#right leg feels.. ??? static ?? like when your leg is numb sort of but kinda up before my knee

[talkorsomething]

everyone clap and cheer I added like 3 more steps back to my stretching and it was only minorly difficult

[orange-plum]

So I was commissioned by @andrastesassets to write about the scene in “Satan and Me” where Satan gives his wings away for Natalie, but from his POV. This was kinda a big turning point as a wake-up call in the series for him, as you’re probably aware if you’ve read past that point and seen him be more open with his feelings and such. Anyway, it was a fun little thing to explore (yes, this is canon thoughts of his). I never expected to be commissioned to explore deeper into a canon of my stories that hasn’t been put into words before with the images alone of the updates, but I’m def open to that in the future!

Without further ado, here you go.

The looming presence behind him paled in comparison to the disorienting lurch his stomach gave as he kneeled on the unwelcoming cement floor. Keeping his gaze down, concentrating on the little tremors of his arms holding him upright, Satan struggled to properly see through the fog of stress clouding his mind. Clouding his judgement.

Fuck, this wasn’t the right thing to do, was it? Was he being too hasty? Should he spring up and sprint out the door before he followed through with something he couldn’t come back from? This was definitely one of his more impulsive and reckless decisions he’d ever committed to. Nothing could truly be worth this kind of –

Satan’s hand twitched, starting to rise as nerves got the best of him, when a blur of orange and maroon hovered on the edge of his peripheral. For a brief moment, he found himself vaguely wondering what the smudge of color was in the expanse of drab brown walls and muted trim. 

Reality came crashing against him like an unforgiving tide for what seemed like the tenth time this morning. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck and he swallowed.

Satan returned his palm flat against the cement, locking his joints and muscles into place so that he would not stand up. His stomach did another discombobulated lurch.

Right. This was for Natalie. Natalie, who had no right looking so gray, Father, she was like a corpse.

She is a corpse! His mind howled the confirmation at him, leaving his breaths shallow in his welling panic.

Yes, that was true. It had been true for hours now, yet, somehow, the complete depth of what that really entailed eluded him in his denial. How could she be dead when she had talked to him only moments ago? Human’s lives had always felt fleeting, but had any ever felt quite this temporary before? 

Less than a year they had been together . . . How had she burrowed this deeply under his skin? When? Satan tried to conjure a memory to pinpoint the exact moment Natalie had become a constant in his life as he bore his back to Death and Pestilence. In the end, it was fruitless. Between his ears remained endless static.

The tension in the air was suffocating. His arms trembled, but he kept his jaw clenched.

He would give them no further satisfaction when taking the last bit of value he still possessed of his former self. They would not see him fall apart at their feet. That could come later, when left in the privacy of this cold, dreary room, where he could lick his wounds and recover in peace.

He was still Lucifer, the Morning Star and omen of destruction to all who opposed him, wings or not.

But, fuck . . . Father, he would prefer to keep his wings.

Somehow, boneless and lightheaded from the trauma of the morning, Satan noticed, with a small sense of intrigue, that his back actually felt heavier now that it was empty. How was that possible? 

The long gashes where the trunks had been swiftly carved open spewed boiling trails of lava down his skin, soaking into the hem of his robe and pooling Great Lakes onto the floor. Energy had left in his limbs the moment the numbing kiss of Death’s blade breached his muscles.

On wobbling legs, Satan rose in his shock and joined Natalie at her side. He carefully reached toward her, gliding the tips of his fingers against her ashen cheek, almost afraid to touch, because she looked exactly the same. What the hell? She looked no different than when she had been splayed out like a weathered ragdoll amongst her bedsheets at sunrise, goddamnit. 

Before he could garner enough strength to turn on his company and spew venom and vitriol from his lips, Satan froze. Warmth wafted over his fingers under her nose as he lowered his hand. Closer inspection revealed the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The nauseating cramping in his stomach abated so suddenly, he almost keeled over right then and there.

“Give it a few minutes,” Death commented over his shoulder, as if reading his mind. There was no longer a smile in his voice, his face a neutral mask as Satan glanced at him with gritted teeth, the sight of his former pride being folded up and collected like loose laundry too much to bear. “It takes a little while for a soul to acclimate into their body after death. I assure you, her color and liveliness will rekindle when she wakes up.”

Through the haze, Satan vaguely realized he must’ve been making some type of suspicious face when Death suddenly snorted and shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “For all we’ve been acquainted, Lucifer, you should know I’m not one to break my word. Give my regards to little Natalie when she rejoins the land of the living, won’t you. As always, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you and your brother again when the time comes for your big day.”

With the room empty, peppered only with the soft sounds of Natalie’s breaths and the distant echoes of Death’s laughter down the desolate hallway, the elephant in the room was no longer avoidable. Satan slumped against a wall, transfixed by the rise and fall of the chest beside him. Even more so as the rosiness began to fill Natalie’s cheeks the longer she breathed life into her form.

His previous adrenaline had left him a hollow puppet, now that there was no longer the turbulent cocktail of anxiety and doubt weighing on his shoulders. Satan allowed himself to drift to the floor, lying beside the only person he had ever met who had compelled him to do something so utterly foolish. Jesus, her daredevil stunts to ground him at his lowest points seemed to have rubbed off on him, and likely not for the better.

Satan’s wounds throbbed at the edges, a constant reminder of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Don’t think about it, his mind lethargically reminded. What’s done is done, so don’t start regretting it now.

“Prophecy child, huh . . . ” Satan muttered, his arm leveraged under his head like a makeshift pillow. The light cascading through the windows almost seemed to light up Natalie’s hair in its luminescence. Amongst the carnage splattered around them from his sacrifice, she was ethereal and without blemish.

He had found out about the Child of Prophecy by chance, becoming enraged at the notion of being kept in the dark so late in the game. Natalie’s existence had changed from an everyday annoyance to one of unbearable burden.

She had the power to sway him? To sway his empire and everything he worked for? A being like that, who would steal his autonomy or cast him spellbound, was too dangerous to fraternize with. There was just too much on the line to risk throwing away for some goofy, loud-mouthed human without an ounce of self-preservation.

And so Satan had done the only logical thing he could think of at the time: He ran away, leaving her with that pitiful, crumpled face as he rejected her in that inconsequential Oregon town. The less time he spent with her, the better off he’d be.

Only . . . That had not played out as he’d hoped. Watching Natalie disappear over the side of a bridge had been like a bolt of electricity coursing through his body. That she would see him as the monster that he was, a grotesque monstrosity that even Michael had recoiled from, and attempt to help him, regardless? Well . . . Perhaps there was more to Natalie McAllister than he had originally considered. He’d cradled her close and winced while he repaid her kindness by accidentally boiling her alive.

Oregon was a wake-up call.

Natalie had piqued his curiosity, her smiling reassurance that she didn’t befriend monsters jumpstarting the heart in his chest that he had presumed stopped functioning centuries ago. Not only that, but he had no way of knowing he would soon find out that running toward the very man attacking her and her cowardly little friend, despite the blatant terror in her eyes, was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh,” Satan muttered, something foreign flooding into his chest, emotion catching in his throat as he stared at Natalie’s slumbering form.

Silencing Hell for him at the cost of her soul . . . 

Calling him her guardian angel. Crying, not for fear of Hell, but for fear of being separated from his company . . . 

As much as he wanted to deny it, the fondness in Natalie’s eyes as she smiled at him was undoubtedly genuine. She really did seem to look at him like he hung the stars above her head.

“I love you, Lucifer. I’m glad I got to meet someone like you.”

Satan trembled, unable to properly sort through the sensations overflowing from his chest as Natalie’s eyelashes began to flutter. Champagne bubbles tickled his stomach, and though not required to breathe to live, he felt so remarkably breathless at once.

So that’s what this is, Satan distantly thought, watching pale eyelashes finally parting to reveal a cognizant gaze, blinking against the trickle of sunlight warming her cheeks. When meeting Natalie’s eyes, he couldn’t keep the smile of relief from his face.

Satan understood that he had never experienced this before, but he somehow knew what to latch onto in his jumbled mind with unquestionable conviction.

I love her.

[psychodelic-insomnomaniac]

I'm curious on what your take is on Meowstic! Bruno protecting his den and everyone inside it, like if a much higher leveled pokemon ends up stamping through the area on a war path, yawn not working to subdue the other pokemon. After all, the wiki says Meowstic can lift their ears and use their power to destroy 10 ton trucks

(Okay this got kinda out of hand lol)

Yeah, I believe Meowstic are freakishly powerful. They, like most all Pokemon, only use a fraction of their power in trainer battles because trainer battles are understood to just be for sport. Trainer battles are mostly just friendly competition- no need to bring out the big guns for that. It’s a different story in the wild. 

There’s a fundamental sex difference in Meowstic. Female Meowstic tend to be very individualistic, and a lot more competitive than their male counterparts. Females have a reputation for being highly aggressive and standoffish, so the more cuddly males are seen as being docile by comparison, but that’s not actually true. The truth is, all Meowstic have a massive mean streak, and the only difference is what sets that mean streak off. Male Meowstic are highly social, and *highly* defensive. They may be generally a lot more friendly than their female counterparts, but threaten one of their pack, and they turn into one of the most vicious Pokemon out there. 

In the wild, Pokemon have their own sort of society figured out. They generally leave each other alone, and sometimes scrap for sport, but things are overall pretty peaceful. Sometimes, though, things get nasty. Some Pokemon are just violent, and fights can turn lethal pretty often. 

The Banette probably thought she had an easy meal. After all, Leone- the only dark type- was out foraging, and that left only one psychic type to defend five baby Pokemon. She had both the type and the level advantage, but she hadn’t counted on one thing: resolve. 

That little Meowstic fought like the devil. It’d tried to put her to sleep, at first, but she never slept, and the Sucker Punch she’d hit it with in retaliation had sent it flying, terrifying the five little ones that’d been surrounding it. The Emolga had flown off, disappearing somewhere out of sight, but that was fine by her. She’d never liked the taste of electric types, anyway- always left her mouth feeling numb. Grass was far better, and she’d been moving in on the Fomantis when the full force of a Psyshock sent her crashing to the ground. The Meowstic was back up, and it looked *feral*. 

A distant part of her was jealous. She beat that Meowstic bloody, dealing double damage with every move against its weak psychic body and yet it still fought, pushing through the pain to protect its five little ones in the face of a monster. No one had ever loved *her* like that. She’d been tossed away and left to rot, and yet these five, useless little Pokemon were so *loved* that this Meowstic was willing to die for them. No, scratch that; she wasn’t just jealous. She was *furious*. She was going to devour every last one of these stupid little things- even the electric type- and she’d make the Meowstic watch. Love meant nothing in this world, and if she’d had to learn that the hard way, so should it. 

Although, she might just end up killing it, first, because the damn thing refused to stay down, and she was really starting to get sick of being tossed around like a rag doll (even if, technically, she was one). She charged up a Phantom Force, ready to put an end to the struggling psychic type, when she felt something jab her leg. Poison coursed through her system a fraction of a second later, burning up nerves she didn’t have, and she staggered back in shock. 

There, right by her feet, was the Nidoran, its tiny horn having been what stabbed her. It snarled angrily at her, stomping its little paws and growling as it placed itself between her and its bloodied guardian. She would’ve laughed, but before she could, she felt something brush up against her other leg, and the poison in her system abruptly increased, becoming painful enough to send her to the ground. 

The Budew that’d used Toxic on her skittered back out of her reach, flinching when she screeched at it in a rage. She raised one arm towards the seedling, preparing to throw a Shadow Ball, but sharp little fangs sunk into the limb’s pseudo-flesh as the Growlithe lunged at her and used Bite. 

She howled in pain, throwing the little bastard off of her and into a nearby tree, hard. It was low level, so it shouldn’t have been any problem, but the poisoning had left her weak enough that a dark type move of even that level was enough to cause some pretty serious harm. She seethed. How was this possible? It was one psychic type and a bunch of babies! She shouldn’t be forced to retreat from such laughably easy targets!

And yet, retreat was seeming like the best option. Toxic was a nasty move on its own, but combined with the Poison Jab from the Nidoran, it had become even worse. The poison in her system only grew stronger with every moment she spent not treating it. She had to retreat. Retreat, then come back later even stronger and rip these fucking brats to shreds. 

She made it only a few steps away before Static hit her out of nowhere, paralyzing her. Even with her body stuck, her eyes could still move, and it was in looking up that she spotted the Emolga swooping down from the tree above. Looks as though she’d been wrong about it running away. Even through her paralysis, she tried her damndest to take a swing at the thing, but was sent to the ground by a Grass Knot from the Fomantis she’d tried to eat earlier. 

From behind, she heard the rustle of grass shifting, and felt the world begin to hum. The woods around her trembled as if shaken by a storm as a high pitched ringing pierced the air, the sudden taste of ozone heavy on her mimicry of a tongue. 

Psychic energy- more of it than she’d ever felt in one place before. It would seem the Meowstic was back up. 

The last thing she heard was ‘boom’ so loud it would’ve shattered her eardrums if she’d had any, and the last thing she saw was the very world around her appear to warp and shatter in the face of the massive psionic energy blast that tore her to pieces. 

An easy meal, indeed. 

[keatsblue]

Hawks Are Migratory Birds

Hot take: Hawks & other winged BNHA characters migrate annually. It’s a huge deal.

He’d never been one to wonder at his heritage.

From a mother whose drunken delirium he barely remembered to an absentee father whose face he could no longer recall, the disparate snippets that formed his childhood were as sand slipping through a sieve, gone too quickly to be truly perceived. The president, who was like a mother and yet not, told him that was for the best. Older now, and motherless by his own design, Hawks was beginning to agree.

And yet, every day he felt the pull.

He pulled his flight jacket tighter to his form, fingers slipping-numb as he beat up with his wings. They were on fire from exertion, muscles straining even in the cold weather from the ever-so-draining tension of building a career, an agency, a life, building, building, building.

Patrols had been rougher, since some ragtag group of villains had launched that spectacular failure of an attack on Endeavor’s alma mater. Most of those involved had been apprehended, but it seemed it didn’t matter. Villains were getting bolder, slinking out of the shadows and onto city streets, where he was forced to deal with them.

He didn’t even want to begin with this Hero Killer business, but fuck. If the locals didn’t wreck that one’s shit, soon, he imagined he’d be called in on the case, as well.

The low rooftop he’d been perched on grew smaller underfoot, disappeared. Another beat, and the rest of Fukuoka’s darktown went with it.

It was always worse, when it got colder. Like an itch he needed to scratch. Sometimes he would fly out to the edge of town, eyes glued to the horizon, just for some relief.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere , far beyond the city lights (they glimmered below, like tiny, happy fireflies). Lush, green landscapes haunted his dreams in visions of places he’d never been, yet somehow knew.

They’d first come to him when he was of a young age, though not so young that he didn’t already comprehend the phenomenon as something not to be shared with his handlers. It was an abnormality, certainly, yet it was one that could be successfully hidden--unlike fingernails that grew into talons, or feathered crests that necessitated a trip to a quirk cosmetologist every few months.

Abnormalities that could be hidden, it was safe to say, were always preferred.

He’d kept his landscapes, the pretty pictures in his head. He hadn’t told a soul, and when he woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, trembling from equal parts frigid air and longing , Hawks couldn’t help but smile. It was his last bastion, the only part of himself he doubted he could be trained out of.

He was so tired.

The shrill tone of his phone’s ring interrupted his reverie. He dug a hand into a pocket on the inner lining of his flight jacket, goosebumps breaking out across his flesh as a rush of winter wind wormed its way through the opening. “Yo.”

“You really ought to be more professional when answering a call, Hawks.” His handler’s tinny voice cracked over the speaker, and Hawks suppressed a sigh.

It was an effort to affect his usual oblivious veneer. “Ah, can’t hear ya, man. Poor reception when I’m flyin’ this high. Come again?”

“Never mind,” his handler said, though his undertone was telling. “There’s a new mission on your docket. We’ll need you to report in to discuss it further.”

“Another so soon? C’mon, it’s the holidays.” But he’d already adjusted his course, eyes narrowing. What could they want with him now? He’d only been kinda kidding about the Hero Killer thing.

“You act like that has some sort of meaning for you,” came the clipped reply, and damn, they really liked to hit him where it hurt. “I expect your arrival shortly. You wanted to be a hero, didn’t you?”

He barely had time to grumble out a rebellious yes, mom before the man hung up, leaving Hawks with a million questions and a niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t until later, well after he’d planted his bony ass dead center on his handler’s too-firm, stiff-backed office sofa, that he was validated.

Hawks crossed his arms. “No. Absolutely not.”

His handler’s lips thinned. Fingers that had been busy clacking away at their keyboard paused in their work, so dead silence reigned. “You seem to be under the false impression that this is optional.”

“Am I a joke to you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” the man said, finally, finally looking away from his monitor. He fixed the hero with a blank look. “Your mission is of the utmost importance-”

“It’s not my mission if I haven’t taken it yet.”

“Hawks.”

“No,” he repeated, with as much vehemence as he could muster. It was still a challenge, even now, not to immediately retract his statement. He wasn’t a little kid, anymore. “I’m not spying on the League of Villains.”

And there it was. The crux of the matter, thrust out into the open like so much dirty laundry. He wasn’t even trained for espionage, didn’t have the skill set for it, much less the desire to dabble. And he wasn’t that pathologic of a liar.

He wasn’t evil.

His handler released a deep breath, one that reverberated from deep within his lungs and rattled on the exhale. “You’re the only one who can do this.”

Hawks would’ve had to have been deaf not to catch the sudden shift in tone, subtle enough that it couldn’t be anything but intentional. He’d seen this song and dance, before. “No one’s gonna believe it. Me, falling to the figurative dark side? I’m the third-ranked hero, for fuck’s sake.”

When he only received another blank look, he raised a brow. “Really?”

“Your lackadaisical attitude lends your public persona a certain… côté méchant,” the man intoned, and Hawks couldn’t actually believe what he was hearing.

“What about Endeavor? Dude’s awesome, but he scares little kids.”

The response was automatic. “Endeavor is an upstanding man, destined to be the next pillar when we inevitably lose All Might. He would never stray to villainy.”

Hawks blinked, and beneath his skin, blood simmered and raged.

Then, he smiled. “Alright.”

Both of his handler’s eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline. “Alright, you’ll do it?”

Hawks stood, and pretended to brush some stray debris from his pant leg.

“No.” He took great pleasure in the way the man’s face crumpled, like he’d just flushed his holiday bonus down the drain. And who knew? Maybe he had. “I meant, alright, I’m done with this conversation.”

He didn’t look back as he dropped from the office balcony, no less than fifteen stories up. Didn’t turn around to answer his handler’s increasingly frantic cries.

No, Hawks kept his eyes on that tantalizing horizon. And this time, when it beckoned, he didn’t have the heart to resist.

He thought of lush landscapes. Of heroes, and villains.

Everyone’s waiting for me to snap.

So goddamnit, I’ll snap. 

***

He flew for hours. Days, perhaps. He’d lost track.

After a kilometer or dozen had passed him by, the near-constant noise from his jacket pocket had begun to grate on his ears. It had been simple, to pull out the offending object and drop it.

His phone. He’d dropped his phone.

He might’ve been flying over ocean at the time.

After that, the only thing filling his ears had been the welcome roar of the high winds, and the occasional monotonous chatter of customers in small-time general stores where he stopped for snacks.

Upon entering one such establishment, the shopkeeper had taken one look at his bedraggled wings, his windswept hair, and offered him a free meat bun. Hawks had wolfed it down before thinking to make conversation, much to the other’s apparent amusement.

That shopkeeper had been an old, portly man, with a patchy mustache to match thinned nails and faded tattoos. He’d regarded the hero with kind eyes, and spoke in warm tones.

You’re a little late this year, aren’tcha?

“Hah?” Hawks had replied, intelligently. In his defense, he’d been speaking around a mouthful of meaty goodness.

The shopkeeper laughed. “It’s okay. I know you winged fellas have your ways. My wife dated somebody, years before she met me, who made the journeys.”

At the time, Hawks had been speechless. Before he could think of a reply, the old man had disappeared behind the counter, calling out from a back room that the hero could also grab himself a cold beverage on the house.  

Hawks had chosen a can of green tea that’d tasted like shit going down, then promptly high-tailed it out of there. Now, though, he wondered if he should’ve stayed.

The skies around him had grown dark, and it wasn’t only due to the late hour. There was a brief flash, then thunder soon followed, rolling in from the distance to confirm his worst suspicions.

“A storm,” he murmured, and he couldn’t tell if he was speaking from inside his head or out of it. Fucking great.

Another boom of thunder threatened to split his eardrums, and Hawks careened to the side, before righting himself. Something wet landed on the crown of his head, trailing ice-cold down the back of his neck.

Fucking-

More raindrops fell in a sudden deluge, and he was instantly soaked to the bone. Maintaining altitude became more difficult, as he wrestled screaming gusts of wind for control of newly-laden wings.

When Hawks risked a glance downward, and saw only the obsidian spearpoints of violent, cresting waves, he knew he was in trouble. His chest heaved, but he couldn’t hear the sound of his own breath, over the static in his ears.

Freezing rain clouded his vision like salty tear tracks, except Hawks couldn’t blink them away. He rubbed at his face, dug his fingers into the crevices between his eyelids, to no avail.

It started to dawn on him, that he was going to die.

He was going to die a hero, but one that everyone suspected would turn villain.

No.

He wanted to live, he wanted-

Lightning cracked just in front of him, searing bright, and close enough Hawks could smell the ozone even through his waterlogged nostrils. His heart leaped in his chest, alive on pure adrenaline.

Were the waves below getting closer? Or was that just-

Another powerful gust sent him spiraling, beaten back and forth by the elements. Sharp pain and the taste of copper erupted in his own mouth--he must’ve bitten his tongue. When Hawks finally managed to stabilize, he’d definitely gotten closer.

Scanning his surroundings with renewed vigor, he knew he had to find land, or he was toast. Fried chicken. It was difficult work, through salt-reddened eyes, as the only thing darker than the squall surrounding him was the deadly water below. And contrary to popular belief, Hawks lacked the pinpoint vision of his namesake. He was forced to wait between deadly illuminations, to make any headway.

Flash.

Flash, and-

There. A hulking shape, an island, standing proud against the storm.

Hawks’ stomach leapt, and then sank.

It was so far away. He would never make it.

He strained toward it, anyway, reaching out a hand with fingers outstretched, as if that would make any difference when seaspray from the crests of waves was already lapping at his feet. His calves.

His back was on fire.

The world went dark once more on the dying breath of yet another spiderweb of lightning, though Hawks hardly noticed. He’d already been forced to shut his eyes against the strong headwind that’d just slammed against his front, pitching him back and into the unforgiving embrace of the sea.

Hawks’ first thought as the wings that’d formerly granted him freedom became sodden deadweights in the vice grip of the ocean’s gyre was damn, this water’s cold. His second was that this was, without a doubt, the worst possible reality. How else could he explain perishing of his own stupidity?

Then, black currents dragged him down, and he didn’t think at all.

***

Something rapped against his forehead, threatening to wake him. He didn’t want to wake. He ached all over, his eyes stung, and that incessant tapping was going to give him a migraine. He groaned, and tried to stretch a hand up, to shoo the tapper away. His arm didn’t quite comply, but it had the intended effect.

The assault halted abruptly, and there was a skittering of voices from above, too low and too fast for Hawks to catch. The sound of footsteps, retreating.

It was too late, though. He’d already been stirred to wakefulness, wings twitching minutely as he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position. He opened his eyes, which proved to be a mistake, as he immediately had to close them again for the brightness that pierced his retinas.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t supposed to have woken, ever again. He just couldn’t remember why.

“I see you survived,” a voice called, different from the others he’d heard. He forced his eyes open, once more, squinting.

Slowly, the fuzzy shapes surrounding him started to coalesce. He adjusted the level of his gaze, and locked eyes with the one he presumed had spoken.

The newcomer was an older woman, from her appearance. She had grayed-out locks that framed a wizened face, all angles and sun-scars, though that was far from the most striking thing about her.

No, this woman had wings. They loomed large over her shoulders, slightly translucent and veined, like a bat’s. Hawks blinked to clear his vision, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite connect what he was seeing with reality.

It had to be part of her quirk, though he’d never seen someone with wings as large as his, before. They weren’t quite the same, but they looked capable of flight.

At his continued blank stare, the woman tilted her head. She smiled, to reveal pointed canines. “You’ve taken quite the tumble, mister. Didn’t you read the advisory? It’s not safe to fly alone, around these islands.”

Fly alone? Who would he fly with?

His voice croaked as he voiced the question, throat scratched all to hell. The woman only laughed, as if he’d made a particularly funny joke.

Then, of all things, she smirked. “Guess I can’t blame you for wanting to catch up, though. You’re lucky the tide was coming in.”

Catch up? Why did people keep saying that?

Fuck. The general store. The storm.

“I have to get back to Kyushu,” he breathed. He didn’t know what came over him. He’d abandoned his agency, his sidekicks -

Now, it was the woman’s turn to blink in confusion. Her voice was carefully level. Quiet. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Hawks frowned. “Know what?”

The woman only shook her head, like he’d said something incredibly sad. Then, she stretched out a hand, waiting patiently until he took it.

He followed her out of the shade, which he could now see had been formed from a makeshift hut. Bare feet padded on soft grass, and he didn’t know where his boots had gone. Probably lost at sea, if he had to guess.

Despite everything--his aches and pains, the old woman’s strange demeanor--Hawks couldn’t help but be taken in by the greenery all around him. It was lush, vibrant. So unlike the concrete jungle he’d claimed to love all his life.

It seemed… familiar. Pulled straight from his dreams.

They turned a corner, and Hawks gasped.

At first, all he could see were the wings. There were so many different colors, different textures. Plumage, furred, leathery. He could even see some that were scaled, gathered together on the fringes. Horned, like a dragon’s.

Then, he noticed the people. They were also of varying colors, though not as glaringly so. There must have been hundreds, if not a thousand below, from what he could make out from their vantage point.

There were children playing. Adults, sharing foodstuffs between campfires.

Some were flying.

He turned, a million questions on his tongue. They all died when he found the woman already looking at him, her expression solemn.

He let out a nervous chuckle. Reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ve been missing something big, haven’t I?”

The woman ignored his question, in favor of asking another. “What is your name, young man?”

“Keigo,” he sputtered, before he could say Hawks. “Takami Keigo.”

His companion nodded, like he’d revealed something of great importance, instead of just stating his name. She stretched out a withered arm, gesturing toward the scene below with sharp, taloned fingers.

He hadn’t even noticed that, when she’d taken his hand.

“Keigo,” she said. “Welcome... to the migration.”

Uncertain of his welcome, he took a cautious step forward. Then, emboldened by the encouraging look the older woman shot him, he took another. Stretched out his own wings, unafraid of frightening passerby, or knocking something over. Maybe, he thought, I can stay. For just a while longer.

He took flight, and it felt like coming home.

Deep within his gut, the pull lessened.

Wavered.

...

Disappeared.

***

côté méchant = villainous, nasty side (via Google translate; I don't actually speak French)

[panticwritten]

“are you finishing that or…?” “Do it. I dare you.” But together in the same prompt. >:3

This took me so long to write because I kept having to stand up and walk away toward the end. I’m weak for fluff and shit but I almost never write it.

Anyway, content warning for blood drinking at the very beginning (the vampire’s here for two seconds) and sort of amnesia.

Tag list and the scene are under the cut!

@spirit-wizard-nerd @alextriestowritestuff @samueldeckerthompson @ishanijasmin @the-real-rg @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @authorarsinoe @asinwolves @cadewrites @fandomloverangel 

—-

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know what you asked and I’ll tell you again.” Jess sucks on the the tube of a bloodbag like a bendy straw. “He works Tuesday through Saturday, noon to six.”

I grind my teeth but don’t press it. If they don’t want to help, I’m not gonna change that by force. They’re like Sawyer that way. They are Sawyer that way.

“You’ll have to find him yourself.” They raise an eyebrow and lean back on their stool. “Or, you know. Ask the Cube-slash-Sawyer where he is.”

“I’m not doing that,” I say flatly. I huff at their shrug and hop off my own seat. I’ll be able to find him myself.

“Nine tonight, don’t be late!” they call out behind me. “And you’ll have to talk to them eventually!”

I wave my coffee cup at them vaguely without looking back. It’ll be fine. I’ll talk to them, I just… you know. I need to talk to Dominic, remind myself he didn’t actually die.

I push out of the Lounge and look into the In-Between from the entryway’s floor to ceiling windows. It’s definitely a view. It tickles something in the back of my head to look at from this vantage, from inside the Cube.

I shake my head and go on through the next door into the Cube itself. I’ll run into someone who knows where he is eventually. Hopefully. If I’m not too terribly unlucky.

He might be able to help me fill in these gaps in my memory. It all kinda feels like a dream now that I’m not just astral projecting or whatever. Fuzzy and not quite together enough to remember all the way. My memories of the Vampire have solidified after hanging around them a few days, hopefully I’ll get the rest of them cleared up.

There are some things…

Yeah, I need to talk to Dominic. 

All of the doors in this area are empty. They don’t connect to a specific universe, at least. The signs over them all read vacant. Knowing what I know about the different universes I’m not so sure. There’s someone out there.

V was there before Breaking Furnace, after all. I haven’t brought it up to them yet, but it makes sense! There have to be others! V was too focused on Furnace to also have been running other universes.

Ugh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for V. If I keep thinking about them, the Cube’ll just take me to their door instead of to Dominic.

I really missed this place. I can’t believe I was ever okay with leaving. With staying away when I could be somewhere that listens. Sometimes it can have a weird sense of humor, but it usually isn’t mean. 

Last time I saw Dominic—really saw him—was at the river. Cold, hurt, and so goddamn loyal he dragged Gamzee under at the cost of his own life. I hope I gave him a piece of my mind about that when I was ghosting around. I just don’t remember. 

I sigh and down a few gulps of coffee. Jess must have made this bottomless—I’m sure I’ve poured at least two mugs full down my throat at this point.  

Maybe I’ll just do it again, even if it turns out I did. After I see him and my bones stop vibrating. After I know how much of what I remember was real* and how much was just wishful thinking. Before I get to the other person I really do need to get around to talking to.

I’ll do that eventually. I have to stop jumping up the second they need me, though. They’re a big kid—they’re in college now and everything—they’ll be fine without me for a few more days.

…

Or not if I don’t stop thinking about them like a dumbass.

I lift a hand and feel the edges of the Cube’s consciousness. It’s not that hard, with how close to being Collective I am. I figure, maybe, if it won’t just tune into me and take me where I want to go I can just, you know. Ask it to take me there? Maybe?

If I can wave a hand and make tables and shit, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to do this.

It doesn’t always feel the same. It depends on what Sawyer’s brain is doing and how they are, I guess. Today, it’s kind of like sticking my hand into a whirlpool of, like. Static. And glass.

That’s worrisome. Tomorrow, I swear I’ll go talk to them tomorrow.

I flex my fingers and dig into the fabric of thought there. I’m still not sure if Sawyer knows when I do this kind of thing. Whether it’s really the capricious Cube that answers this kind of request or if it’s them.

I guess this is sort of what Jess wanted me to do in the first place.

Still, the question of where to go buzzes over my fingers and into the world around me. It sits there, the whirlpool jagged and grating on my own mind, while I walk on. I don’t get an answer, exactly, but I do see the next turn up ahead change from a left turn to a right turn.

It’s probably the best I’m going to get. I yank my hand back and motherfucker, I hate the tingling it leaves. My entire hand has that shitty almost-numb buzz, enough that I just grimace and tip my head back to chug my drink until I round the corner.

I almost choke and stop dead. I never actually thought about. What I was gonna say when I found Dominic. 

He hasn’t even seen me yet, though Jay’s gaze locks on me from the other end of the sizeable hallway. Their smile turns wry. They tilt their head only slightly, then return their attention to Dominic.

I don’t know what they say. I don’t need to know. He freezes on the spot and jerks his head up in response, whatever it is.

After a long beat of mutual wide-eyed staring, he grins and says something—he’s still too far away to really hear—and starts toward me.

At a fucking run.

“Coming in!” he crows about halfway to me and holy shit he isn’t— 

It would be really funny if I could complete the meme, but I kinda blank out for a second. Between the realization of what this idiot is doing and the second I have to catch him, I must have dropped the coffee because of course I did.

I stumble back because, okay, Nick’s kind of a big guy. His momentum, legs locked around my middle, knocks the breath from my lungs, the carefree laughter I’ve never heard from him keeps my throat a little choked up.

So maybe it’s understandable that my first nonsensical thought is that he might actually be trying to suffocate me when he kisses me. It shorts something out in my head. He wisely jerks back when my legs give out and I end up flat on my back.

With Dominic sitting on my chest and smiling at me like he didn’t just, like, try to kill me or something, his face—his eyes—maybe six inches from mine.

“That answers that question,” I wheeze with a thin laugh.

He cocks his head and sits back. “What question?”

“How’s that memory coming?”

Dominic jolts—meaning, he squeezes the air out of my lungs again—and twists to look at Jay, who stands over us just behind him. They aren’t looking at him, though. Their level gaze sits on me. So does their phone camera.

“Better than it was.” I huff and try to sit up. Without any prompting, Dominic shuffles back just enough that I can lever myself upright. He stays in my lap, though, which is a little bit of a comfort. “I think they just need, uh, reinforcement.”

Something sparks—literally—in their eyes. They don’t comment, though. In fact, they pocket their phone and start back the way they came with a shrug. “I doubt you’ll find many complaints on that front.”

They wink before they actually turn around. I’d throw something at them if I weren’t. You know. On the ground and also finally face to face with the boy.

And, of the many brilliant and witty things I could say, I land on…

“You made me drop my coffee,” I inform him blandly.

He leans bodily back and, hey! I catch sight of my mug, which somehow managed to land upright with just a ring of coffee that must have splashed out. I reach for it when he hooks a finger into the handle and sits back up.

The fucker doesn’t give it to me.

“What’s wrong with your memory?” he asks brightly with my caffeine held hostage.

“Brain machine broke,” I mutter. “Turns out, a slice of a person doesn’t make very reliable records.”

He blinks once, twice, then sets the cup to the side.

“It’s not a big deal,” I assure him. “I just need to, uh. Do the whole memory association thing.”

“I just—” He reaches out and seems to change his mind a couple times before he just rests his hands on my shoulders. “What all do you remember?”

I make an uncertain sound in the back of my throat. “We hung out a lot, right? And there were some flashes, of—”

I look away and he squeezes my shoulders reassuringly.

“Anyway, the short answer is not much.”

I jolt when he snorts. His head drops down against my shoulder, his hands trail down my arms in his laughter and I do not know what to think about that. 

“I can’t believe you caught me!” He cackles into my shirt. “The Cube screwed up your memory and you just went with it.”

It takes a beat for me to decide that, yes, I’m probably allowed to, and cling to him, fingers dug into the back of his shirt. He still trembles in now-silent laughter.

Thank christ I was right about all this.

He straightens up suddenly and his concern even alarms me.

“Crap, I kissed you, I’m sorry.” He shifts back, and I have a feeling if I didn’t tighten my grip he would be standing up. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have—”

“I promise, it’s fine,” I say a little too fast.

It takes a few seconds, long enough for him to make sure I’m not lying, I assume, but his worry slowly melts back into a gently smug smile. It smacks me right into a memory.

A good day. A view of the In-Between. Scars, sharing, and a shit-eating grin over a plate of stupid cucumber sandwiches. It flits through my mind in an instant, doesn’t give me time to recover before Nick rolls a leading look at my coffee. 

“So, are you finishing that, or…”

I level as calm a gaze as I can at him. I want nothing more than to snatch that cup, but come on. Come on.

“Do it.” I don’t think I quite manage to keep the smile out of my voice or the laugh in my head from leaking into the air around us, but I’m not about to let that stop me. “I dare you.”

He doesn’t wait before he grabs it and downs it.

Or, he tries to. It’s a bottomless cup of black coffee, okay, and the guy has a sweet tooth. He lasts maybe five seconds before he splutters out a perfect spit take and coughs into the cup.

I mean, we’re both covered in coffee now. Does that make it any less worth it when I take the mug and take a long drink?

No, it absolutely does not.

[born-of-dusk]

Komorebi or: Those Who Love Shadows

Characters: Vanitas, Arika (OC)

Summary: The New Replica Program aims to give some of the former Seekers of Darkness a new lease on life, a chance to atone and be their own selves separate from their fate bound by the late Master Xehanort. Vanitas has a hard time adjusting to life without a purpose, and it’s up to one tough cat lady from another world to show him the way.

Word count: ~2,800

A/N: this is literally my first fanfic ever and this happened because i really wanted this edgy boy to have a mom. you are getting redeemed damnit.

Vanitas was brooding around a shady tree in the outer gardens when a distant commotion caught his attention. Normally, he could tune out idle chatter and background noise easily but the voices he heard were just a little too familiar. He spared a passing glance from behind a flower hedge and recognized the taller guy with blue hair from their time as the Seekers of Darkness. He and the one with red hair were blathering about some nonsense with Xion and three other kids he didn’t recognize. Whatever. They looked like they were just standing around waiting for something or someone. Vanitas turned his attention back to the flickering specks of filtered sunlight that danced along his armored legs in time with the fluttering leaves above, just killing time until he had to go meet a certain strange lady. 

Arika had taken it upon herself to try and “help” him and the other former Seekers for some reason when they were given second (third?) chances at life in the form of the New Replica Program. ‘I sympathize with all who feel lost, who have been toyed with by fate, who struggle with themselves,’ she said. Whatever, lady, you can do what you want as long as I still get free food and a room to myself. Since the moment of his “birth” the boy had only known one truth: he was created to clash with his other half, forge the χ-blade, and bring about a second Keyblade War. This was his one and only purpose and failing to accomplish this goal would not be tolerated. The old coot, Xehanort, saw to establishing that quickly as well as frequently. And this whole new existence without a clear goal to chase and being around people who didn’t see him as a means to an end was...he didn’t like to think too hard about it. 

After a few minutes he got up to stretch before heading out when he heard the gaggle of friends perk up at their final missing member arriving with his arms full of that blue ice cream everyone seemed to like. It was…Ventus? Ventus was here in Radiant Garden right now? No, that wasn’t right. Same face, same sort of getup, but that wasn’t his brother there apologizing and laughing like a huge loser. It was the other one, that Roxas kid. Just seeing him was enough to sour his mood, but seeing him with his massive group of friends? That was enough to spawn an Unversed or two somewhere in the worlds in an instant. He tried to shrug it off, then he wanted to mock them or slap that stupid ice cream out of Ven-- Roxas’s hands and onto the ground. Anything to dampen that happy atmosphere, but he didn’t. Instead he tried to divert his negative thoughts elsewhere but that stupid smiling face was already burned into his mind. And then those awful thoughts went towards that slippery slope he always seemed to come back to: 

Ventus doesn’t need me. Master Xehanort isn’t around anymore so now there’s no use for me, no purpose to exist. Darkness is all I am and all I’ll ever be. A being of pure darkness in a world of light. What am I even doing here?

That caused a dull blooming pain in the back of his head that surely must’ve heralded another Unversed somewhere, and not a scrawny Flood or Scrapper either. He didn’t raise a hand to soothe the ache and instead let it run its course. That would be a sign of weakness, after all. Right about now he was supposed to be training with his…master? Caretaker? Whatever that lady was to him he still wasn’t sure. She’d offered to spar with him once or twice then to train him from the ground up in a more cohesive style. Something about sound bodies yielding sounds minds or some such drivel. This week she was supposed to help him practice parrying attacks with his keyblade after stressing the importance of defensive maneuvers in addition to the devastating offensive ones that he was more inclined towards. He scoffed at the idea at first but relented after seeing her dispel a mob of Heartless with her fancy footwork and fluid parries into slashes into a wave-clearing focused energy surge. She made it look easy so he figured he may as well add it to his repertoire, even if it did look kinda girly. Maybe it’d help him get his mind off of those troublesome thoughts.

But the rotten start had already tainted the rest of his day. First, Arika had scolded him for being late and made him do 20 laps around the training grounds as punishment. Then she had him do the usual warmup routine of muscle stretches, more laps, and a few sets of the 32-step sword form routine she pieced together for him. Of course he couldn’t blitz through it either; no, he had to do it painfully slow over and over until he did it perfectly. Once he got to the actual sparring it was all downhill. His mind was all over the place bouncing back and forth between thinking about what Ventus was up to, trying to time his parries just right, minding his stances, seething about Roxas having to exist in his general area and look just like his “brother.” His footwork was off, his distraction earned him a few well timed parries strong enough to send his training sword flying, his own attempts just slightly mistimed or lacking finesse which resulted in static blocks. All the while Arika tried to bark out advice and corrections but none of it got through that flurry of doubts and self-criticisms that was storming inside him.

“Stance steady! Stay light on your feet until the blade falls. Meet it at an angle, partial flat. Elbows in!”

Every word she uttered only irritated him further and fueled the ire burning inside. Get it together, Vanitas! Just parry a single hit already! How’d you get so weak and useless?! In his frustration he ended up reverting to his original brash and wild style unlike the more focused one he had drilled into him over weeks of grueling practice. Without even realizing it, he’d given up on the lesson entirely and just gave it his all to land a single massive hit and be done with this charade. 

Arika’s eyes widened when wisps of darkness started emanating off of him and she switched gears entirely when he charged her at full speed. Lacking enough time between blocking his blows to attempt to talk him down, she threw herself into the fight in hopes he’d soon tire himself out. Despite his raw enraged power being on par with hers, Arika’s years of experience and coolheaded approach let her deflect every sword slash and thrust Vanitas threw at her, either artfully sidestepping a blow or returning the force of it in full. At last in his rage and desperation, Vanitas resorted to his iconic overhead strike after leaving behind an afterimage. He warped into the air behind Arika, empowered his weapon with all of his dark magic, and swung down with all his might.

“Too slow!”

But the blade never met its target. Arika disappeared in a blur of violet just short of the blast and delivered a stunning barehanded strike to Vanitas’s solar plexus that sent him flying. The next thing he knew Vanitas was on the ground with the wind knocked out of him, his teacher dispelling her weapon in his peripheral vision. After catching her breath, she glanced down at her student and offered him a hand. This single gesture flooded the boy with anxiety and fear when he realized what he’d done, what he had tried to do. Wait, no! Damn it, I really messed up this time. It took everything he had not to create any more Unversed right then and make things worse for himself but that nagging voice in the back of his mind kept needling him with barbs of doubt. He knew what she was going to say but he just knew there was something more she was hiding. She only did this if…

“That’s quite enough for today. Come, let’s wind down.” It was calm and even like always but he could’ve sworn he heard some bite in the first half this time.

She’s giving up. She thinks you’re weak. No, she knows.

Ven was off in his nice little homeworld with his nice little group of friends that somehow hadn’t fallen apart in the decade they were scattered to the winds. He had friends, connections…a family. Ven didn’t need him, Xehanort didn’t, and now neither did Arika. After all that garbage about “caring” and “sympathy” she was throwing him away. Of course, he was darkness and nothing more. There’s no way she would forgive what he did. And worst of all he failed miserably, he was utterly useless. The air around him grew colder and his whole body felt numb before he reacted the only way he knew how. 

“Just stop it,” he muttered. She raised an eyebrow but stood unmoved.

“Stop what?”

“Just say what you mean and give up already! I know what you’re thinking so just say it,” he shouted, snubbing his master’s aid and slowly rising to his own two feet. The dark wisps had grown to envelop the boy almost entirely in a chilly shroud; he stared down at the inky haze that pooled around his feet and balled his fists at his sides. He let himself get lost in his pounding headache but fought to bite back the prickling tears welling in his eyes. No, anything but that. He was weak enough already.

“Give up on trying to ‘help’ me, it pisses me off! Keep your pity and let me sink back into darkness where I belong! And don’t pretend you still care after I tried to kill you because I won’t believe you! So just quit this whole act and stop trying to save me from-”

Vanitas hadn’t noticed Arika close the distance during his fuming outburst until she had stepped into his view. He shifted his ireful gaze from her feet to her face and was met with something truly bizarre. He was expecting a hateful sneer or cold sharp eyes. But instead he saw a look of concern, maybe even...sorrow? What? Suddenly he found himself wrapped up in a warm hug that caused the smoky dark aura that enveloped him to slowly but surely wane. Not having a clue how to react, Vanitas just stood there still and utterly dumbfounded.

“It’s alright, Vani. I’m not giving up on you, we’re just taking a break for the day. We can try again when you’re feeling better. I should have noticed something was troubling you earlier and for that, I am so sorry,” she said in a soft quivering voice. These strange words spoken in a kind yet sad voice made no sense to the boy. He’d failed, he’d tried to seriously hurt his master. She could’ve died. And she was apologizing to him? And she’d called him some cutesy nickname that didn’t irritate him as much as it should’ve. He balled his fists again, overwhelmed and baffled.

“W-what the hell are you talking about?! How could you have known-,” he snapped his head to face her and happened to notice that the dark aura around him was almost entirely gone. In fact, he felt significantly less frustrated and angry too all of a sudden. Like a massive weight was lifted off his chest and he could breathe again. But Vanitas realized the cost of that relief quickly, that darkness does not simply disappear. 

Arika’s smile was pained and her brow furrowed; he shifted his gaze to her false right arm made of her psionic magic. Normally a brilliant shade of violet, it had been dyed black by inky veins that snaked up the forearm and ended at her shoulder where magic met flesh. She winced as tiny errant barbs of the dark substance calcified and broke through the skin of her shoulder, he could practically feel it himself and winced in return. Arika gave Vanitas, now looking concerned himself, a dismissive gesture as the inky lines crawled up her false arm and out of her skin in short bursts only to fall to the ground and shatter or dissipate into vapor outright.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have taken your pain without asking either. Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten the hang of tempering it through experience. It’s something my people can do,” she trailed off. Her smile fell and her eyes softened as she looked at him with an expression the boy could not describe, but it almost looked like she was feeling the same way he did just moments ago. Was this what she meant by sympathy? “You are very strong for having shouldered this pain in your heart for so long. How it must have ached...if you would let me I would help lighten the load any way I can. No one should have to suffer alone.”

Vanitas was at a loss for words; his head was a little clearer but he still felt awful about everything that had just transpired. And now he was baffled by whatever this magic trick was. Just what are you, lady? Someone who didn’t think he was weak, apparently. She even called him strong and was willing to hurt herself for his sake? But in a helping kind of way. There were plenty of questions to be asked, it’s not like he was super happy all of a sudden. He still wasn’t sure what he was feeling now in his fledgling heart (other than “not bad”), he didn’t know whether more punishment was in store for him after his stunt (probably not), he didn’t know how to feel about having his emotions—though negative—siphoned away even if it made him feel better. And while he started to admit to himself that he did want her help, he wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do. But there was one nagging question he had to know the answer to right now.

“Why do you care so much about me? Even though I’m…”

“Even though you’re darkness?” she chuckled. He looked away, almost afraid to hear her answer. “Because my heart can love darkness, of course. And darkness can learn to love back.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at that answer. Now you’re just making stuff up. “That’s impossible, lady. Darkness isn’t capable of that kind of mushy junk, it’s all just hate and pain.” But then what am I feeling?

Now it was her turn to rebuke him. “Oh, but it’s true. I’m living proof of it, as is my friend Cora and countless others who came before us. We all descend from the one born from the union between pure Light and pure Dark eons ago on my world. We all have light and darkness in our hearts in varying sizes, it’s what makes us all children of twilight. When the Dark fell in love with the Light...” she trailed off serenely. The last of the barbs painlessly fell away to the winds to return to the world and the hearts of living beings. Arika placed her hand to her shoulder and began to heal her wounds shut while Vanitas scratched his head at these outlandish notions placed before him. Light and darkness joining together? And they made some kid instead of a χ-blade? 

“But how? How could darkness fall in love with light at all?”

Arika regarded his question sagely for a moment before pulling the boy into another hug which he received less awkwardly. She placed her good hand on his messy hair and gave it a ruffle, “because the Light ceased fighting with the Dark long enough to listen to him, to understand his pain, and from there a bond was formed.”

Vanitas had neither a sarcastic quip nor follow-up question at the ready, he simply hummed and reluctantly rested his head on his master’s shoulder. He hoped she didn’t notice when he leaned ever so slightly into her hand as she patted his head. Clumsily, he brought his arms up to return the hug but only barely making contact back. This was still weird and new and he didn’t want to make this totally new feeling in his chest disappear just yet. It was something heavy and light, comforting and terrifying, yet entirely warm. Is this…a connection? He tightened his grip to brace himself against the prickling of tears but gave into the urge to let them fall where they may, it was relieving somehow. Arika stroked his hair and started to hum a song from a far-off world, letting her tears shed in kind. Their tears of joy were warm like the embrace they shared in solace, like the feeling in their hearts at this very moment, like the sunshine that greeted the shadows through the trees.

[neoct18]

seven minutes in paradise

Taehyung felt things immensely.

He’d had to deal with bad situations for a long time, coming home late because he didn’t really want to be there, hugging his sister like he’d never see her again, and then finally—

A bottle. Shattered. Bloody hands. Fear.

But freedom.

Taehyung felt too much or not at all.

You knew this. That was fine.

He’d done something terrible but never got punished for it. That stayed with him.

But it was fine, all his backstory was static noise to you, it truly didn’t matter, ‘cause none of it shaped his personality.

When you first saw him, he was holding hands with a pink haired boy. They looked cute together; looked like they had a bond of sorts. You remember feeling jealous of that; of that extra something some people shared with each other.

Taehyung has had relationships. With both boys and girls. Too much or nothing at all. Stay or go. Black and white.

You wish you could say him and the soft looking boy lasted long, but everyone on campus knew Kim Taehyung never stayed romantically with someone for too long.

But the bond remained, and you guessed it was because of Jimin’s balancing personality.

The second time you saw him, he kissed you. It was a party, and both of you were drinking just to drink and you found yourself thinking “I don’t drink; why am I drinking?” but then it was game time, and you found yourself opposite of him.

It was Seven Minutes in Paradise or something like that.

You two got chosen and shoved into the bathroom, condoms following you before the door smashed closed and you were left alone.

Taehyung didn’t seem to mind as he slid down the wall and sat on the floor, beer in hand, eyes a bit unfocused.

“You don’t want to fuck me.” It was a statement.

Your eyes widened as you looked down at the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen in your life.

The most beautiful boy who seemed tired, over it, a bit cocky, a bit lost, but glowing nevertheless.

“Not really,” you answered. “But if I said yes?”

He half smiled on the tiled floor, before looking up at your face, eyes squinting a bit, the light hurting his eyes.

His smile was lost. It was there but it wasn’t.

“I don’t charge much. You’re pretty.”

Another thing you knew about Taehyung was this. He couldn’t survive off of his photography, not at college, and he certainly was attractive.

You didn’t need much of a push in Seoul to become... something.

“I used to do that too,” you said. “Lasted for a week. Memory’s gonna last forever, though.”

He drank to that.

“(Y/N), right?”

“Yup.”

“Jimin said you like photography too. What’s your color?”

Taehyung always had a weird way of putting together words.

“Um, I love vibrancy.”

“Do you? I only like it for nature. I’m a black and white kinda guy.”

You knew that. But his character definitely wasn’t two sided.

“But the colors you could capture in that specific moment in time— they can’t be recreated. The next day they’ll be slightly different. Not how it was when you missed your chance.”

“True. You can see the colors in the shadows, though. Or the highlights. You like polaroids?”

“Yes.”

“Figured. I like those, too.”

You sat on the cold tiles too. Your skirt rose up quite a bit. Taehyung noticed it, drank a sip of his beer, licked his lips and said nothing.

“I wanna ask you,” you started.

“Hmm?” He left the bottle on the floor, pulled his legs up a bit and his fingers absentmindedly started playing with his bottom lip’s skin.

“You a top or a bottom?”

Your question did not surprise him at all. In fact it made him smirk, and his eyes glinted. Your real question didn’t escape him either, even though you thought it would.

“I don’t fuck boys. I date them,” he answered simply.

“You fuck girls then?”

He half smirked again and looked at the holes on his jeans.

“If they’re interesting.”

“Dating?”

He shrugged, and his big shirt slipped a bit to reveal his shoulder. He really was a pretty boy. You had experienced a few of those. You preferred to steer clear.

“I wanted to date you,” he said it like he was pointing it out. “I asked you, but you were too drunk to remember, I guess. Plus you were going out with that Wonho dude.”

This was news to you, indeed. If you knew that, you’d consider it. You liked Taehyung for a while now.

“So? Why didn’t you ask again?”

“I thought you were serious with him. Jeon Jungkook said you two were serious, according to Wonho, at least.”

“Yeah he says that about everyone he dates. Makes him feel better about himself, since Hyungwon never spoke to him again.”

He seemed confused at that. “That hyung in animation?” You nodded. “Guess we’re all going against the government, aren’t we.” He chuckled.

“Well, he’d never admit he likes both sexes, so it seemed kind of whatever to me.”

“Do you?”

You looked at him. He seemed patient, waiting. Just another get-to-know-you question.

“I... I don’t really know. Maybe. I mean...”

“Hey, that’s cool. Not knowing is cool, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

The silence after that was comfortable. You never really think about yourself. It’s always about others; how others are doing, how can you grow through them, how brown looks so fucking bad on one of your friends though you’d probably never say it to her face.

You should do that more. Be more open. Think about your sexuality. Or maybe not, ‘cause at the end of the day whatever happens, happens. Who you’re gonna be attracted to now or in six months, and how they’re gonna look or be cannot be put in a boring box with an awful fonted label on top of it.

Your early twenty’s don’t work like that. Shit, life doesn’t work like that. Ever.

So you sigh, and crawl towards Taehyung. You grab his shitty beer from his hand and chug the rest of it, ‘till the taste of it makes you gag.

He laughs, tugs at your arm and next thing you know you fall on top of him, your position awkward, your angle unbearably uncomfortable, and—

He kisses you. Like a sad person would; like how only a semi drunk person can. Knowingly. You’ll both remember this tomorrow.

You think you’ll remember this for the rest of your life.

There’s no tongue in this kiss, yet it manages to be sloppy. You try to move into a more comfortable position, but he’s holding you so tight you think he needs it exactly how it is. So you let it. You don’t know why this is even happening, maybe it needed to, maybe the stars and planets all fell into place and he just absolutely had to kiss you—

Very possibly, it was just the fact that he liked you and it really isn’t rocket science sometimes. Guys are too impulsive for that.

And you’re not gonna sugarcoated it either— this kiss isn’t mind-blowing. You’re not seeing stars, nor is your heart beating fast like in those cliche rom coms.

Yeah, fuck no, but this kiss is real, and that’s all anyone can ask for.

Your lips are dry and your right leg is getting numb, yet you kiss back just as hungrily as he is. You breathe a “Why?” into his mouth, and his hands just grab at your waist to finally move you properly onto his lap.

Your legs go on either side of his and your grab the back of his neck. You’re very aware his hands have not moved down to your ass, like every other dude’s that you’ve hooked up with. They’re both holding your head in place, and you can’t really escape now.

He pulls back to breathe heavily and you open your eyes in a trance and lick your lips, thinking he’ll dive right back.

He doesn’t.

He does look intensely into your eyes though. Like he’s silently answering this why to you. But you don’t understand, you don’t get it; you really have no idea why this whole night is even happening.

There’s only so much you can blame on alcohol before it becomes you again.

“I haven’t kissed a girl in a year,” he finally says; it feels like an explanation.

“It’s so—” he laughs, roughly caressing your cheeks, “different. It’s push and pull again.”

You nod, almost sheepishly. You don’t know what to say to that. So you question it.

“Is it just push with boys?”

“Fuck,” he wets his lips quickly and chuckles again, pushing you back a bit now. “Yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, eyes wandering, and lets his head rest on the tiled wall. “Yeah, it is.”

“So?” His gaze falls to yours like it never left. “Which do you like best?”

“Both,” he replies hoarsely. “I really liked you, (Y/N).”

You know. Though you never got around to actually learn about his feelings, or do anything about your own, this moment was an ending to something you both missed the timing for.

And it only took seven minutes.

When you look at Kim Taehyung, you want to see someone that would be in a long lasting relationship. Someone who you can share a studio apartment with, and have fun mornings that turn into lazy evenings that end in passionate sex against a window or something. You really want to.

But he doesn’t look like he can give anything like that. He’s a cute, tipsy hook up in college, someone you remember and talk about in a morning brunch with your girlfriends after your future boyfriend proposes to you. He’s this amazing, peculiar creature that can only be observed from afar.

And now that you’re so close to him, you can feel it. How things like this happen only once in a lifetime; how you’re not meant to touch but admire. He’s not an unraveling miracle, but a well preserved classical painting. By a magnificent fucking painter, too, if you’re honest.

“You belong right in the middle of a fucking flower painting by Van Gogh, you know that?”

His eyes twinkle and crease with laughter. His fingers travel up your arm, to your jaw, to your ear, to your hair. He plays with a strand of it, still smiling.

“You really get me, (Y/S Y/N),” he grins at you.

You grin back like a cat, and get off his lap, then off the floor.

You tugged your skirt down, and pretended the wetness between your legs could be ignored. You wanted to have sex with him; you wanted that to be attainable. But it wasn’t; not anymore.

“Our seven minutes are over, I think.”

He gets off the cold floor as well, re-adjusting his silk shirt, and putting that cigarette that was behind his ear, in his mouth. Lights it up and nods towards the door. 

You look at him blankly.

He can’t stop smirking now. “It’s well past fifteen minutes, darling. They don’t give a fuck.”

You giggle. He mutters, “That sounds cute,” under his breath while his eyes look fondly over you.

You take a step towards him, and press a kiss next to his mouth, not even caring if his cigarette is gonna burn you. You linger for a second, and pull back.

“I’d fuck you in an instant, Kim Taehyung. And I would gladly be your girlfriend.”

You think timing is a bitch. You also think, maybe your time hasn’t come yet, that it’s not passed.

He’s opening the door and letting you pass by when he says, “Someday, in New York. Let’s get married.”

You’ve never thought marriage could sound this much fun.

“No older than twenty-seven. And I’ll be wearing the suit.”

He snorts and fades into the crowd of drunk people, while always completely standing out.

“I’ll look badass in a dress,” you swear you hear him say.

You believe it.

[sylvasthesnowfox]

18. fate

Naomi is obviously thrilled to be accompanying Rei to explore the far tower, so much so that she bounds several steps ahead of Rei on the balcony and right up to the tower's enormous double door before she thinks to turn back in confusion. "Wait," she says, "isn't this place supposed to be - "

Rei assumes that the next word was meant to be 'sideways', but Naomi's seized by vertigo and too disoriented to finish, and turning back, Rei doesn't blame her. From here, the world is very strange. Gravity is pulling them the way it seems like it should be, relative to the tower itself, but it's not as simple as a mere perspective shift; the shading of the clouds seems backwards from here, like the light is coming from below or behind the clouds somehow, and the clouds themselves have not turned to match the orientation of the tower. Rei has never imagined what a "sideways" cloud looks like before, but now she doesn't really have to imagine.

"Oof," says Naomi, clutching her head. "Boy, that's a trip."

"It's unsettling," Rei agrees noncommittally. Safe to say that she is distracted at the moment. "Let's get inside."

In contrast to the tower where Gwen and Naomi are waiting - which Rei is tentatively calling the "old tower" - the far tower is cold and lifeless. There are no plants on its stone balcony. When they push open its doors they open into an impenetrable darkness. Rei's first steps inside echo in a seemingly infinite void. She's walking - she doesn't feel comfortable using her Spark here without knowing what lays ahead of her. She's not sure what effect it might have on her surroundings.

Not that that's any comfort against the inky black infront of her. She remembers, against her will, space ripping open into an unfathomable maw of eyes and legs and rocky darkness, swallowing her reality. It's not hard to refocus on her surroundings, but she can't ignore that it's left her shakier than before. "Naomi," she says, as evenly as she can manage, "could you - light things up a bit?"

"Of course!" Naomi's undeterred. She fires several rounds from her handgun - they turn to flares, casting brilliant red light against stone walls around the central room. Sure enough, this tower's layout seems to mimic the old tower, opening up into a huge cylindrical room and some kind of glass monument in the center. "Looks kinda like the monitoring room," Naomi observes, mirroring Rei's thoughts. "Wanna check out the console up front then?"

"If it turns on," Rei hums. She advances slowly, cautiously, feeling the static humming of the Spark around her hand. The flares continue to cast their dancing light, shadows reaching up from the floor and rippling against the far walls all around her. She still hasn't entirely cast off the feeling that she's dangerously close to that numbing void again, and it's hard to deny how uncomfortable the feeling makes her.

To her surprise, though, the console does turn on. A single panel alights as Rei tampers with the nearby controls; a dim electronic glow illuminates her face as Naomi draws near to her again, and violet monospaced text appears on the screen:

CONCEPTUAL SIMULATION ENGINE [MAINTENANCE CONSOLE] v.0.1.597.463.0.0.7

FATAL - ILLEGAL INITIALIZATION PARAMETER 0x00000000000000000000000000000000

CHECK YOUR PARAMETERS OR PROVIDE A NEW CATALYST, THEN PRESS [ENTER] TO TRY AGAIN.

"This seems important," Naomi hums, whipping a phone out of her pocket and taking a picture of the screen. Rei stares at her dumbfounded, and Naomi glances back, innocently confused. "What?"

"Where did you get that?" Rei says hoarsely.

"What do you mean, where did I - I've always had it!" Naomi pouts. "I mean, it obviously ran out of battery back at the remnant, and I couldn't ever find another charger, but when we got here it was full charge!"

"You had a phone all this time," Rei sighs, "and you never told me or showed me because it was out of battery?" Naomi shrugs theatrically, looking only further distraught.

"What did you want me to do?" she cries. "I didn't know it would matter! I just kept it on me cause - I just - I felt sentimental, or something. Shut up."

"I'm not upset at all," Rei laughs, raising her arms. "I'm just - "

"Hey, shh - "

Naomi's gasp silences them both. The room is quiet, except for the hissing of the flares; neither of them are breathing.

"I don't hear anything," Rei breathes. Naomi scowls.

"I could swear I..." She shakes her head, stepping away from the console and raising her gun. "Whoever you are, step into the light, now!"

come here.

"Okay, that I definitely heard," Rei gasps, her heart suddenly pounding. "What was that?"

"Outsider," Naomi mutters darkly, and Rei can't help agreeing with her. If she were to try to place the sound, it would sound like steel cable rubbing against sandpaper, maybe? Like something soft and yet terribly heavy, straining against something coarse and firm, a sound on the edge of ripping into pieces. But it's not hard to believe that such a sound has no real source. It's her imagination trying to parse input it was not designed to interpret.

And despite that, somehow, Rei cannot shake the feeling that she's heard this sound before.

"Last chance!" Naomi bellows. But she's answered with another distant rustling. It seems to be coming from several directions at once, but all leading deeper into the tower. Naomi glances back at the Curator. "Maybe we should leave," she murmurs.

"Maybe," Rei murmurs, a hand over her chest as she tries to calm herself down. Maybe they should. But maybe they shouldn't?

The doors to the tower slam shut. Both Naomi and Rei whirl around - one or both of them yell in alarm - but Rei's eyes are swiftly drawn back to the console, which has changed color. The text is now gold and it now reads:

NOT YET.

"Show yourself!" Naomi roars, now raising her gun and pointing it into the shadows. "Whatever or wherever you are, come out, let me see you if you're brave enough to threaten us!"

Rei looks up again. The room seems somehow darker than before, but just as she's wondering if she should say something, the darkness recedes - whipping away all at once from the walls and through the seam of a door at the far end of the room, which until then she hadn't noticed somehow. "Something's here," Rei gasps, as the door lazily swings open - showing only gaping dark beyond. "Yes, something is definitely here."

"I saw it," Naomi growls, swiftly putting herself between the door and Rei. Rei glances back at the console, but it's blank now. The flares behind them, closer to the huge doors to the balcony, are burning low. The darkness is overtaking them from behind, and as it draws in, that familiarity of the void grows only stronger...

"Okay, we should leave," Naomi urges her, but Rei shakes her head slowly, standing fast.

"There's no need to panic," she replies, raising her hand. She can still feel the Spark. The assurance is aimed at herself as much as it is at Naomi. "I have control over the Seed, don't forget. I can get us out whenever we need to. If there are Outsiders here, we should investigate. They could be Spirits, or otherwise important to recreation."

"Yeah, what with how they're threatening us," Naomi growls.

"I'm not threatened," Rei replies imperiously, crossing her free arm over her chest. "Let's go."

The flares behind them quickly recede into darkness once they pass through the doorway. Naomi fires more ahead of them, but they fade into the black void immediately. Even when they turn as though to fire them at the wall, the hall seems to turn with them. Rei's vague discomfort is starting to take a more definite shape. Naomi is growing more and more tense. They are reminded of Outsider attacks in the remnant. They are reminded of the Outside itself. Reality is breaking down around them.

"We should go back," Naomi says, slowly and firmly, trying to hide that her voice is shaking. But Rei shakes her head. She can see movement ahead of her. It's hesitant, and it's making that noise that is so uncomfortable and yet so familiar to her. Like she's heard it in a dream somewhere before. Maybe she literally has!

"I can still get us out any time," Rei whispers. "Let's play along."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Naomi murmurs. She doesn't have to finish her sentence. Rei admits, she understands how Naomi feels.

They keep advancing. It's hard to tell they're in a hallway. It's hard to tell they're inside; it feels more like they're walking on a stone path through an impossibly dark night, but Rei has never experienced a night so dark before. Her old world was full of light and color, even at night, so that one never lost themselves. But she knows that sort of thing used to exist in ancient history, when people didn't have electricity. You could walk into a field without a lamp on an overcast night and lose any sense of direction except Down. She tries not to dwell on how lucky she is to still have that frame of reference.

Naomi stops. "I feel like we're not in the tower anymore," she says, her voice a bit louder than before. But only a bit.

"Me too." At least it's not just her. What Rei's feeling isn't exactly... fear, or at least she doesn't think it is. But it's certainly true that she feels better for having Naomi at her side. And yet, as she thinks about that, at the same time... she wishes Naomi wasn't here. She wishes Naomi was not facing this danger, and the thought that a threat might appear that Naomi might throw herself into again is...

No... no, the more she thinks about it, the more she wishes Naomi was not here. Her skin's crawling at the thought. This place is dangerous, this journey is dangerous, in a way that Naomi might not fully understand. Maybe they really should go back, just so that Naomi is somewhere safe...

Naomi fires a flare straight up. Rei gasps as she does it - she didn't think of that! The hall can't turn and orient itself upwards without them falling, right? As they follow its arc overhead it flickers and flashes, but nothing catches its light; it's a solitary gleam like a shooting star rushing further and further away... at first.

But then there are other flashes all around it. Rei mistakes them for enormous glass panes, light rushing through them in bands as the flare passes by at the right angle to reflect that light back at them. But that's not what is happening. Suddenly what was one flare, traveling straight up, becomes a dozen, and then a hundred and then more, streaking past each other in many directions like a firework. And illuminated by their baleful light are hundreds of humanoid figures in a great distance above them, standing in pairs, watching the display just as Rei and Naomi are.

"What the fuck?" whispers Naomi, because this is an unbelievable thing to see, and the lingering light of the flares allows her plenty of time to take it in. But Rei knows what this is, or at least she understands what it is symbolically. What it represents. What do you see when you look into a void where there is nothing but yourselves to see?

"Close your eyes," she instructs. Her voice is more bitter than she expected. She glances over and sees that Naomi is looking back at her like she's crazy. "I mean it," she says impatiently.

So, Naomi closes her eyes. Rei threads her fingers through Naomi's and tightly clasps her hand, then closes her own eyes, too. The flares fall silent, because they are too far away. Rei thinks of the remnant. She thinks of the top of the apartment building where she and Naomi caught their breath after many fights, held each others' hands after many arguments and shouts of hopeless frustration, shared little kisses and smiles while talking about what they might do with the future they would build for their new world.

"Open your eyes," Rei instructs. She opens her own. Beside her Naomi screams.

"How are we back here?!" she cries. Rei stares into the abyss surrounding the apartment rooftop with a dull resignation. She knows what this is. She understands where they are. "No," Naomi continues, horror filling her voice, "no, this isn't - there's nothing else here. What happened to everything else?"

"It's just this building," Rei murmurs, "becuase this is all I thought about." She turns around; there is no skyline, no skyroad, no other towers crumbling after two years of decay, no shimmering barrier between the end of the world and their tiny bubble of existence. There is nothing shielding this place from the void. Or rather, there is no separation from 'this place' and the 'void'. They are the same. "Hold on," she says, "I'll get us back."

And she does. She doesn't even have to use the Spark; it's just a matter of remembering where she wants to be, and demanding that she is there. They walk back along a stone floor, through a hallway they can barely see, until the faintest glimmers of dying flares finally comes into view on either side. Rei doesn't even wait long enough to take them through the door; the spark rips through the world and they are standing on the balcony, Rei shielding her eyes from the light while Naomi sputters and blinks in desperation to recover.

"Okay, well, we're back," Naomi says blankly, turning back to her with a sigh of relief. "Man! That was... pretty spooky, huh? It felt kinda like we might get attacked by something in there, you know?"

Rei doesn't answer. She's deep in thought. It's supposed to be very hard to reach the Outside. Even in the remnant Rei could only get there by dreaming. How did they simply... walk into it?

What does it mean that they could walk out of the Seed if they wanted?

[rklino]

TEAM F         <  team one night !! >

                       performing     just one day x why so lonely.  ( song / distribution .)

one after another. one failure after a fucking ‘nother and yoongi doesn’t know how much he’ll be able to take. the sound in his ears; white noise, static that drowns out everything else. the words elimination repeating in his ears; first it’s minhyung-- his teammate. minhyung was his responsibility as group leader and he failed him. then jeongguk; jeongguk, not on his team-- but with the reason of an injury that yoongi caused. that yoongi created. 

the guilt settles deep in his gut. his expression pained as he listens, as everything goes in one ear and out the other.

is it all worth it? they’re such a low standing. again and again and yoongi doesn’t understand why. is it him? is he the weak link? is he the reason he’s dragging down every team, causing eliminations left and right?

it’s another restart. another walk through the halls of nova. another practice room with faces he doesn’t know-- for the most part. chungha is there, which gives him some reprieve. but that feeling in his gut never leaves. the feeling of loathing, of doubt, hesitation and overall negativity. it’s him and chungha, then daniel and mingyu and kyungri. they’re all unfamiliar to him but faces he vaguely registers from the show. daniel had been with chungha and jeongguk on a team before; kyungri with taehyung at another point-- and mingyu entirely new. 

introductions are simple and sweet; yoongi’s voice soft and quiet as he does. it’s repetitive, tiresome at this point; there’s a stinging feeling behind his eyes he hasn’t been able to shake. a tightness in his throat he wishes wasn’t there. his head is a mess of thoughts of anger and pain and he doesn’t want to be here. he doesn’t want to be forced into a team when he doesn’t have the time to properly be upset for the loss of a teammate under his leadership; to be upset over jeongguk’s unfair elimination because of an injury he couldn’t help.

when the title of leader is brought up, yoongi is sour; he’s quiet, eyes averted to the ground as he picks at his nails; he tugs at cuticles, ignoring the stinging feeling as he breathes out harshly through his nose. previous leaders can’t be chosen, which is just fine with him; that means he isn’t an option, and he’s thankful for that. it’s down to mingyu and daniel-- and while neither of them want it (another bitter thought in his head; neither did yoongi), someone has to do it.

mingyu is decided. yoongi is indifferent, but he gives the other male his vote; daniel had seemed far too hesitant, too much that it reminded yoongi of himself; perhaps it was a selfish decision to make, to make his choice based on that, but he doesn’t care; not now.

the mashup is the next matter at hand. mashups are tricky; yoongi doesn’t really listen to them, doesn’t really enjoy them. he’s had to do too many in his time in school; too many mixing projects and producting and he’s done his time with them. they narrow it down to two chosen songs; just one day by bts and why so lonely by ham. it’s too very different songs with different sounds-- and yoongi offers quietly along with daniel to work with it; to make something of it.

it’s a rough process, though daniel is entirely helpful; he’s patient, creative, willing to give endless encouragements and ideas while yoongi grumbles and scowls down at the screen. it’s schoolwork all over again and he dreads it. while daniel enjoys it-- mentions “i think it's kinda cool...honestly i wanted to do something like this the whole show so i'm glad we get to do it together!“ with the cheeriest grin on his face yoongi has ever seen. it’s strange to be upset at that; at someone’s sheer excitement over something yoongi finds to be so tedious. 

so he tucks back his anger; his irritation and instead offers a small smile, patting the younger on the shoulder with such stiff movements he’s embarrassed.

with his main focus in dancing, choreography isn’t that hard at all. there’s a lot of general movement during his raps, stepping, sitting and standing on chairs. it’s a relatively simple dance, done with ease and a practice yoongi doesn’t find difficult. he manages to give pointers to daniel every once in a while, quietly uttered and awkward as he focuses on fine tuning details he’s not fully comfortable with. he offers the most he can with his head a mess and his heart aching; hopeful, encouraging glances and whispered praise-- small, hesitant smiles.

but further into the week is when yoongi feels it. the dread, the feelings all piling up; the quieter he grows, the more brooding. the cameras are always around and yoongi hates it; hates the moments of weakness he feels. it’s deep into the night, hours and hours of practice. until everyone is resting, and yoongi is still going. heaving breaths on a tight chest. it’s when he feels his legs are going to give out, when breathing is a scrape against his throat; when he’s wheezing and dizzy with fatigue and exertion. head pressed against his knees as he tries to breathe-- and his shoulders shake. they shake and they tremble until yoongi is crying softly into his knees. eyes pressed tight against the fabric of his pants. teeth press into the skin of his hands as he tries to stop the sob from wanting to break through.

tired. he’s so tired.

it’s chungha who catches him. firm words of encouragement; it’s with guilt he utters his worries; his fears-- his guilt for letting minhyung down, for being the reason jeongguk wasn’t here anymore. it’s through trembling, choked words and shakings hands as they tug at his own hair. it’s chungha who pulls him back, grounds him back down. keeps him firmly back to earth with her words; how proud they would be, how uplifting jeongguk was. 

“you’re not being the triple threat i know you to be,” she jokes, mildly; a smile on her face and yoongi feels the twinge in his heart. he still cries, still mourns for the losses of the previous episode-- but he tries at least to get back into the groove of things. to move on his feet and try and show everyone he’s not the weakest link he believes himself to be.

performance day he’s numb. the nerves are there, twitchy and tingly but yoongi’s mind is blank; he wonders, idly-- if minhyung is still watching. if jeongguk is too. he wonders if they’re going to see him, curse him for his position; wonder if they were better off here-- wonder if yoongi was better off at home in their place. it’s negative thoughts, one he knows they aren’t thinking-- knows minhyung is too sweet for it, knows jeongguk would rather knock yoongi upside the head then listen to that sort of thing come from his mouth.

we’re your dream! hello, we are one night! it’s cute, sweet; yoongi attempts his best smile; tries to smile for everyone back home-- tries to portray his happiness in the best way he can. though it’s hard, when yoongi’s feeling so awful and desolate.

the melody kicks in; daniel and then mingyu starting off the song that moves into the pretty tones of chungha and kyungri’s voices. his heart is beating a mile a minute, moving into the proper position as his line approaches. he attempts his best look on confidence, a soft smile on his face as he falls into the role his lyrics imply. 

우리의 bgm은 숨소리 내 이름을 불러줄 때의 니 목소리에 잠겨서 난 수영하고파 너를 좀 더 알고파 너란 미지의 숲을 깊이 모험하는 탐험가 너란 작품에 대해 감상을 해, 너란 존재가 예술이니까 이렇게 매일 난 밤새도록 상상을 해, 어차피 내게는 무의미한 꿈이니까

the quality of his voice is something he’s always enjoyed played back to him. and earing it in his ears, drowning out the static in his head is grounding. he focuses on the crowd before him, eyes flickering across each of their faces. wonders what they think, how they feel. the lines move and meld together; daniel, chungha, then kyungri-- then mingyu.

너와 단둘이 보내는 party party

the closer they get to the end of the song, the more confident yoongi feels. the dance comes easy, like muscle memory and his lines come with easy confidence.

24 hours 너와 단둘이 있다면 아침부터 입맞춤해 빠질 수 없는 브런치도 한 입 해 손잡고 너와 햇빛에 몸 담그네

moving into the last paces of the song. his voice melding with the others during the final bits-- his chest heaving with every breath as they come to the ending. his head is moving a mile a minute; and it’s silence-- the static gone, and yoongi is left with the silence in his mind as he moves in a silent, almost dazed trance off the stage to where they’ll watch the last few performances and wait.

all that’s left to do is wait. 

[monkees-on-the-line]

What Would You Do? - Chapter 4

Summary: In which a crummy acting job leads Micky to finding Mike.

(Without my sister ( @take-a-giant-step ) This story wouldn’t exist cause she basically gave me all the ideas and came up with the whole basis and idea!!!)

Chapter 4: Four Quarters 

Words:  2,834 

Davy and Micky strolled beside each other in a half-assed walking pace. They’d made it about halfway to their filming  location when the episode director called to let them know filming had been cancelled. On the bright side, the weather had become rather nice. The sun was shinning and the sky was a clear blue color. 

“It’s a nice day, innit?” Davy smiled, gesturing to the open air with a grin. He turned to Micky, who was staring at his phone as he walked which he’d been doing since they were made aware of their cancelled day. He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Ok, I’ll bite. Micky, what are you doing?” 

Micky grinned and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I’m gonna run errands with Mike.” He looked smug as he spoke. Davy shrugged, turning his head back to face forward and narrowing his eyes at the sunshine. 

“Running errands? Kinda domestic, don’t you think?” Davy asked, a hint of a grin. He was a good friend after all, he was glad things seemed to be picking up for Micky and this guy. 

Micky hadn’t been able to freely use his time for the past month, what with filming and all. “Yeah! Running errands together...” Micky repeated himself and looked off towards the sun. “Cool.” He shook his head with a grin and Davy raised an eyebrow. 

Davy, who was no stranger to being overly cheesy in relationships, became quite smug himself. “Wow Micky, you’ve always been quite transparent but this...” He laughed and Micky turned to glare at him. 

“Shut-up.” He shook his head before turning back almost instantly. “Wait, what do you mean?” He bit into his lip as he continued to walk without really paying attention. 

Davy expected that. He chuckled and looked at Micky with amusement. “Well, I just mean, you are so smitten...like a kid with a crush.” Davy giggled again and Micky frowned. 

“And what about you? You and Peter sure are hung up on each other.” Micky smirked and Davy rolled his eyes. 

“That...is beside the point.” Davy tilted his chin and clicked his tongue before speeding off in a faster walk, Micky threw his head back in laughter and went after him. His stomach burned with joy. ‘Mike was comfortable enough to run errands with him’. 

                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mike shoved his phone into his back pocket as he stood up from the carpet and wiped a hand down his unshaven face. Peter glanced at him from the corner of his eye and threw another chip into his mouth. “Hey, where you headin’?” 

Mike moved around their small dorm, picking up a few things and putting others away. “Was just thinking about going to the bookstore and maybe get a few things from the store. You need anything?” He asked, leaning his back on their drawer. 

Peter opened his mouth after a small grin and Mike didn’t have to wait to hear the answer he was going to get. He held his hand out. “I’m not buying anymore incense. Pete, you have a problem.” 

Peter chuckled and sat back in his relaxed position from before. “Worth a shot.” He bounced his foot up and down as he lounged. “Have fun-” 

Peter was interrupted with the sound of Mike’s phone buzzing. He paused, as his friend slipped it out and read what popped up. Without saying anything more, he set it behind him on the drawer. Peter waited for some sort of explanation but got nothing. 

“How come you don’t just share things with me?” Peter shook his head and stood, strolling over and swiping the phone. Mike glared at him but didn’t do that much to stop him. 

Peter read the notification, a text from Micky. 

‘Hey, Mike! Filming was cancelled today & I was thinking we could do something while we have the chance?’

“Ooh, Davy’s gotta be free then too.” Peter grinned and Mike swiped his phone back. He swiped it for a few seconds before hoovering his thumb over the text screen. 

‘I was actually just gonna run some errands today, if you wanna come? That is if you’re ok with spending a boring day with me?’

“I think Micky might be tagging along.” Mike said nonchalantly as he put his shoes on and got ready to go. Peter grinned. 

“Well, while you and your friend hang out, I will be getting some.” Peter smirked, pulling out his own phone to text Davy. Mike made a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out for a few seconds while Peter grinned. 

“I don’t wanna hear about that, Peter.” Mike shook his head and grabbed his keys. “You and Davy really hit it off though, huh?” Mike asked, a hint of bitterness in his tone that he hoped Peter wouldn’t pick up on. 

“Yeah.” Peter’s face shined with that smile of his. 

Mike turned to his phone as it vibrated again, a frown on his face. 

‘Do you really expect it to be boring with me there?? :)’

Mike chuckled as Peter went back to sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘Is that a yes?’ he typed back. 

‘Yes it is! You can come get me at my dorm!’ 

Mike fought his urge to grin wider, not wanting Peter to make any comments. He had been sort of glad Micky had been quite busy for the last month. It gave him time to ease into the friendship. While he preferred face to face talking in general, texting with Micky had eased them into having a little back and forth chemistry. 

Mike threw Peter another look and waited for him to feel his eyes and look up. He gave him a silent wave which Peter returned with a grin. Mike then closed the door and went on his way. 

 It didn’t take Mike long after leaving his room to remember that he had a problem if he was going to get Micky. He sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket again.

“Micky, I forgot to ask, where’s your dorm?” Mike asked as soon as Micky picked up his phone. Micky had told him on their first hang-out that he went to the same college but he’d never actually said where he lived. 

Micky laughed on the other end and gave him his dorm number. They didn’t hang up after, they just kept talking. 

“So what kind of errands are you planning on-?” Micky paused as he heard a knock behind him. “Hang on, I gotta answer the door.” 

Mike rolled his eyes as he stood behind the door, phone under his chin as Micky whipped the door open. 

“Hey, It’s you...and a beard!” Micky grinned, still speaking into the phone and observing Mike’s beard. 

Mike pulled his phone down and hung up before stuffing it into his pocket, Micky copied the action. Mike gave him a small grin which Micky returned as he stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, you aren’t bored are you?” Mike looked over his shoulder to Micky, who was nose deep in some science fiction paperback he’d picked up some shelves ago. Mike had come right for the music section of the bookstore and sat cross-legged on the old, patchy-colored, static carpet. 

“How could I be? The planet’s about to explode.” Micky responded rather quickly, eyes flickering up from the book he was now waving with a mischievous glint. 

“I’m serious man, cause if you are-” 

“You’ll entertain me? That’s great cause there’s a stage back there in the kids section.” Micky stuck his thumb over his shoulder with a playful smile on his face as he wiggled his feet that were in the tingly state of numb. Mike rolled his eyes but chuckled. “I’m not bored.” Micky shrugged. “In fact, I think this is really fun.” He grinned, waving his book again. 

“Ok, you pushed it”. Mike laughed, shaking a pointed finger at the other man. “I would have believed you too.” 

Micky scoffed in mock defense, putting his hand to his chest. “You don’t think I’m having fun watching you stare at books?” Micky smirked and Mike made a show of closing his book and standing up. Micky felt a little bit guilty at the action, he stood and followed after him. 

 “Hey, I was only teasing Mike. If you wanna look at the books, I don’t care, It’s not boring, really-” Micky paused as he got to Mike’s pace and up to his side. “What are you doing?” 

Mike turned to Micky, still walking. “I’m gonna buy you a coffee for a little break, then I’m gonna show you how boring I can really be, man. ‘Cause really that wasn’t anything, Mick.” Mike spoke flatly like he was serious but with a smirk pulling at his lips. “Just you wait.” 

Micky tilted his chin down, shoulders falling into a slight hunch as he chuckled, nose crinkling. “Right well...” Micky gave Mike a look, smiling once they made eye contact. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

They strolled over to the coffee area and ordered, Mike paid for both of them almost instinctively. And they sat down by the large window of the building, looking down at the parking lot. 

“Now, You might think I forgot but, I really wanna hear this ‘getting kicked out of Denny’s’ story.” Mike scooted his chair in and raised his brows, giving Micky the floor to tell him. 

Micky looked out the window for a second with a grin, a little giddy that Mike remembered that from their first date. “Well, it was after that party I told you about and Davy and I were really excited.” Micky scooted closer and gestured. “And maybe we were being a little loud...did I mention it’s two am?” Micky tilted his head, cheekily. 

Mike rolled his eyes with a smile and leaned back in his seat. He listened with amusement as Micky unfolded the rest of the story, his almond shaped eyes lighting up as he gestured with his hands.

-”And so, we went to iHop instead.” Micky rubbed his hand over his smile before running it in a trail up to his hairline and weaving his fingers gently throughout the brown waves. 

With that story wrapped up & gone, so was their coffee. Neither realized just how much time had passed, it felt like just a few minutes. “So, where to now, Mr. Boring?” Micky tapped his fingers against his chin. 

Mike stood up and shrugged before shoving his hands into his pockets. “I gotta pick up a few things from the store.” All teasing aside, Mike was gonna give Micky an out to take if he really wanted it, which he suspected he might. “I could drop you back at your dorm if you want?” 

Micky took the absolute last sip that he could manage from his drink and shook his head. “No, I’m having fun.” Micky grinned and stood, already walking towards the escalators. Mike watched him go for a few seconds before following.

                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here, I’ll push the cart for you.” Micky swooped in just as Mike went to grab himself a cart when they entered the store. Mike grinned to himself and walked up to keep pace with Micky, who was leaning on the cart and strolling along. 

The two strolled along aimlessly as the florescent lights flickered above them and what sounded like elevator music played from the speakers. Occasionally Mike would pick something up and toss it into the cart. Micky was momentarily gazing at the shelf of paper towels and found his way to the ‘Brawny’ guy when Mike set something in the cart that made Micky giggle. 

“What?” Mike glanced over, feeling a little self-conscious but Micky shook his head. 

“Nothing...it’s just I didn’t picture you to use ‘Snuggles’ fabric softener. Micky stopped pushing the cart and picked up the bottle from the basket. Mike immediately stole it right back. 

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes and put it back but with a tiny grin on his face. Micky bit into his lip. “Ain’t nothing wrong with it.” Mike shook his head and went on. 

Micky rolled the cart over to catch up with him, hopping onto it as he glided and kicked his legs back down as soon as he got to Mike’s side again, skidding to a stop. “Don’t hurt yourself now.” Mike clasped his hand onto the side of the cart. 

“No, you don’t understand, I’m a pro at this.” Micky wiggled the cart with a smirk on his face. 

“Are you now?” Mike raised his brow. 

“My sister Coco and I would race each other with those little kid carts when we went grocery shopping with our parents.” Micky leaned down on the handle and smiled at the memory that zoomed back into his mind just as fast as he would zoom across the store. “Didn’t you ever do anything like that as a kid?” Micky asked as he leaned onto the cart handle. 

Mike shrugged. “Nothing quite as reckless as you-” Mike chuckled as Micky rolled the wheels of the cart slightly on the shiny floor tiles. “But um, my mom would get me a super-ball from one of those machines to bounce around while she took me shopping.” Mike turned to pick something from the shelf as Micky grinned. 

“Do you have any quarters?” Micky asked with a smile and Mike rolled his eyes. 

“No.” 

“Are you lying?” Micky reached out to poke his shoulder and Mike smacked his hand away. 

“I ain’t-” 

“C’mon Mike, relive your childhood” Micky continued to smirk at the man and Mike just kept on rolling his eyes. 

“Miiiiike it’s just four quarters!”

“I ain’t gettin’ a useless super-ball to bounce around the store like some kid-” 

                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hate you.” Mike said unconvincingly as he had a smirk, that was threatening to turn into a full blown grin, on this face. He and Micky had successfully gathered everything he needed from the grocery store. He drove them back and walked with Micky to his dorm, only to have Micky smoothly reach into one of the cheap plastic bags and pull out a shiny Super-ball.  

“But do you really?” Micky grinned, dropping the ball to the carpeted floor. It bounced perfectly and he caught it with an ease of grace before holding it out for Mike. 

“When did you even get it?” Mike wondered out loud, still not reaching out for it. 

“When I said I was going to the bathroom.” Micky shrugged and waited a few more seconds before grabbing Mike’s hand and setting it on his palm, closing his fingers over it. “You have fun with that.” He pat his hand before letting his arm swing back to his side. 

“I’ve got a paper I should probably get done before I have to shoot for the show again but I had fun. I’ll see you next time.” Micky grinned and waited just a few seconds to see if maybe Mike might make a move but Mike just grinned with a shake of his head. 

“I’ll see ya next time, Mick.” Mike chuckled and took a few of his bags from Micky’s hand and was off. Micky watched him go with a little frown on his face as he wondered momentarily when Mike was going to make a move. Maybe he was still too shy to do it on a third date? 

                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mike strolled on back to his dorm, bouncing the super-ball carefully as he went. The little stars of different colors inside it glittered against the lights above his head. He couldn’t help but smile as it did remind him of being a child again. 

He bit his lip and tried not to think too much about Micky. If Micky knew how Mike thought of him, he’d probably stop hanging out with him. 

He bounced the ball one final time and caught it swiftly before unlocking his door and entering, careful not to drop any bags. Peter was sat on his bed with his laptop in his lap. He looked up as Mike entered and shot him a smile. “You and Davy hang out today?” Mike asked, remembering their conversation from earlier in the day. Peter brightened. 

“Yeah, he came over while you were gone. We watched ‘Friends’...and made out a little.” Peter smirked, looking rather delighted. Mike groaned and threw one of the bags at his friend. 

Peter did not seem very offended at that. He just dug right into the bag, finding the box of incense sticks Mike had bought for him. He slid them right out took a deep breath. “Thanks, man.” Peter held out the bag for Mike to take back. 

“That’s the last time I’m buying it for you, Pete.” Mike said sternly though Peter knew he’d give in sooner or later. So he just smiled and nodded. 

“How was your day?” Peter asked, genuinely curious. 

Mike played around with the super-ball in his pocket and got the hint of a smile on his face again. “Pretty good.”