#split yolk au

[sialaterornever]

okay but.... awful idea but....

the reason why gegg didn't show up for the 3rd debate (lorewise) is that he had much bigger plans to deal with

namely the other person he had to share his mortal form with

gegg seems to have accumulated more than enough power over charlie, so it's only a matter of time before gegg attempts a split. sure, charlie's his presidential manager and shit, but gegg doesn't need someone to do what he can do himself

so on the day of the 3rd debate, gegg gives charlie a note to say that he won't make it, which charlie spreads. people and sad, boohoo, but its all part of the plan

while the debate goes on, gegg, on the eggxile island, makes his move. he splits from charlie successfully, gaining a body all to himself and still capable of geggtosis

however, charlie recieves the painful end of this dulled knife, as gegg takes away most, if not all of charlies memories in order to become president and eventually bring the island into geggarchy. charlie is left, quite like gegg, as a child, mentally and maybe even physically since gegg also takes at least half of charlie's body mass to create his separate form

then comes cucurucho. sent by the federation when they noticed gegg split from charlie. the bear breaks down charlie's door, down the ladder to the basement, but doesn't find charlie or gegg. until it sees the small child rooting through a chest that looks suspiciously like charlie. it goes through the motions, momentarily scares the kid before he clings onto the bear like a company mascot and babbles something that is definitely not a human language

meanwhile gegg is being gegg without the shackles of charlie slimecicle holding him down

back in the house, cucurucho just stealing the idiot child and bringing him to the federation for reasons i haven't made up yet and just turning charlie into part of the federation or some shit idk how things work

also i don't know what's happening with the jaiden-cucurucho thing so cucurucho just appearing to jaiden with smol charlie and giving her a book like "this is your brother now." before patting her on the head and saying i hope you enjoy the island and jaiden is just like "is that charlie?????" while charlie just babbles and probably says fuck he seems like a child whose first (english) word was a swear

idk man this idea just came to me like a scripture from god but if god was satan and satan absolutely despised me because of literally everything about me

i am a 100% perfectly fine slimecicle viewer. yup. do not call for help. god cannot save what he didn't create himself.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Some more small ideas about Self-Aware! BSD AU x Twisted Wonderland crossover

1. When BSD Cast get into Twisted Wonderland world, they appeared in Mirror Chamber. They split up and start searching for Reader. Unfortunately, NRC's students mistook Nikolai, Shibusawa,Sigma and Fyodor for RSA's students, because they are wearing (mostly) white clothes and Sigma is asking politely, if students saw Reader. So, NRC's students decided to teach "snotty princes" a lesson. It ended as good as you predicted.

Many NCR's students and almost everyone from BSD Cast got drugged into the fight.

The fight ended only when Reader, after hearing about "teleporting clown on campus", arrived. The fight ended, because BSD Cast had a more important task of "Hug Guiding Light".

Crowley tried to rope Reader into doing more work, as an apology for the damage BSD Cast cause. Good luck for him to get through Mori.

2. Akutagawa, who think, that he failed as Reader's guardian, when he didn't protect them from people of Teyvat and then let them disappeared again, won't leave Reader's side. Or let anyone from Twisted Wonderland came near them.

Literally, it will go like this:

/During Book I (Heartslabyul)/

Delinquent A: "You broke the yolk on my carbonara! Give…"

Akutagawa and Rashomon: GRRR!

Delinquent A and B: "Ah! Get your dog!"

[Y/N]: petting growling Akutagawa He doesn't bite.

Delinquent A and B: "Yes, he does!"

3. When, during Book II (Savanaclaw), Malleus refused to tell Reader his name, because they would be terrified, Reader would shrug and assure Malleus, he won't be the strangest person they have met.

With BSD Cast's help, Reader managed to refuse Crowley's request to investigate students' injures.

They decided to help on their own, after Trey was injured.

3. During Book III (Octavinelle), Azul won't be able to rope Reader into a contract. Fitzgerald would read through every contract Azul offers, and will point at everything he didn't like. Fitzgerald won't let Azul any chance to find a loophole.

Also, the moment Crowley threatened to cut Reader's allowance on meals, if they didn't deal with Azul, Yosano and Mori would throw headmaster in the nearest garbage bin.

[adculinary24]

Reflection: Steak Butchery

Week 2

MENU

Amuse Bouche: Steak Tartare                        Appetizer: Meatballs                                Entrée:  Steak dishes - 1. Beef (Filet Mignon) or 2. Veal (Rack), Vegetables, Potato, Sauces: Compound Butter, Bearnaise, Au Poivre

Part 1 Sensory Results

Tartare

Taste- metallic, tangy, mild in taste, distinctly lacking in umami due to the meat being raw, sour and salty bites from pickles, 

Flavor- shallot, capers, mustard. Not much meatiness. Mild flavor

Texture- squishy, chewy, different crunchy textures from the whole grain mustard, shallots and cornichons, leaner mouthfeel depending on the egg yolk integration. Crunchy bread complemented the squishiness

Appearance:

Veal and Asparagus

Taste- umami, salty, bitter here and there, spicy peppercorns, fat

Flavor- peppercorns, grilled meat, butter, white wine, toastiness, bloody

Texture- tender meat, pop and crunch of peppercorn with unfolding of pepper taste, creamy sauce. Medium level of definition to the protein fibers, somewhat lean

Appearance:

German Potato Salad

Taste: Sour, starch, salt

Flavor: vinegar, mustard seed, earthy potato, oil

Texture: soft buttery smooth potato. Excellent texture on the potatoes. Room temperature. Oil and vinegar smack on the lips

Appearance:

Part 2 Evaluation of Techniques

Technical Outcomes:

Techniques that Worked Well- The searing technique worked well for the veal rack. Originally we were going to bread the veal and then pan fry but we switched to no breading. I seared my steak on the gas grill. The size of my piece was big enough compared to the intensity of the grill so that I could sear it twice on each side and not overcook the center. “The Maillard reaction is an interaction between amino acids and reducing sugars that browns food and gives it that roasty, toasty flavor. This process is essential to cooking, not only because it lends color, but because it creates hundreds of ester molecules that give rise to an array of aromas and flavors.” 

Meyer, J. (2018, July 27). Science of searing: How to Pan Sear Proteins. Hestan Cue. https://hestancue.com/blogs/blog-recipes/the-science-of-searing.

Techniques that Did Not Work Well- The Bearnaise sauce recipe did not turn out quite right at first due to the sauce being too hot when I added the butter. Something that I discovered when trying to fix the split sauce was that adding a small bit of solid butter and whisking brought the sauce back together with amazing results. The sauce came right back to emulsion and was still warm. Based on this Cooks Illustrated article, I believe that the reason my sauce broke is that too much of the water evaporated. They found that the oil floats to the top and puddles because the fat droplets do not have enough water to hold them in suspension. 

Dunn, S., & Rahravan, E. (2023, January 5). How to fix a broken sauce . Cook’s Illustrated. https://www.americastestkitchen.com/cooksillustrated/articles/6748-how-to-fix-a-broken-sauce

Assessment of Plate Presentations

There were some presentations that I enjoyed and there were some that were overly elaborate in the decoration or had a few thoughtless choices. For instance, the use of multiple spoon pushes on the plate seemed overdone for a huge steak dinner. The stacking of the carbs under or over the protein also seemed overly elaborate. The one with the broccolini propping up the steak was interesting but I did not like that the broccolini was presented also as a decoration on the plate in front of the steak for the reason that it acts like something new and scarce and delicious but really there is plenty more under the steak. The purple mashed potatoes looked alien and fun. I like that the plates had yellow, orange, red, green and brown and sometimes purple.

Improvements/Changes

In the future I would choose to have the bone of the veal curving up instead of in a rainbow shape to the plate. It was still easy to eat but I think it would look more stable and hearty with the meat laying on the plate and the bone flying into the air. I love how the peppercorn sauce looked. Sadly the asparagus seemed like an afterthought on the plate and should have been trimmed shorter. It was too uniform all facing the same way. It should be more jumbled and overlapping to not only provide volume but to convey the sense that it was artistically dropped from a tiny airplane.

Part 3 Sustainability

This week, we trimmed meat in house instead of buying trimmed meat.

Integration of Practice- In our lab we used the scrap pieces from the steak tenderloin that were not the perfect filet steaks or spinalis by turning them into meatballs and tartare. Something that my group did outside of the instruction is we used leftovers of the leftover meat to impart steak flavor into the au poivre sauce. We were not searing our steaks in a skillet so we found a way to have the flavor and we helped to have less of the meat go straight to waste.

Impact on Overall Sustainability- Trading a higher labor cost for a lesser product cost in this instance is a way to save money. In addition to that, the scraps can be used and do not need to be purchased separately. As far as sustainability, using the scraps is a way to reduce your personal demand for the extremely environmentally taxing production of meat (water, grain, deforestation, antibiotics, greenhouse gas emissions). If this technique were to be used on a global scale, it would reduce the amount of livestock needed to meet the same demand for meat.

Personal Performance- I am currently looking into how to get my place of work to start composting. Something good from in the lab is how we all share ingredients with each other instead of breaking into a new one. 

Areas for Improvement- Within the lab, I messed up with the peppercorns and ground them too small so I had to start again. Instead of tossing out the toasted ground pepper I should have saved it. I was not thinking about sustainability in that moment and I made a mistake. A way that we can be more sustainable is to reduce the amount of mess ups we have that waste ingredients. An area for improvement I see for the building is the practice of constantly refrigerating empty refrigerators in the labs. That is a lot of energy and if labs are not being used then the refrigerators should only be on in time for them to be useful in the labs. Of course I am not an engineer so that may not be practical but it's an idea.

Part 4 Conclusions

Outcomes

We prepared beef tenderloin steaks and veal as well as produced a variety of advanced sauces. We gained knowledge on practical sustainability practices for the restaurant environment.

Objectives-We met the objectives that were to compare and contrast different dry heat methods for cooking beef tenderloin steaks and veal and to produce a variety of advanced sauces - compound butter, bearnaise, and pan sauce.

Additional

I learned to be sure to grease a grill before placing your meat.

Practice- Work on having a clearer picture of the dishes to be made so that work is more fluid and the instructions may be consulted less.

[minniepetals]

cry me a river | the cruel and the fool

— summary: nothing hurts more than trying your absolute best and still not being good enough

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 8.8k

— warnings: a brief moment y/n almost has her ptsd triggered — brief mention of leehyun, toxic thoughts/acts [[ to anyone who might be afraid/cautious of reading this chapter, to be honest i don't think this chapter is too bad as compared to a few previous chapters, namjoon doesn't actively trigger y/n's ptsd of leehyun, but if you don't wish to read this chapter (or any other chapters for reasons), you can always send me an ask and i will gladly explain what's going on in hopes of not wanting to miss anything ]]

— PART 15 / previous post / masterpost

“Y/N?”

You look up with a startle, taking in a sharp intake that forces you to flinch, and when you turn around at the familiar calling of your name, you have to take a moment to compose yourself so that you don’t instinctively take a step back at the man before you.

Mingyu stands steady on his feet and you almost crumble at the fact that he called you Y/N and not boss because boss means you’re okay, you’re fine, you can take everything that’s coming at you, you can control it, control everything. But Y/N means you can’t. You’re not fine, you’re falling into disorder and you’re ruining yourself.

Y/N means you’re losing control. 

As if he understands just how much the effect of his word has caused you, Mingyu steps up from where he stood, keeping a good distance between the two of you and you hate the fact that today he hesitates to come to you.

There are days when you feel guilty for scaring them, for forcing them to abide by all that you are, to accommodate your needs, and forcing their way of thinking to quickly act just because you’re weak and you can’t do anything by yourself. There are days when you hate yourself more than you do on normal days, when you can see it in your Reapers’ expressions just how concerned they are.

They never look at you as if you are a monster, as if you’re some insignificant robot built up by your father in the same way everyone looks at you. They don’t look at you as if you’re just a puppet who holds no feelings, as if anyone and everyone can do anything and everything to you and you won’t hurt.

They know you hurt.

They know you hurt more than anyone.

Even in this room in a building filled with people who only want what’s best for you, you feel yourself trembling as you hold everything in, unable to scream, to cry for help, because all your life you’ve been shown that calling out gives you nothing in return. Even as you know your Reapers would never do such a thing to you, even as you know more than anyone that they’d come to you in a split second were you to utter the simple whisper of “help,” you don’t dare to.

You’re scared.

Scared.

So you tremble as you hold in the cry, falling completely silent, and it breaks you to do so.

“Y/N.” Mingyu calls again with a little more warmth, with a bit more comfort, and filled with a little less anxiety and fear. He calls you softly, a gentle expression plastered on his face when you look up with another startle, the serene on his features shocking you a bit.

He calls your name with care and if you knew how to cry, perhaps you’d be bawling your eyes out like a newborn baby, letting your tears out uncontrollably without a care in the world because you know there will be people who will do all that they can to ease your heart once again.

He calls you with such a tender gentleness it reminds you of the way Mister Butler used to call for you, the way Hoseok called for you.

Mingyu, Mister Butler, and Hoseok, all three different souls built in the same egg; the shell, the egg white, and the yolk.

Mister Butler was your protection, the very one who kept your innocence safe, the very one who held onto your hopes and dreams, keeping them safe in the warmth of his arms. When he left, you lost all of that; your innocence, hopes, and dreams. Years later Hoseok took his place, providing you with love. He gave you the happiness you sought for when you were with Mister Butler, a promise the two of you made with the linking of your pinkies. Mister Butler was the first to break his promise and you broke it soon after, leaving Hoseok who kept your love in the warmth of his arms, losing your love and happiness.

Then came Mingyu walking into the picture. You aren’t sure how it happened, when you began seeking out for the warmth of his arms, but perhaps it was always there, like how it was just meant to be in the same way it was natural to rely on Mister Butler and Hoseok’s warmth.

When he sees you shaking uncontrollably but keeping your silence and peace, Mingyu simply opens his arms as if saying; “It’s okay. You can come to me when you’re scared. I know you’re scared.”

And it reminds you of the way you used to go to Hoseok. He was always the first person you sought out whenever something frightful had shaken your core and you couldn’t handle things by yourself. It was always Hoseok.

When you let yourself go to Mingyu, when he engulfs you in his arms and when you lean into his chest, ears pressed against the resounding beat of his heart, you allow your mind to rest as you let your eyes flutter closed, legs giving in as he holds you on the floor in the middle of the living room.

This is your foundation. Your calm, your control.

This is your Mingyu.

When it finally comes to the day he leaves your life, you wonder how that will be. Will he leave you in the same way Mister Butler left you? Or will you leave him in the same way you left Hoseok? Both of them were out of your control, and both of them you were forced to cut ties with. You wonder if one day Mingyu will grow tired of you or if one day his loyalty will take him too far and he’ll die for you.

You don’t want him to leave. Not now, not ever.

If he leaves, who will you have? He’s your last one, the very person who’s holding onto your breaking pieces so you don’t completely crumble. Mister Butler was your protection, Hoseok was your love, and Mingyu is your foundation.

You don’t want to lose another one, another solace. You don’t want to lose your last one. Because you know after Mingyu, there will be no one left to take care of you in the way the three of them had. If you lose him you think it’ll probably be the last of your control. If you lose your Reapers, you know you won’t ever be able to pick yourself up again.

They can’t save you in the same way you’ve saved them but still, you’ve come to rely on them in more than one way. They’re the only ones keeping you afloat in this deep, deep sea. The only ones keeping your broken pieces together.

“Something’s wrong,” you whisper into the silence after a long, long time. “...I can feel it. There’s another storm coming, Mingyu.” You’re limp against his chest, body unable to keep its strength up just like all those other times when you lay against him. Perhaps you’re hurting him with your weight, perhaps his body’s cramping up in some ways but Mingyu doesn’t dare move. “I don’t want it to come.”

He knows you’re scared, he can feel it.

“What would you like us to do?” He asks, softly, in order to keep you sane, to have control over your situation in just the slightest bit when it feels like everything is falling apart. He lets you regain control for a moment, just like the building foundation that he is.

“...Stay,” you say. “Just…stay.”

And so he remains there for another hour longer to help you breathe a little easier, to help ease your heart, to calm the storm that had risen against your chest. It is only when Yeonjun comes in do you finally separate.

“I have your tea ready, boss,” he says when he walks in.

You’re weak and unable to walk on your own, body barely even able to step away from Mingyu so the two of them help you get off him. Yeonjun takes over the base, becoming the stepping stool that you need. He takes you in his arms while you make no protest, head turned to lay against him like a rag doll who holds no strength left in her body.

And when the young genius takes you out the door on his own, Dasom emerges to have a look into the living room, her face blank as she takes in the figure who remains seated on the floor, eyes looking lost in thoughts.

“Is your heartbeat that calming?” She asks into the silence, breaking Mingyu out of his daze as he looks up with a calm expression. “Boss always calms down the second she hears your heartbeat. Makes me wonder if you ever have moments when you aren’t calm and your anxiety takes precedence.”

He chuckles lightly, a rueful smile curling along his lips. “If I ever let the situations get the best of me, I’d lose my role as her foundation, and then what would happen? Have her suffer even more without being allowed a moment of calm?” He looks at her with furrowed brows, hand balling into a fist. “If I ever allow myself to become weak, I’d hurt her and that’s the one thing we cannot ever allow to happen. Y/N needs her moment of peace. Even if that moment lasts for just one second, if I can’t be her calm among the storm…she’d break.”

“But then what about you?” Dasom asks, her features marked with concern for someone else other than you, and Mingyu realizes it’s probably the first time she’s ever allowing her worries to show so openly.

“It doesn’t matter.” He picks himself off from the floor, averting his gaze as if avoiding his emotions. “As long as I’m alive, I live as her foundation. If I can’t do my job well, there’s no point in any of this.” As he walks by to leave, Mingyu takes a moment to pause beside her, putting a hand on the blade of her shoulder. “Even if we can’t save her, we can still give her room to breathe. If I ever rip that calm away from her…I’d never be able to live with myself.”

He walks away before Dasom can say anything else.

.

.

.

A blue vintage corset with a pretty white skirt that flows all the way to your ankles, accompanied by a matching blazer draped over your shoulders while your hair stays up by a white claw clip, you walk down the hall of the art museum all on your own, paying close attention to every painting presented on the wall at each of your sides.

You keep your eyes keen and open with arms crossed against your chest while your heels click from underneath you. All the guests in the building are common innocents who’re here simply for their own pleasures. You’re here for a different reason.

“..Miss?” 

Your heels stop clicking at the call of the hesitant voice behind you, already falling on your guard, and when you slowly turn around at the person, you find a young man you aren’t too familiar with.

“I apologize, you looked vaguely famil…” Your eyes narrow his way as he trails off as if trying to put an image to his memories, just before something in him clicks when his eyes widen. “Are you..the Reaper?” You keep your expression unreadable, remaining blank, and when it looks like you won’t answer his question, he goes to speak some more. “The scythe earrings,” he says, pointing at the silver dangles on each of your ears, “you..killed my uncle.”

Huh.

“So what? Looking for a chance to kill me now, are you?”

“No!” He quickly says and you fix your gaze towards the side at his sudden outburst, knowing the bystanders have just heard and have been alerted. Upon that, the man clears his throat awkwardly before continuing in a lower tone. “I just meant…I know my uncle was a bad man.”

“...Do you?” As you say that, a familiar figure catches the corner of your eyes and when you go on to focus your attention a bit more on them from behind the stranger’s shoulder, you feel your expression falling when you realize it’s Namjoon and Jimin.

If Namjoon and Jimin are here, the others shouldn’t be too far away. And that only means trouble.

You’re on your feet again, taking a turn opposite of where they are as you continue on your walk.

“It’s best to not associate yourself with me. If you offend me whether on accident or on purpose, I will rid of you without hesitation.”

“W-wait! I just..-” He runs to catch up to your pace, frantic looking. 

You stare at him up and down before sighing. “You’re wasting my time. Seeing as the insignificant man I killed is your uncle, I implore you to heed my advice and not show your face to me ever again. I do hate to be reminded of the memories of the past. They don’t serve well for the future.”

“I apologize, it’s just…I’m glad to have seen you in person, Miss Y/N. The rumors do you no justice, you’re more beautiful than they imply.” You don’t like the smile he shows you. “If you could be so kind, I would love to invite you to—”

“I told you, sir, I do not like to be reminded of the past.” You turn your face from him, walking sped up this time but he remains stubborn.

“I understand.” He doesn’t if he keeps following you insistently. “Being in the same room with you alone is a blessing, I’ll be sure to watch you from afar if fate ever allows us the moment again.” What a creep. “Ah, but what’re you doing here at an art museum? Are you here for your next target? Who is it?”

“It’ll be you if you don’t stop bothering me.”

He laughs as if you just said a joke. “My extended family would certainly have a heart attack if that were to happen, being as you’ve already gone and rid of my uncle. But truth be told, I’d be lucky to have the new Reaper kill me by her own hands.”

“Would you?”

“Of course! To have your beautiful hands—”

You stop in track all of a sudden, putting a hand up to have him freeze in place when he tries to reach out for you. “Sir.” Your voice drops deep, a frosty chill walking in as you stare him down from the side eyes. “If you really don’t wish to lose your life over some petty incident, I advise you to leave me now before you really make me angry. I’d hate making a scene in front of innocents but if you lay even the slightest touch on me, I’d do the same I did to your uncle and perhaps even worst.”

“...” He falls silent at your words and just as you think he’s finally done and realize the truth behind your threat, he speaks again as you’re about to walk away. “Who knew such a lady with refined beauty could get angry so easily.” He scoffs lightly, mocking you as his mask falls away. “You may be beautiful but your heart needs to be worked on. I bet my uncle didn’t even do much to have him face your wrath.”

“What your uncle did to me is none of your concern.”

“You must have killed your father for the same purpose, huh? I heard he cared for you quite deeply yet you returned his kindness by killing him. What a spoiled little brat.”

They don’t know your story and they never will, but that doesn’t phase you one bit because everyone is just like him; dumb and stupid, always believing the other side of the story without truly looking into things. Not that you care, they can think however they’d like, it doesn’t concern you.

You’re still going to kill the ones that did you wrong.

You ignore the man’s comment to keep walking, not wanting to stop this time no matter what but when you feel his presence once more with the way he comes at you at an alarming pace, you grab the white silk that was wrapped around your waist and played as a belt for your skirt, untangling the decorated bow and in a swift manner, you wrap the silk a few times around the man’s wrists, forcing it behind him in a rushed and assertive act that has him quick to scream at the pain.

You can feel a light tremble in your hands, the PTSD from Leehyun still here, so you make sure you aren’t touching him in the slightest, and when his scream alarms the people around you, you keep your cool as you stare down at the man, strengthening the tight grip of the silk with no mercy.

“You’re all the same. This is why I hate men.”

“Y/N?”

You sigh inwardly to yourself upon attracting the attention of Namjoon and Jimin and clench your jaw at the onlookers showing concern and worry. 

“Are you alright ma’am?”

“Was he bothering you?”

“Should we call security?”

You look up at the civilians who watches on with brows knitted on their features, your keen eyes taking in each of their expression. Calling in security now will only anger this man further and you can’t have their faces falling recognizable to him in case he holds any grudges. You know not to involve people and ruin their lives when they haven’t done anything wrong to you but the sight of the man who dared to try to lay a finger on you even after you’ve warned him otherwise makes you tremble with uncontrolled anger.

You told him you hate to be reminded of the past but he ignored your words and now you’re left here remembering Hwang Leehyun and his despicable touches that suddenly surfaces as if all they’ve been doing nothing but hiding under your skin, waiting to be revealed each time your memories resurfaces.

You hate it, you hate it, you hate it.

You want to kill this man.

“I’ll deal with him.” Namjoon’s commanding voice brings you back to the present for a second, just a split second. But still that second saves you for a moment because that second allows you to fall distracted, eyes flicking over to him sharply, and you watch when Yoongi and Jungkook, who you didn’t realize had also come over, take the man off you.

It saves you from having to be cautious in letting him touch you, allows you to breathe, to stand back up straight, to hide your hands behind your back.

That’s right. You’re calm, you’re calm. Nothing fazes you, you’re fine, everything’s fine. He didn’t touch you, he didn’t even graze you in the slightest. You’re fine and no one has to get hurt.

No one has to die. Not today.

You turn towards the crowd, feigning a small smile as you lower your head slightly at them. “Thank you for your concern, please return to your business. I apologize for the public disturbance.”

And without waiting for them to make their moves, you turn, following Namjoon away from the scene.

It’s silent for the longest time until you’re brought to the back of the building where it’s secluded and the sun is already setting. Yoongi and Jungkook keeps the man held against his will with Jimin following along, and Namjoon looks at you for a moment before he addresses you.

You should have known he’d visit this art museum. Namjoon enjoys looking at art during his pastimes, especially during times when things are rougher and he needs his moments of peace.

“How would you like to deal with him?” He asks, noting at the way you keep your hands held behind your back while keeping your distance. It seems you’re still cautious of being touched.

You look away from the man who had offended you, brows knitted as you stare at the horizon where the sun is slowly setting. “It’s fine,” you say, “looking at him a moment longer will only cause my blood to boil.”

You’re still dealing with the aftermath of your last endeavors, they can tell, that’s why Namjoon remained silent about the profound revelation he found. Although he may be angry with questions waiting to be demanded out of you, he kept his emotions at bay after seeing it physically in front of him just how hard the last event had hit you.

Still, he can feel his patience quickly slipping away now that he’s bathed in your presence. You still seem weak, not your usual aloof self who was always so great at hiding your true self slip past anyone, and although others may not realize it, he’s able to see through you in some of the slightest ways, letting him know that you’ve indeed taken a great hit from Leehyun.

His body may have burned away but the memories will always remain.

Namjoon understands how that feels.

“Leave him be then,” he tells the two before looking at you again, “I’m sure you’ll deal with him if you’d like in the future. I won’t interfere.”

You give him a nod and the three of them leaves with the man in toll, leaving you alone with Namjoon.

Silence fills once more, leaving you with the same uncomfortable feeling you’ve felt for the past few days. A storm is brewing and slowly but surely, you can feel the match beginning to ignite. Perhaps he has something to say to you, perhaps he realized something, or perhaps it’s something else, but either way you see that Namjoon isn’t speaking up even though it looks like he’s hiding something from you.

You turn on your heels, not wanting to stall this moment any longer. If he wishes to say something, whether that’s about what happened at the Hwang’s manor or something else, he can say it at another time. Right now you just want to return home and take your anger out in the training field.

“Jungwon.” You pause in your steps upon the name that slips from Namjoon’s mouth, his first word taking you by unexpected surprise. “He’s dead…isn’t he?”

There’s a hint of wrath in his voice, a hint of fear, a hint of unease and terror, accompanied by anxious thoughts that run through his mind and as you stand there still under the lights that have flickered on upon the sun now dimming the city, you don’t give him an answer.

But that in itself is an answer and you hear him scoff.

It’s filled with disbelief and disappointment.

“To think you’d lie to me and use someone I love against me.”

You turn around at those words, making sure to keep a level head. Despite the fact that he found out the truth about your schemes, you always told yourself to be prepared for moments like this. Namjoon would have found out one way or another. After all, he wanted the truth on where his brother was, and eventually, you would have either had to relay to him the news of his death or he’d find out on his own.

You just never expected he’d find out this soon. You thought you had more time.

“I didn’t lie to you, Namjoon, I just withheld the truth.”

Namjoon laughs at those words, the amusement dead and filled with nothing but pure ire. “And what? You think that’s any better? You know just how much my brother means to me.” You see the other three returning from where you stand, see the way the rest of them have come along as well and it almost feels as if you’re cornered. You can’t run, you have to face Namjoon’s wrath and their disappointment but you expected this. You expected to be hated by them and you prepared yourself not to care, to let them go when the time came. They left you, you’re free to leave them in the dust as well. “You were my wife and I trusted you with my vulnerability. I shared a part of myself I’d never share with anyone else and this is how you’re going to act in turn? By using information on my brother against me?”

You know what you’re about to say is toxic, that you shouldn’t turn this against him but after what happened with Leehyun, you can only feel your patience and mask slipping away as the day passes so you don’t care to hold your tongue this time.

“I could say the same thing about you, Namjoon. I trusted you with my heart and guess what happened in the end? You took it right out, ripped it to shreds, and threw it onto the ground without a care in the world.” The new scars on your body, the gash on your leg, they all still hurt in many ways and you hate the fact that they saw you in that vulnerable state.

“This is my brother we’re talking about.”

“And what? My feelings never meant anything to you?” You ask, challenging him. “You have to admit what you did to me was wrong and even after all these years, you’re acting as if nothing happened. I hate it most when people feign ignorance and pretend all is well without wanting to face the horrid part of things.” You take a sharp look at the others, making sure they know as well. “From the very beginning, I was on the losing end. I was made a pawn in the game you took part in, all just for the sake of power, and then you proceeded to toss me aside once you no longer needed me. Isn’t it only fair I do the same thing to you?”

“That doesn’t make it right for you to have used my brother against me,” he retorts with the same fire burning in your eyes. “You acted as if the butler who served you was someone you cared deeply for but in the end, everyone’s just a pawn for you to use at your disposal, huh?”

“Then you and I are similar in that aspect. You are not innocent, Kim Namjoon. Did you really think after all these years I’d remain that same soft-hearted girl I was then?” You chuckle bitterly at the thought. “She would never forgive the person that I am now but she’s gone, Namjoon, she’s dead, so she cannot stop me from using you in the way I wish to. If I want to use your brother against you, I’ll use your brother against you. The butler I grew up with was a butler who served me well, but he was foolish thinking he could have gotten out of that manor safe and secure without troubles along the way. Your father was the one who led him to the Reaper’s manor but when his mission grew completed, he hesitated upon leaving. Do you wanna know why?” You stare him dead in the eyes without blinking in the slightest way.

“It was because of me,” you say, unfaltering. “He stayed because of me. And guess what happened in the end? I killed him.”

“This is all your fault,” your father whispers into your ear. “He’s dead because of you.”

The trembling and terrified little girl then no longer shakes when she looks into the eyes of Kim Namjoon, the little brother of the very first man who ever loved you and the very first man whom you loved gently in turn.

Mister Butler was a man who always smiled your way no matter how rough the circumstances were. He was always there for you, the only one who held his arms out when you stood on the side, holding your tears in upon the rejection from your mother and father, the only one who allowed you to cry without scolding you, without scoffing or walking away. He was the only man who cared for you in the Reaper’s manor, providing you the fatherly protection you always needed from the very beginning.

He was your father, your brother, your friend, and the companion you sought the existence of. He was your soulmate, the very first one.

And when he left, your world fell apart. 

Nothing was right from the very beginning but he made it seem as if that in itself was okay because he was there and whenever he was there, everything turned out to be okay at the end of the day. You could go to your mother, get rejected and ridiculed, but turn to your butler and he’d sing you praises after praises. You could look up at your father with those wide and innocent eyes, the eyes of a child seeking the slightest attention they could receive from a busy and distant father, and even after he ignored you for the hundredth time, you could turn to your butler and he’d give you the attention you crave a hundred times more.

“I hope Mister finds your happiness someday.”

“And I hope the miss finds her happiness as well.”

You both broke your promise; his was forcibly ripped away from him and you no longer seek to find the pleasures in life.

You see the way Namjoon’s brows furrow slightly more, his chin protruding in the way it does when he’s angry, but you can tell there’s some suspicion leveled your way upon your words so you decide to drive him more mad.

He can hate you all he wants. You want him to hate you. He has to hate you and see you as nothing but a cruel and selfish monster.

You’re a monster.

“The day of the incident, I watched him with my very own eyes as life slipped away from him. His eyes were lifeless, dead, a corpse. In the same way I killed my mother and father, I killed your brother as well. The man who cared so much for me died at my very own hands. His death was all..my...fault.”

You drag out the words, speaking the last remaining three words carefully and slowly as if to try and purposely antagonize him.

It works.

Because you see the way Namjoon’s eyes brighten with red, how it shakes, how his lips tremble slightly, how it takes him a moment before he tries to get the words out of his throat. “...What?”

Hoseok watches you with brows slightly knitted in between, his mouth open but unable to utter anything out and you hate the way he looks disappointed, as if everything that he’s ever known about you is slowly slipping away and the mirror has slowly but surely shattered.

It’s okay though, you want this. You want him to hate you, to finally show anger and disappointment and think all ill thoughts of you with no rainbows or sunshine left in between. If Hoseok thinks nothing but love and still cares for the person he let slip from his grasp, it will only hurt the two of you in the end. 

Because you are incapable of loving, you have to make him hate you.

And if that means making him hate you through your hatred for Namjoon, then you’ll use that to your advantage. No one knows of Mister Butler anyways, and the ones who did have all died and left to burn to tell your tales. No one knows how much you loved that man, how you cried so hard the day your father killed him mercilessly. Though you may not remember clearly of the incident itself, you will never forget how much it hurt losing him and in turn, being blamed and made the villain of his story when all you ever wanted was nothing but his happiness.

Father turned everything onto you. Everything was your fault. You killed your beloved butler who showed nothing but love and care towards you. You were the fool who killed your father, your brother, your friend, your companion, and your soulmate.

You killed him.

You killed him.

Namjoon lunges after you in a blind fits of anger and as you keep your emotions well hidden in the depth of your heart, you hate the way this reminds you of those days all those years ago when Namjoon grew to hate you and the rest of your lovers did nothing but watch in turn.

Here you are reliving those same memories.

But rather than letting him take you down the way you did those years ago, this time you fight back. This time you lunge right back at him, not caring for anything else in this world even as something in the back of your mind tells you that you can’t win.

You can never win against Namjoon because at the end of the day, he will always be stronger than you. No matter how much strength you’ve gained through your years of torture, no matter how hard you’ve trained, how great your masters were, your strength can never exceed that of his.

“How dare you?!”

If Namjoon wasn’t blinded by rage, he’d use his brain just like any other day and realize how could a small little girl just nine years old possibly kill a man who held the strength and power of a mafia heir behind him? If he wasn’t so blinded by emotions, he’d remember the girl you used to be; afraid of guns and violence and always hidden behind the safety and comfort of her loved ones. How could a little girl like that, whether loved by her people or not, possibly rid of another man?

How could she? When all she wanted was nothing but happiness for the people that gave her nothing but kindness?

“Namjoon stop.” Hoseok. Poor Hoseok who still has the brains to try and rationalize things tries to meditate between two opposing opponents.

“Stop?” Namjoon scoffs. “She killed my brother!”

That’s right, blame me. Hate me. Hate me even more.

“You know what’s funny?” You pick yourself up from the ground, disregarding the fact that your white skirt now has stains on it as you reach for the knife hidden under it. “That I still haven’t gotten an explanation as to what happened all those years ago. Do you really think I’ll keep being patient without ever demanding an answer out of you?”

“Why the hell did you kill my brother? What did Jungwon ever do to you?” He doesn’t look for an answer before forcing you to dodge to the side with his blade grazing the skin of your arm. No matter how quick you are, you’re still slower than Namjoon. “That’s right, Jungwon didn’t do anything, did he? He’s not the type to hurt a little girl.” The more he pushes forward, the less space you have as you dodge back with your feet leaping behind at each step he forces you to take. “Did you have your people go after him? Force him to submit to you? Did you go to your father and make up stories in order to get rid of my brother?”

You manage to land a punch on his face upon those words, feeling your own anger building up. “I told you my truth. Why don’t you tell me yours, Namjoon? Surely I deserve it, right? After putting up with being your pawn, after letting you use me on that mission where you forced me to submit to a disgusting creep. Did you ever actually love me, Namjoon? Or was that all just a game you and the rest of your boys decided to play in in order to see how long things would last?”

“Y/N—”

“I didn’t deserve that.” Your eyes burn with red, baring your teeth as you glare at the rest of them. “We live in a world where emotions and weaknesses are not welcomed yet I trusted you with my heart. I gave you my soul. I listened to your problems, allowed you to lean on me, held you, loved you, did all that I could because I trusted in your love, and in turn, I got treated like nothing but a pawn in that little game you decided to play.” 

You push Namjoon against his chest upon his silence. “I put up with so much. Allowed you to degrade me, belittled me, let you say all those cruel things to me while being that silent good little girl you always cared for. That night I ripped my ring out, I even begged on my knees for you.”

“..What?” Hoseok whispers softly, words you’re unable to be heard because you’re focused on everyone else but him. He stands there in utter silence, listening to you and taking each and everything to heart.

You got on your knees and begged for them?

They…forced you to that point?

Them?

Hoseok turns to look at the rest of them with disbelief, as if trying to find someone in order to tell him that you’re wrong, that they didn’t force you to that point, and that you’re just spewing out nonsense because you’re angry.

“And you.” But before he can get an answer out of any of them, you’re speaking up too quickly as you point your finger at the rest of the boys. “Do you have any idea how much I second-guessed my position in our relationship? How much I envied the passing times you’ve already spent with one another? How many nights I went to sleep thinking perhaps you could have done better, perhaps I shouldn’t have intervened and got into the arranged marriage? Do you have any idea how many insecurities I built, convincing myself that you could never love me as much as you loved each other? That when it ever came to a point where one or two of you is fighting against me, I’d be on the losing end and no one would take my side because you loved each other more than you loved me?”

You laugh bitterly thinking about those days, feeling foolish for not giving in to those thoughts. “You had the audacity to make me think otherwise when in the end, my greatest nightmare came true.”

Namjoon forces himself in between you and them, pushing you back slightly on the shoulder. “Don’t make this about you.”

“What? Don’t make this about me?” You scoff at him with disbelief. “I gave you my truth, Namjoon, don’t you think it’s high time you gave me yours? Unless you plan on keeping me in the dark forever? If you really loved me then, if those three years were real and not a lie you built for me to live in then give me the truth that I deserved all those years ago. You wanted me gone no matter what, right? And I gave you that benefit, I walked away from our marriage because you no longer wanted me there anymore so whatever the hell is the reason behind those cold shoulders of yours, give it to me damn it! I deserve it more than anyone!”

“I stopped loving you!” He shouts against your anger and it catches you off guard for a moment.

You look at him for a second and when a heartbeat passes, you let out a disbelief scoff. “Now was that so hard to say? You sick bastard..!”

You push forth with your knife hung in the air but before you can strike, Seokjin’s right in front of you, forcing your hand away and as you take a moment to watch him with bafflement, you realize the rest of them are all standing by Namjoon’s side, refusing to let you harm him in any way.

Hoseok looks distraught as he remains where he first stood, his head falling to the side, avoiding your gaze, and once again it seems that no matter how hard you tried, you could have never competed against their love for one another. Because even if Hoseok were on your side then, they would have never pushed him away or allowed him to leave in order to stay by your side. They loved him too much to let him go to you.

How selfish.

How…cruel.

“I see.” The strength in your voice weakens as you face the hard truth and although it looks like they want to say something, you don’t let them. “In the end, you really did love each other more than you did me. And I’m not upset at that, why I be? Feelings are something we cannot force no matter how much we try but you should have told me the truth instead of letting me be the fool into believing I could have been enough. I was never enough for you, was I? Or perhaps you were already enough for each other you didn’t need another one to intervene. Perhaps in the beginning you really did love me, or you thought you did. I want to believe in that love because you showed me sides to you you’d never show to anyone else. I want to believe that you were kind and not some cruel, heartless monsters who never cared for me and only used me as your pawns.

“And I’m not hurt because of the past. I’m over it. I’m hurt at the fact that you turned the little girl I was into a lovesick fool and made her believe nothing that she did would ever satisfy you. But she did nothing wrong…did she?” You look at them with your cold expression falling away, the anger still there but lessened as you’re more disappointed and hurt than anything. “I did nothing wrong. I was always enough, but you made me feel otherwise.”

You turn from them, not wanting to look at them any further. And as you walk away, this time even Hoseok doesn’t chase after you.

Perhaps he understands your pain, knows just how much the boys have messed up. And whether he wants to choose you or not is not a choice for him to make because at the end of the day, it will always be the boys.

You will always be Hoseok’s second choice.

.

.

.

“...Som.”

“Boss?” Dasom’s at your side in an instant. You aren’t sure how and where she appeared from but the second you walk in through the doors and uttered her name, she’s right there at your disposal, her eyes widened, a quick display of surprise plastered on her usual expressionless face. “What happened there?” She points at the light graze on your arm, her anger clear. “We aren’t supposed to go for another one until later so who dared to hurt you? Who do I have to—”

You put your hand up, cutting her off immediately just as Yuna appears alongside her. They remain silent in your presence, taking in the way you look. Your once pure white skirt spoils with dirt, blazer hung over your arm for someone to take, eyes falling blankly to the floor with a look of exhaustion clear on your face. There’s a slight furrow in your brows, lips sealed tight, eyes twitching a little.

You’re trembling in the slightest way. It won’t ever be prominent to the normal eyes but your Reapers will never miss anything about you.

Dasom’s quick to rush away on her feet without a word, probably to call Mingyu, while you look around for something, feeling restless, before sitting flat on the floor.

“I hate heels,” you utter, allowing your legs to straighten right before you, and without needing to demand anything out of them, your Reapers know immediately what to do.

Yuna crouches down to take your shoes off while someone else takes your hair clip off to free your hair.

“Boss?” And when Mingyu’s voice is heard, you stare up with an effort, suddenly marked with a memory of the past.

Everyone has left the room upon your silence. Everyone but your right-hand man.

You sit still on the floor of your bedroom, the only place that’s secure in this hellhole. You hate what lies outside the door, hate the halls, the eyes of your father’s men, your father himself, and everything else that exists.

Mingyu tends to the wounds you reveal after ripping your sleeves off, trusting in only him to see them after having gone through a series of feigning your strength before your father. He sent you on another dangerous mission, hoping to kill you.

“Boss?” Mingyu speaks up into the silence, prompting you gently as if he knows there are some things you want to let out.

So you speak. “Mingyu.”

“What is it?” He remains patient upon your hesitation, so you turn to look at him, eyes distant but holding onto your last bit of sanity that still exists.

“I’m tired,” you say, and that’s all he needs to hear to understand.

“Mingyu.”

He crouches down to your level and stares at the cut on your arm before taking a look at your slightly reddened feet from the heels. The silence lingers in the air and so he looks up at the rest, a signal they’re quick to pick up on and without a word, the Reapers that have gathered around all scatter away.

Once they’re all gone and out of sight without alerting any of your senses, you finally utter out more words.

“I’m tired,” you say, and Mingyu understands.

You’re tired, tired of everything. Tired of the world, of people, of everyone that has hurt you, of being weak and unable to face the truth without trembling, of pretending, of keeping strong, of lying, of being lied to, of your enemies, of your friends, of everyone and everything.

You’re tired.

You want to rest, to stop, to reset, to freeze time, to relive everything and make better decisions just so you don’t have to live through all of this ever again.

From what Mingyu can tell, there’s only one group of people that can make you look this way. There aren’t a lot of people who can go up against you after all, not to mention you had no plans to face anyone annoying today, so the only conclusion he can come up with is that you accidentally met up with Bangtan and something happened.

“He found out Mister Butler died,” you say, already knowing that Mingyu can always speculate what’s going on with you. Mister Butler will always be Mister Butler to you. Not Kim Jungwon, not Namjoon’s brother, not a man belonging to another gang, just Mister Butler. Your butler.

Your kind and gentle butler whom you killed.

“Ah,” is all Mingyu says as he makes himself comfortable on the floor.

You take your knees up to your chest and lay your cheek against them. “I told him I killed him myself.”

He purses his lips. “Why would you lie to him like that?”

“I wanted him to hate me.” You pause. “To blame me.” It’s a simple answer and Mingyu can already tell what’s going on inside your head.

You hate showing any bit of weakness in front of others, especially in front of strangers and in front of people that have wronged you. You hate it when someone shakes your core, when you can’t stand upright, when your falsehood falls and your brave act begins to break, and he knows you must have hated it most that you had to show such a vulnerable side of yourself towards the very ones who drove you back into such a harsh environment, forcing you to survive all on your own.

They unknowingly fed you to the wolves, just to watch in horror as they finally witnessed the consequences of their actions. What makes it worst is that they don’t even know that that was all their doing. You would have been safe staying with Bangtan if they hadn’t forced you to leave.

Lying to Namjoon about killing his brother was your way of distancing yourself from him, because even you could tell something would have changed in your relationship were he to begin acting differently around you after London’s mission.

You hate being weak and you hate it most of the people’s reactions to it.

Some people use that against you while others sympathize and act with more care around you. You and Mingyu both know Namjoon isn’t the type to use your weakness against you so you decided to keep playing the villain and drive him away.

“Do you ever plan on telling him the truth someday?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because he deserves it,” Mingyu says, “that’s his brother after all. No matter what happened between the two of you, you know he deserves the truth and not the lie you told him of killing his own brother yourself.”

You know.

You know more than anyone Namjoon deserves to hear the truth about what happened all those years ago. You remember the first night he opened up to you about his brother, how broken he looked to believe he failed Jungwon when in reality he had nothing to do with his death. It was all the corrupted fathers that involved themselves in the game of thrones, willing to discard all and anyone away whether they were family or not.

Namjoon’s father was just like yours and you know that if Namjoon were to ever find out the truth about your father, he’d hate himself the most.

They all would.

But you don’t care to give them the truth because they don’t deserve it, none of them do. None except Hoseok but you know that if Hoseok were to ever know everything, he’d beat himself up the most and you don’t deserve to put him through any of that.

Your secrets will remain yours both from Bangtan and the Reapers.

Still, if there’s anything Namjoon deserves, it’s the truth about his brother, just as Mingyu said. It wasn’t fair of you to use his brother against him after all. You were cruel for that but you had to do what you had to do. It was the only way to get through to Namjoon, make him a pawn in this stupid revenge game of yours. He doesn’t deserve the lies you gave him, the truth you withheld from him, but revealing the truth about Mister Butler’s death will also bring your own truth forward and you don’t think you can take that.

“If I tell him the truth about Mister Butler…that means telling my truth.” Mingyu watches you carefully as you speak and because you know even he and Yuna doesn’t know much about your past, your brows knit in distress as you look away from that piercing gaze, holding onto your knees even tighter. “Father killed him,” you utter bitterly as you bite against your lower lip, the effects of the incident still a place you’d rather not return to. “He was the first love I lost.”

You’ve told them about the first man who ever showed you kindness, that because he loved you, he died. You told them about Bangtan, that they failed you and betrayed your trust. The two of them, Mister Butler and Bangtan, are the very reasons why the Reapers are not permitted to love you.

To you, being loved is something out of the book. You’re scared of being loved because in the end, they either die or betray you. That is why you cannot see how deeply the Reaper’s loyalty lies.

Because you refuse to.

Because you’re afraid of it.

Afraid of loving and afraid of being loved.

“If I tell him about Mister Butler..how he died and how he lived…he’ll connect the dots. He’s already doing it right now, I’m sure of it. How can you still blindly think a father actually treated his daughter finely knowing she’s been through some stuff? Namjoon’s not stupid, none of them are. It was easy to live in the lie back then but now that I’m deliberately going after people, how can anyone not begin to question things?”

So you’ve pushed them away not only because you didn’t want them to treat you any differently but also because you’re pushing them away from the truth they may be hoping to find out.

“Not that it matters much anymore anyways.” You press your forehead upon your knees, hiding your face completely. “I told him I killed his brother and he told me he stopped loving me. In the end, the old me who was once the center of their attention fell away and was never enough for them. What a pitiful little girl,” you scoff lightly, bitter at the fact you’ve just uttered. “Nothing hurts more than trying your absolute best and still not being good enough. She was so..dumb. But maybe she knew the truth all along. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe in it, deluding herself into lies after lies, trying to keep up the fantasy, living in a house of cards that had been inevitable to fall from the very beginning. 

“She was a fool. An utter, pitiful fool.”

[heterophobicnicknelson]

i just want to keep everything organized so I'm going to link all of my heartstopper fics here (I will pin and update this post as I publish more)

hashbrown, egg yolk, i will always love you

a chaptered fic in which every chapter is a single month in Nick and Charlie's first year of uni together (Nick's second year, Charlie's first). Featuring some trips, visits with friends and family, a handful of minor conflicts and a bit of smut.

let's split the night wide open

a birthday sex oneshot within the Hashbrown universe. Nick is a bit sad that he can't spend his birthday with his family or friends, so Charlie takes it upon himself to blow his boyfriend away. He's quite successful.

it's alright, if it makes you feel alive

a oneshot in which David's birthday party goes as you'd expect it to go, and Charlie says some things he's been meaning to say for a while.

if you wanna start a fight, you better throw the first punch

a oneshot in which David is back causing trouble, and Tori is there to solve everything with some harsh words and a cup of Coke.

dip you in honey so i could be sticking to you

a oneshot where Nick is sick and he's the biggest baby you could imagine. Charlie is there to make everything better, as usual

the priest thinks it's the devil, my mum thinks it's the flu

a chaptered (currently two chapters) story in which Jane Spring is a bit of a biphobe, but with some pushing from Tori and Charlie and some extreme graciousness from Nick, she's working on it.

stay made of lightning

once again, david tries to cause trouble but this time Tao is there to, for lack of a better term, set him straight

like a bruise, like a breath of fresh air

a Nick Nelson character study where he learns that self discovery isn't always linear, that queerness is like a bruised knee that you can't help but poke at, that queerness can be like a breath of fresh air after too long under water (completed twoshot.)

living love in slow motion

charlie suffers a migraine, and doesn't want to bother nick with it. nick thinks that's bullshit. (companion piece to my other sickfic, dip you in honey so i could be sticking to you)

tea and a biscuit for these trying times

basically a bakery AU that is loosely inspired by the book for the movie Kit's going to be in, A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow. Charlie's running from his past and into his future, he just doesn't know that part yet.

a family who will always show you love

the one where david nelson gets punched at the face by Nick on christmas and absolutely deserves it.

a party full of everyone you know

the one where David shows up at Nick and Charlie's engagement party and he gets the exact welcome that he should (Charlie punching him)

golden as i open my eyes

fluffy standalone oneshot where nick and charlie take a little beach trip to celebrate their engagement.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 46

Finally here, the last scene of the Snowflake story. Was it any good? Did everyone like it? I hope so.

I started it off with such high aspirations and wanted to try and practice better with story structure, but I worry my need to world build and plot out mysteries to follow may have backfired. But everyone can let me know what you think after reading...

    To everyone’s surprise, Mote flew out from Draw’s coat and made a beeline for the red suit of armor. Or more accurately, red autogolem.

    With the yellow fairy presenting itself before it, the autogolem stopped and looked at it with a red glowing eye from within a tiny head that resembled something like an eagle beaked snake.

    “You…,” the autogolem spoke in a chill, metallic voice.

    “Mote!” Draw shouted after the fairy and the autogolem looked up at the group arriving at the giant crystal rose.

    “Or perhaps I am mistaken. This group seems unlikely to be one I would affiliate with you.”

    Rising to its full height, achieved by standing on the toes of its long, curved feet like appendages, the autogolem towered over Rosy and her friends at a meter and half in height. It appeared massively taller than it was though due to the tininess of its head. From each of its minute shoulder pads, an oar head-like piece of metal rose well past it head and furthered the autogolem’s illusion of height.

    “A Ring Mage, and a Yoluku Device. Truly you would not keep such company. Unless things have changed during my slumber.”

    Looking down at the fairy that glared up at it, the autogolem silently pondered its situation. Then it spoke two words that surprised Soinc. “Time Break.”

    Before anyone could react, the autogolem stood before Sonic, a saber in its right hand leveled under Sonic’s chin. Yet it was Sonic who spoke first, and with no sign of concern.

    “Now that’s a nifty little trick I haven’t seen in a while.”

    “Then you are familiar with the arts.”

    “Maybe a little,” Sonic confirmed, lifting his hand, and just barely not touching his pointer finger and thumb together in demonstration. But his playfulness did not linger, and a more serious demeanor settled on him. “Though I’m not fond of having a sword leveled at me either. Looking at you, I’d guess it normally isn’t your style.”

    So close now, it was easy to make out the clockwork workings beneath the autogolem’s delicate exterior. It reminded Sonic of something he’d seen once, and he smirked as he sought to confirm his guess.

    “You’re a knight, right? Like that Claymore the Purple guy? Last time I checked, knights don’t level their swords at the unarmed.”

    “Then Claymore is also woken. And you know him, mage?”

    “No. And I’m no mage. The name’s Sonic, Sonic the Hedgehog.”

    “I see. I am Saber. Saber the Red. A Sword Knight. My apologies, Sonic the       Hedgehog, but I have reasons of my own to be wary, woken from my sleep as I am.”

    Turning away from the group, Saber sheathed his sword into one of his shoulder pads, revealing the nature of their design. With the threat seemingly past, the group started to talk among each other. Except for Rosy who stepped after the autogolem.

    “Hey! What’s the big idea pointing a sword at Sonic!”

    “A medium, and marked by Yoluku,” Saber remarked and looked back over his shoulder. Rosy noticed he avoided direct eye contact, but she let him talk as she puffed up her cheeks. “Curious. What is it that Yoluku is playing at now?”

    “So, you know what Yolk is?” Rosy asked, her mispronunciation getting the autogolem to turn around.

    “You have been made Yoluku’s medium and cannot even…,” The limit of the autogolem’s range of emotions was yet unclear, but it trailed off and began to make a sound very much like laughter. “Hmhmhmhmhm…”

    “Hey! Don’t laugh at me!”

    “Let it go kid,” Sonic interrupted Rosy and put an arm between her and the autogolem. “We got what we came for and Mighty is looking pretty tired lugging that radio around everywhere.”

    “It’s really nothing at all–”

    “Play along would you Mighty,” Sonic held a hand up and whispered back at Mighty.

    “There is little reason to hide your intentions, mage,” Saber responded to Sonic’s attempts to cease engaging the autogolem. Seemingly unbothered and perhaps even amused, he resumed walking away from the group. “All of you, even the medium, are ignorant to what is going on. It is an amusing game that Yoluku plays at.

    “But I must know, medium,” Saber, paused and shifted his attention back to Rosy. “Inept as you appear–”

    “Hey!”

    “–Yoluku must have sent you for a reason. I would request you tell me.”

    “I don’t know. The cards weren’t clear, and it made you sound like a gift or something. I wasn’t expecting another talking golem.”

    “Another,” Saber asked eying the group suspiciously. “Curious that you did not mention Claymore. But I have little time if Yoluku has called for me. If we are to continue this exchange of knowledge, it is best we meet away from the hollows of this fading snowflake.”

    Advancing on the crystal rose that he had been stationary at before, Saber again drew his sword, and with a single motion split the massive rose in two.

    “What are you doing!” Rosy shouted out in surprise, but any answers forth coming were cut off by a sudden sneeze from Sonic.

    Rubbing his nose, Sonic made to run. “Time to go everyone!”

    ~I wasn’t expecting to suddenly have to leave. It’s a good thing everyone else could keep up. There wasn’t much reason for it that we could come up with for why everyone was possessed of speed matching Sonic’s, well except for Draw who had made a Ring Bond with Mote. But even the autogolem, Saber, seemed to have Sonic’s speed, or maybe was even faster.

    ~I’m sure Sonic would disagree. But, as the entire floating city began to collapse after Saber destroyed the crystal rose and we made it back to Blister’s airship, he was already waiting for us.~

    “So, it was by airship that you arrived. Curious, considering you are with a Ring Mage.”

    “I’d really appreciate it if you got off my ship,” Blister insisted. “I can’t even use my own autogolems with this golem hunter here.”

    Looking at Draw, Blister gave him an exasperated look and irritated the koala. Rosy gave Saber reason to pay attention to her however and asked him a question while the mouse and koala argued.

    “I don’t know how you got here ahead of us, but I’m glad you did so I can ask you what’s going on and why you destroyed that crystal rose? Is the whole city going to fall apart? What about the seed people?””

    “I figured a naïve medium such as yourself still had questions for me, but it was best to speak under Yoluku’s gaze.”

    “I don’t care about that creepy little planet up there, unless this Gear Star Ring in my eye is because of it!”

    “You fail to pronounce Yoluku and come up with your own names for the Yoluku Device. I am amused. But the Ring Mage with you surely must know the nature of the Yoluku Device.”

    “I already told you, I’m not a mage,” Sonic interjected on his own behalf. “But if you know something…”

    “It is best to let you play Yoluku’s game,” Saber laughed and leapt up with a burst of fire well above the ship. With a spin the autogolem’s arms transformed into a pair of wings and it flew off into the distant stormy clouds through which Yoluku watched them all.

    ~I don’t know what I expected when we went to that weird city in the sky. We were just looking for a Ring Radio for Blister, and maybe so we could get a better connection with Tails. I never expected to find Gill and Mighty. Or to see those weird seed people ghosts. And that knight, he was as weird as the city was creepy. And we didn’t even really talk. He woke up and left. Well, not without breaking what I think was holding the city together.

    ~As Blister’s ship pulled away into the clouds itself, the whole city crumbled away into dust. It was like a melting snowflake, just like Saber said it was, and only the Ring Radio we came seeking remained to prove we had this little adventure. And maybe that weird knight autogolem, wherever he flew off to.

    ~Just who were you? It would have been nice and so much less anticlimactic if we could have talked more…~

-|-

    In the city of Tower Point, Claymore the Purple stood watching Yoluku in the sky above the observatories that tipped a great deal of the towers from which the city earned its name. His arms were crossed, but he was sure he saw it, even as the red lightning bolt crack that arced across the sky from horizon to horizon surely obscured it.

    “So, you’ve woken then as well, traitor,” Claymore spoke to the sky at large. “Then perhaps it is time I seek out the rest of the order. Ho! It will be good to see them all after so long. Perhaps I can even find them all before the banquet.

    “No matter. As before, we will win Yoluku’s game and not let the seal fall.”

Scene 46 · CLEARED Snowflake, End

-----

So, that’s a wrap on Snowflake. It was a mystery at the start, and a lost mystery at the end. there were perhaps answers to everyone’s questions within, but new and seeming traitor of a Sword Knight, Saber the Red flew away. I wonder if this story really reached a climax, or if it just feels like the next stepping stone in the Journey. Regardless, as long as everyone enjoyed and is looking forward to what comes next, I’ll be happy! Thank you everyone!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Your Friendly Neighborhood Assassin ♥ – Tadayoshi Makino – FINAL FANTASY XV Original Soundtrack (Volume 2【2/2】)

Fair Use Disclaimer

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

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

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

[whoacanada]

Zimbits fic  - ‘I know you are, but what am I?’

Magic AU, inspired by ‘The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina’

Word Count: 3k+

Summary: After the Falconers take the Stanley Cup, Eric begins to notice his life changing in unwelcome ways. Good thing he has a loving partner who would never hide anything from him. 

Right?

Notes: Witchcraft. Nothing too intense, if you’ve seen the netflix show, that’s worse than this.

Crossposted to Ao3

“MooMaw? This is Jack, he’s a friend from college.”

Bitty's grandmother bypasses Jack’s outstretched hand and slaps her hands firmly on Jack’s cheeks, pulling him down to stare him in the eye. She’s small enough Jack has to bend at the waist, but she seems to appreciate his cooperation, even as the rest of the family begin stammering apologies.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jack says, words muffled by the hands squishing his face. She narrows her eyes at him and looks past a horrified Suzanne to Bitty, who is probably bright red with embarrassment. Rightly so.

“You didn’t tell me he’d been touched, Dicky.”

At the time, Bitty had been so horrified he hadn't quite caught the intent of what his grandmother had said. 

“I’m sure the boys are tired, mother,” Suzanne interjects with a forced smile nudging them both toward the stairs. “Dicky, you want to show Jack where he’ll be sleeping?”

In retrospect, Bitty should have seen the signs for what they were.

In the months following the Falconers’ title, and Bitty’s own glorious rise into the court of public opinion thanks to his lack of foresight, life had been good. Then, suddenly, almost overnight, it wasn’t.

Between classes in Samwell and and nights with Jack in Providence, Bitty tries to sleep. When he manages to, he dreams. If they can be called ‘dreams’. Terrible nightmares and beautiful visions come in equal measure. Every night, every nap, he’s given another piece of a puzzle he can’t hope to comprehend. He wakes up more exhausted than when he laid down and most mornings he’ll wake up and stare out the window to watch the sun rise. It’s as much as he can manage — to let nature handle whatever is happening within him.  

Eventually, Bitty can’t sleep at all. By the seventh night, unable to vlog, and eating ice cream straight from the carton in an effort to stay awake, Bitty gives up.

Jack's season is over so Bitty has no guilt about kicking his boyfriend awake.  

"Hnn?" Jack rolls over and looks at Bitty blearily. "Whatzit? Bits?"  

"I can't sleep."

Jack drifts back under almost immediately and Bitty resists the urge to drag him off the bed in retaliation. At least for the time being, he's in this alone.

The extra linens are in the hall closet — Bitty doesn't bother with stealing blankets from beneath Jack's sprawled body, star-fished across the entire bed like he's half-Kudzu.

"Rude," Bitty whispers, tickling behind Jack's knee to make him twitch so Bitty can snatch Señor Bun from where he's being crushed beneath Jack's thigh. He throws on Netflix in the living room, wraps up in a heavy quilt, and spends the rest of the morning regretting his life decisions.

When Jack finally emerges from the bedroom at 6am, Bitty greets him with an exhausted, guilt-inducing, "I can't live like this." Jack, bless him, takes the hint and immediately starts on making breakfast; a real one with omelets and bacon and a noticeable lack of protein powder.

"You should call in," Jack insists when Bitty can barely keep his eyes open long enough to feed himself. "You're exhausted."

"Something's wrong. With me. With the bed. Something. I can't work if I can't sleep. Can't do anything if I can't sleep."

Bitty startles when a fork appears in front of him: a neat, steaming square of egg held patiently by his partner. He doesn’t remember seeing Jack actually cooking, only prepping.

"You nodded off," Jack says, answering a question Bitty hasn’t asked, and he almost misses the look of knowing concern that flits over Jack's features. Empathy at best, sympathy at worst. "Open up. You need to eat something."

"You don't have to feed me," Bitty protests, even as he opens his mouth.

"Started after the Cup? Just insomnia?" Jack continues, cutting another piece of the omelette before feeding it to Bitty.

"Nightmares. Mostly. Then insomnia."

"Hmm."

"What, you think you know what it is?"

"I have an idea," Jack hands back the fork and scoots back from the table, running a hand along Bitty's back as he heads back to the kitchen. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

"Hon?"

Jack is quiet long enough Bitty thinks he may have left the room. Instead, when he looks up, he finds Jack intently tapping on his phone.

"You should call in today," Jack repeats, this time as an order, not looking up from the device. "My parents are still in town and Maman has been bugging me about spending quality time with you. Use that spa package the Falcs gave us. Go spend the day with her, see if you can relax. I'll have a new mattress by the time you get back."

"You don't have to do that, it's just me being me. Much as I love your mother.”

"What's the point of having this life if I can't take care of you?" Jack's gaze flicks back up to Bitty, distant, like his attention is suddenly on another matter entirely. “Let me do this.”

Bitty gives in because, really, what else can he do?

Truth be told, Bitty can’t remember all of what happened between leaving the apartment, meeting Alicia (”Oh, you poor thing.”), and ending up back home. 

True to Jack's word, there's a new mattress on their bed: a delightfully plush pillow top that seems to be off-gassing lavender; but the relaxing scent is warring with something pungent and curiously damning.

"Is that sage?" Bitty asks, taking off his coat.

“Smudging. Shitty's idea," Jack admits, sniffing reflexively. "Get out the bad energy. Or something. Worth a shot."

“Oh, here.” Jack hands Bitty a slip of paper, on it, a note written in Jack’s own scratchy hand, is a string of French Bitty is ashamed to admit he still doesn’t understand. “For relaxation. You say it in the shower, before bed, anytime you need to calm down.”

Bitty falls face first onto the bare mattress, and, for the first time in what feels like weeks, he’s out like a light.

“What are we making today,” Jack hands Eric a single egg, eyebrows dancing. “Taking suggestions?”

“You wish, this is for Angelique in the front office. Promise made, promise kept—” Eric splits the egg and a red, bloody yolk drops into the the batter, startling them both.

“Crisse,” Jack curses, snatching the bowl to inspect it before dumping the whole mess in the trash.

“Ugh. No brownies, then?” Eric jokes, trying to calm himself as Jack takes the carton from the fridge and cracks another egg over the trash. This one is fine: a healthy, expected orange. “I’ve never seen that before? I’ve been cooking my entire life, MooMaw had chickens and I’ve never—”

“It happens sometimes,” Jack grouses, breaking normal egg after normal egg before handing Eric the last one still clutched safely in his fist. “Here. Try again.”

“Just throw out the whole mess, hon,” Eric waves Jack’s hand away but the man is insistent. “I’ll go to the market and try a different brand. Maybe this wasn’t the best plan for today.”

“One more, for me,” Jack urges. “I’ll buy more. Just, please.”

“Money is not the issue, here,” Eric takes the blue-green egg from Jack’s palm and cracks it on the edge of a spare bowl. He misjudges the strength of the shell and the whole thing crushes between his fingers, smearing rancid red and black all over the counter.

“Fuck! What’s wrong with it?!”

“…Spoiled.” Jack spits, snatching a dishtowel from the oven. The explanation makes zero sense to Eric, not that he’s level headed enough to think it through when the smell hits him.

“Oh, Lord, I’m gonna be sick —”

“Bath,” Jack blurts, guiding Eric to the sink, tapping the faucet on. “You need to take a bath. Right now. I’ll get the water started.”

“Wait, Jack —”

But he’s already gone.

“I just took a shower,” Eric laments, trying not to look down as he scrubs the gunk from his hands and under his nails. “But I guess this is disgusting enough to warrant another one.”

“Bath,” Jack calls from the bedroom. “No showers. Rinse it off and come in here.”

Jack's got the water running and at least six of Eric's good beeswax 'date-night' candles lit.

"We aren't making rancid egg goo sexy, are we?"

"Of course not," Jack's taking off his shirt which implies otherwise. "I'm gross, too."

"Yeah, you are," Bitty is trying to be playful but there's still red under his nails.

"Get in. You first."

Bitty’s barely settled when Jack slides in behind him, water sloshing dangerously close to the top of the tub, never quite going over. It’s nice. They haven’t done this in a while. Too long. Though, this doesn’t feel much like a romantic evening, more like a disgusting afternoon as Jack loops his arms around Bitty’s torso and holds him tight, murmuring something not quite English, not quite French, in a soothing, but hurried tone.

“Bits?” Jack, breaks for a moment, running his fingers over something on Eric’s hip. “What is this?”

“Hmm?” Eric looks down and finds Jack poking at his birthmark with no small measure of interest. “What?”

“I don’t remember having seen it before.”

“Oh, that darn thing? I’ve had it forever. Usually, I throw a little concealer over it or something.”

“Since when? Doesn't matter. That seems like a lot of effort for a birthmark. It’s not ugly, and I’ve never noticed it before now.”

“Oh, I hate it. I’d get it removed but no dermatologist I’ve seen will touch it. Who knows.”

“Who wanted it removed? You?”

“My grandmother,” Eric sighs, reaching down to poke where Jack’s fingers are resting. “Not MooMaw, Coach’s mother, Grandma Catherine. Apparently, she wouldn’t hold me as a baby because she thought it was a bad omen,” Bitty doesn’t mention how she’d terrorized his poor mother and ultimately ended up banned from the Bittle-Phelps household.

“She sounds like a bitch,” Jack mutters after a moment, catching Eric’s hand beneath the water, lacing their fingers.

“She was,” Bitty breathes, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch as Jack begins whispering again.

Bitty startles, phone falling between the pillows and hitting the floor with a low thud. He can't reach it.

"Of course," Bitty sighs, kicking off the sheets to slide out of bed and start a blind search. He doesn't find his phone immediately, though he does feel a mess of dirt and grime beneath his fingers. "Our cleaning service has not been doing a great job," Bitty complains to himself, finally getting a grip on his phone. "Gonna have to tell Jack — ”

When he pulls back his hand is covered in dust. His phone as well. Far too much to be explained away by a lazy cleaning crew. Or maybe just a lazy boyfriend.

Bitty grabs the base of the bed and pulls, frame squealing in protest of the action, and when he's made enough progress Bitty turns on his flashlight and illuminates half of a good sized ring of something that had previously been directly under his and Jack's bed. It's dark lines of paint, crushed leaves, a puck, and —

"Señor Bun!"

Bitty snatches his stuffed rabbit from the center of the circle and hugs him tight, trying not to overreact about whatever mildly-satanic insanity has been going on beneath him while he sleeps. Bitty snaps a photo of the scene and texts it to Jack with a succinct message of 'Please tell me this is you'.

"Don't you lie to me, Mister," Bitty whispers, dragging the bed back to cover the symbols like somehow covering it back up will make it go away.

Jack's reply is immediate.

‘Oh you found it’

[…]

‘Happy Halloween?’

“Bullshit,” Bitty growls, clutching Bun tight. “You hate Halloween.”

He texts Jack as much.

“Bits, look at me,” Jack holds his gaze firmly, though he’s attempting to be playful. “We’re going to do some word association, alright? I’m going to say some things and you just answer with the first thing that pops into your mind.”

“Okay,” Eric laughs. “If we must.”

“Alright, let’s start now. Ready?”

“Sure.”

“Dark Lord.”

“Voldemort.”

“Coven.”

“Jessica Lange.”

“Uh, how about ‘familiar’?”

“Overly,” Eric winks.

This isn’t the answer Jack seems to be looking for.

“Fuck,” Jack sighs.

“Me?” Eric chirps, earning a playful, halfhearted shove in return.

“Easy --”

“You.”

“Shut up,” Jack tugs Eric into his lap and snuggles him tightly. “Game’s over.”

“Well, you are. Easy, that is,” Eric laughs between kisses. “You did this to yourself! With your spooky wordplay.”

“You really are clueless, aren’t you?” Jack mumbles, pressing his lips to Bitty’s neck.

“Ouch,” Bitty swats his boyfriend’s arm. “Unnecessary.”

Jack dodges the comment and goes quiet, his lips still against Bitty’s skin as if someone has pressed a pause button on their evening.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Jack says finally. “About me, and I really don’t want to scare you.”

“You cheatin’ on me?”

It’s the first thing that pops into Bitty’s head and he feels foolish for even saying it aloud when Jack snorts and shakes his head; which Bitty feels more than sees.

"Fuck no. Not in a million years. This is different. When I turned 16, I had to make a decision,” Jack awkwardly maneuvers around Bitty to stand them face-to-face. "I got lucky, because of my parents, their standing, but I . . . you know I'm not like everyone else, right?" Jack says, resting his hand on Bitty's cheek in what he probably intends to be a comforting gesture. “The others?”

“You’re . . . talking about the draft, right?” Bitty hazards.

Jack frowns, expression far too sober for Bitty to play this off as a joke, and holds his other hand up, revealing a small, violet flame cupped in his palm; so small and quaint it could be mistaken for a party trick. Bitty doesn’t even hear Jack’s warning as he reaches out to touch.

“What! How are you doing that -- Ow!”

“It's fire, bud,” Jack chastises, immediately checking the burn. 

“Because purple fire is normal,” Bitty sticks his finger in his mouth and glares at Jack before the weight of the moment catches up to him. “How did you do that?”

“I’m a member of the Church of Night.”

“Which is what.”

“I have supernatural abilities.”

"So, you're, like, a witch, then?"

“Give me your finger,” Jack tugs Bitty’s hand from his mouth and kisses the burn before whispering something against the red skin. The pain vanishes alongside the mark, which is not the most troubling part about the moment they're sharing. “Warlock,” Jack corrects, swiping a bit of stray saliva from the corner of his lip. “Try again,” the light dancing in Jack's palm is back, larger and terribly enticing. “Go on, Bits, it won’t hurt you, now that I know you’re just gonna go for it.”

Bitty reaches out a second time and Jack doesn’t recoil as the purple flames, cool to the touch, grow larger and dance between Bitty's fingers.

“You’re taking this really well.”

"This doesn't seem so scary," Bitty admits, leaning into the half truth as he pulls back to check his skin for any burns; Jack makes a fist, extinguishing the flame.

In another world Bitty actually possesses the confidence he's pretending to exude. In reality, he's low-key terrified; fighting off an existential crisis and trying to keep his composure as the man he loves tells him not only that magic is real, but that he himself is some kind of witch, and not a fun one. He’s something much more traditional that Bitty has not been raised to be comfortable with.

"Pyrokenisis is difficult," Jack defends, sounding like his old self again. "Most don't attempt it until they have years of experience with conjuration."

Just like that they're back to normal. Jack's air of mystery vanishes as he petulantly snaps another flame into existence, this one almost white and much larger. Bitty has flashes of his freshman year when a Quinnipiac d-man doubted the strength of Jack's slap-shot and Jack 'accidentally' cracked a pane of glass on the next shift.

Classic Zimmermann ego.

"Not just a hockey prodigy, then? Kind of a big deal off the ice, too, I bet," Bitty teases, hiding his fear behind humor as Jack goes pink and the flame falters. "You ever cursed anyone?"

Bitty watches Jack's left eyebrow twitch.

"Who was it?"

Jack's lips thin, though Bitty can tell the gesture isn't in irritation at being caught. The man is fighting a smile.

"It doesn't matter. Anything that happened was deserved."

"In that case, I have a lot of questions?" Bitty says once he's rediscovered his voice.

"And I'll answer all of them," Jack insists, bravado vanishing as he sags with relief. "Soon. Promise. Everything and anything you want to know."

"Have to admit, I'm a little intimidated," Bitty steps into Jack's space and allows himself to be pulled into his boyfriend's arms, trying not to tense. "Silly me, thinking I was the only secret you were hiding."

"I can have secrets. Makes me interesting." Jack runs his hand along Bitty's back.

“Makes you stressed,” Bitty counters.

“Also true.”

"What does all of this mean for me?"

"I don't know, yet. Still trying to figure that part out."

Bitty takes a moment to think about his life, then grabs Jack’s hand and drags him to their bedroom. He leaves Jack standing in the doorway to grab the corner of the bed frame and drag it sideways, revealing the madness beneath.

“Explain.”

"It's a protection ward." Jack doesn't miss a beat. "I laid it down after the egg incident. Didn't want to risk anything happening."

"To me."

"To you." Jack affirms, walking across the room to kneel and nudge a stone back into shape. "I have enough wards on me the only person who can hurt me is me, evidently," Jack looks up, apologetic. "I was worried about all the attention on you."

"If it’s for protection, does that mean people want to hurt me?"

Jack licks his thumb and smears something that could be ink. Or paint. Its viscous, a dark color Bitty can't identify and doesn’t want to examine too closely.

"One would be too many for me," Jack answers, wiping his hand on his jeans. "Better safe than sorry."

"Okay, so," Bitty kneels down beside his boyfriend and points at an off-white lump in the leaf pile. "Is this a tooth?"

The sheepish look is back.

"Euh, yeah, don't worry, it's one of mine."

"Oh, that doesn't make me not worry, Sugar. Not reassuring at all,” Bitty toes a leaf over the tooth, hiding it from view. “Don’t recall much human bits in the ��good magic’ column.”

Jack flashes a smile, like they’re sharing a secret. Which, Eric realizes, they are.

“This isn’t like tv, bud. Though it doesn’t do itself any favors in the way of aesthetic, I’ll admit that much.”

“Can you…show me, um,” Eric nudges a leaf with his socked toe. “Some more? Maybe?”

The smile on Jack’s face is as wide and bright as Bitty has ever seen.

“Yeah, bud, I’d love to.”

[symbiosisqueen]

With Great Doggo Comes Great Responsibility | Part 1 [1/2]

Pairing: Symbrock

Universe: Family AU

Overview: V is determined to give their kids the best they can. They’ve heard that having pets works wonders for children and so when they and Eddie come across a friendly stray dog they’re absolutely positive that it needs to join their family. 

A/N: First of two parts. Enjoy the obligatory pet adoption fic!

Next

Read on AO3

Previous Drabbles:

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

Cookies and Cream

Next Drabbles:

With Great Doggo Comes Great Responsibility | Part 2

Eddie crouched down before the excited creature before him, running his fingers through its short fur while it huffed at him happily. “Teach them responsibility, Eddie!” came the excited voice of his Other, “Good for them!” they added. The symbiote was determined to get their human partner to agree, they’d seen many sections on the benefits of owning pets for both adults and children alike during their late-night television marathons.

“We don’t have the room, dear,” Eddie tried to reason, trying to not let the animal’s sweet face and loving licks get to him, “We certainly don’t have the money to feed her, and who will look after her?” he tried.

The large Pitbull, an older female, had been the only witness to the battle that had just taken place and while she had at first been nervous around Venom, she seemed to have taken to them quickly. She had bright blue eyes and her coat was white with large brown splotches all over. Her tail was wagging so quickly that her whole lower half was shaking rapidly and drips of drool dribbling from her wrinkled face.

“We can walk her, Eddie, share meat with her!” his lover continued, “Our children, they can help look after her.” There was little way that they would be convinced that taking home the stray animal was anything other than a great idea.

Eddie sighed softly, giving the dog a final pat before he straightened up, “And what if she doesn’t get on with the children?” he asked, frowning at the long stretch of silence that followed. The answer was obvious, but it seemed that his partner refused to acknowledge it. As far as they were concerned it was an excellent idea, but without the approval of their currently more rationally thinking husband they would drop the issue, albeit with a touch of disappointment.

It had grown late, and the pair began on their way home, stepping out of the dark of the alleyway and out onto the main street. There were very few people still out and those that were were headed out to early morning shifts. The sun would soon rise, and like baby birds, their spawn would wake, hungry and full of energy. Once they were home they would begin cooking breakfast so that everything would be ready for when their children awoke.

Thanks to the very little amount of sleep his Other needed, Eddie found that he could easily run on their combined energy and spend less and less time resting. This meant that they could take some time to rest in the afternoon to the early evening when crime was usually low before they would head out and spend the rest of the night on the prowl for danger and gathering food.

They had walked a few blocks, and Eddie was quick to notice that a certain four-legged friend was following their every move. He could feel the smugness that radiated from his Other, and he glanced backwards, spotting the dog a few feet away. She stopped the moment Eddie stopped, perhaps trying to keep her following discreet.

“Wants to come with us, Eddie,” V tried to reason, and Eddie could feel their smile, even if they currently possessed no physical form.

Eddie looked away, continuing their walk. He could hear claws on concrete, it was a sound that he was very familiar with. He tried to ignore it for the most part, but it grew more and more difficult with how his lover grew increasingly more pleased with themselves. It was only when they reached the door to their apartment building that he finally turned around again.

The large dog was still stood just a few feet away, her tail beginning to swish slowly as she cautiously lowered her head as if asking permission to approach. “Followed us home!” the symbiote hummed, absolutely giddy, “Can’t turn her away, Eddie, must help. Dog is innocent, needs shelter, needs a home.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly in defeat, “Alright, alright. But only a few days, until we can find her a home.” He finally resigned himself to his inevitable fate – it seemed as though he was destined to have an ever-growing family – he pulled his keys from the pocket of his jacket, pushing open the door as soon as it was unlocked.

He looked back over to the dog who had tilted her head in interest. “Come on then,” he called. The moment he spoke the words the dog practically jumped forward into a run, her mouth splitting into a wide, grin-like smile. Once she reached them she jumped up, placing her front paws on Eddie’s chest before pushing off of him and racing inside.

Shaking his head briefly in amusement, Eddie followed the dog inside, pausing to lock the door behind them. He gave the dog another call, and she was quick to follow him up the few flights of stairs up to their floor. As soon as the door to their apartment was unlocked the dog raced inside, her nose pressed to the ground as she sprinted around, trying to sniff every inch of her new territory.

Eddie took a moment to remind the symbiote that it was only temporary and that the dog would have to go soon. His lover, of course, knew that it wouldn’t take much pulling on Eddie’s heartstrings to get him to cave and accept their newest addition to the family, even if he would try to deny it vehemently, to begin with.

The children had taken to sleeping in their parents’ bed when they went out for the evening, finding safety in the familiar scent covering the sheets and pillows. The door to the room had been closed before they left, and so the dog and children remained separate for the time being.

Eddie’s other reminded him subtly that they still needed to prepare some breakfast, and so the two of them moved to the freezer, producing a packet of hash browns that he promptly opened and placed on a baking tray. V materialised from his back, reaching over to the fridge to gather up some bacon and eggs while Eddie placed the potato in their small oven.

They both moved in complete synchronisation as they worked on the meal, even if they had to now learn to step over the canine who was eagerly sniffing at the food as it cooked. They almost seemed to move on autopilot and it felt only like a few minutes before the hash browns, eggs and bacon were all cooked.

Simple as their meal may have sounded, each of the children had their own preferences on eggs. Carnage liked his eggs scrambled, he seemed to enjoy the fact that it was rather messy and all over the place. Scream and Agony liked their eggs sunny-side up, so they could see the pretty yellow of the yolk, but their siblings Riot and Phage liked the opposite. Lasher and Sleeper loved their eggs boiled since they enjoyed pulling the tiny bits of shell off them. Fortunately, the hash browns and bacon were far easier to cook.

Once they were done, Eddie filled an old bowl with water before placing it on the ground for the dog who eagerly lapped it up, her tail wagging gently to signal her gratefulness. He then placed down a plate with a few rashers of bacon, letting her have a share in their breakfast. She chomped down on the food, swallowing the meat and licking her chops.

While Eddie watched the canine eat, his symbiote crept away and opened up the door to their shared bedroom, slithering across the floor and towards the bed. They looked over the mattress, smiling fondly at the pile of aliens that were all curled up together, sleeping soundly, buried under the blankets and some soft pillows. They reached out with a handful of tentacle-like extensions to prod softly at their resting spawn, slowly waking them.

Carnage perked up immediately, grinning when they saw their parent before jumping onto their siblings, “Vivi’s home, Vivi’s home!” they chanted, scrambling over the others as they race towards the older symbiote. “We have food?” They ask, ignoring the disgruntled groans at being so rudely disturbed.

The Venom symbiote gave a nod of their serpent head, “We have breakfast ready, and a new friend for you to meet.” Their words catch the attention of some of the other children who are quick to look up.

“New friend?” Scream asked, shimmying across the bedsheets with an excited squeak. Their other siblings galivanted quickly to their parent’s side, bobbing up and down as they all unleashed a flood of questions about this new companion upon their parent. They merely laughed at their children’s enthusiasm, gesturing for them to follow with an inky tendril.

Carnage was the first to jump from the safety of the bed, barrelling across the creaky floor and through the door into the next room. They were quick to skid to a halt, only narrowly avoiding slamming into Eddie, who had come to greet the rest of the family. At his side, the dog tilted her head, looking down at the bright red creature with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

She took a step forward, sniffing at the strange blob, watching as they extended a red tendril in their direction. With a few pokes of her nose, the dog seemed to realise that Carnage was of no danger, in fact, she went as far as to give the symbiote a lick to the side of the face, earning a surprised squeal in response.

The Pitbull’s tail was thrashing about as she started huffing happily as she began to attack the alien’s face with doggie kisses. By then, Carnage’s siblings had all appeared and were spread out to surround the animal as they watched the interaction with interest. Once they saw that their older sibling was perfectly fine, they too drew close, petting the dog gently with their tentacles like they’d seen people do on the television.

They knew that dogs were not for eating, they were friends that needed to have lots of snuggles and pets to be happy and healthy. They were all fascinated, playing with the strange texture of the canine’s fur, exploring its strange shape. Fortunately, she seemed to somehow know that they were only young and was tolerant of their invasive jabs and touches.

“Who is puppy?” Lasher questioned, looking up at their Vivi while they wriggled about.

They glanced up at their husband who was happy to answer for them, “We’ll be looking after her, at least until we can find her a home,” Eddie explained, “She doesn’t have a name yet, though, what do you think little darlings?”

A chorus of voices rang out, “Killer!” Carnage shouted.

“Spot!”

“Doggy!”

“Biter!”

“Fluffy!”

Sleeper, while unable to actually add any suggestions, was loudly chirping along with their siblings, not entirely aware of what they were all saying. However, the sound seemed to catch the dog’s attention and she approached the youngest member of the family, licking Sleeper’s face as she would a small pup. She seemed to have a true motherly instinct, already caring for the new members of her pack, different as they may have been from any descendant of her own species.

“Those are all excellent names, children,” Eddie laughed softly. “What about you, Lasher, what do you think we should call her?” The green symbiote had stayed oddly quiet throughout the conversation, preferring to simply pet their new friend, but now they looked up, seeming to spend a long moment in thought.

“Lassie!” they trilled happily, seeming to gain confidence when several of their siblings voiced their agreement. Recently, the children had been watching an old television program about a dog of the same name and it seemed that they had all taken a liking to the heroic character. “Lassie! Lassie!” chanted the excited younglings, jumping up and down.

“What do you think, V?” Eddie asked, trying to keep down the fond smile that kept trying to take over his face. His lover hummed a soft affirmative, not bothering to hide their entertainment as they were rewarded with cheers from their tiny spawn.

“Still think Killer is best,” Carnage mumbled softly as they reached out to their father, clambering up his arm once Eddie held out a hand to them. They were far too old to be watching such a silly children’s show, they didn’t enjoy watching it at all. They just so happened to be there coincidentally at eleven thirty every weekday.

“Aww, won’t you be a good older sibling and let them have this, Carn?” Eddie teased, grinning when the symbiote pouted slightly.

“Fineee-” the alien groaned loudly, tilting their head back dramatically, “Only because I’m best sibling,” they assured him. They looked down silently, watching as their younger nest mates continued to play with their new pet.

“You certainly are,” Eddie agreed with a smirk. “But you must be hungry,” he suddenly said, watching as Carnage’s eyes lit up again, “does the best sibling want their breakfast?” It was rather adorable the way his face split open into an unnaturally wide smile at the mention of food.

“Yes! Hungry!” Carnage wriggled around, somehow managing to stay perched on his precarious position on Eddie’s shoulder whilst doing so. “Want bacon, lots of bacon, and eggs! Can squish all the eggs and crunch the crispy bacon with my teeth!”

Eddie merely nodded as he wandered over to gather the children’s meals, already planning the inevitable clean up that would be needed after the chaos that was breakfast. 

[sialaterornever]

okay okay okay, going back to my split yolks au (temp name for this awful idea also please read that for context before continuing

also prepare for one hell of a textpost

ive been thinkin bout how split!charlie would... work

like... do I give him another name? cuz he is very different

making sy!slime a zombie hybrid just because i can while we're at it

im leaning towards the name semil? just.... rearranging the letters slime bc yeah

okay, past that stupidness, also i realized how his aging would work bc the federation would probably be figuring out a way to reage him up without waiting another 20+ years to get charlie slimccl back

so, after two weeks or so, they take charlie and test their first age-up thingie. and it works! kinda

now toddler charlie is kid charlie, bout the same traits as the eggs and no long baby

he can actually speak english, mildly knows spanish, relies on communicator for portuguese and french

the islanders ig tell him that theyve been taking care of him, he vaguely remembers, calls everyone aunts & uncles like the eggs (except he maybe calls mike big bro :))

and here's where my idea splits. either

a. they attempt to turn charlie back into his original state... which means also attempting to give him back the childhood trauma he had

or

b. turning him into a federation sleeper agent/full on federation brain wash

the former haas much more angst, since im gonna incorporate a pinch of scu 100 days and maybe a touch of godcicle if i feel up to it? also gonna add a dash of even more childhood trauma :)

idk, might make a poll for this if people want ro see me write. i already have the first part with cucurucho meeting sy!slime written and donezo

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

The Price of Privilege - Part 7 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: Angst / Romance / Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU

Characters: Kyungsoo X You

Description: The time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

His hands were fisted into white balls at his thighs as the agitation pulsed through his chest. The woman beside him, wearing her fancy jewels and that god-forsaken ball gown that she had been on and on about for weeks clicked her tongue with a dismissive shake of her head.

“Oh don’t start. You knew it was out of the question. We have a charity function and then a press conference. You will attend with a smile on your face and I don't want to hear any more nonsense about sports games with these friends of yours.”

“But Mom, you said--” He knew it was useless, but he couldn't help it. He rarely ever asked for anything and now that he finally had some friends, now that he had finally been invited to something with them instead of spending every single day alone like he had grown so used to, he’d admittedly gotten a bit of a taste for it. And this game was the first thing that she had invited him to herself. He could still feel the warmth of her hand where she grabbed his pinky and intertwined it around her own and the way her face lit up when he gave in and promised he would come. And now, he had been stupid enough to get his hopes up that he might actually be able to make it.

She smoothed her perfectly manicured hands over the skirt of her dress with her lips pursed and eyebrows level on her face. Not even the tension he saw flashes of in the irises of her brown eyes would wrinkle her skin. She had too much composure within her being for that. “--you said you would think about it. Even Baekhyun is going and--and Sara is going. Mom, I promised Sara--”

He heard the scoff from her mouth.

“Baekhyun--” the name left her lips with a scowl behind it, “has been afforded certain liberties by being born of that woman. He is not in line for the throne, nor is he the son of a queen. You know the crown princes have to live up to a certain standard, Kyungsoo. Minseok and Junmyeon already know these things because they are older and more mature. It’s time for you to grow up and accept your fate. You could be king someday.--

--Where is the driver? What is the holdup?” She peered out the tinted window, her focus pulled to the two men in black suits who discussed something at the door of the garage. Kyungsoo didn't even pay attention to their faces anymore. They were employees. They were the help. They were always faceless and voiceless masses that did as they were told, bowed at the neck, bowed at the waist, bowed on their knees, bowed on the floor. All he ever saw of them were various views of the top of their heads or their backs.

Until Sara, the first one who dared to look up. Dared to look into his face as he walked through the kitchens. The first set of eyes to meet him as a peer, then as a friend. The first person to openly laugh at him when he failed so monumentally at cracking his very first egg into a pan at the stovetop of the servant's kitchen. He’d never been laughed at before and the sound felt shocking at first. He remembered the embarrassment as half of the slippery slimy egg-white splattered down the edge of the pan and the yolk followed, slipping out entirely with a pop it hit the cooktop with a mess of bright yellow and broken shell pieces.

“Remind me who this Sara is again--” It was unusual for his mother to actually pay enough attention to remember faces and names of the insignificant and Kyungsoo snapped his jaw shut like a steel trap, opting for silence now as the crushing disappointment surged up hot inside of him in waves. He wouldn't be able to go. Sara would sit with Baekhyun and they would laugh and cheer for the winning team together as they ate snacks and made inside jokes that they would reference together like some sinful secret that they shared. They would lament on poor Kyungsoo who was never allowed to join them for any of the fun and snigger together when he walked by, unaware and out of the loop. He would be too shy to ask to be let in on the jokes. He would pretend like it didn't bother him one bit...that close together laughter they shared outside of him.

“Oh, is she the cook’s granddaughter? The older one with the speech impediment? She’s a bit odd.”

Kyungsoo didn't know what a speech impediment was and the judgment on her voice raised his defenses. Sara didn't have a damn thing wrong with her. Sara was his friend. She was quiet just like he was. She was genuine and she didn't even care about things like ‘crown prince’ or ‘bastard’. Words that followed him and his brothers like some sort of curse on their heels. Words that segregated them from each other. Allowed to be close, but not too close. Allowed to trust up to a point, but never to cross that point. Because of things like birthrights and betrayals; treasons and royal secrets.

He heard it in her chest with her inhale. It felt like a royal judgment as if she lifted her gavel with the inhale of breath she took and his stubborn eyes turned to his mother seconds before she spoke.

“You need to stay away from that girl, Kyungsoo. She isn’t fit for a prince to associate with. How many times have I told you not to trust people so easily?”

“She’s my friend.” The fear flashed up hot in the back of his throat with what he was sure she was saying. What she always said when he spoke to her about friends and trust.

“People like us don't have friends, Kyungsoo. You have no idea how this world works. She might seem like a friend, but you cannot trust anyone here. I don't know how many times I need to tell you this for you to understand.”

It was happening again. He could feel it slipping through his fingers. Yet another thing in his life that would be taken from him with absolute disregard for what he wanted and the thought of losing something else, of something else being taken from him made the air inside this car feel too stuffy. As if no matter how many deep breaths he took his lungs refused to take the air inside them.

“She’s my f-friend,” his voice was thready to his own ears and he swallowed again and again, trying to keep himself together when all he wanted to do was fight this.

“She is nothing to you, Do Kyungsoo. Don’t you dare make me repeat myself.” Her voice had an aura all of its own and he watched as she lifted a finger in his direction, striking outward with her mighty gavel in his direction. Daring him to disobey. Daring him to even think about it.

The look in his eyes was hard enough to pierce through her own for a split second, despite his complete silence as he sat in the seat beside her. Despite the thick, deafening silence that surrounded him like a fog and transformed him from a well dressed, well-put-together young prince into nothing more than a petulant child holding his breath to get his way.

“When you are older, you will understand why I do these things. I need to protect you from them. I do this to protect you from them Kyungsoo. Because I love you and because I am all you have in here.”

Her reasons meant nothing. All he saw was the sparkle of the jewels around her neck and all he heard was the heavy ax slamming down into his chest. The absolute word of the queen. Words that were as good as gospel and could rip and rage through his world with such grand sweeping laws, promising well intentions, promising future understanding but delivering only pain. Only loneliness, sadness, and isolation.

“Promise me that you will remove her from your life. Or I will be forced to remove her myself.”

He wouldn't cry. He promised himself years ago that he was done with that. Crying did nothing. Begging did even less. The force with which he squeezed his hands together made his bones ache with the efforts and he closed his eyes in defeat.

When the queen removed someone from the palace it usually involved the entire family. Their lives would be upturned. Families would be ripped apart and homes would be broken. He’d seen it happen before with his brothers. When Crown Prince Minseok had taken a stand because of something as trivial as love, the resulting tsunami that flooded through the palace took countless names and swept them away. Kyungsoo remembered the broken look on his brother’s face when the news of her death reached him. Her death by her own hand, or so they told him. Minseok had been 15 at the time and that was the last time he ever used such a stupid word like ‘love’. It was also the last time he felt like a real person. He was no longer Kyungsoo’s older brother Minseok. He was Crown Prince Minseok. He was untouchable. Walls and barriers both physical and emotional built so well, nothing real could ever seep through to touch him ever again.

“What is taking so long?” She was irritated now and she reached for the handle of the car door with purpose, pulling it back with force as she pushed the door open to step outside. The men in the suits huddled with heads together and Kyungsoo watched her retreating back as his emotions flooded through his mind again. Filling him with anger. Desperate anger that flowed through his veins like a busted hydrant. His breathing felt too quick for his lungs to keep up with and he could feel the pounding of his own heart within his chest as he looked around at his surroundings.

The door she vacated still open, the slick slippery leather seats around him. Expensive and extraordinary. The space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats and the illuminated dash lights that looked just like the fancy racing games he played all by himself up in his carefully warded off prison tower. His hands were trembling when he wiped at his brow and he looked out through the open door at the men in suits who had quickly dipped heads, dipped their faces and bent their backs with profuse apologies for the holdup. He would not hear their excuses. They were too far away, but he could see her back, held up high. Chin up in the air and a look of annoyance on her beautiful face.

Kyungsoo’s skin felt warm. He felt alive all of a sudden as the urge to leap flashed through his consideration. He could… he felt just desperate enough to…

The car was on; keys in the ignition with the parking brake engaged and the center shifter in park.

When he leaped, he did it faster than he’d moved before. If he thought about it, he might lose the nerve. He was small and fast and the men in the suits were turning and walking close now. Returning to the car. He couldn't afford to miss the chance and when he leaped, he landed in the driver’s seat, feeling smaller than he had ever felt in his whole life. The pedals and the wheel were father away from him than he anticipated and no amount of straining or reaching could make this feel like driving his racing games up in his room.

A sound shouted out when he pulled the brake up and released the lever. All at once, the men ran, rushing up to the car and the shocked wide eyes of his mother’s face felt sweet on his tongue. It made him laugh, the way she broke her calm careful exterior and moved fast toward him.

‘A queen never runs.’ He said to himself in his best impression of the queen’s flippant voice. Yet she was running now, her big dress flipping and flowing with each step she took and the roar the engine made when he pressed on the gas flooded out his ears, taking each frightful shout from the men and each rough pounding of angry fists on the glass of the driver’s side window and mixing it with the steady roar of that powerful engine. Only the car did not move forward. Looking down he realized he had yet to put center shifter into drive. He had never actually driven a real car before.

Seconds...it took mere seconds for the queen to reach the door. She had somehow managed to reach through the opened back door to unlock the driver's side door beside him and he wondered at her speed. Only for a moment though, because when he felt the warmth of her hands on his chest, on his arms, trying desperately to stop what was happening, he managed to shift into drive and this time when he pushed on the gas the car did move.

The car did move.

And his eyes were closed. The raging inside his own chest burned with each breath and he felt dizzy. His anger, his all-consuming anger had faded with the sickening sounds he heard. With the wetness, he felt against his shoulder and the steady hum of that car engine that roared to life below his feet and all around him.

The car did move, but for only a moment. But it was enough for the woman, for his mother, the queen and the woman who had spent her entire existence finding any and every way to love and protect him, it was enough time for his mother to try and stop it. To try and stop him and to try and stop the car.

The car did not stop. Not with his efforts to turn the wheel, or with his foot angrily stomping on the brakes as she cried out beside him and a new sensation took over his existence. Something different than anger, this was more. This was all-consuming and debilitating. It was fear. It came with the sounds he heard, and with the warm wetness, he felt when that car finally stopped moving forward.

He...He had…

The steel light post, identical to the numerous ones that lined the driveway was what finally stopped it. When his eyes opened, the engine still roared below him and yet the sounds were different. There was a gasping beside him and when he reached his fingers up to touch her face he expected her to scold him. Caught him trying to make off with the car. Caught him trying to make it to his little soccer game with his friends. She’d caught him being bad again, surely the lectures and punishments would be many.

Yet he touched his mother’s face because there was something different there. Her pretty jewels had snapped and lay hanging over her throat. Her beautiful ball gown, torn and stained and ...red now and the light in her eyes, the anger and the admonishing he should have found was gone. Replaced with something else…

He had...He had… The trembling sobs within his own chest took his oxygen from him and the view of her face blurred in the tears that filled his eyes.

“M-Mom,” He whispered to her face and his fingertips ran along her cheek. “Mom?” the word was fractured against his own ears. His voice too high pitched, too frantic for any sense to be made and yet he said it again and again. Louder this time. Sometimes she didn't listen. Sometimes she was too occupied, mind too full of worry for her to hear him the first time. And when a hand reached in through the passenger side to turn off the engine, he didn’t see the faceless person who owned the arm.

Kyungsoo didn't see anything but her face that suddenly looked too still. Too silent and too peaceful and she couldn't hear anything from him anymore.

Faceless men in suits. Those same arms that turned off the engine called to him, pulled at him, urged him to turn and come into their arms but who were they? Who were they to order him around when the queen was here to make those calls? Yet he was pulled at, his cries and pleas ignored as big arms wrapped around his waist and grabbed him, messing up the careful suit his mother had dressed him in.

“Mom!” he screamed at the top of his lungs now as his desperation reached new levels. It was choking him now, or maybe the tight arm around his chest was the one cutting off his words. “Mommy!!” he cried but she didn't move. She didn't listen or hear his words and he felt the stinging in his eyes with his tears as he was pulled away.

“Your Highness.” A worried and hushed voice called to him and he felt hands on his chest that shook him. “Your Highness, wake up.” the voice said again. It was no use, his begging went unheard and he grabbed at the doorframe of the car to try and get back inside.

“Take the prince away at once.” A voice commanded. Louder and harsher than the others that spoke in frantic cries around him.

“Your Highness, please wake up.” the voice begged again, closer now. Clearer than it had been before and he fought against the tears that spilled over his cheeks, running down his face into his temples as he kicked tangled legs against the too hot, too sticky bed sheets. “Prince Kyungsoo, wake up, you’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.” A voice. A calm and quiet voice that sounded just familiar enough to grab along of his attention, his flighty mind that wanted to dive deeper into the horror that haunted him again and again.

“Sara?” Kyungsoo called out into the darkness of his room and the hands that shook his chest stilled for a moment.

“It’s Ara, Your Highness.” She whispered and Kyungsoo’s mind sharpened to her voice. Different. It was different than her sister’s had been, although in the darkness, with the comforting way she spoke to him, sometimes he made the mistake.

“Of course, Ara. I know you aren’t her.” The dream was fading, though it’s effects always lasted for hours within his chest. The memories always felt too vivid after the dreams. Always too bright to douse with liquor or sex. It was hard to drown away the guilt right after the dreams had come.

“You stayed and she left. Of course, you aren’t Sara.” The name of his friend, who he could no longer call a friend, tasted bitter on his tongue and he reached for the glass of water that Ara had placed on the nightstand to wash away the taste.

Sara and the look in her eyes when the rumors spread. After the funeral, when the nation had been told the lie that the queen’s death had been an accident, yet the hushed whispers that followed the prince around like a plague had been enough for their friendship to falter.

He had always been just weird enough, she said once. It’s probably true. I bet he did it and then hid in his room like he always does, he overheard, her voice like knives stabbing straight into his heart.

Because she had been right.

He was a murderer.

-

“It was covered up. As soon as it happened, the queen’s death was covered up.” May gripped both of your hands tightly within her own as she spoke in a whisper and your mouth felt too dry as you leaned in, desperate for every detail she could give you.

“The king remarried the following week and adopted their once illegitimate sons. Officially made Jongin and Sehun heirs to the throne. As if his wife had not just died in a horrific accident the week before, crushed between a light post and a moving car. And why was it moving? They made no efforts to explain. Something about faulty brakes, they said. That was the official story. But the guard, the old man I talked to said that the whole deal had always felt fishy to him.

Plus the queen, the late queen, not Queen Hong, she had come to him two weeks before, asking for his help. Asking for something to protect herself with and he believes that a video exists.” May swallowed hard as her voice strained. She sounded as if she had been silent for too long. Unable to speak of the horrors she now knew of, the things she had been desperate to warn you off. “He said there is a video of the queen’s murder and that the boy has it. He said the boy has it. And it was definitely no accident. It was murder.”

“If...If he can be this heartless. His own mother, Your Highness...you must know that you are unsafe. He will stop at nothing. Who will be next? His brothers? Only two stand in his way to the throne. Minseok and Junmyeon. Once Junmyeon marries into another country he will be removed as a contender of this royal house. Did you know that? Did you know that Junmyeon will abdicate when he marries?”

The information flew from May’s lips like water from a flowing faucet. Things you had never considered. Things you never knew about and you wondered exactly how much of this information she had obtained had been from Prince Sehun. Prince Sehun who was fifth in line to become King. Prince Sehun whose bed she shared and whose child she carried in her own belly.

Prince Sehun whose interests she surely acted on now.

“May, why didn’t you tell me you were seeing Prince Sehun? Why did you keep it from me? Why did you lie to me about that?” You couldn't help it. Your life thus far had been filled with as much deception as luxury. If there was one thing your father had instilled in you time and time again, it was to question everything. Coincidence did not exist. Not in this life.

If May escaped this imprisonment with her life intact and if that child was born, wouldn't she benefit too? Especially if you left, didn’t marry Prince Kyungsoo and broke the promised union between the two countries. He would be cast out, yet again and forced to marry outside of the country, just as Junmyeon had been set up for. Kyungsoo would abdicate and Sehun would be moved up the line, biding his time until Minseok or Jongin didn’t fulfill some requirement of the king and lose their chance.

You could see it all too clearly. The carrot that was dangled just out of May’s reach. Whether or not she spoke with any ill intent, the fact remained that May’s lies to you had seeded your heart with just enough doubt to make you pause. There was a rift now, in the blind affection you held for your best friend.

“Your Highness, I-- I’m sorry. I knew it was forbidden.” May spoke again, though the grip she held your hands with had loosened some. “If you knew--”

“Did you think I would turn you in?” Your question came out louder than you intended. Your own hurt and anger suddenly clear in your voice. “Do you really trust me so little, May?”

“I thought the less you knew, the better.” Her own voice had grown in steadiness as she looked into your eyes, “Why do you think I’m in here and you are out there Your Highness? Because you didn't know anything about it.”

“Once I was caught, and pulled in for questioning,” the word hung on her lips and she looked ahead of herself into the exam room. Her eyes glazed over once and you watched the ghosts of something on her face that you felt deep inside your chest. “I had to...I had to prove that you didn't know anything. I had to prove, just how badly I had deceived you, to keep you safe.”

“But that won't work anymore if you don't get out of that house. I can’t do anything for you anymore, please just believe me.”

“I’m going to find it.” You suddenly spoke up. A fierce determination bubbling up within you that you had never felt before and May closed her mouth and looked into your eyes for a moment. A moment more and she was shaking her head back and forth quickly.

“No, absolutely not,” she commanded but it sounded more like a plea.

“I will find the video. He trusts me. He has no reason not to trust me, I know I can find it. I can get into his room.” The words coming from your own mouth sounded as if they had been spoken by another person and May’s eyes were wide and frantic as she looked into your face.

“It’s too dangerous, you have to get out. If--If he knows you even know about the queen’s death...They cleared out everyone who was there. They made every single member of staff, every single person who was working that day, they made them disappear. They all vanished. Some dead, some just---missing. Your Highness. You can’t.” She was desperate now, trying to fight against that look of pure determination she saw in your eyes. You felt it in your soul too. You had to. It was the best way to help her.

You knew you had to find the truth in order to have any leg at all to stand on here. Or you would lose your best friend as well as any hope you had for a life worth living.

Inside your chest, you could feel it still. That small grain of doubt that had planted itself and grown roots, fueled by May’s lies. Maybe, just maybe...she had been wrong.

Kyungsoo’s eyes and his small touches and the genuine good you knew you felt inside of him. It was just enough to spark a bit. It was just a tiny flame, and it burned deep inside, slow and steady.

A sound at the door pulled your focus suddenly and you lifted the facemask backup to cover your face.

Through the door, moving at a quick speed rushed Prince Baekhyun, still dressed as Nurse Baekhee, but clearly flustered and adjusting the uniform he wore. He tugged at the skirt, pulling it down and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Uhh… we have to go, like, now.” The urgency in his voice doubled with the firm hand he placed on your wrist made you gasp when he pulled you hard and your feet stumbled to keep up.

“May...don’t worry okay,” you tried your best to keep your own voice calm. Yet when you looked back at her you were met with a blank expression on her face.

“Just get out.” She whispered again and you could see the fractured hope vanish from her eyes moments before she closed them and lifted a trembling hand to cover her face as she broke down.

“Baek--Nurse Baekhee, what happened?” You whispered harshly at the back of the prince who pulled you, very quickly down the maze of corridors in an opposite direction from which you had entered.

“Change of plans,” He said with a quick glance behind you and your wrist ached from the hold he had on you. “Sehun texted me, while I was...uh w-with Dante.”

“Anyway...uhh we have to be somewhere else fast. You and I need alibis like...yesterday.”

You felt like your head was spinning and he lead you into a room lined with lockers on one end and bathrooms on the other side. He was quick to lock the door behind him and you watched in awe as he swept the room, checking all doors for any signs of life.

Satisfied, he headed to the lockers, trying each one and met with locked door after locked door until at least, at the end the locker swung open in his hand and he dove inside quickly. His hands were on his clothing and you saw skin. A lot of skin, the man was naked in a flash with barely enough time for you to cover your eyes when he pulled the skirt down to his ankles and quickly rid himself of what sounded like tape, pulled with a gasp and a rip.

“Fuck me, that---ow” he panted into the open locked in front of him and you kept your hands over your eyes tightly. You felt something hit your head, fabric of some type and you looked down at your feet to find a set of clothing. A shirt and some flowy skirt that didn't quite look like something you wanted to wear out in public.

“Put that on,” he said in a low forceful voice and you looked up carefully, wincing at the thought that he might not yet be covered. “Now.” He demanded with wide eyes and you pulled your uniform up over your head as quickly as you could move. At least you had underwear on. It wasn’t like a man such as Baekhyun hadn’t seen a woman in her underwear before right? You were certain it wouldn't phase him one bit.

He was too busy grabbing your ID tag and the uniform from around your feet to make any comments and he shoved the tags into the pocket of the baggy jeans he wore, and tossed the uniforms deep into the trash bins in the corner, carefully burying them and the wig he wore, below the other refuse that had already been inside.

His phone was out and to his ear as he spoke low and fast into the handset and you followed quickly to where he exited the locker room. As he walked, he reached a hand out for the hand sanitizer foam that lined the walls and began wiping away the layers of makeup he wore on his face with a paper towel he had grabbed from the locker room. His skin looked red and angry from the assault but gone were the garish red lips and the deeply stained pink of his cheeks. Gone was the bright, overdone eyeshadow and he pulled the false eyelashes off his lids, tossing the whole made-up mess of Baekhee into a trash can at the door that led to the parking lot.

He bolted through the parking lot to his car and you struggled to keep up. It was already started and running by the time you reached the passenger side door and his tires squealed as he quickly reversed out of his spot and drove through the lot, far away from the medical center where you both had just left May behind.

“Baekhyun, what happened back there.” He was driving very fast and his eyes stayed trained on his rear view mirror as if he half expected someone to be following him.

After a few moments where you wondered if he would actually ever answer your question at all he let out a long sigh that deflated his chest and echoed around the quiet confines of the car.

The light he approached changed to red and you could feel the car decelerate as he finally eased up off the gas pedal and applied the brake. All at once, as if his deep sigh had signaled the end of danger you could feel your pulse returning to a more normal pace and when he pulled the car to a full stop he gasped in a quick breath, lifted a hand to the steering wheel and erupted into a fit of loud frustrated growls as he hit the steering wheel of his car quickly and noisily with his open palm. You visibly flinched at the outburst and leaned far away from him, against the cool window of the passenger seat.

“Goddammit!” He shouted into the space in front of him as if he was speaking directly the windshield of the car and you zipped your lips closed and pulled your hands up over your chest like some sort of useless little shield.

“God-fucking-dammit! Dante!” Baekhyun shouted again once before turning his head toward you and you lifted your hands move, over your neck. You weren't sure why your neck felt so vulnerable in this situation, but his hands were moving fast and you were pretty sure a fist to the neck wouldn't feel particularly good.

“He knew! He knew I was a guy and he said he didn’t care. He said he liked me for me. What the fuck does that mean?” His eyes were wide on you and you shook your own head a minuscule amount, “What am I supposed to do now? Why the fuck is he so perfect? Ugh...” Baekhyun furrowed his brows and scowled, baring his teeth in disgust.

“I hate him. How fucking dare he treat me this way?” He reached and you curled away from him on instinct. If he noticed, he didn't let on as he reached in front of your knees to open the glovebox in front of you. He pulled out a small glass bottle with clear liquid inside and you eyed him as he held the bottle in front of you for a moment, shaking it when you didn’t instantly move to grab it. You took the hint easily enough and held the cold bottle within your waiting hands.

“Drink that,” Baekhyun said in a flat voice and you raised an eyebrow and looked back into his expectant face, not even trying to hide the enormous doubts you had about whatever plans he was now hatching.

“You can’t be sober for this.” He tapped a thin fingertip at the bottom of the glass bottle and you looked at the label that boasted some brand of fine vodka you had never heard of.

“For what..Baekhyun what are you planning?” He sighed again, this time deep and frustrated as he grabbed the bottle from your hands and quickly unscrewed the top, thrusting the bottle once again into your hands.

“Our alibi, Princess. You have to be drunk enough for Kyungsoo to come and pick you up and It should be my fault that you are there. Everyone knows I’m the troublemaker. Of course, I would get my brother’s fiance drunk in some seedy bar and try and make a move on her. She was just so upset about May...I thought a little healthy drunken debauchery would help take her mind off things...I can’t help it that she flashed me when she was changing her clothes and has an amazing set of tits under that sweet, innocent goddamned cotton bra she was wearing with the matching panties in white no less and--”

You lifted the bottle to your lips if only to stop the fucking talking and you winced as the alcohol burned going down. Thankfully he did stop talking once he saw you drinking the liquor and you had to stop halfway through to take a breath and recover from the acrid taste.

The bottle was promptly plucked from your fingers and you watched with curious eyes as he lifted it to his own lips for a long drink.

“That’s enough for you. It’s 80 proof and you look like a lightweight...fucking white cotton panties. My God, I feel like I should go to confession. I can’t believe he gets to fuck you.”

“Baekhyun!” You shouted and he choked down his laughter with a mouthful of vodka, thoroughly amused by your scandalized reaction. You wanted to smack him, but something was bothering you about the last twenty or so minutes you’d been with him. You’d been so focused on leaving, so focused on getting away from the medical center undetected that you never even once stopped to ask why he had been in such a hurry to leave.

“Wait a minute, Baekhyun, the reason we left in such a hurry….was because Dante said he likes you for you?” Something wasn't adding up with his story and you could feel the warmth spreading through your veins as you tried to piece together the events of late.

“That’s it? He likes you so you ran away? Baekhyun that’s not...something to run away from….and what did Sehun text you about?” You were certain there was more to this story and you were frankly growing tired of everyone around you censoring the truth to keep you safe.

“Really, what the fuck is going on?” You needed some answers and you hated the way the warmth in your belly was surging through you, making your thinking just a little bit less sharp now. He quickly downed the rest of the vodka and tossed the empty bottle into the backseat of his car as he pulled the vehicle swiftly into a parking lot and parked it there.

“Get out of the car princess. You’re drunk remember.” He was pulling you again and you resisted a little, annoyed at his lack of answers and by just how little sense this whole thing made and yet, something inside you made you want to trust Baekhyun. Something that went against every fiber of your being and every caution you had been taught to take made you move your feet where he pulled you, made you want to trust this man who really had nothing at all to gain by helping you.

At the door of the bar stood a man. He was bald and wore a tight-fitting black shirt that showcased some of the biggest muscles you had ever seen in real life and you watched his eyes as he eyed the pair of you walking up to the door.

“Baekhyun,” the man said in a deep voice and you wanted to turn back to the car. This big man was scary and eyeing you like some sort of rodent being dragged in from the street.

“Tiny,” Baekhyun said with a soft flirty note in his voice that made you look at his face twice. Tiny? Was this man named Tiny?

Baekhyun reached a hand up and touched the bicep of the man with his long spindly fingers and you saw it, the eye roll; the tiny crack in his tough facade as the edges of his lips turned up.

“Is that a new shirt? Looks great on you.” Tiny looked down at the black shirt he wore and was the man actually blushing? You couldn't quite tell with how dark it looked here.

“What? This old thing? I just found it in my closet.” The shy smile on Tiny’s face made Baekhyun’s smile widen even further. It was nearly blinding really. This man had such an incredible amount of power in something as simple as a smile, it was a wonder anyone was ever able to resist him at all.

“Hey Tiny, remember that time your sister was locked up and I pulled a few strings, made some phone calls, helped her out?” Baekhyun had taken a step closer to the man now and was reaching into his pocket for the wallet he must have gotten from the car. There was no way these giant baggy pants from the locker were originally his, although the man was definitely filled with enough surprises to write several novels about.

“Hey Baekhyun, Sir, you know I don't want no trouble.” All at once the smile on Tiny’s face was gone. His shoulders sat up higher and he leaned away from Baekhyun’s encroaching face in a way that displayed genuine fear.

“No no no, no trouble, honey. Just one little, itty-bitty, white lie. Won’t hurt anybody at all.” he cooed at the man and you could see the wad of rolled up bills Baekhyun shoved deep into the man’s front pocket. Even you could see it was a lot of money and you weren't even used to dealing with much cash. Tiny was quick to cave under the temptation. Baekhyun knew exactly what he was doing here and the man sighed as he gave in completely.

“What do you need me to say?” He looked broken when he finally gave in and you felt just a little bit of guilt below the layers of drunk that was really starting to catch up with you.

“Nothing at all,” Baekhyun said. Tiny looked back and forth between your face and Baekhyun’s face in confusion. “Unless someone asks. Then you just say that I brought this incredibly soft and innocent princess with me here, where I proceeded to get her very drunk and teach her the true ways of the world. We’ve been here for hours. Look at how drunk she is. God, but doesn’t she look clean?”

Both faces turned to look at you and Tiny did a once-over with his eyes as Baekhyun slowly licked his lips and made you feel as if somehow this outfit that you wore might just be completely invisible.

“With all due respect, she looks too clean to be with you, Baekhyun Sir.” Their voices sounded farther away, garbled even as you struggled to stand still on your own two legs. You didn't have to stand still for too long though because you found yourself being steered deeper inside that seedy bar, down a long hallway with red carpeting and past curtain covered private rooms, some with strange loud sounds coming out of them.  As soon as you were seated in one of the rooms you found yourself looking down at the table in front of you with a question on your lips.

“Baek, did we drink these?” There were bottles and bottles on the table; cigarette butts in the ashtrays and you shook your head, having no memory of consuming any drinks in this room despite how fuzzy your brain was feeling.

“You’ve been drinking since we arrived, Princess, don't you remember?” He giggled and you felt lost in that smile. He was tricking you. You knew this and you laughed along with him as you grabbed a fresh beer and struggled with the top. He leaned forward, too close to you really, and you felt his hand brush yours when he took the beer, twisted off the cap for you and gave it back to you.

If you were supposed to be drunk, you might as well be drunk. You shrugged and downed the beer as quickly as you could, not even half aware of the worried glances Baekhyun made down at his phone. Who was he texting? What was so important on that phone when the music in the room was nice and you had no one to dance with.

“Baekhyun,” you rose on shaky legs. Something about alcohol always made you want to dance and yet there he sat stubbornly attached to the table, nowhere near joining you to the song you now jumped and swayed to.

Finally, after what felt like ages of calling and begging he stood and made his way clear of the table. He was moving closer to you and good lord was this man handsome. Why did all of the princes have to be so good looking? Why couldn't there just be one ugly one in the group, and why did you have to behave yourself all of the time? None of them ever did. That was certain.

You wrapped your arms around Baekhyun’s neck and he slowly placed a warm palm over your waist.

Only instead of dancing, he seemed to be counting. Only it was happening backwards. Why was he counting down?

“Byun Baekhyun!” There was a shout behind you and a look of triumph on Baekhyun’s face that quickly changed into concern...or chagrin. Could this man even feel shame? That couldn't be right.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing with my fiancé?” The voice was significant and familiar and you spun with the widest smile on your lips because he was here. It was him! The man you hated to love. The man you were promised to and the man you had willingly given yourself to.

“Kyungsoo!” You shouted as genuine excitement overtook you and you leaped. Mostly you fell, but there was a strong man who wrapped two arms around your waist and caught you before you could do any damage.  

“My prince,” you said well into the smile, playing your role well and actually meaning it as you did it. You had enough sense to understand that you should just give in to the drunkenness you felt taking over your body.

Kyungsoo’s face was serious. So serious and so grim and he looked into your face very closely and for what felt like much too long. Did he know that you were deceiving him? Did he know all of the things you knew about him? Did he know what thoughts had been flowing through your mind as you looked into his big brown eyes? The longer you looked at him and the longer he seemed to be analyzing your face the more desperate you felt.

The kiss was just that. It was desperate. You pressed your lips against his and you let your mind run wild with it. You let your body take over and you felt him stiffen his hold around you for a moment before his lips, too surprised by the sudden move to know what to do, went still and slack. Until you finally felt him give in. It took too long honestly, and you were worried at first but when he grunted into your mouth, tilted his head into you and allowed your tongue to brush against his own, you knew he could taste the alcohol on your breath enough to buy the charade.

“God, you’re so drunk. What happened?” He broke the kiss first, pulling your face gently away from his own with his two hands on either cheek and you smiled at the question and genuine concern you could hear in his voice.

“I was sad,” you said with your smile still wide and overpowering and he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes roamed over your face. “I asked Baekhyun to help me forget for a while.” You reached for him again, finding his lips easier to reach this time with him so close to you and he returned your kiss deeply, probably thinking that giving in to you was much easier than resisting at this point.

This time when he pulled away you felt your balance shifted as he turned to your side, wrapping an arm under your arm and around your waist, high enough to brush against the side of your breast. The stance felt possessive. You felt your skin burning beneath his hands and you wondered if that was just the alcohol, or if you had really fallen so far down that you couldn't remember your goals here.

“He didn't try anything, did he?” Kyungsoo whispered into your ear, his voice low enough to tell you that he spoke only to you. A secret question for your ears only, separate from his brother who stood a few feet away and watched the two of you with a disinterested look on his face. From your position, you could see how Baekhyun merely glanced down at his watch every now and then as if he was merely waiting something out instead of having just been caught with his brother’s fiance in a compromising situation.

“No,” you shook your head, your own voice much louder than Kyungsoo’s whisper had been, “he’s not nearly as charming as he thinks he is.”

That brought a scoff out of the man who genuinely believed himself to be the human manifestation of charm itself and Kyungsoo lifted his eyes to look at his brother’s face. There was an exchange there. Something unspoken that definitely wiped the humorous expression from Baekhyun’s face.

You didn't have a chance to examine the exchange further because a phone was ringing and Kyungsoo’s attention was suddenly drawn away from you and from Baekhyun as he spoke into the cell phone held to his ear. The conversation was short on his end. You could hear a male voice on the other end and it seemed to be a rather serious topic of discussion as Kyungsoo immediately stiffened beside you and Baekhyun dropped both of his hands and linked them behind his back as he watched Kyungsoo’s face with a remarkably sober focus in his eyes.

“I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Kyungsoo hung up the call and replaced the phone in his pocket and your curiosity burned the longer he looked across the small room at his brother without saying a single word.

Baekhyun’s lips parted as his tongue licked the corners of his mouth and he closed his mouth again, not saying a single word, nor asking what that phone call had been about and Kyungsoo watched his face in agonizing silence.

“Baekhyun have you spoken to Sehun today?” Kyungsoo finally spoke and his question felt pointed enough to make you quickly look at Baekhyun with a trace of worry in your eyes. Baekhyun blinked slowly and dropped his lips into a subtle pout. There was a slow shake of his head and Kyungsoo turned to look at your face moments before you were able to recover and rid yourself of any traces of worry that might have shown up on your face.

“Kyungsoo, what happened?” Your curiosity worked well because it was genuine. You were absolutely burning at this point as you grew more and more desperate to find out just what that phone call had been about.

Kyungsoo steadied his jaw and bit down on his lip, swallowing once before he inhaled a deep breath to speak.

“May Kim has disappeared.”

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

[desdemonafictional]

Sweet Sweet Home

In the universe of the Soup AU

A fill for the jewish Nny prompt; it was either this or the high school au, because he had to be able to remember his life to some degree, and I already did the high school au for a different prompt so… Anyway, all you need to know is that Nny, Edgar, and Jimmy are living together here.

Because his hands were full of groceries in heavy paper bags, Edgar only kicked the door to his apartment and called out, “I’m home!”

For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a rustle and a muffled bang on the other side of the door, which swung open to reveal Jimmy in a state of rushed dishevelment. There were several angry red slash marks across his cheek.

“What were you doing,” Edgar asked, warily.

“The cat’s back,” Jimmy said, a little breathlessly.

Edgar blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. “It had better not be inside my apartment,” he said.

Jimmy’s pupils actually shrunk. He slammed the door closed. There was muffled shouting and banging, and then at last the door popped back open. “Nope,” he said, hanging his whole weight off it. “Cat free, that’s us.”

“Good,” Edgar said, slowly, “because if the super catches a whiff of pet on any of us you can kiss your paycheck goodbye. Here,” he pushed one of the bags forward, “take this in.”

The inside of the building wasn’t much worse than he’d left it this morning. Nny had asked for the day off earlier in the week, which was unusual enough that Edgar had agreed without pressing him. He’d just done the day by himself, just like old times, but Sundays were only half-days anyway. The boys had got most of the prep work out of the way on Saturday, so he’d had plenty of time to swing by the supermarket before it got too late. He set his bag down on the counter, next to the scattered triple A batteries and bills.

“Johnny!” he called. “I got your things! Where is he?”

Jimmy pursed his lips and looked in the opposite direction of the balcony, so naturally Edgar turned to the balcony and picked his way over the discarded sheafs of sketch paper on the carpet. He could just make out Johnny’s head past the top of the sofa bed, through the sliding glass door. When he pushed it open, three big mismatched eyes stared up at him.

“Nny,” Edgar sighed. “You know we aren’t allowed to have animals up here.”

The cat, a green eyed stray with a matted black coat, lost interest in him and started licking itself. Nny, crouched in front of it, was equally disinterested.

“It’s not fair,” Jimmy moaned, throwing himself across the sofa bed, boots and all. “I’m the one who put in all the work! I put out the food and followed it around the neighborhood, and it hates me.”

Edgar looked from the paper-littered floor to the broken pencil still strapped awkwardly to Nny’s hand. He had a feeling the distraction had come at a good time. This was the second time this week that Nny had tried to draw something, and last time he’d lost his temper spectacularly. Edgar reached down and picked up the nearest sheet, considering its wobbly graphite lines with trepidation.

Jimmy thumped his boot against the cushion. “I’m gonna make it love me, whether it likes it or not.”

“Good luck with that,” Edgar murmured, and carefully folded up the disaster of a sketch. “Nny, come on. I got your stuff. Give it a look over.”

After a second, Nny picked himself up and slid past Edgar, silently. It was one of those days, Edgar guessed. He trailed after Nny, nervously folding the sketch paper into smaller and smaller squares.

“The eggs were on sale so I got a whole dozen,” he said, “I wasn’t sure what you were going to use the horseradish for so I just bought a whole root? Oh, no, don’t look at the price on the lamb, it’s fine, you never ask me to buy meat for you, I don’t mind.”

“It doesn’t have the bone in,” Nny said, frowning down at it.

“Oh,” Edgar said. “I’m–is that important?”

“Yes,” Nny said, “I think so.”

“I’m sorry,” Edgar said, heart sinking. “I didn’t know.”

Nny paused, with the bag of dates clutched between his mangled hands. The broken pencil poked into the bag. He looked more confused than anything else, his sallow face screwed up in frustrated uncertainty.

“What did you want all this for?” Edgar said. “As glad as I am to see you eating something other than canned spaghetti, none of these things really seem to… go with each other.”

Nny set down the dates and fished out the celery. “I’m making dinner,” he said.

It took Edgar a second to process that. “Do you mean,” he said, “for all of us?”

“Yeah,” Nny said, and ripped the pencil out of his hand with his teeth. Edgar caught it before he could spit it on the floor and set it down on the counter.

“Nny’s making dinner?” Jimmy called, from the sofa. “Call the fucking national guard, this place is about to be a war zone.”

Edgar eyed the horseradish root. “Why don’t you let me make dinner,” Edgar said. “You can tell me what you want me to make, and I’ll have it done in a jiffy.”

“No,” Nny said, scooping up the food into his arms and clutching it tight. “I’m making dinner, and that’s the end of it. If I can’t make one fucking dinner for my family then what’s the point of even feeding this wretched flesh machine?”

Edgar’s heart fluttered. All thoughts of horseradish and scalded pots disappeared completely from his mind. When he looked back to the sofa, Jimmy was giving him a keenly satisfied look.

While Nny worked in the kitchenette, Edgar went to picking up the scattered remains of today’s attempt at art. They spent enough time at the soup kitchen most days that by the time they got home everyone was too tired to do much more than watch TV or run the absolutely necessary errands. In Johnny’s case, it was a mixed kind of blessing. Less time to ruminate on what he’d lost. Some of these off-kilter sketches were actually a bit frightening, especially as the pencil strokes got more and more angry.

Edgar had moved on from the floor and was reluctantly wiping down the bathroom counter when Nny let out a wall-rattling “Fuck!” and Edgar’s feet nearly skidded out from underneath him as he lurched out into the living room. “What,” he said, “what happened?”

Jimmy was half-up from the sofa, arm under him, but when Edgar looked to him he only gave an uncertain frown. In the kitchen, the split remains of an egg were clenched in Nny’s upraised fist. Yolk dripped down his wrist. At first Edgar thought it was just the egg thing–round delicate objects were notoriously hard for Nny to hold onto–but at a second glance, Nny didn’t even seem to be aware of the mess in his hand.

“Wine,” he said. “Shit. I forgot wine.”

Edgar slid closer, palms up. “Nny, you don’t drink.”

“Of course I don’t fucking drink,” Nny said, his gaze snapping over to Edgar. “I’m not here to get shitfaced off expired produce like some dismal burnout in a back alley.”

Jimmy raised his hand. “I am!”

“So what do you need wine for,” Edgar said, ignoring him.

“It’s not right if I don’t have it! None of it is fucking right!” Nny slammed his slimy hand down on the counter, smashing the egg shell flat. “I just want to do this one thing!”

“Hey,” Edgar said, gently, “it’s okay. Look, if it’s so important to you, you can use mine.”

“Yours?” Nny repeated, at the same time that Jimmy said, “Yours?”

Edgar came around the corner of the kitchenette and reached up into the cabinet with what little good china they had, mostly crystal dinner glasses he’d inherited from his mother. He nudged them aside and reached into the back, through the dust, and retrieved a bottle of Pinot Noir. Jimmy made a choking noise.

“You had that in the house the whole time?” he said.

“It’s for a special occasion,” Edgar said. He shot Jimmy a quelling look. “A tuesday night with chinese takeout is not a special occasion.”

This bottle, specifically, was a nice one, in reserve. To be honest, he used to drink a lot more back when he lived alone, with the Work. But then Jimmy had moved in and it hadn’t seemed fair for Edgar to drink when he wouldn’t let Jimmy do it, and with Nny thrown into the mix it just shook out that Edgar honestly hadn’t thought much about drinking for the last couple months.

He considered the bottle in his hand. “You’re not going to cook with it,” he said, instinctively appalled at the idea of wasting top shelf wine on the cook pot. “Are you?”

Nny reached over and pulled it out of his grip, cradling it like an infant against his skinny chest. “No. Pull those cups down, please.”

Edgar obliged, sighing with relief. He set three of his mother’s glasses on the counter.

“We need five,” Nny said. He fumbled with the tap and ran his slimy hand underneath the water, washing clear liquid off the ragged stumps of his fingers. As an afterthought, he ran the slightly slimy wine bottle under the tap too.

“Five?” Edgar said. His hand hovered over the counter. Were they having company? Was that why Nny had decided to cook out of the blue? Edgar wasn’t even aware that Nny had other friends.

“The other one’s for Elijah,” Nny said, turning back to the eggs. In a little mixing bowl, he had gathered up what looked like a pile of coffee grounds and onions.

Edgar looked from the wine to the salad to the white chunk of horseradish, and he thought of a hundred little requests and reactions over the last year that he’d taken for granted as part of Nny’s obscure and idiosyncratic preferences. Weird but adamant dining preferences. Odd sayings.

“Nny,” he said, “are you Jewish?”

“No way,” Jimmy said, from the sofa, “Nny doesn’t even believe in God.”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe in him,” Nny said, sourly, “I said if he’s real I’m going to rip his heart out and eat it.”

“For power?” Jimmy said.

“So that he can feel the screaming emptiness of mortal existence,” Nny said, “with which he has cursed this miserable planet. But yeah, I’m Jewish.”

Edgar closed the cabinet, turned around, and leaned back against the counter. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention this before. I would have made accommodations. Adjusted the menu.”

For a second Nny looked back at him, puzzlement wrinkling his nose. “But you already do that.”

Edgar blinked. Well, he thought, that was true, wasn’t it? He’d just absently tucked away each of Nny’s uncontextualized requests over the months and carried on oblivious. In retrospect, he really should have picked up on it when milk came into the equation.

“We used to do passover seder,” Nny said, “when I was little. It was a family thing. I can almost remember it–I can almost…”

He ran his knuckles over the sickly white of the horseradish, his gaze distant and unfocused.

“There was a table in the front room–it had a gouge in it from this time I got mad at dinner and stuck a knife in it–there were special plates, a whole set of them, with the blue trim–my father was home–my mother had the day off–”

Edgar bit his lip, but when nothing else came, he said, “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about your family.”

“It all seems so far away now…” Nny said. “Another person’s lifetime…”

“I kinda thought you just rolled out of a gutter somewhere fully grown,” Jimmy said, sounding disappointed.

“Sometimes it feels like I did,” Nny replied, darkly. “It feels like a stranger’s life that I’ve dragged with me from that hellmouth. Perhaps it was carved out of some other wretched unfortunate and left for me to find. Regardless,” he went on, flicking the knife as he went back to work, “if I can’t trust my own memories, I’ll just have to make new ones for myself.”

“Ah,” Edgar said, and swallowed down the thickness in his throat. “Yes that… makes sense, I think.”

“You can set the table,” Nny said, without turning. “Leave a spot for Elijah.”

Their little table had exactly three chairs, two of which matched, and a third which Nny had brought home one day after one of his mysterious disappearances. Edgar scanned the room for another option. Somehow he doubted you were supposed to stack cushions for a dead prophet to sit on. But there was an old forgotten folding chair on the balcony, which in the times before the boys moved in had been Edgar’s solo drinking spot. That would work.

Jimmy came up over the back of the sofa as Edgar passed him. “Isn’t this weird for you?” he said, setting his chin on his crossed wrists. “You’re Catholic, aren’t you?”

With one hand on the rusted joint of the folding chair, Edgar looked up at him. “You do know that Jesus was Jewish, don’t you?”

Jimmy squinted at him. “What.” he said.

“Oh boy,” Edgar said, and closed up the chair with a concerted heave. “This is going to be an interesting dinner conversation.”

“If you try to fucking educate me in my own house I’m gonna throw myself out the window,” Jimmy said, which was a familiar sentiment by now.

In the kitchen, Nny’s knife thocked down on the cutting board. “You’re gonna sit down and shut up long enough for me to tell the passover story,” he said, without looking up. “You have to tell the story. I remember that much.”

Jimmy screwed up his face, but the fight was out of him already. “If you gotta,” he said.

Edgar set up the table, meticulously, as Nny worked his way through the kitchen leaving wreckage in his wake. He made good food, as long as you kept the oven on a loud timer, but good god he left a mess behind him. As the evening wore on, Edgar convinced him to let a little bit of help into the kitchen, as so as Nny departed from one task to another, Edgar and Jimmy took turns sweeping and wiping down behind him. Edgar cleared the bills and batteries and assorted detritus off the top of the kitchenette counter as well, to make more room for the bowls of various ingredients.

It was a little like being at work, but somehow sweeter–the quiet, the sun slipping lower over the balcony ledge, the strange and warm smells of the meal coming together bit by bit–it felt different in a way that held Edgar tight by the heart. Jimmy turned on the shitty Barbie Radio that Nny brought home the month before and spun the dial until he found the only thing they could agree on (it was Queen). As Freddie Mercury cried for the chorus to find him somebody to love, Edgar lifted the pitcher of tea from where the mint was sitting to steep just as Nny came away from the oven with a pan and slung it into the sink where the pitcher had been a moment before.

As much as they had lived together for a while now, as much as Edgar had tried to make their apartment a home, that night was the first night that it ever felt so much like a real family. The sound of the radio, the way that Jimmy’s back straightened, his hard silent pride at being part of this–Nny’s determination to feed them both, even as he barely touched his own plate–it all came together with such a terrible sweetness that Edgar almost couldn’t taste his tea.

When Nny told the story for them, there was a lot more blood and rains of fire than Edgar remembered, and Jimmy–predictably–loved it.

[toukens]

Chapter Rating: Mature Pairing: Touka Kirishima x Haise Sasaki (Tousaki) Genre: AU (Godless/Western)  |  Word Count: 3117 Chapter Warnings: Swearing and alcohol usage AU: Heavily influenced by the Netflix series Godless. This world of the wild west is new to everyone and everyone sure as hell wants to make this place their paradise. But how can a paradise be full of bandits, murderers and people who claim to be the law? Chapter: 1/? Chapter Note: $1,500 in 1860s is worth roughly $20k today. ________________________________________

With a heart beating wildly out of control, the woman awoke with a start. Not only had her dreams been filled with terrors of the past, but… there was water on her face? Before she had time to actually process why there were little droplets littered over her features, there was suddenly a heavy stream poured on her face.

Sitting up, sputtering for air, Touka’s wild eyes looked around only to land on a smug face. Fucking Ayato.

“Oi. Shitty sister. Wake up. We’re hungry.” The man spoke, his fingers still wrapped around the handle of the bucket. Without thinking twice about the consequences of her actions, Touka swiped the bucket from her younger brother’s fingers and swung it at him. Narrowly missing his head and hearing a hollow thud sound from behind him, both siblings froze. Ayato was the first to slowly turn around to see Yomo’s usually stoic features twitching with pain. Direct hit.

A sharp hiss escaped from between Touka’s teeth as she abruptly stood, but not without swinging her pillow at her brother. This… was unfortunately not the first time. “Touka…” The voice growled, his usually calm voice raising.

“Hey! It’s not my fault, he dumped water on me ag-”

“Just. Don’t do it again.”

“If Ayato doesn’t do it again, I won’t.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“...Fine.” Touka grumbled as she shot a glare at her brother who still held a nervous look on his features. He wouldn’t forget about that easily. But that tense look only lasted a moment as Ayato then turned to his sister. “Well?”

“Don’t ‘well’ me, you asshole. You can cook for yourself- unless you want to finally admit that you can’t cook for shit.”

“I’ll make it myself then. Don’t blame me if there’s a fire again.”

“I will blame you.”

With that, the two siblings parted as their bickering ceased at last. While Ayato tried his hand in the kitchen, Touka walked over to the foot of her bed and opened the old chest that lay there. Pushing past the dresses that she was expected to wear, the violet haired woman brought out a pair of breeches and a fitted flannel. The flannel had been her brother’s until he had grown out of it and the same went for the breeches. However, the trousers were just a bit too large for her. This was an easy fix thanks to the worn suspenders she easily buttoned to the pants.

Returning to the head of her bed, Touka withdrew a knife from the post of her bed and gave it a twirl before finding it’s sheath and wrapped it around her left thigh. If she was somehow forced to wear a dress, this was usually her go to weapon. But she wasn’t forced to do anything on her ranch, so the woman reached for her holster, the gun still embedded in the conditioned leather. It was a Colt 1871-72 Open Top- her father had given it to her at a young age. He wanted her to be a strong woman and always joked that men would bow before her with both this gun and her attitude. It might sound strange, but she felt like she was always closer to him when she held this gun.

Straightening her shoulders, Touka pushed open her door and walked out to join the two men, struggling in the kitchen. Ayato gave a glance before letting out a small snort. “Why won’t you ever dress like a proper woman?”

“‘Cause we need a man in this house.” Touka shot back, sitting down at the table and kicking up her feet as she watched Ayato look cluelessly at the eggs he had brought in from the coop this morning. It was always fun to watch him try to cook when it was painfully obvious that he didn’t learn a single thing from her. Unfortunately, she wasn't the best cook either, but at least her food was edible.

With a disappointed huff, Touka dropped her feet and walked over to the rough stove they had managed to buy with their already sorry funds. Pushing Ayato aside, the woman raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the egg whites and yolks burned beyond salvaging. “You suck at this.” She quipped.

“It doesn’t help that I have a shit teacher.” He scoffed as he watched Touka scrape the burnt eggs away and break a couple new ones over the soot covered pan. The woman then poked at their breakfast with an old but clean wooden spatula. Everything they had here was inherited from their parents.

Motioning at Yomo to give her the cup of water he was drinking out of, the man gave a small sigh but obliged. Taking the cup, the woman dumped what she assumed was two or three tablespoons of water onto the hot pan and eggs before grabbing a pan lit and putting it atop of the frying pan.

“Why’d ya do that? I dun want any soggy eggs.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Touka taunted as she reached out to smack Ayato with with spatula. “It helps so you don’t burn the eggs, and they also come out fluffy. How’re you gonna get a wife if you can’t cook?”

“Because the woman should be cooking”

Smack.

“You’ll never impress Hina with that attitude.”

Those words seemed to fluster Ayato as he crossed his arms in a defensive position. “Yeah? And what about that sheriff that stops by? Don’t tell me you don’t see the look on his face when he sees you?”

“What? Arima? Horse shit.”

Hearing Ayato mutter a few choice words at her, Touka only rolled her eyes in response and she returned the cup to Yomo. Waiting a minute or so, the Kirishima picked up the lid and watched as steam rose and quickly fanned it away. Putting the lid away, Touka grabbed a plate and dumped the half dozen eggs onto the plate before splitting them up onto other plates with bread.

“Eat while I make coffee.” Touka ordered as she began to pull out the beans and went to work. While they were helpless without her, she didn’t know what she would do without them. This thought only brought a small smile to her lips.

Returning to the table with three cups of coffee, Touka sat down and began to pick at her food. It didn’t take long to finish because it wasn’t much of a meal, but at least it was something. When they had silently concluded their breakfast, Yomo gathered the plates. “Why can’t you be more like him?” Touka directed at her brother.

“Fuck off.”

And that was the last words she heard from Ayato before he slipped on his boots, grabbed the Henry 1860 and walked out the door. Looks like he was going to be useful today and hunt them some game. Meanwhile, the small herd of horses in the round pen out front needed some looking after while Yomo took care of just about everything else.

Putting on her own boots, Touka opened the door and was hit was a strong gust of dust. Slamming the door behind her to avoid getting any more particulates into the house than necessary, the woman couldn’t help but wish for some rain. Until then, she had a job to do. Squinting out towards the herd, the woman noticed the mares fighting over their position again and the stallions eyeing each other as though waiting for one of them to make the first move. She really needed to fix the fence so they had some more space to run.

Grabbing a bale of overly dried hay, the woman hauled it over the fence before repeating the process three more times for the thirty or so horses. They really needed more space. After that job was completed, Touka trudged over towards the well and began to fetch some water for the horses, so she could fill the trough as much as she could. Then it was time to work on the fences once more. The day was filled with these long, enervating tasks, and each time hardly varied from the other. But it kept them all busy.  

In the midst of the tasks today while Touka decided to take a break to quench her thirst, the Kirishima saw a horse coming their way on the horizon. It wasn’t the plain bay that Ayato rode, but instead a grey. Whoever it was, they weren’t welcome on this property. Backtracking towards the house, Touka let out a curse as she recalled that Ayato had the rifle. Guess her revolver would have to do.

Retrieving the slick gun from her holster, the woman held her ground as she watched the stranger approach, the barrel of the gun trained at her target. It was a minute or so until she realized who exactly was approaching, an agrivated huff escaping her lips as she dropped the gun to her side. Waiting for his approach, Touka kept shaking her head.

“Miss Kirishima.” The white haired man greeted with a small tip of his hat.

“Arima.” Touka responded shortly to let him know that she wasn’t fond of his visit. Luckily, he easily read her reaction and decided to keep their conversation short- like they always were.

“Gotta a new warrant out. Thought I would inform you of this man.” Arima spoke as he reached back into his saddle back and grabbed a flimsy piece of paper with a rough sketch on it.

Narrowing her eyes at the paper, Touka rested her hands on her hips. “Okay. You can go now.” She spoke, annoyed by his presence.

“Ken Kaneki. Please, at least, remember the name. The man is up to no good and has many dogs on his trail.” Arima spoke, dropping the paper to the ground before backing his horse up to be on his way. Thank god. But if the man had dogs on him, that meant he probably betrayed his own group of bandits. Interesting.

Watching as the sheriff finally let her be, Touka glanced down at the paper in the dirt. Ken Kaneki, huh? What kind of reward were they looking at? Pacing up to the paper, Touka brushed off the dust with her foot and a look of surprise rose to her features. One thousand five hundred dollars. While it may not sound like much, it was enough to fix up the property nicely.

Regardless, Touka couldn’t help but feel confused as to why Arima insisted on checking on her family. They were a good few miles away from the small town, yet he stopped by. Was he waiting for the day he would stumble across their corpses? If that was the case, he better wait a lifetime because the woman wouldn’t die easily. She may be a woman in a man’s world, but she held her ground.

By the time Ayato finally returned home, the cool dark blanket of the night began to settle down on the ranch. Touka was the first to greet him, examining his catch. He had managed to kill a couple rabbits. For some reason, Touka was fond of these small creatures and everytime time Ayato returned with their carcasses, it pained her. But they needed them to survive and she had no right to be picky.

“Why can’t you ever catch a deer?” She teased as she examined the rabbits. Frowning as she noticed one of the rabbits had a large hole in it’s hide from the bullet of the rifle. It would be difficult to salvage this one, but again, they had to.

The frown Ayato gave her told her that there weren’t any deer. The more skillful hunters severely depleted out the population. Without another word, her brother took his catch to the back and began to process of skinning and drying the meat. Meanwhile, it was time for Touka to make a final sweep of the property.

Arming herself with the rifle that Ayato had left with her, Touka kept one gloved hand on the barrel and the other bare, tracing the cool metal of the trigger. It wouldn't be the first time if she found a stray coyote lurking or a man with ill intentions. With both those incidents, her rifle was her only ally.

Following her usual path, Touka made sure to poke at some of the posts to make sure they were able to stand if they happened to be pushed by a strong gust. Frowning as a small post toppled over with the pressure of her hand, the woman let out a small sigh as she kneeled and placed her gun on the ground. Digging at the base of the post with her hands, Touka pulled the post up and tried to steady it in it’s makeshift hole. Letting out a grunt of effort as it tried to fall once more, she froze as she heard something out of the ordinary. The sound of hooves thundering towards her. A lone horse- either it was a large creature or it held a rider.

Eyes rising Touka let out a surprised shout as a large shadow of a horse was nearly upon her even though the sound of the hooves seemed farther off than they actually were. Crawling back a meter or two as the horse charged in her direction, the impact was imminent. The velvet body of the horse was easily split by the barbed wire as it charged through, snapping the old and rusted cables, but also earning itself some serious injuries.

She hadn’t noticed the man on the horse’s back until the horse had fallen, the body of a lean man tumbling to the ground as the horse forced itself to its feet and began to run once more, spooked by something. Naturally, it noticed the herd in the round pen and charged towards her horses. But she wasn’t worried about the large horse now, she was worried about the man on the ground not too far from her.

Ignoring the ruined fence, Touka quickly got to her feet and grabbed the rifle before closing the distance between the two of them. The long barrel was pointed at the man as she was now hovering over him. There was blood soaking through a wound on his arm and another on his thigh. She didn’t know or care at this point about how he was. She needed to know who he was and why he was here.

“Who the fuck are you?” The woman growled as she glared down at the man with narrowed eyes. The man’s hat had fallen beside him to reveal a mess of black and white hair and fairly glazed eyes. Whoever he was, he probably didn’t know who he even was after that fall or even because of his inflicted.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again. Who are you?”

In response to her demands, the man seemed awfully confused and only tried to block the view of the rifle with his dirty hands. He was only able to keep his tried arms up for bit before they fell at his sides, obviously exhausted.

Eyeing his body, Touka noted that there were no obvious weapons on his body and ultimately decided to take her aim from the stranger. He wasn’t fit to fight back and like hell she would just let this man go now. He damn well owed her a new fence.

Dropping the gun, Touka didn’t say a word as she hooked her arm around the man and began to drag him towards the barn. He needed to get out of the cold but she wouldn't bring this man in her house.

After hauling his body towards the barn, Touka pushed open the door and brought him inside. Looking around for an appropriate place to put him, the woman dropped his limp body against a pile of hay before leaving for a second to light the lanterns around her so she would be able to see and to inform Ayato and Yomo of this man.

Dropping a nail over one of the small flames, the woman didn’t hesitate to unbutton the stranger’s shirt and take it off to get a better look at the wound. Hearing small whines of protest from the man as each time she moved his body seemed to hurt him, Touka lifted his chest forward to see if the wound still had a bullet lodged in it. To his luck, the wound was clean of metal. But he wouldn’t like what was to come.

Rising, Touka found the nail she had left on the flame and handled it with her gloved hand before turning towards the man, the glow of the hot nail reflected in his eyes.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” Touka spoke before placing the hot nail over the wound. The sickly smell of burning flesh arose between the two as the man suddenly let out a loud cry of pain. Before he could do anything, Touka was able to move him forward to place the hot nail over the other end of the bullet wound. At this point, the man didn’t make another sound. Placing the nail back over the flame, the woman moved her hand under his nose to see if he was still breathing. To her surprise, he was. Guess that was supposed to be a good thing.

With her features unchanged throughout this process, Touka withdrew her knife and cut the fabric around the wound on his thigh. This one didn’t seem to be as life threatening and didn’t require to be cauterized as it looked like it had clotted. Luckily, Ayato came just in time with a shot of whisky in his grasp. He knew what she needed.

Taking the shot and dumping it on the thigh wound, Touka began to tear the man’s shirt into strips of cloth to cover the wound with a bit of pressure. Tying off the ends, Touka stopped her job and finally rose to her feet to look at what she had done. To be honest, she didn’t realize how well built his body was until her eyes gazed over him now. She had to guess he was in his mid to early twenties- but neither of those things mattered. For now, he just needed to wake up in the morning.

Tossing a saddle blanket over his body, Touka blew out the candles before vanishing into the dark. This wasn’t the first time she had to treat an injured person who stumbled on to her ranch, but she had a feeling that this time would be very, very different.

[thuthu220100]

A classic Crème Brûlée with a silky smooth rich custard and crunchy caramel top. French chic sophistication in dessert form – yet it’s so easy to make! Just 4 simple ingredients: cream, egg yolks, sugar and vanilla. Excellent make ahead dessert for an elegant dinner party, yet easy enough for dinner tonight.

And guess what? You don’t need a blow torch to make the toffee topping!

Crème Brûlée

I will never forget the first time I made Crème Brûlée because I was so astounded how easy it was. I think I just assumed that something that tastes so incredible and frequents the menus of top restaurants would be really hard to make!

I think you too will be so surprised how easy Crème Brûlée is! No fancy gadgets (I’ll get to the toffee topping later :-)) and just 4 simple steps:

Infuse cream with vanilla (10 minute simmer, stand for 1 hour);

Whisk egg yolks & sugar, then cream;

Pour into ramekins, bake then chill; and

Sprinkle with sugar then blast with blow torch or stick it under a stinking hot grill to make the caramel topping.

Wait – that’s it?? You don’t need a recipe!

(PS How to pronounce Crème Brûlée: krem broo lay. You get extra points if you can say it with a French accent. I can only say it with an Aussie accent!)

What goes in Crème Brûlée

Here’s all you need to make Crème Brûlée:

Cream – heavy/thickened or pure cream works just fine here. If you opt for low fat cream, you will miss the rich mouthfeel but the recipe does work;

Vanilla bean – While vanilla bean will give the best and purest vanilla flavour, you can use vanilla bean paste instead. The vanilla bean paste still has the little black vanilla bits in it, so it will look the same but the vanilla flavour is not quite as pure. Vanilla extract also work, though once again it’s just not as good as the “real thing”, albeit an excellent economical option. I personally wouldn’t recommend making Crème Brûlée using imitation vanilla essence. It kind of defeats the purpose….

Sugar – Some for mixing into the custard, and a bit for sprinkling on the surface to make the paper thin shatteringly crispy topping!

Egg yolks – This gives Crème Brûlée the luxurious richness as well as making the custard set. Use leftover egg whites to make this Fluffy Soufflé’s Egg White Omelette!

How to make Crème Brûlée

French chic sophistication… yet so easy to make!

Scrape Vanilla Bean – To scrape the vanilla bean “caviar” out, cut an incision down the length of the vanilla bean. Then use the back of a small knife held perpendicular against the vanilla bean and scrape it along the inside to scrape out the vanilla bean caviar. See demo in the recipe video below;

Infuse cream – Place vanilla “caviar”, used vanilla bean pod and cream in a saucepan and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Then leave to stand for 1 hour so the cream gets infused with the vanilla flavour and cools (so it doesn’t cook the egg). I tend to do this with the lid off because I don’t like condensation dripping into my cream from the lid if you cover it. It’s diluting the cream, I declare, perhaps illogically!

It does mean removing the skin that forms on the surface before mixing into the egg;

Egg mixture – Whisk egg yolks with the sugar;

Add cream – Remove the vanilla bean from the cream (have a giggle when you see what I use to remove it in the recipe video!). Use a slotted spoon or similar to remove any skin from the surface of the cream to ensure our custard is silky smooth;

Make custard – Pour the cream into the egg mixture then whisk until just combined. Don’t whisk more than necessary as this creates air bubbles. Though let’s be real, it’s not the end of the world if you have an air bubble or two in your custard! I’m just being a perfectionist here :-);

Fill ramekins – This recipe makes 500ml / 2 cups of custard, so that’s 125ml / 1/2 cup each for 4 servings. So a small ramekin around 150ml / 2/3 cup is an ideal size – this is what I used.

Restaurants often serve Crème Brûlée in a flatter, larger dish so there’s more toffee surface area. I applaud them for this clever move – we all love that toffee top – but regretfully I do not have such a dish;

Water bath – Place ramekins in a deep(ish) roasting pan, then fill the pan with boiling water so it comes halfway up the side of the ramekins. Don’t go any higher than this otherwise the ramekins will float around in the water!

Bake 35 – 40 minutes or until the custard looks/feels set but still wobbles when you (gently!) shake the ramekin.

How set Crème Brûlée should be

Crème Brûlée is supposed to be a soft custard with a texture like a thick Greek yogurt. You should not be able to cut through it like cake! When you scoop into the ramekin, the custard walls of the custard in the ramekin should barely be holding upright, but shouldn’t run everywhere. And it should melt in your mouth like a rich, velvety cream. It shouldn’t even have the texture of soft jelly!

How to make the crisp toffee topping of Crème Brûlée

A blow torch makes short work of the crisp toffee topping – just sprinkle with sugar then blast with the blow torch for around 6 to 10 seconds until the sugar melts and turns toffee coloured.

However, if you don’t have a blow torch, just melt the sugar under a stinking hot grill / broiler for around 45 seconds – 1 minute. It works just fine, though my two little tips are a) the brûlée should be refrigerated overnight to ensure it is really cold; and b) after the sugar is melted, pop it back in the fridge for at least 20 minutes, up to 1 hour. This is because the grill takes longer than a blow torch so the surface of the custard under the caramel will melt a little bit.

That moment when you crack through the caramel topping and are greeted with the sight of silky smooth custard…..ugh. Heaven in a ramekin!

What to serve with Crème Brûlée

As for what to serve Crème Brûlée with? So many options! An elegant ending to any dinner, but of course the obvious idea is to round out a French menu with this impressive dessert. Here are some ideas:

Béarnaise Sauce – world’s finest steak sauce

Beef Bourguignon (Beef Burgundy)

Killer Lemon Butter Sauce for Fish

Coq au Vin

French Onion Soup

French Bistro Salad

French Recipes

Steak or salmon with Béarnaise Sauce – suitably elegant main dish!

Hearty stews – Beef Bourguignon, Coq au Vin or Chicken in White Wine Sauce (this last one isn’t authentic French but suitable French-country-chic!);

French Onion Soup – excellent starter option though certainly suited as a main as well;

Fish with Lemon Beurre Noisette which is a brown butter lemon sauce (it is outrageously good);

Nicoise Salad – a French tuna salad would make for a great main on a hot summer day; and

Side salad suggestions – classic French Bistro Salad, a (better!

) French Carrot Salad or a (French-ish) Tomato Salad with Olive Tapenade. Or make your own with a French Vinaigrette.

More French ideas this way -> French recipe collection.

Bon appetit! – Nagi x

Watch how to make it

Print

Crème Brûlée (French Vanilla Custard)

Recipe video above. A classic French Crème Brûlée with a silky smooth rich custard and crunchy caramel top. It's a stunner – and so easy!

Course Dessert

Cuisine French

Keyword creme brulee, french custard, french dessert, vanilla custard

Prep Time 10 minutes

Cook Time 40 minutes

Total Time 50 minutes

Servings 4

Calories 599cal

Author Nagi | RecipeTin Eats

Ingredients

2 cups pure cream (Aus) / heavy cream (US) (Note 1)

1 vanilla pod OR 1 tsp vanilla bean paste (Note 2)

5 egg yolks (Note 3 for leftover whites)

1/4 cup caster sugar (superfine sugar)

Toffee Topping

2 tsp caster sugar (superfine sugar)

Cups – Metric

Instructions

Vanilla bean – Split vanilla down the middle and scrape the seeds out using a small knife. Place into saucepan with cream and the used vanilla pod.

Infuse cream – Simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Remove from stove and leave to infuse for 1 hour (you can skip this step if using paste, just let it cool to lukewarm). Remove vanilla pod.

Preparation – Preheat oven to 130°C/265°F (120°C fan). Place four 2/3 cup / 150 ml ramekins in a baking pan (high enough so water can come halfway up ramekins).

Boil water – Boil a kettle of water.

Whisk yolk s& sugar – Whisk yolks and sugar (50g) until just well combined – don't whisk too much, you don't want bubbles.

Add cream – Pour cream in and gently stir to combine. Divide mixture between ramekins.

Water bath – Pour in enough boiling water so it comes halfway up the side of the ramekins. (If you have too much water, ramekins will float around – not good!)

Bake – Bake for 35 – 40 minutes, or until the custard is set but there is still a slightly wobble when you GENTLY give the ramekin a little shake.

Chill – Remove ramekins from water. Cool then refrigerate for at least 6 hours, preferably overnight (up to 3 days).

Toffee Topping

Blow torch method – Sprinkle 1/2 tsp sugar over the surface of each creme brûlée. Use a blow torch to melt and caramelise the sugar. Serve immediately.

Grill / broiler method – Creme brûlée should be refrigerated overnight. Preheat grill to high. Place creme brûlée under grill for 1 minute or until sugar is melted and caramelised. Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes, up to 1 hour (to reset custard immediately under toffee), then serve.

Crème Brûlée Texture – should be like a very thick yogurt, not set so you can cut it like cake or even a soft set jelly. When you scoop it out of the ramekin, the walls should barely hold, but shouldn't be melting.running. The custard should literally just melt in your mouth.

Notes

1. Cream:

Australia: This recipe calls for pure cream. Thickened cream also works, but pure cream will give a cleaner, more elegant mouthfeel (in my opinion). Light cream does work but it lacks the richness;

US: Use heavy cream. 

2. Vanilla – It’s most authentic to use a vanilla pod but you could use vanilla bean paste. You want those little black bits of vanilla for the real experience!!

3. Egg Whites – Use leftover egg whites to make this Fluffy Soufflé-style Egg White Omelette!

4. Recipe source – Marginally adapted from the Creme Brûlée recipe from Manu Fiedel’s French Kitchen cookbook.

5. Nutrition – Don’t worry about the nutrition. This is worth it.

Nutrition

Serving: 173g | Calories: 599cal | Carbohydrates: 29.3g | Protein: 6g | Fat: 52.6g | Saturated Fat: 31.2g | Cholesterol: 436mg | Sodium: 58mg | Potassium: 118mg | Sugar: 25.3g | Vitamin A: 2150IU | Vitamin C: 0.8mg | Calcium: 110mg | Iron: 0.5mg

Originally published in September 2016. Updated with brand new photos and long overdue recipe tutorial video! No change to recipe – it’s perfect as is!

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[thecooksjournal]

Tarte au Citron

Ingredients

For the pastry • 175g Sieved Plain Flour • 100g Butter, chilled and cut into small cubes • 25g Icing Sugar • 1 Free Range Egg Yolk • 1 Tbsp Cold Water

For the filling • 5 Free Range Eggs • 125ml Double Cream • 225g Castor Sugar • 4 Lemons, juice and zest • Icing Sugar for dusting

Method 1. To make the pastry, combine the flour, butter and icing sugar in a bowl or food processor. Mix thoroughly until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs then gradually add the egg yolk and water. 2. Mould into a ball and gently knead being careful not to overwork the pastry. Wrap in Clingfilm and chill for 15 minutes. 3. Grease a 23cm/9in loose-bottomed, fluted edge tart tin and dust the base with flour. 4. Roll out the chilled pastry into a round shape slightly larger than the tin. Using a rolling pin drop the pastry gently into the tin and ease into the corners and edges. If the pastry cracks or splits use any leftover pastry to patch. Finally lightly prick the base with a fork. 5. Cover loosely with cling film and chill in the fridge for 30 minutes. 6. Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/Gas 6. 7. Next remove the Clingfilm and make a cartouche out of greaseproof paper and fill with baking beans ensuring the beans cover the base of the flan. 8. Bake blind for 12-15 minutes then remove the greaseproof paper and beans. Carefully trim the excess pastry from the sides using a sharp knife and return to the oven for an additional 10-12 minutes or until the pastry is dry and lightly coloured. 9. Reduce the oven temperature to 170C/325F/Gas 3. 10. For the filling, place the eggs into a large bowl and whisk together with a wire whisk. Add the double cream, castor sugar, lemon juice and zest whisk again until smooth. Pour this into the cooled baked pastry case and bake for about 30-35 minutes until just set but with a slight give in the centre. 11. Leave to cool for a few minutes before removing from the tin. Serve with a light dusting of icing sugar.

[aslightstep]

Could I ask for 4 with Tony/Bucky please?

I’m laughing at clouds so dark up above/The sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love

NoPowers!AU (apparently Winteriron just screams DO AN AU at me). The version used for this, by the way, is the Singing In the Rain/Umbrella mashup from Glee.

(I’m just going ahead and putting this out, I will edit it fully tomorrow.)

Umbrella

It had been a long night at the bar, rain was pouring down, and Bucky was at least eighty eight percent sure he’d heard a couple stones of hail coming down.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to walk right past whoever was groaning in that alleyway and go the fuck home. 

But right about the time he was going to take a step past the entrance to the alley, right about the time he was thinking of all the ways he was going to make peace with how disappointed Steve would be in him right about now, a tiny piece of hail came down and punched right through his umbrella. Bucky stared up through the hole, thought about what kinda mark it would leave on a human skull, and sighed, turning around.

The groaning turned out to be a man, dark-haired, formerly well-dressed, and clutching a bottle of what looked like whiskey. Homeless, Bucky would have figured, if not for the quality of the suit and scarf he was wearing. “Hey,” he said gruffly, kicking at the man’s outstretched foot. “You okay?”

Dumb question. People in clothes like that didn’t generally tend to get themselves wasted in alleyways. Clearly the man had the same thought; he rolled his head up against the wall to stare at Bucky incredulously with eyes that were amazingly sharp for how much liquid in that bottle was gone.

The man looked vaguely familiar, and not in that ‘Oh it’s That Guy’ ways, because most guys didn’t come close to the level of ridiculousness this man’s facial hair was sitting at. At the moment, though, Bucky couldn’t place him.

“Can you walk?” he asked, and the man shrugged. “Only, I got an apartment ‘bout a block away and you’re gonna lose some brain cells if some of this hail finds you. At best.”

For some reason, the man started laughing; at least that’s what Bucky thought it was, the noises come out of that mouth weirdly choked. “Not really a joke,” he said flatly. He remembered Steve accusing him of not even being able to hear other people’s happiness and wondered, not for the first time, if Stevie wasn’t right about him. Who even gets irritated at a drunk guy’s hysterical laughter? “Look, you wanna come or you just a really big fan of brain damage and hypothermia?”

The man sobered - ha! - and looked up at him again, nodding and looking slightly expectant. Bucky sighed.

“Can you pick yourself up? See, I tend to run out of hands faster than most and I’m pretty attached to this umbrella right now.” He stepped forward, a little more in to the light, and saw the moment when the man saw his missing left arm.

For a long moment the man just stared at it, bringing a hand up to where the scarf was wrapped around his throat and rubbing, before he nodded again and began pushing himself up the wall, clumsily. “Leave the bottle,” Bucky said firmly, and the man just dropped it. “Alright, now c’mere.”

The man swayed into his left side, fitting neatly where his arm wasn’t. He was surprisingly warm, considering how soaked through his clothes were, but he was shaking.

“It’ll be alright,” Bucky found himself saying. Over and over. Like he did himself every night, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, praying this time he wouldn’t dream. “It’ll be alright.”

The man, who had been dubbed Mr. Jack Daniels in Bucky’s mind, was quiet all the way up the three flights of stairs to Bucky’s apartment, being led into Bucky’s apartment, and being left on a stool while Bucky went and retrieved him some dry clothes.

Bucky came back to find him shivering and drowsy on his kitchen countertop and sighed again, turning the man around and beginning to take off his coat. Mr. Jack allowed this without protest, but when Bucky reached for his scarf he came alive again, jerking hard and falling onto his ass and back. When his eyes opened again, they roved wildly until they found Bucky, and there was fear in them.

“Okay,” Bucky said, raising his hands. “I get it. Can you - can you do this yourself, then?” He gestured forward with the clothes, then laid them down and extended his hand. Mr. Jack took it, and together they levered him up to his feet. For a long moment the man didn’t let go, and Bucky didn’t either. He might have been a little touch-starved, but most days that was better than being touched. 

This wasn’t so bad, though.

The moment passed, their hands dropped, and Mr. Jack picked up the clothes. Bucky pointed him towards the bathroom, although it wasn’t hard to find anything in an apartment the size of a shoebox, and the man disappeared.

When he reappeared the scarf was gone, but a towel was hung around his neck. The man was short and small enough that Bucky’s clothes practically swallowed him and it was almost cute. He almost wanted to smile. Almost.

“I put some linens down on the couch, you can bunk there tonight. Trashcan’s just there, please don’t hurl on the carpet.”

The man mouthed something, a brief flicker of grief crossing his face when nothing came out but a horrible grating noise. Probably coming down with a flu, with their collective luck.

“It’ll be alright,” Bucky said for the millionth time, patting the man on his shoulder as he went by. “I’ve been told by some reliable folk that everything looks better in the morning.” The skepticism in the man’s eyes made him want to grin again. “Yeah, but it never hurts to hope.” 

He left to his bedroom, crawling under the covers there, and prayed to God that tonight was one where he didn’t wake up screaming.

Mr. Jack Daniels, of course, got sick.

One hundred and two Farenheit and delirious sick.

Bucky kept him company, plying him with medicine he kept around for Steve, laying cool washclothes on his face and grabbing another one for the man to lay over his neck when Jack Daniels keeps moving them. He stayed in the room with him the three days his fever raged, holding his hand tightly whenever he cried out from the pain or the heat or whatever it was he saw when he dreamed.

He never spoke, not once, just grunted and groaned and mouthed things incessantly. But he always gripped Bucky’s hand tight whenever it found his.

“You’re gonna have to give me your name sometime soon,” he whispered to the man. “All this hand-holding and not even a name. I’m not that kinda guy, Mister.”

The joke felt strange coming out of him, the teasing smile that followed even stranger, but the man laughed that horrible, grating laugh again and released Bucky’s hand, tracing something into his palm, over and over.

After a few rounds of this, Bucky picked up a T, then an O, what felt like an N, and then a Y.

“Tony?” he said, and the man nodded. “I’m Bucky.” Tony wrinkled his nose. “Don’t judge me.”

Tony laughed again, and it descended into a cough. Bucky made to go to the kitchen, but he was held fast. S, Tony traced into his hand. T. A. Y.

Stay.

“I will,” Bucky said, settling down to the floor, his shoulders against the inferno that was Tony’s left side, his right hand holding Tony’s left where it hung over his shoulder. He turned on the TV, the volume on low. “You know its nice. Not to be alone.”

He didn’t know where it came from, but Tony just held on even tighter.

On Day Four, he found Tony sitting up on the couch, blankets drawn up to his lap, staring straight ahead. His color looked normal, finally, not the pale, drawn tone or the flushed red he had vacillated between the last few days. His hair was disgusting and his beard was growing out around the Van Dyke, but he looked healthy for the first time.

Bucky didn’t know why that made his heart sink.

“You wanna take a shower?” he asked. Tony nodded, not lifting his eyes. “It’s no problem.”

Tony nodded again and, after drapping his used towel around his neck again, headed to the bathroom.

When he came out Bucky was making busy making breakfast, the most rudimentary scrambled eggs and toast known to man. When he looked up, Tony was dressed once again in his suit and tie. They were wrinkled and creased, but he wore the look better than most people wore tuxedos. 

Bucky turned back around. “So you’re all set then?” he asked to the eggs, determinedly not examining why the thought made him panic a bit.

It was silent.

“If you’ve got laryngitis or something, I’ll point you to the nearest hospital.”

The yolks sizzled in the pan.

He turned again; Tony’s hand was at his neck, massaging it through the scarf. He was looking everywhere but Bucky. “You’re mute,” Bucky said, more harshly than he meant.  

Tony’s wide eyes looked at him, and slowly, Tony nodded. There is a split second where Bucky hesistated, and then he turned the burners on low and headed to the beat up secretary left over from his folks’ house, retrieving one of Steve’s old drawing pads and a pen. He dumps it in front of Tony and goes back to the eggs, plating them and bringing them over just to see Tony glaring at the pen.

“I know sign language,” Bucky offered. In response Tony sighed and picked up the pen. “You don’t?” Tony shook his head. “How long have you been like this?”

Not long, Tony wrote, in neat block print. Thank you for helping me.

“You’re welcome. What happened?”

Are we going to swap stories here? Tony pointedly stared at Bucky’s stump and Bucky flushed at the idea of having to spit out the sand and the blood and the fear that went with that story.

“Point taken.”

A pause while Tony just stared at the pad, and then: There was an accident.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Tony nodded once more, a hand back at his throat, uncomfortable, and something in him ached to see it. Remembered those months he couldn’t even go outside once he got back stateside. “Likewise.”

Another nod, and they both began in on the food. Tony ate like it hurt him; Bucky had noticed that before during his sickness but pinned it down to a sore throat. Now he wondered what was under that scarf. “You got someplace to go?”

Tony’s lips did this funny thing where one half quirked and one half frowned. He picked up his pen and wrote You kicking me o- before he seemed to think better of it and stopped, crossing the old stuff out.

“There’s no rush,” Bucky said, his words tripping over themselves getting out like if he didn’t say it fast enough something terrible would happen. “But it’s a small apartment.”

It’s nice.

“I think your suit could pay for it about three times over.”

Not anymore.

Bucky thought that this guy - he probably used to be really funny. Sarcastic, mouthy even. It was strange, to find yourself mourning something you never even knew about. He wondered what Tony’s voice used to sound like.

Let me stay.

Bucky blinked at the words that had appeared on the pad. Tony looked panicked, clearly debating about crossing them out, but Bucky blurted out “What?” before he could lift the pen again. Tony’s shoulders hunched, then squared, and he met Bucky’s eyes while he wrote blind.

I’ll pay you.

“I don’t have-”

1000 a week.

Bucky choked on nothing. One thousand dollars a week? He was barely getting by right now as it was - while Natasha might find a one-armed bartender to be a nice novelty, most people weren’t willing to hire someone with that kind of disability - four thousand dollars a month could seriously help out.

Tony took his hesitance as a no. He mouthed something, that grating sound coming out again, and picked up the pen. Please. Don’t make me-

He stopped, dropped the pen, pushed away from the counter and stood, going for his coat, but Bucky’s eyes were glued on that last sentence. Messier than the rest, pressed harder into the paper. Don’t make me.

It had been nice. Not being alone anymore. 

“Okay,” he said, and Tony froze in the act of putting on his jacket. “You can stay. But if you want your own bed you’ll have to buy a pull-out yourself.”

Tony turned back to him, his big brown eyes gleaming brightly for a moment before it fell behind a practiced smile. He came back to the countertop, reaching over it with his hand outstretched.

Bucky took it, shaking. Missing it a little when Tony let go.

Tony bought himself a futon, instead, and a tiny wardrobe filled with a small amount of clothing. He also handed Bucky two thousand dollars and two bags of groceries.

“Who are you?” Bucky asked him incredulously, and Tony stared at him for a long moment before just shaking his head. He had bought himself a cheap smart phone from whatever store he went to and was currently testing out it’s text-to-speech function.

“No one important,” Tony typed, a flash of pain crossing his face. He mouthed something else, but didn’t type it. Didn’t matter; Bucky had been friends with a semi-deaf guy for years. You learned a thing or two about reading lips. Not anymore, Tony hadn’t said.

Bucky wanted to teach him ASL, but his own skills were woefully out of practice. He fidgeted with his own phone for an entire day before decided to suck it up, dialing a number he hadn’t called in - months, now. Almost a year. Since he had gotten the diagnosis, for sure.

“This is a surprise,” was the first thing Clint said when he picked up, his voice making it quite obvious he was fighting not to sound unfriendly. “How long has it been, Buck?”

“Awhile,” Bucky mumbled. 

There is a long pause, and then Clint sighed. “You okay?”

“’M fine, but I…” Bucky thought about Tony and the way his eyes were so red this morning. “I need your help. Well, I know someone who does. Can you come by?”

“Sure,” Clint said immediately, and something in Bucky wanted to cry at the quick response. God he didn’t deserve it. A year of no contact, and here Clint was, ready to help.

“Thank you,” he got out, and hung up.

Clint froze at the sight of Tony, and Tony, upon seeing this, did the same. It would have been a bit funny if not for the wide-eyed panic in Tony’s gaze.

“Clint, this is Tony.”

“I know,” Clint croaked, and Tony laughed. Not the horrible grating laugh that meant he was genuinely amused, but the other laugh, still grating but higher pitched, that meant he was nervous or scared. 

“Tony, this is Clint. I thought he could help you. Teach you sign.” Tony whipped his head around to face Bucky, taking several steps back, almost into the corner, hand at his throat. He shook his head rapidly, over and over. “Tony, I know you don’t know it. You need to face this-”

Tony’s face screwed up tightly, and he rapidly mouthed something, forgetting himself and letting a series of grunts escape him. Bucky took a few steps forward, hand outstretched and reaching for Tony’s, needing to anchor him, both of them, when Clint stepped in.

“Tony,” he said, the name coming off his tongue awkwardly. “You think you could do me and Buck a favor here and give us the room.”

Tony threw his hands up in the air and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, and Clint whirled on Bucky. “What the fuck, man?”

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Why is Tony Stark in your house?” Clint hissed.

“What?!” Tony Stark had been all over the news a couple of months ago, having barely survived an ambush in Afghanistan. He had released a statement to the press proclaiming Stark Industries imminent shutdown of their weapons development, but Obadiah Stane, COO, had soon assured the public that Tony was being hasty and recovering from his trauma, and Stark dropped out of the public eye.

And into an alleyway outside Bucky Barnes’ apartment, apparently. “I…didn’t know it was him,” Bucky whispered, sitting down.

“Obviously,” Clint snorted. “Okay. Sure. You’ve just taken in a runaway billionaire. Fine. Still doesn’t excuse you springing me on him like that.”

“I’m trying to help him,” Bucky said fiercely. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? And how well do you take it every time Steve or Sam or I tell you to go to a fucking meeting or take your fucking pills, Buck? Because we’re just trying to help you.”

“That’s different,” Bucky growled, pushing back into the futon. It smelled like Tony, even though Tony had been using his own body wash for the past week.

“How do you figure that?” 

“What happened to me - I’ll get over it. Tony is stuck like this, Clint. He needs this. He’s been writing to me on notebook paper or using his phone. It’s not enough. Tony needs the connection, he needs his words to match the speed of his thoughts. He’s-” Editing himself around me, Bucky almost said, but that would mean admitting how much he wanted Tony to not be so guarded and cautious. Or so sad.

“This wasn’t fair to him, Buck, and you know it,” Clint said, shaking his head. “You - you can’t take care of him, man.” You can’t even take care of yourself, he thankfully didn’t say.

“What do you want me to do, kick him out? I’m not going to do that.”

“He’s a billionaire, Barnes, he can hire a goddamned-”

The bathroom door flew open and both men shut up; from the look on Clint’s face he too was realizing that they had allowed their voices to rise in the last few minutes.

They all three stared at each other for almost a minute before Bucky dropped his head. “Tones, I’m sorry.”

There was another long pause and then he heard Tony rustling around. A beat of silence and then the text-to-speech app jerkily asked “Can I pay you?”

“What?” Bucky startled, looking up, but Tony’s eyes were on Clint. Clint held up a hand, forestalling any other comments Bucky had, and nodded.

Tony jerked his head sharply in agreement and came forward to shake Clint’s hand sharply. Clint pointedly gave Bucky a look that definitely meant he’d be telling all of this to Steve, and then left.

There was an oppressive silence in his tiny living room as Bucky and Tony didn’t look at each other. 

“I really am sorry,” Bucky whispered. “I - I wanted to help. But I should know, better than anyone-”

“Can I sit?” The robotic voice asked and Bucky found his eyes tracing the tired lines of Tony’s face before he nodded.

Tony sat, put down the phone, and lifted his hands to his scarf. He unwrapped it once, twice, before Bucky realized what was happening.

“Tony, you don’t have to-”

The scarf fell away, and Bucky lost the rest of his words, the power of speech entirely. Tony’s neck was dotted with deep, knotted scars, some of them looking like puncture wounds while some ran across the skin for several centimeters. His handed lifted before he could stop himself, and he found himself tracing the highest one, under which must lay Tony’s severed vocal cords.

When he looked up Tony’s face was drawn tight, and shame roiled within him, thinking of the kid he almost decked once for daring to touch one of the scars that reached high onto his left shoulder. “’M sorry,” he said, making to move his hand, but Tony caught and held it there. His pulse beat wildly, and Bucky wanted to - move away, to get closer, to help. 

He used to be able to help people.

They sat there for a long time, until Tony’s face relaxed, until he was leaning into Bucky’s hand, and then his eyes opened, focused on Buck and not scared or hidden for the first time but bright. Then he reached for the pad on the table and a pen, and began writing. He wrote for a long time.

There was an accident. Well, not so much accident so much as. I don’t know. Vengeance, I’d bet, and I always win bets. The convoy I was riding in got attacked by insurgents using my weapons. I don’t know how they got there, I don’t know if they were stolen or 

See I later found out that my company was dealing under the table. But that’s getting a bit ahead of myself sorry.

Anyway, the men and woman protecting me died right in front of me, as did most of the convoy. I was supposed to protect them too, you know. In a weird peripheral way, but that was my job. But they got killed with weapons that I built. I nearly died too. Got caught near a Stark 7X54 missile that luckily had a delayed response. I hid behind a rock but I guess not well enough. I still don’t know what happened. My best friend Rhodes brought in back up after that and they got me out of there. I nearly died in surgery about eight times.

I came back and tried to shut it all down but I can’t - I can’t talk. The moment I needed my voice heard the most and I couldn’t even do that. Obie Stane shut me out. Got the board to kick me out, buy me out. He took everything. 

And I guess I let him.

I can’t go back.

“So you’re just going to run?” Bucky asked. Tony stared at the words he had written but didn’t add anything more. “Look, you can stay as long as you need. But don’t just give up.”

Tony remained unmoving, except for the hand he intertwined in Bucky’s.

Bucky was dreaming.

He knew, theoretically, that he was dreaming. That he wasn’t back in the sand and blood and gunfire. That the helicopter coming for him had already come, that he wasn’t losing blood out of the torn up hole where his arm used to be because it was all healed over now. But it still felt so real. He screamed and thrashed and cried out. For his mother, for his Steve, he had been such a coward in that moment. So fucking weak.

He wondered sometimes if it was shame that kept him here, even more than the fear.

But this part was new. The soldier with him in the helicopter, stroking his forehead, making soft, off-key crooning noises. The blanket over him wasn’t the stiff coarse shock blanket he remembered but his down comforter from his bedroom. The gurney underneath him was his mattress.

The soldier was Tony, sitting above him, stroking his forehead softly. He eased back and away when he saw Bucky was awake, but kept a point of contact.

A light lit up the small room and Tony began tapping away. “You were screaming,” the robot said. “I wanted to help.”

“Thanks,” Bucky gasped.

“I have bad dreams, too,” Tony confessed. “But I can’t-” He abruptly turned the phone off, ducking his head.

Bucky suddenly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what he was going to type next was ‘scream.’ 

I can’t scream.

His damaged vocal cords probably didn’t even allow him to reach that kind of volume or pitch. And all Bucky could think about now was how many night Tony had lain out there, a scream caught in his scarred throat. 

Tony must have seen something in his face, because his hands were suddenly back, stroking at Bucky’s face and side. 

“There was an accident,” Bucky began. They both stiffened. Bucky had never talked about this before to anyone, but he felt like Tony could understand. “Orders got mixed up. Go this way, and then too late, there’s a trap waiting there, turn back. We walked straight into it. Lost my arm to a grenade. I don’t remember losing the arm. I remember…the helicopter, coming down for me and one other kid, who was already fucking dead, I can’t. The sound of it, though. Coming for me. Like death, closer and closer. Sometimes planes fly overhead and all I can think is that ‘it’s time.’ And sometimes I’m so fucking grateful. But then they’re gone.”

Tony’s hand have tightened minutely on him, and Bucky shuddered. He wasn’t going to cry. It was over, it was done with, and one day he would be done with it too. “I’m sorry.”

The phone lit up. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry. I. I understand. I remember. Things.” A pause, and then, almost nonsensical, the voice added. “Whistling.”

Bucky nodded. Bullets moved so fast through the air they actually made a whistling sound sometimes. “Maybe you should stay in here with me, so I can wake you up.”

Tony stared at him, his hand at Bucky’s cheeks stroking slowly, before he pointed upwards with his phone. Bucky’s brow wrinkled in confusion and Tony began typing. “Maybe you should stay out there. With me. The ceiling fan might be triggering you.”

Bucky looked up at the fan, watching the blades of it spin around and around, the hum of it in the air. He closed his eyes. “Jesus fuck.” 

Tony stood, holding out a hand, and led Bucky out to the futon.

Bucky played this game with Tony where he tried to conduct entire conversations through just their eyes. He wasn’t sure Tony fully understood the game, but he always seemed perfectly content to lose half an hour or more staring into Bucky’s eyes.

Tonight, laying on the futon, he wasn’t playing.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asked sleepily. Tony huffed a little, as he had since Bucky had started using the ‘ridiculous nickname,’ but rolled over to face him and lifted his hands.

Slowly, clumsily, he signed out: “Will you go somewhere with me tomorrow?”

“Can I ask where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Which was how they found themselves at 890 5th Avenue, the old Stark mansion, Tony leading him down into the basement.

The lights came on the moment Tony led him inside the wide, metal-paned room, and Bucky felt his mouth drop. It looked like a science lab out of the movies, all lab tables and machines and computers. 

“Sir?” A voice asked from the ceiling, cool and British and sounding a little frantic. “Mr. Stark. You have been gone for 29 days. Welcome back.”

Bucky turned to Tony, so many questions filling his mouth he was worried he would be unintelligible once he finally got one out, but the look on Tony’s face stopped him. He was staring at the ceiling, his mouth pressed so firmly shut it was just a pale pink slash across his face, his eyes wide and miserable. And Bucky realized why Tony had stayed away so long.

Tony couldn’t be normal, like he was before. He couldn’t talk to that voice. Bucky thought of Steve saying he couldn’t bear anyone’s happiness, Clint’s hidden resentment at being ignored for months, and how he never meant any harm, he just couldn’t be like he was for them. 

“Tony had an accident that damaged his vocal cords,” he said out loud, and Tony turned to look at him surprised.

“I was aware Sir had been injured but not to the extent,” the voice said, sounding slightly shocked. “I am JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s personal user interface. And you are.”

“Bucky Barnes. So hey, listen...JARVIS. You know ASL?”

The voice was quiet for a moment and then said. “I shall endeavor to learn, of course.”

Tony dropped his head, his shoulders shaking just once, before bringing out his phone. “Hey J,” the little robotic voice said. 

“Hello sir. It is good to see you again.”

Tony nodded to the floor, then turned to Bucky. “That’s actually not why I brought you here,” he signed, and walked into a small adjoining bathroom, reemerging with two small pill bottles after a few moments.

“Tony,” Bucky began, but Tony just shook his head, setting down the pills so he could sign. One was for anxiety, one for depression. Bucky recognized them well. There were two sister bottles sitting on a shelf back home; different brands, same purpose, never opened. Tony’s weren’t either.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Tony signed. “But I’m a damn coward.”

Bucky stepped towards him. “I don’t think that at all,” he said fiercely. 

“But you,” Tony continued like Bucky hadn’t said anything. “Make me want to be brave. I didn’t want to leave after that first week because I didn’t want to be alone. And maybe you want the same. Maybe we could do this. Together.”

Part of Bucky wanted to be angry. Part of him wanted to throw the bottles and this lab and that fucking voice in Tony’s face, point out that he had never been alone. That he had always had help and he’d thrown it away and who was he to make Bucky his crutch?

“I didn’t want to move on because that would mean there was something wrong,” Tony signed, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “And I didn’t want to move on because if I fixed what was wrong, I wouldn’t have an excuse. But now I’m stuck. You told me not to run, but I don’t want to stay there anymore.” He took a deep breath and looked at Bucky, carefully, hopefully. “I want to stay with you.”

Bucky stared back - thought of everything he was so conscious of everyday: the absent weight of his arm, the absent weight of Steve at his side, ceiling fans and cars backfiring and going outside and being happy. And Tony. Tony at night, in the dark, carrying on conversations with eyes. Tony in the sun, laughing that horrible grating laugh that didn’t grate at all. Tony who wasn’t better either, but would try, if only Bucky would help.

Bucky used to be able to help people.

More importantly, Bucky used to be able to be helped. And he wasn’t- 

“I’m not okay,” he said softly, and Tony nodded with a sympathetic twist to his mouth. “You can always stay with me,” he said next, taking one step, and then another. “No charge. God, most people would say this is unhealthy.”

“It’s not for you, narcissist,” Tony signed, trembling, his smirk bleeding into a smile and then back again. “I made a promise to a soldier.” A moment where his hands fluttered at Bucky’s shoulders then pulled away. “We can be not okay together. We’ll cancel each other out.”

“Don’t know if that’s how mental health works,” Bucky said, hands on Tony’s waist. “But let’s give it a shot.”

“Can we go back?” he asked Tony some time later that week. Tony looked at him. “To your workshop.”

Tony grinned. “You liked it, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Bucky shot back. “After every meeting.” It was a little manipulative, but then again, so had Tony’s ploy with the pills been. Tony had looked alive in that workshop like he hadn’t anywhere else. 

Tony rolled on top of him, catching his eye, and Bucky almost regretted those long nights they spent conversing in flicks of their eyelids and sideways glances. After a moment, Tony kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose and sidled down to his chest to curl up there comfortably, dropping off to sleep.

“That better be a yes,” Bucky warned, and relished in the vibration of Tony’s sleepy chuckle.

In the workshop, designs began appearing on the holographic computer screens. Prosthesis, collars that would measure and interpret the vibration of vocal cords, cochlear implants. Tony said nothing, so Bucky didn’t either, but he hoped Tony didn’t think he didn’t notice him measuring up the stump of his arm late at night. No amount of kisses was covering up that mad scientist gleam in his eyes.

“You know, when Clint told me about this, I thought you lost your mind,” Steve said, then blanched a little. “Uh, sorry.”

“Stop tip-toeing, punk,” Bucky laughed. They watched as Tony and Clint flapped their hands at each other in between rounds of Mario Kart, signed cursed words flying through the air. “’S not like you.”

“Well, then.” Steve took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m not, you know. Might not ever be.”

Steve opened his mouth, maybe to argue, and then he closed it, contemplative. After a moment, he nodded. “You’re not, you’re right. I’m glad you’re here, Buck. And I’m glad you found him. Even glad you found him, even if he keeps calling me Cap.” Bucky barked out a laugh and Steve punched him. “I don’t even look like Captain America!”

“Yes, you do!” Sam called from the couch, and Tony nodded vigorously.

“He’s a comic book character!”

“You’re a comic book character,” Tony signed over his head, and Steve sighed.

Bucky opened the door to find a redheaded woman, beautiful and taller than him in her five-inch heels, fuming on their doorstep. “Where is he?” she snapped, pushing past him.

Tony stood up from where he had been sitting at the coffee table, which was absolutely covered with machine parts, and with the collar prototype he had just finished a week ago said: “Hello Pep.”

Pepper Potts, who Tony had described in great detail and had impossibly done justice to, promptly burst into very angry tears. She walked to Tony, slapped him across the face, and then hugged him tightly, not even caring about the grease she was getting all over her salmon pantsuit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she nearly wailed. “I had to hear it from Rhodey! Do you know what Stane has been doing over there? I’ve barely been able to keep him in line - you just walked away!”

Tony flinched hard, but a big part of Tony’s therapy had been admitting guilt, accepting guilt, and then letting it go. “I’m sorry. Truly, Pepper. I was an ass.”

“Yes, you were,” she said. And then: “I missed you.”

Tony smiled. “I missed you, too. This is Bucky, by the way. My partner.”

“In crime?” Pepper asked, one eyebrow raising. Tony held out a hand and Bucky took it immediately.

“In everything,” Tony said. Pepper looked between the two of them, gobsmacked for a moment, and then sighed.

“You’ll tell me later. Over tequila. And shoes, Tony.”

Tony laughed and Bucky was afraid Pepper might burst into tears again; it really was a horrible sound if you didn’t know what it was, but it was Bucky’s favorite. “I hate to cut to business, Miss Potts,” Tony said when he calmed down. He had to correct the translation from the collar at one point with sign language and made a note on his little pad filled with code and calculations. “But I need your help.”

“To take Stark Industries back?” Pepper said, eyes flinty.

Tony shook his head, to both their surprises. “No. To give Stark Industries to someone who can handle it. You.”

Pepper was speechless once more, her eyes darting all over Tony’s face like she was waiting for the joke, but when it never came, her eyes narrowed. “And what will you be doing?”

Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand, and smiled.

Tony was out more and more often, working on his surprise like Bucky couldn’t read a newspaper and see all about the renovations happening at the old Stark mansion. Bucky missed him, but tried to trust his therapist.

“This will be good for you,” Dr. Blake had said. “I know you’ve been worried about this relationship being built on co-dependence. Well, here’s your chance to test that out. Tony will try to go his own way for a bit; I suggest you do the same.”

So Bucky had gone out with his friends to take his mind off the several job applications he had sent out to various industries across the city. Before the army, and especially during, he had been sort of a savant in acquiring supplies and negotiating trades. He liked business, even if he didn’t always have a head for the numbers side of it. He’d never gone to school, but if he could find a job that set him on the path while he worked at college, he might be finally on his way to finding a career.

Steve, Sam, and Clint thought that kind of decision was worth celebrating in itself, so they went out. And he had found himself laughing, even if his guard never quite dropped. He had been happy, even without Tony being there.

He had missed Tony. Wanted him. But he didn’t need him there to function. It was honestly a bit of a relief to realize that, but Sam had said it was completely normal when he had confessed.

“Nobody wants to realize they pinned all their chances of getting better on another person, Buck. Not only is it not fair to that person, but no matter how much you love or trust them, you’ll never lose the fear of what happens if they leave.”

Now he let himself into their tiny apartment, breathed in the smell of Tony’s expensive cologne and the shampoo he had finally bought for himself because Bucky’s ‘love affair with eucalyptus was indecent and I need to find my own sidepiece’ and smiled at the suits and ties and shoes strewn all over the place.

They were going to have to move soon. 

They were never getting rid of that futon though.

He took deep breaths as he crossed the room, into his bedroom that served as a closet for both of them now. He flicked on the switch for the ceiling fan and slowly lowered himself onto the bed.

Immersion was advised at this stage, but even Dr. Blake would frown upon this. Still, he had to know.

The blades spun. Bucky’s chest tightened. But he counted back and forth, he remained aware of the feel of the blanket underneath him, the noises of the city. 

He survived, but that wasn’t good enough for him anymore.

He left the room, just as Tony was getting back for the night. “Sweetheart,” Tony signed, excited, smiling wide, nearly jumping into his arms. He frowned a little at Bucky’s face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling.

“Good.” Tony signed, then pushed him back onto the futon, fiddling with the side to lay it down flat and then straddling Bucky. “Because Pepper is ninety two percent sure she has enough to nail Stane to the wall and I signed a very nice deal and you are smiling and here and hot and-”

“Too fast, Tones!” Bucky laughed, Tony’s hand nearly blurring.

“I love you,” Tony signed, deliberately and obnoxiously slow.

“I love you too, ass.”

Tony pouted. “No celebratory sex for you.” Bucky laughed again and simply rolled them over.

It was raining when he met Tony on the sidewalk. The other man had no umbrella and was rapidly getting soaked to the bone, but from the smile on his face he didn’t care.

There was no scarf this time, Tony’s scars there to see for all the paparazzi and news reporters lined up around them. No bottle either. Tony hadn’t touched one in months.

“We keep meeting like this,” Tony said through the first edition of the SmartSpeak necklace. Bucky smiled, and smoothly they maneuvered so Tony grabbed the umbrella and Bucky’s free hand at the same time. Anchoring them together, like always.

A bit of sun was beginning to peak through the clouds, creating rainbows everywhere. Bucky snorted inwardly; Tony lived an oddly charmed life like that.

“Ready for the tour?” Tony asked.

“Sure, but make it snappy,” Bucky teased. “My lunch hour’s only an hour long.”

“Abandoned for work,” Tony said, hand over his heart. “I’m losing my touch.”

They opened the gates and the crowd clapped, following after Tony and Bucky as they passed under the sign that read ‘Stark Resilient.’

“Your boss will give you a break,” Tony said, leading them all into the transformed Stark Mansion, now Stark Labs, the bottom floor transformed into a small, homey, but industrious lab space that would fit only about fifty scientists. They were their own branch of Stark Industries, headed by the man himself, to work on medical devices to ease the lives of those with disabilities. 

Upstairs, though, things had remained the same for the most part, though Tony had switched out the bed in the master bedroom, adamantly refusing to sex Bucky up in his parents’ old bed. The crappy wardrobe he had bought was there, Bucky’s dinky stools set up in the kitchen they had replaced one of the bedrooms with, their shampoos side by side in the bathroom. 

And the futon, in the corner of their room, getting more of a workout than it should for two men who had access to 2000 thread count sheets and the best mattress money could buy.

Next week, they were getting a dog.

“After all, it’s not everyday his employee gets a new arm,” Tony finished, smiling as they headed into one of the labs.

For a second the thrum of the machines pulled him in, and out, and he thought about the sand and blood. He probably would never stop thinking about it. But Tony’s hand was in his, skin against skin, and Bucky wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” he said, pulling Tony around. “I’m proud of you.”

Tony smiled, leaning back a little so he could sign “You, too” before pulling Bucky into a kiss.

Yeah. They could stay here.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 42

With character mindsets out of the way, it’s time to set the stage. Well, Blister’s mindset still needs to be set, but right now they have arrived at the peculiar city in the sky. What will they find there? Well, find out for yourself in...

    “Really, a creepy place like this would do a lot better with some ghosts,” Rosy teased as she jumped from Blister’s ship to the stretch of concrete and asphalt that they docked at, “then we could make a test of courage out of it!”

    “I’d rather not have more ghosts after the last time we met some,” Draw tried as per usual to put a damper on Rosy’s enthusiasm as he walked down the gangplank with Sonic and Blister. For his efforts Rosy stuck her tongue out at him.

    “You’re being no fun today,” Rosy teased her koala companion and he rolled his eyes.

    “Whatever, you weirdo girl.”

    “It’s Rosy!”

    There was a comfort that Rosy found in the exchange with Draw and she smiled brightly even in the dreary place. Sonic and Blister were both being more careful than Rosy was though.

    “Be careful while having fun,” Blister warned as she tested the weight of her backpack. “My instruments were acting weird as we approached. I couldn’t rely on them to dock at all.”

    “You were able to dock an airship on your own? That’s amazing!”

    “Well, I don’t really have any choice with a golem hunter on board,” Blister gave Draw a weary glance. “It’s not like I can use my autogolems if they just get broken for coming out.”

    “So, the Engineers do use autogolems too,” Rosy acknowledged thoughtfully, before switching gears and spinning over to place her hands on Draw’s shoulders. He gave her a look, but Rosy continued unbothered. “But I’m sure Draw wouldn’t break yours. Well, as long as they aren’t powered by fairies.”

    “Everything the Engineers make are powered by Rings or steam, so no exploiting any mythical creatures,” Blister assured Rosy, Draw, and the fairy in the group, Mote. “Besides, the way Preserver autogolems work is a total mystery. It doesn’t make sense how the energy of a living thing is converted into a kinetic energy.”

    “Sounds like the type of guys Eggman would get along with,” Sonic finally added his voice to conversation as he strolled off the gangplank and looked around.

    Rosy noticed Sonic was rubbing the underside of his nose with his pointer finger and wondered if he was sensing danger. She couldn’t leave him worried though and risked getting teased herself to lighten his mood. “Oh~, forget that mean old man. I’ve gotten over being embarrassed by you talking like that about us and want to hear more! Come on Sonic, say something romantic~♥”

    “Keep dreaming, kid,” Sonic winked at Rosy and made her puff up her cheeks as she knew exactly what he meant.

    “Ooh~! Why couldn’t you play along nicely this time now that I’m ready for you!”

    “Instead of play, perhaps we could get to work looking for a Ring Radio for my ship,” Blister suggested, walking away from her vessel. Sonic eyed her curiously and took up pace beside her.

    “I’m all for getting this over with, but I thought we were supposed to do the dangerous stuff while you stayed back on the ship?”

    “Don’t worry, I won’t slow you down.” Blister smiled at Sonic confidently. Her confidence did not last however as she lifted her left hand up and stared at it as she flexed the flat fingers of her clockwork arm. “Though I haven’t gone for a run myself since before I lost my arm. I hope I’m not too rusty.”

    “You don’t mean to say you can keep up with us, do you? Sonic asked having a hard time believing it. “There aren’t too many who can, and even out of those with my speed few who can match my pace.”

    “Just check your radio for a signal and I’m sure we’ll be fine. I think I might actually be excited for the first time in a while. A shame it’ll be best to split you flowers up for this little trip.”

    “Flowers?” Sonic asked while checking his wrist device. The detected signal on the device told Sonic all he needed to know, and he was distracted from his question. “Well, sure enough there is a signal here. And not one we recognize.”

    “I wonder if there’s anyone using it?” Rosy pressed her finger to her cheek and mused a moment. That moment was short lived and quickly followed up with her deciding to check as she worked her wrist device and cheerily called into it. “Hello~! Is there anyone home!”

    “You’re going to get us killed, you weirdo girl!” Draw snapped at Rosy.

    “Don’t say that!” Rosy chided him, but as her energy was spilt between her wrist device and him, she wasn’t overbearing. The lack of a response from her device though made her puff up her cheeks. “Phooey! I guess no one lives here either.”

    “Gotta admit, it’d be kind of hard too.”

    ~Sonic wasn’t wrong. For the first time since I had been exploring the lands under Yolk, there were no plants growing over everything. They had been at one point in time, but they had all withered and died, only a thick layer of yellowed leaves that lined the streets and building floors showing they had once lived. It was kind of creepy in a different way than the rest of the weird little city as well since leaves don’t usually last like this. They crumbled easily enough to the touch, but the wind left in our wakes as we ran through the twisted city streets didn’t seem to hurt them and they simply would settle back down were they had last been.

    ~The leaves weren’t the only creepy thing. Yolk seemed even bigger from the city than Blister’s airship, and no matter where I ran it seemed to watch me from behind the clouds just above the horizon. And the storm clouds didn’t bring rain and thunder, but rather a snow of ash. I’m starting to think this place might be cursed. At the very least, it’s weird and unnatural.

    ~How unnatural? I wanted to check the size of the city when we first set out, so I ran a lap all the way around it with Draw clinging to my back and the location of the horizon never changed. And I came back around from what should have been the city’s underside. It’s not right here. It really isn’t.~

    “What now,” Draw asked as Rosy stopped atop a skyscraper that tilted a full thirty degrees off its axis.

    Watching the storm clouds and the ash that fell silently from them, Rosy puffed up her cheeks and exhaled sharply from her nose. “This place is way to dreary to be any fun. So how about we see if we can’t find any beneath the surface. Does that sound good, Sonic?”

    -Just keep your radio channel open,- Sonic’s voice came across Rosy’s wrist device. -This place is a lot larger than it looks. Like several places are trying to fit in one spot and not pulling it off.-

    -I’ve also seen signs of golem activity,- Blister’s voice came across after Sonic’s. -Probably more than enough for our little hunter to earn his keep.-

    “Don’t talk like that about me!” Draw complained from Rosy’s back. “I’m not a kid!”

    -Yet you were clinging to Ms. Rose’s back when we agreed to split up…-

    “That’s because it’s the easiest way to not lose her.”

    “I’m not that bad,” Rosy laughed, but she smiled brighter as she looked down at the decayed city that awaited her challenge. “But at least it sounds like this adventure is going to be exciting!”

Scene 42 · CLEARED Snowflake, to be continued

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On the shorter side, but now the exposition is done and it’s time to start elevating the series of events. A Ring Radio is here, and it’s on, but why? And Golems here as well. Mysteries, mysteries. If I do this right, this set of “episodes” will be some of my most important at this stage of the story yet. I hope everyone is as excited for them as I am!

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Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Lost in the Snow – Yoshitaka Suzuki – FINAL FANTASY XV Original Soundtrack (Volume 2【1/2】)

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

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

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