject. And leave me, for that matter.

‘Would you tell me if you knew me better?’ he asks thoughtfully, and I roll my eyes. ‘Probably, yes.’ ‘Okay. I’m a Libra, I hate spinach and 13 is my lucky number. Oh, and I dance,’ he says, and I literally want to bash my head against a wall. ‘That does not mean I know you better. It just means you overshare.’ ‘Well, you can’t say I’m practically a stranger. Maybe only half a stranger,’ he says, and I let out a humourless laugh at how persistent he is, and he grins, mistaking it for a real laugh.

‘God, what is it with you? What do I have to say to you to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, stopping in the street and putting my hand on my hip. ‘If you tell me why you’re crying. Or, should I say, were? Because, if you haven’t already noticed, you’re no longer crying. Thanks to me,’ he grins, and I actually didn’t notice that I’m not crying anymore.

‘Well, your stupid ass has distracted me,’ I admit, and he laughs, the sound quite… endearing. ‘So? Tell me then. I think I deserve to know. Considering I cheered you up,’ he says, and I roll my eyes yet again. ‘I said that you distracted me. That is not the same as cheering me up. Listen, Jimin, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. It’s nice to see you again, and I hope everything’s going well in your life, but it is not a good time for me right now. My patience is seriously wearing thin,’ I say, continuing to walk, but he still walks beside me, making me want to throttle him.

‘I think your patience was already thin. And I’m a good citizen, so I would never just let a pretty girl crying pass me by without asking what’s wrong. Especially if I already know her,’ he says lightly, and I roll my eyes. Is he seriously trying to flirt with me? ‘Jimin. Leave me alone,’ I say seriously, putting emphasis on every word as the anger begins to bubble up in my stomach. ‘Not until you tell me what’s wro-’ ‘I have a week left to live!’ I shout, losing my temper, and his face instantly transforms from teasing and light, to shocked and guilty as tears fill my eyes. That’ll teach him not to pry into other people’s business.

‘Oh. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, y/n. I wouldn’t have asked if that’s what it was. I thought you were gonna say you’d broken up with your boyfriend or something. I’m so sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere, but I merely roll my eyes, turning and walking away, and hoping he’ll leave me alone now. ‘How’d you know?’ I hear him say from beside me, and I sigh aloud, having to physically restrain myself from hitting this boy with my bag.

‘What?’ ‘How’d you know you’ve only got a week left to live?’ ‘I went to the doctor a couple days ago, for chronic headaches. They did some scans, and then I got a call this morning to go to the hospital. They told me I have a brain tumour. Terminal. They said I’m lucky if I have another ten days,’ I say tiredly, a couple tears falling down my face which I wipe away hastily, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Wow. I’m really sorry. That’s… terrible. Is there no treatment?’ he asks, and I sigh again. ‘Yes, but they said it’s unlikely to cure it, it’ll only delay my inevitable death, and it’s… painful. I’d rather die sooner than later if later’s gonna hurt. Or it could get rid of the tumour, but it could ruin my future quality of life; I might not be able to speak the same, walk the same, even think the same. So I’ve refused treatment,’ I explain, not sure why I’m opening up to him, and he nods. ‘Reasonable. I’d do the same.’

We walk in silence for a few moments before Jimin starts speaking again. ‘So. Where are you going now?’ he asks, and I side-eye him. ‘Home.’ ‘To your boyfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one.’ ‘Girlfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one of those either.’ ‘Spouse?’ ‘I’m single.’ ‘Parents?’ ‘Don’t live with them.’ ‘Siblings?’ ‘Only child.’ ‘Friends.’ ‘Don’t have any.’ ‘What about all your friends from school?’ ‘I matured; they didn’t.’ ‘Oop. Roommates?’ ‘Nope.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘I have a dog. If that counts,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Of course it counts. What breed?’ ‘A miniature husky. His name’s Coco, and he’s literally tiny,’ I say, a small smile coming onto my face at the thought of my baby, and he holds a hand to his heart. ‘That’s a cute name. My friend, Taehyung – you remember him, right? – he has a Pomeranian who’s tiny, called Yeontan. Tannie for short. Tan for even shorter,’ he says, and I smile despite myself.

‘That’s so adorable. Maybe Taehyung can have Coco. He’ll need a new owner,’ I say jokingly, and Jimin winces. ‘Don’t you feel like it’s too early to make jokes?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘It’s never too early. By the time it’s okay, I’ll be dead,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a strangled laugh, as though he wants to hold it back but can’t.

I still feel a little shocked, but mainly numb. I went through the stages of dealing with bad news whilst I was still at the hospital. I started by denying it, and telling the doctor that something in the scan must be wrong. And then I got super angry that it hadn’t already been identified and screamed a little at her (it was my own fault, though – I’m the one that didn’t go to the doctor until it’d been months of me having headaches). Then I tried to bargain with the doctor, and ask if there were any treatments that don’t hurt or wouldn’t cause me irreversible damage, or if there was any chance I would survive any longer. And then I cried. A lot. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I got through a box and a half of tissues. I was at the hospital for three and a half hours, and spent two hours of that crying. And I was still crying when I left.

I guess I’m now in the acceptance stage. I didn’t know it was possible to move through the stages that quickly.

‘What was that paper you dropped? Your diagnosis?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘All my paperwork was in a folder, loads of it. I threw it in the recycling at the hospital.’ ‘Glad to see you’re looking after the planet for those of us that’ll still be here when you’re gone,’ Jimin says, almost tentatively, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. ‘That was funny,’ I admit, and he grins, relaxing. ‘I do try.’ ‘Yes, you’re very trying.’

‘Anyway. What was that paper then?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Do you, like, make it your life’s mission to pry?’ ‘No, it comes naturally. A lot of girls receive it well, actually. They like it when someone good-looking seems interested in their life,’ he smirks, and I shoot him a disgusted look. ‘Big-headed much?’ ‘Just truthful.’ ‘Well, I’m not receiving it well. Clearly.’ ‘I guess you’re not like other girls then,’ he muses, and I shoot him another look. ‘Please don’t tell me you think that’s a compliment, because it isn’t,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re not like the girls that I’m used to being around.’ ‘You’re probably used to being around girls just as pretty as you.’ ‘You think I’m pretty?’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Well, you’re right. But it’s okay, because you’re not just as pretty as me. You’re prettier.

But anyway. Are you gonna tell me what that paper is?’ he asks again, skimming over the fact he’s now called me pretty for the second time, and I sigh, giving up. ‘It’s a summer bucket list. I saw this girl reading a book with the same name in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery the other day, and it inspired me to write one,’ I admit, and he grins. ‘That’s cute,’ he says, and I roll my eyes, looking away from him. ‘Well, I’m gonna die before I get to do any of them anyway,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that,’ he says, voice small, and I nod.

We continue walking, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and I distract myself from the slightly awkward silence by looking at our surroundings instead. It’s a lovely summer’s day today; warm and sunny with the most beautiful breeze. Families are out in force despite it being a weekday, little boys running around shirtless and barefoot, and little girls in cute summer outfits. Chill ‘vibey’ music floats through open car windows, couples share ice cream at the café we walk past, birds chirp in the trees that line the road. It’s such a beautiful day. I even shaved my legs and put on a cute floral playsuit. So much for sunbathing in the garden.

‘Hang on,’ Jimin says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. ‘What?’ ‘Who says you can’t tick off your bucket list?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to die, Jimin,’ I say slowly, and he lets out a frustrated noise. ‘You have a week. That’s more than enough time for us to do it all,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Us? Who said anything about us?’ ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to help you tick off this bucket list.’ ‘And I’m taking it upon myself to refuse your help.’

‘Um, rude. Why?’ he asks with an amused glint in his eye, and my eyes widen even more. ‘Are you kidding? We barely know each other. The closest we ever were was when Nayeon and Jungkook dated and we all planned at their joint birthday party, and when we got paired together for that History project. That was years ago; I have no idea what kind of person you are now. You could be a murderer,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to die anyway,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, I’m allowed to joke about it; you are not. You could be a thief.’ ‘Again: you’re going to die anyway. But, I’m not a thief, so don’t worry. You’ll still have all of your belongings to put in your will.’ ‘Excuse me. Stop joking about my imminent death.’

‘Listen, I want to help you. Let me help you tick off your bucket list,’ he pleads, and I’m surprised at myself for actually considering it. I’m going to die anyway – I might as well spend my last few days having fun. Even if it is with an unbearably curious person from my past. ‘Please let me help you. I’ll consider my life a waste if you don’t,’ he says dramatically, dropping to the floor, making enough of a scene for people to look over at us. ‘Jimin, get up,’ I hiss, and he scrabbles at my shoes. ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me. Please, y/n, please let me,’ he wails, and I look around embarrassedly, feeling lots of stares on us.

‘If I say yes, will you stop making such an embarrassment of yourself?’ I hiss, and he looks up at me with wide eyes and a grin, nodding. ‘Then, yes. I’ll let you help me,’ I sigh, and he jumps up from the floor, a wide smile spreading across his lips. ‘Okay, let’s see what I’m working with,’ he says, and I look at him blankly. ‘Let me see the list,’ he prompts, and I pull the list out of my bag, handing it to him tiredly.

‘Okay, let’s see. ‘y/n’s Summer Bucket List’. Cute. ‘21 Things to Do This Summer’. Only 21 things? This’ll be easier than I thought,’ he says, before his eyes scan down the rest of the list. As he reads it, I look him up and down, inspecting him. He’s changed since school. A lot. He’s now around 5’8’’, with clear golden skin, chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and ink black hair swept back from his forehead (must be dyed because I remember his hair being a lot lighter than this). He’s dressed in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t-shirt, a loose grey jacket over the top of it with pair of sunglasses at the back of his head. ‘Okay, well, you’ve already achieved number one. Making a new friend,’ he says, pointing at himself with a grin, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to call you a friend,’ I say, and he sighs.

‘That’s the best bit. You barely know me, and I barely know you. We can be whoever we want to be. All I know about you is the vague stuff from school, and I know that you had high hopes for this summer, but you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And you’ve only got a week left. And that you’re grumpy and get annoyed easily and are not receptive to strangers. And you’ve got a dog called Coco. All you know about me is the vague stuff from school, and that I’m a Libra, I hate spinach, my lucky number is 13, and that I dance.’ ‘And that you’re annoyingly curious and persistent and stubborn and think a lot of yourself.’ ‘Exactly! That’s literally nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So you think we should lie to each other about what and who we are?’ ‘No, no, you’re misunderstanding. Haven’t you ever wanted to be like someone, but you’re too scared to, or you’re too stuck in your ways?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod. ‘This is your chance. We barely know each other, and we have no more than a week together. You get to be whatever you want to be, y/n, and we’ll tick off everything on your list. We can be like those reckless teenagers from all those stupid films. What have you got to lose?’ he says gently, his eyes big and his words convincing.

‘We can’t do all this in a week,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Can’t is not in my vocabulary. And neither are cannot, unable to, won’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t-’ ‘Who in this century says mustn’t?’ ‘We can easily do all this in a week. Even less than a week,’ he says, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Ambitious, but I don’t think so.’ ‘And that’s not in my vocabulary either. But… give me four days,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Four days?’ ‘Easy. I could probably do it in three, but I’ll say an extra day just to be sure,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes.

‘Haven’t you, like… got a job? Or, like, studying? You can’t just devote four days – or more – to helping me tick off my bucket list,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Why are you so sensible? Trust me, there’s nothing I have to do,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. ‘Fine,’ he sighs, ‘I work with my friend – Hoseok, remember him? – at his dance studio, but he’ll let me have some time off,’ he says, and I’m still slightly sceptical, but decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Why do you want to help me? Haven’t you got better things to do with your life?’ I ask him, voice small, and he smiles, seemingly endeared. ‘There’s something tragic about you, y/n. You went to the hospital alone to be told that you’re going to die. And you don’t live with anybody. And you have a list of things you wanted to do this summer, but won’t be able to do them without help. My help. Of all the places you dropped that paper, you dropped it in front of me. And of all the people that could’ve picked it up, it was me. We haven’t seen each other since we left school, and even though the odds of us seeing each other again were slim, look where we are. Fate works in mysterious ways, y/n. Let me help you. For old time’s sake,’ he says softly, and I feel that little voice in my head whisper, ‘why not?’

‘You know what? Let’s do it,’ I say, throwing caution to the wind, and feeling a little bit of excitement bloom in my chest. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks, surprise on his face but also… hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ I say with a small smile, the excitement in my chest flooding out into my veins. He jumps up and pumps the air, whooping and shouting in celebration, and I don’t even feel embarrassed of him, finding it quite endearing.

‘Okay, let’s get started. It’s 12.32, so we have until 12.32 on Sunday to tick the whole list off. Let me look at the list again. Um… well, number one’s done. And the last one, the photo album, we can buy a photo album now and take pictures as we go along to put in it,’ he says, thinking aloud, before he turns abruptly. I look around in alarm before rushing after him. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a supermarket just down the road that we can get a photo album from. Oh, and we can buy an instant camera too! Cuter pictures,’ he says, and I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

‘We should just scrap that one. It’s not like I’ll be able to look back at it, so what’s the point?’ I say, and he frowns at me. ‘Well, we could say that about all of this, but it’s about making your last few days exciting and fun and an experience of a lifetime. So don’t say ‘what’s the point’, because there is a point,’ he says firmly, and I keep my mouth shut, unable to stop a small smile from appearing on my face.

We enter the supermarket, the change in temperature making me shiver in my skimpy outfit, and Jimin looks over at me. ‘Oh, my God, my mum would kill me if she knew how ungentlemanly I was being right now,’ he says, taking his jacket off. ‘No, Jimin, it’s fine,’ I try to stop him, but he’s already handing it to me and taking my little backpack from my hand. ‘Let me. Have you ever been treated like a princess?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly. ‘Then take the jacket and let me hold your bag. It’s the least you deserve,’ he says, and I smile to myself as I shrug on the jacket without further complaint, watching amusedly when he puts on the backpack.

He leads us towards the electronics, the back corner of the store, and makes a beeline for the camera section. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, and I hesitate. ‘It’s hard to choose a favourite,’ I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile playing at his lips. ‘Okay. What’s your favourite colour out of these?’ he says, motioning to the instant cameras, and I think before answering, ‘that one. The pastel blue.’ ‘Ah, nice choice,’ he says, picking one of the boxes up and heading over towards where the photo albums are, and I follow after him. ‘This one’s perfect!’ he says, pointing at one the same colour as the camera, and I nod, Jimin picking it up with a grin.

‘Right, let’s just double-check this list and see if there’s anything else we need,’ he says, getting the list out of his pocket again. ‘Hmm, we could buy some chalk to do number 4. And we can buy a shirt and markers to do number 5,’ he says, thinking aloud again, walking ridiculously quickly to where the art and school supplies section where the chalk and markers will be, before rushing off towards the clothes section, having me running around behind him.

Once we’ve picked out a plain white button-up dress shirt, we head over to the counter, Jimin chatting amicably with the cashier as I hang behind, surprised and slightly envious of his ability to speak to strangers like they’re close friends. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour?’ Jimin asks, and the cashier nods instantly, scanning through the shirt. ‘Can you sign this shirt? Just, like, with your name and your… job, I guess. We, um, we’re doing a project,’ Jimin says with a grin at me, and the cashier nods again, looking a little confused as Jimin hands her a marker from the pack. She writes ‘Soojung –supermarket cashier’, before handing Jimin the marker back with a grin.

‘Have you got film for this camera?’ Soojung asks as she scans it through, and Jimin looks to me, both of us exchanging an embarrassed glance. ‘No, but it’d probably help,’ I say frankly, and Jimin nods with a laugh. ‘I’ll go and grab them for you,’ the cashier says, getting up and running off. ‘We could’ve gone and gotten it, she didn’t have to,’ I say, and Jimin grins. ‘Perks of being a nice person – people do things for you that they don’t have to,’ he says pointedly, and I scowl at him. ‘Was that a dig?’ I demand, and he grins even wider. ‘Not at all, my dear, y/n,’ he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I roll my eyes in response, the cashier reappearing with a couple boxes of film.

‘Do you want just the one or…?’ ‘We’ll take both,’ Jimin replies, the cashier nodding, scanning them through. ‘Gonna make some summer memories?’ the cashier asks, and we exchange another glance, a small smile playing at Jimin’s lips when he replies, ‘something like that, yeah.’

‘Okay, let’s have another look at this list,’ Jimin says once we’re seated in the back corner of his favourite coffee shop, pulling the list out of his pocket and reading it through. ‘So you’ve already made a new friend. Me. We’ve got the chalk for number four, and a shirt and markers for number 5. I should sign the shirt, right?’ he says, and I nod, thinking this’ll be easier if I let him do what he wants, and he grins, writing ‘Park Jimin - y/n’s fabulously beautiful assistant and school friend’. I raise an eyebrow, and he raises one back, challenging me to say something, but I just shake my head with a small smile.

‘Let’s look at the rest of them. Number 2, dyeing your hair… I have a trillion boxes of dye at home, that’s easy. Number 3, go on a road trip… we can do that, and tick off the others as we do it. Number 4, pavement chalk, we can do with Taehyung on his and Namjoon’s driveway because Tae’s good at art and their driveway is huge. Number 5, get everyone to sign a shirt, won’t be difficult, we just have to remember. Number 6, have s’mores at a bonfire… let me think about that one. Number 7,’ he begins, before looking up at me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t laugh. It’s something that so many people have done, and I never have,’ I say defensively, his mouth falling open. ‘You’ve never gotten drunk?’ he asks jokingly, and I laugh despite myself. ‘No, idiot, I’ve never skinny-dipped, but I’m pretty sure I’ll only have the courage to do it if I’m drunk,’ I say, and he nods, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You can leave me with that one too, I’ll think about it.

Number 8, make a wish balloon, that’s easy. Number 9, go to a fairground… that may be a bit more difficult, but I’ll get it done. Number 10, have a picnic, easy. Number 11, get a tattoo, ooh, that’s fun. I know the perfect place. Number 12, go to a drive-in movie… difficult, but I’ll find a way. Number 13, cloud watch, super easy. Number 14, try camping for the first time, that’s easy too. Number 15, water fight… that’s easy as well. Number 16, homemade ice cream, easy. Number 17, pyjama day, even easier. Number 18, send a message in a bottle… should be easy. Number 19, run through sprinklers… shouldn’t be too hard. I hope. Number 20, stargaze and fall asleep under the stars, should be easy enough. And Number 21 is well under way already,’ he says with a grin.

The photo album already has two pictures in it; one of Jimin and I smiling and squinting in the sunlight, and one of us with the cashier, who looks a little awkward, but it’s fine. Nothing will be more awkward than telling her we’re trying to tick off a summer bucket list within a few days because I’m going to die soon. I was right – Jimin has a serious habit of oversharing.

‘Hi, welcome to the Sweetbrew. I’m Yoongi, I’ll be your server. What can I get you?’ a barista says, sounding like he wants to die, his entire face hidden behind a menu. ‘Yoongi,’ Jimin says, snatching the menu to reveal a boy with porcelain skin, mint green hair and brown eyes. I recognise him as one of Jimin’s best friends from school – Min Yoongi.

He was always one of the quieter members of their friendship group. Not shy, but more calm and laidback – it was easy to seem like that when surrounded by his friends, every single one of them having been big and loud characters. But he was just like the rest of them in that he was definitely popular, and desirable too. Everyone saw him as this sensitive and kind boy, his passion for music reinforcing that even more, and there was always somebody that was crushing on him, his look unique and intriguing. And he’s only gotten better looking since school, more mature and manly, yet still with the soft and delicate features that he had back then.

‘Oh, Jimin. Hey,’ he says, sounding a little more lively, before he turns to look at me. ‘Ah, y/n, right? From school?’ he asks, and I’m surprised at how quick he recognises me. ‘I told the group chat about you. Sorry,’ Jimin says, and my eyes widen, Yoongi sitting in the spare seat at our table. ‘What? When?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘While you got distracted playing with that puppy outside the supermarket,’ he says, and I frown.

‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘No. Well, nearly everything. I told them what we’re doing, but I didn’t say why. Obviously,’ he says, and I fix him with a glare. ‘Oh, it’s okay to tell a random shop worker, but not your best friends?’ I ask, Yoongi shooting him a look too. ‘Not cool, Park,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin scowls. ‘I already apologised for that. I have a serious problem with oversharing,’ he says, Yoongi and I exchanging a glance as we chorus, ‘we know.’

‘Why are you doing this? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Yoongi asks, curiosity in his eyes, and I sigh. ‘I’ve got a brain tumour, so I’ve got, like, a week left to live,’ I say bluntly, Yoongi’s mouth falling open. ‘Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, y/n, that’s awful,’ he says, sounding a little awkward, but I wave him off. ‘It’s fine. I’ve already gone through the five stages, and am now sufficiently distracted from my impending demise by your stupid friend,’ I say, Jimin scowling.

‘Well, at least he can make up for being stupid by helping you tick off your list. Anyway, you guys want drinks or you just chilling?’ Yoongi asks, and Jimin looks to me to answer. ‘I could do with a drink.’ ‘What would you like, y/n?’ Yoongi asks, and I hesitate, not quite sure. ‘Um… I don’t know. Jimin, what do you have?’ I ask, but Jimin already looks like he’s cooking up a scheme. ‘What fruits do you like, y/n?’ he asks me, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘berries, pineapple, mango, kiwi, peach. I like everything.’

Yoongi and Jimin exchange a glance, talking without words, and Yoongi nods before disappearing into the back. ‘Anyway. We need to get Yoongi to sign your shirt before we leave, remember. And then… we can go to Tae and Joon’s to do pavement chalk. And we should be able to make the ice cream at Tae and Joon’s too. Then we can go and pick up stuff from our houses before we go on the road trip,’ he says, and I hold up a hand.

‘We’re gonna have to go to mine before we go to Taehyung and Namjoon’s, because I’ve left Coco with the neighbour. I told her I’d only be a couple hours and it’s already been… nearly four,’ I say, Jimin nodding, and I can practically see his mind working. ‘We can get Coco and take her to theirs, and she can play with Tan while we get on with ticking things off. And then we can take her on the road trip with us the next day,’ he says, and I nod, getting more and more excited with his ideas.

‘Are you gonna drop me home tonight and then pick me up in the morning?’ I ask, and he thinks. ‘How about… we sleep over at Tae and Joon’s? You can get all your stuff when we go now, and then we’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning,’ he suggests, but I’m sceptical. ‘Won’t they mind?’ I ask, and he shakes his head instantly. ‘They’re so chill about this kinda stuff. They really won’t mind. We all sleep over at their house all the time because it’s the biggest. There’s more than enough space,’ he says, obviously trying hard to convince me, and I nod. There’s no point worrying about intruding at their house when their best friend seems to be the most intruding person in history.

Jimin looks back down at the list, thinking hard, and I smile to myself. It’s sweet that he’s putting so much effort in to try and tick off this list, even though we barely know each other. The most we ever said to each other at school would’ve been ‘d’you have a spare pen?’ or ‘can you pass me the bottle opener?’

Yoongi reappears after a couple minutes with two plastic cups in his hands, the drinks within them vibrant pink and orange. ‘I call this one… ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’. I put in the syrups for all the fruits you named and a lot of sugar and ice,’ he says, putting them down with a flourish, my heart warming as I smile at him. ‘Thank you. It looks amazing,’ I say, taking a sip, my eyes widening as the flavours explode in my mouth. ‘And it tastes amazing too,’ Jimin says, having already taken a (large) gulp.

‘I’m not the best barista here for nothing. But, y/n, you gotta take the credit. It is named after you,’ Yoongi says, and I roll my eyes with a smile. ‘Get out of here. But, for real, it tastes great, Yoongi,’ I say, the boy giving me the cutest gummy smile, and then I notice Jimin fiddling around with the camera. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I ask, stifling a laugh, and he sighs defeatedly. ‘Take a picture of us with your drink,’ he says, and I hold back a smile, ‘get someone else to take it.’

He ropes in an innocent woman sat beside us with her friend, and she takes a while to focus the camera on us and get the three of us in frame, but when the photo develops, it’s pretty good. ‘Perfect. Right, let’s head back and get Coco,’ Jimin says, and I hold out a hand. ‘Wait. Yoongi, will you sign this shirt?’ I ask, and he looks a little confused. Nevertheless, he signs it as ‘Min Yoongi – creator of the iconic ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’ drink and y/n’s school friend’.

Jimin looks thoughtful as we rise from our seats, and I side-eye him. I’ve noticed that a little bit of panic appears in my chest when I see that look on his face. ‘Yoongi, you busy tonight?’ Jimin asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘I’m never busy,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘When d’you get off work?’ ‘4.’ ‘Come ‘round to Tae and Joon’s. I got an idea,’ Jimin says cryptically, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I give him a look.

‘Okay. See you guys later then,’ Yoongi says before turning to head into the back. ‘Wait. Don’t we need to pay?’ I ask, and Yoongi smiles at me, a little sadness behind the expression. ‘It’s on the house. I might even speak to the manager about getting this drink put on the menu,’ he says, and I smile at him, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. ‘Good idea. Thanks, Yoongi. See you later,’ I say, Jimin bidding him goodbye as he disappears into the back. ‘Okay,’ Jimin turns to look at me with a grin, ‘let’s go get Coco.’

‘Oh, y/n. Oh, my angel, I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Choi says for the eleventh time, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I smile sadly. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Choi,’ I say, not sure what else to say, when Jimin appears at my elbow. ‘Everything’s in the car now, so whenever you’re ready,’ he says with a grin as he hands me the house keys, Mrs Choi looking him up and down. ‘Oh, Mrs Choi, this is Jimin… an old school friend. Jimin, this is Mrs Choi, my lovely neighbour who my dog likes more than me,’ I say, Mrs Choi laughing as Jimin shakes her hand, bowing his head politely.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, y/n, Coco adores you. He cries whenever you leave him with me,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And then cries when I come to pick him up,’ I point out, and she waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s because I feed him so much,’ Mrs Choi says, and I laugh, Coco appearing in the doorway behind her. He comes bounding up to me, my heart filling as he rests his front paws on my leg, and I bend down to pick him up. ‘Hi, baby. You okay?’ I say, showering him in kisses, and ducking away when he tries to lick my face. I hate when he licks my makeup off.

‘That is the cutest dog ever,’ Jimin says, and I hold Coco out to him. He instantly takes him into his arms, and giggles when he licks the tip of his nose. Coco leaps out of his arms, and he panics, trying to catch him, but he does it all the time, bounding around the front garden. ‘Here,’ Mrs Choi says, handing Jimin the little tennis ball she keeps beside the door for when she plays with Coco. He instantly throws it and Coco bounds after it, running straight back to him with it in his mouth.

‘He’s handsome,’ Mrs Choi observes quietly so Jimin can’t hear, and I roll my eyes. ‘And doesn’t he know it?’ ‘Are you… and him…?’ ‘Oh, God, no. I… there’s a list of things I wanted to do this summer, and he’s helping me get through it all before I...’ I trail off, and she nods, blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry. ‘That’s lovely of him. Make sure you take lots of pictures to show me,’ she says, and I grin. ‘We’ve already started a photo album. Actually. Hold on,’ I say, getting the camera out of my bag as Jimin bends down to pet Coco who jumps on him, the unexpectedness making him fall onto his back. I get a really cute picture of him lying down, laughing, with Coco on his chest, trying to lick his face.

‘Lovely. Well, I’ll let you get to it. But make sure you come to see me again before… well, when you get back from ticking off your list,’ she says, pulling me into a hug, and I screw my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to cry in front of her. She’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved out of my parents’ house, always coming over to check if I’m okay, bringing me food and inviting me around at least once a week, looking after Coco whenever I need her to. I’m heartbroken that I’m going to be leaving a hole in her life when I go.

‘I will. See you later, Mrs Choi,’ I say, pulling away from her, and we exchange a sad smile. ‘See you, y/n. Be careful, dear, and have fun,’ she says sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek, giving me one last long look before she disappears into her house. I don’t blame her; I’d be struggling to deal if I were in her position.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ I call to Jimin who’s sat cross legged on the floor, Coco running towards him with the ball and dropping it beside him. Jimin’s standing when I reach them and he hands me the ball, Coco’s eyes never leaving it. ‘Do you want Coco to sit on my lap or do you mind him sitting in the back?’ I ask, as we walk towards his car, and he shrugs. ‘He can sit in the back, I don’t mind,’ he says, and I pull open the back door, putting the ball in there, and Coco leaps in without hesitation. I shut the door behind him before climbing into the passenger seat, Jimin already sat in the driver’s seat.

‘You ready?’ he says excitedly as he starts the engine, putting on the radio which is currently playing Justin Bieber. ‘Yep. Let’s do this,’ I say, sneaking one last look at Mrs Choi’s house. And then it hits me. This might be the last time I look at her house. I might die before I get to see her again.

My body goes cold all over, tears prickling in my eyes as my throat constricts painfully. It just repeats in my head again and again; ‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’

Coco realises I’m upset before Jimin does, and he begins to whine from the backseat. ‘Is Coco okay?’ I hear Jimin’s voice distantly, and when I don’t reply, I hear him coo, ‘Coco? What’s the matter, boy?’ And then he looks over at me.

‘Oh,’ he breathes out, instantly pulling over. ‘y/n,’ he says gently, reaching out to take one of my hands, and the second his skin touches mine, I burst into tears. He shuffles as close as he can, the gearstick separating us, and he leans across the gap, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder, letting him hold me as the tears come in an endless flood, whispering the words ‘I’m going to die’ every few seconds.

Once I’ve calmed down (and feel ridiculously uncomfortable in the position we’re in), I gently push away from him, and he releases me, still holding one of my hands in his. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and he frowns. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to be upset. Like, you’re going to die, for God’s sake; you can cry about that. Cry as much as you want, you’re entitled to do so. Just… tell me when you’re upset so I don’t say something stupid,’ he says ruefully, a small laugh falling from my lips, and he grins.

‘It’s just… it’s not fair. There’s still so much I wanted to do with my life. I’ll never work in my dream job. There are so many beautiful places I’ll never get to see. Tokyo, Mexico, Portugal, Bali, Dubai, India, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, The Caribbean, The Maldives, Greece, Morocco. So many things that everyone does that I’ll never get a chance to do. Fall in love, get married, have a family. I’ve never even been in a relationship,’ I say with a harsh laugh, and Jimin sighs.

‘You’re right, y/n. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all. You deserve so much more, so much better. You’ve been robbed of the rest of your life. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry,’ he says so simply, and it feels as though his words just… make it all okay. It’s hard to explain, but they feel like a consolation. They make me feel like the way I’m feeling isn’t me just being irrational, or a spoiled brat, because I know that it could be worse. They make me feel like I’m justified in my thoughts and feelings. And that’s what I need right now.

‘Thank you,’ I say, sniffling a little, and he smiles at me. ‘You’re most welcome, y/n. Now. Are you ready to go to Tae and Joon’s or would you like to cry for a little longer?’ he says teasingly, and I laugh, shoving him gently. ‘Drive, you moron,’ I say, and he gasps as he starts up the car, a small grin playing at his lips as he says, ‘Moron? I’m about to give you the summer of a lifetime in four days. Do you think a moron could do that? No, of course they couldn’t.’

‘y/n! Oh, my God, girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Taehyung exclaims the second I open the car door, running over from the front door and throwing his arms around me. I was always a little closer to Taehyung than I was to Jimin, because we had quite a few classes together. I hug him back, my face practically smushed against his chest as he holds me in a bone-crushingly tight embrace.

‘Hey, Taehyung. How have you been?’ I ask as he releases me, his hands still on my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, before an appreciative grin spreads across his face. I hold back from pointing out that he still has the same adorable boxy smile from high school. And then I register his bright blue hair, stifling a laugh at how eccentric he still is. ‘I’m good. You got hot, y/n!’ he exclaims, and I feel blood rushing to my face from embarrassment.

‘Thank you. But look at you! You’re so handsome, Tae,’ I grin, and he grins back with a little wink. Everything about him is just as appealing as back then. Tae was definitely a ladies’ man… and a men’s man too. He was loud and bubbly, his personality easily grabbing the attention of everyone in any room, and his laugh was crazy infectious. He was the perfect mix of cute and hot, and he’s only gotten hotter, with his manly features and strong build.

‘Thank you, babe. Come in, come in. Jimin, do you need a hand with the bags? No? Good,’ he says, not even waiting for an answer from Jimin before he drags me up towards the house, the other boy muttering behind us as I hear him pop the boot open.

The second I step over the threshold, a ball of fluff appears and begins yapping at me from behind Tae, and he bends down to pick it up. ‘y/n, this is my beloved son, Kim Yeontan, or Tannie for short,’ Taehyung says, introducing me to his little Pomeranian, who has now quietened down and is staring at me with a curious look in his eyes. ‘Hi, Tannie,’ I coo at the dog, reaching a hand out to stroke his head, and he lets me with a contented little growl low in his throat.

‘Ah, he likes you! He rarely likes strangers. Little coward,’ Taehyung says affectionately as I slip off my shoes, Jimin appearing in the doorway with my bag (a suitcase, actually – yes, I might be dying soon, but I wanna make sure I look good when I do, so I had to bring plenty of clothes) in one hand, and Coco in the other. And then the barking match starts.

Coco and Yeontan incessantly yowl and woof at each other, both of them scrabbling to get out of Jimin and Tae’s arms. And then Taehyung puts Tan down, and Tan instantly shuts up, hiding behind his dad’s legs. Jimin does the same, putting Coco down, and he tries to get Jimin to pick him up again. ‘They’re both cowards,’ I mutter with a smile as Taehyung leads us down the front hallway, Yeontan trotting along beside him as I follow behind, Coco hanging back with Jimin as he takes his shoes off and shuts the front door.

We enter the kitchen, and if it wasn’t clear from the outside of the house, it’s made clear now; this house is beautiful, and expensive. It’s roomy and spacious, modern and clean, with classy and tasteful furnishings. ‘I love your house, Tae. It’s so nice, and I love the way you’ve decorated,’ I say, and he beams at me, eyes nearly disappearing behind their lids. ‘Thank you, y/n. It was all me – Joon has no sense of decoration,’ he says, sounding genuinely touched, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at me as he walks in. ‘Look at you sucking up,’ he mutters with a grin, and Tae and I both shoot him dirty looks.

‘You want something to drink, y/n? Before we get started on the chalk?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I reply, but he’s already distracted with the list that Jimin’s put in front of him on the marble island counter. ‘Ooh, so this is the list? Let’s have a look,’ he says before reading it intently. Once he’s done, his eyes flit up to me, before flitting back down to the page.

‘Don’t take offence to this, okay?’ he says, and I already brace myself for a mocking remark. ‘Some of this stuff is, like, basic teenager stuff. How have you not done all of this already?’ he asks softly, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, I just… after high school, I drifted from the girls – I still talk to them every now and then, but it isn’t the same – and I didn’t really… make any new friends to do these kind of things with. I have my work friends, but the most I’ve ever done with them is a night out. And in high school, I guess I was… too cautious and too scared to join in on these kind of things. We went on a group trip to the beach – I was the only one that didn’t skinny dip. The end of school prank was dyeing our hair in the school toilets – I was the one of the only ones that didn’t dye mine. Everyone planned a camping trip together – I didn’t go. I was, and still am, a little… uptight, I guess? I wanted to change that this summer, but…’ I trail off, and Tae surprises me by nodding sadly.

‘Jimin told me on the phone while you were talking to your neighbour,’ he says, and I shoot Jimin a look. ‘I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have to keep telling people!’ he exclaims defensively, and I nod with a roll of my eyes, thinking his reasoning is fair enough. ‘I’m really sorry, y/n. There’s not much someone can say in these kind of situations, but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry, and that it’s so unfair,’ he says gently, and I smile sadly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

‘Now, anyway. Shall we get on with this list? I know Jimin said that we can start with chalk and ice cream, but…’ Tae says, voice a lot more cheerful as he sidles over to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, ‘I think we should dye your hair first.’ ‘Dye it?’ I say, lifting a hand to pat my hair protectively, having not yet worked up the courage. ‘Yep. I have trillions of box dyes upstairs – you can choose any colour you like,’ he says, and I look over at Jimin who grins, nodding encouragingly.

A few minutes later, I’m sat on a stool in Tae’s lavish bathroom, a towel resting over my shoulders as I inspect the boxes laid out on the counter in front of me, Taehyung and Jimin stood behind me as Coco and Tan play in Tae’s bedroom (they seem to be the best of friends now). ‘I’m thinking I shouldn’t go too wild considering it’ll be my funeral in a little while and my parents will probably want an open casket,’ I say musingly, Taehyung choking on air as Jimin holds back a smile.

‘Good idea. Maybe… highlights or ombre rather than the whole head?’ Jimin suggests, and I nod, feeling a little more at ease at not having to take the full plunge. ‘Okay… what colour then?’ Taehyung asks, and I look at all the colours. ‘Um… I don’t know. It’s really difficult,’ I say a little timidly, both boys nodding reassuringly, trying to give me a little more confident. ‘You’re right, it is difficult. How about… two platinum blonde streaks at the front of your hair?’ Taehyung asks, and I nearly choke.

‘Blonde streaks… like an e-girl?’ I ask, and Tae laughs, nodding. ‘It’s on trend, and I think you’ll be able to pull it off really well,’ Tae says thoughtfully, and whilst I’m still not convinced, Jimin nods excitedly. ‘Yes, that’d look amazing! Go on, y/n, you should!’ Jimin urges, eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I sigh before nodding with a small smile. ‘Why not? Go for it,’ I say, the two of them exchanging a grin.

Before I know it, the front sections of my hair have been bleached and foiled, and a timer has been set for 20 minutes. And Jimin is contemplating dyeing his own hair. ‘I mean, I’ve had black for so long, and I need a change, right? I’ve been wanting to go bright for a while. But do I go a natural bright, or a colourful bright?�� he muses, Tae fake yawning at him in the mirror, coaxing a giggle from me, but Jimin doesn’t notice, too busy inspecting the dye boxes.

‘If it helps, I liked it when you went blond at school. You look nice blond,’ I say, and he looks at me in the mirror with a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Bright blond, or platinum blond, or dirty blond?’ he asks, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘bright blond.’ ‘Okay, let’s go bright blond then,’ he says instantly, disappearing off to get a towel from Tae’s airing cupboard.

‘That was… interesting,’ Tae says with a smirk at me in the mirror, and I look back at him confusedly. ‘How so?’ ‘He never takes anyone’s advice when it comes to his hair dye. And he never decides that quick,’ he says, his smirk even wider, but Jimin reappears before I can reply. I try to shake off Tae’s words as Jimin looks for the right box dye.

‘Maybe I should dye my hair too,’ Tae says, looking at his blue locks in the mirror. ‘I like you with brown hair, Tae. I’d like it if you had brown hair at my funeral,’ I say, and his eyes widen slightly at the mention of it again. ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. We should all have natural colours for the funeral, out of respect,’ Jimin says, and I frown. ‘No, I don’t mind if you guys had the craziest colours ever. I just think you look so… classically handsome with brown hair, Tae,’ I say, and he looks smug at my compliment. ‘Okay,’ he grins, reaching for a box dye, Jimin and I exchanging a look in the mirror as he says, ‘guess I’m going brown then.’

‘When did you go brown, Tae? And you blond, Jimin?’ a voice suddenly says, making all three of us jump. There’s a man stood on Taehyung’s front garden, and I remember him as Jung Hoseok from school. He was cute back then, but he’s handsome now with his golden skin and his silky brown hair. ‘About… 90 minutes ago,’ Taehyung says, currently drawing what looks like a heart but could also be an alien, and Hoseok nods as though it’s perfectly normal.

‘Hey, y/n. Your hair looks nice,’ Hoseok says, shooting a heart-shaped smile at me, and I smile back. I’m still not used to my hair being blonde when it falls into my face, but it does look nice – Tae and Jimin did a good job. ‘Hey, Hoseok. Thank you. Tae and Jimin did it.’ ‘Please, call me Hobi. Anyway, how are you?’ he says before wincing, obviously already aware of my situation. Jimin really can’t keep his mouth shut. ‘I’m okay. How are you?’ I ask, and he nods, replying, ‘I’m good. Excited to work on this list.’ ‘Well, get some chalk and get your ass down here to help us,’ Jimin says from where he’s sprawled out on the gravel, drawing a dog (or attempting to, anyway).

We’ve been working on the chalk for just over an hour, listening to music from Taehyung’s speaker that’s sat in the doorway (Coco and Tan have already knocked it over several times whilst they’ve been playing). Bright chalk covers nearly all of Taehyung and Namjoon’s driveway – except for where Tae and Jimin’s cars are – rainbows, flowers, hearts, clouds surrounding us (as well as a bunny, a pineapple, a unicorn, a slice of watermelon and Jimin’s dog).

‘It looks like you’re nearly done,’ Hoseok observes, and I nod, wiping my forehead clean of sweat. ‘Yeah, we are. This isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be,’ I say frankly, the others all laughing. ‘The fun comes from taking pictures with the chalk,’ Taehyung says, and I get up instantly. ‘Okay, let’s just take pictures and then carry on with the list,’ I say, the three of them laughing again as Jimin and Taehyung get up from the floor.

Taehyung instantly goes into director mode, making me lie down in a gap in the chalk. Jimin stands over me, one foot on either side of my waist, taking pictures on both the camera and his phone whilst Taehyung directs him on how to take them and me on how to pose, Hobi using his phone torch to give us better lighting (it doesn’t make much of a difference, but he’s trying).

I start to feel a little embarrassed, wondering what we must look like to Tae’s neighbours, before I remember that life is short – mine especially – so I should make the most of it without worrying what people think of me. After a few minutes (and a few dozen pictures), I get into it a little more, and the boys all begin hyping me up, Jimin making a few flirty comments here and there.

And then Jimin joins me, Taehyung taking the camera and Hobi directing us (he’s even more… bossy than Taehyung, instructing us down to the simplest things – the positions of our fingers, the direction we look in, the angle of our heads. Everything.)

‘You guys are gonna make her regret asking for help,’ a voice comes from the driveway, all of us looking over to see Namjoon and Jungkook from school stood there, leaning against the Jimin’s car. ‘Watch the car!’ Jimin exclaims, both of them heading over. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t ask for help. Jimin forc- I mean, Jimin volunteered his help,’ I say, correcting myself when he shoots me a dirty look, the others laughing.

‘It’s good to see you guys again. Did you walk here?’ I ask, and Namjoon nods. ‘It’s good to see you too. Jungkook picked me up from work, and then we dropped his car off and walked here. We all live really close to each other. Jimin, Jungkook and Hobi live on the road up there, and Jin and Yoongi live on the road down that way,’ Namjoon points, and I nod, thinking how sweet it is that they all live so close together.

‘JK, the blue’s gonna have to go,’ Tae says to the baby of their group. He’s changed more than all of them; he still has his big eyes and his cute bunny teeth, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s so handsome, and his body is lean and tall. Not as tall as Namjoon, though; he always was tall, but he’s grown even more now, and he’s gorgeous, with his dimples and blond hair. It’s like only beautiful people are allowed in their friendship group.

‘What?’ Jungkook asks, confused, his eyes wide. ‘You need to dye your hair brown again,’ Tae says, Jungkook frowning. ‘Why? I’ve only been blue for a couple days. Don’t you like it?’ ‘It looks great, but we’re all going natural out of respect, for y/n’s funeral,’ Jimin says casually, Jungkook choking and Namjoon slapping his back with wide eyes. ‘Jimin. You can’t just drop it in like that,’ Hobi reprimands, but I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, I’d prefer if we just spoke about it normally. Anyway, you don’t have to go brown, Jungkook, it’s okay,’ I say, Jungkook nodding, still looking a little shell-shocked.

‘Can we get up now?’ I say to Hobi from where I’m lying on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin, and he shakes his head. ‘If you want to make a scrapbook, you can’t just have pictures of you and Jimin in it. You need to get pictures with all of us,’ he says simply, and I bite my tongue, knowing I’ll just have to suck it up. Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken several pictures with all of the boys, and it was a little fun, I guess. We’ll have run out of film by the end of the day at this rate.

But my head’s starting to hurt a little, and I know I can’t take anymore. ‘Can we stop now? I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, sitting up, and they all look a little worried. ‘Is it from being under the sun for so long?’ Hobi asks, nervously, but Tae speaks before I can reply; ‘no, it’s probably the hair dye.’ Jimin looks at them both incredulously. ‘I think it’s the tumour in her brain,’ he says slowly, and I can’t help but share his exasperation at their stupid suggestions, the boys all falling into a shocked silence as Jimin looks to me with thinly-veiled amusement.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Jimin, it probably is,’ I say, holding back a laugh. ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ Tae asks weakly, and I smile, shaking my head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I might just have a little lie-down, if that’s okay?’ I ask, Tae nodding straight away. ‘I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and you can have a shower, or a nap, if you want?’ Tae suggests as Hobi and Jimin help me up, my head dizzy and light, and I nod. ‘That sounds perfect.’

I blink in the slices of soft sunlight that fall between the blinds onto the bed, sitting up carefully. My head feels a lot better after that nap, which was the best nap of my life, by the way. Tae and Joon must be seriously rich, because this bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. And the room is super lavish, monochrome and clean, with a deep carpet and expensive looking furnishings. The bathroom was nice too, and I dragged out my shower a lot longer than usual, my skin smelling fresh with Tae and Namjoon’s expensive passionfruit body wash.

I slowly climb out of the bed, looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall opposite me. I still can’t get used to the hair, but it does look good. Tae has good taste, and he and Jimin put the dye in really well – the front sections of my hair are the perfect vibrant blonde. Tae put all these different haircare products in it after he washed out the dye, and it feels healthier than ever before. It’s obvious he’s dyed his hair plenty, because he’s clearly an expert. He could be a hairdresser if he wanted to.

I open my suitcase and get out a bralet to put on (my pyjamas are satin, and I’d rather not have my nipples visible through them in a room full of childhood friends I haven’t seen for years) and put it on beneath my black button-up pyjama shirt. I quickly splash some water over my face to wake myself up a little before I head downstairs, following the loud voices that lead me into the kitchen. Namjoon’s stood at the counter, making coffee, Jungkook, Jimin, Tae and Hobi sat around the breakfast bar with two new arrivals; Yoongi, and Seokjin. Seokjin literally hasn’t aged a day, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was back then, with his plump lips and swept back dark hair.

‘Sleeping beauty awakes!’ Jimin exclaims when he sees me walk in, and I smile softly, still a little sleepy. His blond hair really does look good, the perfect summer colour, and Tae’s looks really good too – the dark brown locks make him look like a model. ‘y/n! They were right, you really are gorgeous!’ Jin exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a hug, and I try to supress the embarrassment I’m feeling at them talking about me, and telling Jin I’m gorgeous. One thing I remember about Jin was that he never used to feel embarrassed, at anything. Sometimes he’d get a little shy, and his ears would go red, but he’d never hesitate to do something, even if it was embarrassing, if it would help to ease any awkwardness and make people feel comfortable.

His hugging me, despite us barely speaking when we went to school together and not having seen each other for years, is just what I need, and a perfect example of how kind Jin is.

‘Thanks, Jin, but look at you! You’re really handsome,’ I say honestly, feeling at ease after his hug, and he grins at me. ‘You didn’t call me handsome, y/n, but you called Tae and Jin handsome,’ Jimin pouts, and I roll my eyes at him. ‘She knows Tae and I are the best-looking, that’s why,’ Jin says, and Jimin scowls at him before looking back at me, still waiting for an answer. ‘Just because I didn’t say it out loud, doesn’t mean I didn’t think it,’ I say matter-of-factly, and he grins proudly. ‘What about the rest of us?’ Hobi asks, all of them flashing smiles at me, and I blink a few times. ‘You’re all handsome. Now stop smiling at me before I faint,’ I say, all of them laughing.

‘Coffee, y/n?’ Namjoon asks, but I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. Thanks, though,’ I say, and Jimin frowns. ‘y/n, it’s not like it matters,’ Jimin says, everyone wincing, and I laugh, nodding in agreement. ‘You’re right. I will have some, please, Namjoon,’ I say, everyone laughing again as Namjoon nods with a smile, getting another mug out for me. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ Tae says, patting the empty seat between him and Jungkook, and I sit in it, feeling a little self-conscious. I’m in my pyjamas, with no makeup and slight bedhead, and they’re all just… so handsome.

‘What do you guys do? For you all to be at home at… 5.38 on a Wednesday?’ I say, reading the time on the clock. I have all of the boys on social media, so I vaguely know some of what goes on in their lives, but not much. It’s hard to keep track of everyone from school. ‘Um, I own my own photography business. We do photography for weddings, parties, photo shoots, etc. and we’ve had some pretty high-profile clients, so we’re quite successful. And I do some art on the side, and some of my paintings have sold well, hence the fancy house. I get to work from home most of the time, because I mainly do editing – I’ve hired photographers, but I do a couple weddings here and there,’ Tae says, and I’m impressed, though not surprised. Tae always did have a talent for art, and he was the photographer for the school newspaper, so this career is perfect for him.

‘I own my own dance studio, and we only open on Monday and Tuesday 6-9, Thursday 3-6, and then Saturdays and Sundays,’ Hoseok says and, again, I’m not surprised; Hoseok always loved his dancing and he put more effort into dance than into his school work, but I guess it paid off.

‘I work for Hobi and Tae. I teach classes every day that it’s open, and then I do some photography work every couple weeks. And I do some shifts here and there at a tattoo shop,’ Jungkook says, and I think it’s really cute that he works for his friends, though I wonder if it sparks any arguments between them. I look at Jimin when Jungkook mentions the tattoo shop, and Jimin grins with a little nod, my stomach turning. Obviously, he was referring to where Jungkook works when he said he knew the perfect place for me to get a tattoo.

‘I do all the finances and admin and paperwork for Tae and Hobi, and I work for a small record label, producing and rapping,’ Namjoon says as he puts my coffee down in front of me, and I thank him with a smile, quite surprised to hear Namjoon’s career choice. To be fair, Namjoon excelled in all of his subjects, so he’d be good at whatever he chose to do.

‘I’m a part-time chef at this restaurant in the city, and I’m also studying to become an actor,’ Jin says, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know Jin was interested in cooking or in acting, but now that I look at him, he really does look like an actor, and I could imagine him as a chef too, with one of those big white hats.

‘I’m a barista, as you know, I teach a couple piano lessons a week, and I do some rapping and producing at the same company as Namjoon,’ Yoongi explains, and I remember how good he was at piano. He was chosen to play at one of these awards’ evenings we had at school, and we were all so impressed at how good he was. Rapping, though? I never knew he could rap.

Everyone looks at Jimin to answer, but he looks back blankly before saying, ‘I already told her my job.’ They all nod before looking back at me. ‘What do you do, y/n?’ Jin asks, and I roll my eyes. ‘I work part-time as an assistant at a law firm, and I’m studying to become a lawyer. Or I was anyway,’ I trail off, a little sad that I’ll never be able to do my dream job, and the boys all give me pitying looks. Except for Jimin, who says, ‘damn, y/n, you’re clever. Law student, huh?’ I nod with a smile, and he grins. ‘You could’ve got in on the family businesses, and done all the boring legal shit for us,’ Jimin says, and I grimace, internally endeared at him calling them the family businesses. ‘I’d have passed. Sorry,’ I say, the boys all laughing.

‘Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s carry on with your list,’ Jin says, picking it up from where it sits in the middle of the island, and I take a sip of my coffee. ‘Should I wash the chalk from your driveway?’ I ask Tae and Joon, and they both shake their heads. ‘I was about to, but Jin stopped me. He wants some pictures with you and the chalk,’ Tae says, and I let out a sigh, all them laughing. ‘We’ve literally spent all of our time on the chalk so far. Your four days are gonna fly by,’ I say to Jimin, who waves it off with an easy grin.

‘Stop trying to worry me. Four days is plenty. You go take some pictures with Jin, and Yoongi, while I set up the next thing for us to tick off,’ Jimin says, getting up and pulling me off my seat, pushing me towards the door. ‘Make sure you get plenty of good pictures,’ Jimin says to Tae with a mischievous glance at me, who nods, and I roll my eyes. ‘We’re gonna run out of film,’ I say, but Jimin shakes his head with a grin. ‘I went out whilst you were asleep and got some more supplies, including a few more boxes of film,’ he grins, and I let out a deep sigh as Tae and Jin drag me outside, Yoongi trailing behind, and Jimin waving at us from the doorway.

‘Done with your photoshoot?’ Jimin asks as we walk into the living room. ‘Yes, thank God,’ I say, throwing myself down onto the sofa. ‘Jin, you’re way too demanding. We were out there for forty-five minutes,’ Yoongi says, flopping down next to me, and Jin scowls at us from the doorway. ‘Tae wasn’t getting my angles!’ he exclaims, and Tae’s eyes widen. ‘You’re not blaming this on me. I own a photography business, so don’t accuse me of being a bad photographer,’ Tae says, Jin opening his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts; ‘don’t argue. y/n’s dying.’

They go silent, and I burst out laughing as Jimin grins at me. ‘You can’t drop that into every conversation, Jimin,’ I laugh, the others relaxing a little, and Jimin shrugs. ‘I can. Just watch. Anyway, before you get comfy, we need to go into the dining room,’ he says vaguely with a knowing grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I don’t want to, because of that look on your face,’ I say suspiciously, and he laughs. ‘Come on, y/n, we gotta tick the next thing off your list,’ Jimin says amusedly, holding a hand out to me, and I take it after a moment of hesitation, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand, dragging me behind him into the dining room, and it takes a little while for me to register what’s going on.

The table is set up with these different machines, and Jungkook sits at the table with an empty seat beside him, a lamp set up to cast a bright light onto the empty chair. And then I spot the little book on the table, sat beside a bunch of needles lined up on a small white sheet.

Jungkook’s about to give me a tattoo.

‘Oh, hell no,’ I say, turning around, but Jimin grabs me around the waist before I can walk away, picking me up and carrying me over to the door as I struggle around in his arms, the other boys watching amusedly. But Jimin’s freakishly strong, and my struggling doesn’t work. He puts me down in the empty chair, and I pout at him before looking around at the others. Tae, Jin and Yoongi are stood in one doorway, blocking it, and Namjoon and Hobi stand in the other, blocking that too. I literally cannot leave, and when I look down at the needles, my stomach turns.

‘Do you want to look through the book?’ Jungkook asks gently, and I sigh. ‘Not really,’ I say, all of them laughing as he hands me the book, and I flip through it. ‘Can you all stop looking at me? Or at least put on some music so I don’t feel so tense,’ I say, more laughter rippling around the room as Taehyung gets his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple times, gentle RnB music floating out into the room from the ceiling. They must have a built-in sound system – their house really is boujee.

I scan the book and some of the designs are cute, but none of them really stand out to me. ‘Struggling to choose one?’ Jungkook asks quietly, the others having conversations between themselves, and I nod. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows me the various tattoos that cover his arm and hand. He has a flower, a skeleton hand, the word ‘Truth’, the woozy emoji, a purple heart, a little crown and some black stripes with various numbers and letters on his hand. ‘They all stand for different things. Like, for example, this is the tiger flower, which is my birth flower, and the letters all stand for the guys. So you could get some that are meaningful to you, or you could just get something that you think looks pretty. It’s up to you,’ he says, and I nod, thinking.

I decide on getting my birth flower, a little bolt of lightning and my parents’ initials. ‘Why don’t you get something summer related?’ Jimin suggests softly, and I think before nodding. ‘Like… the sun, or something?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. You could get a picture or a quote, anything you want. It’s up to you, y/n. It’s your body,’ he says, and I nod, thinking about the first idea I had for a tattoo when I wrote that list. ‘How about ‘we’ll always have summer’… or is that silly?’ I ask, and Jungkook shakes his head straight away.

‘Of course it isn’t silly,’ he says, but Jimin looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Who’s we?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘I don’t know. A general ‘we’, I guess? Like… as bleak as life gets, as boring, as sad, as hard as life is, there’s always the hope, the promise, the excitement of summer. So no matter what happens, we’ll always have summer,’ I explain, Jungkook’s eyes widening, and Jimin nodding at me with a small smile. ‘Wow, that’s so deep, y/n. You’re so clever,’ Jungkook says, and I laugh, waving it off.

‘Have you decided yet?’ Hobi asks, and I nod, feeling a little nervous. ‘I’m getting my birth flower, a bolt of lightning, my parents’ initials, and ‘we’ll always have summer’. What do you think?’ I ask, and Hobi smiles, looking impressed. ‘You’re getting four?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Might as well.’ ‘Where do you want them?’ Jungkook asks, and I hesitate. ‘Where does it hurt least?’ ‘Your ass,’ Jimin says with a grin, and I swat at him whilst the others all laugh. ‘The least painful is usually your back, the outside of your arms, the inside of your forearm and the outsides of your thighs. Hands aren’t too bad, and nor are shoulders,’ Jungkook explains.

After a lot of deliberation, we make the decision as a group of where I should have them; birth flower on my inner forearm, my parents’ initials on my right ring finger, the lightning bolt on the side of my ribcage/side-boob, and the quote on the back of my left shoulder. ‘How long will it take, Jungkook?’ I ask as Jungkook sets up all his equipment, the others arguing about what we should have for dinner. ‘Please, call me JK, or Kook, or whatever. And, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, because they’re all quite small. The quote will take the longest, and I can usually do quotes in an hour and a half, so I’d say… three hours, maybe three and a half?’ he says, and I feel dread at the thought of being in pain for that long. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

‘Are you still not done?’ Taehyung demands as he enters the room, Jungkook’s eyes still fixed on my finger as he sighs. ‘Relax, I’m doing the last one now. I’ll be done in a few minutes,’ he says, and Tae huffs. ‘You’re taking ages. We want to do the next thing on her list.’ ‘Don’t rush me, Tae. Tattooing is an art,’ Jungkook says calmly, Tae rolling his eyes from behind Jungkook’s back, and I hold back a laugh.

It actually wasn’t that painful, surprisingly. The worst thing was having to stay still for so long. He started with my birth flower, and it was fascinating to watch the ink appear on my skin, at first. The fascination soon wore off, and I was itching to move, but I knew I’d just ruin it if I did.

Then he moved onto the quote. I had to tie my hair up into a bun and sit backwards on a chair whilst he did it, and Jimin fed me some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, keeping me entertained with his stupid antics. Jin tried to feed Jungkook, but when he choked Jungkook with a chopstick, Jungkook decided he’d just eat afterwards.

And then he did my lightning bolt. I had to take off my top and unclasp my bra, holding it in place with my arm out of the way so Jungkook could get to my side-boob easily, and I told the boys that none of them could come in whilst he was doing that one, because the bra kept slipping. Jungkook was very professional though, and I can’t even imagine how many boobs he’s seen over his time working as a tattoo artist.

And now he’s doing my fingers. I’m used to the stinging pain now, and I’m very proud of myself for not crying. Tae shows me some funny videos on his phone whilst Jungkook carries on with the tattoo. ‘And… done!’ he exclaims, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. I look at my hand, pleased with how the tattoo looks. ‘Thank you, JK, it’s great.’ ‘No problem. Right… let me give you the aftercare speech,’ he says as he begins to put the weird jelly stuff and a bandage onto my finger. It’s weird how professional he is – I saw him passed out drunk at house parties more times than I can remember, and now he’s giving me tattoos and telling me how to look after them properly.

‘Don’t remove these bandages for 24 hours, and when you do, wash the tattoos, gently, with an unscented soap and water, and pat it dry afterwards. Put on some of this ointment twice a day, if you can, but you don’t need to put on another bandage. Wash them a few times a day, gently, with unscented soap and water, and always pat them dry, and then put on an unscented sensitive skin moisturiser. Obviously, you’re going to tick those things off your bucket list, and I’m sure a couple involve being in the water and sun. We usually advise against being in the water and sun, but obviously, you’re not going to do that, so just don’t be in the sun for too long, and put plasters over them when you go in the water, to try and stop them being infected. It’s not really that big of a deal if they do get infected because…’ ‘I’m dying anyway.’ ‘Yeah, that. So don’t worry about it too much, but just try your best to be careful with them. Oh, and don’t go into hot water, if you can help it. Have cool showers, and not for too long, either. I think that’s it, but if you have any questions, just get my number from Jimin and text or call me. Do you have any questions now?’

‘Only one; would you rather I transferred you the money, or do you want cash?’ ‘y/n, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not charging you,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I frown. ‘Jungkook.’ ‘No, y/n, I’m not taking money from you.’ ‘Why not? I haven’t got anything else to spend it on, remember? And it’s taken you ages!’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any money from you, and that’s it. I do free tattoos for the boys all the time – Jimin’s got several from me. Just see it as a gift from an old friend,’ he says simply, with a grin, and I can’t help the small smile on my face. ‘Thank you, JK,’ I say, and he grins even wider, his cute little bunny teeth on display. ‘No problem, y/n.’

‘Are you done now? Can we move on to the next thing?’ Tae says excitedly, Jungkook nodding with a laugh at his eagerness. ‘Come on, then,’ Tae says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, dragging me out of the dining room. He leads me towards the back door, pushing it open and moving aside to let me out first, and I gasp when I see the garden. ‘I know it’s not that big but it’s the best I could do,’ Jimin says as I slip on the sliders that he puts down on the floor in front of me, stepping out onto the light wood decking.

Tae and Namjoon’s garden is beautiful – it’s obvious at least one of the two loves gardening. The decking has steps down onto the grass which is healthy and neat, a dark, rich green, and there are trees and flowers of all different colours lining the light wood fence that runs around the garden. Fairy lights are strung up around the fence, casting a warm yellow glow across the space and there’s a fire pit in the middle of the garden, a small fire inside it with a garden furniture set placed around it, four armchairs and two two-seaters.

‘Oh, my God, this is great! Did you already have a fire pit?’ I ask Tae who shakes his head. ‘Jimin went out to buy one earlier,’ he says, and I look to Jimin with a frown. ‘You shouldn’t have. Let me give you the money for it,’ I say, and he shakes his head before I even finish speaking. ‘I don’t think so. Come on,’ he says, holding out an arm to me, and I take it with a begrudging smile. He leads me down the decking steps, across the grass to the bonfire and he sits down in an armchair as I sit in the two-seater beside it, Tae and JK following behind, the leftovers of the Chinese food in Jungkook’s hands.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, and Jimin looks a little sheepish. ‘I, um, went to get supplies when you were sleeping, right? Well, I bought the fire pit, but I forgot all the other stuff,’ he explains, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, and I hold back a laugh. ‘What other stuff?’ I ask, just as Jin and Hobi appear through the back door. ‘The biscuits, the chocolate, the marshmallows, the roasting sticks. Everything else,’ Jin says exasperatedly, the two of them coming to join us.

‘Where are the other two?’ Tae asks as they take their seats, Jin taking a prawn cracker from Jungkook’s lap, the boy shooting him a dirty look. ‘Putting the stuff onto plates for us, because a couple of us are too messy and, apparently, we’ll drop melted marshmallows and chocolate onto the grass and ruin it,’ Hobi says with a roll of his eyes, and I have a feeling he’s quoting Namjoon. ‘Am I wrong, though? There’s still the patch of grass that’s discoloured after Jimin spilled beer on it!’ Namjoon exclaims, holding blankets in his arms, Yoongi following behind with a tray in his hands, paper plates atop the tray. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for ruining your grass before you forget?’ Jimin asks tiredly as Namjoon and Yoongi take their seats, and Namjoon gives him a hard look. ‘As many times as it takes for the grass to return to its proper colour,’ Namjoon says, and I can feel an argument brewing so I quickly change the subject.

‘Shall we get a picture?’ I ask, not realising that another argument is about to start, over who’s going to take the picture. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been arguing for five minutes! Just let me take the picture!’ Yoongi exclaims (after five minutes of arguing), his annoyance only half-hearted, and I pout. ‘No, Yoongi, I want you in the picture. I want us all in the picture,’ I say, Jin sighing and grabbing his temples before sending Namjoon to ask their nice neighbour, Mr Lee. I feel bad for disturbing him at 9.09pm on a Wednesday, but they insist. It’s more than a little awkward when he starts asking questions and Jimin says with a grin, ‘we’re ticking off y/n’s summer bucket list because she’s got a brain tumour and she’s going to die in a week.’ It’s like he can’t take the pictures quick enough after that, practically sprinting out of the garden once he’s done.

Yoongi gives us all our plates, Jungkook balancing his on one knee whilst he eats his Chinese food, and I feel pretty stupid when all of them instantly know how to put their s’mores together. ‘Have you never had s’mores before?’ Jimin asks, and I shake my head sheepishly. ‘Here, let me show you. You gotta just put a marshmallow on a stick,’ he says, and I copy the way he spears it on the stick. ‘Then you hold it over the fire for a little while, until it goes a bit brown, and then turn it over the other way,’ he says, holding his stick over the fire, and I do the same, turning it the other way once it’s browned a little. ‘And then you get a piece of chocolate and put it on top of a biscuit. And then you put the marshmallow on top of that. And then you put a piece of chocolate on top of the marshmallow, and another biscuit on top of the chocolate. Then you take it off the stick and… you got your s’more!’ he says, holding his s’more up with a flourish. It looks a lot neater than mine, but I’m still proud of myself for managing to not set fire to anything. ‘Just wait a little for it to cool down. Kook learned that the hard way,’ Jimin says pointedly, the other boy pursing his lips embarrassedly as we all laugh.

The sky is still high and light with clouds, though the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon a pale white circle against the soft blue. The air is still warm, but not with the humidity of earlier today, a cool tinge to the breeze that glides across my skin. It’s the perfect summer evening, made even better by the light conversations we have and the alcohol that Taehyung brings out for us – Jimin, Yoongi and Jin drink their soju like it’s going out of fashion, Jungkook, Namjoon and Hobi nursing beers instead whilst Tae and I sip on our Malibu and coke (very little Malibu actually in it). The s’mores are amazing, the warm gooey marshmallow, rich melty chocolate and crunchy sweet biscuits a perfect combination – whoever came up with s’mores is an actual genius.

‘Do you want some more s’mores, y/n?’ Hobi asks once my plate is empty, and I groan, the boys all laughing. ‘I think I’ll explode if I have another. I’ve eaten more today than I have in the last week,’ I say, clutching my stomach. ‘I’ll have one, Hobi,’ Jungkook says with a cheeky grin, and Hobi shoots him a glare, no real venom in it. ‘Get yourself one.’ ‘You offered to y/n!’ ‘You’re not dying in a week,’ Hobi says, eyes instantly flitting to me to see if I mind, but I’m already bursting into laughter, my head falling onto Jin’s shoulder which is shaking from his laughter too.

‘Are we terrible for joking about death?’ Jungkook says once we’ve all calmed down, and I sigh. A cold breeze rushes past us, biting at my skin, and I shiver, pulling my blanket closer around me and shuffling forward in my seat so I sit closer to the bonfire. It’s gotten so much cooler so quickly, all of us wrapped up in blankets. ‘What can we do but joke about it? I think I’d cry if we didn’t,’ I say into the silence, the boys all just listening as I stare into the flickering flames, deeply inhaling the smoky scent in the air.

‘It still doesn’t feel real. How do you prepare yourself for death?’ I ask, voice a little shaky, and Jin puts a hand on my shoulder gently. ‘I wish we could tell you, y/n, and make it easier for you, but it will never be easy to see someone of your age die. Old people, who have lived their lives, they can prepare for death. I don’t think you can. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. We all are,’ he says softly, his kind words bringing a sad smile to my face. ‘Thank you. Thank you all, for doing all this today, and Namjoon and Taehyung, for opening your home to me,’ I say, all of them reflecting my sad smile back at me.

‘We’d have done it even if you weren’t dying, y/n. Please, don’t think we’re only doing this because you’re dying. We’ve all known each other since we were kids. And look at all you did for us. We’d have done all of this for you regardless of your health if you asked us to,’ Namjoon says, and I look at him in confusion, wondering what he means. ‘What did I do for all of you?’ ‘We were talking about this whilst you were asleep. Remember when I was riding my bike past your house, and I fell off it?’ Namjoon asks, the others laughing at the mention, and all of a sudden, a memory I didn’t even know I had appears in my mind.

We must’ve been around 7; I don’t remember what I was doing, but I saw Namjoon on the floor outside of my house through the window, clutching onto his knee with his bike beside him. I ran and got the plasters from where they were in one of the kitchen cupboards, and practically sprinted outside. I sat down on the floor beside Namjoon, and there were tears in his eyes, and his knee was bloody. Not knowing that you’re supposed to clean a cut and disinfect it, I’d just put a plaster on for him, and then my parents saw what was going on, and took Namjoon inside to properly clean the cut, me following them in with his bike in my arms, and then they phoned his mum to let her know what had happened. Our school was a tight knit community and all the parents were friends with each other – they all had each other’s phone numbers.

‘How do you remember that?’ I ask, smiling at the memory, and he grins. ‘It’s the first act of kindness I remember experiencing. And it might have been simple, but it taught me to be kind, and do things for people when I didn’t have to, because that’s what you did for me,’ he says, and then all of the boys share the stories of things I did for them over the years we went to school together.

For Jin, I’d lost one of his crayons and then I’d brought in a whole new pack for him. When his mum mentioned it to my parents and thanked them for buying Jin a new pack, they’d had been confused; they hadn’t bought a new set of crayons. I’d taken in one of my own sets for him without telling them. Jin brought it into school every day and shared it with me and only me, and wrote both of our names on the packaging so that everyone would know that they belonged to the both of us.

For Yoongi, I’d recorded his piano performance at the awards’ evening because I’d overheard his mum saying she’d forgotten her video camera at home and didn’t have a smart phone to record it on. I’d sent it to him that night, letting him know why I’d recorded it, and he’d thanked me before showing his mum. I never knew this at the time, but apparently she was so happy that she cried, and made Yoongi give me a present to thank me. I didn’t know that Yoongi was the one who put the thank you card in my locker with a necklace in it a couple weeks later – he’d been too shy to give it to me face to face (I’d been so confused, wondering who was thanking me and for what). I still wear the necklace sometimes – it’s a silver chain with a little butterfly pendant that rests between my collarbones.

For Hobi, I’d spotted a random bag in the school car park, and checked the belongings to see that it was Hobi’s – his wallet had been in there, along with a load of money and some dance clothes. I’d brought it in the next day and gave it to him, and he’d thanked me profusely. What I didn’t know at the time was that his mum had worked multiple jobs in order to fund his dancing, including buying him all that dance gear, and that he’d thought that someone would’ve stolen it all because they were worth a lot, as well as stealing his wallet. But instead, it’d been returned back to him, with everything still in there.

For Taehyung, I’d been the only one to say I liked his drawing, back when we were little kids. It was of a little alien cartoon character, with a heart shaped head (the same thing he’d been drawing in chalk on the driveway earlier), and everyone else laughed at him and called it silly and said it looked nothing like the real cartoon. But when I told him it was nice and that I thought it was really good, it made him want to draw it more, before he started drawing other things too, and his passion for art had been sparked, all because of a little compliment from me when we could barely write our names.

For Jungkook, I’d been helping clean Dahyun’s house after her house party, and I found him passed out in the upstairs bathroom. I got Dahyun to help me get him into my car, drove him home (I knew his address from a party he’d had once), used his house keys to get him in his house, helped him lie down on the sofa, forced him to drink some water and then left a note beside a full bottle of water to letting him know who’d dropped him off at home. And then I’d locked up after myself and posted the keys through the letterbox. His mum had phoned my parents the next day to thank me profusely, and brought over some cupcakes – they were amazing, by the way.

And for Jimin, maybe the most important of them all – I’d done my end-of-year presentation on eating disorders. We had to do the presentations for our language grade, to show that we could speak with fluency and precision and accuracy, and we were told to do it on an interesting topic so that we would be motivated to write an engaging presentation. Almost everyone else did theirs on superficial things, like their hobby or their favourite celebrity. Mine was one of the only serious ones. Everyone had praised mine – I always was good at language – and I got one of the highest two grades (Namjoon and I competed for the top of the class in every lesson we had together). But what I didn’t know was that, thanks to my presentation, Jimin realised he had an eating disorder. He was virtually starving himself, not eating for days at a time, whilst over exercising, because he hated the way his body looked. And because of the helplines and websites I put at the end of the presentation, he sought help, and spoke to his parents about it. He went to the doctor with his mother, and they put him on a diet plan to get him back to being healthy. I helped him to be healthy again.

My eyes are teary when Jimin finishes speaking. I’m so touched that he remembers, that they all remember the acts of kindness I did for them. And whilst Jimin’s was unintentional, it was still so important, and I’m proud of young me for deciding to do her presentation on a serious topic. I’m proud of her for being such a kind person all the time. This truly is karma – I did these nice things for them back then and they’re repaying that kindness back to me when I need it most. And then I realise why Jimin was so desperate to help me – he just wants to help me like I helped him.

‘So, really, y/n, don’t thank us. We owe you,’ Namjoon says, all of them nodding in agreement, and I beam at them, tears beginning to spill down my face. ‘Don’t cry, because you’ll make me cry!’ Jungkook shrieks, all of us laughing as Jin hands me a tissue, and I dab the tears away. ‘God, what’s wrong with me? I never cry this much usually,’ I say embarrassedly, and Jimin grins. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about crying. I think I’d have cried out all of the water in my body if I were you,’ Jimin says, coaxing a laugh from me. ‘Me, too,’ Jungkook says, sniffling a little, and we all burst into laughter when we see that his eyes are full of tears. ‘My God,’ Jin says, his lip curled up in mock disgust, ‘you really are a cry baby.’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Jungkook asks defensively, wiping his eyes, and Jin’s eyes widen. ‘Yes! You’re not the one dying!’ he exclaims, setting the rest of us off again, our laughter carrying in the cool summer air.

[ivegotthefanficinme]

Freedom Part 6 Mandalorian X Reader

Summary: An escaped slave owned by the Hutt clan, with the knowledge of dark clan secrets.  A bounty is set and the best hunter in the parsec is hired, The Mandalorian. Two vastly different paths cross. Both are scarred physically and mentally by their past. Can they ever truly be free? *SLOW BURN*

Warnings: Blood, Mentions of slavery, PTSD, Rape implications, FLUFF, Language, SOFT!Mando

Word Count: 1.8K

******This chapter contains sensitive content about a sexual assault. Please read at your own risk. If you have experienced something like this, please do not be afraid to reach out and get help. There are so many services that exist to help others get back on their feet after a traumatic experience.

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 (You are Here), Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

As Mando starts to lift his helmet off, you shut your eyes and turn away from him. 

“Mando…” you sigh. 

“Y/N,” a hoarse and broken voice comes from behind you, “Y/N please turn around.”

“I will not let you break your creed in this state. You might regret it later.”

“It’s the creed or my life right now…” he says, pained. “You and the child need me too much. I know that… now a least.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. Without the modulator, it was deep, almost melodic, and laced with so much more emotion than you could have ever thought him capable.

“You’re delirious, Mando. From pain, from blood loss. You almost died!”

You hear him shifting on the bed, he groans in pain.

“And I need your help…”

“And I refuse to give it to you… because it would destroy the life you have chosen to live. I can’t carry that blame,” you breathe.

Suddenly an arm snakes around your waist, you flinch and shrink away.

He stops, dead in his tracks, finally coming to a realization that he should have come to long ago.

“Are you afraid?” He asks, his soft voice coming from just behind you. 

“It’s just… it’s just how my body reacts. Touches… especially from others, have not always been gentle,” you say, your heart rate quickening.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” once more two arms wrap around your waist.

“Mando, I don’t-” You are suddenly cut off as your back is pressed against his chest.

Your chest heaves, your body trembling in his arms.

Something warm is set on your shoulder and you feel hot breath on your neck.

Memories, terrible memories come flooding back to you. 

“Please, Mando don’t.” You struggle in his grip, fear starting to build up inside you.

You can barely get enough air, your lungs are screaming even though you breathe in quick gasps.

Your mind has thrown you to that night, the night when you decided you had to leave. The night you decided you had to escape even though it had been nearly a cycle before you had managed to achieve that goal. A night you had shoved down into the deepest, darkest depths of your memory and left there. 

But now? Now it all comes flooding back to you.

Mando’s arms around your waist become his, tight, suffocating. You can almost feel the bruises that he had left on you when he was done. You could feel the blood dripping down your back after he had punished you for not satisfying him. 

Your tears run down your face like they had that night. The cold beskar pressed against you was like the cold floor had been underneath you when you were sprawled out, used, beaten, and broken.

“Let go! Please, let me go!” It was him. He had his arms around you again. This time he would do as he promised. 

“Next time you disappoint me, I will kill you. Slowly, painfully. And I’ll enjoy it.”

“Y/N…” A voice calls out to you. “Y/N, calm down, what’s wrong? What is it?”

The grip around your waist releases and you feel yourself turned around. As if on cue your body drops you to your knees. With your head bowed, you keep your eyes shut tight. You don’t even remember why anymore, but you kneel there trembling, soft sobs occasionally escaping from your lips.

You flinch when you feel a bare hand gently press against your cheek.

“I think we are both a bit delirious,” a deep, but soft voice says. 

“Please just don’t kill me…” You shudder. 

“Y/N… Y/N open your eyes. It’s me, you are safe.”

You shake your head, “I’m not safe, I’m never safe from them. From him.”

Now you feel hands pressed against both of your cheeks.

“Please.”

“I can’t,” you shudder.

You set your hands on Mando’s forearms, grasping them tightly, trying to ground yourself.

It’s like you can feel his rough hands grabbing at your body. The cold chains clasped around your wrists, restraining you, keeping you from fighting back or escaping.

The memory of your legs being pushed apart, drifting in and out of consciousness as the horrific events take place, plays at the forefront of your mind.

“He has me, I can’t escape!”

“Y/N, please. Whatever memory you are stuck in, you have to open your eyes. It will go away. Please, I’m here. It’s me. It’s Mando… It’s Din.”

He brushes your cheeks with his thumbs, gently, with more care than he has ever shown anyone, save for the child, before. 

You slowly open your eyes, blinking away the clouds of tears that had filled your eyes. They slide down your cheeks but are quickly wiped away by Mando’s calloused thumbs.

Your gaze settles on the man in front of you. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead with blood and sweat. Dried blood leaves stripes down his face. His chapped lips are parted as he breathes shallowly, his soft brown eyes search yours for something, anything.

He leans in, bringing your face closer to his at the same time. He sets his clammy forehead against yours.

Somehow the simple action breaks you from the spiral you had been in. His eyes slide closed in front of you as he revels in this moment.

Suddenly you come to your senses, “Shit Mando! Your creed!” You pull away from him. 

“It’s Din. My name is Din Djarrin. And the creed?” He shakes his head, wincing slightly. “You are as close to a partner as I will ever get, so don’t worry about the creed.”

You just stare at him, confused.

“Three months ago I chose not to collect a bounty on you. And since then… I’ve developed… feelings, I guess. You,” he takes your hand in his, “Are my partner, you are essentially the mother of the foundling in my care now. The creed makes exceptions.”

You shake your head, “I can’t-”

Din places his finger against your lips, shushing you, “Just hush and help me get this cleaned up, alright?”

You rise to your feet, helping Din stand. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how I made it over to you,” he grunts as you help him limp back to the cot. 

He sits down and you climb up on the bed and crawl up behind him so you can look at the wound. 

His hair is soft between your fingertips as you slowly comb through it trying to find the origin of the blood.

You feel him flinch in pain when you find it. 

“It’s just a really nasty scrape where your head connected with your helmet,” you sigh in relief yourself.

You clean the wound carefully and then spray a thin layer of bacta on it. Quickly, you wrap a bandage around his head. 

You gently set your hands on his shoulders as you sit back on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. 

He turns around on the bed, looking you over for a moment. Your hair was a mess, your eyes puffed with redness, you looked like hell, and yet he still thought that you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, ever since the first day with you on the Razor Crest.

“I never asked because I didn’t think it would ever be necessary information. But now I know how important it is…” he pauses, his voice soft, “What happened to you Y/N?”

You sit in silence for a moment, about to answer but Din speaks again.

“I had… I know that something happened… I know that it was terrible for you. But, what did they do to you?”

You scoot to one end of the bed sitting cross-legged, inviting him to sit across from you. He moves, groaning slightly from the wound on his side.

He takes your hands, holding them gently in his own.

“Mando… Din, why now? After all these months,” you sigh.

“Because I almost died… again. And I’m coming to realize that I don’t have forever left, and that I don’t have to be a bounty hunter forever,” he pauses, “This family, this pieced together family… It’s something I didn’t know I wanted, needed. You, and the child, are everything to me.”

You sit there in silent shock. Surprised that the feelings that you had hidden were returned.

You stared at the man in front of you, a stark difference from the cold, stoic Mandalorian you had met a few months ago.

“You want to know what happened?” You ask.

He nods, his eyes pleading with you.

“Close to six cycles ago, I was taken from my home on Coruscant. Kidnapped, and I found myself stuck in the slave trafficking world,” you pause, you could still feel the chill of the cold lonely nights in your cell, “I was sold to the Hutt clan for no small amount. I was worth more because I was… pure.”

“I was branded, cursed to forever wear that wretched symbol on my body. They put me in chains, forced me to wear clothing that barely covered me, and made me lounge with Limax Hutt while he had visiters… and when he didn’t.”

“That slimy piece of shi-”

You shake your head, “Yes, that he is. But he was only interested in touch and... admiring me. Treated me like his pet. He never… violated me. No, that job was solely that of his chief advisor and ex imp officer, Grahvix.”

You look down, avoiding Din’s eyes, “He raped me on more than one occasion. Every scar I wear is thanks to him. Every nightmare or flashback is of him. That sorry excuse for a man used me, beat me, and broke me.”

Din is silent, watching the tears well up in your eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Din. I’m not… I’m not perfect. I can’t imagine that you would want someone who wears the brand of their previous master,” you say, broken. Even after being away this long, Grahvix could still control your life. 

“Hey,” he ever so gently lifts your chin up so you can meet his eyes, ”I am not your master, so I don’t care about the brand. I care about you.”

His fingertips leave you and he holds his arms open wide. “Touch is your choice, and when you are ready.”

You stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to do. On a whim, you dive into his embrace.

“What about the bounty?” You mumble, face pressed against his chest.

“The bounty can wait,” he sighs as he wraps his arms around you.

You release the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. 

“You’re safe with me, always,” Din whispers.

And for the first time, in a very long time, someone held you. He held you with more love and care than you had ever experienced. With his strong arms around you, your face buried in the crook of his neck, you felt safe.

To be continued.....

Thanks for reading! Comment if you want to be added to the tag list, and let me know what you thought of this chapter! Gotta love some soft Mando! ...Dudes its part 6 and they still haven’t kissed yet... Also ****Limax is not a cannon Hutt, he is solely my creation as is Grahvix (timeline issues). TBH Limax is the Latin word for a slug.

Tags:

@lokilover-39 @fleurdemiel145 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @just-a-casual-fangirl-011 @70sgubler @pascalisthepunkest @ispilledmyink @imaginebeinlovedbyme @fastidious-and-a-mess @taman-a @yumisaru @whos-too-bi @frantheseer

[louiserandom]

old friends and new companions

for: @greeneyedtrickster :3 the formatting for the ask reply got wonky so i’m reposting it like this :D Hope you like it :3

Rating: T

Pairing: Jiraiya/Tsunade

Summary: Jiraiya is reckless and a bit of an idiot.

Orochimaru, too, is reckless but by no means lacks intelligence.

Tsunade is just done. So done.

A/N: alternatively, the latest of the Bizarre Adventures of the Legendary Sannin :D I took so many creative liberties in this lol and I hope it turned out fine. Enjoy!

Read on AO3 or under the cut :3

“Care to explain why you didn’t wait for backup like we told you to?” Tsunade demands, bandaging the worst of Jiraiya’s wounds perhaps a little too harshly.

“He’s an idiot,” Orochimaru replies helpfully from where he’s lounging on the other side of the cave.

“Hey!”

“I know.” Tsunade sighs, iryo chakra pooling out of her hands onto Jiraiya’s other injuries.

“I’d have liked to see you face off against that monster, dumbass!” Jiraiya growls, trying to sit up from his makeshift sickbed, a deathbed not two minutes earlier, but Tsunade forcefully restrains him, hitting him lightly over the head for good measure.

“I will,” Orochimaru says sweetly, “and unlike some people, I’m not going to behave like a suicidal moron.”

Jiraiya huffs but holds back his explosive retort, conceding the fairly good point. Perhaps facing off a giant disgruntled leech with a Noh mask wasn’t the best idea when he was wounded and stranded in the outskirts of Sky Country.

“I knew you’d still be busy with that platoon and I was tired of lying in wait,” he grumbles his admittedly poor excuse, “and that creepy guy controlling that monster was right there! So I thought, why not? Two birds, one kunai.”

“Did you actually attack with just the one kunai?” Orochimaru asks, eyeing the many, many wounds Jiraiya is sporting.

Orochimaru dodges the shuriken his friend flings his way, smirking when Tsunade gives Jiraiya her signature glare, making him wilt. Both of them know too well the pain that befalls those who don’t heed Tsunade’s first warning before she gets annoyed enough to inflict punishment.

“Anyway,” Jiraiya says with a put-upon sigh, “the man’s dead. The beast is wounded but I have no idea how fast it heals. So that’s still half the job done for us.”

“Yes, us,” Tsunade says firmly. “We’ll face whatever that thing is together,” she emphasizes the word with a meaningful look at Orochimaru, “so I don’t have to bring anyone back from the brink of death again. That seriously pisses me off.”

Orochimaru blinks, feigning innocence. “What? Why are you looking at me?”

“Maybe I’m well aware I’m the only one on our team with an actual self-preservation instinct.”

“Questionable. But even if that’s true, I at least have more than a modicum of intelligence… unlike some people.”

And now it’s Orochimaru’s turn to withstand Tsunade’s death threat of a glare. As well as an unnecessarily complicated set of rude gestures from Jiraiya, presumably depicting the physical harm he plans to inflict on Orochimaru once he’s completely healed.  

Orochimaru rolls his eyes and presses his palm to his chest. “Fine. I promise not to go out to kill the monster by myself.”

Tsunade eyes him suspiciously, wondering if she should make him solemnly swear by his experiments. But, she supposes, there’s probably nothing in existence that Orochimaru holds sacred, so she simply nods and sends a quick prayer to the gods for patience, if nothing else.

She returns to the task at hand, touching up and cleaning the last of the injuries, now healed enough to become yet another set of scars adorning Jiraiya’s arms and chest, some of them crawling dangerously close to his heart. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, finally out of the sickening mental loop of fearing yet another loved one’s death. Jiraiya’s usual quips and one-liners help lighten the mood as she works, but just to be contrary, Tsunade doesn’t give him the courtesy of a smile.

“Here.” She cuts off Jiraiya’s ramblings that were just on the verge of straying into the perverted territory, offering him the medicine he so abhors taking. Predictably, his face twists in a grimace and he tries his best to keep himself from pouting, with little success. “Just a couple of hours of sleep, and your chakra will be replenished. Drink up.”

Jiraiya crosses his arms. “It tastes sour.”

“Oh?” Tsunade raises an eyebrow. “You know what else will taste sour? The disgusting, humiliating taste of defeat if you decide to do this the long way and we end up wasting so much time that the monster gets away from us. Again.”

Another fair point, Jiraiya supposes, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

“Do I get a kiss from the beautiful lady for my heroism despite the many trials and tribulations?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. “And what’s my grand prize once we get home victorious?”

Tsunade rolls her eyes. “The prize of one kiss, knucklehead, will be bestowed upon your brow only once you’ve proved you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Oh, come on!” Jiraiya whines, ignoring Orochimaru’s unnecessarily dramatic sigh as he promptly leaves the cavern muttering something about ‘keeping it the fucking bedroom.’

“You knew the consequences.”

“I didn’t! Tsuna, look, I underestimated the wound I got from the battle up north, yeah, fine—but if not for that, I would have won!”

“And once you see the lack of logic in that statement,” Tsunade says with a derisive look that’s very much uncalled for, “I’ll see about that kiss.”

“And the victory sex?” Jiraiya says, because being a little shit never fails to make Tsunade smile.

He’s not wrong. It’s a beautiful smile, despite the exasperation on her face. Her shoulders have finally relaxed, and her hands have stopped shaking, and that’s all Jiraiya needs for now.

“Stop bringing up sex to annoy Orochimaru,” Tsunade cuts the fun short. “And drink.”

Not masking his displeasure, Jiraiya downs the disgusting potion in one go, and instantly feels the familiar, debilitating drowsiness settling in. He groans. The world dulls, then sinks as he flops onto his back, everything blurring into a mesh of colorful blobs. He can only just make out Tsunade standing up from where she was kneeling in front of him to go somewhere out of sight—which is unacceptable, really.

“Hey,” Jiraiya tries, willing his eyes to stay open, “wait, don’t leave…”

“I’m not leaving, silly.”

Warm arms cradle his head and Jiraiya suddenly finds himself lying on Tsunade’s lap, her presence soft and comfortable, radiating warm, lively, calming energy he’s grown to love so, so much.

“Tell me again,” he whispers, snuggling up to her.

“I’m right here.” Jiraiya isn’t sure whether it’s his imagination or not when he feels the faint press of warm lips against his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mm,” he protests, “not what I wanna hear.”

A chuckle. A playful nudge. Jiraiya’s sure he’s grinning like an idiot, what with his eyes closed and his muscles relaxing steadily with each second.

“Maybe I’d like to hear it from you first,” Tsunade says.

“Hm. You know I love you,” Jiraiya says, barely holding on to consciousness as the dreamless chemical-induced sleep fights to drag him under.

“Well.” Another dream-like kiss, to his lips this time. “You know I love you too.”

It’s the last thing Jiraiya hears before he sleeps.

He awakens to the dawn light grazing his eyelids and gasps for breath as the adrenaline from that weird fucking potion rushes through his veins, making his heart beat at twice its normal rate.

Ugh, he thinks, at least my chakra’s back to normal.

Jiraiya sits up, stretching his arms and relaxing the muscles that yearn to hit something, happy to see all his injuries completely healed—thanks to the genius lying beside him.

He smiles as he watches Tsunade, completely relaxed for once, sleeping on her side with her hair undone and a slight smile curling her lips. This despite her own injuries that Jiraiya only now notices she didn’t bother to heal; minor cuts and bruises that she always dismisses because she cares too much about her best friend and lover to notice her own pains. And despite the battle-worn clothes, streaked with blood and grime, and singed in some places because apparently the Sky shinobi she and Orochimaru fought were uncannily skilled in Fire Release—bathed in the burgeoning sunlight, she looks beautiful.

He wishes sorely that he didn’t have to wake her up. But a few minutes is all they should be able to spare at this point.

“Oi, snake boy,” he calls to where Orochimaru is sitting near the entrance.

“Call me that one more time,” Orochimaru says, turning around to glare at him, “and I’ll feed you to one of my summons.”

“Yeah, yeah, same threat, different decade,” Jiraiya says, standing up and looking for the storage scroll with his change of clothes. “You ready to tackle that monster thing? You have that seal for tracking it down, right?”

“One you didn’t need apparently, because of your dumb luck,” Orochimaru says, tone tinged with irritation. “But actually,” he announces, standing up to face Jiraiya, “we’re not going anywhere.”

“Huh?”

Jiraiya tenses once the Shadow Clone before him dissipates and the real Orochimaru (hopefully) shunshins near the entrance.

“You left a clone to keep guard, you dumbass? What if—what if it…” It’s then that Jiraiya notices what—or who, he really is uncertain at this point—Orochimaru is holding in his arms. “Orochimaru, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”

The scream has Tsunade awake and already forming hand signs before she realizes there’s no intruder.

Well.

Technically.

And Orochimaru, the bastard, acts like there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“I would very much like both of you to calm—"

“Why the fuck do you have that monster in your arms, you godsdamned idiot?”

“Orochimaru,” Tsunade growls, angry enough that her chakra starts glowing, crackling in the air around her. “What, exactly, did you do that I explicitly asked you not to do?”

“I broke no promises, Tsunade, as I did not go out to try to kill the ‘monster’,” Orochimaru emphasizes the word with a pet of said monster’s head. Because Jiraiya’s pretty fucking sure that’s a miniature version of the slug-snake thing with the Noh mask he’d fought cuddling into Orochimaru’s hold like it wants to be there. “See, we never thought about befriending him. Talking him out of being Sky Country’s glorified weapon and letting him be an honorable asset for our village.”

“Asset?” Tsunade can feel the onset of one hell of a migraine.

“Him?” Jiraiya asks weakly.

“Yes.” Orochimaru smiles. “This is Zero-Tails. He hasn’t chosen a name for himself yet, but since I’ve officially adopted him, we’ll get to that shortly. Isn’t that right?” he all but coos over his new pet.

“Yes, master,” Zero-Tails answers, its mask shifting into an expression of pure innocence.

Its—his—voice is deep and far too evil sounding in Jiraiya’s opinion, and he will not fall for the innocent act, but for all his indignation, all he can manage is,

“Master?” Jiraiya is fairly sure he’s going to lose his mind with a best friend like his. “Orochimaru, why?”

Tsunade snarls and kicks the wall of the cave, making a big chunk of rock fall off and the whole part of the mountain they’re nestled in trembles dangerously.

“I need Grandpa’s fucking moonshine to deal with this,” she seethes, and Jiraiya couldn’t agree more.

Orochimaru simply keeps smiling and says, “Of course! We need to have a house-warming celebration for our new companion after all.”

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 5

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

“How is he? Has he yet stabilized?” He recognizes the deep voice almost instantly. Lexeaus. Ah. So I lived.

He can’t open his eyes, can’t, in fact, move at all. But the moment he’s conscious pain invades, his innards feeling vaguely liquified.

A second voice, hoarse, almost inaudible--”No. Not yet.”

“You needn’t speak, Ienzo. I know it’s still painful.”

Ienzo?

“I’m fine,” the second voice mumbles. He doesn’t sound fine; he sounds very ill, or worse. “You should--” A cough, one not full of phlegm but inflammation.

“You’ve been taking good care of me. I’m back on my feet. You, on the other hand, need to rest. And to avoid talking for a little while.”

“Okay.”

A warm hand grasps his wrist, taking his pulse. A pen scribbles numbers. He must've been given painkillers; he sleeps.

This time he's able to open his eyes.

He recognizes the space instantly; it's his old med bay, in Radiant Garden. Why on earth is he here, not in his sterile, pristine facilities at the castle?

Lexeaus had called Zexion Ienzo.

Oh dear.

Was it possible? Had they--regained hearts somehow? Had they found the answers in Kingdom Hearts? And how was he still so injured if it's been that long?

He hears the door creak and slits open his eyes.

He sees the boy--the young man--rummaging in his cabinets. He looks much the same as he ever did, though, he notes, the boy (Ienzo?) Is dressed in white, apprentice garb. The boy turns and Vexen quickly shuts his eyes again.

The boy clears his throat. "I'm not sure if you can hear me," he says, haltingly. His voice is much clearer, and certainly the same timbre as Zexion's, but it carries something soft and alive in it Vexen's never heard. "Even… it's me, Ienzo. I'm sure the old names are a shock to hear."

Old?

"We're human again. We found out… once a person’s Heartless and Nobody have been vanquished, they reform in the place they were split, whole. But with our Nobody's injuries. Which is why you're so hurt. I… I've no idea what truly happened to you, but you're rather unstable. You and Dilan both. But I'm tending to you."

Human?

"If you could speak… open your eyes… twitch your fingers… the EEG machines are broken and I've no magic. I'm not even sure you're in there."

Human and powerless.

"I--" He exhales thickly, and Even (the name fits again like a glove) realizes he's upset. Twelve years of emotion battering him, he presumes, child to adult in one instant. The concern wells up in him, consumes him; the pain sears him, and he's no idea whether or not it's physical.

---

Again, Even wakes. He can feel motion returning to him bit by bit, and he can close his fingers into weak fists. The physical pain is less potent now, but instead one thing floods him, sickly and constant.

Guilt. Rivers of shame, streams of remorse. Guilt for the way he stopped caring about Ienzo, guilt for all he did to the people of their experiments, agony about Ansem. Darkness can only excuse so much.

"Hi, Even."

Ienzo's back. Even can't bear to speak to him, though he's sure he can. He feigns unconsciousness, slitting his eyes open for glances of the young man.

Ienzo looks pale, thin, the boyishness gone from his face, but the change makes him look unhealthy. His hands, when they feel Even's pulse, are clammy, oddly warm without gloves. Even can't remember the last time he's actually seen them. He's aching to look the boy in the eyes. He chances it, once, while Ienzo fusses with the bandages on his chest; gone are Zexion's steely, empty blue eyes. The humanity is back, soft, opening.

He can tell from a glance that Ienzo is in agony.

More horrifying yet, he can just see below Ienzo's collar when he leans over--thick bruises surround his windpipe, along with an angry red scar.

He'd had difficulty speaking.

Who dared do this to him?

Unconsciously, the boy pulls his collar up. Even forces his eyes shut. "I'm afraid there's a lot to catch you up on," Ienzo says in that same frighteningly gentle tone. He explains about Xehanort, about the time travel, about the vessels, the hearts the Nobodies are regrowing, the Organization's real goal, the Keyblade War from the old times. "I… I could really use your help, Even. I know I was so dreadfully cold to you. I… I am sorry. You were always kind to me when I was small. You were there when Master Ansem was not--" His voice catches. "Excuse me, I am feeling unwell."

Even hears him sit and chances another look. Ienzo sits with his head in his hands, rocking slowly, trying not to cry.

No, boy, cry. It's alright.

"I… forgot how much this hurts," he says, with a dark laugh. "I am… so unsure of who I am… you'd doubtless find it fascinating. Can you imagine the psychological journals, Even? What happens when you try to give a twenty-year-old man an eight-year-old's heart?" A sob. "I'm so sorry. I… am trying to pull myself together. They need me. But I could never let them see me like this."

Cry it out, little one.

For a time, Ienzo does just that, a sound that makes Even's heart (heart) ache, triggering another vein of remorse.

I should have protected you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Even shuts his eyes again. He feels Ienzo take his hand. "This is most unbecoming, isn't it? I bet you'd say I'm making a disgrace of myself. I have to… check on some things. Get some rest."

For a long while Even lies reeling. His physical pain lessens  into a throb, while his heart seems to grow heavier and heavier with regret, the I should'ves and that's my faults. Ienzo and Ansem take center stage, his abuse and dishonesty towards them pounding in time with his heart.

Ienzo comes and goes every few hours. Even is too much of a coward to talk to him.

"It's… bizarre," the boy says. "Your body… is healed. Why aren't you awake?" Even hears a click, sees bright light; he wills himself to flinch as little as possible as the boy forces his eyes open. "Even, if you're pretending, it's alright. We can work through this."

Don't move. Don't move.

"If only we had a replica for you… or one in general…"

Why do they need one?

"I miss my old friend. Come back soon."

He's gone again, and Even aches for him. The loneliness is nearly as potent as the guilt.

He can't lie like this forever. He needs to make a decision, needs to talk to the boy, needs to begin to figure out where to go from here--

"You're so full of shit."

It's the voice that startles him. Braig. Of course the man is back too. He opens his eyes. Unlike Ienzo, he's in the Organization coat still.

The true vessels.

The fool.

Even stares at him. "Is there a reason you're here?" His voice is hoarse from disuse, but clearer than he thought. "Perhaps to put an old man out of his misery?"

Braig smirks. "You wish," he says. "I've been watching these tender scenes play out between the two of you. Who thought Ienzo would be such a softie? To think, he was wanted."

"By Xehanort, I presume?" He spits.

"Who else?" Xigbar shrugs. “He's good. So quickly. A heart and instantly everything changes. But there's no point getting rid of him. Xemnas is sentimental. Who would’ve thought?"

So callous. Even scowls.

"How's humanity feel?" he asks, with a smirk. "You look like death. Bet you feel like it too."

"Is there a reason you're here?" he repeats.

"Let's just say I have a proposition for you." He scowls a little. "We could use you. He could use you."

A spark, an idea. "Why should I? What do you have to offer me?"

"We're closer than ever to Kingdom Hearts. If that doesn't intrigue you, I don't know what will." Xigbar comes closer, his footsteps almost silent. "Would you rather stay here? Crappy place, overworked and underappreciated… reminders of the past everywhere. Doesn't it just hurt. "

He has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

"If you can barely look at Ienzo…" He clucks his tongue. "Why don't you think about it? I got the impression you never liked humanity anyway."

"Nor you," Even says softly. "This life just doesn't suit creatures like us."

Xigbar smirks and disappears into a dark corridor.

---

An idea comes to him slowly, fettered by guilt and headaches, and Ienzo's surprisingly loose tongue. Zexion was verbose but careful; Ienzo talks almost constantly, with little ability to stop himself.

"I'm… almost at my wit's end," the boy admits. "I'm inundated by what we did… I knew it, factually, but Zexion made my memories so cold. To feel it…" He rumples the curtain at the window. Even's glad he doesn't look at him; it means he can watch him. "How could we? I… I don't understand how we made the leap. Was it all the influence of Xehanort, or darkness? Why did they let me--do this?"

The weight of it might just choke him. They'd started this darkness, made it spread faster than it would've naturally; they upended a balance just to see what would happen, with little care who or what was lost.

I took an oath.

Even's a bloody hypocrite.

"I've been trying to help them," Ienzo says. "Sora, the restoration committee. They've been so terribly gracious about it. It truly is the least I can do. I've given them everything that I had, but you classified and encrypted so much. They have a right to know what really happened. Maybe if they know… their outside perspective can help us put a stop to it. I… wish you were here, Even. There's so much you never told me, things that could be of use. We… need a light. I don't understand a whit of your research, the small bits I've managed to decrypt. I wonder if this reformation process has given me some form of brain damage." A wry laugh. "These emotions do make me feel… much clumsier. Doesn't help I've been using you as a captive audience. But the others… truly cannot understand what it is I'm going through. I wish I were able to find it fascinating. Mostly it is hampering my ability to be of use."

He's silent a long time. When he speaks again, it's much more quietly, to himself. But Even's always had good hearing.

"If I can break the code… find Roxas… it could change everything. But the bodies… I need to know what Even knew."

He hears Ienzo leave. Slowly, Even sits up. He feels weak from being so still for so long, but otherwise functional.

It all makes sense. Everything.

Yes. This would be how he can atone.

---

Xigbar returns soon after. Even's already sitting waiting for him. "I'll go," he says tiredly. "Seems to be the only way to further my research. I've no need for such... paltry emotions."

Xigbar's grin is killer.

---

The transformative process is just as painful the second time. Again the emptiness. He feels his mind wander, tempted again by darkness, by the ability to set bonds aside, but he reigns himself in each time. Thinking of Ienzo, his devastation, of his betrayal of Ansem's trust. He doesn't feel quite hurt anymore, but it weighs heavily on his conscience. No matter.

He can fix this. He will fix this. No matter the cost.

He acquiesces to the New Organization’s demands, because they, too, need replicas. All the more excuse to perfect what he knows, to leave the most flawless in stock for Roxas and for Xion--though he can barely remember the latter. All he has of it-- her --are his own reports. But if she were with Roxas long enough, she’ll be important. More convenient yet, Xemnas wants her, her easy mimicry of power.

There are too many familiar faces in this New Organization--Organization Rehash, Larxene calls it, and Vexen can’t help but agree. Xigbar, Saïx, Xemnas, the four neophytes.

Saïx is initially welcoming to him, and visits him again.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” Vexen says evenly.

“I wonder if you feel it too,” the man says.

“Feel what, nostalgia? That’s all this Organization is.”

“You gave up your new life. That says a lot about you. Was this truly about research?”

Vexen turns, sorting the lies he could tell.

Saïx knots his hands. “I gave mine up too.”

Vexen rolls his eyes, turning back to the new replicas, still forming in their chambers. “Yes. And?”

“I wish to… put an end to this nonsense. I sense you may feel the same.”

Vexen looks at him, his gold eyes (so like Vexen’s own, now--he tries not to think about it more than necessary) somewhat unreadable. Is this a trick? Are they trying to lure him out?

Saïx leans in a little, drops his voice. “Let me help you,” he says softly. “Together, we can put an end to this Organization.”

Vexen feels the gut punch; caught. Yet, he reads earnestness in Saïx’s tone.

“You were once my teacher,” he continues. “I know what you’re capable of, and vice versa. I think--if we’re careful and clever--we can give the other side what they need.”

“How am I to know you won’t merely turn me in to Xehanort?”

“It matters not to him whether you fill out the ranks so long as he gets his bodies. Not since you and Demyx have been… ah… retired. He’s spread himself too thin, shattering his heart so. He wouldn’t notice a thing.”

Vexen inhales.

“I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want this to be my legacy. I’m sure you feel the same. We must end this suffering.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Saïx smiles. “Simple,” he says. “We do what he asks--and have a third party ferry a replica over to Radiant Garden. One whose movements are hardly ever noticed--because that’s the way he likes it.”

Vexen has an idea where this is going. “...Do I even want to know who you have in mind?”

The smile becomes even larger.

---

Demyx agrees to meet him in Radiant Garden. To be so close to Ienzo but unable to contact him is a sensation that sits oddly in his breast. Vexen explains it as simply as possible, but Demyx’s reaction is relatively theatrical.

“What? ” He’s making much too much noise--Vexen clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, you dunce,” he hisses.

Demyx swats his hand away. “But dude, why would you pick me?”

“I cannot let the chosen catch wind of this, understand?”

Immediately he gets defensive. “Oh, I see, it’s because I got benched.”

This is more frustrating than he could have hoped. His tone is much shorter, and louder, than he intended. “I got “benched” too.”

“What! Hey, quiet.” Now it’s Demyx’s turn to try to silence him.

They both look around and see nothing, though admittedly this is meaningless. Vexen turns away, trying to think.

“Okay, man, look. Real talk? Backstabbing those guys would be stupid.”

Vexen rolls his eyes. As if this life is truly worth anything.

“If they find out, we’re yesterday’s toast. I mean, what’s in it for me?”

Vexen wonders if this angle is the right one. “Forgiveness.”

He seems genuinely surprised. “Huh? For what?”

“Men like us--in the pursuit of science, we sometimes make terrible mistakes. Lose sight of our mission to help people. But now I can help someone with my research. Now, I can atone.”

The boy’s been listening with interest, a calculating gleam in his eyes. But what he says next is only further disappointment. “I’m not a scientist.” He turns to leave, with a dismissive wave.

Something very like panic overtakes him--if the chosen heard of this--”Wait, wait, wait!” He grabs Demyx’s shoulder. The younger man shrugs him off with ease.

“C’mon, dude. I’m useless, I’m chicken, we’re not friends. I can count the amount of times we’ve hung out on one hand--less than one hand. I didn’t even know you in the old life!”

Enough of this. For a moment, Vexen wishes he had more patience with Demyx in the past, if only to make this encounter easier. “Fine, fine. But listen.” He pulls the boy close. “This is Saïx’s doing.”

Demyx’s eyes widen almost comically. “Huh? No way.”

Good. He has his interest. “It’s true. The whole thing was his idea.”

“Huh… no fucking way…”

“He wants to atone too. But, he is one of the chosen, so his hands are tied. Hence my actions on his behalf, hence my need for you to act on my behalf should all go awry.” He’s listening intently, Vexen notes. He could use Xehanort’s callousness towards Demyx to his advantage. “As you said, we are far from friends. No one would ever suspect you.”

“So I’m not doing any fighting?”

“Correct. And more importantly, no benchwarming.”

He smiles, and Vexen knows he’s won. “Yeah baby! Sign me up! Yes! Demyx time.”

Vexen sighs heavily. This certainly would be interesting.

---

He’s more than a little alarmed when he catches wind that the “chosen” are seeking Ansem. Apparently, the man’s been spotted in Twilight Town. Xehanort’s Heartless intends on intercepting him. The man is too dangerous.

Vexen doesn’t hesitate. He’s abandoned Ansem once; never again.

He’s been mostly ambivalent to his status as a Nobody, but it does grant him a certain strength he didn’t have before. He’s able to stop Xehanort’s Heartless, to let Ansem escape. It comes to him, in a flash--the chosen hardly ever watch him, now that they’ve gotten their bodies--perhaps he could let Ansem know, to get the word back to Ienzo and the others. Perhaps he and Demyx could rendezvous, with the replica. Ienzo would need his help. Doubtless the reunion would be… dramatic, but he knows the boy is capable of completing the task at hand.

It’s time to shore up. Time to stop being a coward. Time to apologize.

But he is glad that, as a Nobody, he cannot feel much.

Ansem looks as though he’s aged much, much more than twelve years, despite the fact that he could not age in the realm of darkness; it seems as though there are many more years between them than merely five. He’s with some teenagers, those friends of Roxas, those assisting, albeit in a very tertiary manner.

Even struggles to find the words, to assuage them all he means no ill will. “My dear Master,” he says slowly. “You are safe.” It’s a lame, tone-deaf beginning. Because they are anything but.

“Who’s there?” one of the teenagers yells.

In a shockingly even-keeled voice, Ansem asks, “Even, is that you?” A beat. His expression barely changes, all coldness and indifference--not that Vexen anticipated anything more. “So, those Nobodies were your doing.”

Vexen lets the Dusks appear. Then, very deliberately, he bows. “I have been waiting for this,” he admits. “Gave up a normal life in order to plant myself in the Organization. And when I heard Xehanort had gone looking for you, I realized it was my chance to find you as well.” And keep you safe. “For you see, I, too, wish to atone.”

Ansem’s expression is closely guarded, but he very nearly smiles. “Is that so?” he asks slowly.

“How could I not? To be human for those days again… made it all so real.”

The teenager who’d yelled gave him a once over. “You’re one of them, aren’t you,” he spits. “Sora told us about you.”

Vexen ignores him. “I wish to help. I… realize you have no reason to trust me.” He chances taking a few steps forward. “I also realize any apology I offer could never possibly be enough.”

Ansem is silent for several moments. “Am I not at fault, as well?” he asks.

“You…” He wants nothing more for these teenagers to disappear. “You still didn’t deserve the fate you received.”

His eyes are empty--so empty. He turns to the children. “Thank you for all your help, but this man will not harm me. Come, Even. Apparently we have much to discuss.”

Vexen wills the Dusks to disappear. They walk for a long time in silence, the two of them, in this perpetual sort of twilight.

“We cannot return to the mansion. It’s being watched for now,” Ansem says. “Keep your voice low.”

“We seek to take down the new Organization,” he says. It’s beyond odd to be this close to him.

“We?”

“Myself. The man you knew as Isa.”

Ansem smirks. “And how do you propose to do this?”

“In these intervening years… I did perfect the replica program. More or less.” He doesn’t feel pride any longer. “We have a… third party willing to deliver one directly to Radiant Garden, for Roxas’s heart. To Ienzo.”

Ansem’s calm exterior slips, for just a moment. “How… is my boy?”

“I did not see him for very long,” Vexen says. “He is… well. Whole again.”

“You hesitate.”

“Of course I do.” He takes a breath. “He’s received his humanity after years of numbness. The adjustment… I fear it’s not been easy. But I have faith. His brilliance has only grown with him.” He sighs. “With this replica, and our ally, I wish that you, Master, will go to him.” Ansem says nothing; his face is stony. “I realize the feelings you have are complicated. But he needs someone to help him, and I must keep my cover.”

“...Yes. Quite.” He nods. “However could I face that poor boy?”

“With the warmth and grace you’ve always had,” Vexen says softly. “Once this is all over… humbly, I would like to return as well.” If he survives the process. “That is, if you’ll have me. I wish to do nothing more than to ease the pain I’ve caused. I should like to regain your trust.”

Ansem nods once. “This is a good start.”

---

It pains him, to not be present for all this, but his own feelings and notions are irrelevant. He dresses the replica in a coat to protect it, wraps it up further in a blue blanket--almost like an infant.

Demyx arrives--on time, for the first instance that Vexen’s ever witnessed. “So, here we go, right?” He’s smiling.

“...Quite.” He touches Demyx’s shoulder. “I must… thank you for doing this.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s not right for Xehanort to use us for his own stuff, you know? It kinda bites.”

Vexen chuckles. “Indeed. I’m afraid I must ask one more thing of you.”

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is affable when he says. “For pete’s sake, what now?”

“You and I must lie low, once this is through. We must wait and hope for Xehanort’s defeat.”

Demyx glances down at the replica, in its swaddling. “...And then what?”

“Whatever you like, I suppose.”

He bites his lip. “Yeah… that might be nice.” He hefts the replica over one shoulder. “This thing is hollow, huh?”

“Not for long. You know where to go?”

“Yeah, get the old man. I hear you.”

Vexen sighs. “Good luck, Demyx.”

For just a moment, before he disappears into darkness, Demyx smiles, and it’s the most genuine expression Vexen’s ever seen him wear. “You, too.”

---

He can’t be certain that Ienzo receives the replica, can’t chance checking. He goes to an anonymous world, hides in the wilderness. He waits, and to a degree he prays. Weeks pass. He wonders if he should chance contact, should see how things have gone--between Ienzo and Ansem, and along with Dilan and Aeleus, there shouldn’t be any issues with the procedure.

Then he feels an ache in his heart--the heart he doesn’t quite have. The piece of Xehanort. Without hesitating, he returns to Radiant Garden, knowing that he will not have the ability to travel for long.

Because it’s withering, and dying; he can feel the sickly pain, the feverishness, inexplicable agony in his whole body. It must’ve worked. They must’ve beat Xehanort.

It’s all over. At last.

[captnswilson]

Please could you do “Frankly, my dear, I do give a damn" for Charles/Erik! Thank you!

To be honest, that quote is just an excuse for me to post a fix-it fic that I really wanted to write. It’s longer than my one shots usually are and I’m kinda satisfied with the result. I hope you’ll like it as well!

Summary: Dark Phoenix fix-it. The blood on Jean’s shirt belongs to Charles and that revelation leads to a heated confrontation between Erik and Jean. However, when it turns out Charles is still alive but badly injured, Erik rushes to see him. Will he be able to leave him once again or maybe this time he’ll choose to stay?

You can also read it on AO3.

———————————————————————————————————–

There’s Still Hope

“Whose blood is that?”

Erik tried to restrain himself from thinking about the worst possible scenario. Keeping his nerves in check was difficult when he had no control over the situation. The blood on Jean’s shirt made him want to destroy everything that surrounded him. Including her.

“I didn’t want to hurt him.” Jean shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Charles… He shouldn’t have lied to me.”

She raised her head to look at him, and what she saw warned her of the impending danger. The whole tent began to shake. Erik raised his hands; every metal thing rose up. He hurled them towards Jean, but she stood up and stopped them without any effort.

Everything fell to the ground and before Erik could react, a powerful force threw him out of the tent. He lost his breath for a moment, but the pain he felt deep inside was much stronger. She could not hurt him more than she already had.

“I came here because I thought you would help me. Turns out you’re no better than him.”

The other mutants moved to his rescue, but Erik raised his hand, ordering them not to step up. It was personal. He stood up slowly, ready to risk his life in the fight for justice. He had nothing more to lose.

“Did you really expect me to praise you?” Erik spat out words with so much hatred that it was surprising even for him. “You took Charles away from me! You killed him and now I’m going to kill you.”

A metal balk tightened around Jean’s neck. Erik felt incredible satisfaction when he saw her fighting for another breath. However, it lasted only a moment. A sudden headache knocked Erik to his knees. He grabbed his hair, shouted and bent in pain. Then he involuntary levitated in the air, his eyes getting redder by the second. Having dealt with Erik’s attack, Jean stayed on the ground and focused on keeping her opponent as high as possible. Her face was distorted with rage.

“If you don’t want to help me then don’t. Just stay out of my way.” She threw him at a building. Erik hit it with his back and fell hard to the ground. Jean leaned over him and confessed, “I hurt Charles, but I didn’t kill him. You still have a reason to live, Erik. Don’t waste it.”

She looked at him one last time and flew away. Erik rolled over with a hysterical laugh. Tears flowed from his eyes, and blood trickled from his nose, but it barely caught his attention. Not all hope was lost, as Charles would say.

***

Fresh, cold air rushed into the room through the open window. Charles barely felt it. He was lying in his bed and staring blindly at the ceiling. There was nothing better to do. His whole body ached, at least those parts that still worked. He knew that Raven was right outside the door, ready to help him if he wanted to leave the room. At that moment, however, interacting with people was the last thing he wanted.

The physical damage was not so important. His chest wouldn’t hurt too long. The wound under his eye would heal as well. He was more worried about the mental damage. Jean had got into his head and made sure Charles would not find her. In fact, not only did Charles struggle with locating his former student. He couldn’t hear Raven’s thoughts even though she was approximately close. He had problems concentrating, and with every effort, his head ached. Eventually, he stopped trying. He became so emotionally numb that all he seemed capable of feeling was guilt.

And he was guilty without any doubt. Everyone blamed him for what had happened but attempted at not making it that oblivious when he was recovering. He’d been guilty many years ago, lying to Jean. He’d been guilty recently, risking the lives of his team. Now everyone doubted him and he began to doubt himself too. Maybe it would be best if he left. It was not his school anymore if he couldn’t provide his students with a sense of security. If they no longer believed in him.

The door opened abruptly, interrupting Charles’ train of thoughts. Raven peeked at him and hesitated for a fraction of a second before she announced, “There’s someone who would like to see you.”

His first thought was Jean. He pulled himself up on the pillows, wondering about the right words. If she changed her mind, if she decided to come back, he had to be persuasive enough to convince her to stay. But before he could think of anything worth saying, the last person he had expected to see came into the room.

It was as if his presence breathed life into Charles again.

“Erik?”

His old friend looked as if someone had thrown him against the wall several times. Despite this small detail, he had not really changed much in recent years. Charles hadn’t seen him for so long that he was clearly touched by his visit.

Meanwhile, Erik let out a sigh of relief at his sight. After the unpleasant encounter with Jean, he just had to make sure that Charles was truly alright. Slightly battered and exhausted, his friend seemed pretty much alive and that was all that mattered. The way in which he spoke his name made Erik feel as if they had split up just yesterday. Coming back to Charles was simple and difficult at the same time.

He wanted to say something brilliant, but he was so overwhelmed with emotion that he only managed to notice, “Charles. You look like shit.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Raven laughed.

When the door closed behind her, Erik put his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them. Meanwhile, Charles brightened up and forgot about his dark thoughts for a moment.

“You’re as charming as usual, Erik,” he joked. “I suggest you take a sit and enlighten me about the very reason for your astonishing visit.”

“Do I need a reason to visit my old friend?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m also afraid that this has something to do with one of my students. Unfortunately, she has weakened me so much that I cannot read the truth from your mind, but your eyes say enough. She came to you, didn’t she?”

Erik sighed. It was cold in the room, so he closed the window and then sat down in a chair next to Charles’ bed. There was still a shadow of rage in his heart that he had felt when he had found out whose blood had been on Jean’s shirt. He was partly grateful that Charles could not see his memories. Erik would appear too exposed, too vulnerable.

“I thought she had killed you, Charles.” Erik raised his head and looked at the only person who he would not bear to lose. He was sure of that now. “She came to me for help with blood on her shirt…”

“My blood.” Charles guessed in what direction his speech was heading. “So you attacked her. Bloody hell, Erik, she could’ve killed you! You have no idea how strong she has become.”

“I experienced a foretaste of what she is capable of. She speared your life, and then she speared mine, but she won’t do it again. I may not be able to defeat her alone, but with you…”

Charles laughed, yet it was not a happy laugh that reminded Erik of training and playing chess together. Charles’ voice was devoid of joy. He didn’t seem angry or surprised, but rather disappointed.

“And to think that for a split second, I let myself hope that you came here because you were worried about me.” Charles shook his head, and Erik felt as if someone had hit him in the stomach. He’d rather face Jean again than get misunderstood by his best friend. “I won’t help you kill my student, Erik. It may be difficult for you to comprehend, but some of us give a damn about others and, despite everything, see a chance for them to return to the right path.”

Erik got up and went to the window just so that Charles could not see the expression on his face. Though his thoughts were safe, his entire attitude tried to get the truth to the surface. Erik took a deep breath, clenching his hands on the windowsill until his knuckles turned white.

“Frankly, my dear, I do give a damn,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to kill her because she kicked my ass or because she is a threat to us all, which you seem to blindly ignore. I want to kill her because she almost took away the only person I still care about.”

He couldn’t express it in a more obvious way. It left Charles speechless. His lips parted slightly, but they didn’t utter any word. None was appropriate. He stealthily wiped his watery eyes. It turned out there was someone who still cared for him, and it was the person he least expected but valued the most. Erik had a tendency to leave him, but now that Charles needed him like never before, he came.

“If what you say is true, then help me find her and bring her home. It’s my fault, Erik, not hers. Each of us goes astray sometimes. I will never stop believing in Jean, just like I’ve never stopped believing in you. I’m only asking you for a bit of faith. If not in her, then have some faith in me.”

Charles was too indulgent, but, after all, it was his goodness that attracted Erik so much to him. He was the only source of light in his world filled with suffering and tragic memories. Erik turned away from the window, looked at his friend, who was actually much more than that, deciding once and for all that he wouldn’t let them part ways again.

“Let us assume that we will succeed,” he said. “We bring her back, everyone is happy, no one dies. And then what? I have no intention of leaving you.”

This time Charles’s smile was more sincere and even overawed. Once he would have called himself a master in flirting, but now with Erik, things were a bit different. They were walking on thin ice and Charles didn’t want to fall into the icy water.

“Oh, Erik. It only took you almost losing me to realize we should be together. Well, better late than never. So what do you suggest? My guess is that you do not wish to stay here.”

“Not really. I mean, if it was just Raven, that quick kid Peter, Hank, you and me, then maybe I’d handle it, but all those kids?” Erik sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “I was thinking about something calmer. There is such a place in Genosha. A beautiful, old house, away from the city. A lot of greenery suitable for picnics. Blue sky. No fights with people or mutants. Just the two of us.”

It was so easy to believe him. Charles did not answer. Instead, led by a force that was above him, he gently touched Erik’s temple with his fingers. His power returned as if it had never left. He saw it with his own eyes - a place which awaited him, tempted him with its beauty and the promise of peace.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe this constant struggle was beyond his strength. Maybe the only thing he needed was Erik. Maybe they fought with each other and with their own feelings for so many years just to cut themselves off from everything else and limit their worlds to one another. Was it selfish - to crave for this beautiful, peaceful life?

Charles dropped onto the pillows. Although the power returned, he was still very weak. Erik reached out and ran his hand over Charles’ cheek.

“You need a rest,” he concluded. “I’ll see you later and we’ll try to come up with a plan.”

Unable to resist, Erik leaned over and left a kiss on Charles’ forehead. That brief gesture was so intimate that it seemed more significant than if they kissed on the lips. Erik walked around the bed and headed for the door, but Charles managed to stop him by grabbing his hand.

“What was it?” He asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

“A promise that when you wake up, I’ll be here. Now that there’s hope for us, you won’t get rid of me too easily, Charles.”

Erik gave him a mysterious smile and gently let go of his hand. Charles felt his touch long after the door closed. He fell asleep wrapped in the comforting thought that Erik remained somewhere there, closer than ever before, and their happy ending was just around the corner.

[dragonshost]

Queasy Beginnings

A belated birthday gift for @indraaas!  Sorry this took so long!

Pairing: LaxLu

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,074

Summary: Laxus meets a rather strange girl on the train one day, and finds that they have something in common.

On FFN

On AO3

(below cut)

Overcrowded trains were the bane of travelers.  Normally, Laxus wouldn’t deign to use the metal contraptions – his motion sickness notwithstanding, he also couldn’t handle so many people pressed so closely together.  Springing for a private cabin was an option, but there was little point when the ride back to Magnolia was so short.  And he did like the praise he could overhear for Fairy Tail’s – and his – strength. Though now he was wishing he’d just ridden a lightning bolt back to the guild after all.  It was faster, and less nauseating.  Thanks to his enhanced hearing, the press of sound in the crowded train car was already making him a little queasy. Once they were no longer stuck at the station, his motion sickness would kick in as well.  Laxus had already paid for his ticket, however, so there was no way he was leaving now.

The dragon slayer stared resolutely out the window, hoping that the hyper-focus would calm his insides down a little.  Inside his head, he repeated the mantra of, “Don’t vomit, don’t vomit, don’t you dare vomit and make a fool of yourself.” He was so intent, that a few minutes before the train was set to depart, he failed to notice the approach of another passenger.

“Um… excuse me,” a timid, feminine voice asked shyly.  “Do you mind if I sit across from you?  Most everywhere else is full.”

Laxus jolted in his seat, whipping his head away from the window to fix a glare at the blonde girl wringing her hands in the aisle.  She flinched, but remained where she was, a determination behind her brown eyes that undercut the rising red of embarrassment in her cheeks.

The train had indeed filled up a great deal, Laxus noted.  His intimidating aura had scared away the other passengers from his general vicinity.  Which made this girl more daring than the rest, he supposed.  All the same, he didn’t want company, and she looked like a bimbo.  Probably not smart enough to be intimidated like the rest of the car’s passengers. She looked talkative, too.

He opened his mouth to tell her to shove off, when suddenly the train gave a lurch – Laxus’s stomach soon following.  Closing his mouth with a snap and no longer trusting his voice, he gave the girl a curt nod.  Dealing with her seemed the lesser of two evils.

As the train pulled away from the station, Laxus redirected his gaze out the window again.  His forehead pressed against the cool glass, he struggled to hold onto the contents of his stomach.

The girl, meanwhile, slid gratefully into the bench across from him.  She gravitated towards the window as well.  Mercifully, she remained silent for a long while – allowing Laxus to concentrate on his breathing.

But good things rarely last, and eventually she broke the silence out of what Laxus could only assume was profound boredom.

“Nice day out, isn’t it?”

Laxus grunted, hoping to shut the line of communication down before it could be established.

She became quiet, but it lasted only for a few moments.  “So… where are you headed?”

“Magnolia,” he managed to respond around the bile rising in his throat.

His participation in her small talk seemed to spur her on, as she perked up considerably.  “I’ve heard that’s a really pretty city.  Work, pleasure, or heading home?”

Much as he didn’t want to talk to this teenager, he felt compelled to for the sake of the guild’s image. “Heading home.”

The girl fell silent.

Finding her sudden reticence strange after she’d been the one to provoke the conversation, Laxus spared a glace at her.  Her hands were curled into fists on top of her legs; her gaze was fixed on them, and her entire frame shook slightly.  After a few deep breaths, she looked up and gave him the fakest smile he’d ever seen. “That’s great!” she said.  “What’s Magnolia like to live in?”

Curiosity was getting the better of him now.  “Pretty ordinary,” he told her, his eyes narrowing.

She nodded as if he’d said something profound.  “Ordinary is good,” she stated.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”  Then she let out a laugh that trembled a little too much to be convincing.  “I’m on a journey, myself.  But once I’ve gotten my fill of that, maybe I’ll check out Magnolia, see if I want to settle down there.”

The confession interested Laxus more than it should have.  She looked at little young to be traveling alone and talking about settling down in the future like an old bachelor.  Then again, given his grandfather’s penchant for taking in strays, he wasn’t too surprised.  Younger children than her had found their way to Fairy Tail and in far worse condition. Mirajane’s demon parts and Erza’s missing eye sometimes worked their way into his nightmares, even after all these years.  Not that he would ever dare admit it aloud.  And certainly not to their faces.

He decided to just come right out and ask the girl.  “How old are you?”

An icy stare met his question.  If she wasn’t so blonde and fully clothed, he would have assumed that Gray was sitting in front of him.

“What?” Laxus asked in exasperation.  What was her problem?

“That’s something only creepers ask,” she informed him bluntly.  The effect was somewhat ruined when someone knocked their suitcase into a booth, making a loud metallic sound that had the girl jumping in surprise, and her eyes darting about frantically for the cause.

Laxus rolled his eyes, and then immediately regretted it as his stomach performed somersaults at the sudden additional motion.  He breathed out heavily through his nose in a futile attempt to put a clamp down on his insides.

She must have taken it for a sigh, because she focused on him again and let out a huff.  “I just turned sixteen a few days ago.”  The girl rolled her eyes at him.  “Which, for your information, is a perfectly normal age to be emancipated in Fiore.”

It was, but the fact that she used that word specifically was raising alarm bells in Laxus’s head. He had never claimed to be good at interacting with other people, and yet he was finding it surprisingly easy to read between her lines.

Maybe because he’d been there.  His grandfather had had no right to boot his old man out of the guild, but it wasn’t as if Laxus could claim that Ivan was a doting parent or even a halfway decent one. He remembered well tiptoeing around his own house and jumping at the slightest noises.  The thought of leaving and never looking back had occurred to him more than once growing up.

And it was rapidly becoming apparent to him that that’s exactly what the girl across from him had gone through with.

She wasn’t clued into Laxus’s silent epiphany however, and she remained stuck on the issue of her freedom. “Besides which, I’m a wizard.  I’m more than able to take care of myself.”

Laxus outright snorted at that.  Wizards? Being competent?  The thought was laughable.  Especially if one used the Fairy Tail guild as a reference.  “If you think wizards are capable of looking after themselves, you’d be pretty disappointed by a lot of the ones I know.”

Interest sparked in her eyes, and she leaned forward.  “You know a lot of other wizards?!”

Puzzled, he stared blankly at her.  “What, you haven’t met any before?  Even though you are one?”

“My mother taught me everything I know,” she said softly, the hint of a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth.  “But she passed away… a long time ago.  Most everything else I know comes from reading Sorcerer Weekly magazine.”

Pretty sheltered life, then. “Well, now you’ve met one more. I’m a wizard, too.”

“Really?!  That’s awesome!” she declared.  “Are you in a guild?  I’ve been thinking about joining one to earn some cash once I run out of pocket money.”

Laxus considered it. She didn’t look very strong to him. But looks could be deceiving. Freed certainly didn’t give off an aura of lethality, but he definitely wasn’t someone you wanted to run into when he was in a bad mood.  “I am in a guild.  Did you have any in mind?”

She tapped her chin with a fingertip.  “I was considering Phantom Lord.”

He physically fought to restrain a snarl at the rival guild’s name.  “They’re a strong guild,” he managed, begrudgingly.  “But they have a nasty reputation.”  A deserved one, too.  Laxus may have had some problems with the riffraff that now saturated Fairy Tail, but there was a difference between doing some… internal housekeeping, and what Phantom Lord was capable of.  Their master was completely unhinged.

“I was also considering Fairy Tail,” she told him.

“What kind of magic do you practice?” Laxus asked her instead, avoiding talking about his guild.

“Celestial spirit magic.”

He wasn’t familiar with that one.  Must be one of the less common ones.  “What’s that involve?”

Reaching down for her belt, she drew out a keyring and displayed the gold and silver keys on it. “These are gate keys for summoning celestial spirits.  I open their gates and they assist me in fights or whatever else I need.  Not all of them are combat spirits, but a few are. Gold keys are more powerful than silver.”

That really was an uncommon magic, and not to be trifled with even if it was a holder magic. Laxus nodded appreciatively at the impressive collection of keys, three of which were gold.  “How do you get them to do your bidding?”

“I make contracts with them,” she explained, returning the keys to her belt, which Laxus now saw also held a coiled leather whip.  “So I guess you could call it a business arrangement.  But they’re also my friends.”

Laxus wasn’t so sure about the usefulness of being friends with one’s magic, but the business aspect made some sense to him.  “So what, do you have to do anything for them in return?”

She nodded. “Sometimes.  Cancer mostly just wants to style my hair, and Horologium needs his clock winded every once in a while.  It’s pretty manageable for the most part.”  Then she winced.  “Except for Aquarius.  She just wants to wash me away…”

“They sound weird,” Laxus commented.

With a shrug, she couldn’t help but agree with him.  “You’re not wrong there.  I love them more than anything, all the same.”

A chime sounded throughout the cabin.  Now arriving in Magnolia, the automated voice said over the intercom.

“I guess this is your stop!” she said cheerfully.  “Thanks for letting me sit with you.  Honestly, I was feeling really queasy when I boarded the train, but talking with you helped keep my mind off it.  I really appreciate it.”

Oh that would have been bad, Laxus realized.  If she had given into her stomach and started heaving, his sensitive nose would have forced him to begin hurling alongside of her.  Though now that he thought about it, his own motion sickness hadn’t been nearly as bad as normal.  Odd.

He grunted in response.

She stuck her hand out to him.  “I’m Lucy, by the way.  I don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

Laxus eyed the proffered limb warily.  After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and shook it.  “I’m Laxus.”

They fell silent as the train pulled into Magnolia station.  Laxus nearly heaved a sigh of relief once the motion ceased.  Lucy’s prattling had eased the worst of his queasiness, but it hadn’t eliminated it entirely.  He stood up, grabbing his bag.  Then he paused, and then turned towards her slightly.  Laxus wasn’t sure what was prompting him, but he felt compelled to say something all the same.

“Good luck on your journey, Lucy.  Maybe if you get strong enough, we’ll cross paths again.”

“I’d like that,” she told him.

He hesitated a moment longer.  “Oh, and uh… Happy birthday, I guess.”

A genuine smile spread across her lips, much prettier than the fake one she’d given him before. “Thank you, Laxus.  You know… I think you’re the only one who’s said that to me this year.  Good luck with your guild.”

Laxus wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so he just nodded and took his leave of the train.

Lucy, huh?  Strange, strange girl.

Somehow he didn’t mind her at all.

[ddaddsprompts]

Omega-Dadsona get snapped at by an Alpha leaving them in tears, how do (dads) react?

Omegaverse au! how would the dads react to a threatening alpha making the dadsona uncomfortable??

I-I know the ask box is closed, b-but I wanted to send this before I forgot… Dads being cutely overly protective over pregnant dadsona? (I read both your ones with pregnant dadsona and I just really wanted to know…)

how do you think the dads of the neighbor would be with dear dadsona with a baby? (mpreg or omegaverse really) I just like the dads with more emotion than what they had in the game (they had a lot, is it wrong to ask for more?) 

Despite the topic of this prompt, I had a lot of fun writing it and trying to imagine how the individual Dads would react! And I got to write Omegaverse, which I, as you know, love. Please be adviced that what the Alpha says and does can be counted as (sexual) assault. They’re implying some very nasty things, but no actual non-consensual things happen. Also, obviously, there’s mpreg. That being said, I still hope you’ll enjoy! - Mod Mare

Never in your life would you have thought goingshopping for baby clothes would be something you’d miss, but standing in theaisle and comparing two different onesies, you find yourself feeling just that.It’s been so long since you and Alex had gone to a shop just like this one,preparing for Amanda’s arrival. You look up, over to where [Dad] is standing,entranced by the various cribs and crib mobiles, and smile, your hand on yourbelly. It’s barely swollen and you know there’s no conscious life in there yet,at least not the kind that had the capacity to think, but still, you imaginethe baby feeling you. You’re so lost in thoughts, you don’t notice someone’sapproaching you until they’re standing right behind you – far too close forcomfort. 

It’s not their proximity you first become aware of, but their scent.It’s sharp, biting, nearly makes you gag because of the aggression and… arousalin it.

“Look at you,” the Alpha rumbles. “Pregnant andout alone. The whole place’s smelling like you. What kind of Alpha lets theirOmega out like that? Don’t they know how-“ They lean in closer, you can feeltheir breath on your neck, and it makes you shiver in fear. “-just howdelicious you smell?”

“I’m not alone,” you stutter out. You try totwist away, but the Alpha puts their hands on either side of you, trapping youin front of them. “My Alpha’s here, he-“

“What kind of Alpha is he that he doesn’t lockyou up? Keep you safe. No good Alpha, if you ask me. I think I’m going to takeyou home, keep you inside, where you belong, get rid of his pups and fill youwith mine—“

You scream [Dad]’s name.

🥃 Robert’s there in a second,even though it shouldn’t be possible, him having been on the opposite site ofthe store a moment ago. Not that you care about things like physics and speed,not with him forming a protective barrier, keeping you shielded with his body.You don’t need to see his face to know he’s snarling. “I’m giving you fiveseconds to get the fuck away from my Omega,” Robert growls. “Then you’re goingto stay away from us and if you, out of whatever reason, decide not to comply,I’m going to introduce you to some friends of mine.” He moves – you can see himmove his jacket aside, probably to show the plethora of knives he hides there –and a second later, the Alpha all but flees, running out of the store. Robertwaits, tense, until he can’t see them anymore, before he whirls around andpulls you close, burying his face in your neck. His hand covers yours on yourbelly and he takes deep, deliberate breaths, as if he’s forcefully calminghimself down. “I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he whispers out betweengritted teeth. Carefully, you pull your hand out from under his and wrap yourarms around him. “I’m okay, Robert. It’s not your fault.” Robert takes ashuddered breath and relaxes against you.

🍸 “Excuse me,” Joseph says,suddenly next to you as if he’d been there the whole time. “Get away from him.There is no reason to behave like that, can’t you see you’re making himuncomfortable?” The sharp, dangerous undertone to Joseph’s voice is one younever heard before. He firmly grips the Alpha’s arm and, with strength thatcomes from years operating a yacht, pushes them away from you. He shoots you aworried and concerned look, but you shake your head, and step behind himinstinctually. Joseph turns his head toward the Alpha again. “I don’t know whoyou are or why you think being an Alpha gives you the right to assault people,but frankly, I don’t care. What I care about,” Joseph says, dropping all pretenceof being civil, “is that you never do that again. Not to my Omega, not toanyone else.”

“What are you going to do about it, Pinky?” The Alpha sneers. Joseph stepsforward, going nose-to-nose. “I’m going to report you to the authorities. Thereare cameras here. Witnesses. And the Lord has no mercy for people like you.”Then, suddenly, Joseph’s posture changes again. “Have a blessed day,” he says,with so much venom you’re surprised the Alpha doesn’t fall over dead. Once theyleft, Joseph turns to you and wraps his arms around you. “I’m so sorry thishappened to you, I should have interfered sooner.” You shake your head and restyour chin on his shoulder, still shaken.

☕ “H-hey!” The Alpha’s brief moment of surprise is enough for you toslip free and run. You’re working on pure,raw instinct and that leads you right into Mat’s arms, to the source of thesweet scent of caffeine that’s unique to him. Mat wraps his arms around youprotectively and leads your head to rest on his shoulder, face turned away fromthe Alpha. The commotion is enough to alert the staff. Someone is blocking thedoor, another one, you hear, is calling the police. Mat makes you take a stepbackwards. The growl you hear doesn’t come from him, but the other Alpha. “Stayaway, man. You don’t want to make this worse. The police’s on the way.” Had Mat’svoice been shaky before, he’s unwavering now, a solid rock.

“Fuck you and your wh-“

“If I were you,” Mat says. He’s gone tenseagainst you. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence.”

Thankfully, before things get out of control,the police arrive. They make you give your statement, before they drag theAlpha away, who is cussing the whole time. Only when the door of the police carslams close does Mat relax – he practically deflates. “Shit, Y/N, are youalright? Let me get you home. That must have been a shock. I mean, obviously, Imean, they were, I don’t know what they said but you looked scared and yourscent and-“

“Mat,” you gently interrupt him. You look up andtry to smile reassuringly. “Take me home, my Knight in shining armour.” Matbreaks into a smile and nods. The adrenaline only fully leaves him when you’rein the safety of your home, but you’re more than glad to cuddle with him as hecalms down again.

🌹 “Please step away from my Omega.” The Alpha,thank god, releases you and turns around to face Damien. They start smirking. “That’syour Alpha? That clown?”

“Hey, don’t you-“ The Alpha reaches outand grips your chin roughly. “Shut up. Be a good Omega and keep quiet-“

“I believe that’s enough now.” With asurprising strength for someone so thin as him, Damien pulls the Alpha’s handoff you and forces distance between you and them. He keeps the arm in a firm,and apparently painful, grip. “That is no way to behave. Y/N made it quiteclear he has no interest in you. I suggest you take your leave. I am a patientman, but even my patience knows its limits, and you are close to pushing meover that threshold. Not only did you threaten my bonded, you also threatenedmy child. In the not so distant past, it would have been well within my rightto retaliate physically and I’m sure the police would understand where I’d comefrom, were I to lose my temper. However, I am a gentleman, and as such, I won’t.”He lets go of the Alpha’s arm. “Kindly leave. Before I change my mind.” Aftershooting you and Damien a last angry look, the Alpha harrumphs and storms outof the store. Damien releases a long breath and turns around, cupping yourface. “Are you alright, things considered?” Hesitantly, you nod. Damien smilesand leans in to kiss your forehead. “Let’s go home. We can resume our shoppinganother day.”

🎣 The pressure behind you isgone as fast as it came. Confused, you turn around- and see Brian holding upthe Alpha by their shirt, their feet dangling a good distance above the floor.Brian looks like his usual, cheery self, but you know him well enough to seethe anger in his eyes. He meets your gaze and raises an eyebrow. Once you nod,he turns his attention back to the Alpha, who is struggling, but to no avail. “Ireally want to throw you through the glass front of this store, my friend,” hesays, the last word laced with pure hatred and barely constrained fury. “Orinto this crib. Solid wood. It would break, sure, but it’d hurt like hell. Butit’s too good a craftsmanship to do that.”

“Let me go, you-!”

Brian readjusts his grip and brings the Alpha close to his face. He barelybares his teeth, but its enough to make the Alpha shut up immediately. “I hope,for you and whatever object happens to be near in that moment, that I neverhave to see you again. I don’t know if I can restrain myself twice. I’dgleefully snap you in half.” He drops the Alpha, who lands on their butt with ayelp. They scramble to their feet and run so fast, they almost stumble. You’restill watching them, rounding the corner, when strong arms engulf you. Brian’sscent wraps around you, rises in your nose, and you relax. “It’s all going tobe okay, Y/N,” he whispers, cradling your head in his massive paw. “I won’tever let something like that happen again.”

👟 “Hey! Let go of him!” At thesound of Craig’s voice, the Alpha turns their head. They open their mouth tosay something, but whatever that something is, it dies on their tongue as theysee Craig, in all his muscular – and very angry – glory. Immediately, the Alphareleases you. Not going to let such a chance go to waste, you run behind Craigfor protection. Craig reaches back to take your hand and squeeze it, but helets go again, in favour of stalking forward, purposely making his musclesbulge. The Alpha stumbles backwards. “H-hey man, I didn’t realise he was yours,I wouldn’t have-“

“So, just because I’m big and stronger than you suddenly changed your mind?What if I wasn’t? Would you try to steal him, like he’s some kind of property?”Craig sounds pissed. You’ve never seen him so angry before. “What if he’d beenalone? Would you have dragged him away? What kind of fucked up, twisted logicis that, bro?” He pulls the Alpha close by their collar and stares right downat them. “You shouldn’t apologise to me. Not like that. You should apologise toY/N, but I won’t subject him to having to deal with you any longer.” Craigbares his teeth. “Get lost, asshole.” He doesn’t need to say it twice. Themoment Craig releases them, the Alpha runs away. Craig waits until they’regone, unmoving, before he turns and hurries over to you. “Bro, are you okay?Did they hurt you? Are you-“

You cup his face and bring your foreheads together. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”Craig lets out a shaky breath and covers your hands with his.

📖 It all happens so fast, you’resure that, had you blinked, you would have missed it. There’s a blur of yellow,a grunt, and suddenly you’re free again. You turn and back away, before yourealise that the Alpha is no longer a danger – Hugo’s got him pinned. No matterhow much the Alpha struggles, Hugo is unrelenting. In the struggle, his hairtie must have slipped off, because his hair is open now and he’s slightlydishevelled, but still looking so calm and composed, you can’t help but relax.Everything’s under control now. “Did someone already call the police?” Hugoasks. He tightens his grip as the Alpha tries to kick him and makes them howlin pain. One of the clerks answers in affirmative and indeed, the police showsup moments later – a pregnant Omega being threatened by another Alpha alwaysposed the risk of the parent-to-be going feral, and wouldn’t that be a greatheadline? Once the police take over, Hugo releases the Alpha and strides overto you with big steps, pulling you into his arms. “Are you alright?” Face smoochedagainst his chest, you nod, feeling your body slowly stop shivering. Hugokisses the top of your head. The hand rubbing your back is slightly trembling. “Thatwas kind of cool,” you say. He pulls away to look at you in surprise, before heblushes. “Ah.” Hugo pushes up his glasses, looking sheepish. “I always wantedto try that out.” Despite the situation, you chuckle and pull him back into ahug.

[imagine-loki]

Vengeful

TITLE:  Vengeful CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT:  One Shot AUTHOR:  tomstinkerbell ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

trigger warning : domestic abuse

Imagine having to hide the black eye your now former boyfriend gave you last night when you went to break up with him because you know that, if Loki sees it, he’ll kill him.

RATING:  M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This story deals with DOMESTIC ABUSE.  If that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read it.

Of course, you can’t hide anything from the Trickster, and when you appear at a meeting at the Tower the next morning after it happens, he’s the only one there and his eagle eye – especially when it comes to you - immediately spots that you’re wearing a lot more makeup than usual.

You’re afraid he’s noticed, so you turn away from him as he comes nearer, making yourself a cup of coffee to give your shaking hands something to do.

But he’s not about to allow you to get away with that. 

He comes to stand next to you, taking the mug and the K-cup out of your hands and turning you physically back towards him – gently but firmly.  Then his crooked finger comes up to support your chin as his thumb holds it – again, very carefully so as not to hurt you but also not allowing you to avoid his touch - and you know without seeing it happen that he’s also relieved you of the make-up you thought you’d done a reasonably good job of applying, and he’s more than close enough that you can feel his entire body stiffen at the sight of your ugly, swollen shiner.

“I will kill him for this.”  The threat – which you know is really a vow – is issued from between clenched teeth.  You can see a muscle ticcing in his jaw – he is absolutely furious, more so than you’ve ever seen him in the past.

But that’s exactly why you tried to hide it from him in the first place.  Your hand comes up to lie on his wrist – not trying to hold him, knowing you have no ability to stop him except with your words.  “No.  You most certainly will not.”

His eyes fly to yours, and the frightening extent of the fury you see there makes you want to cringe away from him – even though you know it’s not directed at you.  But you don’t.  You squeeze his arm just once, saying, “Although I’d like to think I’m a better, more advanced being, I’m apparently not, because I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that sentiment.  If I was bigger and stronger, I would have decked him myself, but I decided to go for the better part of valor and get the hell out of there while I could.  I’ve filed charges and there’ll be a restraining order against him, although I don’t think there’ll be a problem.  He was immediately remorseful – not that that excuses his actions in the least - and he’s never touched me in anger before.”

He cups your other cheek tenderly.  “And he shall never get the chance to do so again, I promise you,” Loki murmured in a horrifyingly menacing tone.

“No, Loki.  I don’t want that promise from you – I want you to leave him alone.  You are not to hurt one hair on his head.”  You unthinkingly grab his muscular biceps and try to shake him, but it was like trying to move a boulder.  “I mean it.  Promise me.”

He catches your eye, mouth remaining stubbornly shut in a grim line.

In response, you lower your gaze, removing your hands from his arms and taking a step away from him so that you are no longer in contact with him in any way, not even looking at him as you state firmly, neutrally, “If you can’t – won’t - promise me that, then we can no longer be … friends.”  Then you lift your gaze to his.  “I cannot – I will not - have the people who come in and out of my life having to fear for their lives if they should displease me just because I’m close to you.”

 “If I had wanted to kill him when he merely annoyed you, he would have been long since dead.”

You refuse to rise to that bait.

“And, he did not merely displease you, he hit you,” Loki ground out, utterly unrepentant. 

“Yes, he did, and I have done everything I can – within the law - to let hold him legally responsible for his behavior.  We’re broken up; I won’t see him again, except perhaps in court.  I’ve filed assault charges against him.  He will be required to remain a certain number of feet away from me.”  You take back the step you’d taken away from him, looking up at him and covering the fisted hands that are at his side with yours as best you could, although they were really too big for you to do so completely.  “But make no mistake, Loki.  I will not have you committing murder on my behalf.  Am I making myself perfectly clear?  If you do anything foolish like that, I will make myself scarcer to you than I will him.”  Even though it would kill me to do so, you think, although you don’t say that out loud.

Your growing feelings for Loki – and his for you – had been the impetus for your break up.

For a long moment, you can feel how stiff and angry he remains as he searches your eyes, but then, suddenly, you can feel him relax a bit, lacing those long, elegant fingers with yours, then bending down to press an almost reverent kiss just on the edge of your cheekbone, near your bruise but not on it, so as not to hurt you.

“If that is your choice, my dear, then I shall abide by it,” he says quietly, and with a level of reluctance that he doesn’t bother to hide as he brings your hands to his lips to kiss each of them lovingly.

But you are not convinced about his sudden conversion to your way of thinking.  “You won’t hurt him in any way?” you press.

“Not until you come to your senses and allow me to rip him slowly apart with my bare hands, keeping him only alive enough that he will be sure to feel the agony of his flesh each time as I rend it from his bones, no.”

You shudder at how utterly ruthless he sounds – even though it’s technically on your behalf.  You want to believe him, and his gaze is clear, but you are wary of his easy capitulation.  “You’re not lying to me?”

Far from being offended at your accusation, he smiles broadly.  “I am not, little skeptic.”

Your expression is wry.  “I have reason to be skeptical – I know you.”

Loki chuckles softly, and on impulse, you crook your finger at him, and he leans down.  He’s so tall – and you’re so short – that you have to go on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, whispering, “Thank you, though, for wanting to avenge my honor.”

“As much as I would thoroughly enjoy exterminating him in the most painful way imaginable for what he has done to you, I cannot imagine doing so if it would deprive me of your exquisite company, my darling.”

With that, his finger is back at your chin, tipping it up when you would have preferred to hide your soft blush from him, when he leans down to press a kiss to your lips that starts out gentle then turns quite passionate as he gathers you fully against him, bending you to him in an unusual – and highly potent - combination of greedy lust and tender intentions before releasing you immediately when you stiffen at the sound of others approaching.

But as you turn away, your lips – your body – tingling from his kiss for a very long time afterwards – you hear his deep, dark rumble from behind you, “I will let you go now, my lovely, but I will claim you again – soon - and much, much more fully,” before he walks away to find his own seat – right next to yours, of course.

[elizatellsthestory]

Summer Storm

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: KakaSaku

Rating: T

Prompt: The Mission

Summary: In which Kakashi majorly screws up and is rewarded with a cold shoulder from his favorite medical ninja. Maybe a little spat is all he needs to really open his eyes to what he wants.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of characters. I am making no profit off of this and am only writing it for my entertainment.

A/N: Set in my Same Age AU sometime shortly after Kakashi leaves Anbu. Somewhat established relationship. If anyone has watched Goblin: The Lonely and Great God, this was inspired by Sunny and Reaper’s reincarnations.

Also sorry this is suuuuuuper late. Life has been exhausting, but this is my last entry for Kakasaku month. It could actually fit for the prompts The Mission or Summer Rain all the way from week one.

Unbeta-ed.

[ao3] [fanfic]

“Stay with me.” The voice was far away like hearing someone through a tunnel or in the waking moments after a deep slumber. It rang in his head, so persistent that he couldn’t tell if his name was being called repeatedly or if it was just from the ringing in his head brought on by the loud slow thump of his own heartbeat. One thing was certain though. It was panicked. “Kakashi, look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Blackness faded away to meet grey skies. For a moment the world was a blur before it came into sharp focus, and he was aware of everything all at once. The agonizing pain in his chest only slightly dulled by the gentle, warm flow of Sakura’s chakra. The green eyes that bore into his, commanding them to stay open. The soft patter of rain that beat against his much too pale skin. Some part of him knew that if he turned his head slightly, he’d find the dead bodies of the Kiri Anbu that lay just beyond them.

“What are you doing?” His voice was ragged. Talking was a luxury his failing body could barely afford. It spasmed in protest, and he was sure he could taste the metallic tang of blood when he coughed. “Finish the mission.”

“If you think I’m leaving you, you’re dead wrong.” Sakura’s voice was hard. It left no room for argument, but as Obito would be happy to point out and in fact, had many times, Kakashi had always been a fool.

“Sakura-”

“Shinobi who abandon their comrades are worse than scum, right? That’s your rule, and it applies to abandoning you too. Now hold still and stop talking, so we can be on our way sooner.

…

“The rain isn’t so bad, we could keep going.” If he were still in Anbu, they wouldn’t have stopped, but he’d been demoted from espionage and assassinations to courier missions. Granted, the information they’d been transporting was highly sensitive information, but if he were honest with himself, it wasn’t the mission that had him itching to keep moving. Even if it was, they’d technically finished it and were on their way back to the village. It didn’t matter if they stopped for the night to stay in a roadside inn instead of camping out on the road. No, what was bothering him was the cold shoulder Sakura had been giving him ever since they’d run into those Kiri shinobi.

“If you want to keep going in this storm, be my guest, but when you get struck by lightning, don’t expect me to heal you.” Sakura brushed the wet hair back from where it clung to her cheeks as best she could before stepping into the roadside inn. “And I’ll be sure to inform Rin not to help you either.”

“I wouldn’t get struck by lightning.” And he doubted Rin would refuse to treat him. If anything she’d just give him a stern talking to about not making idiotic decisions.

“Wanna take that bet?”

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky followed seconds later by a clap of thunder as though the sky were working with Sakura to prove him wrong. Rather than arguing the point any further and pressing his luck, he wordlessly stepped into the building. His clothes were darkened and weighed down by the heavy rain they’d run through for the past hour. Rivulets of water dripped off the both of them and left a trail of puddles after them on the hard wood floor of the inn.

Sakura coughed lightly to get the attention of the old woman who looked to be half asleep behind the counter.

“Ah, got caught in the rain, did you?” She peered at the two of them through her thick rimmed glasses. “We don’t usually get many ninja all the way out here.” Her eyes drifted between the two of them again until it began to feel like she was trying to read their deepest darkest secrets as payment for the rooms.

“We were just passing by.” Sakura shifted uncomfortably. Kakashi couldn’t quite tell if it was from the way her wet clothes clung to her and let the cold seep into her skin, or if it was from the older woman’s penetrating gaze. Even he was beginning to get unnerved by it.

“The weather’s brought a lot of customers today, but you’re just in luck.” The women fished around her desk for a moment before pulling out a key connected to a wooden tag with a room number on it.

“Oh. Actually, we need two rooms, if you don’t mind.” Sakura smiled at the woman, but Kakashi could tell it was entirely forced. He had a sinking suspicion that the tense set of her mouth had more to do with him than it did the intrusive old woman.

“Sorry, we’ve only got the one room left.”

“We’ll take it. Thank you,” Kakashi swooped in and picked up the key, offering the woman a much friendlier smile as he steered Sakura towards the stairs. Without looking, he could already tell Sakura’s eyes had lowered into a glare that very well might kill a man on sight, but he was thankful she didn’t seem to be full on fighting him for manhandling her just yet.

As they reached the first step, the door opened again and a young couple around their age ran in all giggles and smiles.

“Do you have a room?”

The old woman’s faint reply stopped the two shinobi in their tracks. “You’re just in luck, we’ve got one room left.”

Charcoal eyes met emerald. Pressing his luck, Kakashi let his hand slide along her arm until their fingers were interlocked. “Just let it go.”

Sakura’s jaw was set in a way that he knew she was physically restraining herself from going back and accusing the old woman of lying to them.

“Pretend you didn’t hear anything,” he advised and gave her hand a little tug before starting back up the stairs.

“I didn’t hear anything.” She pulled her hand away from his. Her voice was strained, but she moved ahead without any argument, and Kakashi breathed a silent sigh of relief. He didn’t really want to deal with a spectacle. Sakura could be prone to making them when she got angry, and she’d already been in a bad mood for days.

…

A hot shower later, and Sakura seemed to be in a slightly better mood. At the very least, it seemed to undo the damage the storm had brought about, and he was beginning to get used to the cold shoulder at this point.

Changing into dry clothes seemed to have picked up Kakashi’s spirits as well, and as the pink-haired kunoichi stepped out of the bathroom, Kakashi set his book aside. “Do you want to talk about it?” He let his eye follow a stray droplet of water that rolled down a wet strand of hair and along the skin of her neck before looking back at her eyes. “You’ve seemed kind of tense for a while, and I think it’s about time we clear the air.

“Oh, have I? I hadn’t noticed.” It took everything in Kakashi not to wince at the barbed sarcasm that dripped from her tongue.

She moved around to the uninhabited side of the queen bed and climbed in, deliberately turning her back to him as she did. “I’m tired. Turn the lights out when you’re done.”

For a brief moment, Kakashi sat in silence, then steeled himself, knowing exactly what he was about to instigate. “I’d like to talk about it.”

Just like that, Sakura rounded on him, turning to face him with fury in her eyes. “Would you? Or would you rather just pretend that everything is fine, like you always do? We could just keep living in a world where nothing, not even your death matters! That’s the world you live in, right? I don’t think you understand how close you were, Kakashi. Seconds. You were seconds away from dying, and you told me to just leave you there!”

Ah. So that’s what the cold shoulder for days on end had been about. “I’m not afraid of death, Sakura. I’ve been close to it before. It’s just-”

“Don’t you dare say it’s just part of the shinobi lifestyle.” She pointed a menacing finger at him, and this time he did have the sense of self-preservation to shut up. “I’ve known you for your entire life, Hatake,” she poked him hard, and Kakashi knew there’d be a little bruise there in the morning, “And I know that this is just some stupid way for you to punish yourself for everything that happened in the past that you somehow think is all your fault. You did it with ANBU and now that you can’t take it out there anymore, you’re trying it here. Well it’s not going to work.” Another poke for emphasis.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied, though he at least had the decency to look ashamed.

“Goddamn it, Kakashi, this isn’t a joke.”

“I never said it was.”

“Then take this seriously!” Sakura fumed. “There was absolutely no need for you to let things get as far as they did. Not only that, but it’s insulting that you thought you needed to take the hits aimed at me. You know I can handle myself. You were looking for an excuse to be reckless, when you had no reason to be. Sometimes you act like you don’t have anything to live for, and it pisses me off!”

This time before Sakura could poke him in the chest again, he caught her hand. “I’m sorry.” His clothed lips leaned down to graze the skin of her hand as he spoke. “Forgive me?” His eyes were lowered. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her fully when he knew that she was right. Even after all these years, even after Obito had returned, he still felt guilty for the pain he’d inflicted on his teammates. For being unable to save Minato. Most times knowing the truth or thinking through the logic of the situations didn’t help. Sometimes he needed the rush of battle or the single mindedness of a cause to distract him. The field was where his worth laid. Sometimes, he felt like he couldn’t be absolved of all his crimes until he had fully martyred himself.

“I don’t want an apology.” A softness had finally begun to replace the hard edge of Sakura’s voice. “I want you to forgive yourself.” Her free hand moved to brush through his unruly hair. “It’s been years. No one holds you responsible.”

He let her hand slip away from his grasp and shook his head tiredly. “It’s not so simple as that.”

“Hey,” she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. Immediately, he let himself melt into her hold, his face burrowing into the crook of her neck. His strong arms came up to wrap around her tightly. “You don’t have to hate yourself,” she murmured against his hair. Her fingers stroked slowly through the silver locks. “I know I don’t.”

He couldn’t help but let a sad smile tug at the edge of his lips at her words. “You don’t make it easy for a guy to run away, do you?” All his life he’d been trying to run, away from his mistakes, from the people he knew would only be hurt for knowing him, and towards whatever self-imposed justice he thought made up for them. Somehow in the midst of it all, there was Sakura, always finding a way to keep him sane. She was always there to keep him from going too far.

“Maybe you should stop trying to run. Have you ever thought of that?”

Her words brought his head up to look at her, and her green gaze bore into his soul with the same seriousness as when her chakra had been stitching him back together only days ago. With most others, the gaze would feel intrusive, but not with her. Never with her.

It happened slowly at first. Kakashi wasn’t sure who initiated what, only that there was no hesitation. It wasn’t the first time they’d fallen into this, and selfishly, he prayed it wouldn’t be the last, though he could never find it in himself to voice his true affections for the girl who had been the only constant in his life besides death.

There was a part of him that wanted to resent the way her calloused fingers left chills in their wake as they traveled along his bare skin. He wanted to reject the way he longed to taste more of her even as he left openmouthed kisses along the strong lines of her stomach, but the thing about Sakura was that when he was with her, all of that melted away. He didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted to be.

And, as he lay in bed the next morning, his legs tangled with hers, and his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her bare back while she slept on, he finally allowed his mind to wonder. Maybe someday, he would have the honor to wake to the sight of her pink hair splayed across the pillows every morning. Maybe someday, he’d be brave enough to tell her how he’d grown to feel about her. He could only hope that day would come soon.

[cobracommanderofficial]

The Fall of Mt. Spring

Hey guys! Here’s a story I worked on during my flight to California last night! It has a pseudo-Lovecraft tone (It could best be compared to the Thing on the Doorstep) I hope you guys like it!

I know it seems like I have committed a most horrible deed, and in most other circumstances I would agree with you. However, with this note or story or whatever label you want to apply to it, I only wish to clear some things up. More specifically, I'd like to openly testify my participation in the incident that is now commonly known to the public as "The Fall of Mt. Spring", and how I acted in the just, at least from the perspective I held at the time. 

Now, I suppose I should give some background information on the whole affair, as it should signal why I was in Mt. Spring during the semi-apocalyptic week that shall forever scar our history. Now, I suppose I should start at the very beginning of this whole affair. Back when I was still in university (I've long since dropped out to pursue independent archaeology), I made the acquaintance of a fellow by the name of Edward Wallace. Now, Edward was a most peculiar fellow in several regards. For one, he was in no way ugly or unkempt, but he always exuded an aura of repulsion. Thus, he was never the most popular fellow. Second, his interests and hobbies were unique, to say the least. He spent nearly all of his free time working some sort of internship at the nuclear power station on the edge of the city. Besides that, all he really did was sleep and make others uncomfortable. Finally, his taste in music was absolutely terrible. I cannot put into words how much I despised it. One can only listen to the Spice Girls so many times before madness begins set in. However, in spite of all these overwhelmingly terrible aspects, I couldn't help but find myself fascinated with him. How could a man sustain a lifestyle such as his and not fall into a despair so inescapable that suicide is seemingly the only escape? I became the only thing that resembled a friend in his life, so presumably he spent more time with me than with any other human being. I never did develop an emotional attachment, but over time I slowly began to realize that Edward's entire perception of reality was some kind of twisted satire. He majored primarily in accounting, but wished to become an engineer full time at an atomic research center. He said both subjects took into account his worldview of total nihilism. I wondered what kind of upbringing could produce an individual as....special as Edward. So, I probed him for months about it. Alas, he remained mostly tight lipped. All that I was able to ascertain was that he was born and raised in a town called Mt. Spring, in Vermont, and that he hated it there more than anything. That was the only aspect of his childhood he would willingly talk about. How much he despised that town. How it's very existence was a threat to Edward's sanity. It was seemingly his life goal to destroy it, either physically or economically. I suppose that would explain his career choices. Now, one Saturday afternoon, I received a phone call from Edward. 

"T-Tommy. It's finally time. I'm going back to Mt. Spring. My mother has called me, and she's fallen deathly ill. The doctors think it's some kind of cancer. I want to be there for her. So, I must abandon my studies. In a couple days, you should get a package through the mail. It contains all the knowledge I have collected on possible methods via which to neutralize the threat of Mt. Spring. Guard them with your life. I'm sorry it had to end so suddenly. Perhaps one day we'll meet again. Perhaps not." 

Then, a click. He had hung up. When the package arrived, I looked through the contents with some curiosity. Inside there were three books. One was some sort of explanation of the possible weaknesses and faults in a nuclear power plant. The other was a collection of ramblings on covert government operations located in and around Mt. Spring, some of which seemed downright ludicrous in scale and purpose. Finally, a journal with a brilliant purple cover and a shining gold top. Stuck to the front of this was a Post-it note. It read 'ONLY FOR DESPERATE MEASURES. YOU'LL KNOW WHEN." These three pieces of information led me to draw one conclusion: That Edward was absolutely insane. So, I tucked the package under my bed and went on with my life. Soon enough afterwards, I dropped out of university to pursue my passion of archaeology. 

Work was slow at first, but that changed one stormy September evening. The one incident that secured my path to Mt. Spring that fateful day was also the most important day of my life: I had just discovered a fully intact ruin buried deep within the Rocky Mountains. It seemed to be some kind of holy burial site, filled with coffins and offerings. Realizing that no good would come of me sticking around, I made note of the coordinates and went to the press with my discovery. It was hailed as incredibly important, and shed light on some of the more obscure rites of one offspring of the Sioux tribe. How they got that far north, and how they survived in such harsh conditions (Most of the ruins, including the burial site, were located at some of the highest altitudes in the Rockies.) are still a mystery to us. However, my discovery helped expose at least one fragment of their seemingly expansive culture. Approximately a month after the burial site hit the news, I heard the telephone ring. I assumed it was a journalist asking for an interview, so I ignored it at first. It kept going and going and going. Eventually, more than slightly irritated, I picked up the phone. 

"Hello, this is Thomas Frost. What business do you have?" I seethed into the receiver. A familiar voice replied. 

"Thomas, it's me. Edward. I was just watching the news when I saw your name pop up. I was so surprised you abandoned theater. Say, would you like to take a visit to my place, for old time's sake? I'm not too far from Philadelphia, if that sweetens the bargain." Edward replied. Something seemed off about his voice. It seemed restrained and concerned, almost like someone was pointing a gun to his head as he said it. Moreover, I was concerned as to how he got my home phone number. Brushing it off as him having a contact or two in the journalistic industry, I spoke into the phone again. 

"Depends where and when. I would like to see you again. It has been ages." I had calmed down at this point, but I was unable to keep concern from reaching my face. 

"Oh, it's fine. I'm located at 457 East Roosevelt Drive, in Mount Spring. Also, any time works for me. I'm settled here. Not busy at all" his raspy voice replied. I almost dropped the phone in shock. He had willingly moved back into that town which so many years ago he had despised with the entirety of his being? I was most concerned. However, I agreed to his offer. I had to investigate why he had suddenly made himself comfortable in a metaphorical den of wolves. It was almost as if Ahab were to suddenly join Greenpeace and preach about whale conservation. The math didn't add up. So, the date was set. When I was packing my stuff for my week-long stay at Mt. Spring, I noticed a box sticking out from underneath my bed. It was that package from so many years before. I figured it would be a decent topic for conversation, so I added it to my luggage. After I had finished packing and locking up the house, I jumped into my used convertible and began the hour and a half ride to a place that would alter my perspective of reality forever.

 I drove past the city limits of Mt. Spring at approximately 5 pm. From the second I entered the town, I felt something was off. The architecture of every house seemed copied and pasted. When I hit what could be referred to as 'downtown', I was utterly appalled. It was entirely chain stores, without a single unique business or service offered within the whole town. I immediately understood why Edward had hated this place so much. Thus, I was even more confused as to why he willingly moved back here. After about half an hour of driving, I arrived in front of a clean cut suburban lawn. Several gnomes and flamingos had been erected around a patch of dirt, creating a defensive barrier between the petunias and whatever Nature could throw at the pitiful excuse for a garden. Otherwise, the lawn was featureless and was so vibrantly green that I nearly threw up. I walked up the cement pathway to the front door and knocked three times.

 No response. I rang the doorbell. After about twenty seconds, the door opened. A woman in her mid thirties stood before me. Her brown hair was held in a tight bun, and her piercing blue eyes were surrounded by laugh lines. On her right hand was a diamond ring, and she wore a long blue shirt with denim jeans. She took a moment, seemingly sizing me up.

 "And who might you be", she asked in a most demanding tone. I was almost too shocked to reply.

 "M-my name is Thomas Frost. I'm an old friend of Edward." I managed to sputter out. This woman's demeanor was almost terrifying. She turned back into the house and shouted, 

"Eddy, Tom is here to see you!." Slowly, a familiar gaunt figure shuffled towards the doorway. He wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulder, and I had to hold in a gasp. Standing before me was none other than Edward Wallace. However, something had changed about him. The aura of repulsion he had once carried about him had vanished. All that was left was a smiling blonde man with unusually tan skin.

 "Aaaaaaaah, Thomas. So glad you could make it. How have you been?", he asked me as we walked inside. 

"I've been fine, Ed. But I'm sure you know enough about what's happened to me recently. I haven't heard from you in almost a decade. How've you been?" I replied. 

"Ohohoh, right. You have no idea what's happened in the past 8 years. Well, I suppose I should enlighten you. But first I shall show you to the living room and prepare for us some coffee." He led me down a couple hallways, eventually opening up into a fairly luxurious den. There were three couches, a flat screen TV, and a real fireplace. How exotic. However, what caught my attention the most were the bookshelves that lined the walls. After my host excused himself to grab us some refreshments, I began to peruse the library. I figured, knowing Edward, that the books would be interesting if not totally incomprehensible. I slowly began to realize, however, as I moved from shelf to shelf, that this was maybe the most boring library I had ever seen. Nothing of any literary challenge had presented itself. It was all either bland romance novels, books on taxes and accounting and whatnot, or fiction that even a public library would be ashamed to put on display. I was so wrapped up in my judgments that I hadn't heard another figure enter the room. A shrill voice pierced the air.

 "There's an intruder! An intruder! An intruder in our house. Mama!!!" I turned around to see a girl that couldn't have been older than 7 standing in the doorway, crying. The woman from the front door quickly entered the room and began to soothe the child, promptly bringing her back to wherever she had appeared from. Almost as soon as those two had departed, Edward appeared. In his hands he clenched a silver coffee tray. We both took our seats on the couch, and he began his story.

 "Ah, well, it all began right after I arrived here. At first, I was as mortified as I had been when I was younger. I had truly hated this town back then, and now I just can't understand why. Anyways. I came to see my sick mother in the house she had bought with retirement funds. She had a brain tumor, Tommy. She wasn't going to live past November. I stayed there to comfort her. Slowly, she descended into lunacy. She began to say things about ants in her brain and how I had been right about hating this town. I simply ignored it as the ramblings of a madwoman. On November 3rd, she passed on to the next life. I was there at her funeral. It was Dios de los Muertos on that day, if you'd believe it. I went back to the house and began to pack my things when I heard a knocking at my door. A freak snowstorm had hit, and had blocked all the roads leading in and out of town. I was forced to stay there another night. Simply mortified, I couldn't sleep that night. The next day I decided to venture into town. Alas, there was nothing of interest there. Just the same chains you see everywhere. So, I began to head home. It was then that I was stopped by a simply beautiful young woman. We began to talk, and she decided to give me a gift due to the troubles the weather had caused me. It was a piece of cake. I decided there was no harm in accepting such a present, so I took it home and ate it. The very next day, I came down with a terrible fever. The young woman and her family took me into their care. They gave me medicine and clothes and made sure I didn't do anything dangerous. I had lost my sanity during those days, they said. I wrote odd things and put them in odd places. Notes addressed to my future self or something along those lines. Anyways, it seems they made sure to take most of the letters down. They feared that seeing any of them would reduce me back into the state of shock that had left me bedridden so long. I was sick for three months, Tommy, and over the course of those three months I fell in love with that young woman. Her name is Katherine, by the way. I stayed in town, in my mother's old house. We dated, fell in love, and married. I got a job doing tax returns at the local H&R Block, and Katherine worked as a painter. Soon, we bought this house. Not long after, Katherine became pregnant with Samantha. She quit full time painting to look after the kid, but she still does it in her free time. That brings us to the present. Here I am, living a happy life." 

The speech had knocked the wind out of me, to say the least. It was an absurd amount of information to process at one time. I slowly began to connect the dots while sipping my coffee. Ed went on about how I could save more money with his damn tax firm, and how he could snag me a special discount. But I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was more thinking of what had happened to Ed's mother. It reminded me of something I had read ages ago. One of the ramblings in the books Ed sent me. How they keep you in by forcing you to stay, whether through debt or through manipulating the weather or anything. They would do anything to get their hands on new test subjects. I had no idea as to who 'they' were, but I began to have frightful notions about the town around me. The rest of the day passed without event. Ed had prepared accommodations for me in the attic, so I headed up there to unpack. My lodgings had an almost frightening aura to them. Dingy, poorly lit, and wooden. Definitely not the kind of place you would want to sleep. However, I found them almost comforting. Something that wasn't a complete carbon copy. At least, I didn't think it was.

 My dreams that night were plagued with night terrors and images of demons emerging from fiery brimstone cracks. The next morning, the entire family (Me included) sat down to breakfast. Katherine had made pancakes. However, I didn't eat much. I had lost my appetite the night before. So, I made polite conversation with Edward as the fruits of the housewife's labors slowly went cold. We had decided the night before that today Ed would give me a tour of the town. So, we hopped in the silver Prius and began to explore the town. He slowly drove past the various strip malls, explaining in detail the services offered by each niche of capitalist hubris. Oddly enough, he sped by things that were far more interesting. At least to me. For one, he totally ignored a ruined house that showed signs of habitation. He sped past an unmarked cement building that emitted a bad aura. The straw that broke the camel's back, however, and the sight that made me force Ed to stop the car, was the nuclear power plant on the edge of town. 

"Hey, Ed, didn't you want to work at one of those places when you were younger?" I asked. I was genuinely curious as to why he had taken up a job distributing tax returns rather than engineering an atomic reactor.

 "Hmm? Oh, that? I was just joking around about that.", he replied almost robotically. We spent the rest of the day driving around the outskirts of town, admiring the scenery. We stopped at the local Denny's for dinner before heading back to the house for some relaxation time. While I lounged on the couch, Ed spring an unexpected question onto me. 

"Say, Tommy, you wouldn't happen to still have those books I sent you, would ya?" he said in a relaxed tone that seemed almost serious. I was filled with an immense feeling of dread. I felt like it would not be in my best interests to tell him yes.

 "Ha, I had nearly forgotten about those. Yeah, I threw em out ages ago." I tried to not sound or look concerned. Either I am a very good actor, or Ed is a better actor than me.

 "Oh, alright then." He sounded almost disappointed. I decided to head up to bed not long after. However, my sleep would not go uninterrupted. Around 2 in the morning, I awoke to loud noises coming from downstairs. I crept out of the attic, curious as to what was going on. Downstairs, I saw something most disturbing. Ed had been tied to a chair, and was struggling. Katherine was slowly injecting something into his jugular vein. I fled the scene before I could react. Something bad was going on here. I knew I had to get out of town ASAP so that I could tell the authorities. But I felt bad leaving Ed here, alone with whatever it is that's going on. I woke up early the next day. I decided first to explore the old wooden house that had raised my curiosity. I hopped into my Ferrari and drove down the winding roads until I reached the pile of wood that was at one point called a house. As I got out of my car and walked towards the ruins, I felt as if I was being watched. The hills have eyes and all that it implies. When I reached the main debris pile, I rummaged for a good hour. I had no idea as to why this place intrigued me so much. I suppose it was a guy feeling that led me there. After an hour of fruitless digging, I decided that the home was a lost cause.

 As I walked towards my car, I tripped over a pile of wood I hadn't noticed in my exhausted state. When I got up and dusted myself off, I noticed something odd. Some gleaming metal in the mass of plant matter. I decided it wouldn't hurt to check it out, and began to unbury it. No sooner had I started moving logs a trio of figures emerged from the woods in front of me. All of them seemed very old. Their eyes were possibly the most curious part about them, as they seemed to glow a golden yellow. The one leading the trio stopped the other two and began to talk. 

"Traveler, I recommend you leave this town soon. Nothing good will come of staying here. However, if you unbury that thing",he motioned towards the piece of metal,"there will be no turning back. They will not let you leave. What is it you choose?" Of course, I was immediately confused. Why was everything so dramatic and black or white? What had I done to deserve this warning? Just what the hell was going on in this town? The rational side of me reasoned the best thing to do would be to bail out of town ASAP. The archaeologist in me won over in the end, and I unburied what was now evidently a key. What it was doing here, I had no idea. I felt tired after that whole incident, and decided to head back to Ed's house. When I arrived, it was 10 am. The family had just sat down to brunch. I felt a sudden urge to ask Ed something. 

"Say, Ed, whatever happened to your mother's place?", I inquired. His face turned sullen. 

"Ah, yes. We drove by it yesterday. It was destroyed in a fire some years ago. Very sad." he returned to eating. I began to connect the dots. But now I had to be cautious. Things were getting deep. After a day of avoiding the family, I excused myself to the attic. While I was studying the key, I noticed something most peculiar about it. The material it was made out of bore a striking resemblance to the lock on the purple journal. I began to pace. What to do, what to do? Should I open it? I recalled the note. Was this a desperate measure? Ed seemed happy here. I didn't want to take that away from him. However, there was no ignoring what I saw last night. Maybe it was a kink thing? No, definitely not. I paced and paced and paced. At one point, however, I was so deep in thought I ran into a low set banister. I fell backwards, disturbing the few pieces of furniture in the attic. My impact had caused the bookshelf to fall down. I struggled to put it back up when I noticed something odd. Where it had once stood, there was a note surrounded by a rectangle free of debris. 

I decided my best option was to take it and right the bookshelf before anyone came to investigate. I waited an hour for all the noises and lights in the house to turn off. After 15 minutes of total silence, I took out the envelope. On the front, in Edward's familiar handwriting, was my name. My curiosity was piqued. Why was a letter that was evidently ancient due to it's location and state of yellowing addressed to me, when Ed claims to have forgotten about me until he saw the news report? I took out my Swiss army knife and cut it open. It read: 

Tommy, Desperate times have come upon us. I have been poisoned? No. Something? Maybe. The ruling body of this town, Thomas, they're they're they're they're. They have a hold on me and I they gavem me a fever that cake was l;acd with ssomethng. Now they have an excuse to pump me full of drugs and convert me into a goddamn pod person. ogmdman pod people are everywhere.E it kills you eventuall. It's what happened to motherr. The radio waves ithey send out from that damnable tsotne building tommy. then riado waves influnece you on once ytheyve established a footold in you mind. Don't eat the food. theyre dkeoeododestroying all my letters.i OI HOpe you dindfind this before it's too late. I mad e ap lan just in cas this thing happen. I have harbored a susopicion bou this or mnay years an and its confirmed, tommy! im not insane. i was engineeered, like this, you know. to be a repulsive monster. some experiemn by th cia or whoever the hell is running this. the books tommy. dot let me see thiem dont dont dont dont. run if you can but if you cant then fight your way out of this hellscape. i can fee l them isnide my head tommy. i hope you can sav trshis damnntown 

-the artist formerly known as edward wallace 

This letter shocked me, and fueled the growing sense of paranoia I had about my surroundings. I began to realize that if some big organization really was running this than I had no choice but to somehow put an end to this. I had no idea how. I decided the best choice would be to hide these sensitive materials in my knapsack and head to sleep. The fourth day was when I decided to take action. I ate with the family and left for town hall. Maybe I could glean some information from the official source, however biased it may be. There was practically no wait for the mayor. If Ed's crackpot theories were right, that's because the theoretical 'they' decide the emotions of the townsfolk. No unhappiness. I entered the mayor's office and took a seat. The mayor was a short and fat man with a withering toupee and a voice like sandpaper. I started off the exchange. "Mr. Mayor, what can you tell me about the concrete building on the outskirts of town? I'm a journalist and I'd like to do a report on the local sights and attractions." "Ohohoho, you can't fool me Mr. Frost. I've seen you on the news! But, I suppose I'll let this little lie slide for the sake of our visiting celebrity. Yes, that building isn't open to the public. It's some kind of radio station. You see, it's the wave of the future. A radio station that doesn't need an antennae. How wonderful. Yes, it is government owned. I believe it exists solely to test the new technology, so don't expect to tune into it. It's on a private frequency. Ultraviolet or ultraviolent or whatever those scientists call it." The mayor's phrasing disturbed me just a bit, but I figured that was the most information I would be able to glean from him. I stepped out of the building and rode out to the concrete, bunker-like structure. I began to investigate it, as it didn't have an immediately apparent entrance. However, after searching the nearby woods for half an hour, I discovered a door embedded in the ground. I tried to pry it open with my bare hands, but that was a fruitless effort. Using some nearby stones and sticks, along with that ever-handy swiss army knife, I was able to construct a pulley that managed to open the door by just a crack. Surprisingly, after it opened a bit it was as light as a feather. Truly, technology is amazing. I descended into the bunker, ever cautious of where I tread. 

This place had a bad aura about it. It was dimly lit, but I managed to make my way in the direction I believed the structure to be in. There seemed to be a series of tunnels beneath the town, leading anywhere and everywhere. It had disturbing implications that I had yet to witness. Eventually I reached directly below the structure. The mayor, it seems, had been lied to, to an extent. There was a working antennae, but it seemed to be buried underground. It was hooked up to all sorts of odd machines I couldn't possibly recognize, and I had a headache just from standing in the same room as it. That was when I noticed the security camera. I really didn't like that. I fled as soon as I saw it. Technically, what I had just done was illegal. The sun had set by the time I reached Ed's house. I noticed some black sedans parked out front, so I stopped my car several blocks away and snuck in through the back door. I saw Ed and Katherine talking to some men in black suits. I slowly ascended the stairs, checking on my belongings. The room was a mess. Everything had been turned upside down. Thankfully, I had what they wanted on me at the time. As I slowly looked around to assess the damage, I heard a shrill voice. "The intruder is back!" the little girl screamed. Great. I quickly went into panic mode. As the men in black and the rest of the Warren family began to ascend the stairs, I looked for an exit. I managed to budge the window open enough to climb out and descend the three story house. I fled my car and ran into the woods. 

The following 24 hours were a blur of adrenaline as I hid from the search parties and the spotlights and I recall being referred to as a threat to national security and labelled a terrorist and mother of god and I kept running and running. On the morning of the sixth day I awoke in a different place from where I fell asleep and immediately panicked. I was silenced by those same glowing eyed figures from before, who suddenly appeared before me. "So, I take it you've come to realize what's going on here?" the slender female asked. "Y..Yeah." "We realized that a long time ago. Before you were born. Before we were born. The experiments on Mt. Spring date back to the early days of the Cold War, if you didn't know. Besides general population manipulation, there were various experiments. Some were supposed to be psychological weapons, like your friend Edward. Some were born as laborers. Us? We were born as intelligence officers. Far too intelligent for our own good. Once we became self aware, they tried to get rid of us. It failed, of course. So here we are. In hiding. They've managed to accelerate the passage of time for us, so it shouldn't be too long before we pass on. But you. That purple goddamn notebook can put an end to all of this. Free this town, son." The leader said in an imperious tone before all 3 faded into darkness. I checked my knapsack. The key and journal were still there. I began to decipher... 

Ed had apparently planned this a long time ago: the utter nuclear annihilation of Mt. Spring. I suppose it isn't surprising, as he was a psychological weapon, but still. He played his part far too well. Using some insanely obscure psychohistory techniques, he was able to guess the entire future of the power plant on the hill for 15 years after the journal was hidden. All that was left was for me to play my part. Over the course of the day, I planned my route and strategy; luckily, Ed had already done the most difficult parts of the planning. All that was left for me to do was pull it off. I decided I'd do it the very next day. I decided to get an early night in. When I awoke, I began my journey. Avoiding patrol patterns and various sheriff's deputies, I made my way to the plant. Avoiding the guard detail was difficult if not impossible, but Ed had planned ahead for this. I just needed to get my timing perfectly right. After three hours of dodging guards and infiltrating security (A majority of that time was made up of me waiting for patrols to pass me) I made it to the central control room. Pulling out the purple notebook, I began to follow the instructions Ed gave me. It took me a good half hour to get everything done. The strain of pulling off complicated system overrides and time sensitive power shutdowns all the while avoiding any and all living beings can really take a lot out of a guy. But, finally, all was done. The only thing left for me to do was press the confirmation button after this prompt appeared

 [confirm basin destruction?] [Y / N]

 As soon as I pressed yes, a great rumbling overtook the building. I realized I had to get out of there ASAP. I began sprinting through the hallways as I heard the nuclear reactor being ejected into the valley below. Soon, Mt. Spring and the horrors associated with it would be blown to smithereens. I reached the outside of the plant and began running through the woods in the opposite direction of the town. A program installed inside the reactor's command processor began the sequence that would lead to annihilation. The most frustrating part of the whole deal was managing to disable the firewalls put in place to prevent such actions. But, it worked out in the end. I must've been about 10 miles away from the site of impact when it went up. I was knocked prone by the explosion. When I woke up, I was in custody. I was asked to give a statement. I refused. I knew there was no way in hell they would believe me. I wouldn't believe me. Besides, they were owned by the same government perpetrating those awful crimes. I was put under house arrest while they put the trial together. I know what will happen to me. I'll inevitably be found guilty, and tortured or executed or even worse. They know that I did it. So, this is my adieu to the world at large. Death is preferable to whatever they might have in store for me, experiments or otherwise. I hope that this manifesto makes it to the light of day. I'm sorry to the families of those I killed. They're at my door now. The police. I have to end it now. Goodbye. Goodbye. I'm sorry, Ed.

[femslashrevolution]

On the Beauty of Women: Becoming a Femslash Author

This post is part of Femslash Revolution’s I Am Femslash series, sharing voices of F/F creators from all walks of life. The views represented within are those of the author only.

I was well into a decade of writing Silmarillion fan fiction before I became a femslash author. For years, I supported femslash–my archive, the Silmarillion Writers’ Guild, had signed on as an official participant for the International Day of Femslash beginning in 2008, and in the interest of civic spirit, I had occasionally written something for it–but it would be another five years before I would identify myself as a femslash author.

My excuses were myriad. I was straight and married–not only married but happilymarried to my high-school sweetheart. And the Tolkien fandom was conservative. When I joined the fandom in 2005, slash was controversial, and femslash was nonexistent. Slash writers tended toward their own sites and communities where they were safe from incessant objections to their stories: homophobia disguised as canon. These fans wanted to celebrate, share, and squee over Tolkien’s world just like the rest of us, and I do not blame them for avoiding the unremitting criticisms they endured in many mainstream fandom spaces, but their absence from my experience meant that I lacked models, inspiration, the impetus to see Tolkien’s world as a more diverse place than my heteronormative interpretation had heretofore allowed.

These were my excuses.

The truth is that I struggled to see the same value in women’s stories that I saw in the stories of men. I struggled to find their stories worth my time to tell them. I struggled to see their beauty.

And I struggled to see all of these things in myself.

I was the kind of woman who was always more comfortable with men than with other women. I can trace back the reasons. I was tormented by my peers in elementary school, and that torment came almost entirely from the girls in my class. I found much more acceptance from the boys. I had a group of girlfriends in the eighth grade, but those relationships were stretched to the breaking point when I opted to attend a magnet school for math, science, and computer science rather than my home high school. One of those girlfriends went with me to that school, and when I began dating the boy who would one day become my husband at the end of our ninth-grade year, our friendship was unable to weather the balance I couldn’t achieve between my best friend and my new boyfriend. From that point forward, my closest friends were almost always men.

I was the only girl from my high school to go to the university I attended for undergrad, but several boys went, and we remained friends. I worked as a cook in a family restaurant through university, in the kitchen subculture that was hypermasculine: foul-mouthed and physically grueling. I was proud of my ability to lift cases of fries and ice cream or deep fryers full of scorching-hot oil, just as well as any man, and I rebuked anyone who suggested otherwise. After graduation, I went to work as a statistician for a law enforcement unit; there were never more than two women working there besides me during my six years there. One of them had been the first woman allowed into the state police academy; feminineness was stricken to signal equality. When I became a teacher–traditionally a woman’s profession and one where nurturance is assumed prerequisite–I accepted a position at an alternative high school for boys with emotional and behavioral disabilities. It was a hands-on school staffed almost entirely by men; I was taught to break up fights and restrain young men who were sometimes twice my size. And I did. Many women stood aside from the physical encounters our job occasionally produced. I started weight training to minimize my chance of injury. I wasn’t invited to happy hours by my few female colleagues, but I earned cred among my male colleagues for being fearless and a reputation for sharp-tongued ribbing liberally sprinkled with four-letter words of Anglo-Saxon origin.

I considered myself a feminist but not particularly feminine, and I never noticed the dissonance in that. To be equal was to be invited to the same playing field as men; it was not recognition that maybe the rules of the game themselves were all wrong.

Fandom began to change that.

Less than 4 percent of the Tolkien fan fiction community identifies itself as male. When I began my fanfic career as a solidly genfic writer, I developed deep female friendships for the first time since I was a young teenager. My fandom friends were incisive and brilliant, opinionated, and strong-willed–and they were also generous and warm and compassionate and unabashedly women: as seemingly unafraid of being tender or sexual as they were to immerse themselves in the textual minutia of a male-dominated geek culture.

Because there was that too: geek culture and fandom was often male-dominated–even aggressively masculine–in its mainstream form. But then there was fan fiction: This room of our own that we’d carved for ourselves out of the larger fandom. While men argued on forums over whether Balrogs had wings and computed the sizes of the various armies of Middle-earth, we wrote Maedhros and Fingon–two of the most battle-blooded characters of The Silmarillion–in tender love with each other and reverse-engineered their deeds to prove that love as canonical. Where Tolkien turned his attention to the colonialist business of conquest and settlements and battles, we turned our attentions to the friendship, families, sex lives, social customs, and everyday existences of characters the books rarely showed without a sword in hand. When Tolkien dismissed a character’s actions under easy explanations like “pride” or “heroism,” we delved deep into the minds of people–human beings–capable of such acts and plumbed out the motives and the rationalizations and the pain of those acts. And we wrote those stories for each other, for none of the rewards–money, influence, fame–that the world of men had told us signaled our worth.

We were widely dismissed by many in the Tolkien fandom and, of course, the male-dominated, capitalist business of mainstream publishing. Our writing was dismissed as escapism and wish fulfillment, and we were accused of wanting to change ourselves and change men from our (and their) supposedly inherent natures, for we weren’t so beautiful and so brave, and men didn’t love as we imagined they did. No one ever considered that we weren’t trying to change ourselves or men as much as we were trying to change the world.

Writing slash began for me as a political act. Although I began as a genfic writer–one who once professed to “not get slash”–I got it quickly enough and read it from time to time and once even wrote a Maedhros/Fingon story for a friend. But I didn’t become a slash writer until my sister invited me to lunch one day and told me that she was bisexual, she was leaving her fiancé, and she was in love with a British woman she’d met online.

If writing fan fiction is supposed to be escapism, then why was it the only way I found to make sense of where I suddenly found myself? I’d always supported LGBTQA+ people in the vague, detached way of someone doing her duty as a good progressive but who has no skin in the game. I am not proud of that, but in my university years, I cared more about injustice against animals than against LGBTQA+ people. But in the midst of the Bush II years, sitting opposite my sister in that restaurant, suddenly that administration’s attacks on LGBTQA+ people wasn’t an abstraction; now it was my family, people I loved, who were suffering. If my sister’s relationship worked out–and it did; they’ve been married more than ten years now–that meant that I would lose one of my best friends to the bigoted laws of my country that would sooner drive one of its own daughters from its shores than to accept the woman she soon after made her wife. My body didn’t seem big enough to hold my rage.

A friend dared me to write a PWP of Fëanor/Erestor, two characters who appear thousands of years apart in the canon. She knew I didn’t write slash, but she was a good enough friend to shove me into unfamiliar waters and trust that, as I flailed and bobbed along on the waves, I wouldn’t accuse her of trying to drown me. I wrote a novel in response. I remember it bleeding from me, from some angry, wounded place, in gouts of words. It remains one of the finest stories I’ve ever written.

But it was M/M, not F/F. In retrospect, I wonder at this, that I would choose to unknot the conflict between my love for my motherland and that nation’s cruel disregard for my sister by writing a novel about the love between two men. Of course, there was the convenience of my friend’s challenge to me, and there was the fact that, in the Tolkien fandom, femslash didn’t really exist yet. I could probably count on one hand the number of femslash stories I’d seen before that point. There was the fact that I still hadn’t learned to value the stories of women, despite being a woman myself in a community of women, representing in my writing a distinctly feminine worldview (although I didn’t yet recognize the latter).

At that point in my life, I still lacked woman friends in my offline life. I still took pride in my characteristics that marked me as masculine and dismissed or downplayed those that marked me as feminine. I thought of the former as strong and the latter as week. I still believed that what I wrote was a fantasy: not what the world was like at all.

Becoming a femslash writer was likewise a political act.

But it was subtler in how it happened. There was no provocation, no epiphany, no angry hemorrhage of emotion. Becoming a femslash writer was not a statement–as my becoming a slash writer had been–and more a slow evolution, shaped by fandom, by the women I admired and loved in that community, and by my art. It was an awakening to the fact that I wanted to use my art to express that women are beautiful and the world we, as women, have the potential to make is also beautiful.

It wasn’t fandom alone that provoked this realization. In my work with disadvantaged, emotionally disabled young men, I was physically strong, I was fearless, I broke up fights, I expanded my repertoire of swear words, and I was unflinching (even when I was scared). Yet none of those reasons were why I was successful with those students.

These young men suffered for a lack of love: often abandoned by their families, cast adrift in a careless succession of foster and group homes, shuffled from one school to another that didn’t want them, affixed with labels to justify the isolation and injustice to which they were subjected. And I imagined myself full of so much love to give them. There were days that I could feel it pushing to be free of the bounds of me. “The love in your heart wasn’t put there to stay,” I would say to myself. “Love isn’t love till it’s given away.” This wasn’t masculine, that claimed that they needed to be shoved and squeezed into the expectations of our society. This was feminine, that sought to understand, to love, to heal.

I began to realize my power, and it didn’t lie in my impersonation of masculinity.

The world of women is beautiful. It is a world of compassion and understanding. It is just. It does not make pecking orders; it does not lock horns. I began to understand that, for me, feminism was not only access to the same playing field as men but the power to change the rules of the game. To say that conflict, competition, warfare, and strife were not the only ways by which the world could be governed. To insist that acceptance, love, justice, and peace deserved equal consideration, and that as feminists, we must lay aside our conviction that the way men have done things for all these thousands of years is superior and advocate for a better way.

If fan fiction is wish fulfillment, then this is a wish that could only be fulfilled in its entirety through femslash. As I have been told by more than one man explaining to me why Tolkien wasn’t sexist, there are so few women in his books because they are books about war. And war is the province of men. Fair enough. Then to fulfill my wish of imagining a world without war, then I must also imagine a world with women at its center. For even in the gentlest of slash fanfics about Tolkien’s characters, the hands that caress so tenderly know or will know the stains of blood. They will become toughened by spear and sword. The minds that love will turn also upon plans of treachery and war; the hearts capable of passion and devotion can be hardened also against mercy and compassion. Even in the prelapsarian innocence of Valinor, their love is shadowed by what they will–what they can–become in the world of men.

But not the women. The Silmarillion is a posthumously published prequel to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, where the Elves are brought by the godlike Valar to inhabit an “deathless realm,” isolated behind impassable mountains and illuminated only by the light of two sacred trees. When one of the Valar rebels and destroys the Two Trees, plunging the land into darkness and murdering one of the Elven kings as he goes, the son of the slain king swears vengeance and pursuit of his father’s killer into Middle-earth. But Tolkien’s Elven women largely rejected the flight to Aman, which in The Silmarillion was preceded by an attack by the armed and armored Noldor upon the Teleri, who wielded only light bows, after the Teleri would not give up their ships to the Noldor. And even though these women are possessed of little more than names and a place in a family tree populated almost entirely by men, Tolkien bothered nonetheless to explain one woman’s motive for remaining: “Fingolfin’s wife Anairë refused to leave Aman, largely because of her friendship with Eärwen wife of Arafinwë … though she was a Noldo and not one of the Teleri.”

This obscure line about two women barely characterized would become the canonical basis for my femslash OTP, but more importantly, it would define the world of my fantasy. What woman would forsake her husband and her children for a friendship? One guided by compassion for the stricken; one whose sense of justice will not allow her to condone a journey–however just in and of itself–that was inaugurated with an act of violence. One with little interest in conquest or vengeance. One who believed in a world that could be founded upon love and justice and knew that the bloodshed perpetuated by the Noldor upon the Teleri had no place in that world. In The Silmarillion, one of the Valar curses the departing Elves–“tears unnumbered ye shall shed,” he forewarns–but though accurate in his prescience, we need not blame the curse: We need only to look at the world built by men, where violence multiplies in the ways of the proverbial Hydra’s heads. Their world is our world, and I dream of something better.

In one of my earliest stories, Anairë and Eärwen coordinate the governance of their people whose kings have chosen exile after their land was deprived of light. In later stories, these women became lovers in their youth and pillars in each other’s lives as they navigated their roles in the Eldarin monarchy, became wives and mothers in accordance with duty and tradition, and resisted the division of their people. They are keepers of a vision of the paradaisical realm of Aman that is neither that of the autocratic Valar nor the power-lusting Noldor but a distinctly feminine vision that seeks to heal and progress.

My feminism has changed; my view of women–and of myself–has changed.

I used to imagine that gaggles of women were inherently frivolous and that I’d be unwelcome by default because I wasn’t interested in babies, mani-pedis, or shopping. I was a loner or a friend of men. My fandom friends taught me differently, and I began to open my heart to–even to seek–friendships with the women in my life.

If my stories are a vision of what it means to be human, then writing femslash freed me from the idea that every story worth telling was a precursor and an explanation for a future violent act, or a reaction of the heart against inhumanity. My femslash stories let me explore a world untouched by war (though not violence or injustice), where the conflicts were centered on love and justice. They kindled in my mind possibilities I’d never imagined in our own world.

Writing always awakens me to what is important. Fan fiction made me realize that I wanted nothing more than to teach the love of words to young people, especially underprivileged young people. Now my work as an author has convinced me that I must be an active artificer of the world I hope to see, which is very different from the world I have.

Three weeks ago, I journeyed with a dozen other women on a twelve-hour overnight bus journey from Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom to the Women’s March on Washington. I was new to Vermont–a flatlander–but they accepted and welcomed me. We shared toothpaste and wine on the bus; we held hands when the crowds thickened and threatened to separate us; we stood in the middle of the sidewalk with signs held high, calling like crows until we located anyone separated from the group. We watched out for and took care of each other in the midst of an event that was physically and emotionally overwhelming: not only the crush of a record crowd but the sudden manifestation of a movement inspired by many of our ideals.

We weren’t even back for a few hours before we were planning our next steps. Our first meeting was standing-room only and opened with a series of swift commitments: inclusiveness to all who wanted to join and an approach that sought common ground and resisted partisan dogma. In the midst of the meeting, I realized how happy I was to be there, building this world by women.

About the Author

Dawn is an author and archivist in the Tolkien fandom. She is the founder of the

Silmarillion Writers’ Guild

and moderates on the

Many Paths to Tread

archive and for

Back to Middle-earth Month

. Sometimes she gets dressed up fancy and presents at Tolkien conferences. Dawn is a Vermont teacher and activist with big dreams of raising milk goats, living off-the-grid, and changing the world.