#sometimes it feels like my lungs deflate so totally that they kind of fall almost?

[folkinsomnia]

what's really great is how, when I do cough or (like right now) get a cold, I can feel full well how fucked covid made my lungs. whatever it is I'm feeling, it certainly wasn't there before covid. that heaviness, burning, soreness, etc. is because something got messed up in my lungs, and I'm scared to know what.

[youngerdrgrey]

love me wilder (love me more) // scenes from Ryan and Sophie’s relationship

about: Mary starts all of this. They’re on comms one night, and Mary asks, “Would I be Maid of Honor, or would it be Luke?”

and other questions about Ryan and Sophie's relationship. + you can read this on ao3 too.

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Who asks the other on dates? Once they’re dating, it’s pretty even, but Sophie does get the credit for their first official date. It happens on the third time that Ryan bails on plans with Sophie and Jordan. They’re supposed to be seeing an art installation for their self-proclaimed ‘Black girl date night.’ But Sophie shows up to The Hold Up to pick up Ryan, and Ryan’s tending bar with an apologetic and frustrated grin.

Sophie stomps over to the bar. “Again, Ryan?”

Ryan slides a drink to the customer beside Sophie. “Yes, again. Patrice is sick and—”

“And nobody else can cover? You’re the manager.” Sophie says. “Call someone in.”

Ryan takes the credit card from the customer, who unabashedly watches Ryan as she swipes the card in the reader. Her work tank’s tied into a crop top like always, and she’s pulled her hair back in a way that really draws the attention to her neck.

Ryan says, “I don’t abuse my power.” It’s the sort of dig that a few months ago would’ve started a fight, but today it just makes Sophie groan and dig her elbows into the bar top to get closer to Ryan.

“You don’t do anything,” Sophie corrects. At this point, Ryan's either working as Batwoman, or working at the bar. She has no social life, which kind of screws things up for the one person who's actively trying to spend time with her.

Ryan snorts. “Okay, choice words from the lady going on a date with her sister on a Friday night.”

Sophie levels Ryan with a serious stare. “I’d go with you, but you’re too busy.” Ryan rolls her eyes, but Sophie isn’t joking. There’s no hint of a smile, no hitch in her voice. Ryan rewinds the last few minutes in her head.

“Wait —” Ryan circles her hands backwards in front of her. Rewind again. Reprocess the fact that Sophie used date and Ryan in the same context. “—are you serious? You’re... you’re actually—”

Sophie chuckles, and there’s a bit of a nervous shake under it. “And I thought I was the inexperienced one here.”

“You are,” Ryan says. That gets a glare from Sophie. Ryan plucks the receipt for the customer off the printer and slides that to them before turning her focus fully back to Sophie. “But I’m game.”

Sophie grins. “Really?”

Ryan flashes a full smile back. “Yeah. As soon as Patrice gets better.”

“Let me make her some soup then, damn.”

.

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Who is the bigger cuddler?

Ryan. She’s very affectionate, and she loves snuggling up anywhere she can. Mary complains sometimes about how often she comes home to find Ryan and Sophie on the couch.

Luke cringes when Mary says it. His eyes jump from the Bat screens to Mary in the chair beside him. “Like on the couch?” Mid-deed?

“Ugh, I wish.” Mary quickly shakes her head, as a quick disgusted look passes her face. “Not like I wish, just like…. I come home, and they’re not even doing anything. They’re asleep on the couch, just wrapped up in each other’s arms and happy and comfy and….” She sighs.

Luke drums his hands on the keyboard. “And you want that?”

Mary slumps into her chair and lets her head roll onto her shoulder. The lights paint her softer, or maybe it’s the open vulnerability now that she doesn’t have to be the perky sidekick she usually is. It’s actually one of the good things about working with Luke; he doesn’t expect her to be happy, perfect Mary.

“I want something. We spend all day living our normal lives, then rushing away to help save Gotham, and it’s totally worth it. It is. But before, when the work was done, I went home to my best friend in the world.” Mary glances up at the monitors where the two dots tracking Ryan and Sophie rush across the Gotham map. “Now she has someone else. And no offense to you, but we’re not exactly swapping secrets and having sweet potato pancakes.”

Mary does love Sophie and Ryan. She loves that Sophie is moving forward after losing Kate, and she loves that Ryan has someone other than Angelique to care about. But Mary has also spent so much of her life begging people to care about her. It’s hard not to feel like this is Kate and Beth and her dad all over again. She’s getting really tired of being replaced.

Luke clears his throat. He even sits up straighter in his chair when he turns it. The monitors behind him almost make him look like an angel. Or whatever.

He says, “I can’t make sweet potato pancakes,” like it’s an apology, or maybe a concession from someone else who knows what it’s like to be the odd one out. “But I do make a mean crab cake. If you’re in the market for more friends.”

Mary can work with that. But at the risk of this feeling entirely too sentimental for a mid-mission chat, she adds, “Fine, but no cuddling on the couch.”

Luke smiles. “You wish.”

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Who initiates holding hands more often?

Ryan cannot get enough of Sophie’s hands. She’s constantly reaching out during team meetings, or across the bar at The Hold Up. She believes in the reassuring squeeze. At the same time, Sophie’s the one who actually initiates the hand holding and interlocking fingers. She claims it’s her way of keeping track of Ryan, reminding her that “you’re stuck with me, and you trust me.”

“There are other ways to show that, Sophie,” Ryan taunts. Sophie uses their linked hands to tug Ryan over to her.

“Show me?”

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Who remembers anniversaries?

Ryan smiles up at Sophie on the couch. 

“Aww, babe, three years ago, you arrested me for the first time.”

Sophie rolls her eyes. “That’s the anniversary you remember?”

Ryan laughs. “It truly changed my life.”

“Okay, well, remember that when you want an anniversary present in three weeks—”

“Four,” Ryan corrects. “Three weeks is when the date should’ve happened, but you got a flat, then Black Mask attacked—”

Sophie nods, “Right, and we didn’t actually go out until after he was in holding. I stand corrected.”

Ryan preens until Sophie pushes her away.

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Who is more possessive?

Ryan used to think she was possessive. She would do anything to keep the people she loves by her side. But then Kate Kane comes back into their lives, and suddenly Ryan’s on the verge of losing everything that she’s built for herself. She keeps jumping between being incredibly self-sacrificing and hoarding away her minutes with the rest of the team like Kate’s coming to snatch them away.

One particular night, Ryan drops down onto Sophie’s fire escape in the suit. Her feet barely hit the level before she spots Kate inside Sophie’s apartment. 

Sans jacket, Kate’s tattooed arms look great in the moonlight. Her everything looks great. Ryan can’t see everything, but she can see the playful smirk on Kate’s face as she crosses the living room. Sophie’s not visible, which means she must already be in the bedroom. Is she waiting for Kate? Is she --

Ryan stumbles back. Sophie wouldn’t cheat on her. Ryan knows that, but if there was ever a reason to break up, it’s definitely the love of Sophie’s life wanting to start over again. And who is Ryan to stand in the way of that?

So, Ryan grinds her teeth and jumps back off of the balcony.

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She gets halfway back to Wayne Tower before the comms buzz in her ear. She pauses on top of a random roof to answer the incoming call.

“Ryan, get back here.”

Of course Sophie saw her. The grappling hook isn’t exactly the quietest way to move either. Though, Sophie had certainly taken her time to reach out.

Ryan lets a bit of bitterness slip out. “Your plans with Kate fall through?”

“I don’t have plans with Kate,” Sophie says. She sounds tired and frustrated, like whatever conversation she’d had probably took a lot out of her. Or maybe just reuniting with her one true love did that. Who’s Ryan to know?

“Sure looked like it to me.”

“And if you’d looked any longer, you would’ve seen her grab her things and go. I don’t want to do this over comms, Ryan.”

“What, break up with me?”

“Why would you even —” Sophie sucks in a deep breath. “Kate was here to clear the air. She wanted to know if there was a chance that we could try again.”

Ryan needs to sit down. She needs to lean against something. Her eyes dart across the roof, but there’s nothing up here but spider webs and deflated balloons. 

“Oh.” Ryan circles her jaw to try and stop herself from crying. She’s not going to cry over Sophie. She should’ve known better than to ever think that Kate Kane’s ex would choose her over—

“I told her no.”

What? The air rushes out of Ryan’s lungs.

Sophie repeats herself. “I told her no. Now can you please get back here before I have to drive all the way over to wherever the hell you are?”

“It’s faster by roof.”

“Give me the grappling hook, and I’ll try it out.”

Ryan clicks her tongue. “Can’t do it, that’s mine.”

“And you’re mine, Ryan. Nobody’s changing that, okay? Trust me.”

Ryan glances over at the long way back to Sophie’s place. The trek across the city that they help keep safe. “I do.”

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Who gets more jealous?

Sophie really wishes she weren’t this jealous. She’s not super familiar with the feeling. With Tyler, her emotions never went this high. With Kate, there either wasn’t competition, or well, the guilt of how things went overshadowed everything else. But with Ryan — hot, flirty bartender Ryan — the opportunities for jealousy keep building.

It doesn’t help that Imani shows up from time to time for different fundraiser events. Sophie watches Imani and Ryan from across The Hold Up. Her eyes narrow, and she zones out of her conversation with Mary so completely that the young medical professional ends up waving her hand in front of Sophie’s face.

Mary steps over to block Sophie’s view of them. “You do know Imani’s not a threat, right?”

Sophie nods. She taps on the side of her head. “Up here, yes. But in here….” She rubs her hand over her heart.

“Ryan’s so into you, and you know that. Any jealousy is completely ridiculous,” Mary says.

Sophie nods. Again. “I’m gonna go over there.” She knocks back the drink in her hand and hands it to Mary, who mostly just clinks that cup with her own.

Mary mumbles to herself, “’Gee, Mary, thanks for being such a great friend. Let’s keep talking together instead of rushing over like a jealous lunatic.’” Her face perks up as she plays herself. “Of course, Sophie, so glad you’re being super reasonable. Love you too.”

By the time Mary finishes her own drink, Sophie’s leading a very amused Ryan up the stairs towards the loft. Mary sighs. She really may have to move out soon.

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Who is more protective?

This one’s a tie. Ryan tries to protect Sophie by sidelining Sophie on the Bat Team. But Sophie is used to being in the field, or at least calling the shots. She doesn’t do well in the Bat Cave where she can’t physically assist. That back and forth goes on for months, but it comes to a head when Ryan needs to get on a plane again to try and catch their latest bad guy of the week.

Sophie hates the idea. She refuses to let Ryan go alone, and the more that Ryan tries to fight it, the more emotional Sophie gets. Ryan assumes that Sophie’s upset because the last private Kane plane ended with Kate in Black Mask’s clutches. But Ryan’s not about to go missing. She doesn’t have enemies like that, and most importantly, as Ryan yells, “Sophie, stop treating me like this! I’m not Kate.” 

Sophie sputters before rasping out, “I know that. But the last time you flew, Ryan, you almost died too. In my arms, mind you. Forgive me for not wanting a repeat of that.”

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Who is more likely to cheat?

No one’s cheating, but Ryan does have a particularly handsy customer who tries to kiss her once. 

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Who dislikes PDA the most?

Sophie’s still getting used to the idea of actually having PDA with a woman, but she’s coming around.

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Who kills the spider?

Both of them, but Sophie does it more often. Mostly because she doesn’t want to hear Ryan taunting her that “Sophie freaking Moore can’t handle a spider?”

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Who asks the other to marry them?

Mary starts all of this. They’re on comms one night, and Mary says, “Would I be Maid of Honor, or would it be Luke?”

The question makes Ryan stumble on her landing, and Sophie crashes into her since they didn’t exactly space out on the wire as they slid from one secret warehouse to another.

Sophie catches her footing first and says, “I’m sorry, what?”

Back in the Bat Cave, Mary ignores the glare that Luke gives her. She leans closer to the mic. “Hypothetically. If you two get married, it’d be a really small ceremony. We’re not inviting Alice. And Jordan will probably be Sophie’s Maid of Honor, so I just wanted to make sure that I get to be Ryan’s.”

Luke huffs. “Then why did you ask a question if you’re calling dibs?”

Mary turns to face him. “Because you can’t call dibs. It has to be her choice.”

“But you’re leading her to pick you. It’s not fair. You were already roommates—”

“Which is exactly why it should be me—”

“But we had to work on our relationship. The growth that we had is just—”

“But you had to work on it! We clicked immediately!”

“You click with everyone!”

“I do not!”

“You do—”

Sophie and Ryan yell into the comms, “GUYS!” Mary and Luke freeze.

Ryan chances a glance at Sophie, who has not actually moved since their friends started this conversation. They’ve been together for nearly two years at this point, and honestly, they’ve both been avoiding having to talk about this. Neither of them have their moms — for very different reasons — and Sophie’s already got one failed marriage under her utility belt.

Sophie readjusts the cowl on her super suit. “Could you wait until after we’re engaged to plan a wedding?”

Ryan does a double take. “After we’re what now?”

Sophie freezes. “Well, I just mean — if things keep going well, because they’ve been going really, really well…?” The damn cowl blocks off most of her face, but Ryan knows Sophie well enough to know that her eyebrows are halfway to her hairline. That higher lilt in Sophie’s voice means she’s reaching, and nervous. Ryan’s thankful that her own mask can cover the way her eyebrows drop as her nose scrunches up. Ryan is not about to cry on this roof.

Ryan goes for the joke. Makes her voice as teasing as she can handle. “Aww, you wanna marry me?”

Sophie crosses the few steps between them to take Ryan’s hand. “Are you asking?”

Ryan interlocks their fingers. “Not officially. Luke hasn’t made a Bata-ring yet.”

Everyone groans. The deep one from Luke is enough to get Sophie to smile, and it finally breaks some of the tension in the air. Ryan brings their linked hands to her lips and kisses them. She makes sure that Sophie’s focused on her before mouthing, Marry me.

Sophie leans in to kiss her, and they both get carried away. Lost in this moment of possibility before —

“Um, guys?” It’s Luke. “Are you working or making out?”

Ryan pulls back from the kiss and says, “Just for that, Mary, you’re Maid of Honor.”

“Ha!”

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Who buys the other flowers or gifts?

It’s a trade off. Ryan loves bringing back little things from missions. Sophie is the reigning gift champion though. A few weeks after she joins the team, Sophie shows up at the loft with a plant for Ryan.

“It’s no desert rose, but well, Mary said how much you loved taking care of your old one.” Sophie holds it out for Ryan to take, but Ryan just keeps staring at her. Sophie shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She cringes inwardly. She’s probably tipping her hand too much by doing this. She can’t just show up at a cute girl’s place in her casual clothes and give her a plant. It’s… well, very gay, and probably invasive, given the fact that the last plant Ryan cared for was literally the thing to bring Ryan back to life.

Sophie groans. “Please don’t make me take it back.”

“No! You don’t have to.” Ryan reaches out with both hands to take the plant. She curls it to her chest, hugging it close. She stares down at it for a bit, and when she does look back up, a teary rim frames her eyes. “Thank you.”

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Who would bring up possibly having kids?

Ryan really wants to be a mom one day. She’s fine not doing it now. But one day, she wants to do for someone else what her mom did for her.

Sophie gets weird about the idea once Ryan brings it up. Like, ducking out of rooms and coming up with all kinds of excuses as to why she can’t go on missions for a week. She even stays at Jordan’s place for a few nights.

Ryan has to go to Jordan’s apartment just to talk to Sophie alone. She barrels straight into the little two bedroom and plants herself next to the kitchen island. Sophie closes the door behind Ryan, but doesn’t step any closer to her fiance. 

Ryan says, “I get it. If Batwoman can’t have a girlfriend, then she sure as hell can’t have a kid. But—”

Sophie cuts her off, “It’s not about Batwoman. It’s about me.”

“Oh.” Does Sophie not want kids?

“Before I came out, the thought of having kids and a family, it all felt so… not me. I told Tyler that I didn’t want kids, that I thought having kids in a city like Gotham was irresponsible and not something I would ever want to do.”

Ryan leans back into the island. Closes her eyes and tries to let the cool feel of the granite calm the pain of those words.

Sophie wrings her hands together. “But I honestly didn't want to do any of that, with a man. And you're right. It's completely irresponsible for Batwoman to have a kid. But maybe… maybe Ryan and Sophie Wilder-Moore could consider it. If we can help clean up a city, we can probably raise a pretty cool kid.”

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Who is more nervous to meet the parents?

Sophie is literally shaking when they meet up with Diane Moore for the first time. 

Thanks to Jordan, Ryan technically met Diane the week before. Ryan and Jordan were hanging out when Diane FaceTimed Jordan. Once Diane saw Ryan in the background, Jordan casually said, “That’s Ryan, Sophie’s girlfriend.” Then Diane’s entire face caught on fire, and she made an excuse to hang up. Fast forward five days, and Diane called Sophie to say she was “stopping by” for brunch. Reservations were made for four, and now Sophie is going to vibrate into another dimension from shaking so much.

Jordan and Ryan split a sympathetic look outside of Grits and Bear It, one of the best brunch places in Gotham.

Jordan tries to help. She says, “Just don’t mention the ex-con thing, and you’ll be fine.”

Sophie groans. Ryan steps up to Sophie and slips her arms around Sophie’s waist. “Babe, chill. I am a successful manager of a great bar—”

“A gay bar,” Sophie corrects.

Jordan winces. “Don’t mention that part either. Or Batwoman.”

Both Sophie and Ryan freeze. Sophie turns wide eyes up at Jordan and asks, “Why would we…?”

Jordan looks back at them like they’re five. “Because all you do is talk about how Batwoman’s the one person doing anything to help Gotham. And Mom still won’t say her name without gagging in her mouth.”

Sophie drops her head back down on top of Ryan’s. With their height difference, she can press her forehead to the crown of Ryan’s head. Hide away from the world for a moment. Whisper, “We should run. Now. Before she sees us.”

Ryan kisses Sophie on the cheek. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

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(It is.)

.

(But thankfully Jordan takes one for the team and brings up her graffiti to take some of Diane’s fire. Ryan’s able to get one of very few smiles when she reminds Diane that Jordan’s working at the youth center now. Saving lives and what not. Still, nothing is enough for Diane. Ryan holds Sophie’s hand under the table.)

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(Sophie doesn’t relax until they’re back at her place. Until they showered away the tension and curled up on the couch with Sophie wrapped around Ryan and a cheesy action movie playing on the TV.

Sophie holds on a little too tight. Sits a little too stiff. And she sniffles during a chase scene, which is really the final straw.

Ryan has to tuck her head under Sophie’s chin to look up at her girlfriend. “It’s her loss, you know? I’m pretty damn amazing, and you? You’re Sophie freaking Moore, and anyone who chooses not to love you is making the worst mistake of their life.”

Sophie sniffles again. “What if she never comes around?”

“Then you still have me, and Jordan, and Mary and Luke. You can even have Alice if you’re that desperate for a high head count. But you don’t need her to be happy.” Ryan wiggles out of the hold to sit up on her own. “And whenever you start worrying about what your mom thinks, just remember what the great poets once said.”

Sophie’s eyes narrow, and Ryan does her best to keep a serious look on her face.

“‘All I need in this life of sin—’” Sophie shoves Ryan away from her, and Ryan uses all of her strength to pull Sophie into her arms and sing right into her face, “‘is me and my girlfriend.’ Come on, baby, you know it.”

Sophie sings back, “‘It’s me and my girlfriend.’”

“See.” Ryan pecks Sophie on the lips. “That simple. Trust me.”

Sophie says, “I always do.”)

.

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a/n: if only it were actually that sample. but hey, we can hope, and we can keep trying, you know?

so, what'd you think? any other random questions y'all would like answered? any prompts?

[nancywheelxr]

Omg omg omg omg plz do a Uncle Peter and Uncle Aaron fic

“You did what?” Uncle Aaron rasps, hand still pressing tight to his chest and slightly out of breath, and his expression is somewhere between anger and disbelief. On the other side of the room, Peter throws his hands up, mouth stuffed with a bagel.

Yup. That’s about what Miles expected.

Okay, he should probably back up a little and explain.

*

So, look, there are the facts:

The body of Aaron Davis never reached the morgue. The vehicle containing his body was shot out of the road exactly eight minutes after it left the alleyway. No suspects were apprehended and Officer Jefferson Davis was ordered to close the case twelve days later after all leads had gone cold. 

That had been nearly a year ago.

Now, here are some more– mildly less believable, but hey, last year the multiverse kinda went bananas, so who’s Miles to call anything crazy, right? – facts: 

Three weeks ago a grumpy wizard dumped Peter in Miles’ backyard. He had a cool cape, though, that Miles thinks might have waved at him at some point? Anyway, there was this wizard, right, and he dumped Peter in his mom’s hydrangeas and then he told Miles to keep an eye on Peter because Peter had apparently been cursed and couldn’t stay in their universe for the time being? No, he did not know when he’d be back to collect him, and no, he would not be taking criticisms on his plan right now.

It had all been very strange.

So yeah, that was a thing that happened. Apparently, Peter’s universe had been attacked by a sorcerer and Spider-Man got the wrong end of a particularly nasty banishing spell. 

“It was not my fault,” Peter had said, head halfway into Miles’ refrigerator, “if the Avengers could keep their damn villains of the week out of my neighborhood, then none of this would happen– hey, is the chili still good? No, you know what, nevermind, it probably is, let me just check the milk–”

And that had been that. 

“ – and you know, Harry Potter over there, didn’t have to just dump me here,” except, Peter had seemed to want to explain thoroughly what happened first, “I bet he could have just waved his hand and be done with it. He fixed the whole molecular-universe-rejection thing, didn’t he? Sorcerer Supreme, my–”

Miles had kind of zoned out after a while.

*

Those were the facts, see, and all of them were out of Miles’ hands, that’s a very important thing to notice.

*

So, since, Doctor Wizard hadn’t bothered to stay to hash out the finer details before peacing out back to his dimension, that left to Peter and Miles to figure out where to stash Peter while this whole mess was sorted out.

It’s not like Peter has a functioning social security number or even the money to buy some real state or pay any sort of rent. Sure, they could go to Aunt May’s place, but whenever Miles tried to bring it up, Peter got that weird face on, that looked kinda guilty and like, infinitely sad, and Miles didn’t have the heart to suggest it again.

Besides, he doesn’t think it would be good for May, not if this took a while.

Somehow, that ended up equaling with Peter squatting at Uncle Aaron’s old place.

It had seemed the logical conclusion, at the time. No one was using it and Miles’ dad hadn’t wanted to let go of it, not yet. Privately, Miles thinks it’s ‘cause his dad still hopes Uncle Aaron is out there, alive. The lack of a body to bury does that, he thinks, and wholeheartedly agrees with his dad.

If there’s still a chance, Miles would take it.

Anyway. So, Peter had been staying at Uncle Aaron’s place and being an all-around sorta cool mentor while helping out Miles with the whole superhero gig. 

It had really been just a matter of time until his parents caught up with it.

*

Again, let the record show, that while yes, Miles had been the one to come up with Uncle Peter, it had been Peter that came up with the marriage thing.

*

Another couple of facts to keep in mind:

Fours hours ago, Miles and Peter had busted another of Kingpin’s research facilities. Inside it, handcuffed to one of the beds, they had found Uncle Aaron recovering from surgery.

According to his retelling of events, that had been his twelfth procedure. Kingpin had been the one to pay for the Prowler gear, therefore, Kingpin owned the Prowler. Kingpin does not throw away expensive resources– not even the ones who needed open-chest surgery, blood transfusions, illegal not-yet-tested drugs, and too many lung surgeries. No, Uncle Aaron does not know what he had been planning to do with him once he recovered enough, but he figures it would be nothing good, probably blackmail him into working for him again.

Bringing him back to his old place had also brought up the fact that someone else had been living there.

Which brings them back to:

*

“Why the hell would you tell them that?” Uncle Aaron twitches, glaring at Peter like he wants to bring out his gear to saw him up a bit, “of all the all the– are you an idiot?”

Miles cringes. This is spiraling out of control fast. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal–”

“You think I want to be married to a Supervillain?” Peter, having swallowed his bagel, screams back at Uncle Aaron, seething with righteous anger, “I’m not exactly having the time of my life here either, pal!”

“Okay, I wouldn’t say he’s a supervillain, exactly,” Miles tries to placate him, “more like a henchman, maybe? And he’s totally reformed! Right, Uncle Aaron? Right?”

It’s not a real question, exactly, Miles knows that moment on Aunt May’s roof had been a turning point for his uncle, knows the second he let go of Miles, the second that bullet his chest, he wasn’t a bad guy anymore. He couldn’t be, not when his nephew was Spider-Man. 

And Miles would be damned if he wasn’t going to give his own uncle a second chance.

Still, as soon as the words leave Miles’ mouth, Uncle Aaron seems to deflate. He sighs, running a hand across his face before motioning Miles over. “C’mere, kid,” he waits until Miles is sitting beside him in the dusty couch, the white sheet used to cover it still on the floor by their feet. “Yeah, of course I’m reformed,” his mouth still twitches in amusement at the term, then falls into a grimace again, “and I’m so fucking sorry for the things I’ve done, even more for what I did to you. If I had known–” he shakes his head, “not that it makes that much better– but point is, you bet I’m done being a bad guy. I’ll never hurt anyone again, alright, and I’ll never hurt you, Miles, I’m so sorry for all of that.”

“Hey, erm,” Miles swallows past a lump he hadn’t noticed growing in his throat, and looks around, panicking at the sight of Uncle Aaron– cool, laid-back, fun Uncle Aaron– close to tears and looking wrecked by guilt. His eyes meet Peter’s across the room and he looks about as uncomfortable to be there as humanly possible, but he still gives Miles a thumbs up, smiling kindly. “It’s okay, Uncle Aaron. I know– you can do better now,” he finishes awkwardly, not quite able to stop himself from hugging him.

After a long pause, Miles feels his uncle returning the hug fiercely, holding him like he’s not yet sure this is all real. “You really are something else, kid.”

*

It had taken Miles and Peter half an hour to unhook Uncle Aaron from all the machines and monitors in his cell, and Miles had cried silently at how sick his uncle had looked and pretended not to notice the blood trail they left from where the IV tube had been hooked at the crook of his arm– Uncle Aaron had looked about to keel over and any blood wasted on the tiled floor had seemed alarming.

Peter had taken most of his weight and told Miles to go ahead make sure the hallway was clear. 

Not for the first time, Miles had wished Gwen was there, if only to bully him into being less sad.

*

“Okay,” Uncle Aaron says, huffing a little after they both had regained some sort of composure– ha! Check that out, composure, his English teacher would be thrilled with him using fancy words. “We still gotta figure this thing out.”

“I want a divorce,” Peter demands, standing with his hands on his hips, “I’m sorry but this just isn’t working out, babe.”

“Call me that again,” he warns, glaring, “and I’ll whoop your ass, lung surgery or not.”

Miles tries to picture it– breaking the news of Uncle Aaron’s return to his parents then the subsequent divorce. That would mean Peter would be homeless again and no more excuses to be hanging around Miles. ‘Sides, Peter leaving Uncle Aaron now that he’s sick would not look good. That would definitely be a problem if they want Peter to be able to stick around.

Well, shit.

“You can’t,” he blurts out, shrinking a little when both adults whirl on him, “I mean, you totally can, but it would make it so much harder because how are we gonna explain why Peter is always around? And mom kinda already likes him? She sends him casseroles sometimes, even though dad still grumbles about it.”

Uncle Aaron groans. “Of course she does,” he drops his head on his hands, “this is a mess.”

“Rio’s casseroles are delicious,” Peter admits, tilting his head thoughtfully towards the kitchen like that’s enough to make him reconsider this whole scheme.

“And I know dad is like, still annoyed you allegedly didn’t tell them about this,” Miles adds, “but I swear he’s trying to be more chill–”

“Hang on,” Uncle Aaron looks up, for the first time since they rescued him from the lab, seeming less defeated. His eyes are almost as bright as they were before, alight with something gleeful. “This would annoy the hell out of your old man, wouldn’t it?”

Miles blinks, a sense of impending doom encroaching like an inevitable storm that has nothing to do with his spider senses. “I guess?”

“Say,” he turns to Peter, giving him an assessing look, “spider-hobo, how about we strike a deal?”

“Okay, first off, I was dumped in this universe without warning, alright, it’s not like they let me pack a bag first,” Peter scowls, crossing his arms, “second, what kind of deal?”

“You need a place to stay and an excuse for my brother not to arrest you,” Uncle Aaron smirks, and Miles thinks he knows where this is going but he’s not sure how he feels about it, “and I could use a hand to keep watch, I’m sure Kingpin’s not gonna give up so soon.”

And it would have the bonus of annoying Miles’ dad which is Uncle Aaron’s favorite past time.

This is so spiraling out of control.

Peter squints. “So you want a bodyguard?”

“So you want not to be homeless?”

“Fine,” he huffs, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes, “we’re married now, I guess. Hurray.”

“Please, you should be happy,” Uncle Aaron sits back, stretching his legs under the coffee table, “you are married to me.”

That sends Peter into another inflamed rant. “Look, I’m a goddamn catch–”

Man, Miles groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is going to be a disaster and with his luck, it’s going to snowball into something huge before it bursts into flames. Again, he wishes fiercely Gwen was there, he bets at least she’d get a kick out of this.

Faintly, he hears Uncle Aaron ignoring Peter in favor to nudge his feet. “Hey, kid, do me a favor and don’t mention to your dad I cursed in front of you, yeah?”

Across the table, Peter snatches another bagel, biting into it with a vengeance.

[blame-canada]

Me Too - Kyvid

David has had a crush on Kyle for months that feel like decades. It’s driving him insane, but the taunting of a traditional holiday plant hung pathetically above him might give just the right push to get the boy of his dreams- or, he guesses, embarrass himself to death trying.

Hello my friends! This is a fill for the prompt “Mistletoe” for the November 2017 South Park Drabble Bomb. I hope you enjoy it! My love to @mcnuggyy, @valzilla and the rest of the Kyvid gang for their support! Read it on AO3 here.

Kyle has been standing nine feet away from him for almost ten minutes. He is looking anywhere but at him, but mostly at his own shoes, and David’s palms are getting sweaty and he’s pretty sure he might faint before they even start dinner. They haven’t spoken to each other once and yet they’re locked in conversation; one that neither of them knows how to address, or may even want to, David corrects for his selfish, overeager heart. Still, he can’t help but feel as though Kyle is just as painfully aware of the ceiling as he is.

He’s seen this before. They’ve all seen this before, and it’s part of why David feels so frustrated watching Kyle nurse generic store-brand punch in one hand with his back to the snack table. The music still beats steadily behind them but it’s distant enough not to drown them out if they were to actually speak aloud. They both must know what comes next, David insists to himself, and yet they’re both left pretending they don’t see what’s right above them. It mocks David, hangs merrily beside a light with a bit of fishing line stabbed into the ceiling with a safety pin. It’s shoddy and lame, just like this party, and just like David who has just told himself once more to get a grip and acknowledge the elephant in the room- or mistletoe, as it were.

For a minute he fears that maybe he is over-analyzing Kyle’s every move, because God knows that he’s been doing that for months already. Maybe Kyle truly hasn’t noticed, and David’s upper lip and neck and hands are getting slick with nervous sweat for nothing. Though it’s part of his charm, sometimes David wishes Kyle had a bit more of a clue. The dampness feels cold under his nose and he sniffs, rubbing at it quickly, and he catches Kyle’s swift glance up before it darts back down and hides from him once more. David is surely dying inside.

He wishes this wasn’t hosted by the school. They do this holiday party that’s like dinner and a dance in one each December, and it costs money but they all shell it out for some reason and go like it’s something worth seeing. It never, ever is, and they leave just to make fun of it on Twitter in a few hours, which is the real fun of it. David doesn’t know so well, though. He doesn’t usually go to these things. They never seem worth it when that money could go to something much more important. He’d been coaxed into it this year though, and now here he is, frozen in place with his crush right across from him, awkwardly ignoring him as the traditional command to kiss him signals like an air traffic controller from above.

David sighs.

He lets his shoulders slump, his eyes fall to the floor, and any of his prior confidence deflate. Honestly, they didn’t even spend a lot of time together anymore. Part of that was because David recognized when he was getting in over his head about things and had backed off, but still. There is no excuse for why Kyle gives him such anxiety when he usually finds himself so effortlessly casual with people. He likes a challenge, but he’s not liking them so much anymore. Now he just wants to go home and wallow in his playlist of sad old songs his mother likes to sing along to for the first hour of his usual three hour moping session.

David starts to turn away on a squeaky heel to accept defeat when suddenly there’s a tugging on his arm to keep him in place. He looks back and sees Kyle up close, with his soul-deep green eyes and wrinkled brow and lower lip between his teeth as he nips at it nervously. It’s one of David’s favorite habits that he’s observed in all his time staring in class, because it just looks so cute on him. His braces are charming and they make his smile boyish and sweet, and he loves it. This Kyle is not smiling however, and it wipes the bliss from David’s memories clear.

“W-wait,” he stutters, and as he realizes what he’s done he recoils sharply so that he’s standing up straight and a foot further away from him. Even in the dimmer light David can see that his face and neck are going red, and the bliss is back.

“What?” David asks, because he doesn’t want to be the one to say it, desperately does not want to. Not because he’s too afraid, because he’s totally not, but so it validates some of his feelings just a bit more to hear from the other party. He wants to know for certain that he’s not being pushy, and the best way is to let Kyle take the lead. He also knows that Kyle is so oblivious sometimes that a first move is something impossible to wait for, but maybe this stupid mistletoe will give him the boost he needs. Maybe he’s not crazy. Maybe-

“There’s, um,” Kyle stumbles over his words, and it’s so different from the confident debater that David is used to. It’s cute but he also doesn’t like seeing him uncomfortable. Then Kyle ruins it. “Your tie is messed up,” he says, quietly, and David kind of wishes he’d been able to just walk away, because all the hope in his heart has vanished completely. He looks down and, sure enough, it’s loosened and started to slip down so that it hangs crookedly around his neck. He sighs again and reaches for it, but then realizes he can’t tie it when it’s actually on him and has to take it off to do it right, so he’s stuck. The nervous sweat returns and he’s praying he doesn’t smell, but he doesn’t think he does, especially because he can still smell his father’s cologne on his wrists. Why did he put so much effort into this stupid dance?

“Do you need help?” Kyle asks, just as timidly as when he pointed out the blunder in the first place, and with a genuine flush to his cheeks, David nods. He could do it, if he went to the bathroom or something, but this meant Kyle would have to get close to him, and just the step forward he has to make sends David’s blood rushing through his veins hot and tingly. Kyle reaches for his neck and starts to pull his tie apart and David swallows, hard.

“I don’t know if you’re the same, but I can’t do it on myself, only on a table or something. This is fine though, because it’s not like, on me, so it isn’t reversed,” Kyle babbles, but David doesn’t care because his delicate fingers are inches from his throat and it’s such an oddly intimate sensation that he’s stunned to silence anyway. “I think ties are a bit much to expect from us for these dances, don’t you think? But we always do it. I wonder why we bother. We should all just come in jeans and t-shirts next time. Or better, bring a bunch of glowsticks. What if we just like, flash-mobbed in? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Kyle blinks at him a few times before David realizes that not only is he finished tying his tie, but he’s waiting for him to respond. He still can’t think though, because Kyle’s hands are still resting on his chest, the slightest amount of pressure on his rib cage that combats his quick-breathing lungs. “Yes,” David says, and Kyle looks a bit defeated, because David knows that it’s the weakest response he could have come up with when put on the spot with an angel in the room. “I’m sorry,” he admits, “I actually missed what you said.” He prays he hasn’t screwed things up yet with his idiot mouth.

“I just-” Kyle cuts himself off. “Well,” he tries again, and finally, he snarls in the back of his throat in annoyance. “Ugh, whatever,” he says, and then, he places each hand on David’s shoulders with a bit of force, and leans forward to press their lips together.

It’s less of a press and more of a push, with more force than necessary and their positioning not exactly right and uncomfortable, but eventually David’s brain catches up and he realizes that actually, Kyle Broflovski is kissing him, like, right now. As soon as he makes this revelation he fixes their match-up so that it melts together, and he lets his eyes flutter closed at the same time that Kyle’s do. If there was an angel choir around him, they would be singing Kyle’s name in a heavenly tone that vibrates as quickly as his heart beats. He feels like he might explode and also like he might fall apart at any moment, and when Kyle pulls away from him, David had never thought his lips felt so bare in his life. The first thing he does is pull his hand up quickly to touch his lips where Kyle’s had just been, as though shocked that he’s still here.

Kyle looks very nervously up at him. “That wasn’t for no reason, there’s-”

“Mistletoe,” David breathed, “yeah. I know.”

“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to do it for no reason too, because I would! Um, I would. I think you’re pretty. Pretty handsome! Is pretty okay? Your eyelashes are so long,” Kyle chatters, his eyes wide and his cheeks cherries, and in the background, David is faintly aware of the music changing. He’s also faintly aware that the rest of the world maybe exists, but he really can’t be bothered to consider anything else when freckled cheeks are blazing and soft lips are bitten, and words are being tossed into the thick air between them with no meaning assigned to them besides how beautiful the music they encompass is to David’s ears.

David takes action, because Kyle is still talking, and looking worse and worse for wear with each syllable he spits out. He cups Kyle’s face in his hands, touching the soft skin of his hot face with just the tips of his fingers and thumbs, and kisses him again. He can practically feel Kyle melting beneath his touch, and he has to wonder just how much sooner he could have lived this reality if he’d gotten his head out of his ass. He could have been doing this exact thing for months, from the first time that Kyle’s ‘good morning’ had him reeling and oh so suddenly gasping for air. It’s been a long time of thinking and fantasizing, and now it’s here, and David is kissing Kyle in the hallway at a dumb school dance that doesn’t matter.

When they disconnect, David watches Kyle’s eyes open slower than his, blinking gently open under auburn lashes that dust the stars on his skin. When they look at his, their green is so brilliantly emphasized by such a perfectly timed green light from the dance floor that he looks ethereal, different, even more lovely than he’d ever daydreamed about. He realizes too late that his hands are still on Kyle’s face, and he brings them to his chest quickly, the nerves making his face burn too. Kyle makes a sound like a giggle, and David’s heart soars.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, embarrassingly shaky, “I’ve just, been thinking about doing that for so long.”

“Really?” Kyle asks, his eyes wide and sparkling, so bright, so wonderful.

David smiles. “Really.”

Kyle leans in closer, grips him by his lapels, and boldly kisses his cheek, chirping into his ear, “Me too.”

[winetae]

⇾ nudes, not flowers | 01

⇁ Hoseok x female reader x Jungkook

⇁ smut || fuckboi!au

⇁ public sex, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, dom!junghope, demeaning names during sex if you aren’t into that, jealousy

⇁ 5.5k

. . .

You’re not supposed to fall for Jung Hoseok and his repertoire of awful pick-up lines—but you do. The problem is: he’s afraid of commitment, and bolts at the idea of settling down. After that, you decide to stay far away from fuckboys, but his friend decides to test your new found resolutions.

↳ or : Jungkook wants to see how far he can push Hoseok until he snaps 

⇁ 01 | 02 ; sequel 

a/n; …. why tf did i do this to myself!!! (this is just smut that i had to split into two parts rip) anyways tagging @kstopping @gxtsmxt @thotmi bc nothing says i love you like a junghope smut am i right

.

.

Jung Hoseok.

His name alone draws your attention. It’s impossible not to know who he is—he’s somewhat of a living legend on campus. You have only heard echoes of his wild adventures but those bits and pieces are enough to have you doubting their legitimacy. The guy who sits behind you in your Tuesday seminar worships the ground Jung Hoseok walks on; he keeps anyone who listens up-to-date on Hoseok’s newest exploits. There’s always a new story, and in each one Hoseok manages to outdo himself.

No one in their right mind would even attempt to try those things. Some of them don’t even seem humanly possible. But if, by chance, the tales happen to be true—well, you’re just surprised no one has kicked him out of college yet.  

You’ve never met him before, you don’t even know what he looks like, but you imagine he’s someone who basks in all the attention. You can tell what kind of person he is if he’s friends with people like Kim Taehyung. He’s probably the life of every party. You imagine he’s the type who can hold his liquor like a pro, someone who has thousands of friends on facebook. To put it simply: he’s someone who is the complete opposite of you.

That’s why the last place you expect him to be is here, in the library you work at, sauntering your way with an easy smile on his face.

“Hey girl,” he winks at you, hands in his pocket. “Remember me?”

“Pardon?” You resist the urge to turn around to make sure he is indeed talking to you.

You’re positive you have never met him before. From the way he walks, to his confident posture and disarming grin, he exudes the kind of charisma that can attract anyone’s attention.  Paired with his devastating good looks, you’re absolutely certain you would have remembered him.  You try not to make it too obvious, but his sleeveless shirt hangs low; his sun-kissed collarbones catching your attention.

“Oh right, I forgot that we only met in my dreams!”

You gape at him, not sure how to answer. He seems to deflate at your lack of reaction.

“You were supposed to laugh,” he sighs, dejectedly.

“I’m… that was really terrible,” you sputter, slightly horrified. “Does that actually work?”

“Oh, that line?” He shrugs, flipping his snapback around so that his forehead was now uncovered. He looks impossibly more attractive. You hate it. “You might be surprised.”

You want to tell him yeah, it would be surprising if someone fell for that. The words don’t come out. The longer you stare at his face, the more you’re convinced that, yes, someone could have totally fallen for that.

“I’m Jung Hoseok.”  

“Jung Hoseok?” you parrot, your eyes widening upon realization.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but most of it is not true!” he clarifies quickly.

“So it wasn’t you who ran around campus naked last Halloween?”

“In my defense,” he protests, but has the decency to look sheepish, “it wasn’t because I wanted to. I lost a bet.”

You nod, pretending to understand. It’s hard to wrap your head around the idea of such a thing. Why would someone agree to that? Wasn’t it a bit too much? Suddenly visions of him naked, sprinting while singing the national anthem at the top of his lungs, flash through your mind.

You clear your throat and look down, guilty for imagining him that way.

“So… are you going to tell me your name?” he smiles.

“___,“ you say after a couple seconds of hesitation. Really, what’s the harm in giving him your name?

He repeats it, testing the way it sounds. His voice is nice. It’s all kinds of smooth, and you’re certain your name has never sounded as good as it did right then.

“Are you a freshman? I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Yes… How did you know?”

“I would have remembered such a pretty face.”

Your nose crinkles, but you can’t stop a small laugh from escaping.

“Cute,” he grins, gaze lowering to eye the flush coloring your cheeks. “I can’t wait to see you again tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, in my dreams,” he winks.

With that, he turns on his heels and leaves just the way he entered.

You don’t expect to ever see him again.

According to the rumors, he doesn’t seem like the type to spend his time in libraries. He doesn’t seem like the type to read books, actually. That’s why you almost fall off your stool when he shows his face again the next day.  

He’s not here for the books, you realize, watching him make a beeline towards you.

“___ !” he calls out, waving at you. “Hey.”

He’s wearing another one of those sleeveless shirts that show off his biceps. You don’t stare this time. You don’t.

“Hi.”

“Hey, I was wondering… I think I lost something yesterday.”

You scrunch your eyebrows trying to remember if he had left any belongings behind. You’re about to inform him that nothing had been reported to the lost and found, when he continues.

“I lost my number… So, I was hoping I could have yours?”

Your eyes widen at his forwardness and his not-so-smooth pick-up line.

There’s something absurd about the entire situation—Jung Hoseok in a library, Jung Hoseok knowing who you are, Jung Hoseok asking for your number. His fan in your Tuesday seminar probably wouldn’t believe you if you told him.

You’re not sure what it is that has you agreeing.

Giving him your number turns out to be the worst decision of your life. At least, that’s what you tell your roommate.

“Why? Does he send you dick pics?”

“What? No!”

“Oh don’t act so surprised. I heard he has a pornstar dick,” she grins wickedly. “Fucking massive. I heard his nickname is the pussy terminator.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, hands covering your ears. “Shut up for one second.”

“Well something tells me you’re about to find out soon, so please share the details once it happens,” she laughs, head thrown back.

“What are you saying…” you object. “I don’t think I could date someone like him.”

“Who said anything about dating?” She snatches your phone from your grip. “This guy is down to fuck. Wait—what the fuck? Who says this kind of shit? ‘You must be tired because you’ve been running through my mind all day’. Oh wow, what a romantic.”

She continues to look unimpressed, “’If I send you flowers, will you send me nudes?’ Is this guy for real?”

You take your phone back, embarrassed. “I find it kind of funny.”

“If I was him, I would just stick to sending dick pics,” she mumbles then catches the disapproving look you’re sending her way. “Oh please. Like you haven’t imagined what his dick looks like.”

“Can you just stop talking about dicks for one second,” you complain.

“You’re acting all modest now, but you know what they say!” she giggles, standing up and gathering her books. “You have to watch out for the quiet ones.”

She sidesteps the notebook you throw at her, cackling.

“See you later!”

It goes on like this for a while.

He shows up at the library so often now that other people are starting to notice. (“Holy fuck, Jung Hoseok can read?”) It amuses both of you to see the expressions of shock when people realize it really is Jung Hoseok in the library, reading a book on traditional herbal medicine.

For the record: he doesn’t actually read the book. He just needs an excuse to talk to you.

Honestly, the more you see him, the harder it is to resist his charm.

You try to deny it, but even his gross pick-up lines are kind of endearing. All of them definitely make you cringe. Some of them manage to sound sweet. Some of them are so fucking weird you wonder if he’s actually used them successfully.

It takes another week until he convinces you to go out with him. Except it’s not a date. He just “wants to see you in person”. You only agree because he promises free food. Not because you like him or anything.

You expect someone like him to cheap it out and bring you to McDonald’s so he can buy something off the dollar menu. Your guess isn’t completely off—but Shake Shack is still considerably better. Despite your lack of experience, you know he’s trying to ease you into sex. A part of you would probably agree right away if he asked, but something inside you wants to see how far you can drag this out until he gets bored and moves on to someone else.

Things don’t exactly go as planned.

Hoseok is like fucking sunshine. Sometimes you wonder how he’s even real. Whenever he smiles your way, you find yourself smiling back. You really, really shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be texting him during class; shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing him show up at the library when you’re working. But you find yourself doing all these things. Maybe it’s when he calls you sweetheart, or maybe it’s when he brings you lunch, that you think to yourself: I’m fucked.

So, surprisingly, you’re the one who gives in first. You tell him your roommate won’t be there for the weekend because she’s driving down south to see her parents. And if that isn’t an invitation, then you’re not sure what is.

That night he eats you out on your couch.

“You’re so pretty,” he praises, nuzzling your neck, breathing in your scent.

“I usually—I’m not usually like this…” he confesses hoarsely, lips red and swollen.

Like what? you want to ask, but he sucks at your weak spot and you go limp. Hoseok feels better than whatever image you could have conjured up in your mind.  His body is fucking amazing. Even though you’ve seen him shirtless before, it’s a hundred times more satisfying now that you can freely rake your nails down his abs and watch them tighten.

His hands are busy roaming the expanse of your legs. He pushes your skirt up and quickly peels off your underwear. You want to laugh at his impatient expression but there’s a fire between your thighs that makes even breathing difficult.

“Such a pretty cunt.” He spreads your legs apart with both hands, admiring the way you glisten for him.

You feel shy beneath him but he keeps your legs wide open, enjoying the way you squirm and your cheeks redden. He hasn’t even touched you yet but you already feel wrecked.

He dives headfirst into your heat, letting out a muted growl. His tongue drags up your slit and you throw your head back in response, biting harshly on your lower lip, trying to contain any sounds.

His mouth is everywhere; you feel his tongue sink inside you, sucking on your lips, licking at your clit. He leaves no time to get used to one method before he switches tactics. It feels wet and messy, but so, so good. He seems to know exactly what you like and what you need, always pulling back when he feels your muscles tense beneath his fingers. He keeps you right on the edge, teasing until you’re about to go delirious with need.

You bury your fingers in his hair, bringing his face closer, trying to reach your end. It’s almost shameful how wanton you probably look—hips raised in the air, thrusting up to try to get more pressure on your clit.

You look down and the sight is almost enough to make you come apart. Hoseok looks like he belongs between your legs, his face shining with your juices, tongue working insistently at your folds.

“Hoseok,” you whine, tugging at his hair. He hums, relishing in the way you gasp his name repeatedly like a prayer.

“Please, give me your fingers,” you beg, your hips wiggling helplessly against his mouth.

He pulls back and you whine at the loss of contact.

“What is it, sweetheart? You want my fingers?”

You nod, pulling the strands of his hair, trying to bring him closer.

“Tell me, sweet thing.” There’s an edge in his voice that has you trembling under him. “Tell me you want me to stuff your cunt with my fingers.”

“I’m—please, Hoseok, please.”

“Please what?”he questions, his tone expressing his dissatisfaction. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“Please, I—” you blush, words having a hard time leaving your mouth. “I need your fingers. I need you to fuck me with your fingers.”

“Hmm.” He seems to consider your request.

And suddenly he’s working two fingers in your entrance. They slide right in because of how slippery he’s made you. He pumps a couple of times, watching you writhe against him, before he works in a third finger. The stretch feels good, though, and you can’t help but tell him so. You try to keep your eyes open, attention flickering between his fingers thrusting up into you, his biceps flexing, and his brow furrowing in concentration. You can feel his fingers scrape the inside of your walls, searching for that one spot that will make you a fucking mess. He knows he’s found it once you moan loudly, body thrashing.

He zeroes in on that spot, smirking at your slack-jawed expression of ecstasy.

“You can cum for me, baby,” he smiles. “You’ve been good.”

It only takes a few extra well placed flicks of his thumb until you’re falling apart, body seizing up, toes curling. It takes a few moments to realize that you’re shouting expletives, hands grabbing onto Hoseok’s wrist trying to bury him even deeper.

“Oh my god.” You try to catch your breath. “That was the best orgasm of my life.”

Hoseok grins.

Traces of your orgasm darken the fabric of the couch and you have no fucking idea how you will explain the stain to your roommate.

(“Why the fuck does it smell like someone emptied the can of Febreze in here?” she’ll ask when she returns. You don’t really have any acceptable excuses so you stay silent, shrugging.)

.

.

Hoseok can’t seem to stay away from you—not that you want him to. He spends most of his free time either at your apartment when your roommate isn’t there, or at his place. Apparently he rooms with an older guy, who has already graduated. His roommate kind of has OCD which you don’t question once you see that all of the books in the living room are organized by color, then alphabetically by author.

Everything goes really well for the next couple of weeks. The sex gets better every time to the point where you start to wonder if cumming that many times is healthy for you. It goes so well, in fact, that it should have set warning bells off. It really shouldn’t have surprised you, given the number of warnings you’ve received, when it all falls apart.

Hoseok has just given you two back-to-back orgasms. You feel on top of the world, like you usually do after he fucks the feeling out of your legs.

“My older sister is visiting this weekend. I really want you to meet her. I told her we could all meet for lunch on Saturday, so I hope that’s okay. I’m sorry I didn’t ask before, but we didn’t have anything planned anyways.”

When he takes longer than expected to answer, you turn back around to look at him.

“Why? Is Saturday not good—”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, cutting you off.

His fingers are fiddling with the sheets as if they’re suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

“Why are you sorry?” you question, already dreading the answer.

“I just…  I don’t think we’re on the same page…” he finally lets out, looking up at you. “Don’t get me wrong—you’re a great girl—it’s just, well, relationships aren’t my thing.”

You feel dizzy. Your expression must have betrayed you, because he breaks away from your gaze.

“I’m graduating soon,” he continues.  “So there’s really no point in getting tied down.”

“I’m just asking you to meet my sister…“ you try, ignoring the way his words hurt.

“Sure, but then next month I’ll be meeting the parents, and then…” he trails off, frowning. 

“I don’t even understand why being my boyfriend is such a big deal! I’m not asking you to get married.”

The argument is affecting you more than it should. You feel stupid for somehow expecting this relationship to go anywhere. Maybe if Hoseok hadn’t been so nice and attentive, treating you like you meant more than a good fuck, then maybe you wouldn’t have expected so much in the first place.

“You said you weren’t fucking anyone else…” you say softly, tears prickling your eyes.

The last thing you want is to cry in front of him. You don’t want him mistake your angry tears for sad tears. Because you aren’t sad. You’re not.

“I wasn’t lying, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment irritates you further.

“Then what’s the difference? Why can’t we be official?”

“It’s not the same… Relationships aren’t the same,” he tries to explain, eyes refusing to meet yours. “Putting a label on things just sucks the fun out of everything. See… we’re already fighting.”

“I don’t understand you, Hoseok. We’ve been exclusive for a while so I don’t see why you can’t just say you’re dating me. Are you ashamed of me or something? Is this a pride thing?”

“It has nothing to do with pride. I told you—I don’t do relationships. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”

“But what if I wanted more?” you ask in a small voice. “Why can’t you just give it a try?

He swallows.

“I’m sorry,” he licks his dry lips. “You’re right. You deserve better.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I do.”

That weekend you go meet your sister alone. You’re not sure how to tell her you and Hoseok broke up (although can it be considered breaking up since you weren’t actually dating?).

“You did a good thing. Sure, guys who give you multiple orgasms are fun for a while, but if they can’t stick around, then they’re ultimately no good.”

You nod.

“Just stay away from guys for a while… You need some time to yourself.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” It had been a while since you spent some time to yourself. For the past couple of weeks, Hoseok had been a giant magnet, with you stuck at his side. You had been way too fascinated and enthralled by his presence.

“Remember: you don’t need dicks to get yourself off! Have fun! Hang out with your friends. Maybe pick up a hobby or something. Like playing the guitar, or pole dancing. You know… Whatever you want.”

You don’t need dicks, echoes in your mind for the rest of the week. It’s good advice, you think. You don’t need dicks. Especially Jung Hoseok’s. You were perfectly fine before he waltzed into your life with his collection of snapbacks and branded shoes, so you were sure you could be fine without him.

You decide not to mope around. You want to rebel. It’s kind of sad that the only adventurous thing you’ve done since you entered college is fuck Jung Hoseok, so you want to try changing that. Your roommate is ecstatic. She’s the fun one and usually complains that you don’t let loose enough.

“Let’s go to a club tonight!”

“Tonight? It’s a weekday.”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun!” she dances around your room in excitement.

“I have class tomorrow morning though…”

“You mean the lecture on sixteenth century European art? Missing that boring thing once won’t hurt you,” she rolls her eyes, before going through your closet.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you panic, afraid she’s going to make you into her new experiment. There’s no way you’re going to a club in fuck me heels and tight tube dresses. “I’ll go, but only if you let me wear what I want.”

“Fine, fine,” she waves, plopping down on your bed. She seems to regret agreeing once she sees you pick out a simple pair of jeans and a modest black sweater.

“We’re going to a club, ___, not to your art lecture!” she grumbles, but relents when you pout at her.

You’ve only been to this club once. Truthfully you’re not much of a party-scene kind of girl, but you decide that letting go tonight might do you some good. The music isn’t all that bad, and your friend promises to pay for most of your drinks—so at the very least you can get drunk and then call a taxi home.

“Holy shit!” your friend yells at you, after downing a second shot of tequila. “I think I just saw Jeon Jungkook!”

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah. He was in our aquarelle workshop in January… He’s seriously the sexiest guy I’ve seen in my life. Well, after Park Jimin because, damn, what an ass. Fuck. How come all the hot guys all stick together? They’re like a pack. Anyways, Jungkook was the one with the hot piercings and dyed hair. Do you really not remember?”

“Erm, vaguely.”

“Oh right! That was when you were seeing Jung Hoseok!” she shouts over the music. Clearly the shots and the cocktails are getting to her, because she wouldn’t be mentioning Hoseok if she was perfectly sober. “No wonder you don’t remember Jungkook… Damn, Jung Hoseok is such a nice piece of ass.”

“Can you quiet down? Oh my gosh,” you tug on her sleeve, annoyed. “And we weren’t seeing each other… It wasn’t like that.”

“I saw him sneak in your dorm so many fucking times! I don’t know what you guys did in your room but I’m pretty sure you guys weren’t studying.” Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

“Oh! I heard he’s into really kinky stuff, is that true? Did he make you call him master?”

“Can you shut up for one second,” you groan. “I don’t want to talk about him. Ever.”

“Fuck, I bet the sex was really good,” she sighs but then suddenly freezes.

“What? What is it?”

She clutches your wrist, “Uh, let’s go get more drinks at the bar!”

You turn around, trying to catch a glimpse at what made her so nervous.  Your roommate isn’t easily shaken up so you can’t help but worry. She tugs at your wrist insistently, but you stay stubbornly rooted to the ground when—oh.

Hoseok’s at one of the tables in the back, overlooking the dance floor. You wonder how you could have missed his presence in the first place. He looks good—of course he does—but you can only focus on the two girls flanking his side. Both of them are beautiful, with long , toned legs that are showcased perfectly under short, colorful dresses. In comparison you feel so plain dressed in your dark sweater and washed-out jeans.

It makes you a bit sick when you see one girl’s hand run up his firm chest, the other leaning to whisper in his ear. Telepathically you’re trying to tell Hoseok to push them off of him. He doesn’t.

“Hey, let’s go get a drink,” your friend urges.

“Yeah, vodka sounds good,” you agree, distracted. “Vodka sounds fucking terrific right now.”

That’s how she gets you to knock back three shots in a row. It’s a terrible idea, but the sting makes you momentarily forget how much of a fuckboy Jung Hoseok is.

The shots aren’t the best idea. It makes the dancing messy, but hey, at least you don’t care anymore about Hoseok and his harem of models.

You’ve been dancing for a while when your feet start to cramp. You need a break. By now, you’re pretty sure you’ve sweat most of the alcohol out of your system. You’re a bit tired now that you aren’t high on vodka, and images of Hoseok paint the inside of your eyelids when you close your eyes.

You’re startled once you smell the scent of smoke. You push yourself off the wall, looking around. That guy—the one your roommate pointed out to you earlier—is smoking right beside you. Inside the club.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows.

“You’re ___, right?”

You nod, watching the smoke drift into nothingness. You want to know how he knows your name, but then remember he used to be in your art workshop. Maybe he’s just better at memorizing names and faces, you think.

“Are you even allowed to smoke in here?” you say nervously, looking around, fully expecting someone to stomp over and drag him out by the collar.

He shoots you a look before chuckling to himself, “hm, I didn’t think you would be that type.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I can just tell,” he smirks. “That you’re a good girl.”

You pause, slightly startled by his choice of words.

“Um,” you say unsurely, choosing to ignore the way his words combined with the heated look in his eyes send a pulse down your spine.

“It’s written all over your face.”

You’re not sure how to respond, so you settle on watching him throw out his cigarette.

“I didn’t think that was his type,” he says in a low tone that you can barely hear over the pumping bass.

You can feel his eyes trace down the curves of your body. It makes you fidget. Something about the way he looks at you, pausing to stare at your hips and thighs and chest, makes you want to cover yourself up. Which is ridiculous—you’re already sweating under the thick fabric of your sweater, and your jeans don’t even cling to your skin.

“I think,” he says slowly, the tip of his tongue dragging over his bottom lip. “That you’re probably not as good as you let people think.”

You swallow, trying not to let him affect you.

He closes in until his body pins yours against the wall. You can feel his strong muscles under his shirt, his thick thigh digging against the inside of your leg. You can hardly believe someone as sexy as Jungkook is looking at you as if you’re the most interesting person in the room. There are prettier girls, more confident and sure of themselves, and you’re certain that Jungkook would have no trouble waving any one of them over.

You find yourself unable look away from him, not when he’s so close you can feel his breath ghosting over your cheek. You wonder if his eyes are always this dark, this hungry.

When his lips press into yours you feel yourself go slack, his thigh between your legs the only thing keeping you from collapsing into a puddle. He tastes like whisky and cigarettes. It should disgust you, yet there’s something addicting about it that makes you open your mouth to let the kiss deepen further.

It’s like your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. All rational thoughts vanish, until all that’s left is a pulsing need between your thighs. There’s no need to think, no need to worry, because Jungkook’s got you. His body cages around yours securely, strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“Jungkook, wait,” you pull back, trying to catch your breath.

His lips chase after yours, swallowing any of your half-hearted protests.

His hands sneak up your torso, nails catching on the fabric.  You keen, powerless. It should be shameful, how easily he’s manipulating your body in front of all these people.

“Wait… people might see,” you watch his hand grasp your breast.

He doesn’t even bother to caress it, just sinks his hard fingers into your flesh, making you thrust your chest out in pain.

“So? Don’t you want them to see what I’m going to do to you? How good I’m going to make you feel?”

“Oh my g-“ you moan, his words making your skin burn up. “Jungkook!”

Your eyes roll back in pleasure. Jungkook nips at your jaw before sucking bruises down your throat.

You don’t know what makes you do i—but you look around, trying to see if anyone’s watching your sinful activities. Everyone seems to be caught up in their own world, and you almost breathe a sigh of relief until—

You shudder when your eyes meet Hoseok’s. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s staring at you, and even from this distance you can see him grit his teeth. The sight sends a rush of helpless arousal to your core. You don’t know why this is turning you on so much. You should be pushing Jungkook off of you, but all you do is press harder into him.

The girls that were beside him previously aren’t there anymore. Good, you think distantly. You wonder how long Hoseok’s been watching you and Jungkook. There’s a part of you that hopes he’ll march over and shove Jungkook away from your body, spin you around and spank you, punishing you, showing everyone that you are is. The fantasy has you biting your lips, tipping your head to the side so Jungkook has more access to the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You like that he’s watching, don’t you baby girl?” Jungkook’s hands dig into your sides, demanding your attention.

“Ah—what?” Your focus snaps back to him, cheeks flushing when you realize you’ve been caught.

He leans in even closer, so that his mouth is next to your ear.

“Bet Hobi’s imagining his hands on your body instead,” he breathes into the shell of your ear. You close your eyes, imagining Hoseok’s hands pulling you apart alongside Jungkook’s. “Bet he wants to feel you open wide just for him…”

He pulls back, smirking at your fucked out expression. He shifts his body so yours is more exposed to the rest of the room.

“Suck,” his voice commands, bringing two fingers up to your lips. “Come on—show him how dirty his girl is.”

You can’t seem to stop yourself from following his instructions, even though your eyes shut in embarrassment.

His other hand snakes down to cup your heat. Fuck. You can feel your lower body squirm, trying to get more friction. He spreads his fingers around; even through your jeans the pressure feels heavenly. It’s not enough. You whimper around his fingers.

“You’re so hot, fuck. I bet if you weren’t wearing your jeans you would be dripping all over the floor.”

Your body arches at that, words muffled by his hand. Your hips move back and forth, trying to feel his fingers as much as possible. You wish he would just slide his hand past the waistband of your jeans and touch your folds directly, but you have a feeling he’ll only do that if you beg. You’re half grateful he’s making you suck on his fingers because you’re not sure what you would have begged him to do to you in a room full of people. You’re so out of it, drunk on arousal, that you’re sure you would be up for anything.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good. Keep grinding on my hand like a good slut.”

You whine, rolling your hips urgently into his palm, trying to get yourself off. At this point, you don’t care any longer if you cum in front of all these people; all that matters is that you reach your end.

The more frantic and desperate you get, the harder you suck on his fingers, trying to distract yourself from the wave of pleasure that’s about to crash over you. You shouldn’t be doing this in public, not when anyone can see. It’s wrong but there’s no denying how wet you are right now. You’re convinced Jungkook can feel it soak through your jeans, wetting his fingers.

“Open your eyes,” Jungkook orders you, fingers pressing harder, giving your clit more friction. “Look at him. Show him what a good slut you are for me.”

Fuck. Your eyes search for Hoseok’s. You jerk into Jungkook’s hand when you meet his gaze. You don’t have any words to describe how he’s looking at you. He looks angry, yes, but he’s also fucking turned on by all of it. You can tell by the way he’s working his jaw. It’s the same face he has when he’s about to cum inside you and—fuck. Your eyes widen when you notice he has his fucking hand inside the front of his jeans. You watch him work over his cock shamelessly, eyes fixed on you and the way your hips are still jerking back and forth over Jungkook’s hand like your life depends on it.

Fuck.

You can’t tell if it’s Jungkook’s relentless ministrations or Hoseok’s intense scrutiny, but you can’t hold back your orgasm any longer. Your body slumps forward, your head landing on Jungkook’s strong chest. You feel yourself cream your underwear, fluid running down your thighs and through your pants. All the while, Jungkook is murmuring praises you can’t discern over the pounding of your heartbeat and the rushing of blood in your ears, but all you can think about is Hoseok. You wonder if he came at the same time you did, if he imagined you pulsing around his cock like you used to, if he groaned out your name when he finally released.

Fuck.

.

.

.

➵ 02 

[eubii]

Music Tag!

Another personal tag coming your way! This time about one of my (and I’m sure that other’s as well) biggest passion - music. This topic is really something that I couldn’t resist even if I wanted to.  Thanks a lot @midnightmemory66 for tagging me! ♥ 

Rules: Just add 5 questions of your own if you wanna

1. Who is your favourite artist right now? Thanks to a lovely post on tumblr I tried to listen to K. Flay’s High Enough and right now I’m on a total K. Flay marathon! Even though High Enough is not her usual style her usual style is absolutely amazing! Love her raw lyrics, love her rudeness and honesty, love her voice, love her uniqueness. I’ve been trying to listen to every song of hers available on the internet. Highly recommend. You won't regret it! 

2. Who is your favourite artist of all times? I want to say Lana Del Rey as much as I want to say twenty one pilots. Really can’t decide on this one. Love them both little too much! I’m going to probably choose twenty one pilots, since I know every single song by them and there’s none I don’t like.

3. Genre you absolutely despise? I can listen to pretty much everything! If the song is interesting and not boring then I really don’t mind the genre. bUT I don’t like the heavy dubstep. That just sounds like awful harmonizing of instruments. No real melody, no real lyrics - I simply can not count that for music.  For a better image of what I’m talking about I think that Turn Me Off by Black Lions is the prime example. 

4. Genre you love? I love indie! Some people will debate that it’s not really a “genre” and honestly I can agree but it’s definitely not the same as the usual mainstream music.  Instead of genre I’d say like “type of music” or “type of interprets”. I love almost everything indie. The only band I can’t really get into are The 1975. Maybe that’ll change with time! :) 

5. First song you learned by heart? Look... I’ve been thinking about this a LOT and I just can’t remember. Whatever answer I’ll give will end up being the wrong one. So I’m just going to answer the first song I learned on piano and that would be  “Chválím Tě Země má” (=I praise you Earth mine) - it’s a Czech song and I still have weak spot for it ♥ 

6. First song you learned by heart in foreign language? Oh God... Well... If we won’t count those songs in English textbooks then it’d probably be Bad Romance by Lady GaGa (I’m certain everyone knows that song). I remember understanding like one word from the whole lyrics (”ugly” if you want to know) and then I was like ‘wOW One day I’ll be able to understand the whole lyrics that’d be so cool!’ and so I kind of decided on learning them even though I understood nothing! And the most crazy part is that I learned it :D  That song still fits (almost) all of my otps so, my inner shipper was showing off at so young age.

7. Your favourite lyrics? I want to get a tattoo of my favourite lyrics one day (hopefully!). And I can’t really decide which I like more so I’m going to give you both:  “After all only so much we can say, words can lose their meaning once you walk away.” - Hollywood Undead - Lion “No one else is dealing with your demons meaning maybe defeating them could be the beginning of your meaning, friend.” - twenty one pilots - Kitchen Sink

8. Favourite song? This. Question. Should. Be. Illegal.  It’s extremely hard to choose only one song bUT Kitchen Sink by twenty one pilots gives me that feeling like no other song and I definitely have the deepest connection with it. 

9. What does music mean to you?  Honestly music means everything to me. I know that everyone seems to think that people are exeggerating when they say that music is their life but to be fair I can agree with that statement. Music is incredibly powerful, I’m certain that the way you feel can be effected by music and it can be hugely effected.  Speaking for myself I’d describe music as a sort of my own room. Especially when I listen to it with headphones. I’m an absolute dreamer so it doesn’t give me any hard time to forget my surrondingq and with music on it’s even easier.  Now, I don’t know what do you imagine under “forget your surrondings” but with me is it exactly what it sounds like. I can forget where I’m, who’s there with me. It gets super emberrassing sometimes because I can just lip-sync in a subway full of people or I can dramatically spread my arms to the tune while walking down a crowded sidewalk.  Music seems to consume all of the outside noises. I don’t see world the same when I look out of my window with no music and with music on. Suddenly it’s like even the slightest shaking of the leave makes the biggest sense and falls completely in sync with everything else.  Music is my comfort zone. You could put me basically everywhere as long as I’ll have my heaphones I’d survive everything. There are probably not things I won’t do, there are just things I won’t do without music. I’m certain that I could even bungee-jump if I could detach my feet of the ground with the rythm of a song.  Music is really like a little room. I can close the doors, I can leave them open, I can close all the windows and let the breeze flow into the room, breathe it in, let the gentle sound fill my chest and clear my head, I can let people in or I can just close isolate myself and let no one walk through.  I do not leave my house without my headphones, I do not pause song even for one second while outside if I’m alone. I need people to talk to me and if there are no people then I need music to whisper in my ear. Anything but silence.  There are songs which I can really feel in my heart, soul. There are songs which make my heart beat into the rhytm, let my lungs fill and deflate into the rhytm and I just can’t stay still while listening to a song. There are just so many things the tune makes me feel that I need to express them in anyway possible, whether grimacing or dancing or simply gently stomping my foot.  Also music is the main (and only) source of inspiration for me. Every single thing I wrote has it’s origin in a song.

10. Song you don’t relate to at all but you still listen to it? I think that there are plenty of them but the first one I can think of is Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time by P!ATD. I have an alcohol intolerance, I’ve never done drugs (and I don’t plan on doing them), I despise parties and partying in general and yet here I’m singing “Champagne! Cocaine! Gasoline!” at the top of my lungs ;)) 

11. The most depressing song you know? That question gave me some hard time! There are so many candidates but in the end I decided on: Suicide Note by Johnette Napolitano.  To show you why, here are some lyrics:  “ I wanted to believe As I watched your world Crumble in your hands (...) I wanted to believe You would win The war in your head That I did not understand” Yet another song I know thanks to tumblr.♥

12. The happiest song you know? Oh my God and I complained about the most depressing one, silly me.  Song which makes me incredibly happy all the time is High by Young Rising Son. But song with absolutely pure lyrics, liberating, reconciling, self-caring is Fear And Loathing by Marina and The Diamonds. “Now the time is here Baby you don't have to live your life in fear And the sky is clear, is clear of fear “

13. The song of your childhood? That one was the hardest so far!! All the czech songs aside.  In the end I’m going to say I Like It by Enrique Iglesias and Pitbull. Please keep in mind that I’m not a native speaker so I really didn’t understand the lyrics and I wasn’t aware that I’m singing about cheating on your partner :’).  This song was like mine and my friends anthem. We played it in my friend’s dad’s car at the full volume. Passing by drivers had to love us. 

14. Song that reminds you of part of your life and what part of your life is it? I wanted to answer Ferari by The Neighbourhood because the first notes fill me with the exact emotion I was feeling when hearing it the first time live. I can clearly hear the screams of the fans just before the band got on the stage, no matter how many times I’ve already played it. But I’m going to go with Swimming Pools by Troye Sivan. About like month ago it just started playing in my headphones when I was in a tram and it was like an absolute trip to past to August of summer 2016 and September as well.  I haven’t got the best memories asociated with this song but that doesn’t mean I don’t love the tune to the core. I could never hate anything by Troye to be honest! 

And I’m adding: 

1. Recommend us one song! 

2. Do you or did you play any instrument? If so, which was/is it? 

3. Artist(s if it’s a band) you haven’t seen live yet and you’d love to see them live?

4. One song you relate to the most? ( Currently or all the time - your pick :) ) 

5. Shuffle your music library and put the first song here: 

Tagging: @deduction-of-sherlockholmes ; @harrisonatemyapplescruffs ; @mylockedforgood ; @morporkianhobbit (thanks for liking my blog omg! ♥ ;u;) ; @eislinn ; @babyboy-tyler ; @scarrlet-raven Hope you guys don’t mind getting tagged! And everyone else who feels like doing the tag then consider yourself tagged! I’d love to read everything about everyone’s taste in music :)!

[moonsandstar-s]

The Final Warning - Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXVIII - Alone and Apart 

Summary:  As the year draws to a close, peace has finally dawned. The time for unity has arrived. In the Vytal festival, it is time for heroes to rise, bringing glory to their kingdoms. But as autumn dies, the first winds of winter blow over Remnant, chilling the hearts of the people; breathing doubt into their souls. Long-buried secrets will triumph, and every action will have a consequence. Ruby must reconcile herself with her own fate. Weiss struggles to escape her legacy. Blake cannot erase memories. Yang’s search leads her into more peril than ever— but none of them can outrun fate. Shadows turn on shadows, and bonds shatter as they are tested to the limit. For in dividing them, they will fall and burn; at the eye of the storm, no peace lasts forever. In the end and beginning of time, there is a place where the sun never rises, and the dead delight to teach the living. A great danger is rising from the darkness. It’s time to take sides. The final warning is coming. The first chill of winter is the most deadly; it is the chill that kills more than any other. The first betrayal is the most damaging; it is the act that shatters bonds of love and trust, crushing even the strongest heart, tearing teams apart. AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7745314/chapters/22506284 Yang 

The sun was setting outside, rays of tawny fire spilling across the great white drifts of snow. The trees clawed at the steel gray sky, and birds called mournfully outside her window. Yang had been lying here for what seemed like forever, though she knew dully that it had only been four days, so long she’d memorized the cracks in the walls, the peeling paint, the smudged glass.

She was numb.

An ice had settled in her bones, wrapping around her heart, tightening each day. She knew— distantly, very distantly, like an echo that she had long-forgotten— that the world was still going on, that reparations were being made, that life went on. But not for her. She had lost so much: Penny, Pyrrha, Ozpin, Weiss— Blake— and in this, a part of herself had died, too. So many people had left her, that, at this point, she couldn’t pick up the pieces anymore. Her fight had drained, her fire snuffed to ash. She couldn’t break out of this kind of vicious cycle.  

Blake is gone, Taiyang had said, almost hopefully, not dead, not missing.

Not dead. But gone.

That seemed to be the case with everything; that it was all gone, forever out of reach, and yet so tantalizingly close. It was a joke, really. Yang knew what had happened. No amount of optimism from her father, or encouragement from Sun, would change reality. Only months ago, she had sat here in this very room with Blake before the tournament. And in this very house, she had offhandedly mentioned how Blake was like Raven, in some ways— and now, apparently, she was exactly like Raven in the way Yang had never wanted her to be.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Yang had said, on that day all those months ago, “but I think Dad wants to talk to you.”

Blake had looked taken aback. “Me? Why?”

“You read a lot of books, you should know this! All parents talk to their kid’s significant other, brainless. Besides, it’s not your fault at all and it’s totally dumb, believe me, but I think you remind him of Raven a little, and he’s worried.”

“Why would I remind him of Raven?”

“Raven was his partner, and she ran off on him soon after they married. You’ve run off on us, too, even if it is in the past now, and you almost resemble her a bit, with the way you look; I mean, I can’t deny that there are some similarities, even if I disagree with him, because I do… I mean, God, Blake. He’s never in his right mind when it comes to her, and neither am I. She broke his heart.”

“History repeats itself,” Yang murmured aloud, her voice gravelly. She knew Blake had abandoned her as carelessly as Raven had seventeen years ago. And, despite her father’s words of encouragement, she knew that others had died— Pyrrha, Penny, Cinder, Cardin, Roman, Fox, Neon— leaving emptiness in their wake. She had felt a flicker of guilt when he told her— remembering how she and Neon had quarreled— but it was quickly buried by numbness once more.

She knew that it must be selfish to mourn for herself in the midst of tragedy, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like a punchline to a cosmic joke, that everything important had been somehow taken away: Raven, vanished; Blake, run away; Weiss, taken; Ruby, a shell of her former self. And her own physical form was now ruined; her weapon, her arm. Gone. It was gone. They said that those who lost a part of themselves could feel the missing part, sometimes, giving phantom twinges of pain. Yang supposed it was true. She could feel the hollowness of where her heart used to reside, as well as her arm. But her heart hurt worse, by far.

Her sister didn’t give up. Despite everything, she still forged ahead. Yang knew it took a lot to break her. Underneath her innocent exterior, there was a warrior tougher than steel. Ruby didn’t give up— and Yang knew she’d been forced to grow up. They all had. The fifth time Ruby visited her, Yang forced herself to look away from the window, to associate, to forget about the fading sensation in her right half.

To forget about the fading sensation in our Bond.

Ruby walked in, just as she thought it. There was something different about her sister’s gait now; she had used to walk around in a trotting, stomping manner, but now there was a hesitance and fear there that almost hurt Yang. They’d all been changed by the Fall of Beacon, in some ways that they were only just beginning to comprehend.

“I brought you a sandwich,” her sister said brightly, failing to hide the undercurrent of anxiety in her tone. “Turkey, remember? It’s your favorite, and Dad and I thought maybe you’d be hungr—”

“Put it down on the nightstand.”

“Oh,” Ruby said, deflating like a balloon that had been punctured. “Okay.” There was a gentle clatter of glass against wood as she set it down clumsily, skirting the bed to sit at the footboard, the bed sagging slightly under her weight.

There was a long silence, before Yang heard Ruby let out a rustling breath from her lungs, shifting around. “Are you ever going to talk to me, Yang?”

“Talk about what?” she asked stiffly. “If you want to talk, talk. No one’s stopping you, are they?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m done having one-sided conversations with you. You can’t pretend nothing happened,” her sister snapped. “Look. Look up here at me. In the eyes.”

Yang looked, and flinched as Ruby’s eyes met hers. They were bright, angry silver, and she had heard Qrow and Taiyang whispering about them, late into the night— she had heard what her sister had done, what she was capable of, how she had killed three people. How Ruby wasn’t just Ruby Rose, small and simple, but a girl straight out of a legend. Much as she missed Blake, the reality of her sister’s power scared the hell out of her. The idea that Ruby wasn’t just Ruby anymore was more frightening than anything. “I’m looking.”

“You’re worrying me and Dad,” she said without preamble. “And you— Yang, you know there’s a huge difference between healthy mourning, and cutting yourself off. You’re not living. You’re just a shadow, sitting here, not doing anything to fight back against what happened—”

“Maybe I’m done fighting,” Yang snapped. “Don’t you get that? I fought Mercury, and I got framed. I fought for Beacon, and it fell. I fought to find my mother once, and I almost got you killed. I fought Adam for Blake, and I—” Her throat closed up, constricting all the words that had welled up inside of her, and she choked on them, tears streaming down her face. “Even after trying my hardest and doing my best, I still lost her, too…”

The bed creaked as Ruby came over and hugged her silently, her arms going around Yang as she sobbed, because she had forgotten that, without a Bond, there was no outlet, nowhere for her emotions to go, and they were drowning her, clamoring in her mind and threatening to send her spiraling into insanity. “Oh, God,” she croaked. “She’s gone, she’s gone and she left me here and she’s not coming back…”

“I’m not Blake,” Ruby murmured,  “and I’m not going to lie, or anything… I don’t know why she left. But what I do know, and what I’m sure of, is that Blake loves you.” Her voice was soft and sincere. “I know that as much as I know that my name is Ruby Rose. Don’t ever think she doesn’t. The way she looked at you, the way she said your name… I know what love looks like. I saw Mom and Dad, and I remember that. I always will. I remember how she would do anything for you— anything, anything you ever wanted— and sometimes, when I woke up the middle of the night and looked down at your bunk bed, she was awake, just lying there and playing with your hair and looking at you.

“And she loved you, sis. I’m not saying this to hurt you, Yang. I would never do that. But you need to know the reality of it; she didn’t leave because she didn’t love you. That’s not to say she doesn’t still love you— but what you should remember is that while Blake was, and is, a huge part of you— she’s not all of you, okay? A part of you existed before you ever met Blake, before you ever knew her name, before she was ever important to you… and a part of you should exist after Blake, because you’re more than just Blake’s Yang.” Ruby’s hand squeezed on her shoulder, insistent. “You’re so much more than that. You’re my sister, my best friend, and you’re a fighter. I’m not saying you should forget about her… but separate yourself from what you’ve lost and don’t let it consume you. Don’t repeat what happened with Dad. When Raven left and Mom died, he… he shut down. I can’t stand it if you do the same thing.”

Ruby ran her hands through Yang’s hair, calming her wrenching sobs to quieter, broken sniffles.“I lost my partner too,” Ruby continued quietly. “And do you know what happened before I saw Pyrrha get murdered?”

“What?” she asked, her voice flat, without inflection.

“Weiss kissed me,” Ruby said abruptly, making Yang straighten in shock. She sounded calm, but there was a tension like live wires running underneath her words, and when Yang looked over in astonishment, she saw that her sister’s hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists on top of her knees.

“Well,” Yang breathed, her exhale hoarse. “That’s unexpected.”

Ruby looked thoughtful, something flickering in her silver eyes. “Is it?”

“I knew she had feelings for you, and I told you as much,” Yang said shortly. “You didn’t believe me. Why so shocked now? Of course Weiss would have done something; she knew you were running up to the Tower’s top and risking your life… she’s not the type to stand idly by, you know. I wouldn’t think it was a big thing out of the blue.”

“Because she also said something else,” Ruby told her. “She told me that she loved me.”

Yang’s eyes widened. “Did she?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, looking Yang in the eye and squeezing her single hand between her own. “And I think that if someone loves you, that’s worth fighting for.”

There was a long silence. Ruby seemed to be struggling to formulate the right words, before she said, “Dad always told us that love is the most powerful force on earth. That no matter what, love would find a way. Even after Mom died, he believed that, you know? And he has a point. Love is worth whatever it might cost you, in the end. So many people have lost the people they loved, and they were left behind. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Jaune lost Pyrrha. Dad lost Mom. Qrow lost Ozpin. You lost Blake, and I— I lost Weiss.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I know it can seem impossible, but we can’t lose ourselves, too.

“Yang, I understand that you’re grieving, and that’s okay. You need to grieve, or else you’ll never heal right, you know? But you and me— we can get through this, no matter how hard it is, no matter how much we feel like just giving up. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, really, but I can get an idea. I’m never going to be your innocent little sister anymore, and you’re not going to be the overbearing older sister… we’re new people now, but maybe, just maybe, we can keep going. But we can’t do that at all if you don’t talk to me, and at least try to start healing.”

“I lost everything because of one stupid decision,” Yang whispered, her voice trembling. “If I hadn’t charged in there like an idiot, like some sort of savior… I could have saved Blake, and myself, and I could have killed Adam for touching her. Ruby, I… I’m afraid if I make another stupid choice like that, I won’t be able to heal, or to come back— not ever.”

“You’re scared,” her sister whispered. “I’m scared too. Qrow told me I almost died on top of the Tower because of—”

“I know about your eyes,” Yang croaked. “Qrow came in here and told me even if I didn’t talk back to him… he just came in here and said it and left…” Her voice abruptly hardened. “So, it’s a legend, and you’re the subject of a legend. Your power wasn’t enough to save everyone. It was only enough to keep you alive, and to murder Cinder. That doesn’t do anything—”

“Yang, that’s not the point—”

“—it’s a legend!” she shouted, twisting away from her sister, rage bubbling up inside her as she made as if to grip the bedpost before realizing she couldn’t do it, because her arm was gone, further igniting her anger. “Legends don’t help anyone; they didn’t help you or me! They’re just stories made to explain people people who don’t understand themselves.”

“Tell me if this isn’t real,” Ruby said, glaring down at her, and Yang could almost feel the frost and coldness from her gaze, like dark, cold water had filled her heart to the brim, and was trickling over, sending a chill through her veins, weighing down her stomach with dread. “Because everyone in Vale that night felt it. Like it or not— and trust me, I’m not sure I like it at all— I’m separated from all of you by something as simple as the color of my eyes, because I’ve got the power to destroy even the strongest with only a look. If you want to sit here and give up, I can’t stop you, because that’s what you’re determined to do. But I’m going out there to fix my world, because I have a duty to protect Remnant, no matter how I might feel about it.” She rose from the bed, and Yang noticed, detachedly, that her sister had gotten taller and leaner, her gaze holding a new, haunted shadow. As she turned to go, she whisked around, scrutinizing Yang through narrow eyes. “And maybe do a little considering about why Blake ran away, and what Adam was to her.”

Yang flinched.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared to death of what comes next. You’re not the only who who has no idea what she’s doing or how to move on! And trust me, you’re not the only one who lost everything that night.”

With that, she left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

/ / /

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Yang lifted her head dully as two loud, quarreling voices intruded upon the silence enveloping her room. It sounded like her father and uncle were right outside her door,  bickering with each other.

“Well, she’s damn well not hiding under the bed, Tai. I mean her room is empty, and there’s a trail of footsteps leading away from the house. She’s gone. She left a note saying as much—”

“You told her about Haven, didn’t you?” There was the sound of displaced air, a thud of impact, and a scuffle, followed by a loud crash and a flurry of swearing. “You— told her— and she— left! This is all your fault!”

Yang slid out of her bed and fought off a wave of dizziness from hunger and lethargy, slowly padding to the door, and peering out. Her eyes widened in mild shock as she saw what had happened. Taiyang had caught Qrow off-guard by tackling him to the floor. The thudding noise had been Taiyang tackling him, the scuffle had been the moment where they both fought to stay upright, and the sound of the crash had been when they’d hit the ground and continued to scuffle there. Tai was lobbing clumsy punches at Qrow, who was easily avoiding them, a look of irritation on his face. That annoyed expression convinced her that the argument wasn’t out of hand.

“Well,” she said drily, making her father pause mid-punch, “I wasn’t expecting to see this, Dad. Mind telling me why you’re using this old bird as a punching bag?”

Taiyang clambered off Qrow and got to his feet, still looking pissed off, and Qrow straightened up, dusting himself off.

“He let Ruby run off on some idiotic mission for answers,” Taiyang hissed. “Your sister is gone, already fled Patch on a boat, and it’s his fault!”

“Ruby’s… gone?” Yang stumbled back, her heart giving a constricting pang, but neither of them seemed to notice; they were still bristling in fury at each other.

“You knew this would happen,” Taiyang accused him. “You knew she’d run off because she felt responsible, like she feels responsible about everything—”

“I won’t lie to you,” he said. His face was flushed an angry red where Taiyang had slapped him. Yang remembered what Ruby had said to her last night— Dad lost Mom. Qrow lost Ozpin— and she frowned, brows knitting together. Grief expressed itself in different ways, and if this was the outlet they had— beating up on each other— she didn’t think it was a very good one. “Yeah, I did think that. But I also know that she’s not some pansy. If you ever want her to heal right, Taiyang, this is the only way it’ll happen. Staying here will just break her. She needs answers.” His gaze softened and he looked between them both, Taiyang and Yang. “And that’s something you both should understand.”

Yang flinched away— the comment was barbed, no doubt he was hinting at the time he had saved her life after she’d endangered it with her stupid hunt after her mother— but Taiyang just looked more enraged, his blue eyes nearly black with anger. “You let a fifteen year old girl run off without supervision into the wild? She could get killed by Grimm, or by some rogues, or— or God knows what else—”

“The Grimm don’t pose a threat to her,” Qrow said irritably, “and they never have, as you damn well know— and now she knows, too. And she’s not alone. I can tell you that with certainty.”

“What do you mean?” Yang broke in. They both looked startled at her intervention, their eyes flicking to the bandaged stump of her arm, and her mood blackened. “Stop staring at me like I’m an injured animal and spit it out,” she prompted, the faintest hint of a snarl embedded in her voice. “Ruby’s gone, but I doubt she went alone. So who’s she with?”

“I think you know them,” Qrow said, looking wary. “Those kids, the team of the girl who died. Team JNPR. Scrawny blonde boy, a girl with a hammer, and a boy that rather reminded me of your Blake.”

“She’s not my Blake,” Yang growled, eyes narrowing, and he seemed to realize he’d made a mistake, an expression of guilt shadowing his face. “But— so she went with Jaune, Nora, and Ren? How the hell did they get to Patch? I mean, she told me she was leaving, but I thought she would—”

“Ruby told you she was leaving, too?” Taiyang stared at his daughter, his eyes filled with betrayal, and Yang backed away. “Am I the only one who didn’t know my own daughter was fixing to leave?”

“‘I’m going out there to fix my world, because I have a duty to protect Remnant, no matter how I might feel about it’,” Yang quoted, lifting her chin and eyeing her father right back, a bitter, twisted voice in the back of her mind, egging her on, even though she knew what she was about to say would hurt her father. “That’s what she said to me. I didn’t know. I suspected, sure, but who’s going to listen to me? I’m just the crazy girl, or so the world thinks, after I almost killed Mercury.”

Taiyang looked like she had slapped him in the face, but he fell quiet, his mouth working.

“None of us think you’re crazy,” Qrow informed her drily,  “but if you keep up the dark comments, we just might.”

Yang flipped him a gesture that heavily relied on her middle finger, and Taiyang scowled, before whirling around and jabbing an accusatory finger into Qrow’s chest. “Why don’t you use your semblance to go after her, or— or stop her, or something? Anything!”

Qrow barked a laugh, roughly knocking Tai’s hand away. “Why don’t you trust your own daughter?” His voice lowered, and he shoved his face forward, a vein standing out in his neck. “Is it because of Summer? Is that it? Are you so controlled by your fears that you can’t even realize that your own daughter is not Summer Rose?”

“Watch your mouth,” Taiyang snarled back, his eyes smoldering with fury.

“Watch what? The truth? Or are you so scared of it that you can’t admit it to yourself?”

“God forbid I try to protect her!” Taiyang exploded, his voice bouncing off the walls. “God forbid I try to protect her from meeting the same end as her mother!”

“Dammit. Taiyang,” Qrow whispered. “I miss her too, more than you’ll ever know… but Ruby isn’t Summer, do you hear me? She’s not.”

Yang left them to argue and trudged back into her room, slamming the door behind her. She fell into her bed, taking a deep breath, before it hit her, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

Ruby’s gone, she thought blankly. She’s really, really gone… gone for as long as she can stay away… Blake, Weiss, Pyrrha, Penny, Ozpin, my mother, the school, my sister… it’s all gone. Everything is gone.

And there in the emptiness of the desolate room, snow beginning to fall outside and obscure the footprints of her sister’s flight from home, Yang succumbed to her tears.

/ / /

“Can I come in?”

She didn’t reply as her father’s quiet voice rang into the silence, and he took it as a yes, moving into the room with a hesitancy borne from the days of her cold silence, her dead stare out the window. “Yang, sweetie,” he said softly. “I know you’re hurting. It’ll probably hurt for a long time. But I understand, honey, you know that I do.”

She looked down at her hand dully, and he sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a long sigh. “Qrow’s gone,” he said finally. “He shifted and left a few hours ago to follow after your sister. She’ll be alright, you know. She’s strong, stronger than either of us really realized… she’s got the heart of a lion, your sister. She won’t let her grief stop her.”  

Yang opened her mouth to speak and was greeted by a stale, brittle puff of air. In a brief, flitting moment of terror, she wondered if she’d been silent so long that she had forgotten how to speak, but in a moment, she realized her fears were unfounded. “Is that an insult to me? Because I’m letting my grief stop me? You of all people should know that everyone leaves me eventually,” she said hoarsely, looking bitterly outside the window. “Raven. Mom. Qrow. You. Ruby. Weiss.”

“And Blake,” Taiyang said gently, and she caught his glance of worry as her hands tightened on the sheets, knuckles whitening. “You must spill your emotion, Yang, or it will drown you. Not acknowledging it won’t change the fact that it happened, believe me.”

“What do you want, Dad?” She snapped, feeling thoroughly put-out by his dodging the issue. “I told you that I don’t—”

“A letter came in the mail today. There’s no sender address, but…” He shrugged weakly. “I think we both know who it’s from. And you deserve to know.”

Her head shot up so fast that her neck popped, and she took a deep inhale of breath, the world suddenly spinning around her, as if tipped on its axis, sending her sprawling. “Can I— do you have it?”

Wordlessly, he held out a folded piece of paper. The front of it was scrawled in loopy, spidery handwriting that was hard to read, but Yang would know that sleight of hand anywhere. She’d spent its countless hours with its owner, watching those words move across the page as their writer frowned down at them, and she’d seen them in class, on little notes of sweet nothings left lying around for Yang to find, of essays and books and—

Yang took a deep breath to steady herself, and reached out with her shaking hand, gripping the paper. The edges were timeworn and ragged, but all she could see was Blake, Blake’s face, as if it was tattooed on the backs of her eyelids. Her slightly lopsided smile, genuine like Yang had seen it in the Emerald Forest. Her burning amber eyes that glowed in the night, the way they were dark like syrup in shadows, and glowed like fire in sunlight, flecked with gold and rich brown. The barest hint of freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. The way the edges of her eyes crinkled when she grinned. The seriousness of her expression. Her raven-black hair with just the slightest touch of brown scattered through the strands. The white scar on the edge of her jaw from when she was very little. Her expressive ears, always pricking or flattening with the rise and falls of her mood. Blake’s terrified face, bloodied lips shaping her name, before everything went black as Adam struck. The face Yang loved more than any other in the whole world, the face she would know even if she was blind, and the face she would never see again. Thoughts clamored in her mind, threatening to pull her down and drown her, and a flurry of shadows raced through her mind.

Clutching the letter so tightly she was afraid it might tear, Yang looked up at her father. “Dad, go,” she whispered. “Please.”

“You need to be alone, I got it.” He gave her a wavering smile, brushing back a lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “I’m always here for you, sweetie. If you need to talk, just call me, okay?”

With that, he padded out of the room, and Yang, her hand shaking, fumbled with the letter, a mixture of pure anxiety and anger at her arm— only having one was still so, so hard— racing through her, and with a quiet flutter of paper, the letter opened to a cramped page full of words. Blake’s voice, small and matter-of-fact, began to talk in her ear, and still, Yang could only see her face, and now she knew why they called it heartbreak, now she knew why people wrote songs and cried and tore themselves apart with the agony of love lost. Pain burned in her chest, something uniquely horrible, and nothing could douse the blazing agony in her heart at the thought of Blake, her voice, her face, her eyes— her.

“Yang,” the letter began. “My love, my light, the dearest to my heart.

I don’t know where this will find you, or when. I would not blame you, if I were you, if you ripped this letter to pieces without reading it, for what I’ve done is unforgivable. I know that. I was given a letter from a dead man once, and now it seems cruel to do the same to you, for the Blake you knew, and the Blake I was— she is dead, surely, back in the ruins of Beacon. Except my father was driven to do what he did by a quiet courage. My motives aren’t nearly as noble as that. Fear is not noble. Fear is for cowards, and a coward is all I am.

The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said, never explained, and I’d never wish more pain upon you than I’ve already caused… so I hope this is an adequate explanation. It pains me more than anything to have left you, to not be by your side. And it made me want to die when you almost did perish for me. For we all have lost everything for one another. That is a sacrifice I could never ask you to make for me, and it is a debt I will never be able to repay. Parting from you makes every other pain I’ve ever suffered seem like a drop of rain within an ocean. Leaving you in the shadow of ruin that I brought upon you makes me want to give up, to lay down my weapons and surrender to what darkness has been haunting me ever since I saw your light die. But it is not just about you or me, and we were fools to think it was, ever since we first Bonded. We are all extinguished, for now. And I am afraid, most of all. I’m scared, Yang. I thought I knew fear before… but I didn’t, not really. What I feel now: this is fear. This is what makes your blood turn to ice. It makes everything uncertain, like you’re hovering before an endless abyss. So I chose to turn and walk away, preserving myself— and in some other ways— you, as well.

I don’t know where I’m getting the energy to keep going on, much less to write to you, but perhaps it is knowing how ashamed you would be if I didn’t that drives me on. I want to be with you, Yang, but how selfish of me would it be to remain by your side when my very presence would only bring you to destruction? How selfish would it be to love you when to love you is to kill you with my past?

So we lived in a dream for a while, in happiness and— I know this more than anything— in love. But the poison was still there, waiting to split us up. There have been enemies at so many turns, waiting to rip us apart, to tear us away from each other: Ayran, Adam, the ghosts of the past, Roman and Cinder and all those with darkness in their hearts. But we managed to pull through, until now. How cruel is it, that it was I who succeeded in dividing us, and how ironic is it that— out of the one Bond I have lost and all the people I’ve let go, that this is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done? I’m sorry. I am so sorry. As in regards to all else, you must believe me when I say that. I will never stop regretting that I had to go. Never.

Maybe it was too much. Our Bond was strong. I can’t help but be focused on you when we’re together. If you’re in the room, I want to be next to you. If you’re gone, I think about you. You’re who I want to talk to. In a fight, I want you at my back. When we’re together, the sun is shining. When we’re apart, everything is in shades of gray. I hope you’ll forgive me someday for turning our worlds into shades of gray —at least for a while.

Yang, you promised me something once, on a day that seems like an eternity ago. On the cliffs of Forever Fall, when you first extended that olive branch and we became friends, you promised you would never leave me. And now I’ve taken that choice away from you. So— hate me. It would make it easier for you to move on, and I would never wish to cause you more heartbreak then you have already endured. And I would hardly blame you if you did hate me already. I won’t be so arrogant as to ask for your forgiveness. But should our paths ever cross again, know that I loved you, and still love you, more than I ever have loved anything in the duration of my life. You were not the first dream of my heart, Yang. But you were the most important, and you are the one I will never forget. You were the only dream I was unable to stop myself from dreaming of. There is a part of me that wants you and will always, always want you, no matter what.

Three words don’t really mean much, but they are all I have. I love you. I’ve said it before. But it’s not enough and it never will be enough. I love you more than I have ever loved anything. I love you like I love the sun and the stars and every beautiful thing in life. I love you catastrophically, and I cannot untie you from my heart, blood, mind, flesh, or soul. And isn’t there some law in life that says love must be given freely, and that it must not be selfish? And isn’t it selfish to want to stay by your side, whatever cost it might take, whatever you might owe to heaven or to hell if I were to do so?

I believe that once, we were a fairy tale, you and I. And I was the idiot who was foolish enough to believe I could escape my past so easily, with barely a whimper. There’s always consequences— always repercussions— mine are just a little later in coming, that’s all. You gave so much of yourself to me— too much, I know that, so much more than I deserved. Because this is a fairy tale no longer, and happy endings are nothing more than a myth. I was told that, once. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. But I believe it now— after I saw you lying on the ground, unconscious, wounded because of my own folly— I have no choice but to impose exile upon myself because if I can give my life to one last cause, it is to protect you. You are not safe with me. Everyone I love will die. I destroy everything I touch. That’s my legacy, Yang. That is who I am, no matter how I might try to deny it. I have nothing to show for the life I have lived, nothing except failure and pain. And I have nobody in my life who’s better off for having known me.

We are all ashes right now— ashes and fires that have been doused to nothingness. The CCT has fallen. Penny was destroyed. Pyrrha has died, too young. All these people who were my friends have suffered. Weiss has returned to a nightmare of her own. Your sister, who I began to love as my own flesh and blood, has grown up, but I think you know that already. I saw her silver light explode from the tower that night, Yang, and she is on a path none of us can venture down. We are all separated… and I do not think it is possible to be united again. Not without all hurting each other, and I have hurt you more than I ever wanted to. More than I ever could forgive myself for.  

So what do I ask of you? I’m not sure I’m allowed to ask anything of you… but please, for me… live. Live on, and survive. That is all I want out of this life, out of this life and all the lives I may ever have. There is happiness before a tragedy… there must be happiness after tragedy, too. Goodbye, Yang. I am so lucky to have known someone who was so hard to say goodbye too… and I realize it now. I had everything with you, and I will never, ever stop being thankful for it.

Always yours,

— Blake

Yang wasn’t aware of the letter falling from her hand, of the cry that worked its way up from some visceral place inside of her, her hand scoring red lines against itself as if she could tear out the grief inside of her. All she could feel was the way everything inside of her felt like it had been shattered, the way she now truly knew the meaning of heartbreak, because what she felt before was nothing compared to this, nothing at all, for she could not be angry at Blake. At Blake, the love of her life.

She was gone. And now, Yang knew for sure, because even that slightest flickering flame of hope had been extinguished, she was never coming back.

The reason it hurts so much is because our souls are connected.

Blake loved her, still did love her, with a quiet sort of fierceness, and that fierceness and the pain of silence had nearly killed her. She loved me, Yang thought, really, truly understanding the depth of it for the first time, and the last. Enough to leave me, enough to put my safety above however she felt, above all the pain it brought her to even think of letting go…

And then: Blake loved me more than she loved her own life.

And it was true, wasn’t it? Blake had been completely destroyed by Adam, all the parts of her that Yang loved had been scattered. Even if she met her again, which was more unlikely than her magically regrowing an arm, Blake would never be the same. She had given her life up, her whole life and who she had once loved, to save Yang, when she could have just given up, let her die, and kept every part of herself intact. Blake had loved her enough to leave behind her home, her friends, her dream of becoming a Huntress, to keep her safe…

Yang pushed herself up, half-hiccuping on a sob, and tried to fold the letter again. She struggled, anger bubbling under her skin as her useless stump of an arm wiggled slightly, before she flung down the letter with a frustrated scream that dissolved into hot, furious tears. She cried, hot, angry tears that gradually subsided into misery and quiet keening, a keen of grief that felt like it wrenched straight out of her bones, pain wracking every cell in her body.

Hours passed, and the sun fell outside; the log cabin in Patch grew dark as the fires died and night settled in. The house that had once held a laughing mother, a doting father, and two innocent children was now empty, devoid of everything except a broken man and his broken daughter. Miles away, over the violent ocean, a crow was struggling against the buffeting gales of bitter winter wind, and in the house, the broken man slept, troubled by dreams of his daughter. But one girl lay awake long into the night as the shattered moon kept sentinel over an even more shattered kingdom, her eyes searching the darkness for someone who was not going to come back.

There were only two three-word phrases tattooed on the backs of her eyelids, one after the other.

I love you.

                                                                         Everything must go.