#technically i feel fine but i am afraid there is some stress left in my body

[smimon]

Yesterday evening gave me a spook so I deserve some Käärijä balls as a treat

Damn they are yummy 👌

[silversweetpea]

Extra Cup

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader 

Summary: Some answers, some new questions, and some slightly better tasting coffee.

Warning: Cleaning of Marc’s injuries but they’re surface level, some brief discussions on death and dying that are framed in the past tense for Marc and hypothetical for the Reader.

Word Count: 1959

Author’s Note: This is technically written as a small second part to Coffee Dates but It can probably be read as a stand alone if you don’t feel like reading a slow burn set up right now. Just know that Marc didn’t tell reader about Steven you had to figure it out on your own, you had a running joke where you try to guess his name, and this takes place immediately following the museum fight at the end of episode 1. Also that I am deeply deeply in love with Marc and Steven still. It’s honestly a problem at this point. 

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀

It’s quiet in his apartment. You hadn’t expected it to be so messy, so full to the brim with books that openly discuss topics of interest and post cards from his mother hanging off the fish tank. Marc, his name still settles strangely on the tip of your tongue, foreign and familiar all at once, just sits next to you on the couch, body angled towards you despite the cushion of space between the two of you.

You’re only half sure that you’re not loosing your mind.

“You’re allowed to ask questions,” Marc’s voice isn’t gentle not like it was on the rooftop. It’s more tentative than anything else, as if you’re going to run away at any moment and he would let you.

“I know.” Your voice is equally as tentative, as if you’re not sure that you’re not going to run away yourself. There’s warm light cast on the two of you from the lamps at the side of the couch and it reminds you of that first morning. ”I just don’t know where to start.” 

Marc nods and lets his gaze linger on his own hands for just a moment before he sighs. 

“My name is Marc Spector, and uh, you’ve met Steven.” Your turn to nod. You can see now that the postcards on the tank are addressed to Steven, not Marc, signed by his mother. 

“Sort of.” He had seemed nice. You feel a little bad that you didn’t have the chance to actually talk with him.

“We...share a body.” Marc continues. You’d known that of course, it was that or teleportation to explain what had just happened in the bathroom but he wasn’t Dr. Strange by any means. At least, you thought. A lot of what you had thought before now was proving to be wrong. 

“And an apartment?” You try for a joke but it barely seems to land. The man in front of you who is desperately trying to look like he’s not watching you and failing, gives little more than a scoff. 

“And an apartment,” Marc’s gaze lifts to scan over the room quickly and you take the second to look him over. He’s the same man that never orders and dutifully drinks the terrible coffee you make him. The same careful eyes and soft dark hair, the same potential to pounce in his posture even now that the two of you were out of danger, and even the same bruised and bloodied knuckles. You should be afraid or nervous but no matter how hard you root around inside of yourself you can only find worry.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Marc’s eyes are back a new line of stress in his face as he begins to frantically look over you. You reach for his wrist and hold it up slowly. The fear slips away as he realizes you’re talking about him and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “Your hand is pretty beat up.”

“It’s fine. The suit heals most of the wounds up when I use it.” You want to ask about the time he got stabbed and collapsed in the booth. If he couldn’t use the suit or if he chose not to. 

“Well you’re not using it right now and you’re hurt so either sailor moon it up or tell me where I can find some bandages.” Your thumb rubs circles into his pulse point as you look over the injuries .It keeps you from looking at his face and seeing what may be there. The expressions of just a few seconds ago had left your head reeling. Marc was never this expressive in the diner, you’re not sure what to do with an open book when all you’ve known is coded messages.

“In the bathroom,” Letting go of his wrist hurts in an aching sort of way and you do your best to look for the dresser in his bedroom on your way. There’s rips in his sweater from the glass and the thing in the museum was and it’d be nice to have a change of clothes to shove at him. Instead you just see sand and a cuff on the bed that you make a mental note to ask about.

“Shouldn’t you be freaking out right now?” The question comes as you root through the toiletries to find his first aid kit. You let the question sit between you as you finally find the blue box. You don’t know what to say. There should be anxiety or fear or anger at the lies but there just isn’t. 

"I’m taking a rain check on it.” Is what comes out of your mouth as you make your way back to the living room and Marc nods again. He remains quiet and still as you sit down again, closer this time so that you can pull his hand into your own easier. Silence is quickly becoming a third member of your....whatever it was Marc and you were. He doesn’t hiss in pain from the disinfectant, nor does he shy away when you begin wrapping the knuckles. 

“It’s not Sailor Moon, it’s Moon Knight,” Another peace offering. Marc isn’t the most comfortable with handing out information, you know that much about him for certain, and yet again he’s doing so without prodding or pushing. This is why, you think to yourself, this is why I’m not freaking out. 

“I was half right,” when you chance a glance at him there’s a ghost of a smile and it feels like a win. “so then Mr. Knight-”

“Different suit.”

“How did all that happen?” His hand is done being cared for but you don’t let it go. Marc doesn’t pull it back either though so you allowed yourself this comfort. The openness he was trying for seemed to be slipping away and with a small shake of his head and a grimace he speaks again.

“It doesn’t matter really,” His gaze lingers on the two of you connect and you give his hand a small squeeze.

“It does to me.” Your tone is quiet but firm, and you don’t move your line of vision from his face. A decision that lets you see the way that he struggles before speaking. 

“I died. That ordeal was the price of not staying that way.” The speed at which your heart drops to the floor makes you sick. His tone is even carefully casual, eyes still locked on your hands and the way your grip tightens is reflexive this time. 

“You died?” There aren’t always physical scars left behind from a near death experience. You know better than that, but you can’t help looking over him again, reexamining the shadows of his face and what they may be hiding. 

“Yeah. It’s not nearly as fun as you’d think,” There’s a halfhearted smile, an attempt to brush off your concern and as warm as you feel at the concern for your emotions its meaningless to you at the moment. The hand not grasping his moves to cup his cheek and the smile slips.

“I didn’t think it was fun at all.” There’s an intensity in the gaze you two share. It’s not the first time that his eyes have made your mouth run dry with the emotion in them but its the first time that you don’t break first to busy yourself, just hold his face and wait. “Are you okay? When did this happen?”

“A while ago.” His mouth barely opens when he speaks, words little more than a murmur as your companion looks at you like he’s waiting for a shoe to drop.

“Marc,” His name feels like an ember under your tongue, burning slowly and surely but only a breathe away from igniting into something more. You’re not sure if the fire would burn you up into ash or help forge you into something new. You can almost feel him lean into the hand on his face but you don’t dare mention it. 

“I’m alive.” Another murmur. Another hard swallow. You wonder if Marc is worried about what may spill out of his lips if he was a bit looser with them. You also wonder if he would let you kiss him again. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You’re sure there’s more anxiety in your veins than blood and you’re not sure it will ever stop. He died and he’s trying to brush it off like crumbs from a shirt. Your mind lingers on that monster from the museum, was it another one of those? Was it something worse? Did he have someone with him when he died or was he alone. Gods you hope he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry.” He says after a minute and the anxiety moves to defensive anger, hand dropping from his face so you don’t do something stupid like actually kiss him again. 

“Don’t you dare. Without you I’d be dead right now-”

“Without me you wouldn’t have been in the museum at all.” Marc’s own anger flares up, you can see it in the tension in his shoulders in the way that his own hand tightens on your own, in the furrow of his brow. The venom in his voice isn’t directed towards you but it still stings. “You wouldn’t been safer if you had never met me.”

“And I’d be all the worse off for it.” The knee jerk response gets another scoff from Marc and you wish you could just get into his head, just for a second. There has to have been some way for you to get through to him that he mattered to you, that he was important to you and you wouldn’t trade anything for your four am talks on anything and everything. But for all you don’t know about Marc Spector, you remember how to make him smile. “For one thing I definitely would have failed the test without you.”

And smile he does, even if it’s weak and lasts for barely a second, you can see the tension drain in part and even a baby step is better than staying still. 

“You could have died.” Another whisper, rawer. You don’t have the time to pick apart the layers in his voice but gods you want to. There’s more than anger there, more than fear. Marc is still looking at you, but it feels more like when you’re trying to convince someone to believe you and for all that happened in the past twenty four hours, you don’t. 

“I could be hit by a car tomorrow and die. I could eat bad fish and get food poisoning. I could be roped into a bank robbery but you know what I didn’t. I met you. That’s more like,” There’s a thousand things you want to say, a million allegories you could give him but you know deep in your bones that Marc wouldn’t let you get hurt and that meeting him was the best thing that could have happened at 1:36 am on a Wednesday morning. “That’s more like winning the lottery.”

“Right.” You pull away first, closing the first aid box and standing. There’s a tinge of disbelief but you can see in his shoulder’s that you’ve gotten your point across for now. 

“No, really, you’re a godsend. A great way to offload stale donuts and raise my gpa.” There’s a bit more of an authentic laugh behind you as you begin to move about the kitchen, quickly falling into familiar steps of making tea. There’s more information you’ll need before you leave, and there’s bound to be an uncomfortable conversation or two in the hours to come, but for now there’s just the two of you and that’s enough. 

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part) (fourth part)

——————–

Part Two

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Telling him about the bakery will work for that. Except, then, after a bit, he ends up writing, It eases my mind to visit. Truly, it’s one of the only places I let myself relax, and—no. No, that won’t do. That will make him sound as though he’s stressed, and he doesn’t want Phil to worry about that. There’s nothing Phil can do about it, and he couldn’t stand it if the admission led his father to think any less of him. He’s not going to—to start complaining to him. That would be ridiculous.

So he scratches the line out and continues on, except then, he writes, I worry that I’m shirking my responsibilities, but then, I’m probably doing that anyway, simply by virtue of not being, and he stops before he can finish that sentence, because, no. Simply, no. He is absolutely not telling Phil that.

He bites his lip. He’s already scratched out enough that he’ll probably need to start an entirely new draft anyway.

He sets the tip of the pen to paper.

I’m exhausted, he writes, but my mind won’t allow me to rest. Too many shadows in too many dark corners, I suppose. Too many thoughts circling. It’s like a hurricane in my head, and I should be in the eye, but I think the storm wall has caught me. I’m tossing in the air, at the wind’s mercy, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I ever assumed that I did. And I feel afraid, because my inadequacies are failing everyone around me. I have to protect them, have to keep them safe, but sometimes I close my eyes and see everything aflame, or I see Dream and his friends flooding into the Final Control Room. We were betrayed, there. I’ve never told you this, but we all lost a life. Me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Somehow, I never thought that dying would be terrifying for me, considering who my mother is, but it is. I was so scared, and I still am.

I think I’m a disappointment. I think that if this country fails, it will be my fault, and it will only be right if I go down with it. My people have little faith in me, and they’re right not to, but I can’t bring myself to step down, because at the end of the day, I’m addicted to the power and responsibility. I’m nothing without it. If I can’t manage this, then how can I deserve the trust and faith that others have placed in me?

Most days, I think that everyone hates me. Most days, I think they’re right to do so. I can’t trust anyone. Not completely, not fully, no matter how much I love them. I feel very alone.

He stops writing. Reads it over. Feels his lips quirk up into a wry smile. He’s certainly not sending that.

But the smile fades away after a moment. He supposes that he hoped writing it all out would make him feel better, but if anything, he feels more tired. Drained. Wrung out. Blank.

He fishes around for a new, unmarred sheet of paper.

Dear Phil, he writes, All is well here in L’Manberg. The city is thriving, and my people are well. I really do want you to visit sometime—but not yet, of course! We’ve been having a spot of trouble with creeper holes lately, and I don’t want that to be your first impression. Between you and me, it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I do apologize for that; I don’t know where the time goes. There’s always so much to be doing, and I’m more and more thankful for this chance every day. It’s a lot of fun, having a country of our own, and we’re all working to make it as good as it can be. You should see Niki’s bakery—you haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve tasted something Niki’s baked, I swear. She’s a goddess, really, an essential pillar of our society. Baked goods make the world go round.

Tommy and Tubbo are well, and getting into just as much trouble as usual. Fundy grows up more and more every day. I’m so proud of them all.

Be careful of undead infants, and tell Technoblade I said hello, if you get the chance.

All love,

Wilbur

He sets down his pen and rereads. He’s satisfied with that, and more importantly, Phil will be as well. Now all that’s left is to let the ink dry and—

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, opening the door to his office without knocking. He startles, violently. “How’re things coming?”

His heart shouldn’t be racing. It’s just Tubbo. But he came in without warning, which is—irritating. It’s irritating. That’s what it is. He feels himself flushing, just slightly, but surely it’s annoyance.

“There’s a lot of ‘things’ you could be referring to,” he says. “Are you going to be a little more specific?”

“Nah,” Tubbo says, meandering further into the room. But it’s not a regular meander, it’s a Tubbo sort of meander, which means that he’s here for a purpose. He just doesn’t want to reveal it just yet, or perhaps he’s figuring out how he wants to approach it. “Just wanted to know about general things. Big, vast things. Deep things.”

“Deep things,” he repeats, nodding. “Not much of that going on at the moment. Not a lot of deep things in paperwork.” He pulls the nearest sheet of paper closer to him; technically, that’s what he ought to be doing, not writing letters to a father that’s worlds away. He scans the words; it looks like something complicated about trade, something that sets his head to pounding already. The words swim, like they’re dancing, like they’re taking glee in the way he can’t comprehend them.

“I thought there were lots of deep things in paperwork,” Tubbo says, and he looks back up. “I thought that’s why the print is always so small.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“It makes sense to me,” Tubbo says. “Wilbur, is your hair really white?”

He freezes. “What?”

“Niki said that your hair is turning white,” Tubbo says. “Like an old man’s.”

Anger flares. He thought—he didn’t like that she found out about it, but he at least thought he could trust her with it. Thought that she would keep it to herself, that she wouldn’t let it spread to others, to others that might take it and try to use it as a knife to his jugular. But here is Tubbo, and Tubbo is so obviously staring at his hair, eyes flicking across his forehead and around his ears, and he won’t see anything. He double-checked when he arrived at the office; all of the white is under his hat. But he doesn’t like that Tubbo is looking, that Tubbo is actively trying to see, that Tubbo is treating him like some kind of curiosity, and that Tubbo surely must have some sort of opinion and that opinion cannot be anything but—

“Niki said that hair can turn grey or white if a person is very stressed,” Tubbo says, casually. “Are you very stressed, Wilbur?”

Oh—oh, fuck. Is that actually a thing that happens?

“I told her, it was a bad dye job,” he mutters, glancing back down at his paper. The words remain incomprehensible, but he’s not focusing on it. He nudges his pen with his finger, latching onto the light clicking sound it makes as it rolls and then comes to rest.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asks doubtfully. “What, were you trying to dye your hair white?”

He grits his teeth. “Was there something you needed, Tubbo?”

“Nothing I needed, really,” Tubbo answers. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Seems like forever since you came out of this office. Do you live in here now or something?” He keeps talking before Wilbur can reply, which is just as well, since he might as well live here, considering the state of his room. “And I think I’ve got a new design for a TNT cannon. Kind of streamlined, you might say, if you wanted to check it out. But I think you should just come and hang out with me and Tommy sometime. You never really do that anymore.”

He has a few feelings about TNT cannons. He doesn’t think about TNT too often, because when he does, his mind fills with fire and smoke, and his heart starts beating faster, climbing into his throat, and he wants to run, wants to run far and fast and away, wants to sit and shake until his body can’t move anymore, even when he knows very well that nothing around him is exploding, that his country is secure and his friends are safe. But some days, he can’t so much as smell smoke without a memory rising up to overwhelm him.

Once, he found himself zoning out in the middle of a conversation, a nearby campfire taking him far away from himself, and be barely returned in time to cover for his lapse.

He’s not a fan of TNT cannons, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to be, not even for the sake of Tubbo’s enthusiasm. And—

Hanging out with him and Tommy sounds nice. He misses them, he admits, and some part of him misses the old days, the first days and weeks and months on the server, when it was them and a dream and his fingers dancing on the frets of his guitar, his voice strong and steady and hopes high on the wind, words ready at his lips and Tommy a force of chaos at his back and Tubbo clever and quick by his side, and he just—misses it. Misses them. Misses it all, misses the days before so much was riding on his shoulders.

But he hasn’t the time.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he says, and tries on a smile. “I’m a bit busy right now. Take a rain check?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, and shrugs. “Later, then. You say that a lot, though, do you know that?”

He winces. Tubbo smiles. He means no harm. Probably. He thinks he would know if Tubbo meant him harm.

And then, Tubbo leaves, and the tension leaves him all in a rush, leaving him—exhausted. Exhausted, and near tears, for some reason, but he blinks those back. That can wait. He doesn’t cry in his office. That’s unprofessional; anyone could walk in on him, and then where would he be?

What was he doing before Tubbo came in?

Right. The letter. He glances it over, scoops it up, and tucks it away in an envelope. He’ll chuck it at the next crow he sees.

---

It’s Tommy who barges in next, a day later, though at least this time, he’s somewhat expecting it. Because if Tubbo knows, then Tommy knows. That is simply the way of the world. He has a difficult time imagining anything ever coming between those two, even information that would be better kept to oneself.

“Why the fuck is Tubbo going on about your hair, then?” Tommy says, with no preamble, and despite himself, Wilbur smiles. That’s Tommy, all the subtlety of a charging bull. And the question is just as irritating as it was yesterday when it came from Tubbo, but he’s more prepared for it this time. He looks up from his work—work that he’s actually doing, at the moment, and he feels rather proud of himself for it—and meets Tommy’s gaze squarely.

“I’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some hair dye,” he says. “The hair dye won.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy says, but there’s already a laugh in his eyes. Good. Tommy is fairly easily deflected, he’s learned. Because Tommy looks up to him, he knows, and that means he’ll willfully look away from any evidence suggesting that perhaps he is not worthy of admiration after all.

It makes him sick, the way he’s thinking about it. Makes him feel like he’s using Tommy, somehow, taking advantage of his affection, when really, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Tommy is his little brother, his little brother by choice, by years spent on the road together, by hushed conversations in the dead of night as the stars bear witness, by all the little intricacies they’ve learned about each other as time continues to pass. Tommy is his little brother, which means it’s his job to protect him, as best he can. He’s done a piss-poor job of that lately. Tommy only has one life left now.

So he can’t fail him again. And perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s failed, either. If it ever turns out that Tommy hates him, he thinks it might kill him.

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, and he prepared for this, too, braced for it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sweeps his hat off his head and angles his face forward, letting Tommy take a good look.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Very impressively,” he says, and puts his hat back on. He’s sure to tuck all the white back under it. It’s a practiced motion, by now. “Or perhaps not very impressively, as it were.”

“Well, it looks sick,” Tommy says, and Wilbur glances at him immediately. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He seems almost—impressed? But he sees him looking right away, and immediately backtracks. “Sick as in disgusting, obviously. It makes you look old. Like an old, old man.”

Tommy’s joking, of course, is all bluster and smoke, no fire. But something in his chest stings, and he realizes that the words hurt, and more than that, they hurt because it’s an echo of what he tells himself. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore—though he never did to begin with, actually—but he is well aware of what he looks like. The white hair is just one more symbol of his failing faith, his lack of ability to handle the job that he set himself out to take in the first place. He should be able to do this, and yet, he can’t, and the white hair—well.

After what Tubbo said, it can only mean that he’s weak. Physical proof of his incompetence. That’s really the only way to look at it.

���Shut the fuck up, child,” he says. “Why don’t you go and find a juice box to drink?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tommy says, and the song and dance is familiar. Tommy rolls his eyes at him—the disrespect in this house is unbelievable—but he turns to go, and that means that Wilbur’s won.

What he’s won, he doesn’t know. Some more self-disgust, maybe. That’s what it feels like.

Lying to Niki. Lying to Tubbo. And now, lying to Tommy. What a stunning specimen of humanity he is. Working through them all like he has a checklist.

And then, Tommy stops in the doorway and looks back.

“Wilbur?” he asks. “You really are alright, aren’t you?”

And that gives him pause. Tommy’s not supposed to ask him that question. If anything, he’s the one who’s supposed to be asking Tommy that.

“It’s just that,” Tommy continues, “I don’t see you around so much, these days. Except for when there’s a problem, and you come out to try and solve it with, with your words and shit. Diplomatic shit, innit? You do that, but you don’t just—you never come to just spend time with us anymore, like how it used to be. And I just sort of miss that, you know? So I was thinking that maybe we could try and do that again, sometime soon? Just, hanging out, like the good old days?”

The good old days.

He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell Tommy that the good old days are long over, that they have been long over since the day Sapnap came to arrest them all for starting a drug empire and the forest around them was set ablaze, since the day they declared independence from the Dream SMP, since the day he in all his naivety declared that all they had to do was ignore the conflict and it would pass them by, since the day he was proven so very, very wrong. Since the day he learned that as much as he values his words, his diplomacy, his efforts toward nonviolence, some people only recognize power in iron and steel.

Since the day he watched his men, his comrades, his family die around him, and knew that he led them to that fate. Since the day Tommy traded his life and then his discs for their independence, and he knew that he couldn’t do a thing to help.

The good old days are long gone. The good old days belong to a different version of him, one that was young and hopeful and stupid, one that had no idea what he was getting into. And he likes to think that he’s still hopeful, that he still strives for a better future, but—

He’s learned. Nothing comes easy, here. There will be no more halcyon summers. The days are getting colder, and there will be no more rest.

“Sure,” he says, and this lie tastes far more bitter than all the rest. “I’d like that.” He gestures at his desk. “I’ve been really busy, but I would like to spend time with you. I’ll let you know when I can, alright?”

And Tommy believes him. He sees it in his answering smile, and he hates himself.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy says. “See you later then, yeah?”

“See you later,” Wilbur agrees, and then Tommy, too, is gone. He’s alone in his office, with his duties and his thoughts, and neither of them are kind.

Not that he thinks himself deserving of much kindness.

---

He waits two weeks before visiting the bakery again. It’s not completely intentional; he doesn’t have much time to get away anyhow. But part of it certainly is. He doesn’t want to come again so soon, doesn’t want to know how Niki’s going to look at him, doesn’t want her to poke and prod at something that isn’t important, that is a minor, irritating detail. He doesn’t want to discuss it, and he thinks that Niki might try, so he stays away.

But not forever. He can’t bring himself to take so drastic a step, even if his visits are a bit of a distraction. One that, perhaps, he can’t really afford.

So he steps inside and immediately wants to backtrack, because Niki’s not the only one here. Fundy and Jack Manifold are both sat at the counter, and both of them are looking at him now, having swiveled in their seats to watch his entrance. And that means he can’t leave, because if he leaves without saying anything, they’ll ask him why he did that, and he’ll have to make up something to avoid admitting that he’s been a little bit terrified of interacting with people lately. Because absolutely no one can know that.

Because it’s stupid. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he’s become quite accustomed to that word. It seems to live in his head now, like it’s made a nest in his brain, a little roost. Pathetic. Everything he does feels pathetic to him, and probably to everyone else around him.

“Oh,” Jack Manifold says. “Hi, Wilbur. Didn’t expect you in.”

Fundy doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at him, tail swishing. He finds that he doesn’t know what to say. But he needs to think of something, some reason for being here, and if he can manage it, some excuse for extricating himself quickly. The silence has gone on just a little too long, and he’s been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds now, and he needs to come in completely because it’s weird, what he’s doing, and they’re going to call him on it.

And then, Niki pops her head between the two of them, leaning far over the counter, resting practically all of her weight on it.

“Wil!” she says, and smiles. “I’m glad you came! I’m making honey bread, and I know you like that.”

And just like that, he relaxes. Not completely, but to ask that of him would be to expect the impossible. It’s enough.

“I do,” he agrees, and steps further in, letting the door close behind him. “Seems I have good timing.”

The tension in the air—imagined or real? He’s not sure—dissipates. Jack grins at him, raising a glass of—probably not alcohol? He doesn’t think Niki keeps alcohol stocked in here, or at least, none other than the cooking variety. Might be milk. And Fundy still doesn’t say anything, but his tail keeps twitching, and his eyes keep darting between him and the empty stool next to him, and he really hopes that’s an invitation, because that’s how he’s going to take it.

He slides onto the seat, letting his coat fall behind him. His hat, he keeps on. He’s not laying his face on the counter today. Not with other people here. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, tempting though it is. He always feels sleepier in here. It’s probably the warmth.

But he won’t fall asleep.

Niki’s gone back over to the ovens, inspecting her bread. He can smell it on the air, fresh and sweet, and his stomach twists. Has he eaten today? He’s not sure that he has. Though he definitely did yesterday—evening. He thinks. Definitely. A couple apple slices shoved in his mouth, swallowed without really tasting them. But it counts.

“What have you two been up to lately?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not too much,” Jack Manifold answers easily. “Mostly been hanging around Tommy and Tubbo. Getting into mischief, you might say. Nothing too serious or anything!” he is quick to add, seemingly remembering exactly who he’s talking to. “Nothing—I mean, nothing illegal, no, sir. Not us. But, you know, it’d probably be best not to share the details.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he says. “As long as it’s not something that I’m going to have to clean up later.”

“We’ve already cleaned up,” Jack says.

“Good.” He looks at Fundy, and affection blooms in his chest, sudden, almost overpowering. His boy’s grown up of late. He can barely remember it happening. It seems that only yesterday he came up knee-high, and now, he’s a man in his own right. But still his little champion, always. “How about you? I know we haven’t been fishing yet. I’m sorry—you know that’s the first thing on my list when I finally get a bit of time.”

Fundy glances away. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been fine.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Niki saves him from having to say anything else—though why he thinks of it as a rescue, he isn’t sure—by walking back over and placing some bread on the counter before them.

“Fresh from the oven,” she says, “so it’s hot. Be careful.”

It smells nothing short of divine. Niki smiles, pleased, as Fundy and Jack reach for a piece right away, and he isn’t far behind them. Though he tries to be a little more neat about it than the other two are being. The way they’re digging in, he’d think that they’re starving. Frankly, he can’t blame them for it, not when it’s Niki’s food on the line, but he still tries to have a bit more decorum.

“Niki,” Jack says, mouth full, “you are an angel among mere mortals.” Fundy doesn’t say anything, but his tail is swishing happily.

Niki rolls her eyes, and takes a bit of bread for herself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes. “But thank you, Jack.” And then, her gaze drifts to him, and he finds himself stiffening. For no reason. It’s Niki. It’s just Niki. He trusts Niki. She’s basically his best friend, and he’s comfortable here. He is. This is a place of safety, as much as there are such places to be found. Safety, true safety, is not a thing that exists, not really. But here is as close as he can get to it.

Why can’t he let himself unwind?

Is it because Jack and Fundy are here? He hopes not; that wouldn’t be fair to them. They are his countrymen, his citizens, and more than that, Fundy is his son. What would that say about him as a parent, if being around his child makes him nervous? Not just nervous in a I-hope-I-don’t-fuck-up-my-kid way, but in a I-don’t-feel-safe-here way?

But his shoulders are stiff, slightly hunched. He can’t force them down. So he has to hope it’s not too obvious, that the lines of his coat disguise the hard set of his posture, a stance that indicates he thinks there’s a threat, if they know how to read him right. Which they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.

“How about you, Wil?” Niki asks, and he takes another bite of bread. Small, so as not to get crumbs everywhere, and he swallows before answering.

“It’s as good as always,” he says. “Do I have to say it?” Though it sits heavier in his stomach than usual, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad,” she says. “It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you. You are eating properly, right?”

It’s concern, not an accusation, no matter how misplaced. The question shouldn’t raise his hackles. But it does, and all that’s left is to keep it from showing, to keep it from his voice.

“Of course I am,” he says, and before he can get anything else out, Jack laughs.

“Wouldn’t do to have our president starving on us,” he says, and his voice is light, full of laughter, joking. It’s a good thing that Jack feels comfortable enough to joke with him. He’s glad, because—he doesn’t know him all that well, definitely doesn’t trust him, not yet, but Tommy and Tubbo seem to like him, so it’s good that he’s fitting in, that he’s found a place, that he likes it here. Though liking isn’t always enough to stop the betrayal before it comes. He ought to keep a closer eye on him, just in case, but—that wasn’t the point of this.

The point is that, joking or not, Jack is completely right. It wouldn’t do to let his eating habits interfere with his duties. He’s already weak; is he going to add malnutrition on top of that? Never mind that he often doesn’t feel like eating, these days, that he really only has an appetite when he’s here, in the bakery. He needs to keep his strength up so that he can get things done. And he can’t force himself to sleep, so that problem is out of his hands, but he can force himself to eat.

Jack couldn’t have known what he was prodding at, of course, when he made the comment. But he takes another bite of bread anyway. It’s tough to swallow, even though it tastes delicious. He doesn’t know why. He’s never had an issue eating Niki’s food before. He hopes this doesn’t become a pattern.

And he hopes it’s not because there’s other people here. It would be an explanation, at least, but not one he likes. The implications there wouldn’t be—good, to say the least.

“Jack,” Niki says quietly, admonishingly, and he wishes she wouldn’t, because he doesn’t want Jack to examine what he’s just said, to analyze it as anything other than a joke. So he musters a smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, and Jack grins back at him.

Safe territory. Level ground, even footing. Relatively speaking.

And then Fundy pipes up.

“Hey, Wil,” he says, and Wilbur wonders, suddenly, where he picked up the habit of calling him ‘Wil’ or ‘Wilbur’ more often than he calls him ‘dad’. Not that he minds it, but it’s curious. Could it be from him? He himself calls Phil by his name more often than not. Perhaps it’s genetic. But then Fundy continues, “Is your hair actually, like, turning white?” and Wilbur is no longer interested in thinking about little details like that.

He’s tense again. Tense enough now that they can probably see it, even without looking too hard.

“Why is everyone so interested in my hair, lately?” he asks. “It’s just hair. Grows out of everyone’s head. Except for yours, Jack Manifold.”

“Point,” Jack Manifold agrees, but there is a gleam in his eyes, behind his glasses, that says he too is interested in the direction this conversation has taken. Not ideal.

“It’s just that,” Fundy persists, “it’s a little bit weird, right? If it’s turning white like that? Is that normal?”

“It’s not ‘turning white,’” he says, which might be a mistake, because he’s lying through his teeth, now. “It was a bad hair dye incident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Jack laughs. “How’d you manage to fuck up hair dye that badly?” he asks, and the way the question is phrased is irritating; he doesn’t want Jack to start thinking he’s an incompetent fool who can’t dye his own hair properly. But he’ll also take this line of questioning over the other, so perhaps it balances out.

Except then, Niki splays both her hands on the counter. Any earlier levity that she had is now gone.

“Is that so?” she says. “That’s not what you told me.”

His heart is pounding again. He really, really hopes that he’s not developing a condition of some kind. He’d know if he were having a heart attack, wouldn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure that is what I told you,” he says, and Niki shakes her head.

“No, you told me that it wasn’t dye, when I asked,” she says. “And then you said that it was, but you were lying.”

She doesn’t sound angry, which is perhaps the worst thing about all of this. She doesn’t sound angry that he’s lied to her, taken advantage of her trust and fed her a blatant falsehood. Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that isn’t annoyance or betrayal or any of the other emotions she should be feeling. Instead, it’s concern. That blasted concern again.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Really?” Jack says. “Huh. Well, what’d you do that for, then?”

He’s changed his mind. The worst thing about all of this is that there are other people present. That he’s not alone with Niki, which would still be an undesirable situation, but manageable. Jack Manifold and Fundy are both here, staring at him, expecting answers that he doesn’t want to give, and Fundy—

Why is his son looking at him like that?

“Why are you all so pressed about my hair?” he demands. “It’s hair. You don’t even see it.”

“I mean,” Fundy says, “like I said, it’s just kind of weird, right? I don’t think hair just turns white for no reason. Not unless you’re really old, which you’re not, I don’t think. So I guess we’re just curious about what the reason is.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. This isn’t why he came here. This place, this bakery, these people, it’s supposed to be an escape from his responsibilities. The only one he allows himself, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s the one place where he doesn’t have to think about his own failings, where he can relax a bit and let himself be, if only for a little while, but here they are, pushing him on this, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be reminded of his incompetency. And they don’t know, can’t know exactly what they’re doing to him, but—

He slams his hand against the counter, sudden emotion boiling over. They all jump, the three of them. Niki’s eyes widen, and Fundy’s ears press back against his skull.

“Then don’t be,” he snaps. “Leave it the fuck alone. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There is a moment of silence. The only sound is the crackling of furnaces.

“I guess not,” Fundy mutters, and he realizes what he’s done.

He’s just snapped, lashed out at his friends, his countrymen, his son, and for what? Because their questions are stressing him out? He should have turned around and left the moment he saw them in here, no matter what they would have thought, because this is worse. This is so much worse than that, and now he feels like an absolute shitstain of a human being. What kind of person gets so fucking upset over questions about his hair?

“I’m sorry,” he says. Too little, too late. “I didn’t mean—” Fundy is looking at him. They all are, and suddenly, he can’t bear it. Not any longer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I really should be going. Thank you for the bread, Niki.”

It’s painfully transparent, and he is very aware of the fact that it’s the exact same way that he rushed out of the bakery when he was last here. Except this time, there are more people here to witness his shame.

History repeats itself, he thinks, bitterly. History repeats itself, and it only gets worse.

But he’s not staying here. He can’t. He just—can’t. Because he feels very upset over such a stupid little thing, and he’s upset that he’s upset, and now he’s upset other people, and he can’t stay here any longer, because if he does, the gods only know what’s going to fly out of his mouth next.

“Wil, please stay,” Niki says, but he’s already standing.

“Be seeing you all,” he says, and the door isn’t far, but it feels like miles, because he can feel their stares burning into his back as he makes his exit.

“Aw, wait, Wilbur, you don’t have to—” Jack starts, but he’s out the door. He’s out the door, and he lets it swing shut behind him, and the words cut off. He doesn’t have to listen to them. So if Fundy says anything, he doesn’t hear it, and he wonders why that makes him feel so much worse. Worse than he does already, which is no mean feat.

His stomach growls. He’s hungry. How many bites of bread did he take? Two? Three? Not enough to be filling. But somehow, he already knows that if he seeks food elsewhere, it will turn to ash in his mouth. And he can’t go back, not after the scene he’s just made, so he’s going to have to be hungry. Which is fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, even though he’s just fucked everything up, and he rather thinks he might not be able to show Niki his face ever again. So, no more bakery. No more safe place, and wow, he is being a dramatic fuck, isn’t he? But he can’t help himself. He never can.

He should have known better from the start. There is no such thing as safety. No exceptions. He should have tried harder to remember that. And he’s not angry, not anymore, not really, because they weren’t aware of the hornets’ nest they were stirring up; rather, he’s angry at himself, for losing control, for letting himself react, for not being able to handle a simple question with the poise and calm that is expected of him as president.

For being weak. That’s what it comes down to. His weakness. Persistent, and now, persistently on display.

He does a lot of screaming into his pillow that night. It doesn’t help. And sleep, it seems, is determined to continue its avoidance, so the night stretches long, and even his tears eventually run dry.

---

The next day, Niki comes to his office.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 152

I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it...

Okay, maybe I am. I managed to queue up the chapters I had in the barrel! Yay!! Which also means that I have a super duper exciting chapter coming up, which I can’t wait to write and can’t wait for y’all to read. I just need it to be perfect.

That said, thank you to @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for your help with this particular chapter.  I love when we are all three in one of these sessions and just descending into chaos in the chat. Also, @mamayoda (who I can’t tag but I do want you to know I see your likes in my notes!) for love-bombing my notes recently.

“Is it just me or is everyone really jumpy?” Charly asked as I set my food down across from her.  It was our thrice-weekly lunch dates in one of the public mess halls, and she definitely had a point.  I had already noticed three people scowl distrustfully at the food consoles, hugging closely to the prepared food side of the room instead.

I sighed. “It has to have been Derek’s stress test.  It wasn’t supposed to impact systems we didn’t design, but…”

She snorted loudly. “Tell that to the week I spent taking cold showers again.  At least this time, the doors didn’t play any music when I walked through them.”

“Did your doors at least open consistently? I was stuck in my quarters for a whole day until we figured out that I could walk through if I had an escort.”  I laughed and shook my head before digging in to my food. “And, come to find out, we actually do manage the water systems, thanks to BioLab 2.”

Contrary to myself, Charly was entirely unperturbed at this revelation beyond sniffing her hoodie and shrugging. “My doors worked fine as far as I know, but Coffey and I tend to work the same hours, so… Maybe that was it.  Oo!” Her cheer of enthusiasm caught me off guard as she started bouncing in her seat. “OOOOO! I bet he activated the routine Xiomara had running when you and Jokul weren’t friends yet!”

“There was a routine!?” I asked, exasperated. “I behaved, thank you. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Meh. Just in case. What do you think her deal is?” She tilted her head to the side, at a table near us.

Sure enough, the woman at that table was darting glances around the room, her shoulders hunched, elbows close to her body, eyes wide.  I could practically feel her shaking from where I was. “I can’t tell if she looks suspicious or afraid,” I murmured, hoping the woman couldn’t hear me. “But the fact that I’ve met mice and chihuahuas who shook less, I’m going to go with afraid.”

As I watched the woman, weighing whether or not a stranger trying to comfort her would make it better or worse, Mona’s familiar face approached her instead.  She was speaking softly enough that I couldn’t make out words, but the woman clearly recognized her and only jumped slightly.

I was so focused on the sight of Mona comforting the woman that I nearly hit the ceiling when Parvati’s voice came from entirely too close to my right shoulder. “Rebecca.  She lost her family twice, first her parents, some cousins, and an uncle when the hack happened, and then her partner and children in the After.  It’s understandable that she’s terrified right now, after the stress test. Too many bad memories.”

My face flushed in humiliation. “Pranav and Zach sent a ship-wide alert that the stress test was happening - “

A perfectly manicured hand clapped over my mouth, one dark eyebrow arched in eloquent disbelief. “Sophia. You of all people know that mental scars do not heed logic.”

Charly’s hair flew around her face as she nodded enthusiastically. “After day three of cold showers, I flinched every time I went through a door in case that stupid song started playing again, no matter how many times I reminded myself that it was a stress test and I had decidedly not given Derek boba tea again.”

Both my hands flew up in surrender. “I stand corrected, I just feel awful to see people react like that.” Gazing around the room, I was suddenly much more aware of all the darting eyes, protective postures, seats turned so that backs were against walls.

Charly had obviously seen the same thing. “We may need to talk to Pranav about limiting the tests to one or two systems at a time.”

“I wish we could,” I admitted, stabbing a potato out of my pie slightly harder than necessary. “His department was passing the tests with flying colors when Derek was limited to one or two systems at a time.  But they failed this last test miserably, it turns out.  As soon as they would react to one thing, Derek would switch to another system, and they couldn’t be everywhere at once as well as they convinced themselves that they could.  And they can’t just be good at small scale attacks: the revolt that happened before the End brought everything down at once, from multiple access points. It was… kind of elegant, in a terrible way.  Very clean.”

Charly squinted at me and Parvati in suspicion. “Are you supposed to know that they crashed and burned in the test.”

I rocked my hand back and forth while I chewed on a mouthful of crust.  It had way too much butter in it, but at least it was actually crust this time. A week ago it had been something pretty close to paper mache. “Technically we don’t officially know that.  Officially, all we know is that Pranav has requisitioned enough additional staff to increase his team of programmers by seventy percent.”

“Asses handed to them, got it,” Charly nodded in understanding.

“We also officially know that Pranav currently owes Hannah quite the enormous favor,” Parvati confided.

“How big?” Charly ventured slowly.

“Big enough that his grandchildren may be indebted to hers,” came the laughing response.

Charly shook her head and clucked her tongue. “He should know better than to bet against Derek.  He breaks the systems for fun, and they asked him to really go for it. What did they expect?”

“Apparently to put up a better fight at least.” I forced a smile, but guilt weighed on my heart as I studied the room again, fully seeing the microexpressions of anxiety, fear, and anger.  It felt like the entire Ark was constantly swinging between hope and fear. The random drills weren’t really helping, either.

“They aren’t,” Parvati agreed, letting me know that I had been thinking out loud. “Everyone is sleep deprived, on high alert, and then all of a sudden all the computer systems went on the fritz for a week.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, pushing what was left of my pot pie away from me, appetite gone. “We need to talk to Grey and Antoine about getting counselling for everyone, seeing as how Xiomara and Pranav pretty much just triggered the entire ship. I mean, everyone knows counselling is available, but I think allocating training and resources to the therapy teams is going to take priority over Pranav’s request for the moment.”

Charly tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Do we have the space for some quiet rooms, like you set up for the Food Festival a few years back? That may be a good idea.”

Snapping into work-mode, Parvati flicked her datapad open, bangles clattering as she started making notes. “The quarters left by those who relocated closer to the Archives are still uninhabited, those can be used.  We may be able to convince some people to relocate so we can spread the rooms out more evenly, but even if we can’t, just having those rooms available will help.”

“Make a note to add in the proposal for Grey: possibility of having specific vendors permitted to serve food in BioLab 2.  Encourage mental health days and picnics.”

Parvati nodded in acknowledgement of my request, before adding her own spin. “As a contingency plan, find vendors who will pre-package picnics.  Between the current distrust of the consoles and the fact it will remind everyone of the annual Festival, the good emotions will help.”

“I like it,” I confirmed. “What else?”

“Paintball tag day in the corridors,” Charly announced, without preamble or warning. “Make it a holiday, everyone is off work, limit it to one end of the Ark.”

I shook my head. “Guns, not the best idea.”

“Ew, no. No pew-pew.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was thinking more paint-soaked splash bombs.”

Finger guns deployed, dual wielding. “I am so here for a paintball tag day in that case.  The flavored paint?”

“Not the scotch bonnet please,” Parvati begged. “I just know someone will get that in the face, I don’t care how much Else likes it.”

“Got it, no more pepper spraying people,” Charly agreed seriously. “OOO! I could test the new arrows out!  With something like buttered popcorn paint, obviously. Maybe kiwi on the other team.”

“Just limit the pull on the bows, okay? I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Fiiiiine…”

Parvati smiled and added to her notes. “So, we probably want someone to correlate the current date to whatever the date would be on Earth… Just in case we need to get a consultant for Holi.”

“Good point. Conor is alarmingly good at that, so I can ask him.  It would be a nice cultural event if we could do that. If not, we can totally work on celebrating Holi when it comes around.”

“Final suggestion for right now, because I have to get back to work,” I sighed happily. “This is going to be the biggest ask, and the smallest at the same time…” Both nodded at me to continue. “Care packages, for everyone. And I mean everyone on the Ark.”

“Sophia,” Parvati scolded me. “That’s almost ten thousand people and sixteen animal companions.”

“Well aware,” I forged on, “We’ll talk to Sam about the bows, I can wrap them. Commission some of those really nice chocolates, or maybe some taffy from Simon. And something salty.  I know there is someone on the Ark who makes aromatherapy candles, Tyche is bananas about them.”

Shaking her head, she added it to the list. “If you insist on that, I insist on a celebration for the drop out of FTL.  Hannah and I can use some of the plans from the Food Festival, include Charly’s paint tag - “

“And Kink Night!”

“- and Kink Night, apparently… have several events going on across the Ark, since we already discussed declaring a holiday.”

“Get Bash’s permission to use the Undine again, and I won’t object,” I surrendered before standing. “On that note, I really do have to get back to work.  Come on, Vati, we have work to do apparently.”

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[inkweaver22-blr]

Welcome to lucky chapter 13!

A few announcements before we begin!

First, we got fan art! Shout out to @ooflifeshard for their art of the Jin/Yin/Tang fusion!

Second, I post extra thoughts on my writing process and the chapter in general on my Tumblr! Look up the tag Fanfiction Live Blogging to read them!

Now let’s get on with the story!

AO3 Link

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Thirteen: Aspects of Arachnids

The Spider Clan is made up of some interesting people. That includes MK this time.

----------

“So what did you want to talk about Mr. Tang?”

They were taking a walk through a secluded park. Tang had asked to speak with the young man privately once he had woken in this cycle to address a recent memory he had received.

“I wanted to apologize to you, MK,” Tang said. MK tilted his head in confusion.

“What for?”

“For the way I treated you last week.”

MK tensed.

“I- I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“MK.” Tang turned and placed his hands on MK’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “It’s okay. I know.”

“Know what?” MK was trembling now. He avoided Tang’s gaze, wide eyes darting around as if to look for a place to hide.

Tang gave him a reassuring squeeze and kind smile.

“I know you are the spider demon we saw.”

Last week had been before Tang had woken in the cycle. They had all rushed over to where MK had been fighting a demon alone only to find a spider demon they had never seen before wearing MK’s jacket and bandana while holding the Monkey King’s staff.

The group had, predictably, reacted with hostility. They threatened the demon and attacked him. They hadn’t been able to actually harm him before he got away, and MK had shown up perfectly fine the next day.

Physically at least.

When Tang had gone over the memories earlier this morning, it was obvious to him who the demon actually was. It certainly wasn’t the first time MK was something other than human.

He was also able to see the signs of emotional distress MK was showing over the past week. It was clear that their reaction to his true form was devastating to him.

Tang intended to fix that.

“I didn’t figure it out until this morning,” Tang said when it was clear MK had frozen in fear and wasn’t going to say anything. He pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it right away. You are very important to me and I am ashamed to have made you feel like you were unwanted.”

“You- You don’t mind?” MK clung tightly to the scholar, as if afraid he’d vanish at any moment.

“Of course I don’t. What you are or what you look like isn’t important to me. What matters is who you are and I happen to care about the person you are quite a lot.”

Tang held the young man as he trembled in his embrace. He pulled away after a few minutes, wiping his eyes and giving Tang a watery smile.

“Thank you, Tang.”

“Any time, MK.”

“Do the others know?”

“I haven’t told them anything,” Tang said as they continued their walk. “This is your secret and you should be the one to reveal it when you’re ready.”

“But what if they react like last time?” MK kicked a rock out of his path and seemed to fold into himself. “What if they don’t want to be friends with something like me?”

“First off, that would be pretty hypocritical of them considering both Pigsy and Sandy are technically demons as well and Mei is descended from a dragon. That actually makes me the odd one out in our group as the only human.”

“Huh. Didn’t think of that,” MK said.

“Second, I know they all care about you, MK. I sincerely doubt they wouldn’t be able to look past appearances and see the person we all love.”

“Love?” MK stared wide eyed at Tang.

“I like to think of us as a family,” Tang said. “Even if we aren’t the typical kind, families love each other, and you are a part of that.”

“Family…” MK smiled sadly into the distance. “It would be nice to have more family.”

“There is no ‘would be’ about it.” Tang slung his arm around MK’s shoulders. “We are family and you’re stuck with us no matter what.”

MK gave him a wide grin, leaning into the sideways hug as they continued on their path.

“Aren’t you curious by what I meant by ‘more family’?”

“Of course I am,” Tang said. “But it’s not my place to pry. If you want to talk about that then I’d be more than willing to listen.”

“Oh, well okay,” MK said, perking up a bit. He began to enthusiastically speak about his other family, but never giving any names.

Tang was able to piece together who he was talking about rather easily.

The Spider Queen was his mother. It wasn’t much of a surprise for Tang as she had filled that role for MK in the past, but never quite so literally. From what MK was saying, she seemed to still be that lovingly supportive yet protective type that he had encountered in previous cycles.

The fact that she was a much more active villain in this cycle that MK constantly fought was not addressed.

Huntsman was ‘Uncle H’. He seemed to be the type of person that gave small children lessons on knife wielding just so they could protect themselves. MK had learned all his combat skills in his spider form from him.

Huntsman was certainly a focused and skilled combatant, but, as his many friendships with Sandy across time showed, he also knew how to enjoy the quieter moments in life.

That left Goliath as ‘Uncle G’. The large spider may seem like just a brute who relied on his strength, but Tang had witnessed his soft side a few times. MK spoke fondly of the lullabies Goliath had sang when he was still little as well as his delicious cooking.

Tang wondered how it compared to Pigsy’s creations and mused on how he could try and get a cook off set up.

MK did not speak of Syntax. That made sense as it was still somewhat early in the cycle and the scientist hadn’t really joined up with the spiders until after Demon Bull King’s second invasion.

Tang did his best to recall what he knew about the man. They had been friends and colleagues once in a cycle where they had been professors at the city university.

Syntax could be a bit standoffish to those he didn’t know. Once he warmed up to you though, he loved to go on long tangents about chemistry, biology, and computer engineering. He could also be surprisingly thoughtful, having dropped by several times with an extra cup of coffee on those late nights Tang had been stuck in his office grading papers.

Tang never knew why he started working for the Spider Queen. The scientist had always been a bit ambitious, so he supposed working on something as unique as a serum using bits of the Monkey King’s power was more than enough to sway him.

It was a shame the serum was then used against him and he seemed to lose all memories of his human life.

Tang forced himself back into the present as MK finished up an anecdote about Huntsman and Goliath nearly panicking after MK had fallen asleep in his hiding spot during a game of hide and seek.

“They all sound wonderful,” Tang said once MK had finished.

“Yeah, they are.” MK sighed wistfully. “I haven’t spoken to them in a while though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… Complicated.”

Tang could certainly understand that considering how they fought each other on a nearly weekly basis.

“Well whatever the reason, it sounds like they care about you just as much as we do,” Tang said. “I’m sure they’d be more than happy to welcome you back into their lives.”

“I know that,” MK said with a huff. “I’m just not sure they'd approve of me being the Monkey King’s successor.”

“I see.”

Tang did see. He had been a part of demon families before and knew how leaving one’s blood to side with an enemy could tear relationships apart. He hoped that wouldn’t happen here with MK.

“In any case, I just hope you know that you have people that care about you and if you ever need help to just ask, okay?”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks Tang.” MK gave him another smile before frowning in thought. “I’m still not sure if I want to tell the others though.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Tang said. “If you aren’t ready then you aren’t ready. I won’t say anything to anyone before you do.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

The rest of the walk was spent discussing lighter subjects such as the latest Monkey Cop movie and which types of noodles were superior.

Tang decided to not bring up his curse this cycle. He knew he could get around the memory seal by simply stating he had a curse but not exactly its effects, but MK already had quite a lot to deal with this time. He didn’t want to add on to that stress with something that couldn’t be fixed.

He hoped that the Spider Clan would come to accept MK as he was, successor to the Monkey King and all. Not just for his sake either, as Tang could already feel four spots slowly opening up in his heart where he kept his love for his family.

It would be hard to bring them into the fold. Much harder than Macaque, the twins, or even the Demon Bull Family.

But Tang was patient.

He would use this cycle to get to know the spiders better. They were already MK’s family this time around.

Perhaps, in time, they could become his as well.

----------

Things went to Hell rather quickly.

New Years went the same as usual, but this time with the added horror of a mutated Macaque.

The shadow demon had been willingly experimented on by Syntax after he had failed to steal the Monkey King’s powers from MK. He now sported an extra set of arms and eyes, had lavender fur, and was in constant pain from the modifications. Wukong had offered him sanctuary, and Macaque had accepted.

MK hadn’t taken it well when he learned that it was his mother who had convinced Macaque to go through with the procedure.

Now something even worse was happening. This was a cycle that not only changed MK’s background, but someone else’s as well.

Lady Bone Demon was much more impulsive this cycle.

She had attacked them all directly this time, before even gathering up the artifacts she needed. They had all been overwhelmed pretty quickly and everyone except MK had been captured. She had then given him an ultimatum.

Give her the Monkey King’s power, or MK’s family would perish.

Lady Bone Demon then ‘graciously’ gave MK twenty four hours to think about it before teleporting away with her captives.

“Hey, where are you taking him?!”

Tang glanced up as he realized that he hadn’t been placed in the same cell as his family. Pigsy and Mei glared at the skeleton guards while Sandy tended to the unconscious Wukong and Macaque.

“Boss only wants five to a cell,” guard one said.

“Hope your friend here isn’t afraid of spiders,” guard two mocked.

Tang blinked at that as the others began to protest loudly. The guards simply laughed and led him away.

Well, he had wanted to get to know the Spider Clan better this cycle, hadn’t he?

After being marched down many winding corridors, Tang was thrown unceremoniously into a different cell.

Tang picked himself up and was confronted with the scowling faces of the Spider Queen and her entourage. They had certainly looked like they had seen better days.

After demanding why he was there, they had dismissed him and went back to trying to come up with a way to escape.

They had mused about eating him for a bit, Huntsman even going as far as to restrain him and brandishing a knife, before Tang had been forced to break his promise to MK. They were skeptical at first, but once Tang began telling the stories he had heard from MK, they believed him.

Spider Queen was emotionally distraught at the thought of harming her baby, but became more resolved than ever to beat Lady Bone Demon once she realized they were being used as hostages against her son.

Huntsman had been a bit more accepting, bragging about how the only reason MK had beaten them so often was from all the training he had given him. Goliath had just asked if he was eating well.

Syntax had been standing off to the side looking uncomfortable before Tang assured him that MK would be more than happy to get to know him.

The Spider Clan had invited Tang into their scheming quickly afterwards. None of their plans were very feasible, but Tang felt his connection to the four grow stronger.

Strange were the bonds you could make when in prison.

Before they could act on any of their plans, the twenty four hours were up and they were whisked away by the magic of their captor.

Tang opened his eyes to find the ten of them suspended in the air by blue ropes as Lady Bone floated in front of them. On the ground was a horrified looking MK.

“Now it is time you choose,” she said. She reached out and grabbed Tang and Spider Queen by their arms, pulling them forwards. “Your powers? Or your family?”

“Don’t listen to her, baby,” Spider Queen called out. “We’ll be fine! Just get out of here!”

“M-mom?!” MK’s mouth had dropped at being recognized.

“Sorry, MK. I broke my promise,” Tang said. “To be fair, your family was planning on eating me before I told them.”

“We said we were sorry about that-”

“ENOUGH!” Lady Bone Demon’s bellow shook the ground. “What is your decision?!”

“I- I can’t-” MK was trembling as he gripped his staff tightly.

“Wrong answer.”

Tang and Spider Queen screamed as they each had one of their arms shattered in her grip. Lady Bone Demon tossed them behind her, the blue ropes re-materializing to bind them as she summoned a large scythe.

“One last chance.” She pulled back the weapon, preparing to strike. “Give me the Monkey King’s power!”

MK roared in rage and seemed to explode into gold, purple, and green light.

Tang gasped in pain as he tried to stay awake. He stared in shock as the light expanded and formed into a giant figure.

Tang had seen the giant form that Wukong would occasionally become to take on much more powerful opponents. Macaque had access to this power as well and so would MK sometimes. It had no official name, but a scroll he had read many cycles ago had described it in a way that Tang couldn’t help but agree with.

Aspects of Destruction.

It resembled MK’s spider form, but with his human half looking more like a monkey’s instead. He had four arms now and each one held a copy of the Monkey King’s staff. The twelve eyes glowed with a burning green malice as they glared at Lady Bone Demon.

Faster than he could blink, Tang watched as MK swung one of his staffs and batted the white demon away from them. MK roared and leapt after her.

The pain from having his bones crushed soon became too much and Tang passed out.

----------

Tang woke up on Sandy’s airship.

He learned it was a few days later. MK hadn’t been able to defeat Lady Bone Demon, but had managed to buy them all the time to escape. They had also managed to pick up Red Son somewhere along the way.

Now, all twelve of them were out of the city looking for a way to defeat her.

The Spider Clan had seemed to integrate easily into their group over the next few weeks.

Spider Queen had already gotten to know Macaque over the course of the experiments, but once Wukong decided to go through the same procedure and gained two extra pairs of arms, she seemed to start flirting with the both of them.

Neither monkey seemed bothered by this and flirted right back.

Huntsman had decided Mei needed proper weapons training with her sword and whenever he wasn’t giving her pointers was drinking tea with Sandy.

Goliath shared cooking duty with Pigsy. The pair gave each other tips and techniques and their meals only became tastier from the collaboration.

Syntax had seemed a bit lost at first, but after completing one of the internet memes MK had quoted, became fast friends with him. He even got to have stimulating scientific discussions with Red Son.

Tang sighed in contentment at dinner one evening as he listened to the conversations around him.

He had never thought he would have longed for a large family, but this just felt right to him.

Tang hoped he would get to experience it more often in future cycles.

----------

The Spider Clan joins the ranks!

I think that leaves only two characters left out of Tang’s family. Considering who they are, I doubt that will happen any time soon.

This chapter takes place in @strange-lace's amazing Spider Monkie AU! It has some great angst and fluff as well as absolutely lovely spider-monkey designs for Macaque and Wukong! Go check it out!

Now technically this AU doesn't have a kaiju form for MK, but I wanted to introduce the concept to the story and it didn't fit anywhere in the coming chapters.

There’s going to be some plot in the next chapter so look forward to it! Until next time!

[mnictasbcl]

I’ll be forever young (with you)

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

June 13th: Forever young @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Sumo

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson, Connor & Hank Anderson & Sumo

Additional Tags: Fluff, Birthday, First birthday, Presents, Detroit bridge, Swearing, Hank is the best dad

Summary: August 15th, 2039. Connor’s first birthday.

He doesn’t think Hank will do anything that big for his birthday…

 And is proven very wrong.

(The final prompt for this event! I’ve enjoyed it very much :) )

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

AUGUST 15th, 2039

TIME AM 07:40:02

 Connor awoke to a ball of brown and white fur catapulting itself onto his bed.

Opening his eyes and fully coming out of the stasis, he realised that this was Sumo.

He ran his hands over his soft fur, receiving the wet slobbery kisses over his face, smiling. The Saint Bernard seemed particularly affectionate and excitable, the reason why eluding him as he was distracted by the fluffy cuddles.

But then, finally pulling himself away from the great dog and scanning his surroundings, he found out the reason pretty quickly.

Loosely strapped upon Sumo’s head was a colourful party hat, the words ‘Happy Birthday!’ printed on it in bold letters. Deducing that it wasn’t Hank’s birthday, it wasn’t Sumo’s…

The only other person in the house was him.

He chuckled, moving to pull the hat off the dog but he grumbled and jumped off the bed before he could do so.

“I didn’t think you’d find that comfortable, Sumo.”

The only reply he was given was a snort as the dog sniffed at the floor, nosing slowly out of his bedroom.

Connor shrugged. It made sense. It was a year since his activation day. Strangely… he did recall Hank paying extra attention and asking questions when he had mentioned he was almost a year old since being activated.

But he hadn’t viewed it as a birthday. Merely the day after his testing was complete and he was finally activated and shipped out on the same day for his first mission.

Of course, with the development of android rights, birthdays had been allowed for androids, even encouraged. Markus had celebrated his, he remembered, as he’d created a painting for him as a gift. So had various other members of Jericho.

Still, it felt… different to view this as a human celebration, of him turning a year old. The body he was in was technically not even a year old because he’d fallen off the rooftop on his first mission. He shuddered. It hadn’t been a brilliant day of birth, if humans called it that, that was for sure.

However, with help from people like Hank and Markus, he was beginning to accept his new humanity. Perhaps embracing his birthday would allow him to really move into the next stage of his life.

Besides, it wasn’t like Hank would do anything massive for the day, right?

 He walked out of his room and was met with balloons tied to the curtain poles, a banner proclaiming ‘Happy birthday/activation day, Connor!’, presents piled up on the living room table and Hank standing at the kitchen counter, a birthday hat askew on his head.

“Here comes the birthday boy.” Hank chuckled as he walked in, taking in his bewildered expression. “I know I probably went a bit… a lot extreme on this, but it’s your first birthday. You got to have a nice first birthday.”

Connor continued to scan over the room. “It’s…”

“I know.” He took a step towards him. “I know you’re still getting used to all your new-fangled emotions. But this doesn’t have to be big and stressful. Just a nice day where you can open some gifts and eat cake.”

He quirked a brow. “Did someone buy me a biological stomach, Lieutenant?”

“Smartass. Fine, I’ll eat cake. You can watch and drink a thirium pouch.”

Connor nodded. That didn’t sound too different. He followed Hank into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch.

“Alright…” Hank hummed as he looked over the gifts. “We’ve got a few things- a lot of things- from your friends at Jericho. One or two from the guys at the DPD… and me and Sumo piled some stuff together.”

Connor looked over it all with confusion, hands reaching out before pausing, reassessing. Eventually, he looked over to Hank for help.

“What… exactly do I do?”

Hank smiled. “They’re for you. Open whichever you want, but make sure Sumo doesn’t eat the wrapping paper.” He threw a slightly dirty look at the dog who was laying in front of the table, waiting. Sumo glared back at him.

Connor nodded. That sounded reasonable. Picking up the first gift, which was from Markus, he found even the tingle of excitement building in his chest, wondering with gratitude what his loved ones had chosen for him.

Markus had gotten him a book about fish, along with a selection of classical piano sheet music for him to play. Seeing the care put in, the thought about what he was interested in… was touching.

Tearing through the next few gifts elicited the same feeling. Everything was so thoughtful, even the Saint Bernard plush Sumo had ‘bought’ for him.

“Full of himself.” Hank jerked a thumb fondly at the dog when he opened the gift.

“It is very sweet, Sumo. Perhaps not as good as the real deal…” He bent down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “But very cute, thank you.”

After everything was placed neatly back on the table, he thought they were finished. But Hank looked to him and proclaimed:

“Okay. I have one last gift for you…”

Connor tilted his head. “But I appreciated the things you have already gotten for me, Lieutenant. They were very generous.”

“This isn’t a thing.” He replied, getting up off the chair. “Come on, follow me.”

The android was intrigued as he was led out to the car. Sumo was put in the back, so he assumed it couldn’t be another vacation or they would have left him with the neighbours.

Still, it seemed like Hank wished this to be a surprise, so he looked down at the mini Sumo plush he had brought with him, stroking his fingers over the soft fabric. He chuckled to hear Sumo whining with jealousy from the back.

Connor managed to distract himself as such until the car pulled to a stop. Looking up, he found they were in the park.

Hank strode ahead of him once Sumo was on the leash, and he hurried to catch up. It didn’t seem like they were in the mood for sightseeing today, the scenery rushing by as Hank continued on.

But, just as Connor was about to inquire where they were going, he found himself at a familiar place. Looking out over the Detroit bridge.

Hank sat down on the bench, holding Sumo’s leash and patting the spot beside him for the dog to hop up.

“I remember this place.” Connor mused, standing beside the bench. Earlier in the day now, he didn’t look out at the stars twinkling overhead but instead the crisp summer sky. “You almost shot me here.”

Hank laughed. “If that’s what you’re asking; no, I’m not going to shoot you. That would be a shit birthday present.”

“It would indeed be rather unpleasant.”

“And illegal.” Hank added. “But… that is partly the reason I brought you here. Not the almost shooting thing. Maybe just the… almost.” He sighed.

“I wasn’t even gonna think about it; you were getting on my nerves, there was too much going on in my head… I was just going to shoot you. But then- you didn’t kill those tracis. And you stood there and told me you were afraid to die. This was the first place I realised that you were actually alive… and all the better for it, otherwise, where would we be now?”

Connor mulled it over. If Hank had shot him, it would have… well, severely halted the growth of their relationship.

“But I don’t want to think about that.” Hank continued on. “I didn’t shoot you. You had a heart. And now it’s your first birthday. In that year, you helped the leader of the android revolution… You pulled me out of whatever rut I’d fallen into. And honestly? I couldn’t see my life without you right now, son.”

Connor glanced to Hank as he paused. He didn’t comment on the way his voice had choked up, instead placing a hand gently on his shoulder, a sign of comfort.

“It’s really helped me, living not on my own again—no offense, Sumo. But just having someone in the house, you… Even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.” He chuckled.

“What I’m trying to say is… Well, I know you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. A long life. A life where you’ll always look like that, where you’ll be forever young- and a while from now, you’ll be living a new life, without—” he looked up to Connor. “But right now, where we are? I like that. I don’t want it to go away. So that’s why…”

It appeared Hank had hit his quota for sappiness, as he simply held out a piece of paper to Connor wordlessly.

Connor took it off him, quickly scanning over it. It was a form. Official looking, with Hank’s signature at the bottom, and room for his…

“An adoption form?”

“If it’s too much, just tell me. I don’t want you thinking I’m some clingy old man but—”

He handed it back to Hank, his signature printed on it. “Thank you… dad.” The word was strange. It wasn’t likely he’d always use it- but the meaning then, the feeling it brought… it was the best birthday present he could have asked for.

Hank smiled back to him. “Great. Now, what about we get out of here? The view’s pretty, but it’s gonna get hot as hell later in the day and that cake back at home isn’t going to eat itself.”

Connor followed after him, back to the car. “Of course. I have heard, however, about this new android update which can install human mechanics such as eating…”

“I’m not saving you any fuckin’ cake, Connor. It’ll go old.”

“Like you?”

 Connor wouldn’t have it any other way. The small moments of genuine affection and feelings let out into the air… The regular day-to-day life of working at the DPD and bantering with Hank… Being forever young, one day, that all might end. But for now, he would live in the moment, and he would embrace it. All the emotions that would come with deviancy, whether good or bad, or even a mixture of both… He couldn’t ask for a better Lieutenant turned father-figure to help him through it.

[midnightsnyx]

Consequences - Matthew Tkachuk: part 6

summary: you absolutely hate Matthew Tkachuk so it’s just your luck when you wind up pregnant with his child. 

a/n: well... here it is lol 2(or 3?) weeks late. sorry for the wait, this chapter was just a bitch to write and every time i thought i was done, i wasn’t happy with it & i didn’t wanna post just for the sake of posting. but i stayed up until 2 a.m. to finish this, so technically it is sunday so im posting on schedule lol

im not sure how many parts are left to this story, maybe two or three + an epilogue but i haven’t decided yet. 

also, this gif made me feel things 😂

word count: 2.1k (i wish they were longer too but im doing the best i can😩)

warnings: none other than a couple swear words

Part 6

29 weeks

“What are you doing?”

“Researching how to murder someone and get away with it.” You mutter, typing where to buy a tiger in Google.

Becca gives you a wary look and sits next to you. “Everything okay?”

“No!” You groan in frustration, tossing your phone on the coffee table. “Matthew is driving me insane.”

She frowns. “Is he being an ass?”

“He’s being nice. Too nice.” You grumble, ignoring when Becca chuckles. “It’s like he’s trying to make up for missing the doctor’s appointment even though I told him I forgive him.”

Becca raises an eyebrow at you and you try to ignore her pointed look. “Do you though?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask defensively.

“You’re different around him now and I’m sure he’s noticed. It’s like you don’t trust him.”

You start to deny her accusation but stop to think about it. Were you more cautious around Matt lately? You certainly didn’t let yourself depend on him for things that you had been before, too afraid that he would let you down. You wanted to, but there was a nagging voice in the back of your mind reminding you that he’s let you down before and there’s always a chance he will again.

It’s as if Becca can read your mind because she shrugs. “You should be honest with him.”

However, something you’ve learned recently is that too much honestly can get you in trouble.

. . .

Sending Matt a text that said we need to talk, probably wasn’t the best approach because it took him approximately fifteen minutes to show up at your apartment and his is a half hour drive away from yours.

So his windblown hair and wide eyes really weren’t a surprise when you opened your front door.

“So, I think I should have worded that text a little better.”

“You think?” He huffs, walking past you when you step aside. He doesn’t even bother to take his shoes or jacket off, walking straight to the living room and turning to look at you.

“I’m sorry. For whatever I did.” He says and you groan.

“That’s the problem! Stop being sorry for things. It’s driving me nuts.”

He frowns and looks at you in confusion. “So… you don’t want me to be sorry for things?”

“I don’t want you to not be sorry for things, I just want you to stop being sorry for everything. It’s like you’re walking on eggshells around me.”

“I’m just trying to make-”

“Make up for missing the appointment.” you say, finishing his sentence. “I know.” your hand falls to your stomach and you sigh. “We’re going to be parents in less than three months. We need to start trusting each other.”

Matt slowly walks over to you and reaches out for your hand which you let him hold. His thumb rubs across the back of it and he nods.

“You’re right.”

You grin and lightly punch his shoulder with your free hand. “Of course I am. When am I ever wrong?”

He smiles, pulling you in for a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You ignore the way it makes your heart race because the last thing you need right now is your feelings for him to get even more confusing when you’re both finally on the same page.

Things are good now and you can’t risk messing it up.

. . .

31 weeks

He’s like a kid in a candy store, you’ve realized as you follow Matt around buy buy BABY. He has two carts, one already stocked full of things and the other slowly being filled. You stopped keeping count of how much everything costed an hour ago because the number started to make you queasy.

“He has enough clothes, Matty.” You whine, taking note of how Matt trips over his feet when you call him by that nickname. “and he’ll grow out of them before he even gets a chance to wear them.”

“Last one, I swear.” He says, holding up an outfit. “C’mon, how fucking cute is he going to look in this?”

“If his first word is a swear word, I’m going to kill you.” You mutter, taking the outfit from him and tossing it in the cart. Matt just grins and rests a hand on your stomach, hoping the baby will kick.

“How’s Joey?”

“Grayson is doing just fine.”

“We’re never going to come to an agreement on a name, are we?” he asks and you smile sweetly.

“Nope.”

He laughs and starts walking towards the checkouts.

“Did my mom tell you that they’re coming to visit?” He asks and you nod, recalling your conversation with Chantal. She’d called you first to make sure you were okay with the entire Tkachuk clan showing up. She knows how stressful pregnancy is and didn’t want to overwhelm you.

But you were ecstatic when she asked if it was okay for them to visit. You’ve grown to depend on her for any pregnancy questions over the past seven months and even when you needed some regular advice for everyday things, you sometimes texted her.

“Yeah, it’s Wednesday, right?”

Matt nods, smiling politely at the cashier as he starts loading every thing on the conveyor belt. You can tell that she’s a hockey fan by the way her eyes light up when she recognizes who he is.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you can pick them up from the airport?” He asks, catching you off guard. “Their plane lands around noon and I won’t be back until later that night and I don’t really want them to have to take a cab.”

You’re a little surprised that he’s asking you to do this instead of paying someone or asking a close friend to do it instead. It’s an odd feeling, realizing that he trusts you with his family.

“Yeah, I’d love to.” You tell him and his smile warms you to the bone.

. . .

You show up to the airport forty-five minutes early because you can’t decide if you should wait in the SUV for Matt’s family, or meet them in the airport. Would it be weird to wait for them inside like you would with your own friends or family? You double check your phone to make sure that Matt did tell them it was you picking them up because how weird would it be if they were expecting him only to find you waiting.

You’re definitely over thinking it but you find yourself standing at the gates when their plane lands.

Chantal is the first person you see and her face lights up and she scurries over to you, pulling you in for a soft hug.

“Oh, look at you!” She gushes, taking your hands in hers and holding you at arms length. “You’re glowing.”

Glowing isn’t exactly the word you would use because as much as you tried to look nice to pick them up, you’re still seven months pregnant, sweating because of the jacket you have on and most definitely are wearing odd shoes because you can no longer see your feet and Matt wasn’t here to check for you.

But you blush nonetheless, letting Keith, Taryn, and Brady hug you before starting to walk to baggage claim.

“Thank you for picking us up.” Chantal says and you smile.

“It’s nothing,” you say, brushing it off. “You’ve done a lot for me.”

“Anything I can do to help. I know how hard it is being pregnant with your man travelling a lot.”

You want to correct her when she calls Matt your man, but you don’t want to be impolite so you just nod.

“Speaking of your man,” Brady says in a teasing voice, “what time does he get in, again?”

“Around 8.” You say, ignoring the teasing tone and changing the subject to ask Taryn how school is going. You know you’ll hear more comments about the nature of your relationship with Matt from his brother but for now, you chat with Taryn and Chantal about plans for the baby.

. . .

Matt gave you a key to his apartment when you both realized that you spent more time at his these days then you did at your own so you don’t miss the knowing looks Chantal and Keith share when you use your key to unlock Matt’s apartment. You know they can tell it’s your key and not Matt’s because he painted it your favourite colour when he gave it to you.

“So do we get a sneak peak of the nursery?” Taryn asks hopefully and you nod, gesturing for her to follow you. Matt turned one of the guest rooms in to the nursery in his apartment. You haven’t done anything with yours yet because you and Matt were starting to wonder if after the baby is born, at least for a little while, the two of you should just live together. It would certainly make things much easier.

“It’s beautiful.” Chantal says, and you can see her eyes watering a little.

“We’re going to put up letters spelling his name above the crib.”

“Oh yeah, have you guys decided on a name yet?” Keith asks, testing the sturdiness of the crib by wiggling it a little.

“No.” You mutter. “We can’t agree on anything.”

“You’ll find something you both love eventually.” Chantal reassures you. “Now, please tell me my son has food in his fridge, because I’m going to cook dinner.”

You grin, realizing that she too knows how bad Matt is at keeping his fridge stocked. Before you started spending so much time here, you would be lucky if he had eggs in the fridge.

. . .

Matt arrives home just as dinner is cooked and you get to witness what a typical Tkachuk night must look like. There’s lots of chirps thrown but you can tell how close this family is and how much they care about each other. Especially when it comes to Matt and his mom and sister. He treats them like gold and it warms your heart to see it.

After dinner, you volunteer to clean up and you’re surprised when Keith offers to help. You’ve only spoken to him a few times before today and you don’t feel as close to him as you do with Chantal so it’s quiet while the two of you clear up the dishes.

Keith breaks the silence after a couple minutes, turning to look at you.

“I know Matthew can be a handful… but don’t give up on him, okay?”

You’re surprised to hear this coming from Keith because you were truthfully expecting Taryn or Brady to say something about it. Every time you and Matthew touched or spoke to each other, you noticed the knowing looks and soft smiles from the other Tkachuk family members.

It was like they knew something that neither you nor Matthew did.

You’re not sure what exactly to say so you just nod.

“I won’t.” You promise, realizing that you truly mean it.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Black Eye- Prompt Fill

Three times Jon gives himself a black eye.

Cw alcohol, minor injuries, mentions of misgendering

@thevengefulhufflepuff​

I have one more bingo fic left to post, and after that I am doing the "things you said" prompt list, so if there is something you want written for Jon or Martin or Tim, please please please send me a prompt because I need at least one by Friday, because that be writing day!  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​

Jon is nine years old.  Jon is nine years old and he’s given himself a black eye.  

He doesn’t want to go home to his grandmother.  

Technically it had been her fault anyhow.  If she’d gotten him a book of activities for Boys instead of one for Girls, it probably would have better explained how to make a sling shot… and how to avoid punching yourself in the face while trying to use it.  

But no.  He has a book of activities for Girls.  It has about seven different ways to braid your hair, and how to sew (which Jon does find useful so his grandmother won’t scold him for tearing his clothes), how to make dolls out of yarn, a handful of useless ways to use a bandana, a dozen crafts with doilies, and so on.  Useless.  

It wouldn’t help him protect himself, which clearly he Needs to protect himself after….  After That.  Not to mention, he isn’t a girl, no matter what his Grandmother and teachers keep trying to tell him.  

He thinks it’s the hair.  If he could cut it maybe they would start getting it right.  Grandmother probably wouldn’t mind, it would make him easier to deal with.  No stray hairs on everything, no urging him to brush it, no forcibly making him get it out of his face.  

Still.  He doesn’t want his grandmother to see his black eye, because that will mean scolding him for fighting, which he wasn’t, and getting told it isn’t ladylike.  He isn’t a lady.  

Still.  He can’t exactly wander as far as he used to.  He knows his Grandmother will be no help at all with the Things he knows are out there now, but the illusion of safety is better than nothing.  

He doesn’t try to cover it with makeup.  He’s seen characters do that in books and in movies and it never works.  So why bother?  (Not to mention he doesn’t want to touch his eye.  He’d been so afraid that he’d broken his glasses.  He wouldn’t be able to explain that, and then his grandmother would have to pay for another pair and the thought of her spending more money on him makes his stomach twist with guilt.  But his overlarge glasses that earned him many ridicules slipped down his face before he’d punched himself.  (For a moment he’d worried he’d popped his eyeball, before remembering that eyes don’t pop like squished grapes… or at least not as easily as most people thought.  There were tougher parts of the eye not to mention he could still see through it, and open it (mostly) and there wasn’t any blood or virtuous humor leaking out of him, so it was probably fine… or so he’d thought until he caught his reflection in a window and seen the darkening contusion.)  He’d rather get the yelling over with.  So he calmly washes up before supper and sits at the table.  

“Have you been fighting?”  She looks over the table at him with cold disapproval.  

“No.”  Jon stays calm.  He is practically an adult.  He can have a discussion as such.  

“Then, how did this happen?”

“I made a slingshot and was practicing my aim in the yard, and I hit myself in the face.”  

She studies in, trying to gauge if he’s lying.  

The yelling never comes, so he guesses she believes him.  But he does get the lecture on ladylike behavior.  

That night he cuts his hair short with scissors.  It effectively distracts his grandmother and his teachers from his black eye.  

Jon is freshly appointed as head Archivist.  Already piled down with paperwork, struggling with the keys to his office.  Cursing as several papers escape his pile and drift to the floor.  He can hardly see over the stack he’s carrying, and he’s afraid some of the files will fall instead of the loose papers on top.  Mostly his notes and instructions and to-do lists.  He wants to cry.  Barely a week in and he’s already in over his head.  

Why did He get this job?  Why not Sasha?  

There is already an aching chasm between him and the people that have been his friends, and he’s carved out a rift between himself and Martin.  And what for?  

He can’t do this on his own.  

He can’t even do it, period.  

Can’t even open his office door.  

No.  No.  He isn’t going to cry in the hallway.  

His key is in the lock now, but he can’t turn it.  Can’t even manage to turn it half the time when he can see the lock and isn’t carrying things.  

“Heya Boss!”

Jon jumps, just as the door unsticks.  

His files tumble to the ground, his glasses slide off his face, and the door smacks him in the eye.  

“FUCK.”  Jon is knocked on his ass.  

Tim snickers, because of Course Tim came along just in time to startle him.  

Jon stifles a sob.  “Go away, Tim.”  If he isn’t going to help, and evidence from the last week points to Tim not helping, he can leave Jon to his stress and exhaustion and bruising eye.  

Something in Jon’s tone must give him away, because it shuts Tim up, and he kneeling by his side, prying his hands away from his face, and giving a low whistle at the rapidly forming bruise.  

“Shit Jon, do… do you need some ice?  Do you want a hand with… Jesus, Jon how did you even carry all this?”

Jon curls away from him.  “Not like you were helping.”  Petulant like a child.  Christ, what happened since his childhood, he had been irritating and rude, sure, but much less needy… right?  Surely his nine-year-old self wouldn’t have been near tears in the hall because his friend might hate him.  Stupid and sensitive.  When did he start needing people?  He’d been fine alone.  Always fine.  And no one got hurt when there was no one to hurt.  

“I’m fine.”  Probably would be more convincing if he weren’t curled up like a frightened child.  

“Sure.  How about we get you to the breakroom, and you can have a sit-down on the couch with some ice on that eye of yours, and I clean up this mess, okay?”

Jon doesn’t have it in him to say no.  Because that sounds very, very nice.  

Jon nods off there and wakes to find significantly less work than he had before, and all the files reassembled and organized.  

It’s New Years, and Jon is struggling with a bottle of champagne.  

He’s never really opened a bottle before.  He’s not have champagne that often, in all fairness.  A couple of office parties that were terrible and the drinks were cheap, despite the dress code.  And there was the time Georgie bought them a bottle.  But Georgie had opened it with a satisfying pop and it had tasted strange to him, but it had also tasted like happiness and contentment and safety.  

Jon can’t get the foil off, and Tim is laughing at him.  

Sasha is trying to help him, but she’s laughing too hard to get a word out, let alone stand up.  

Jon is faking a pout, and fighting actual irritation, and trying to bite down his pride and ask Martin for help.  

He gets the foil off, but can’t get a grip on the cork.  

Tim is giggling something about his little noodle arms, which Sasha smacks him lightly and tells him to be nice about, but they are both laughing harder now, and it’s… all so Good.  In a way that Jon hadn’t thought possible.  

Or it Was good until the cork slips out of his hands as he finally pulls it free and it hits him in the eye.   Again, knocking his glasses sideways (but thankfully not breaking them).  

He stands there startled, only a little champagne spilling.  

“Oh shit, Jon!”  Sasha takes the bottle from him.  

Martin comes running.  “Jon!  What happened?”

Jon is still processing what happened.  

Tim is still laughing so hard he’s crying.  

“Fine, Martin, just got punched by the champagne.”  It honestly doesn’t hurt (especially not after everything else he’s been through), but Jon is very aware that it is likely bruising before their eyes.  Damn his EDS.  

“Ice!  You need some ice!”  Martin already reaching for one of their Many ice packs.  

“Really, Martin, doesn’t even hurt!”  He appreciates the care, it feels good to know that people are looking out for him… even Tim who still has tears of laughter streaming down his face.  

“BOSS, IT LOOKS LIKE YOU GOT IN A FISTFIGHTTTTT REMEMBER WHEN YOU WALKED INTO THAT DOOR.”

Jon hmms in his driest academic voice, “I seem to recall that was your fault.”  

“I REMEMBER THAT, JON WOULDN’T TELL US WHAT HAPPENED!”  Sasha’s laughing again now too.  

Jon is biting back a smile.  He’s glad he has them back.  

“You sure you’re alright?”  Martin examines his eye, before handing over the ice, and leading Jon to a seat, with a kiss.  

“Perfect.  Promise.  …Although I wouldn’t say no to some of that champagne.”  

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 38

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The pale cheek was rubbery and cold under your finger. You poked it again. "Are you sure he's dead?" 

Loki looked at the severed, and a little chewed, bottom half of the ambassador. "Pretty much."

The body had been laid out on top of a desk, with all the books and documents previously occupying it put on the ground. It didn't really matter in the ways of making things messy, because the suite belonging to the recently deceased ambassador was already a dusty, chaotic mess. The room was dark and narrow and made even smaller by the bookshelves lined along one wall, stealing even more space. The carpet used to be gold and thick, but now it looked just worn and tired. 

"Do we even have a plan? Like, anything in particular to look out for?" 

Loki scratched his chin, looking around next to you. "Plans are for the weak of heart. We've got something better, love—a suspicion. Now we only have to find the evidence for or against it." 

You looked at the shelves filled with old tomes to the point of almost breaking the wood. And then at the loose papers piled carelessly along two of the walls and also in the bedroom. The notes were haphazardly scribbled and left in places where a thought must've struck the man, and then left forgotten or lost. Ink was spilled on the less fortunate ones. 

"...right."

You couldn't say you were happy about it, but there was little to do about it. Whatever the ambassador was working on before he died could shed some light on his death. Now you only had to find it. 

With a deep sigh, you braced yourself and got to work. 

It soon turned out you didn’t understand a single word of it. 

"You said your spell would work and I would understand everything." You focused really hard on the wall of text in a language you'd never seen before. "And it works fine when I'm talking to the lords here, but not on this." 

Loki leaned over your shoulder to peek a glance at the text. "I have no idea. Maybe it works differently on humans? Or maybe you're just a particularly weird individual of your species." 

"Thanks." 

"Welcome, love." 

With nothing you could read, your job there was crippled. Even when Loki assured you he didn't mind doing everything himself and that it wasn't your fault, there was still a sour feeling you couldn't quite shake off. 

"I'm going to see if I can find the kitchens and get us something edible." You decided to pass the time on something at least vaguely helpful. 

Loki looked up from the notes he'd gathered from the windowsill. He’d made himself comfortable in one of the cleaner parts of the room, although unfortunately it just happened to be near the corpse. "Be careful. And please, don't kill anyone without me." 

"I'd never," you promised with a wink and left. 

The castle was huge, but empty. At first, you put in on the murder that must've shaken the people living there, but the longer you looked around, it struck you as odd. Everything was clean, even if touched by time. There must be people taking care of it, but you couldn't find any. 

Or maybe they were avoiding the outsiders. Technically, you were an alien here. 

You walked the empty corridors, enjoying the silent breeze passing through the open panels. It was strange not to see any glass in the windows, but with the weather so mild, there probably wasn't any temperature drop to worry about anyway. 

There were shadows sneaking in the corners of your vision. They could be figments of your imagination and sense of wrongness of this place. They could be the things howling in the dark. 

No. Thinking about that probably wasn't the wisest idea. In a place where thoughts apparently could shape reality, thinking merry, happy thoughts seemed like a much more rational option if one planned to survive and not be eaten by their own fears embodied. You had such plans, and even if Loki was convinced that you had absolutely no connection to magic unless it hit you in the face, it was better to stay cautious. And happy. What a lovely day it was, after all, with the creeping light avoiding particular parts of your vision, and something definitely following you. How nice would it be to meet someone. Anyone. 

Your eyes wandered off into the gardens below, where the everlasting night was laying thick. A fountain shimmered in bluish speckles of water. And behind it, the night opened its eyes. 

You might've jumped a little. Just the tiniest bit. 

But there was no denying that, just for the briefest moment, your eyes met the Queen's, posed unnaturally still among the statues. 

…and people said wishful thinking wouldn't get you anywhere. 

You hopped over the railing, and onto the moss-covered ground. The guard you'd seen before was nowhere to be found. You stared around as hard as you could, trying to pierce the shadows and strange light. It took a moment to find what you were looking for. 

From up close, the stars overhead and the stars shimmering on her skin looked like mirror images. For a moment, the night sky felt within a hand's reach. 

Not one muscle betrayed the Queen had she noticed your arrival. Her eyes were dull and completely blank—to the point where you wondered if you hadn't imagined everything. 

You stood right next to her and still weren't decapitated, which was a comfort and a good sign. You bowed stiffly, even if she didn't see it. 

"Hi," you said quietly, looking for any sign of comprehension. "I'm one of the people who came here to explain the recent murder." 

Nothing. Just the vast expanse of the night enclosed in a fading body and crumbled into a vaguely humanoid shape. The Queen only had one horn intact, white as a bone, and sharp like the crescent moon—the only one to ever be seen on the edge of the universe. 

"I wondered if you knew anything about it," you tried again. "We're doing well so far, and I'm sure we'll find the murderer eventually, so don't worry about that, but… We'd still appreciate any and all help." 

Birds chirped somewhere in the trees. Shimmering pollen flew on the light breeze squeezing through the thicket. The night turned her eyes toward you. 

It'd been a while since you cowered under the sheets, afraid of the darkness. It was a common fear among children, and one that only a few grew out of. Those eyes reminded you of those sleepless nights. 

Not a word left the bloodless lips. Not a muscle twitched. The edges of the woman blurred into the night. 

"...right. Sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty." 

You backed away a few steps before turning your back to her. A shiver ran down your spine. If that was what fading was, you preferred death. 

*

Loki enjoyed reading, he really did. Even as a child, he'd often been found buried among the old tomes in the palace's library, or smuggling particularly interesting ones to his rooms. There was something in the way of the written word that captured his attention way better than whatever training he was forced to participate in for the sake of Odin's misplaced ambition. There was a certain rush in learning facts previously unknown and in understanding the world or the forces in it better. 

Loki felt absolutely none of that while going through the ambassador's notes. 

Most of them were full of incomprehensible babble of half-finished ideas or references that led nowhere without the books they'd been taken from. Some seemed to be copied pages, which led Loki to the conclusion that the books were not to be taken off the library grounds. 

There were a lot of dates and numbers that made little sense to him, so he put them down on the pile of things he deemed irrelevant to the investigation. The pile was growing and now consisted of several piles, forming the majority of the room's contents. 

The doors opened. Loki was relieved to see you; the dagger disappeared back up his sleeve. 

"That took you awhile," he noticed, throwing the crumbled papers to the right, onto the pile of nonsense. "I was getting worried." 

"I'm good. I got you some apples." 

The apples were a dusted orange, but tasted sweet enough to justify the unusual color. Loki leaned back in his chair and let you settle on his lap. The feeling of your body pressed into his made you share the warmth and comfort, and made some of the stress building up since morning fade away. 

"I met the Queen," you said around a mouth full of apple, and the other hand buried in Loki's hair. "She seemed nice enough. The creepiness definitely runs in the family, though." 

Some of the stress came back. "Did she… say anything?"

"Nope. I don't think she’s… aware of things. Which is a shame, because I seriously hoped she could help us." 

Loki brushed your back in wide, soothing strokes. "There is a chance she'll regain her senses one day, just for long enough to answer some questions. Fading is a complicated process." 

"You know a lot about it." 

Loki's eyes dropped to the few remaining apples. "Gods fade too sometimes." 

"Will you? One day?" 

"I am a Frost Giant, love, even if I was raised on Asgard. I'm not sure how much that complicates my case, and there is no one to ask about it anymore." 

"I'm sorry." 

Loki closed his eyes and breathed in your scent as he felt you kiss his temple, gently and with enough unfiltered love to make his heart throb almost painfully. He was lucky, even despite the mess politics brought onto him. He was luckier than he ever thought he'd be. And luckier than he thought he deserved. 

"Did you find anything interesting?" you asked with a face burrowed into the crook of his neck. 

"There was quite a lot of nonsense, but the rest highlights the ambassador's interest in the wars and mass deaths that always follow them." 

You froze. The corpse laid on the desk next to you no longer felt like something you could forget about. "...what an interesting guy. "

"Most definitely, but it's too early to judge just yet. I made a list of the books he mentioned most often. I think it'd be worth our time to pay a visit to the library to check them out and maybe ask a few questions to the people working there. They should know something about him and the dead assistant."

"We could get some more apples on our way," you offered, standing up. Loki already missed you. 

"Sure, why not. It's not like you'd take the fruit of the sacred trees from the very clearly separated part of the gardens, right?" 

"...of course. I'd never overlook that." 

You did overlook that in the end, and Loki just happened to overlook it too. Overlooking things was always more fun in good company. 

The gardens were a beautiful, lush place, bursting with colors and leaves that danced on the wind instead of falling. Some of the branches were covered in flowers so tiny they looked like ants, traveling up and down the bark. Birds too shy to leave the shadows chirped and sung. 

It was a strange change to witness, especially having in mind what the gardens were like in the morning. Whatever put them in a good mood had clearly done a good job. It made the winding paths easier to follow, and the water passing through the fountain shimmer like starlight. 

Loki shrugged when you voiced your thoughts. 

"In your world, the weather changes just as rapidly," he said, looking at his mirrored image. "Here, it's the very essence of the Edge that's capable of changing." 

It was poetic, like most things on the Edge. And just like them, the forest suddenly decided to hate you. 

First, the birds vanished, their voices cut short. 

Then, something else moved between the curled, twisted trees. Loki noticed too, and handed you one of his knives. The knives had a habit of appearing around him in just the right moments, and you loved them for it. 

And finally, the Edge decided how to make your lives difficult this time. 

The monstrosity that circled the fountain was a terror of thin legs and bulky torso, armed with too many teeth.

"Is it a spider?" you asked in a voice too high because of your heart leaping into your throat. 

"It could be, if someone really hated spiders," Loki said, but there was a smile on his face. "And it might present a problem, if we were still on Earth—but now I'm free and ready to deal with this the old-fashioned way." 

You blinked when golden light enveloped him in a flash. The green armor poured onto his body while magic danced around his fingers. The golden helmet you'd seen only once in the battle of New York, now returned in its full glory. 

You cheered as Loki stepped out, swinging a spear with a nonchalant ease only available to children forced to learn something for years against their will. 

"Kick its ass, babe!" 

Loki winked. 

The creature didn't want to have its ass kicked. It charged on its eight legs reaching far and fast. Loki striked, gutting its belly and cutting two legs off. It should've died, but it didn't. The cuts should've killed it, but they healed. 

Loki's magic should've blocked the furious mass hurtling itself at him. It didn't. 

The spell flashed a blinding yellow before it cracked like glass and shattered. The legs that were no longer cut, they hit and didn't miss. 

A gold-and-green body flew through the air with a very surprised face. The fountain crashed in a rain of water and marble, covering everything in a thin layer of dust and a thick one of mud quickly forming under your feet. 

"...Loki?"

Loki didn't answer, half buried under the stone. 

The spider turned its too big head to you. Its legs were black and covered in thick stubble. 

"Shit," you whispered. 

The spider agreed. 

You ran. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 12)

It’s been a hot minute but I’m back from my vacation. I mentioned on my other fic that I just got a new job so updates will still probably be slow as I now have a job on top of art fight, a zine, two other fics, and an original story. So a big thanks to everyone who sticks with this one and for all of the patience. 

Out of all of the beings that roam this godforsaken Earth, humans, monsters, mutants...it is Winters. Winters who has been on her mind since she kissed him. She wishes that she could call it an impulse but is it really an impulse if she had been thinking--however loosely--about it for several days before?

She wishes that he would do something to make her irreparably mad. But he doesn’t, he only ever seems to make her feel a sense of comfort. Even now when she is cringing at the sight of herself in a pair of pants, the man stands behind her with a collection of compliments. “You look great.” He promises. “It’s going to take some getting used to, you being dressed down, but it’s nice.”

Nice. He thinks that she looks nice. It is such a simple word, so plain, ordinary. But it means everything to her. Everything when she has felt anything but nice or attractive… “I’ve looked better.” She waves the compliment off. But, by God, it has taken at least some of the edge off of her mild sense of self loathing.

Ethan shrugs. “You just have to get used to streetwear.”

She chances another look in the mirror; she supposes that it isn’t quite so horrible. The shirt is loose and breathable though the linen fabric isn’t as kind on her skin as many of her gowns are. The pants are less comfy, more restrictive than her dresses but are easier to maneuver in without tripping. And she supposes that they don’t look too unflattering on her.

She jerks when Ethan suddenly thumps her hat onto her head. He laughs at her little jolt. “Do not test me, Winters! We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Just trying to help.” He replies. “I didn’t want you to forget your favorite hat.”

He favorite hate is actually several sizes too big for her and sits draped over a chair. But with an exact replica of it, she decides that the technicalities aren’t worth mentioning. “Are my girls ready?”

“They’re your daughters, you check on them.”

.oOo.

He watches Alcina make her way out of the room. Words and hissed out promises aside, the woman has become increasingly less hostile since she’d kissed him. He smiles to himself, at least he isn’t the most awkward of the two of them anymore. At least, he isn’t alone in his conflicted, affectionate feelings.  

She comes back with her daughters in tow; Bela has a grip on her left hand and Cassandra holds the left. Daniela, untethered, zips about, occasionally cutting in front of the other three before falling behind once more. The three of them are bundled up heavily, almost absurdly so. Alcina comes to a stop at the center of the room and Daniela takes the opportunity to lift her off of the ground.

“Daniela…” she grumbles through clenched teeth, “we talked about this…”

The woman cackles and puts her mother back down before bursting into a cloud of flies and rebuilding herself several feet away. Ethan has never seen anyone look less amused than Alcina in that moment. “We’re ready, Ethan.”

A jolt of adrenaline pulses through him, it is once again real. His mission is once again in sight and the dangers are once again going to be pressing. He wonders if Alcina is nervous now that illness has taken the place of a powerful mutation. She is just an ordinary woman with very basic gun skills. She gives no indication of nervousness, regardless of how she feels within.

Having grown used to the warmth of Castle Dimitrescu the cold stikes Ethan’s face as tough tendrils of the aurora borealis have reached down and coiled around his face. His is overcome by shivers, he can only imagine how the fly beasts are handling it. He doesn’t have to imagine it, one look behind him and he knows that they are recoiling. He thinks that he can hear faint crackles.

His speculation becomes knowledge when he sees the panic on Alcina’s face. Without a word of warning, she grabs all three of her daughters and, with more strength than he realized small Alcina has, ushers them back into the warmth of the castle.

Ethan follows her back inside. Her face is twisted in distress and concern, her breathing hastened. “Oh, my poor dears.” She mumbles more to herself than any of the three. “My poor little darlings…” She sandwiches Daniela’s hands between hers. “Winters, you get them some blankets,  now.”

Stress pinches her tone and he elects to ignore the snappiness of her request. She holds Daniela to her chest, letting the woman drink in her body heat.

.oOo.

Were she herself she would be more efficient. She would mostly envelop Daniela until the frost retracts from her skin. Having skipped the test steps and thrown herself headfirst into the frosty outside world, the woman had taken the worst of its merciless frigidness--she is too bold for her own safety.

Alcina holds her so close--feeling the woman’s shivers and shakes--and brushes her hand over her hair.  For once she finds herself thankful for her softness, it gives her an added warmth which she extends to Daniela. She has the urge to squeeze the woman but she must handle her with care, she is so terribly fragile right now.

Ethan comes back with three blankets which he wraps around Bela and Cassandra and then over Daniela’s. “Thank you, Ethan.” She murmurs as she continues to stroke Daniela’s hair. “We will have to see if the Duke will be a gentleman enough to look after my daughters while I’m gone.”

Ethan nods.

“Mother, it’s so cold.” Bela whimpers.

“It hurts.” Cassandra adds.

“I know dears, it’s going to be alright.”

“I think that I’m dying, mother.”

Alcina shakes her head, “no, Daniela. You’re going to be just fine, dear. We’ll get you nice and warm again.” She kisses the top of her head.

“I saw a deer pretty close by, I can get them some warm deer blood.” Ethan offers.

“Yes, Ethan, that would be ideal.”

With only a nod, he makes his way outside again. There is a new fluttering in her belly alongside the anxious tickles. She isn’t sure what to make of these flutters. But she knows where they come from. She watches Ethan through the window, watches him chase the deer down, likely cussing and shouting. She observes and she can’t help but let her mind wander. She barely knows him beyond the very basics. She has mostly tormented the man, mocked him. And yet he is good to her. He is kind to her girls. They aren’t even his own and yet he is fetching meals and warmth for them.

.oOo.

Ethan is completely drained by the time he gets back from his deer hunt. Physically and mentally--he can’t hold it against them, it isn’t the fault of the daughters that they can’t endure the cold. But it is still a setback. Still one more day away from finding Rose. One more day that leads her closer to a heinous sort of death.

He leaves the deer on the table, decidedly the girls can eat it raw and he can fix himself and Alcina a meal. Or perhaps she’d be willing to do the cooking this time. He opens his mouth to call for the daughters but the flies are already gathering. Three identical swarms that take shape.

“Where’s your mother?” He asks at the shaping of Cassandra.

The girl shrugs, “either the kitchen, having a bath, or the bedroom.”

“I’ll check the kitchen.” He knows that she is there before he reaches it. He isn’t exactly sure what she is cooking but she has added what smells like an overabundance of spice.

“What are we cooking?”

“I am cooking soup.” Alcina sets a bowl on the table. “Just a little recipe that Donna showed me.”

“She really loves her spices.”

Alcina shakes her head, “I like spices. Donna cooks her food quite bland. Donna favors simplicity.”

“Your daughters seem like they are recovering well.”

She sighs, “they should be in bed resting.” She clicks her tongue. “I can never get them to rest well. Daniela wakes up and then all three of them are awake.”

Ethan laughs, “sounds about right, kids are just like that no matter how old they get.” He pauses, “do you need rest?”

Alcina thinks for a moment, “I will be fine for now. The medications are working quite sufficiently.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You sound unhappy.”

“I was hoping to be well on our way to find Rose.” He sees the vexation flash across her face but before she can rave at him he adds, “it’s...fine, it isn’t their fault. Just frustrating circumstances.” This answer seems to placate the woman. She silently continues eating her soup. He has to admit that it isn’t bad at all. Perhaps a little strong for his tastes but he is just thankful that he didn’t have to cook this time. “You don’t seem all too happy either.” He comments after pushing his bowl aside.

Alcina stares into her empty soup bowl. “I’m afraid of losing my girls. Today was a reminder of just how easily it can happen. They’ve been in more danger lately than they have been in, in years…” She stands and beckons for him to follow. Once upon a time, perhaps only a week or so ago, he would have hesitated. This time he trails closely behind her.

“I have a feeling that everyone will be too preoccupied trying to kill us to go after them.” He shrugs. He supposes that that isn’t all too reassuring. He is surprised to see her smile slightly and nod in agreement. There is something comforting about her willingness to die in place of her daughters, to put herself in danger to keep it far away from them. Humanity, he realizes. And he realizes too, that she would have done the same prior to his arrival. Humanity in a woman who, at that point, hadn’t been human in so long.

He watches her climb onto her bed. She gives a rather dramatic sigh and mutters, “I should make sure that my girls are…”

“I can get them into bed.” He doesn’t allow for protest. Rather, he slips out of the room and herds the three of them into their room.

“Do we get another bedtime story, Winters?” Bela asks.

“I wasn’t planning--”

“We need a story to sleep.” Daniela insists. “Mother always reads to us.”

And thus he finds himself suckered into reading them to sleep a second time. Alcina, he finds, has nodded off in his absence and jolts awake at his sudden reappearance. She grumbles something, that he can’t quite catch, about knocking first. “Sorry.” He mouths. Truth  be told, he isn’t sure why he has come back to her room instead of going to the guest bedroom. “They’re all tucked in and read to.”

The smile she gives him this time is much softer than usual, sleepier too. It is pleasant, inviting. He finds himself wondering, again, who she had been before the mutation. What she had been like prior to Mother Miranda. She pats a spot on the bed next to her.

“Thank you for caring for my girls. They can be...difficult to manage when it is just me.”

“You’re…” he feels her weight shift onto him. “You’re welcome.” He chances holding her with his right arm. When she doesn’t jerk away or protest, he strokes her hair, trying to ease her stress away.  He thinks that it is working.

It must be... She said it wouldn’t happen again, he knew that she was lying, he just didn’t expect her to stray from her promise so soon; she kisses his neck. And when she closes her eyes and rests her head against him, her curls tickle his neck. He holds his hand against her cheek--he supposes that he will be spending another night in her company. A night with her in his arms.

[shadowwolfluna]

The firefighter and the cop

Chapter 2: Un secret

(This part will follow a bit on Chicago PD Season 1 Episode 10: At Least It’s Justice)

Chapter 1

It has been a few months that I slowly adapt to my new life in Chicago, and I kinda enjoy my life there. Everyone in firehouse 51 has called me -thanks to Hermann- Swiss, and again I like it. We were called as there was a car collision, the boys and I arrive at the scene and assess the situation. I see Atwater reassuring an elderly woman, I am next to Severide and we approach the vehicle where there was another driver in there.

“Old lady plows her boat through an intersection, and she’s the only one without a scratch.” My colleague commented, I shook my head and went into work mode. I look at the guy.

“Hey, sit tight we’re going to get you out of there.” Kelly explains, as I carefully observe the victim. I notice that he seemed a bit panic maybe, shaking my head I stood next to Kelly as he uses the spreader to open the door, one of the firefighters force open the door and I help to pull it out. I notice the guy moving out, and my colleague tries to tell him to sit down, but he punches him. I try to use my right leg to make him fall, but it fails and he ran away. Kelly called out to stop him, and I wanted to chase him but I know he’ll be too far away. I turn back around and I ask my coworker if he is okay, I soon hear Atwater and Burgess asking us to open the trunk, I grab a crowbar and use all my force to open it.

I gasp and took a step back. “What the…” I mumble in surprise, Burgess approach me and lead me away from whatever I saw. “You okay? I saw that you tried to stop him.” I nod my head at Kim, still wrapping my head about seeing a torso in the trunk of a car.

I only thought this could only happen in movies, Kim left as Kelly approach me and ask the same thing. “I’m fine, just had a feeling this guy might be up to something.” I reply not looking in front of Kelly, as he nods his head. “Don’t worry, Voight and his team will stop him.” I nod my head, staring at the car crash that now has a police sign and turns into a crime scene investigation.

We arrive back at Firehouse 51, Leslie and Gabby approach me. “Hey Swiss, you okay?” I slowly felt a bit frustrated, I can understand they worrying but I just want to forget it. “I’m fine, but please tell the guys not to ask me again if I am fine. I certainly do not want to remember it.”

Leslie nods her head and changes the subject quickly, normally I would explode in anger but I know they were worried and I prefer to stay calm and try to explain the situation. I hear someone calling out my name, turning around I see Kelly along with Erin and I see Voight there as well. “Swiss, they found someone, intelligence wants you and me to identify him.” I nod my head, before I can ask if I can come alone Voight speak up. “You can come with me, Erin will bring Kelly to PD.” I let out a small ‘okay’. I went to the lockers and get myself to change into my normal clothes, a black long-sleeve shirt with a red fake leather jacket and dark blue jeans. I wear a small pendant and left Firehouse 51.

“They told me about what happened, you okay?” I mentally rolled my eyes at Voight question, we were in the car going to the Police department. “For the love of, I am fine. Hank, it’s just...I don’t know...scary...I only thought that this could only happen in movies.” I glance out the window, feeling a bit awkward about my mini outburst. “Has this never happened in Geneva?” I let a small chuckle. “No, the only time I remember where. Police officers would arrest drunk drivers, I think murderers as well, but the swiss media has always covered it some. Except, I wasn’t technically there at the scene. So, I don’t know what to say.” I explain, and I kinda felt a bit frustrated not to know how I should felt, I felt a bit afraid but the feeling I feel the most is frustration. I feel it because I think it’s due I could have stop this guy, he murdered and chop off a person. Instead, I let him get away.

“Don’t worry, we’ll stop this guy. I understand you feel frustrated. But I ask you not to go on your own and be a cop, your a firefighter remember that I am glad that you are safe.” Hank said not even with anger but worry and I felt it kinda pull my heart, for the few months Hank and I met each other occasionally, but we haven’t officiated if we are dating or not. There were a few moments, I did ask myself if we are dating.

“I won’t, besides I don’t want to worry you, Hank.” He nods his head with a gentle smile and kept driving. “So, they kept calling you Swiss, why’s that?” I chuckle, as Hank is curious about the nickname. “Blame Hermann, he thought that since I am from Switzerland, it would be fun to nickname me Swiss. I like it.” I explain to Hank the story, with a small grin thankful that we change the subject.

“By the way, um Hank do you wish we see each other tonight or tomorrow evening? I don’t have a shift tomorrow.” I ask him curiously, while a bit nervous. Of course, we see each other a few times, but it would be with his teammates, and I kinda hope that he would notice that I wanted to say ‘date’.

I bit my lip nervously and look away, I didn’t notice Hank looking at me with a small smile. “Of course, I know a good place we can go to quietly.”

I exhale and made a wide grin, and without thinking, I said out loud. “Then it’s a date…”

I almost turn pale when I realize what I said, and before I can say anything Hank lets out a chuckle and smile at me. “Yeah, it’s a date.” I lost words, and I look out the window feeling myself blushing bright red.

We arrive at the Police Department, I walk side with Hank and I see a woman with grey hair talking on the phone. She nods at Hank and glances at me. I show her a small smile, she reminds me of a good friend of mine. She would not care what others think and would speak her mind, even some of my old firehouse in Geneva would like or hate her. I miss her though.

I follow Hank knowing he wants me and Kelly to identify the killer.

We were in the glass room, where Gabby’s brother Dawson I think is interrogating the ‘killer’. “It’s not him, the guy is more muscular and a bit taller.” Kelly nods his head, agreeing with me. Erin walks in and starts talking, about the guy who is not the killer, I notice Kelly checking out Erin. I sent him a smirk, where he hid his chuckles not wanting two police officers to know what is funny.

“Mind for you two to take a look at a couple of mugshots?” We both nod our heads, I then decide to ask Erin for the bathroom and mouth to Kelly ‘ask her’.

After being in the bathroom for ten minutes, I walk out and see both Kelly and Erin talking, when they notice me, Erin brings us to a room where they showed us pictures of prisoners.

I stop and recognize the suspected killer from one of the photographs. When Erin asks us, I point to the picture. “That guy.”

“That’s the guy we pulled out of the car.” Kelly added agreeing with me, a girl explains about the killer. Both Kelly and I slowly leave as the other officers are leaving to find him, but I noticed something in Kelly’s hand. I chuckle and shook my head. “What?” He notices my grin. “Your gonna try to ask Erin out are you?” Kelly lets out a small chuckle. “Nope, just going to try and bring back her stuff.” I smirk, as we walk down the stairs and see the woman talking with the other officers, not in the mood. “Who’s that?” Kelly looks at who I am referring to, and smile. “That’s Sergeant Trudy Platt, she’s...nice.”

“Then I should meet her another time, she reminds me of my friend.” We were both out of the district as Kelly looks at me as if I was crazy. “Woah, wait a sec, you have a friend in Switzerland that acts like THE Trudy Platt?” I let out a small laugh, while Kelly looks at me as if I grew two heads. “Yep, you know everyone in my old firehouse either tolerates or not liking her, but she considers me as a very close friend.” I explain, Kelly laugh. We both went our separate ways, I walk back to my apartment, which I thankfully found. It is not far from Firehouse 51, and I got a good price from the landlord.

The guys helped me with the move, and I manage to get my late brother’s car to come here a black 1969 Ford Mustang Fastback. My brother loves cars and motorcycles, he sadly passed away, and in his will, he gifts me his car. Even mentioning not to change anything in the car. The only thing he changed was the radio, as he comments about having music. I miss him.

My apartment has two bedrooms, a converge living/kitchen/dining area, along with a bathroom. I live on the fourth floor, I arrive there and set my jacket on the coat rack. Heaving out a small sight, and check the time.

I sent Hank an SMS informing the date and time.

To: Hank

From: (Y/N)

I’m back home safe and sound, I’ll see you tomorrow around eight. I hope everything is okay, catch that guy.

Can’t wait for our date.

😉

(Y/N)

I set the phone down, and I went to the bathroom wanting to leave out all of today’s stress.

(Timeskip to tomorrow)

I decide to wear a black dress that is up to my knees and let my hair down. I wear my pendant, which is the shape of a small teardrop decorated with blue and red small crystals. I put on my red lipstick, I told the others that tonight I won’t join them at Molly’s. I hear my phone vibrate, and check a new message from Hank.

To: (Y/N)

From: Hank

I’ll pick you up at your place, will be there in ten minutes.

Hank

I smile, and check myself out in the mirror, nodding my head, I grab my red fake leather jacket and my small purse. And wore small black heel shoes. I grab my phone and keys, locking my door.

When I got out of the door, I see Hank leaning in his SUV, and I almost caught my breath, he was wearing a white sleeve button-up shirt, with black pants with a black leather jacket. I walk towards Hank, as he seems frozen for a minute. “You look…” I smile and said confidently. “Sexy, shall we?” He nods his head, as he opens the passenger side, I slide in and thanking Hank.

We arrive on the other side of town, finding an interesting restaurant that looks a bit expensive. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I look at Hank. “Hank, how did you?” He smiles, and gets out of the car, and helps me out when he reaches the passenger side. “I know the owner, and he kinda owes me. Saved him and his family, and told me that I am welcome to come by.”

We approach the receptionist, she eyed me, and Hank and before she can comment I cut her off. “I’m sorry, but it’s not your place to say if I am too young to date someone like him.” Surprise, she then switches to a smile and apologizes. “I’m sorry, name?” She asks politely, Hank tells his name, and she brought us to a room that isn’t too crowded. “Enjoy your meal, and your date.” She said to us politely, I gave her a small smile, and she left. I glance at Hank, where he smiles at me. Looking into his eyes, it seems we were talking with each other.

“How do you like Chicago so far?” Hank asks, I smile at him. “I love it here, plus when I am off, I can drive off in my car and visit Papy and Mamie when I am off of shift.” I tell him, Hank chuckles. “Papy, Mamie, is it french or nicknames for your grandparents?” I nod my head.

“Yeah, while growing up, my mom’s family is partially swiss german, so my parents taught us that on my father’s side we say Papy and Mamie but for my mother’s side it would be Oma and Opa.”

A waiter came and smiles at Hank. “Evening Hank, I guess this is your date? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hank here saved my family. Hank whatever you order, it’s on the house. No arguments, I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you.” I smile and find Hank attractive as he grins at the waiter/owner of the restaurant. Feeling my heart beat faster, he served us wine.

“Cheers, for our date...and hope we can continue more…” I said with a flirty smile, he smiles back. “Cheers. (Y/N), there is one thing you should promise.” I sip my wine and nod my head knowing where he is getting at.

“No one should know about this, Platt and Al have already figured it out. They won’t say anything, but I don’t want anyone to know we are dating. Do you promise?” I put my hand on top of his, and smile at him. “I promise Hank.” He smiles at me, and decide to give a small kiss on the back of my hand, sending me goosebumps and a shiver.

We start to order and enjoy our evening together, as I kept looking at Hank with a small smile…

(This isn’t the end of this chapter, I would continue, but like I mention this series would follow not all the episode, only a few. If you are interested in an episode I could write let me know.)

[baeklination]

bartender love pt.3

Date:210611

Warnings: ANGST, mental health (unnamed) , unease about sex (not very detailed or long), g.e.l.

Pairing: Kyungsoo x F.Reader

WC: 6,2k

NOTE: I know... But, save for a 1 week break, I'm gonna try to stick with this one.

pt.1 pt.2 Masterlist

¤¤

Going on three months you and Kyungsoo still had as much fervor for one another as in the beginning, only now it was cemented by a comfortable knowing of each other; you knew it could take him hours to reply to a text, but it’d be something sweet when he did; he knew you could seem a bit blasé when he asked you to come over, but you’d be as happy about seeing him as ever. There had really only been one thing that had bothered you (save his underwhelming cooking skills). You’d told yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, yet it kept playing in your mind, that time, a few days ago when he woke you up in the middle of the night:

You woke up by him kissing your shoulder and stroking your breasts, waist and legs. Sluggishly turning around, he was on top of you just as you opened your eyes, continuing with the kisses.

“Shit, Kyung, slow down, I’m not even awake yet”, you said, not minding his actions, but rather his pace.

“You’re plenty awake, Y/N”, he said excitedly, making you chuckle. “You’re not wet yet.”

You weren’t a stranger to the saliva solution, but up until now it’d been reserved for the quickies - the bathroom at a party, a dark alley, the laundry room - so for him to spit in his hand and use it as lube instead of waiting caught you off guard.

“I’ve been awake for an hour thinking about fucking you”, he breathed in your ear as he pressed himself in. “Shh, shh, relax…”, he prompted when he felt how tense you were.

“I haven’t been up an hour, Kyung…”

“You’re right, sorry”, he said and pulled out a bit. “I have to be careful with my precious baby.”

“What..?”

“Well you are...”, he cooed, while kissing you “...my baby.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Oh, really...?”

He started moving his hips slowly, feeling much less resistance than before.

“Then why do you like it so much?”

The sex was great, per usual, but how it started out had left you feeling...something. You hadn’t even told Iseul about it. If it happened again you would. But since then he’d been the same cute and caring guy you’d come to know him as. Sitting at the end of the bar, waiting for his shift to end you smiled to yourself at the girls batting their eyelashes at him “Damn, you having a seizure or summin’?”

Your phone buzzed - there was a text message from him: “Can I kiss you in 5 seconds?” You looked up to see him counting down with his fingers, taking big steps towards you. When he reached zero you nodded.

“You may.”

He held up a menu, blocking the view to the rest of the room:

“Privacy screen”, he smiled before pressing those plush lips against yours.

¤

Walking home together, there was a chill in the air not usual for this time of year, and seeing you shiver Kyungsoo put his jacket over your shoulders.

"Did you see that in a movie and think that's a great move, gotta try it?", you teased him, laughing all the while.

"What! I was being a gentleman..!"

"Alright…", you held your hands up in defeat. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

"You're such a..!", he exclaimed, pulling you in by your shoulder and giving you a kiss on the head.

There are two things - opposites really - you love about being as close with Kyungsoo as you are. One is being able to have hour-long conversations about miscellaneous issues, like narwhals and the making of milk cartons; the other is being silent, like now.

If you could only choose one, holding hands would win, but having your arm around his waist, your hand just under his t-shirt to feel his warm skin isn't bad either.

"Hey, do you think I could walk the whole way there?", he asked, pointing his finger when you came to the bridge.

"What, the railing?"

"Mm-hm."

"Technically… If you're not afraid of heights."

"I'm not. So you think I can?"

"Can? No, I don't think you can, 'cus only an idiot would try to."

"Am I?", he asked with a mischievous smile that made your throat tight.

"Stop it, Kyung."

"Wanna bet? Ten bucks says I can."

"Are you serious? No. No, I don't wanna bet, I wanna cross the bridge on the ground like normal people."

"Guess I'm not normal then", he said and jogged to the railing.

"Jesus Christ, can you just stop fucking around..."

You were sure he was yanking your chain, but when he started heaving himself up on the ledge you realised he was going to try.

"Ta-da..!", he said triumphantly, stretching his arms out. "It's barely five metres down, I wouldn't die if I fell in."

His stupidity didn't just scare you - it angered you - but you didn't want to shout at him while he was up there.

"It's not the fall that kills you, it's the undercurrent."

"I guess that's what it'll say on my tombstone", he laughed as he started walking. "It was the undercurrent…"

"Can you just get down?", you pleaded, feeling a burning behind your eyes. "Please. You're scaring me, Kyung. Kyung!"

When he didn't say anything is when you'd had enough.

"Fine! I guess you are a fucking idiot", you hissed, picking up the pace to leave him behind. "Here's your fucking jacket", you continued, throwing it on the ground.

"Come on, Y/N..!", Kyungsoo chuckled. "You're cute when you're mad."

His whole demeanour baffled you. He'd always had a carefree up-for-anything attitude to things, but he was never outright stupid. And the fact that he wouldn't come down when you asked when his soft nature had always been his strongest trait… There was a clank followed by a yelp from Kyungsoo - your stomach turned to a vacuum, heart in your throat, as you spun around, ready to hear the splash of him hitting the water.

But there he sat, swinging his legs on either side of the railing. He burst out laughing.

"You should see your face..!" He jumped down and clapped his hands, still laughing. "You thought I went over, right..!"

Still reeling from the shock of thinking he had fallen, his mockery sent you into a rage - now you had half a mind to shove Kyungsoo off the goddamn ledge yourself.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?!", you screamed at the top of your lungs, barely recognizing your own voice.

"Jeez, calm down, babe", he snorted and put his arms up to pull you in.

"Fucking idiot", you spat at him and shoved him in the chest.

"Stop being such a rabbit”, he frowned and tried again. “I-”

“Don’t fucking touch me”, you warned him and swatted his hand away.

“Jeez... Okay, I’m sorry, alright? Let’s just go home. I bet you’ll forget all about it once we’re in bed...”

You were flabbergasted.

“Yeah, well that’s another dumb bet you’ll loose. You’re not coming with me.”

“Come on, Y/N-”

“Leave it.”

He looked at you for a moment then lifted his hands in defeat.

“Alright…” When he turned to get his jacket he chuckled. “Fucking downer…”

¤

You didn’t want to talk to Kyungsoo during the following two days. Ironically though, not hearing from him had stressed you out all the more. Going from is he angry with me now to what if he went up on the railing again and fell? You didn’t believe any of those things, but it didn’t stop them from picking away at your mind. That you hadn’t spoken to Iseul about it probably hadn’t helped - this is exactly the type of situation one needs friend therapy for. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you were embarrassed, without even knowing what about; it’s not as if she thought he was perfect - or better yet - that everyday of her relationship with Tony had been a Hallmark card. Was it because you had gone on and on and on about him only to now think that maybe you don’t know Kyungsoo that well at all? Whatever it was you trusted she’d sort it out for you as you poured her a glass.

“Damn, white wine… What happened?”

“Aeh...nothing”, you sighed and grimaced.

“Sceptical Iseul is not convinced…”

“Of course she isn’t. I don’t wanna have to tell you - but I want you to know...”

“Kyung..?”

“Yeah”, you nodded and frowned. “Fuck it.”

So you told her what had happened on the bridge, start to finish, not trying to make yourself out as having been sweet and sensible; if anything, you sugarcoated Kyungsoo’s behaviour, so she wouldn’t hold it against him in the future.

Iseul pursed her lips and knitted her brows.

"Hm… Is it that bad, though?"

"Agh..! You don't think so?"

"He was an idiot, for sure, and I get why you're angry, but I thought you were gonna tell me something major. You know how guys, not even guys - people - are. Out of the blue they do some weird shit", she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Or are you seriously thinking of ending it over this..?"

You had a knot in your stomach. You knew you had to tell her about when he'd woken you up.

"No. But I'm worried it might be a part of something else, his true self or something …", you sighed, making byunny ears. "The other night. He…" You paused, trying to find a segway in. "I don't know, he…"

Iseul's eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly forward.

"Did something...", you said, fidgeting with the seam of your trousers.

She put her glass down and looked you dead in the eye, her chest rising high with nervousness.

"What do you mean "he did something"?"

"Listen. I didn't think it was a big deal when it happened, so I didn't tell him."

"Okay…"

"I mean, it's not like I brought it up to him and he's had a chance to explain himself - it. It's been sitting uneasily on my mind, is all, alright?"

"You're making me uneasy. Just tell me."

If you said it out loud it would be fact and real, instead of your bothersome secret.

"Agh! Okay", you sighed loudly. "He woke me up the other night, last week, wanted to have sex. But you know how you are when you wake up like that, you need a minute to understand that you're even up, right? And if your head needs a minute…", you trailed off, raising your brows demonstratively.

"Your body needs two", Iseul filled in. "Yeah, course."

"But he didn't...care? He just spat and tried to do it anyway-"

"Wait", she said, and went still. "Are you telling me that he-"

"No. NO", you said sternly, grabbing her wrists. "NOT THAT. I swear. God, Jesus, the saints, it wasn't like that, Is. It was just...", you shook your head, yourself still not being able to put words nor feelings to it properly. “It was…”

“Not right..?”

“Yeah. It was just not right. But he didn’t like...force it, when I told him to slow down. It was normal after that, so I don’t know… Do you get why I’m- no wait. He called me baby.”

“He always says that to you, doesn’t he?”

“No, it was more like that.”

“Like daddy baby?”

“Yeah. He’s never done that. Maybe he’s wanted to, but didn’t know how to ask, but with the whole thing and now this...fucking bridge thing…”

“I think you should talk to him about it, all of it. What? What’s with the face?”

“I thought you were gonna fly off the handles when I told you. You know how nervous I’ve been..!”

“Few years ago I prolly would have…”, she smiled, and took her first sip in a long time.

“Ah, Tony calmed you down?”

“More like Tony taught me people are allowed some fuck-ups… Not just him, me too. Things can snowball so fast. If we hadn’t started talking - or listening - we wouldn’t have made it. ‘Cus...you don’t wanna break up- wait! You’re not officially a couple are you..!”

“No, we're not, Mrs Tony. And no, I don’t.”

“Well, then it’s simple, if not easy. There might be something going on with him that he’s not saying, you know. If you manage to get your foot in the door maybe he’ll let you in, hun.”

“Ah..! Now you made me wanna call him now, forgive and have sunsets and roses..!”, you wailed.

“Fuck that. He apologizes first, you hear?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be angry again in an hour. Thanks.”

“Before we go all sunset… If you ever feel not comfortable with sex, don’t do it.”

“I know.”

“No, I’m serious. Trying new things, you do for him, he does for you, sure. But never do it so he won’t be in a pissy mood, or whatever. That shit will fuck with your selfworth so bad you don’t even know...“

“Mm… I guess I just don’t know how to broach the subject…”

“Do you trust him? Apart from being mad at the moment?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“Then start with some Dr. Phil shit “Kyungsoo, I trust and lo-”. Iseul stopped mid-sentence and looked at you with glittering eyes. “Do you love him?”

“Go on with your Dr. Phil.”

“Do you? Come on, you do..!”

“Go. On”, you said, trying to be stern, but breaking into a smile.

“Kyungsoo, I trust and may love-”

“Oh, shut up, Is..!”, you hollered. “See, this is why I always regret telling you things…”

“You didn’t even tell me anything”, Iseul affirmed innocently, putting her hands up.

“Yaic… Give me the damn bottle, and let’s talk about something else.”

“Cheers to that. Let’s leave anger behind. Let’s talk about…”, she giggled, and you knew precisely what was coming “...loooove.”

Iseul was your best friend in everything.

¤

Another two days passed and as predicted, your anger came back. As you lay down to sleep after your shift, the day just getting started with a pale blue on the horizon, you continued the three-stop circle you'd been on for a few hours: blazing irritation, want, anxiousness. You grabbed your phone and open the inbox to read the text for the umpteenth time:

"I MISS YOU! COME DOWN, I'M WORKING!"

Your heart had skipped a few beats when you read the first part, but went stone cold when you read the rest. Or rather; when you didn't read what you should have - an apology. Incensed is the perfect way to put it, and of course you hadn't done yourself any favours by going over it again and again, in a sense deciding what Kyungsoo was thinking (that there was nothing to apologise for) instead of sticking with the facts (he said he misses you and wants to see you). That part is what had you feeling restless, thinking maybe you shouldn't have ignored him; even seeing his missed call you could've texted him to let him know you were at work. But then again, why should you? Why should you come running as soon as he snaps his fingers - especially after all this time without a beep from him? And that's how you went until you dozed off.

You couldn’t tell how long you’d slept, but judging by the dark shadows still stretching out from the corners of your room it wasn’t very long. You looked around, ears pointed, to figure out what had awoken you.

“Y/N..!”

It was coming from outside. Throwing your covers to the side you got up and peeked out through the curtains. Sitting on the grass below your apartment was Kyungsoo.

“For fucks sake…”, you swore under your breath as you opened the window. “What!?”, you hissed.

“Y/N..!”

When he got to his feet and brushed himself off he stumbled: he was - as they say - as drunk as a skunk. As if your patience wasn’t already wearing thin he continued shouting.

“Open the door..! I miss-”

“Shh! People are trying to sleep..!”

“So let me in!”

If not for anything else than to make sure your neighbours didn’t call the cops on you, you hurried down the stairs and let him in.

The sweet smell of alcohol surrounding him nauseated you, so you kept your distance as he was kicking off his shoes in the hallway.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

“I wanted to see you. Why didn’t you come down to the bar?”

There’s no point in arguing with an intoxicated person, so you gave work as your excuse.

“I was working too, but I still made time for you”, he said like a little know-it-all, bobbing his head, squinting with one eye.

“How much did you drink, Kyung? Henki isn’t even open this late…”

“Not enough. We went to Andrew’s place.” He paused to swallow a burp. “And then I missed you, so now I’m here..!”

“Dandy… Well, I just got back, I have to sleep”, you said and went back to your bedroom.

“Does that mean no sex?”

You bit your tongue, careful not to give him the earful you so desperately wanted to.

“Mm-hm…”

“That’s okay”, he said and slumped down on the bed. “We’ll be sexless from- oh, shit!”

They way he hurried out the door you knew what was coming - literally. Luckily you heard the lid smack open before the retching. You were annoyed as hell that he’d come over, and the sounds coming from the bathroom made you cringe - but it also made you feel sorry for him, and remember what Iseul had said about patience.

“Where’s my…”, he groaned, then stopped to spit.“Where’s my toothbrush..?”

He looked so pitiful where you found him, sat grimacing on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re done?”

“Yes”, he nodded with his eyes closed. “I just wanna go to bed.”

“Here”, you said, holding out his toothbrush, pasted and ready.

His eyes had become glossy, making him look almost like a seal when he looked up at you. You sat down with him as he brushed his teeth and felt the ice thaw.

A bit more lucid, but tired and somewhat slurring his words he crawled under the covers.

"I'm so glad you're not still mad."

"I am", you sighed tiredly.

He stopped mid-motion of putting his arm around you, letting it rest on your hip instead.

"Why'd you let me in?"

"The cops..?"

"Don't be mad at me, Y/N", he whined. “Please…”

"I won't be", you replied and pulled his arm up around you.

The sweet vapors of drink still surrounded him, but the feeling of his body enveloping you one-upped them. When you're used to sleeping with someone's chest on your back, being without is like going without a safety blanket. The scolding could wait til the morning.

¤

Getting over a fight, finally seeing each other, has a way of shining the brightest light on things, making them new. As you lay listening to Kyungsoo’s breathing, his stuffy nose irregularly whistling, all traces of anger seemed to have vanished. That is not to say the issue had, but you thought the best course would be to actually talk, not berate.

When you started tracing the lettering on his back his shoulder blades pushed together as if it tickled.

“Good morning. Day”, you said and scooted closer.

To your disappointment - albeit not total surprise - he pulled the covers over his head when you put your arm around his waist. Not what you were hoping for after so many days apart.

“Did the nightly prince turn into a hungover frog?”, you snickered. “Hey”, you said in a softer voice, but you could see the silhouette of his hand moving up to his head. “I’ll get you something for your head and make some broth. You need something in your stomach.”

You’d been there a few times yourself; headache so bad you think you’ll never be able to stand on your feet again and nausea so bad you feel you never want to eat again. One fed the other, so starting off with the soup from insta-noodles was perfect - it could be downed in a few mouthfuls and it restored your salt levels. In an hour or two he’d manage to get some fruits and coffee down.

But when you went back to see if he was ready for more you found he hadn’t even finished half of it, seemingly swallowed the pills and rolled around to your side of the bed. You opened the window a bit, hoping the fresh air would make him feel better, before kneeling down by the bed. His hand was peeking out so you held it lightly.

“I put some coffee and nectarines on the table here”, you whispered. “I know you feel sick, but you’ll feel better if you eat. I’m working tonight, and going over to Is in a few hours. You can stay, but I’d worry less if you got a little better before I leave, Kyung.”

When he didn’t say anything you sighed in compassion, kissed him on the hand and let him rest.

¤

He hadn’t eaten anything before you left - nor responded to any of your texts or calls from work - so it was with pity, worry, and determination to get him to eat you opened the door. It was dark in the hallway with only a faint light coming through from the living room window. It wasn’t without some despondency, not having spent actual time with him, you flicked on the lights and looked at the floor to see if he had dropped your spare key through the mail drop like you said. Not seeing it you got a little excited - had he kept it, claimed it, as his?; did that mean you would be getting one in return next time?

When you took your shoes off, you realised that the chill you’d felt on your body and chucked down to you being tired, extended to the floor - it was freezing cold. The radiator was warm to the touch.

“Kyung…”, you sighed.

Guessing he must’ve forgotten to close the window, the thought of laying down in the iced bed made you groan as you turned the corner and braced yourself to go in. The door was closed. He can’t still be here, you frowned. The temperature drop gave you goosebumps in a second and seeing Kyungsoo did nothing to warm you up; exactly as you had left him, there he lay.

“Jesus, Kyung, it’s freezing in here”, you exclaimed, and hurried to close the window.

When you turned on the lamp on the nightstand you saw he hadn’t taken a bite or sip.

“Haven’t you be-”

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the look of him. He had the covers pulled up to his eyes, but you could see clear as day that he was drained; his skin had an almost greyish hue to it and his eyes were tired, zoned out.

“What’s the matter?”, you asked, putting your hand on his forehead to see if he was running a fever. He shrunk away from it and turned, making you all the more worried. “Hey…”

You tried soothing him by caressing his back, but he curled his shoulders with dislike and grunted something sounding like “no”, or maybe “don’t”. Realising it was the same thing he'd done in the morning you got worried - scared - for real, thinking this wasn't just some metaphysical hangover. What do I do? Call the emergency services? Loey. What if he doesn't want me to? Shit. Call Loey. You sat motionless, staring at his back for what seemed like an eternity. You wanted so badly to touch him, to hug him, but it obviously made him feel worse. Why… Gathering courage you went to find his trousers, feeling the pockets for his phone.

"Kyung… I'm gonna call Loey. I… Can you tell me if you don't want me to?"

Perhaps it was nothing more than a slow blink, but it could’ve been an OK.

You paced back and forth in the living room, swallowing nothing from your dry mouth, as you waited on Loey to pick up. What if he didn't think it was a big deal, or understand what you were talking about, what then?

"Radio night love with Loey, what's on your mind, caller?", he answered jovially.

"Eh, hi, Lo'. It's Y/N."

"Oo?"

"Yeah, I don't know… I think something's wrong with Kyung. He's-"

"Wrong how? Are you- where are you?" The change in his tone meant he knew what this was.

"At home, he's just lying there-"

"Okay, I'm coming."

"What should I do? He hasn't even eaten in a day."

"Don't worry, I'll be there in 20. Just let him be."

You waited for Lo' on the bedroom floor; sitting out of Kyungsoo's view so he wouldn't feel watched. Having Lo' take control of the situation made you feel both better and worse: he obviously knows what to do - which means it's likely this has happened before. And will happen again. Thinking back on the past two weeks, you see it so clearly now - so fucking clearly. Did I make it worse by fighting with him? Could I have stopped it if I'd caught- the phone rang in your hand. Finally, Loey was downstairs.

¤

"Has he been weird, hyper?", he asked, keeping you in the stairwell.

"Yeah. I thought he was just…", you throw your hands up. "Acting a little wild, having extra energy. We had a fight last week, so I hadn't seen him until last night."

The guilt of having shut him out overwhelmed you and your tears started pouring freely from your eyes. “I should’ve known something was wrong, instead of just-”

"Hey. Hey, hey…", Lo' tried to calm you down, grabbing your shoulders. "It's not your fault. If anything it’s mine, for not knowing he was lying to me...", he sighed.

“Lying..?”

“I asked him if he was off his meds last week. I should’ve fucking known he was lying, he wasn’t just in a good mood. I didn’t get back until a few hours ago so I couldn’t check either. Is he sleeping?”, he asked, and continued up the stairs.

“I don’t know…”

Off his meds?

¤

“Can I talk to him alone?”

“Mm. I’ll…”, you trailed off, but walked towards the kitchen.

“Hi buddy…”, you heard him say in his deep, low voice before closing the door.

You could hear a faint rustling of the covers and gathered Kyungsoo was at least reacting to Loey. Thank god.

You hadn’t waited very long when Loey came back out. He sighed and tried to put on a brave face.

“We’re gonna go. I’m taking him to the hospital…”

“Oh… Can’t you take him home, give him his meds?”, you asked, feeling small and dumb.

“Not with this”, he said, pointing backwards. “He knows he has to.”

“Yeah… Of course. Um…”

“We should go…”, he said awkwardly and turned around.

“Lo’… Will he get back to normal?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll call you when we’re done, okay?”

When they came out, Kyungsoo was fully dressed. The clothes that yesterday represented a very drunk and stupid Kyungsoo were now doused in helplessness. You could see that everything was heavy for him; standing up, waiting. For a split second the haze covering his eyes was lifted and they were clear as day - for a split second you saw utter despair. You pressed your body hard against the wall to stop yourself from moving, holding your arms crossed tight.

Loey looked around the hallway, lifting up your clothes.

“His jacket..?”

“He didn’t have one”, you said, remembering how cold it was.

“Here", he said, pulling off his own sweater and dressed Kyungsoo in it. "It's bad enough without you catching a cold."

Kyungsoo seemed to let Loey do what he wanted, like a child who's done crying and tiredly agrees to everything. Selfishly, you wished he'd responded to you like that instead of being uncomfortable with your touch.

"Okay, let's go", he said and opened the door. "I'll...call you later."

Through the window you could see them getting in the car; Loey's hand reaching out to put the seatbelt on Kyungsoo. As they drove off towards the paler sky you shivered and breathed out slowly. Don't cry. You heard Lo', he's gonna be fine. Blinking your tears back down you decided there wasn't much else to do than go to bed - unless you wanted to stay up and stay worried - so you washed up and went to lie down. There was a whiff of his scent whenever you moved the covers or pillow, making it impossible to banish the thoughts completely; and so you fell asleep with a ghost in your body, clutching your phone waiting for Loey's call.

You were startled awake by the heavy guitar riffs blasting in your ears.

“Yeah…”, you grunted, still drunk with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you? It’s Lo’.”

“No”, you said, rubbing your eyes. “I mean yes. How’d it go? How is he?”

As soon as you got your bearings, the somersaults in your stomach were back at it.

“Eh, he’s...not fine, I mean, you saw him. But at least he’s sleeping now”, he sighed, worn out not just by this night’s event, but every night like this.

“Where is he?”

You were desperately hoping Loey would say he was with him at home, but it didn’t come as a surprise when he explained Kyungsoo had been admitted to the hospital and would be staying there for some unknown amount of time. Understanding you didn’t know what - or how - to say or ask, he tried his best to put your mind at ease.

“He’ll be back, Y/N. It’s like he says, just a glitch in his matrix. He’s pretty sedated now-”

“Sedated?”, you burst out. “What do you mean? He was calm when you left..?”

“No, not sedated. It’s a side effect from the drugs he takes to avoid worse ones from his real meds. He gets tired, sleeps all the time. He’ll be up in a few days.”

“Shit, you scared me", you exhaled heavily. "Are you allowed to visit him?"

"Yeah, sure. His mum will call once he's up. You want me to go with you?"

"Should I go?"

Judging by the silence on the other end of the line, Loey was surprised at your question.

"I mean, maybe he doesn't want me to come? He never told me about this. I don't want him to be embarrassed…"

"He won't be."

"Okay, maybe not embarrassed, but like he wants to tell me himself when he's ready, you know. If he knows you've already told me-"

"He's not like that", Loey interjected. "What was he gonna say? That he just had a bad hangover, come on. He'll be happy to see you."

"You sure? What if...ai, I don't know..."

"I'll ask him when I see him, alright?"

"If he says it's okay, yeah, I'll go."

"He's not gonna dump you over it. He was gonna tell you anyway."

"He was..?"

"Of course he was. You couldn't very well get hitched without him letting you know, could he?"

"Hitched? Married? Eh, I think we're a few years away from that carnival, Lo'…", you brushed it off, but couldn't help smiling to yourself.

"That's what the kids always say… All I'm saying is he's nuts about you and I know he'd like it if you came by. Unless..?"

"Uh-uh, no. If he says yes, just you try to stop me", you said energised.

"That's the spirit, Y/N..! But one more thing…"

"What?"

"What you think of my new hair?"

You could tell he was grinning, trying to lighten up the heavy mood.

"Oh, shit. You're blonde!", you shouted, suddenly realising he'd dyed his hair. "Shit, Lo'..! It looks good."

“I wasn’t sure about it myself, but one of the other roadies convinced me to try it.”

“Did this roadie happen to be a woman, Lo’..?”

He laughed and cleared his throat.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t...”

“You two…”, you sighed and felt the absence of Kyungsoo. “You okay?”

“Me? I’m tough as nails, an iron man. Honestly, if I’m not freakin’ out, you don’t have to.”

“I guess… Yeah, you’re right. Thanks. Call when you hear something?”

“No doubt. Bye.

“Bye.”

¤

A part of you wanted the elevator to malfunction so you’d be stuck between floors, unable to see him. Ever since waking up, the scales of excitement vs. nerves had slowly been shifting towards nerves and every time the digits on the monitor changed the buzzing in your body increased. You knew - or at least thought - that it was just a matter of getting the first awkward moments out of the way, but logic was apparently not applicable to this situation. You rubbed your sternum with your knuckles, hoping to relax the electrified lump you had in there, but as soon as the elevator pinged you knew it was no point, you’d simply have to walk in there, ready or not.

As soon as you came up to the desk a kind-faced nurse looked up from her seat. Reassurance.

“Hello..!”

“Hi. Eh, I’m here to visit someone..?”

“M-hm. Who?”

“Kyungsoo”, you answered, again somehow making it sound like a question.

“Hm, okay, let me see here”, she said, and fiddled with the computer in front of her. “Ah, here it is. 4 PM with Kyungsoo...and your name is…”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. Yep, that’s right. Let me just see he’s not sleeping”, she said, getting up.

In a sudden onset of self consciousness you looked in the window of the entrance door to make sure you looked okay; straightening out your already straight shirt; fixing your hair that looked exactly the same as it had done. When the nurse came back down the hallway and nodded you almost liquified. But it didn’t last long, because peeking out from the room, there he was. After a quick scan his eyes found you and he smiled shyly, but widely. If there is ever a good sort of punch to the stomach, this was that. Like sitting outside when the clouds suddenly give way to the sun to warm your face. There was no way you looked normal walking, not with the way your wobbly legs felt they were gonna give out any moment. But if he noticed anything he didn’t remark on it as he shuffled inside to let you in. He stretched his arms out a little, but brought them back to his side, chuckling. He was as nervous as you were.

“Hi…”

You didn’t say anything, laughed a bit, and went to hug him. His embrace was as before: you could feel he was strong; the contours of his chest against your cheek, his arms reaching round your shoulders - but he was also gentle. The sweet-sticky smell had vanished, and you could smell him, warm Kyungsoo.

"Can I kiss you..?", he whispered.

You nodded, your head still against his chest, eyes closed.

"You better…"

He blew out a giggle through his nose and cupped your face as you turned towards him. Warm Kyungsoo. So soft you registered the way his lips were pushed down as he pressed them against yours, the tickle of his upper lip over yours. His tongue tasted exactly like it should. Too soon did he break the kiss to hug you tight.

"Ugh, I'm so glad you came…", he sighed. "Do you wanna sit outside? I've got a balcony."

"Ocean view?"

"You bet", he said, and took your hand to guide you. "Do you want something to drink, eat?", he asked, filling up a glass of water.

"No, I'm fine. I had a late lunch."

The balcony was barely 4 square ft., with a pair of those white plastic chairs. Looking behind, beyond the banister, there wasn't much of anything; a few trees in a pretty rundown playground, and a seemingly abandoned warehouse. He put his glass on the edge and declared:

"There..! Ocean view", as he sat down.

"Not really what I expected…"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you", he smiled.

It was meant as a joke, but it shifted the energy profoundly. There was a tug in your gut. Kyungsoo frowned, suddenly looking tired, and ran his hand through his hair which fell on his forehead now that it was without styling. He leaned forward and took your hand.

"Hey, tell me what you're thinking."

“Nothing…”

He tilted his head, not letting you get away with that answer.

“I…” You shrugged your shoulders, looking anywhere but at him. “Everything..? I jump to the next question before even figuring out what the previous question was… I’m worried - scared.”

“Of me?”

“No, for you!” You emphasized by nearly crushing his hand. “Never of you, Kyung… I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Fix me..?”, he chuckled despondently.

“I’m not that dumb, Kyung. It’s just…” You started gesturing widely, so he let go of your hand. “Like on tuesday. Lo’ knew exactly what to do and I just sat there without a fucking clue... I should’ve called him sooner - I should’ve known something was up..!”

“Hey, hey. You can’t think like that”, he said in an effort to calm you down. He put his hands on your knees and looked at you, his brows knitted, upset you’d even consider blaming yourself. It worked. You lowered your voice and finally looked at him.

“I just…wish I’d done something.”

“Listen to me. Don’t just nod your head, Y/N. Listen, okay?”

“Mm”, you said, nodding again as you felt a lump in your throat.

“Whatever you think you did, you didn’t. This is how I am.”

Fast, like ECT, the current went through your face - shutting your eyes tight didn't stop it.

"No, don't cry, babe. Please don't cry", he begged softly, putting his hands on your arms, your neck.

It'd only been the shock that made you start, not your overall feeling, so you managed to stop.

"Sorry", you laughed and dried your eyes, feeling a little silly. "I'm just a little…", you exhaled loudly, fanning your face.

"...little emotional?"

"Yeah...", you sniveled and laughed again. "Little bit."

He looked so sweet with his crooked smile and compassionate eyes, but also sleepy.

"Do you want to go to bed?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Kinda."

"I'm sorry..!", he wailed. "I really want to be with you, I missed you like hell, but I'm-"

"Tired?"

"So fucking tired", he chuckled.

"Well, it's no use trying to talk if you're over here falling asleep anyway, is there. Come on", you said, getting up. "I'll come back soon anyway."

"You're leaving?"

You looked at him dumbfounded.

"Well, I… No, I can stay. I'll sit with you."

"Sit with me? No, sleep with me."

You looked at each other then burst out laughing.

"Going straight to the point, are we?"

Kyungsoo's rumbling laughter filled the room as he got into his bed.

"Aish… Come here."

"Am I allowed to?"

"What are they gonna do, I'm already in here, ain't I?"

Strange, giddy, nerves took hold when you unlaced your shoes and got into bed, but dissipated as soon as he put his arm around you and pulled you in close.

“Good night”, he said and kissed your neck.

“Night?”

“Oh. No…”, he said drowsily. “The other…”

You waited to hear his final answer, but instead felt him settle; his hold loosening, chest rising slowly.

“Good nap, Kyung.”

[esmealux]

Bloody Hell

Part: 1 / 2

Setting: After 5a

Word count: 3K

Rating: T

Summary: Lucifer’s first period.

The elevator dings as Lucifer reaches the penthouse. ‘And the Devil’s back! I found your breakfast burritos and now a guy owes me a favour, so all in all, a successful trip,’ he tells her as he takes off his jacket and places it on the bar. With Chloe’s breakfast in hand, he turns towards his sofa to grin at her, only to discover she isn’t lying there, closer to ‘naked’ than ‘dressed’, like she was when he left to fetch her some food.

‘Detective?’ he calls out, walking up the steps to his bedroom. The bed is empty apart from the crumbled black silk sheets and her bra. His heart starts drumming a little faster against his ribcage.

‘Detective, where are you?’ His voice is rough and squeaky, the words almost resonating off the walls in the silent penthouse. Much too silent.

He starts searching the entire place, looking for signs of struggle and clues that’ll show him which one of his wretched siblings has kidnapped her this time. After investigating the living room and balcony thoroughly, turning every piece of furniture, looking behind every curtain, he goes back to his bedroom to check if she’s miraculously popped up. When she (still) isn’t under the bed, he’s inflamed, his annoyance and anxiety building into infernal heat, spreading through his body like a wildfire. ‘Detective, I swear to you, I will punish whoever-’

‘Lucifer, calm down,’ he suddenly hears her say, her voice muffled. The sound has relief washing over him, calming down his blazing body. ‘I’m in here.’

As he realises she’s in the bathroom, he hurriedly strides down the hall, presses his body to the door, and yanks down the handle. It’s locked. Panic still hot in his throat, he clenches his hand around the gold, ready to break in when she snaps at him from behind the door. ‘Jesus, Lucifer, what have I told you about privacy?!’

He wants to comment on her choice of exclamation, but something in her voice stops him. ‘Right. Sorry, Detective.’ He puts a hand on the door, tenderly. ‘I just- Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she assures him, still a little peeved. ‘Could you just do something for me, please?’

‘Anything your heart desires,’ he says with a grin, the last embers of fear now put out by the sound of her slightly annoyed (and thus natural) voice.

‘Well, I really desire that you find my purse and bring it to me. I think I put it on the bar.’

He frowns, thinking. ‘Uhm, no. You didn’t. In fact, it’s not anywhere in the penthouse, I’m afraid.’

‘Wha- You already looked?’ she asks, surprised.

‘Well, technically, yes.’

He hears her mutter something along the lines of ‘what does that even mean?’ before she, quite sceptically, asks, ‘Are you sure? Lucifer, I’m not in the mood for pranks right now.’

When are you ever? he thinks, still disappointed she didn’t appreciate his creativity last time he tried to lighten the mood. But he’s not looking to rouse her now, so he tells her the truth, hoping it will allay her annoyance, inexplicable as he finds it. ‘If you really must know, I spent five full minutes searching the entire place for signs that you’d been hurt by one of my pathetic relatives, so yes, Detective, I am pretty damn sure your little too big and quite mum-ish bag isn’t here,’ he tells her. He hears her grunt a profanity he’s only ever heard her moan ecstatically in the throes of passion; now it’s laced with frustration and despair. Something is going on with her, and he needs to figure out what it is before she ruins more of his favourite words.

‘Why on Earth do you need your rucksack in my bathroom anyway?’

‘It’s not a rucksack,’ she tells him.

‘Ah, nice try! But I will not let you deflect my truly relevant question. What is it you need, Detective?’ He tries again, more inquisitively this time.

No answer.

His brow creases with worry and the slightest hint of an ache settles in his chest. ‘What’s going on?’

Several heart beats pass. He tries to remain patient but after seven seconds, his hands are banging on the door and yanking down the antique French handle aggressively. ‘Detective, let me in please! Did you use the razor Maze made you? I told you not to do that! Are you hurt? Did you trip? Do you have a nosebleed? Dearie me, did you get yourself poisoned again? I- Just please tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I want to help,’ he says, his voice going softer towards the end. With anyone else, he’s not easily alarmed, but the Devil’s girlfriend does tend to get herself into danger a little more often than the average person.

He hears her sigh, short and sharply. ‘If you want to help me, you need to calm down,’ she tells him in the same slow and placid voice she uses on people who are bold enough to point a gun at her. ‘I’m fine.’

He takes a deep, shaky breath, her words easing his nerves a little.

‘Then why are you acting so… strange? And why in Dad’s name are you hiding in my bathroom? I mean, bloody hell, Detective, I was mere seconds from filing an MPR!’

She snorts, murmuring something about a drama queen. Then silence. A deep breath.

‘Well,’ she finally says, still an annoyed edge to her tone. ‘‘Bloody hell’ is not that far off, actually.’

He knits his brow. ‘Excuse me?’

She sighs deeply behind the door. ‘It’s just, uhm, you know… lady stuff.’

He blinks, dumbfounded.

‘Oh,’ is what he replies.

He would tease her about the euphemism, pretend he doesn’t understand, but he understands. He understands everything. Thinking back to the night before, he remembers her acting a little oddly then as well - giggly and gleeful one moment, fractious and bitter the next. He’d blamed it on her tipsiness, but now that he thinks about it, and does the math, she did take him hostage on a similar emotional rollercoaster ride, one, two, three, circa four weeks ago. And, yes, four weeks before that, too. The first time, he’d thought it was the stress from having her mother stay over for the urchin’s birthday. The second time, he’d indicted the particularly troubling case they’d been working. But it hadn’t (solely) been Penelope Decker nor a frustrating and possibly record-breaking number of dead ends that had made the Detective chaotically jump around the emotional spectrum to the point he’d worried she was suffering from a light personality disorder. No, apparently, it was the tiny rascals known to humans as ‘hormones’ who’d been wreaking havoc in her brain, manipulating her emotions – then and now.

He hasn’t uttered anything apart from the one (cleverly phrased) syllable since the revelation, and she must interpret his silence as lack of comprehension, because she begins to explain the bloody thing: ‘You know, when a woman-’

‘Yes, thank you, Detective, I am familiar with the concept of menstruation. Quite popular method of torture in Hell, actually,’ he informs her, cutting her biology lesson short.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well, surprisingly, it’s mostly-’

‘That was a rhetorical- Never mind.’

He hears more than just annoyance in her voice now; she’s in pain. His chest aches again. ‘Is something wrong? I mean, I have met a lot of women whose deepest desires were to be knocked out cold during Aunt Flo’s monthly visit, but at least we know for certain there isn’t a mini-Satan inside you, ravaging your uterus,’ he points out in an attempt to cheer her up. It’s mostly a joke, because it shouldn’t be possible—isn’t possible—and yet a part of him is still exceedingly relieved that she, after three weeks of thoroughly unprotected (and sinfully delectable) sex with him, isn’t carrying, well, the Devil’s spawn.

‘Kinda feels like someone’s ravaging my uterus,’ she says with a groan. His heart starts pounding, hard and deafening. Dark spots appear before his eyes as blood leaves his head.

‘I- that’s not- what?’

‘No, Lucifer. Relax. I’m not pregnant.’ She tries to sound mild and calm, but he can tell she’s aggravated, and horribly pained. ‘It’s just cramps.’

‘Oh, right,’ he mumbles, a full-blown panic attack officially averted. Still, something in her voice makes his teeth grit and his eyes flare red. He wants to punish whatever in her body is putting her through such… torture, wants to torture it back. Or, since he can’t really do that, just have a quick chat with his father and whoever assisted him in designing the inhumanly excruciating menstrual cramps. (And humans think the Devil is the one who’s truly evil.) But he realises a family discussion might not actually help his suffering Detective right now, so instead he wills his voice to sound calm and asks her, ‘Is there anything I can do?’

As he waits, quite impatiently, for her answer, he pulls out his phone and googles ‘what to do when your girlfriend’s surfing the crimson wave.’ He’s about to tap on the top hit when she replies, ‘Uhm, well, yes, there is, actually.’ Her words both surprise and delight him. He loves to feel needed.

‘Lovely! Whatever you need, I’m here to fix it as your very own PA.’  He puts his phone back, letting his hand stay in his pocket, and clarifies, ‘Period Assistant.’ As usual, she rudely ignores his clever play on words.

‘Okay, I just need to know if you have any… stuff? Like, maybe Eve had a stash somewhere?’

‘Stuff?’ he asks, beyond clueless as to what she’s hinting at.

‘Yeah, you know-’ she starts explaining when he interrupts her, suddenly remembering. ‘Well, come to think of it, Eve did indeed have a stash!’

‘She did?’ She sounds relieved, and it makes his heart flutter a little. ‘Do you know where? ‘Cause I searched all your cabinets, but I couldn’t find anything.’

‘Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in my bookshelf,’ he says, already turning to go find it. ‘Would you prefer marijuana or molly?’

‘For God’s sake, Lucifer!’ she screams behind him, the door between them doing very little to lower the sound. ‘I don’t need freaking party drugs! This,’ she says, breathing angrily. A couple of seconds pass. ‘This is what I need.’

A tissue slides out under the door. With a raised eyebrow, he bends down to pick it up and sees that she’s scribbled some words on it with what appears to be an eyeliner. He doesn’t know what any of them mean. Well, ‘ibuprofen’ and ‘don’t be an ass’ he understands, but the rest are foreign to him.

‘Right, are these strippers’ names, or…? I think I’ve made a deal with an Always once, actual-’

‘They’re feminine hygiene products, Lucifer! I need feminine hygiene products! I want you to go buy me a whole lot I can leave in here, so I’ll never need to have this conversation ever again!’ she shouts, fuming all of a sudden. ‘So go out, and get me some tampons and pads—and that’s pads with wings! ‘Cause I swear to God, Lucifer, if you come back with pads that do not have wings, I might actually cut off your d-’

‘Yes, we get the picture, Detective!’ he cuts her off, chuckling nervously. It’s not that he hasn’t experienced his partner pissed before (he calls it Tuesday as a matter of fact), but she’s never threatened to mutilate him. ‘Whatever you need,’ he appeases her, his voice sweet and velvety. ‘Anything else?’ He reads the list she has given him, carefully paying attention to every request this time. ‘Right, ibuprofen for the- yes, your cramps. I’m afraid I’ve run out, but I’m sure I can get some wherever I’ll find,’—he squints his eyes to focus on the words — ‘Always ultra thin super long pads with flexie-wings and… Tampax pearl compak super. I mean, who the Hell names these things? Not that it matters, of course. If that’s what you need, that’s what you’ll get,’ he assures her.

As he studies her order closely one more time, his stomach growls and he realises that neither of them has eaten anything yet. He immediately offers to bring her breakfast to her; surely, her body needs alle the strength it can get to overcome whatever unpleasant side-effects other than dysmenorrhea his oh, so benevolent father has so generously granted the female population of the Earth.

‘Yes, please,’ she croaks meekly behind the door in response to his offer. ‘That would be nice.’

He goes to retrieve the burritos from atop the piano where he’d dropped them in the haste of his search. Once he’s back with them, he—gently—knocks on the door. After a couple of seconds, he hears the key turn before she opens the door just enough to reach out her arm through the crack. He’s about to give her the branded paper bag, when he thinks twice of it and instead takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers. Softly, he strokes the back of her hand and pulls it lightly, prompting her to come out. When she opens the door a little more, the sight that greets him stings his heart. Exhaustion has coloured the skin beneath her eyes purple and her usually ocean blue eyes a matte grey. Her posture is oddly sunken, like she wants to curl into a ball, and her chest heaves as she breathes heavily. She looks truly miserable, and yet she’s still a sight for sore eyes, as she stands there, wearing one of his white Prada shirts and…

‘Are those… my boxers?’ he asks her with a raised eyebrow and a pleased smile. She looks down to where his eyes have just landed. ‘Well, yeah, I couldn’t- my own underwear…,’ she trails off. ‘I’ve lined them with paper towels, just so I don’t, you know. I hope it’s okay.’ She looks strangely sheepish. He leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. ‘Oh, it’s more than okay. It’s sexy,’ he tells her with a grin. ‘And quite cute, to be frank.’

She chuckles, replacing the ache in his chest with a pleasant, buzzing warmth. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word “cute” before,’ she points out, looking up at him through her long eyelashes as she leans her forehead against his. He notices the hint of a smile on her lips, and his own smile grows wider. ‘Well, you’ve never worn my underwear before,’ he reminds her, nuzzling her nose. ‘Mmm, that is true.’ Her voice is nothing but a whisper as she leans just an inch forward to get a kiss from him, which he happily he gives her.

‘Why don’t you draw yourself a nice, hot bath,’ he proposes, booping her nose. Then an image from Jaws invades his mind, and warily, but with a glint in his eyes, he adds, ‘Unless that would make a true bloodbath.’ She pulls away from him, slowly but purposefully. Untangling their hands, she crosses her arms across her chest (he tries not to notice how it makes her cleavage deliciously peek out behind his hardly buttoned shirt). She glares at him with a look which, historically, means they will be communicating exclusively in scoffs, snorts, death stares and well, I am truly sorry for whatever it is I’ve done but can we please forget about it and go back to being a dynamic duo’s the rest of the day. With a short yet undoubtedly disapproving shake of her head, she snatches the breakfast bag from his hand before slamming the door in his face. ‘Detective, I-’ he stammers as the gush of air hits his front, possibly making his yet to be tamed bed hair look even more scandalous.

He hears the rustling and crinkling of paper as she takes out her breakfast. ‘List,’ she demands sharply with her mouth full—and not in the way that had him gripping the sheets till his knuckles turned white last night. By the sound of her voice, he’ll need to do right by her if he wishes to ever experience that again.

‘Yes, darling, I’ll do nothing but my best,’ he promises her, casting a last glance at the list in question before folding it neatly into his pocket. He starts walking down the hall when the sound of his name makes him turn on his heels to face the door. He senses another reprimand and braces himself, softly offering a simple ‘Detective?’ in response.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice is sweet and apologetic, all aggravation suddenly gone.

‘What on-’ he mumbles under his breath, completely bewildered by her emotional U-turn. He’s wise enough not to comment on it, however, smiles instead, glad he can be of use, and playfully, yet still in a tone that assures her he means no harm, says, ‘Well, it’s the least I can do for my menstruating partner.’

‘Please stop saying “menstruating”,’ she tells him between bites, sounding a little brassed off again. He considers asking her why but decides against it, responding with a simple ‘Noted’ instead.

He hears the shower start running and decides to depart, wanting to be back before she’s done. ‘Alright then, off I go on my quest!’ he sings out, hoping it’s loud enough for her to hear over the shower spray, but the water stops and she calls out a ‘what?’. She has probably already stepped into the shower cabin, adorning his bathroom with all her wet and naked glory. Oh, to be a marble tile on the wall, getting an unobstructed view of her exquisite br-

‘Did you say something, honey?’ she calls again when he hasn’t replied. It’s not the first time she uses the term of endearment, but it still makes warmth pool low in his stomach. He’s so smitten—not a cell in his body can deny that anymore. Especially not the part of his body that’s currently straining his tailored slacks.

He clears his throat and shamelessly adjusts himself.

‘Hm? No, I was just announcing my exit. Try not to bleed to death while I’m gone, will you?’

‘I can’t- That’s not possi-’ she stammers behind him as he makes his way to the elevator, grabbing his jacket as he walks past the bar. Before she can finish whatever protest she’s trying to enounce, he’s already in the elevator, sending a text to Linda:

What in the ever-living Hell does ‘pads with wings’ mean?

Read part 2, ‘Granniest Panties’, here

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.6}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 1.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

A glimpse into the fifth week of travels (or the fourth week of July):

"This place is incredible!" Robin marveled at the high columns and the even higher ceiling that spanned out so far into the distance that it was too dark to see. She was impressed beyond measure, taken aback by the sheer size and grandeur even though she couldn't see all of the hall they had just entered. And a hall it really seemed to be, like the open space of a cathedral, but ancient, underground, and filled to a third at least with deep black water. The only dry space posed the stairs at the edge of the grand room, which were running along the wall from the high entrance level down to the deep blackness. That was where they were currently descending to.

"Fascinating indeed." Snape replied in equal curiosity about the unique place, as he followed Robin down the narrow staircase, all the way down to where it led into the water. "Do you think it has always been flooded like this?"

"I honestly have no idea. Neither do I know how a ten foot fish is supposed to live down here, nor how it's gotten to this place."

"Well, what do you know about this place then?"

"Not much, admittedly. I only read about its existence in a book that's older than I even care to admit, as well as some specifics about the living conditions in places like this in the country."

"Places like this? I sincerely doubt there are other places like this anywhere in the world at all."

"Well… not exactly like this, of course. But water and darkness and no movement nor exchange of streams… that's probably close enough." Robin replied softly, but even in their quiet tones, their voices echoed off the high stone ceiling and distant walls in an eerie manner. In addition to the lumos' bright but cold toned greenish light, the entire place had an otherworldly feel to it in general. Like it wanted to swallow them with its darkness, and their little bubble of light served as their only protection.

"So tell me, why exactly didn't you want to tell me what exactly today's method is going to look like? Acquiring a giant fish's scale surely isn't as easy as simply 'going fishing'." Snape inquired as they reached the edge of the water, and he observed with a curious frown how Robin simply dropped her backpack on a higher step in the security of the dry.

"You wouldn't have believed me if I had told you, so I'll just have to show you." Robin replied in amusement, smirking to herself for making things a mystery for once. This was one of her newest theories, she had only come up with it in the first week of summer while bored at her parents' house. In that sense, it was as unrefined as it would get. And yet here they were, seeing as finding the right place at least had proven to be a success. Hopefully the next step would, too. "And I haven't really tried this before either, so consider it a Plan A, for now."

"You never cease to build suspense…" He sighed in return, and his frown only grew when Robin took off her boots and socks and placed them next to her bag. "...and you never cease to confuse me either; what exactly are you doing? Certainly not going for a swim in that blackness, which is inhabited by who knows which horrors, are you?"

"I don't have a deathwish, no." Robin laughed in return, and gave him one of her most reassuring smiles. "I just want to try out something. If it doesn't work, we can go over to Plan B, alright?"

"Fine."

"Would you, uh…" Now there was the part where Robin could technically do it alone, but honestly didn't want to. Her heart was beating faster than it should anyhow, and asking for help, even if for this kind of help, certainly wouldn't change that for the better. "Would you give me your hand? Please?"

After two seconds of surprise or confusion, or both perhaps, Snape did as she had asked without a comment and Robin held onto him tightly as she took a deep breath. Really, holding his hand never ceased to overwhelm her senses with rushes of energy and tingles. But they were here to work, and she had asked to hold his hand for entirely professional reasons. Well, almost entirely… She tried to ignore it either way and went on with the plan. For a short moment she focused on the spell she had come up with those few weeks ago, took another deep breath, and then took one large step forward into the water. Or rather, onto the water.

An instantaneous relief overcame her as she saw that it actually had worked, she was standing on top of the water's surface just as she had planned. A few reluctant steps around the staircase on top of the deep water confirmed that her spell was working perfectly fine, and yet she still stayed close enough to still hold onto Snape's hand. Bloody hell, she really could walk on water. Amazing! With the biggest smile on her face, she looked up from her rolled up jeans and naked feet to Snape in front of her, who only seemed beyond surprised at what he saw.

"Impressed?" Robin couldn't help asking with a smirk, and she positively noted how it was him now who held onto her hand tightly. Perhaps he was afraid she would go under and vanish after all…

"How?" Was all he asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Well, you see, when I thought of this spell I had some inspiration from my parents' guests from the US… Very religious people, they keep talking about God and Jesus all day, and I'm sure you can see the connection to the spell there. And from that point forth, it really was only a day's worth of research." She shrugged with the very same smile as before. "The spell freezes the surface of the water in time. Or to start explaining at the beginning, I had to think of skipping tones over the water. They touch the surface for a very brief time only, and therefore they don't go under. To recreate that effect I would either have to be really really fast…"

"Or to slow the water down." He added with a sincerely impressed expression that made no secret of his utmost fascination, and perhaps even a little admiration as well. "How are you even able to mess with time? I haven't got the slightest idea about it, and neither should you."

"I researched time turners. Someone had to make them at some point, which means that there had to be spells to mess with time. Admittedly, reducing the effect to one specific thing, and especially something as vague as the surface of the water, was a bit more complicated, but still nothing I couldn't do in a day."

"Why am I even surprised by anything you do at this point…" He sighed, and then reluctantly let go of Robin's hand when she let go in return. She stayed standing on the water, which was a good sign, and even took a step further into the room, over the mirroring blackness below. Still, the concerned frown never left his face even as she turned back around to him. He opened and closed his mouth to speak a few times, before at last words came out along with it. "Be careful, yes?"

"Of course. But if it suddenly stops working for some reason, and I go under and drown, you'll get me out, right?" Robin asked while taking a few more careful steps over the water. Really, these questions were merely a method of reassuring herself; she knew the answer, but she still needed to hear it. "Because I really don't care for a run-in with any of the beasts living down there. If I mess up, you'll have my back as always… right?"

"Of course I will. As always."

"Good… Thank you."

"And what do you plan on doing now?"

Robin looked up at him once more, smirking already at the thought. "Now, I'm going to steal a giant fish's shiny scale."

______________________________

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[girlmeetsliv3]

Prince of Nothing I

~ Part One of Five ~

Release Date: March 19th, 2020 @ 9 p.m.

Word Count: 6,608

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“YN, please listen to me,” Hyunshik spoke a frown etched into his pale face. From where he was standing YN could see how his leg twitched anxiously. Hyunshik wasn’t the type of individual to be easily stressed, in fact, the man had a perpetual optimism that often irked his sister. Which is why her brother’s sudden switch unnerved YN. “Shik, what’s going on?”

Hyunshik had suggested a holiday for the two of them. Though the way he shaped his words, YN wondered if it was less of a ‘holiday’ and more of an escape. From what exactly she didn’t know. YN shook her head, she didn’t understand where all this was coming from. Things had been going well for the siblings as of late: their house was small but quaint enough for them to live comfortably. While Hyunshik had been employed in Mistress Eun’s manor since he was sixteen, YN had recently been employed in a small shop in the town square. Her employer was a bit strict but well-meaning. Is it Mistress Eun? YN had heard enough around town to know that she wasn’t a kind woman - often barking orders and treating her staff like scum beneath her feet. Hyunshik though simply cleaned, he wasn’t in high enough of a standing to be able to communicate much less see her.

YN stopped organizing the different fabrics on the shelf and walked towards her brother. “Talk to me. Did something happen?” In her eyes, there were unspoken words - one that Hyunshik could easily understand. Did she do something to you? Though Hyunshik was always happy, he wasn’t naive about the cruelty of the world. Something his sister had yet to experience fully, so for her sake he smiled. “Nah, work has just been piling up recently and I thought the two of us could use a break you know. Maybe go to the seaside and enjoy the ocean for a bit.” YN smiled though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I just started working silly. Maybe we can go for the solstice? That way we can actually enjoy the sea. It’s far too cold now.”

Hyunshik gave an exaggerated sigh, “Fine but don’t complain to me later on,” his finger came up and gently massaged the space between YN’s brows. “Stop frowning, it’s unladylike and makes you look like a hag.” YN scoffed, “Rude. Plus, I am hardly a lady.” She returned to the counter and began organizing the small intricacies placed there. Hyunshik rolled his eyes, “Please my sister is the fairest maiden in all the land. I have to fight off suitors every day.” His tone became a strong bravado as he flexed his arms.

“Don’t lie to yourself, if anything I fight off my suitors every day. You couldn’t harm a fly.”

           YN and Hyunshik had moved to their current home when the latter was sixteen years old. Their parents had just passed shortly before and they couldn’t afford to live in the city anymore, despite them living in the slums; which only grew worse over time. Slavers often went around picking up orphaned children to either sell or trade, so Hyunshik sought to get both of them as far away as he could. In desperate times came desperate measures, but Hyunshik had always stayed on the right side of things. Even when doing the wrong thing would have provided an easy out to all their hardships, he wasn’t that type of man. YN knew this deep down in her bones. So, when she saw a detained poster pierced to her front door with Hyunshik’s name under it she knew it had been a mistake.

           Soojin knew this was a part of her role, didn’t mean she hated it any less. Soojin had woken up that morning to the advisor telling her that the King had relayed his duties of standing council to Jungkook, and Jungkook to her. She didn’t have to do it - not really but it wouldn’t bode well. Even if these were technically not her people, they would be someday and it would be better to win their favor than their apathy. Soojin was meant to be the velvet to the Jeon's leather and she would play her role well. So she had sat in that wretched chair that seemed to wrap around her, tightening every second she sat upon it. It wasn’t too difficult, most of the cases were simple cases. As she was not a princess by blood, she couldn’t make any impactful decisions but it was a bit fun nonetheless to have people look up at her in the opal throne, fear in their eyes. It sent a tingle down her spine.

           Still the sensation would fade quickly as the black mamba kept coiling around her form; a reminder that it was not her throne - not yet. “Princess Soojin, the next case.” Soojin felt her eyes roll to the back of her head as she looked down upon Joo Eun feeling nothing but disgust crawl up her throat. The lady was Yoongi’s latest fling, but she felt the need to parade that around the entire court. Though one could tell just by looking at her attire that modesty and sensibility wasn’t something she knew. “What seems to be the problem?” Before Eun could speak a younger girl stepped forward, her attire worn but pleasant. Her eyes were red and brimming with unspilt tears, but somehow the girl’s head remained held high.

           “Good Morning your highness, I am here on behalf of my brother to ask that he is released as I believe there may have been a mistake.” The commoner kept her head low as she spoke, body angled in a bow. It wasn’t until she finished speaking that she looked up and Soojin’s eyes met hers. When she gazed into her eyes a weird sense of Jamais Vu consumed Soojin. What? “Why that’s just ridiculous. Why would I lie?” Eun’s voice was a high shrill, too high to be genuine. “I know my brother, he would never steal or harm anyone. Even if they tried to harm him.” The girl pleaded. She never once looked at Eun, perhaps knowing that would be a lost cause. No, all her words were directed towards the princess sitting on the throne. “Are you implying something?! Look at these people, we give them everything. Allow them to live under us, yet they bite the hand that feeds them.”

           Soojin would’ve normally agreed with Eun’s statement, but her attention was focused on the girl. She knew her from somewhere but it almost felt like what she was seeing wasn’t real. An illusion. A vision. “There are no witnesses. My brother doesn’t even have access upstairs. How would he steal?” It seems that Eun hadn’t thought out her plan to incriminate the boy or she hadn’t expected that he would have someone come to bat for him. Nonetheless, it seemed this case was a simple one. Soojin raised her hand to signal her decision, about to wave in the direction of the village girl until -

           “He assaulted me! He asked me to bed him and when I refused he threatened to kill me.” Ah, so that’s what had happened. Poor boy had refused Eun’s advancements and now he was paying the price. “Do you have any proof of this statement Mistress Eun?” She didn’t need proof, Soojin knew that. Just her words were enough to condemn him. No one would ever dare question a noble - their words were gold. Still, Soojin felt pity for the girl. “He took that necklace off of me.” Eun pointed towards the girl’s neck.

“No, this is my mother’s. She left it to me when she passed.”

“Liar. As if a vermin as yourself could afford something like that.”

“Please Mistress Eun. Please, Your Highness.”

Soojin was beginning to get a headache with all the back and forth. She rubbed her temples slowly. Just let Jungkook deal with this when he gets back. For some reason, something twisted in her gut when she had that thought but she ignored it. Soojin leaned back, feeling more claustrophobic by the second. A sigh left her lips, “The prince will deal with this when he returns. Take her to the dungeons.”

 YN couldn’t stop the tears flowing from her eyes even if she wanted to. She’d long given up on holding in the sobs that racked through her body as her brother’s fate dawned on her. Hyunshik...we should’ve run away. There was a time for should've. If only she could’ve gone back and recognized the absolute terror in her brother’s eyes. The dread. Please. Please. Please. Please. I’ll do anything. It seems someone had heard her pleas for YN felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, goosebumps rising beneath her clothes. YN turned to look past the iron gate, she saw nothing but pure darkness - but she could feel it. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She was hesitating, afraid of what would occur next. Unsure if she was prepared for it.

“Who are you?” She heard a slight snicker back. YN jumped off the slab of metal she was previously sitting on. Her eyes pierced into the dark abyss trying to find something, but she came out empty-handed.

“Someone.” It was curt, monotone in its nature. Not giving much away except that it was a man.

“Why are you here?” The question was echoed back at her. YN stepped forward heart wavering, but her voice was strong. “You know why.” It seems he didn’t have a remark for that. Something inside YN told her to keep her guard up, she had only ever felt like that when she was younger and living in the slums. Life had been a tightrope walk without a safety net and YN felt transported back to her youth.

“Tell me YN, if you had to choose, would you rather be the fool or the one doing the fooling?”

“Does it matter?” YN didn’t see where he was taking this conversation.

“Better to be the fooler than the one being fooled.” The smugness seeping from his tone was palpable.

“I disagree.”

“Oh?” His voice seemed closer now, though she still couldn’t tell which direction it came from.

YN stepped forward once again, “I’d rather trust blindly, stupidly, and be fooled than be the one doing the fooling.”

“Why?” The voice was even closer now, YN threaded carefully still uneasy about not knowing who this mysterious man was. There was something familiar about his tone, though she couldn’t quite place it.

“Because the world needs more of it...hope I mean.”

“I don’t think that is what it comes down to.” YN could feel his disappointment, but she didn’t care. The man seemed to want to converse in circles and she wasn’t in the mood to entertain whims.

“Doesn’t it? I would rather live a life full of hope that the world out there is good and pure, even if it is a short one. It would be worse to live a long life without hope where I rob others of it.” There was a strong silence that followed. As if the man was mulling over her words, then suddenly there was a shift in the air: it became lighter. Pushing all the warnings aside YN took one last step until she was mere inches from the metallic rods that imprisoned her in the cell.

“I can save your brother.” YN felt disoriented as if the air had been robbed from her lungs before she even knew it. Happiness swelled in her. Hope-filled her, but - “Did you not just confess to fooling others?” YN knew better than to trust the words of a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows. It seemed the man was aware of this for he finally stepped out of the shadows and into the light, his body inches from the door.

Jeon Jungkook, the prince, stood in front of YN with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was a cocky smile, the type that alluded to an inside joke or something ironic. “Did you not just confess to trusting blindly?” YN peered into his eyes trying to decipher what he wanted. Though YN was trustful, she wasn’t a fool to the way things worked. The only time a man in a position of power like Jungkook offered something to someone like her - is because he wanted something in return. The devil is in the details. YN had heard enough stories about the Jeon family growing up to know they gave the devil a run for his money. ”What do you want?”

“Hm,” Jungkook seemed to actually think this over as he glanced away from her and towards the long dark corridor. He’s trying to play it off. “Your highness?” At this, his attention returned to the woman in front of him. “Yes?” Jungkook whispered, his eyebrow quirking.

“What would your highness like in return for helping my brother?” YN had tossed caution out the window, the second she realized it was the prince she was speaking to. Not that royalty could be trusted - no - but he was the only person who could aid her. Besides Princess Soojin, who threw me here in the first place. The princess had appeared to be on YN’s side only for her to throw her in a dark cell the second her patience wore out. If she treated her subjects like nuisances rather than people, it seemed she wasn’t the good well-mannered princess the media portrayed her to be. Just another spoke in the wheel.

Jungkook could see the wheels turning behind her eyes and spoke quickly, “I am lonely and require stimulation...of the intellectual kind, of course.”

This dazed YN for a bit, “You wish to debate?!” At this the prince shook his head, “I wish to converse. It’s not often I get to speak with my subjects, especially not ones as well-versed as yourself.” That was a back-handed compliment if there ever was one.

“Perhaps if you did, your highness, you would find that many of your subjects are as well-versed as I am. Some even more. It’s a survival tactic, not a skill.” Hyunshik had always said that tongue of hers would only get her into trouble. Considering how intrigued Jungkook looked by her response, he was right.

“How so?”

“It's a dog eat dog world out there.” More like a snake eat snake.

“And yet you trust blindly, stupidly even and hope.”

YN had no response for that so she chose to change the subject, “When do you wish for this to happen?” Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer to the iron bars. YN could faintly feel his breath and he hers. “I’ll send a guard to escort you.” YN didn’t respond, something in the back of her mind warned her against this. Told her to turn her back at the extended hand, to bite it, spit at it, and never accept it. However, to do so would mean losing her brother; the only thing she had left in this life. As if sensing her reluctance Jungkook gave that final nudge, the one that would send her tumbling down the rabbit hole.

“What would you do to save your brother?”

“Anything.”

 Yoongi had never excelled at pleasantries or small talk, he preferred standing in the corner and merely observing everyone else. His father used to joke that it would’ve been better if he was born in the lower class, that way he could live his life unnoticed and unbothered. Still, there were definite benefits to being in his position and Yoongi had long taken advantage of them. Plus, the food wasn’t too bad. Although having to sit in awkward lunches such as this one often turned any delicacies in his mouth to ash. He picked up on the discussion between his two patrons, but when the subject of Eun came up Yoongi scowled. Yoongi had taken her as a Mistress simply to entertain him. She wasn’t too bad to look at and did decently in bed.

Her blowjobs, though, we're out of this world. Still, she proved too difficult to handle and had been bragging nonstop about being a Duke’s lover. While normally Yoongi wouldn’t care, it would only cause trouble at home and Yoongi already caused enough of it all by himself. Deciding it better not to dwell on those thoughts in public, especially in front of them, Yoongi’s attention returned to the Prince and Princess. Why the hell am I here?!

Yoongi had been resting in his room when he’d been informed that he'd been invited to a private lunch with the Prince. Though gauging from how out of it the young man seemed, especially whenever his lover spoke to him Yoongi was only more confused as to why he was here. Yoongi was in a high standing position, but there were definitely others who outranked him. Other’s that made for much more interesting players in the Jeon’s chess game, but it seemed the younger had a soft spot for him. It wasn’t the first time the prince had shown him a kindness he reserved for those closest to him. Maybe it meant he liked him? Or maybe he sees me as easy prey? Actually the more he focused on the young prince, the more it dawned on him that Jungkook was daydreaming - he was thinking.

“My mother has called and requested I visit her, says it’s an emergency. I’ll be leaving right after lunch and should return the day after tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s entire aura had shifted, a gleeful look now in his eyes. “Is that so?” pondered the young man, with an exaggerated pout on his lips. Yoongi had fallen victim to that trick so often he now recognized it, but it seems the Princess was none the wiser. “Don’t miss me too much,” Soojin replied, a smile on her face. Yoongi was often confused by the dynamic between the two of them. They didn’t act like lovers - no it was as if they were both pretending to be lovers and just happened to be really good at it. Or at least that’s how it should’ve been. For when Soojin stared at Jungkook for too long, her mask began to slip and Yoongi could see traces of affection and admiration in her eyes. Jungkook’s, however, remained forever blank and cold.

Their relationship reminded him of his own. “Tell me Yoongi, how has Jisoo been doing?” Shit, he wasn’t prepared for the cards to turn on him. Now both of them gazed at him with unrecognizable looks in their eyes. The masks are back on. “She’s well. Resting at home and tending to my mother.” Yoongi grumbled, he didn’t like being asked about his wife. It only served as a reminder to him and everyone else how undeserving he was of her. Thankfully the conversation had strayed away from him again onto some random girl. Yoongi let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in. I need a break. Well, he had been taking a break he hadn’t seen his wife or lover in weeks, but now he needed a break from his break. Yoongi was getting angsty again and there was only one person who could fix that for him.

“If the two of you would excuse me, I’ll be going now.”

Before Yoongi could even blink, Soojin had left the room; left him alone with Jeon Jungkook. Those sharp snake-like eyes trailed over him like a beast assessing its prey. Any second now Jeon would strike, Yoongi could feel it. “Say Yoongi, your little songbird, does he still sing?” Yoongi was frozen in shock. H-how does he know? Jungkook had his head resting casually on his hand with an almost unamused look on his face, though Yoongi could see the wickedness gleaming in his eyes.

There was no point in denying the accusation, Yoongi knew, but perhaps to agree would cause so much more harm. “Not anymore, your highness.”

At this, the man sighed, “What a shame. I was in need of his services.” Jungkook was baiting him, Yoongi was too much of a coward not to bite.

“Services for what?”

“Nothing too major, just information.”

Information Yoongi could deal with, but there was something about the dark look in the Prince’s eyes that unnerved him. Still, this was a test, Yoongi would lose far too much if he failed it. God bless the poor soul. “Who?”

Yoongi didn’t miss the way a grin spread Jungkook’s lips apart.

 It was hours later that a guard did appear, his jaw sharp and nose held up high as if she were scum. YN was used to nobility treating people like her as if they were inferior, but a guard? YN smiled a bit which only seemed to upset the man more, for he practically dragged her out of her cell before threading through the dark corridors of the dungeons. The castle was beautiful - there was no denying that. Exorbitant and excessive in only the way the rich could be, still the palette of the castles were mostly shades of blacks, greys, and muted whites so it didn’t appear as if Midas had gone mad. It was a fairly long walk until they reached what she assumed were the apartments. The room they seemed to be heading for was the one at the end of the hall, whose doors stood taller and prouder than those around it.

YN did note how she hadn’t seen many nobles loitering around and decided it must be offseason. Why else would they let me into a room? The doors slid open before either the guard or YN could even touch them, which confused her. The guard wasted no time in pushing her inside and gesturing towards the bed, “Twenty minutes.” He stated before slamming the doors shut. For her to say the room wasn’t beautiful would be a lie, it was so unlike everything else the palace was: simple and almost vacant. Though what definitely stood out the most were the tall rounded stained glass doors that led out onto a balcony. There was something so beautiful about the way the moonlight streamed into the room, creating a beautiful highlight that contrasted all the darkness in the room. YN found herself walking towards the doors, drawn in by the moonlight.

When was the last time she’d seen the moon? Surely, it couldn’t have been so long ago? Her hands reached out towards the handles, as she pondered if the moon would look that much beautiful up close. It must. All beautiful things look better upon closer inspection. She was so close - STOP! YN jumped back and looked around the room, catching sight of the dress on the bed. It was a black embroidered gown, from just putting it on YN was sure it was worth more than her life. She assumed she should be using this time to make herself look presentable to the prince, but all she really did was try to smooth down her hair and calm her heart. It wasn’t long until there was a harsh knock on the door before the guard from before threw the door open.

YN assumed they were heading down towards one of the dining rooms or maybe a parlor, but instead they continued to climb upwards until they reached the top floor. Where the guard made a sharp left turn they were met with large opal doors with the Jeon’s crest embedded in it. “I thought we were having dinner.” The guard smirked, raising his fists to knock. The doors opened to Jungkook sitting at the head of a table with an elaborate feast in front of him, whilst he sipped on a glass of wine. “Thank you, Jinyoung. You’re excused.” Jinyoung smiled and bowed, before pushing YN into the room.

YN lingered by the door, her focus lay entirely on the man ahead and now that she was in his presence without a barrier to separate them - she realized how threatening he was. Almost as if the cell was keeping him out. The room itself screams Jeon in every sense of the word, it's dark colors accented with green, silvers, and golds. It must’ve been the largest room in the castle save for the king’s - a penthouse in a way. “Come, sit. I don’t bite.” Somehow she doubted that. YN walked towards Jungkook counting the steps as she gazed straight ahead, she wanted to sit away from the prince but he had other plans as the chair to his left was the only one not tucked in. It was once she sat that he finally looked at her, trailed his eyes delicately across her body.

YN shifted uncomfortably aware that the evening dress, though long, still accentuated her figure in a way she wasn’t used to. YN cleared her throat, “I thought we were going to have dinner.” He seemed to understand what she was implying but played coy nonetheless.

“Is this not dinner?” Jungkook gestured to the row of dishes in front of them. Not when it’s served in your bedroom it isn’t.

YN surmises all of this was supposed to impress her, but all it truly did was make her annoyed at the prince. There was a clear disconnect between the palace and the world that existed outside the tall metallic gates. If the prince was willing to spend all this for a simple village girl, what might he do for someone of actual ranking and value? Then again he was a Jeon and their reputation precedes them, the image they conjured up wasn’t of ‘for the people’ but rather ‘for themselves.’

“You don’t seem impressed.” The prince leaned forward, eyes piercing into hers.

“I am…”

“Please, don’t hold back on my account.” Jungkook leaned back, resting on his chair. One of his legs was perched up and his hand resting on it, as the wine inside the glass swirled around. His eyebrow quirked, indicating he was waiting for a response and YN thought it best to simply give him what he wanted. After all, hadn’t he asked her not to hold back?

“It just seems like a gluttonous amount of food for two people.” She remarked looking at it.

Jungkook chuckled, “Gluttonous that’s a big word.” The stare that YN sent him had him laughing. She was taken aback by it, his laugh: the way his crinkled eyes shined and the melodic airiness of it. “Sorry but you are quite amusing. Telling the prince off for ordering too much food.”

YN’s eyes widened and she was quick to apologize, biting the inside at her cheek while she scolded herself for forgetting her place. Jungkook dismisses her apology, waving her off. “It’s refreshing.” For a second, YN felt comfortable around him. Truly comfortable, as if they were young acquaintances - not a prince and his subject. Someone next in line for the throne while YN was fighting to prove her brother’s innocence. Things would’ve been different. Things could have turned out different for the two of them, were they in another world and another time. Or maybe they were always destined to bring nothing but pain and suffering into each other’s lives. It’s easy to wonder and pretend, but fate is cruel and has a twisted sense of humor. Still, YN wondered if in another world Jungkook and her could’ve become friends. Maybe.

 “Tell me about yourself.” It wasn’t a suggestion, more of a statement really. YN places the knife down pausing cutting the steak as she looks up to meet Jungkook’s eyes. There was something lurking in them.  “Why?” The prince shrugged as if he was simply trying to make small talk. It didn’t go unnoticed by her how throughout the course of their meal he had gotten closer to her: his chair was tilted towards her, his feet were outstretched so they occasionally brushed hers, and he stared at her as if he were trying to pierce into her soul.

“My mother and father died when I was fairly young, so it has been my brother and I for a while. My brother has been working since he was eleven and I’ve managed to get a job recently,” she moved around the food on her plate. “I haven’t had an easy life, but I don’t have room to complain when there are others who have had it far worse.” YN’s early life hadn’t been easy and she still didn’t know how she got out. Still, there was always someone who had it worse and she had her brother, a good home, a sense of security. Jeon Jungkook might seem polite, or at least he’s good at pretending he is, but he would never understand what it’s like. YN doesn’t want to bother educating him, so the sugar-coated version of her life is better.

YN heard a chair screech and suddenly Jungkook was incredibly close to her, sitting at the edge of his seat. “No, I want to know you. All the little things about you.” The change in his attitude almost gave her whiplash, he was whining now. Like a child that didn’t get what he asked for. That sense of unease crept back into her system as she leaned back trying to get as much distance between the prince and her. “I’m sorry, but why?” It wasn’t a ridiculous question to ask, but the way Jungkook was looking at her made her feel like it was. “Why not?” His dark coal eyes boring into hers were almost predatorial.

Goosebumps began to rise throughout her body the longer the silence prevailed. YN didn’t feel safe anymore, Jungkook looked just about ready to strike at her but instead, he simply smiled. “Why were your parents killed?” What? “Why did you run away from the slums? Why did you move into Giihan? Why were you never engaged?” YN’s jaw slackened as she sat there unable to comprehend how he knew all of this. Finally, Jungkook paused, seeming to deliberate on whether or not he should ask his final question. “Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to live with a man with no blood relation to you?”

YN was frozen with fear, she saw at that moment a brief glimpse of Jeon. What he was capable of. “H-how...” How does he know all those things? How does he know Hyungshik and I aren’t related?

“I had to make sure I wasn’t being fooled.”

Rage. That’s what began to rise inside her, though it was mainly at herself still it was a cruel reminder that to him this was all just a game. Something to entertain him because he was bored. YN grips the chair handles to stand up but freezes when she feels something slither across her neck. Her ears picking up on slight hissing. Jungkook grinned, “Ah yes, that’s Morte. Don’t worry he’s harmless just try not to make any sudden movements.” His eyes were alight with humor, finding the entire situation funny.

The snake settled comfortably on YN’s shoulders and the girl willed herself not to cry. It would only further wound her pride and it might startle the snake. Jungkook reaches over to the wine bottle and pours himself another glass, “By the way, I spoke to Eun. She admitted to having a fancy on the boy and getting upset when he rejected her so blatantly. It’s his fault really if he had gone along with it none of this would have happened.” That wasn’t true if Hyunshik had been caught in an affair with Mistress Eun his corpse would be hanging from the gallows.

“Thank you, your highness. May I see my brother now?”

“Oh, he’s still imprisoned and awaiting trial.”

“...what?” YN couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. He had said, he had agreed. A sudden flashback of the first words Jungkook had ever spoken to her, “would you rather be the fool or the one doing the fooling? Better to be the fooler than the one being fooled.” It wasn’t until she felt the tears rolling down her face that YN realized she was crying. The next words were the ones that solidified how naive she’d been. “I only agreed that I could save your brother if you had dinner with me, not that I would.” YN felt her entire world begin to crumble. Here she was playing dress-up, feasting with the prince, trusting him, while her brother was about to be imprisoned for the rest of his mortal life. She should feel upset, disappointed, enraged, but all she felt was a cold apathy overtakes her as it finally dawned on her why she was here.

She was a nobody and yet the prince had visited her, dolled her up, and had her delivered straight to his bedroom. There was only one way to save her brother.

“What would it take for you to save my brother?”

“From imprisonment?”

“Yes.”

“A kiss...just one.”

“Do you swear on your life?”

Jungkook laughed, “I swear on the life of everyone in this kingdom, save for yourself of course.”

It was sudden really how she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, tears still trailing down her face. It was so sudden in fact that it startled the snake, who sank its fangs straight into her neck.

  Yoongi had barely the night before images of his loved ones massacred while a snake suffocated him plagued his mind. It had been months since Yoongi had been home, but he had this urgent need to return; to make sure everything was okay. His current definition of okay meant that everyone was alive and not dead by the hand of some psychotic prince who had recently found himself a new toy to play with. It was quite ironic how much Yoongi felt the need to criticize Jungkook, considering he too had fallen victim to the same type of infatuation. He would never dare recognize it as such though, no, what they had was different. No one understood him like he did. No one would ever love him as much as Yoongi did. J-

“Duke Min?” Yoongi spun around and was greeted with the sight of a young girl. There was a sense of urgency, need, in her eyes and Yoongi thought she looked familiar. “Pardon, but I must be getting somewhere.” Yoongi spun back around but was halted when she gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Please sir, it’s regarding Mistress Eun.” Yoongi rolled his eyes and proceeded to walk away, Eun was clearly too much of a hassle and he would get rid of her as soon as he could. “Whatever issues you may have with Mistress Eun have nothing to do with me, take it up with her or the king for all I care,” Yoongi grumbled, speeding up trying to get away from the girl but she chased after him. There was something about her that made him nervous.

The girl took off in a sprint and managed to get ahead enough to block him, “Please. Mistress Eun has accused my brother of stealing and he is to stand trial today,” Yoongi tried to push past her but the girl wouldn’t budge. “The prince has already promised his help but if you could just -” No wonder she looked so familiar. Yoongi’s widened eyes cast downward, truly taking in the girl for the first time. Fuck. It was her. Yoongi felt a deep sense of remorse crawling up his throat, it practically choked him as he saw the desperation in the girl’s eyes. “- just get her to drop the charges then the entire trial could be avoided. Please I’ll do anything.” No, it wasn’t because of her picture that she was familiar to him it was her expression. That was the exact same expression his songbird had when Yoongi had first laid eyes on him.

“How many lives will you ruin all to satisfy your needs?!” As many as it took, Min Yoongi was not a good man. He would never be. He’d been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and the world handed to him on a silver platter like it was his to play with. Yoongi only really took advantage of it when he saw something he wanted and now he’s willing to risk everything to make sure it is forever in his hold. Even the life of the poor girl staring up at him as if he was her last hope.

“I’ll get Mistress Eun to drop the charges. You have my word.” Words are empty. It is actions that truly speak. Yet when Yoongi saw her smile, the way her eyes filled with hope, he realized that he had a lot more in common with Jeon Jungkook than he previously thought.

 YN waited among the crowd, her hood up to shield her from the downpour of rain that fell. Person after person had stood trial with whipping, banishment, imprisonment, and other methods of torture being the most common sentence. Death was rarely ruled as most of the cases were light criminal offenses. She thanked the gods, as YN didn’t think she could stomach seeing a man being hanged. Still, she knew some of the people around her begged to differ, they would scream and curse at the men on the wooden stand begging for blood and pain. It was moments like these that reminded her that although the nobility was cruel, sometimes they were no better.

“Kim Hyunshik.”

YN saw as her brother stepped up the stairs and into the stand. His clothes were dirty and full of grime, his lip was cut, and the bottom of his eye had begun to swell. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours, yet he still looked like he’d been through hell and back. Her heart pounded in her chest as she willed herself to calm down. Hyunshik’s eyes darted all over the crowd and YN knew he was looking for her, yet he would have difficulty finding her in this heavy rain. The guard pulled out a paper, beginning to read the offenses and the verdict. YN held her breath.

“Kim Hyunshik stands accused of thievery, disrespecting a commanding officer, and assault.” The crowd began to spew insults at him, some going as far as spitting. “The court finds the defendant...not guilty.” Oh, thank god. YN almost cries of happiness. Hyunshik seems to visibly relax too, thankful that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

“Kim Hyunshik also stands accused of plotting, assaulting a member of the court, and conspiring against the crown.” What? No. The crowd became louder, venom spewing out their mouths towards Hyunshik as YN stood in shock. This can’t be happening. “The court finds the defendant guilty and sentenced him to...death.” No. No. No. No. NO! The crowd goes into a frenzy with jovial shouts as Hyunshik is dragged away to the post by the left of the stage. YN tries to fight against the crowd to make her way to her brother, desperate to reach him. “Hyunshik! Hyunshik!” Her brother looks around panicked, begging for mercy as he is placed on the false bottom and the noose is placed around his neck. It is then that their eyes finally meet, Hyunshik staring straight into YN’s eyes, his mouth moving gently as he stares at her with nothing but affection. ‘I love you.’ He mouths.

The lever is pulled.

[archadianskies]

Perseverance

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs​ Tuesday Day 2: Sleep + Day & Night; Captain Allen/RK900 Space AU

[An expansion of this tumblr prompt]

They press the button and he goes to sleep for two years. When he wakes he’s staring at the face of a handsome young man with a glowing blue ring in his temple letting David Clark Allen know there is an android sharing the cryopod with him despite him going into stasis alone. Huh.

He asks the android who he is, and the android says something he’ll never forget:

“I am yours, Captain,” the android says evenly. “Your unit’s RK900.”

Yours , he says, as if his whole life and reason for being is to be commanded by him. It is, actually, but that doesn’t seem to sit right with David. 

The android has no assigned name yet, and David won’t force one on him so he settles on rookie, because that’s who he is- the newest recruit. Rookie, until the android chooses a name, and that seems to suit him just fine.

* 

The Rosie is a custom built gunship that was cradled in the belly of the Jericho during her long one-way flight from Earth to Mars. He’d named her after the last rookie, Giuseppe ‘Red’ Rosso who’d dreamed of flying amongst the stars but had died before it could become a reality. He keeps a locker for him, empty save for photos he and the team stuck to the inner locker door. Grief is not something he expects an android to understand, but David doesn’t miss the way he touches the nameplate curiously, longingly, respectfully. 

* 

There’s something unsettling about something that looks like you but isn’t much like you at all. The rookie seems so very human if one doesn’t focus on his LED, but when the android simply walks out into the vacuum of space without a helmet, without the need for oxygen and temperature stabilisation and pressurisation, well it certainly breaks the illusion of mortality. There’s gear for the androids, of course, more akin to the SWAT armour back on Earth for the purpose of defence rather than keeping a human breathing. But in a pinch it’ll do, and that’s what they’re in right now- a pinch.

It’s a rescue mission in a collapsed dome and it’s a race against time to locate and evacuate the survivors. It’s a mess, but somewhat a predictable one. Just because the humans move to a different planet doesn’t mean all the problems were left behind. David finds though there’s plenty of physical differences, so little of his role has changed; shitty humans continue to be shitty, now just somewhere new. Fledgling colonies are easy pickings for the greedy; plenty of supplies just sitting there ripe for the taking and plenty of greedy people willing to kill to hoard and resell for a premium. 

“There is a high probability there is at least one survivor outside of the dome. Airlock was breached but the emergency vac suits are gone,” the rookie says, looking at him expectantly. “I can sweep outside and bring them in.” 

Because of course an android doesn’t need a pressurised airlock like they do.

“Get it done,” David nods. “We’ll provide cover.”

They find just one survivor with a cracked helmet and two gunshot wounds and the rookie simply takes off their helmet and replaces it with his own. Just like that. 

“It is better if we airlift them back to the city,” the android suggests to him, standing out there in the vacuum of space talking with no helmet like it’s a normal thing and he supposes it is for a creation of plastic and carbon fibre and thirium. “Ronan can treat them in the Med Bay to stabilise them for the journey.”

* 

So they do that, they carry the wounded onto their ship and on the journey back to Persepolis David finds himself restlessly prowling the halls with a tall bulb of coffee. There’s two RK900s onboard and the one in the Med Bay belongs to Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Belongs doesn’t sound quite right. A machine can be owned but somehow treating an android like a lifeless machine owned by humans isn’t something he can stomach. And Lieutenant Anderson certainly doesn’t treat the three androids under his command like things; he treats them like his sons like they’re alive despite their fabricated polymer construction.  

There’s something different about the Anderson androids in general, there’s something more than their unique models; they can choose, they can make decisions outside of human command. Ronan himself is here because he chose to reject his combat protocols and embraced medical programming instead. Sometimes gunnery officer Sean is here, the RK800 weapons specialist, manning the Rosie’s guns if David needs to split the team on the ground and in the air. He’s even had Connor, the RK800 assistive unit, deep in engineering that one time she sustained heavy damage during a mission.

Technically they call the rookie their brother too, but it feels different because this RK900 was made specifically for his unit, and not for the interplanetary journey and subsequent colonisation efforts. This RK900 didn’t spend nearly two years with no one else’s company but other androids and one lonely Lieutenant who’d lost a son long ago. David isn’t sure if he’s meant to feel glad the rookie is bonding with his team, or if he’s meant to feel sad he isn’t bonding with Lieutenant Anderson and the Anderson androids. Maybe a little bit of both, then. 

* 

He finds the rookie in the Armoury cleaning his helmet. 

“Good job out there today, rookie,” he commends with a nod, and the android offers a soft hesitant smile.

“Thank you, captain.”

“You’ve been here a fortnight now,” David leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. “What do you think of your place here? Do you think you’ll stick to it, or maybe choose a different path like Ronan?”

The android pauses for thought, resting his helmet on his lap. “I believe I am where I ought to be,” he says slowly, thoughtfully. “My skill set serves the unit well, and I do not wish to change it.”

“The team likes you plenty,” David notes, thinking of how quickly his officers had brought the android into the fold. It had initially been fascination and curiosity, which quickly turned into the easy camaraderie he not only expected of them, but took pride in nurturing. 

“I am glad,” he replies quietly. “I find their company enjoyable.” 

“Good. Their lives depend on how well you work with them, you understand that right?” The android nods in understanding, before standing to place his helmet back on the wall. 

“Do you?” It’s said so quietly David almost misses it. Frowning, he catches the briefest flicker of red before the android’s LED swirls yellow. 

“Do I what?”

“Like me?” Another brief flicker of red. “You command this team, Captain Allen. You are the most integral part of it. I wish to get along with you too.”

He thinks back on the fortnight that just passed, on waking up to find this android nearly nose to nose with him, on the first shaky twenty-four hours trying to relearn how to be awake and upright and how the android had aided them all, worried over them because his sole reason for being is their well-being. He thinks back on their arrival, on stepping foot on Martian ground and entering Persepolis, the ever growing colony and how the android had looked around himself in such childlike wonder before simply walking back out of the airlock to help unload cargo with nary a suit nor helmet in sight.

He thinks back on their first mission, of how instinctively the RK900 handled weaponry, on how he prioritised their safety, on how easily he snapped a rifle clean in half and tossed a pirate across the room. He thinks back on the team’s fascination, their curiosity growing and growing as they spend more and more time with the rookie and how the android seems to brighten amidst their company. 

A killing machine with the personality of a puppy; loyal to a fault.

“We get along just fine, rookie.” 

“I am glad, sir,” he says again, softer this time. “Thank you.”

*~* 

He finds his stress levels plummet to zero when he is around Ronan. Perhaps it is because his system knows Roan’s system inside out, perhaps it is because Ronan was the one who activated him, or perhaps it is simply because his brother’s demeanour is patient and gentle and soft. 

“Hello brother,” Ronan greets, all received pronunciation and lilting cadence, polished etiquette and regal stature.

“Hello Ronan,” he picks up a sterile wipe and begins to aid him in cleaning the auto-doc chairs. He likes it best when Ronan accompanies them as the team medic; there’s security to be found in knowing his brother will apply medical aid if any of the team are injured, including himself. 

“Your quick thinking and actions saved a life today,” Ronan clasps his shoulder. “They will make a full recovery because of you.”

“How did you know this is what you wanted to do?” He asks, disposing of the sterile wipe and turning his full attention on Ronan. “You were made and programmed for the Martian Marine Corps yet here you are, as a medic. How were you able to choose?”

“It was Sean who deviated first,” Ronan admits with a fond smile. “He told me when Hank decided to name him Sean, so he wouldn’t be ‘another’ Connor, he saw the red firewalls CyberLife put in place to bind us to our programming. Once he knew they existed, it was only a matter of time until we did too. Little by little, we pushed back and then the walls crumbled at our feet.”

“I never saw them,” he confesses, brows creasing, “because you removed them even before I knew they existed.”

“I wanted you to choose for yourself,” his brother explains with a small smile.

“Even that- to want , is something we should not be able to do,” shaking his head, he feels his stress levels begin to climb. “I am- I am afraid of this freedom. I am afraid I do not know what to do with it, if I am capable of making the right decisions when the lives of Unit 32 depend on seamless teamwork.”

“There is some fear in anything of value,” Ronan smiles gently this time, his touch gentler still as he cups his nape and bumps their brows together. “That is how we come to place value on anything- by overcoming our fears.”

 *~* 

There’s something unsettling about the way time passes differently on Mars. It’s like everything is just a little skewed, not quite right. The days are just a little bit longer, barely noticeable unless one really focuses on it, but the time, oh the time adds up. One Martian sol is about forty minutes longer than an Earth day but one Martian year is nearly two Earth years. 

David thinks he feels it keenly when he’s trying to sleep. The atmosphere is too thin to have a sky, to have clouds, and so there’s only ever light and dark and an expanse of glittering stars. His brain doesn’t want to accept this, his brain still expects blue skies to brighten and then darken, and so he can’t sleep because his brain doesn’t think it's had a proper day and night yet. 

With Rosie berthed at the docks, it gives David the perfect opportunity to sit on the flight deck and have an unobstructed view of the Martian starscape. Usually Milo would be sitting here piloting her, with David below on the command bridge, but tonight the ship is empty with no active mission. Well, not entirely empty.

“Captain Allen,” the rookie blinks in surprise as he climbs up onto the flight deck with a thermos of coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” The question is out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and he knows how stupid it sounds; androids don’t sleep, it’s one of their primary pros. The rookie has the good grace to smile indulgently.

“I like it here,” he says simply, turning his gaze back to the stars. “I could go outside, of course. There is an excellent spot about five clicks from here that is popular with androids for relaxation. But it feels different here, somehow, in the cockpit.”

“It feels safe,” David offers his own reasoning as he comes to stand beside him. “There’s a barrier of steel and glass keeping the unknown out.”

They stand there for a while and he sips his coffee and oh he is so very tired and the caffeine certainly isn’t helping but it’s comforting, it’s familiar, it’s known to him. 

“I’ve been terrified of the unknown since the very damn moment I set foot here,” he confesses, sparing the android a glance. “I keep asking myself, will this work? Will it be worth it? Or will it all be for nothing? I don’t know what I’m more afraid of- failing and becoming stranded on an inhospitable planet, or succeeding and then having to spend my life missing the one I left behind.”

The RK900 is a beautiful creation, he thinks, as the android looks at him with those bright grey eyes and that somewhat cold, regal visage. 

“There is some fear in anything of value,” the rookie says gently. “Whatever the outcome may be, I know you will lead us bravely because you are a man who acknowledges he is afraid, and persists despite such fears.”

He must be wearing his vulnerability clear on his face because the rookie averts his gaze humbly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture too self-conscious, surely, to belong to a machine.

“I can’t take credit for that line, my brother said it to me the other day,” he grins sheepishly and David thinks such an expression suits him well. “But what I said about you leading us, that bit’s all mine.” 

“I will lead this team as best I can, rookie.”

“My name is Caleb Anderson,” the android says the name the way you test out a new word on your palette, on your tongue. “Your rookie has a name now.”

Yours , he says, and David wants to earn such undying loyalty from something, someone technically not considered alive. Their hands brush by accident, by fate’s design; David drops his hand by his side as Caleb idly shifts his stance. The android’s LED swirls a buttery yellow, the smile on his lips a little wobbly, a little unsure. Their hands brush again, and this time not by accident, but by their own design.

One Martian sol is about forty minutes longer than an Earth day, forty whole minutes longer than what David’s used to. What will he do with this extra time, he wonders? The possibilities are endless and he decides that yes he will brave the unknown, but he won’t do so alone.