#that desperate way you cling to your childhood in your 20s wanting it all back while lamenting lost ambitions is jo

[fandomfloozy]

living proof that you can be an amy your whole life and then suddenly you wake up one day and you're a jo (in a sad way)

[notalicent]

Just read your tags and I don’t think Alicent went to Dragonstone with the specific intention of giving Rhaenyra an escape, she sort of blurted it out.

Throughout House of the Dragon the one consistent about Alicent is that she has never known a minute of happiness since the day she wed Viserys and lost Rhaenyra forever.

Her story is that of a stolen girlhood that even 20 years later she still longs for desperately. Alicent has been frozen in time, and at that moment in Dragonstone she saw a chance to regain the childhood once lost and she tried to seize it.

She says “come with me” but what she actually means is “join me in my fantasy where we are still children, reject your reality for my delusion”. She’s begging Rhaenyra, she’s begging her to give her back her girlhood, her dream of a simpler time.

But Rhaenyra’s moved on, she let go of her childish dreams the minute she gave birth to Jace and he became the centre of her universe. Jace gave her a family, unconditional love, a meaning to life etc. she didn’t need to reminisce in the past because her future was bright.

Rhaenyra won’t go with Alicent because Alicent is no longer her dream, her dream is to sit on the throne and have Jace succeed her. She doesn’t need an escape because there’s nothing to escape from.

It’s the exact opposite for Alicent who could never let go of their childhood because she never had a Jace to replace it with.

That’s the ultimate tragedy of Rhaenicent, one clings to the past whilst the other looks forward into the future.

I had a different take on that scene. My take away from Rhaenyra declining was not that it was because she didn’t want to. “My part is here whether I will or no” she had no choice and she didn’t say “no, I don’t want to go with you because that’s no longer my dream” she declined because her path (the prophecy) placed her there and she had no say. I don’t think she -wants- to sit the throne (the same way Daemon always wanted for example), it’s now only a must because of the prophecy. In the past, it was Alicent placing her duty before everything else including her happiness and now it’s Rhaenyra… duty is the death of love etc etc and to me that’s the real tragedy of it all.

[bravemikhailo]

what are your favorite gallavich fics?

wow this took me literal months but finally here I am with a looong list. this fandom is just too talented 🥹

ok let’s start with wips, shall we?

miles between us - by @xgoldendays // In the summer of 1975, Mickey Milkovich is released from Beckman Correctional in California after a seven year prison sentence. Along with his cousin, Sandy – he's set to make the long road trip from Los Angeles back to his hometown of Chicago. On the way though, the pair pick up a hitchhiker who teaches Mickey that life on the outside has changed and the road home is never easy.

balancing on the ledge - @mmmichyyy // Moments on ledges in Ian and Mickey’s lives as their connection ebbs and flows throughout the years. 

care for a cut? - @gallawitchxx // a barbershop au written 100 words at a time based on galladrabbles prompts!

a dustland fairytale - @gardenerian // It’s different, this heat.It wraps around him, covers him as he walks into the night. Their usual summers might be heavy and stifling, but this - it feels alive. It feels purposeful, like it clings tighter to him every time he thinks about it.

the silence is all we have - @mmmichyyy // Ian remembers a time when Mickey loved him. Now, all they have is silence. A story not about changing the past, but about rebuilding what they once had into something whole again.

things beyond mistake - @gallavichy // In the 90s and early 00s, they were distant neighbors on a long, dirt road out in the middle of vaguely Georgia farmland. Ian and Mickey: two poor, closeted Southern kids with similar financial situations but very different families, harboring secret crushes that felt illegal and that manifested themselves as sharp words, punches, and self-loathing. In 2021, Ian, a high school teacher in need of a fresh start, returns to his childhood home after nearly 20 years to find himself once more sharing a lonely dirt road with Mickey, the boy he once knew and the man he's desperate to get to know.

your question has been received - @celestialmickey // a tumblr AU with a bit of a twist

since we’re alone - @lethargicmick and @buffymilkovich // When Mickey Milkovich first got to the University of Michigan he had two goals; play hockey and get drafted into the NHL. But by his junior year, he’s at risk of losing his full ride scholarship because of his slipping grades.Enter Ian Gallagher, an ambitious and fiery redhead who takes his job as Mickey’s tutor way too seriously and seems determined on making his life a living hell.Or a College AU where Mickey is a hockey player and Ian is studious as fuck. They are everything the other one hates. Or so they think.

intro to quantum dating - @spoonfulstar // another college au

ok I’m going to put the rest under the cut because this got extremely long!

completed multi-chapters

I had a dream (I got everything I wanted) - @matteoamiras // mickey milkovich hasn’t seen ian gallagher in over 9 years, not since the day he broke his heart and they shipped him off to prison for a crime he didn’t technically commit.the last place he expects to bump into him is new york fucking city.mickey suddenly finds himself being thrown head first back into a world of people and places he's spent so many years trying to leave behind.or, the one where two broken puzzle pieces find a way to fit themselves back together.au from 5x12/6x01 onwards. 

Ian the friendly ghost - @sunoficarus // "ghosts au where Mickey thinks the house he moved in is haunted because the doors seem to close on their own and his shit somehow gets neat and tidy and Ian's just a very polite ghost who's got a bit of a crush on the adorable grumpy guy who's just moved in"

you outshined the best there was - @metalheadmickey // Scenes from early parenthood in the Gallagher-Milkovich household.

cooperative gameplay - @gallavichy // At nineteen years old, Ian Gallagher’s stuck. Stuck in a minimum-wage job he hates. Stuck in the same boring routine--sleep, wake, work, take your meds, Ian!, try not to lose it day after day after day. But after his little brother introduces him to MICK MILK, a frustratingly hot horror gamer he watches on YouTube, Ian's life will never be the same. 

like real people do - @gallavichy // At the age of 26, Mickey Milkovich gets his first apartment, his first wifi connection, and his first kiss. How he gets from wifi to kissing is a complicated story. Mickey is socially anxious. Ian is a frustratingly lovable escort working through an app. Mickey downloads said app. The rest is history.

where I end and you begin - @gallawitchxx // Mickey is dead. And he’ll stay dead unless his soulmate can see him. He knows that’s Ian. Because….come on. But he’s only got two weeks to prove that--if he can get Ian to see him, then he gets to live again. If he can’t? Well, then it’s a one way trip to the Great Unknown. The thing is, the last time Mickey saw Ian it was behind some glass and Ian was not-so-convincingly promising to wait…

blood in, bleed out - brewrosemilk and whatsastory on ao3 // The year is 1954. Tony Bennett is on the radio, Marilyn Monroe is on the silver screen, and as Ian Gallagher is about to find out - the Ukrainian mafia is in full swing.

where I found you - @gardenerian // "They were finally thriving, as opposed to just surviving. Things were finally going their way. And now Ian’s in a hospital bed, thinking he’s fifteen fucking years old. He doesn’t remember their story. He doesn’t remember what they went through together. He doesn’t know Mickey like the back of his hand anymore. He doesn’t even know that Mickey’s gay. And Mickey’s the neighborhood thug again. Ian’s afraid of him. Ian hates him."

you’ll never see us again - @spoonfulstar // Ian navigates life inside the confines of Marceline, a beautiful boarding school in rural America where he had been fed, clothed, and raised since as long as he could remember. Things begin to fall apart when he grows older and starts to question the truths he'd been told -- about himself, his friends, and what their purpose truly is.

your name like a song I sing to myself - misandrywitch on ao3 // Mickey and Mandy Milkovich are the two halves of indie band 'Mandy and the Misdemeanors' and, against all odds, they're pretty good. That's about all Mickey has going for him though. He's expecting to slog through another long monotonous summer, make a little money playing some gigs and pass unnecessarily hot afternoons how he always has: drinking too much and wondering halfheartedly what feels like it's missing from his life.Until, that is, he meets a red-headed green-eyed bartender named Ian who charges into Mickey's life with a laugh, and who ensures that nothing will ever be the same.

the sound - chloemaay on ao3 // Five years. Five years for Ian and Mickey to twist their lives together so inextricably that neither can imagine life without the other. Five years of getting to know every inch of skin, every bad habit. Five years of fights. Five years of memories. Five years of being inseparable. One moment to take it all away.

one-shots

hope we’ll be better than the past - biblionerd07 on ao3 // Ian wants to leave Chicago when Mickey gets out of prison, intent on a fresh start together. Unfortunately, leaving a place doesn't always mean leaving the problems you faced there.

ghosts that we knew - @matteoamiras // for the first time in mickey's life, shit is moving forward - he's married, he's got a steady job and his dad just kicked the bucket. then, someone impossible turns up and everything he thought he knew is turned upside down. she doesn’t look like anything mickey has been led to believe about ghosts. because the woman in front of mickey is alive.

twenty strangers - @crossmydna // Ian may be a realist in most things, but at heart, he’s a hopeless romantic. That’s probably why he agrees to kiss a stranger on camera.

morning light - @mmmichyyy // Ian swears he feels Mickey's heart slow for a millisecond, but his voice remains steady. "You doing okay?" Maybe when he was younger, Ian would've probably stiffened and gotten defensive if anyone asked him that. I'm fucking fine. Leave me alone. Stop coddling me. But Mickey's not just anybody. He's his husband. His person. His rock. His everything.He's Mickey.

something to hold on to - @xgoldendays // Ian Gallagher thought he wasn’t prepared for prison but who he really wasn’t ready for was his brand new cell mate, Mickey Milkovich. or alternatively, Ian and Mickey meet in prison and cuteness and flirting ensues.

blood cells pixelate and eyes dilate - kissteethstainred on ao3 // The worst part about loving Mickey wasn't the fact that Mickey (might have) slept with other guys or the fact that Mickey doesn't love him back or that Mickey and Ian will only ever be fuckbuddies. No, the worst thing is the moments where Ian thinks it will be more.

stages - ColdReign on ao3 // It’s nice for married couples to share interests and experiences. But they didn’t really need their dads to die one after the other like this.

how to love - proval on ao3 // Mickey's body's been a bit quieter for a while now, no longer wracked through with those heaving sobs. But Ian gets the feeling if he leaves they'll start up again. Ian POV gap filler for 11x09. Starts after the end of 11x08.

three wishes - @xgoldendays // It's a time honored tradition to blow out your candles on your birthday and make a wish. Most people wish for happiness, others for gifts but for Mickey Milkovich, birthdays meant wishes never coming true. At least until he finds exactly what he's been missing to make those dreams into reality. Otherwise known as the three times Mickey celebrates his birthday and the three wishes he makes.

golden hour - @iansfreckles // He’s going to count those freckles one day, he decides, right then and there with Ian’s mouth on his. He’s going to find his favorite shapes in them, his favorite stories. Draw stupid little pictures in black ballpoint pen on his shoulders and kiss them, kiss them, kiss them, until Ian’s laughing with that one crooked tooth on display. (OR: 5 times Mickey admires Ian's freckles, +1 time Ian admires his)

bright - @gallavichy // "There's gotta be a neglected Milkovich baby crawling around your family tree somewhere."Post-series fic in which Ian and Mickey become parents. Alternating POV, but this is Mickey's story.

my love, you’re the one - @matteoamiras // all the years they’ve lost, all the goodbyes, all the reunions – they've all led up this. or, five times ian gallagher misses mickey milkovich + one time he doesn't have to (he never has to again).

you - budget on ao3 // "You can’t pinpoint exactly when it was that you stopped being you." - 7x11 analysis

the weight of water - Callielee227 on ao3 // mickey thinks about water, once in mexico and once in ian's arms

blueberry pancakes - noeller on ao3 // Ian and Mickey make dinner with Ian’s gay tomatoes from his gay garden

the seeds that you plant - @good-then-dont // inspired by ian's apparent love for tomatoes in the new episode.

makes a cathedral, him pressing against me - misandrywitch on ao3 // Ian kisses the top of Mickey’s head again, his temple, the hollow of his throat below his Adam’s apple, his collarbone, the torn skin on his knuckles. He kisses him and feels, for the first time, that neither of them is really going anywhere.

over and over again - mariss__ugh on ao3 // Mickey told him once that he’s fucked for life; he hopes more than anything that Mickey knows now that’s not true. He knows Mickey had a vision of how his future would be, but he also knows this isn’t the first time that vision is changing.

every story has its chapter in the desert - misandrywitch on ao3 // That was then, and this is now, and maybe those two things are connected, there’s a direct line from Monica to Ian, something you can’t wash out no matter how hard you try.

this is the essence of love and failure - misandrywitch on ao3 // “You’re sick,” Mickey says. “Hospital,” Mickey says. And your body is numb and your heart is breaking and you run.

try to forget how it feels inside - endofadream on ao3 // But this Ian is so different from that Ian.

a storm to weather - @xgoldendays // Pain is meant to be felt. As visceral as it can get, as deep as it burrows, you must feel it or it will consume you from the inside out. One shot detailing Mickey’s thoughts and emotions during the events of seasons 6, 7, and 9.

softer, softer - sunshineians on ao3 // “Softer,” he says quietly, guiding Mickey’s hands to his own bruised waist. He leans their foreheads together. “Softer,” he whispers, one more time. Just so Mickey knows. Or, Ian teaches Mickey's hands how to be gentle.

collections of ficlets and series 

broad shouldered beasts - biblionerd07 on ao3 // Six years after Mickey goes to jail, he's released on parole. He does his best to build a "normal" life and a relationship with his son while juggling the scars of his past.

shots in the dark - @iansfreckles

garden song - @gardenerian // He stands at the plot for a while before he begins working. This is it. After weeks of internet searches and sketches in his notepad, it’s time to put it all into action. Ian closes his eyes against the afternoon sun, breathes in the smell of dirt and greenery. Thinks about that giver of dreams. Opens them, squeezes the trowel in his hand.He works. He works well. And then: there it is. A goal accomplished. A beginning.

[furiousgoldfish]

Trauma symptoms caused by childhood abuse

Early symptoms (childhood and teenage years):

Inability to show pain and vulnerability to others

deep belief that you ‘have to be tough’, secretly fearing that you’re weak and pathetic if you ever shed any tears or break down in pain

personality changes from outgoing and social, to isolated and quiet, trying not to be noticed

feeling like there’s something deeply wrong with you, deep belief that you’re some kind of monster who deserves to be punished

fear that if someone finds out about whats happening to you, they will blame you and hurt you worse

anxiety around adults, always being scared you’ll annoy someone and be hurt for it

very low attention to your needs and wants, feeling pride in neglecting your own well being, even neglecting your pain

belief that your value is tied to how much pain and mistreatment you can endure

urge to self harm, or outright hurting yourself

feeling like you want to disappear, or not be born at all, contemplating suicide

self hatred, feeling extremely negative about yourself and feeling like things would be better if you didn’t exist

spending phases of time being emotionless, feeling like a zombie and not caring about anything

foreshortened sense of future (belief that you wont live for much longer, inability to see your future or plan for it)

not feeling the consequences of events in the real time, or not at all; for instance, being completely unphased by a violent outburst or screaming, not feeling pain when you’re hurt, or not feeling the exhaustion when you’re clearly overworked

strong urge to not think about certain topics or events, or inability to do so

fear that your body is wrong and disgusting, anxiety about anyone seeing it but desperate need for validation that you’re normal

deep sense of shame in yourself, your actions and your appearance

strong investment in finding excuses for people who do bad things, always trying to see things from their angle and to forgive them

feeling like the blame for any bad thing in the world can be put on you

not feeling like a human being, belief that you’re less than human

feeling like your home is not here and you do not belong on this planet

feeling uncomfortable being touched and wanting people to back off

uncontrolled ourbursts of rage

looking for anything to soothe your pain or distract you, indulging with obsessions or drugs

early development of anxiety disorder, depression, insomnia, ocd

trying to regress your age and force yourself to stay younger than you are, because you feel like your value is dropping with age and nobody will care for you anymore

trying to desperately take control over some aspects of your life, which can result in overdoing or completely neglecting school, losing yourself in virtual life, eating disorders, self harm or magic thinking that enables you to believe you can control your circumstances

in case of a sexual trauma, innapropriate sexual behaviour, deep shame tied to your body, indulging in sexual interactions even before puberty, feeling like you’re meant to be used, violent or forceful sexual fantasies accompanied with shame, fear of touch, fear of anyone finding out, reaching out for pornographic material to put your experience into perspective

feeling desperate to appear normal and clinging very strongly to the perception that your childhood is normal

Later symtoms, can develop anytime after puberty, can be in 20s or 30s or even 50s:

Emotional

Flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, freezing up in terror, beyond average amounts of fear and dread

Trust issues, either trusting without suspicion even when you shouldn’t or trusting nobody and feeling completely alone in the world

Episodes of re-living traumatic events from childhood or later in life; emotional meltdowns

Being unable to leave the past and feeling frozen in the moments of trauma

Emotional flashbacks, feeling the events from past as if they’re happening now, except this time you feel it thousand times stronger and completely fall apart from the horror of it

Feeling unstable, ashamed for not being able to control your emotions, fear of being judged, mocked or humiliated for it, trying desperately to not feel it, using distractions or drugs

Self doubt, struggling to know what is real and what isn’t, doubting your memories and emotions, trying to only feel what you believe is obliged from you

Questioning the past over and over again, trying to find sense and who to blame

Trying desperately to put your relationship with your abuser(s) into perspective, feeling both guilt and obligation towards them, but also rage and desire to take over control from them

Self harm, self-destructive behaviour, suicidal behaviour, wanting to die to end the pain

Deep and overwhelming grief over loss of childhood and loss of trust in people you believed wouldn’t hurt you, or believed they were doing it for your good, which now proved not to be true

Depression, loss of joy in anything you used to like doing, loss of optimism in life

Losing the courage to try anything, regardless of how much it would benefit you, if there’s even a slight chance of getting hurt in a way you find impossible to endure, living passively

Feeling irreparably damaged and ruined

Getting lost in maladaptive daydreaming, fiction, or the virtual world, feeling unable to face reality, falling to obsessions or addictions to endure the pain

Feeling other people’s feelings as if they’re your own, especially feelings of pain, anxiety, fear, nervousness, anger or grief; trying to soothe them and especially having strong reactions to anger

Feeling overwhelmed whenever around people, feeling the urge to self-isolate and to be completely alone

Being hit with extreme amounts of rage and struggling to process it; worrying about misdirecting the rage or acting on it, violent fantasies

Getting stuck in a mindset of a child and barely able, or unable to do any grown-up tasks

Struggling to achieve even minimum function, or not functioning at all

Losing the will or the energy to participate in any activities you used to enjoy

Fighting or indulging the urge to normalize what happened or make it ‘not that bad’, trying to re-live it in a way that wouldn’t be traumatic, especally with sexual trauma, needing to perceive it as if it would be normal only if it was ‘consensual’ or more controlled and trying to find a way to frame it as ‘not that big of a deal’ and denying it’s hurting you

Beating yourself up horribly for still being upset and traumatized by events that happened long ago

Inability to have friends or form connections with others, high alert for betrayal and manipulation

Avoding places and people connected to the trauma, getting easily triggered and forced to re-live something that needs recovery time of days or weeks

Losing your sense of reality; not being sure where you are or what year is it for some periods of time, feeling like you’re going crazy

Only being able to focus on surviving a short amount of time (just trying to get thru the day or week)

Physical

Extreme anxety; trembling, spending prolonged amount of time tense and expecting danger and pain at every second, inability to calm down, limbs not working properly, fainting out of fear

Continually activated “fight or flight” response, always feeling endangered, trouble digesting food because your body shuts down your digestion in order for you to be able to escape faster, vomiting, stomach pains after eating

Hyperventilation, problems with breathing, feeling there’s “no air” in small or crowded spaces

Chronic exhaustion, feeling heavy weight over your body, having difficulty moving at all

Chronic pain, tension in your body never leaving, physical pain appearing when you’re experiencing emotional pain, chest pain, heart palpitations

Problems with blood pressure, fainting easily

Dissociation (feeling detached from your emotions and/or body, feeling numb and unreal, your body not feeling yours, feeling outside your body or like you’re stuck in someone else’s body)

Memory issues, not being able to remember whole parts of your life, weak short term memory, not being able to look back on your life in linear way or put the events in they order they happened in, mixing several events into one, remembering feelings but not events

Increased sensitivity to noise, getting very upset at any non recognizable sound, reacting with irritability or rage to background noises, or with terror at loud noises; needing complete silence, or constant soothing background noise

Extreme sensitivity to stress, having to block out stressful things from memory, having physical reactions to stress, like shaking, your hair falling out, feeling incapable of dealing with even minimally stressful tasks

Dry mouth in the night, overheating during the nightmares, getting so distressed after sleep you can’t move from the bed for hours, not calming down for days

Not being able to control your body, falling down and shaking uncontrollably, even trashing around as your body processes violence done to it

Not being able to relax or calm down without experiencing physical pain, feeling addicted to abuse and indulging in self harm, or letting someone else hurt you so that you might gain a moment of not feeling tense, stressed and scared

Feeling sensations of pain or discomfort on your body even when nothing is happening to it, especially the body parts that have been violated in some way; in case of sexual trauma it would mean private parts, in case of overworking yourself or break yourself with effort, pain in all muscles and joints

In case of sexual trauma, reoccurring memories of it, trouble figuring out your sexuality, wanting to escape your body or perceiving it in a distorted way, urge to repeat the trauma to get desensitized to it, hypersexual behaviour or complete lack of interest in sexuality

Weight gain or loss, hatred of your body and desire to change or hurt it, or complete neglect over body, lack of any self care of even acknowledging you need it

Difficulty sleeping or being awake, feeling too high alert to fall asleep or dropping out of consciousness from overexhaustion

Inability to focus or finish tasks, procrastinating or feeling sick just knowing there is a task you have to do.

 If you struggle(d) with 5 or more of early ones, or 5 or more of later ones, you’ve been dealing with trauma.

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2022 Day 22: Not the Same

Summary: Dark has many problems, most of them start with Damien.

A/N: WARNING! For child endangerment and a child being buried alive. Along with childhood panic attacks.

I didn’t intend for this to get bad, but it did.

Prompt: Bury/Buried

Characters: Damien (baby Dark)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

~::~ Late 1800’s ~::~

Damien’s life was over the day he turned six.

Magic was in his family. It coursed through every member of his family, living or dead. His father had helped to lead an organization that defeated and slayed demons. They protected people, and his twin sister was proving to be just as magically proficient as their father.

Damien was not. Celine’s magic started to kick in when she was four, and Damien was still waiting for his magic to come in.

Eagerly waiting. Desperately waiting.

He saw how much their father doted on Celine. She got endlessly praised at her still immature magic, and Damien saw none of that. Clyde Doom thought the world of Celine.

Damien was in his room, playing with blocks on the ground as the nanny tidied up the room of his clothes.

Then his father walked in. “Damien.”

The small boy immediately dropped his block to look at the demon hunter. “Dad?”

“Come here, Damien, I want to show you something,” Clyde said.

Excited, Damien sprung up and left his blocks as his father began leading him outside.

“What is it?” Damien asked.

“A very special surprise,” the man promised as they walked out to the yard outside where his father’s friend, and the father of Damien’s best friend in the whole wide world, was.

The was standing next to a freshly dug hole in the ground with a large box set about three inches down from the surface.

Clyde brought his son right up to it and Damien couldn’t see anything other than an empty open box.

“What’s—” Damien asked before his father grabbed him under the arm and using his magic he tossed Damien into the box.

The small boy screamed as William Barnum Sr. used his magic to throw the lid onto it and shut Damien in the darkness of a closed child-sized coffin.

The adults above him were still talking, but Damien was too busy having his first panic attack to pay attention to what they were saying.

“Cylde, your son has to be the stupidest kid I’ve ever seen,” Barnum Sr. said.

“Put the dirt back on,” Clyde said instead of an answer.

“Shit, really? We’re going all the way with this?” Barnum asked.

“It has to be real, his magic will manifest under stress.”

There was silence as Damien was screaming and crying, banging and clawing at the wood. He was screaming for his father.

Barnum Sr. shrugged after a second or two and then used his magic to lightly cover the box. Then he summoned a shovel to lightly tap on the lid of the box. All it served to do was terrify the small child even more.

After a couple seconds, Clyde shouted over his son’s screams. “I know you have it in you! You have to. If you want out then you have to use magic to get out.”

Barnum Sr. had the shovel resting on the box. “Clyde.”

“No!” He shouted back at him.

Barnum Sr. pulled out his pocket watch, and just started counting down.

A minute and half passed as the screams began to get quieter, and the instant that Barnum couldn’t hear Damien screaming he immediately used his magic to pull the dirt and the lid off the box.

“He almost had it!” Damien’s father shouted as Barnum Sr. was pulling a gasping and sobbing Damien out.

“No he didn’t,” Barnum Sr. was looking at Damien, trying to find any residual hint of magic. But he couldn’t find anything, not a single trace of magic on the kid.

“He was,” Clyde denied. “He has to.”

“He won’t,” Barnum Sr. said as Damien was clinging to him, shaking in fear.

Clyde went silent and he just stared at Damien. Damien looked in his eyes and the child shied away fearfully for the first time in his life.

The boy had looked to his father for comfort and safety but only saw cold rage in the man’s eyes. A rage he’d never seen before.

“He should have been able to get out,” Barnum Sr. said, trying to pry his shirt sleeve away from Damien’s grip which seemed to distress the boy even more. A plea for comfort that was not soothed.

Clyde called for the nanny and handed Damien over to her. She took one look at the hole and the small coffin in the ground and nervously looked back at her employer.

“You’re filthy, you need a bath,” Clyde said, as if that had been Damien’s fault. Damien’s father grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away and almost threw him at the nanny. “Get him cleaned up before dinner. I’ll be in my study.”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” she said, noticing how tightly Damien was clinging to her.

She was able to gently lead Damien away and get him ready for a bath. Damien would hate getting toweled off, and begin screaming and thrashing when the cloth was pressed against his face. It would be a problem he would suffer from for years.

As Damien was being calmed, Clyde and Barnum Sr. had retreated to the study where Clyde was already starting to drink and light up cigars. The mess in the yard was already being taken care of.

“And here I thought he was just a late bloomer,” Clyde said, watching the ice tumblr around in his glass. “This is so much worse.”

“I guess Celine took all of it,” William Sr. said. “At least Junior is capable.”

“All he had to do was shift some rubble, if he couldn’t get out, all he had to do was move the dirt and we would have been fine.” Clyde glared at the glass.

“So what now?” Barnum Sr. asked, looking at his own glass.

Clyde took another couple long sips before getting up and turning towards a large cabinet. He opened it and pulled down a small table as he started grabbing vials and materials to begin mixing a potion. He was meticulously making sure the ingredients he was mixing would yield the right potion.

“We work with what we’re given,” Clyde said as he let the potion sit and ferment. He would lock down the magic after a month so it wouldn’t turn into a poison. His target would take the first dose in a month, and his second in about ten years.

Clyde labeled the potion with various symbols. “And the fates have only set me one magical child, unfortunately.”

Barnum Sr. continued drinking and smoking as the potion settled. In about an hour he would leave and head back home and dinner that night would be awkward.

[dameronology]

the one that got away {poe x reader}

summary: based on the song the one that got away by katy perry 

this song has been my jam since i was about 11 and i’m now closer to being 20 than i am to being 11 and that’s making me panic! everywhere and not just exclusively at the disco but it made me produce this 

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of smut 

enjoy, 

- jazz

Poe Dameron had always believed in true love.

He saw it not only within his parents’ relationship but everywhere he looked: in the couple who lived next door to his childhood home, in the bar where he worked during his time at the academy, in couples walking down the street. It was everywhere and nowhere; the kind of thing that you could feel in your soul but never physically grasp - or, at least that had been his initial understanding of it. 

Then Poe met you.

That was how he realised that love was very much something he could physically feel. Not only could he feel it, he could see it and he could hear it and he could finally understand it. You were the answer to every question he’d ever had. 

He could feel it whenever you held his hand and he could hear it whenever you laughed at one of his terrible jokes. Whenever he simply looked at you - whether it was under the blinding morning light or simply the outline of your and against his chest in the dark - it was there. What had started as a stupid fling in the academy had turned into something more. You were his whole world, his everything.

Poe was your soulmate; your best friend and your partner-in-crime (or as you had affectionally dubbed him, your poetner-in-crime). You were always on the same wavelength, emitting the same chaotic energy and terrible jokes. You had each other’s backs to no end, the kind of bond that spanned the galaxy and back ten times over. The love between was the kind that very few people were lucky enough to experience. 

‘Poe, quick!’ 

You were tearing down the corridor, fingers intertwined. Almost tripping over each other, you skidded around a corner and into a dark classroom, slamming the door behind you. You fell back against the door, Poe’s arms on either side of you as he leant against you, body shaking with laughter.

‘His face!’ The pilot could barely control his laughter. ‘Maker, I’ve never seen the guy so angry.’

‘That’ll teach him to fuck with us again.’ You smiled.

‘Us.’ Poe repeated your words back to you.

‘Yeah?’ You grin grew wider. You pushed a few strewn, dark curls back off his face. ‘Me too.’

‘I love you.’ His hand ghosted your cheekbone, resting on your face for a moment. 

‘I love you too.’ You leant up to kiss him, revelling in the feeling of his lips against yours. It was the feeling of home; warm and soft and welcoming all at once. 

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’ 

Nothing could come between you - until it did.

The war. 

The beginning of another civil war were in the making. People who had lived through the first one had the same sense of unease they did the first time around; the appearance of more TIE fighters in the sky, more recruits coming to the academy, training increasing tenfold. There was discontent across the galaxy and nobody knew what was coming. 

Poe left first. He was a few years ahead of you in terms of training, having been piloting since he was a kid. That, paired with his admirable recklessness and natural leadership, made him perfect for the Resistance. You were his whole damn world but he had to fight for the galaxy; a galaxy in which you could both have a future. 

‘I guess this is it.’ 

You were stood in front of Poe’s X-Wing, hands shakily intertwined as you tried your hardest not to digest what was happening. If you did, he would probably try to say. Or worse, you would try to go with him before you were ready. 

‘It’s only a few months.’ Poe’s voice was wobbly, and he gripped your hands tighter. ‘A year at most, and then you’ll come out and join me. Right?’

‘Right.’ You nodded, a tear splashing down your cheek. ‘And we’ll talk all the time. Beebs always knows where to find me.’

‘I love you.’ He pressed his forehead to yours, lips momentarily brushing together as he trembled. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too.’ You murmured. ‘If this is it, I’m always going-’

‘- we literally just said.’ Poe almost reeled back. ‘We’re going to see each other again.’

‘But if we don’t-’

‘- say it.’ Poe’s voice was firm, his grip on your hands inhumanly tight. ‘Say that we’ll see each other again. Promise me.’

You sighed, trying to calm yourself for a moment. You wanted to be hopeful, to think of a future where two could find your way back to each other - but you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. The galaxy was getting darker and darker by the day and the light at the end of the tunnel seemed impossibly far away. 

‘I promise.’ The words were barely a whisper.

‘Take this.’ Poe reached up to the chain around his neck, pulling the ring off. 

‘Poe, I can’t ask that of you-’

‘- you’re not asking. I’m telling.’ He shook his head. Taking your hand in his, he slipped his mother’s ring across your middle finger. ‘Forever, right?’

‘Forever.’

You would both come to learn that forever was a long time - almost as long as the months you spent apart. 

At first, you would talk every day. You would talk to him via the holo-link in your droids, sharing stories about your day and talking about what you were going to do when you saw each other again. It felt like you were hopelessly clinging onto a distant dream, desperately wishing that the promises you were making could ever be fulfilled. You spoke about where you were going to live (Coruscant, probably) and what you were going to name your kids (Leo for a boy, Shara for a girl). 

But then your calls became less and less regular. Poe was being taken all over the galaxy on his missions and you were busy trying to finish your training. What had been a daily thing turned into one of a weekly nature, and before you knew it, it was a two-or-three-times a month affair.

You were tired whenever you spoke, and Poe was grumpy. You’d been worn down with your training and his body had been torn through eleven different timezones in a week. The hope that you’d both once had was almost completely faded, replaced with concern for the war. All your energy was going into fighting - sometimes for the Resistance, sometimes with each other.

Then the calls stopped. 

You couldn’t exactly recall when you realised it was over but some part of you just knew; there was no conversation, no closure. It was over, just like that. You didn’t even have time to think about it or to cry about it. The fact that you’d lost Poe Dameron was just a reality of life - a painful one, but a reality nonetheless. 

You took the ring off, putting it in a safe space to give back to him should you ever cross paths again. You wouldn’t - not for a few years. 

Almost a year to the day that Poe left, Leia Organa recruited you into the Resistance. It was a different base to your former love, systems away in the Outer Rim. Your work was focused mostly on communications and collecting data for building new bases. It felt good to finally be doing your part for the cause but you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. 

(It was Poe. Poe was the thing that was missing). 

Time flew by. You were jumping between planets, having a few near misses and experiencing your first real sense of loss; not only for your flyboy, but for your team-mates who didn’t make it back. You were haunted with thoughts of the same thing happening to Poe, of the idea that he could have already left for his last mission without knowing it.

So, you started wearing the ring again. Even when you met somebody new - Perry, a six-foot-tall blonde gunner with a kind smile and a moderate sense of humour - you kept it on. You wore it when you kissed Perry for the first time and you wore it when he declared his love for you. 

He wasn’t Poe. He didn’t hold your hand the way Poe did or kiss you in the way that Poe did. He didn’t make you laugh like him or smile like him or feel like him. He wasn’t the same. Nobody could ever compare but you weren’t going to find the love of your life twice. It was like you’d won the lottery on your first ticket. Nobody won the jackpot twice. 

‘This is the bar that Leia said most of the other guys went to.’

You and Perry were stood outside a cantina; it was dark on Ajan Kloss, the sky lit in a low navy colour by the yellow of the moon. The signs of the establishment flashed before you, a welcome invitation away from the cold night. The air inside was stuffy in comparison, smelling of stale beer and filled with the sound of other Resistance pilots chortling and chatting. 

You were on a two-day lay over at another base. The whole squad needed a drink, given how rough the mission had been - whilst they sat down, you ditched your jacket and headed to the bar up front. 

Falling against the wooden counter, you let out a small oof! as somebody dropped against the bar next to you, He was too busy talking to someone, but you could have recognised him from anywhere. 

Poe Dameron had a warm presence; there was an aura about him, something welcoming and sweet. He still wore the same after shave and laughed with his whole body - that’s how you knew it was him. 

‘Poe.’ Your words weren’t really there, but he still managed to hear you.

‘Yeah?’ He spun around, doing a double take when he saw you. ‘Oh, shit.’

He looked tired; his hair was still dark and curly, but littered with more greys than it had been five years ago. His warm brown eyes were decorated with dark circles and he had a five-o-clock shadow on his chin. Still, he looked good. 

‘I - wow.’ You couldn’t find the words. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ A small smile fell onto Poe’s lips. ‘Hi.’

A moment later, he had dropped his drink and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He hadn’t held you since the day he’d left all those years ago; a day that felt so alien to you both. Your immediate feeling was one of relief - Poe Dameron was alive, drinking in a bar and doing exactly what he said he’d always would (saving the galaxy). 

‘You’re...’ You trailed off, pulling back to stare at him. ‘You’re alive.’

‘Just about.’ Poe smiled at you. ‘And so are you - and you’re a Lieutenant.’

‘You’re a commander.’ Your eyes fell to the markings on his jacket. ‘That’s amazing, Poe.’

You were both thinking the same thing: we should have done it together. 

You should have been there to witness him rising through the ranks and he should have been there to welcome you to the Resistance with open arms. But life could be a bitch and she’d dealt you both the worst cards. The galaxy had done everything within its power to tear you apart.

‘It’s so good to see you.’ Poe bit his lip, brown eyes refusing to move from holding your gaze. ‘I know that we said-’

‘- don’t mention it.’ You shook your head. ‘We were pretty fucking naive, right?’

‘Right.’ He breathily laughed, nodding. ‘I still think about you, though.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘I think about the academy, and the day I left and - is that my mum’s ring?’

Poe’s eyes had fallen to your hand, where the metallic band still sat on your middle finger. You’d always promised yourself to give it back if you ever had the chance. After all, it was supposed to be a symbol of commitment, of your love for one another. It was a promise you’d made to each other before either of you knew what shit life was going to throw your way. 

‘Oh, yeah.’ You went to pull it off. 

‘No.’ Poe moved his hand to cover yours. ‘Keep it.’

‘Poe, it’s yours.’ You reminded him.

‘And I gave it to you.’ He replied. ‘I know...I know things didn’t go the way we wanted but I still mean everything I said.’

You smiled, nodding. ‘Thank you. Me too.’

‘Are you around later?’ Poe asked. ‘We should catch up. There’s a lot to talk about, right?’

‘Of course.’ You took a sip of your drink. ‘I’m staying in-’

‘- babe!’ Perry’s voice suddenly cut between the two of you. Your boyfriend appeared beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. ‘What’s taking so long?’

Oh, yeah. Him. 

Maybe you weren’t around tonight. 

Five minutes with Poe Dameron had been enough to make you forget two years with your current boyfriend. He’d made you feel more in that brief conversation that Perry had in your whole relationship.

You didn’t mean to compare them, truly. It was just that there was no coming back from Poe Dameron; he was your soulmate then and you had a feeling he was your soulmate now. In fact, it wasn’t just a feeling; it was a certainty. 

That was what you told yourself when you snuck out of bed that night to see Poe. 

It was what you told yourself when he kissed you for the first time in five years. 

It was what you told yourself when you made love for the first time in five years. 

But repeating it over and over in your head wasn’t enough to make you stay the next morning. Even when you woke up in his arms, pressed against his bare chest with scratches on your back and bruises on your thighs, finally feeling like you were at home for the first time in five years, you couldn’t convince yourself to stay. You couldn’t fall back to him; you couldn’t let yourself get hurt all over again.

Perry didn’t ask where you went that night - and you never told him. 

You didn’t confess when he found you the next day and he confessed his love for you. You didn’t confess when he asked you to marry him six months later. 

There was now another ring sat next to Poe’s; shiny and expensive and far too big for your hands. It was where his ring should have been; instead, Shara Bey’s ring stayed on your middle finger, a constant reminder of what could have been - of what should have been. 

You were glad for that night with Poe. It felt like a goodbye for you both; like you’d finally got closure. At the same time, you didn’t want your time with Poe to reach a conclusion - you still wanted to hold out hope that the promises you’d made as a twenty-something would come true. You were engaged to marry another man but for some reason, you couldn’t see a future with anyone else.

Then there came a point where you couldn’t see a future at all. 

The First Order was closing in; the war was getting rougher and rougher. There were losses left right and centre. Missions were becoming longer and darker. The bags under your eyes were getting darker and each day, you strayed further and further from the light. It was hard to hold on, hard to see past the dark forces at play. 

That’s when you’d think back to another time; six or seven years prior, when it was just you and Poe against the world. You’d let your mind wander back to the times that you would stay up late, laughing and crying together. You remembered all the pacts and promises you’d made. How did you get here? 

Before you knew it, you were back on Ajon Kloss. Everyone had gathered to begin making preparations for the final battle. Nobody was calling it that - final was too scary of a word, after all - but everybody knew it. You were powering up your jet for what felt like the last time. 

‘Trident Squad, you’ll be behind Dagger. You know your orders.’

You were hardly listening to your commander, hands shaking as you played with the straps of your helmet. You were leaning against your X-Wing, trying to calm your breaths with clammy hands and a pounding chest. 

‘Hey.’ 

You looked up, eyes meeting Poe’s. Despite everything, you smiled. ‘Hey.’

‘You got engaged?’ His words were breathless. There was no greeting, no question of how you were. There was just the hurt in his words; the disbelief and the grief. 

‘I got engaged.’

‘Fuck.’ 

‘Fuck?’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ You nodded. ‘Fuck.’

Dropping your helmet to the ground, you met Poe half-way across the gap between you. He took you in his arms, lifting you off the ground for a moment as your bodies collided. He held you in his arms, a sad imitation of the last time you’d been stood together in front of an X-Wing. 

‘Do you...’ your words were muffled by his shoulder. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your ring back?’

‘That’s what I was trying to say last time I saw you.’ Poe put you back down; his hands stayed on your waist. ‘My mum told me to give it to whoever I wanted to spend my life with.’

‘Poe-’

‘- I know.’ He cut you off. ‘You promised to marry Pete-’

‘- Perry-’

‘- whatever.’ You couldn’t help but laugh at his flippancy. ‘Just because I can’t spend my life with you doesn’t mean I can’t want to.’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘None of this makes sense.’ Poe corrected you. ‘Normally I’m more than happy to respect the boundaries of another guys relationship but...but it’s you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I gotta ask.’ He have your hips a light squeeze. ‘If we make it out alive, there’s no chance at all that you and I can finally be together?’

‘Poe, I-’

‘- Captain!’ The sound of your commander’s voice came from around the corner. ‘We’re heading out now! Power up!’

‘I have to go.’ You took a step backwards, but he still clung onto your hands. 

‘I love you.’ Poe gave you a watery smile.

‘I know.’

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’ 

tags: @blacksquadron-rougetwo​ @drinksomecoco​ @obi-wankenobae​

[tenthgrove]

L’inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 1: La Serenità (Risotto Nero)

Word count: ~6000

Warnings: Like most La Squadra backstories, this fic is going to get quite dark in places so I’m going to include content warnings chapter by chapter. For this chapter, warnings are in place for grief, self-harm (implicit), violence, murder and general mental ill-health

Needles of rain batter the old road as the taxi pulls into a quiet town. The driver, who eyes his unfamiliar passenger quickly and often as he slumps broodingly in the back seat, prays his headlights don’t give up on him now.

“I know my way from here,” the passenger speaks. Though doubtful of his judgement, the driver takes his cue to pull to a stop on the unlevel curb. The passenger undoes his seatbelt and slings his heavy bag over-shoulder. He spares the taxi driver a rare moment of eye contact. “If you try and find the church yourself in this weather we’ll be here all night,” he huffs.

“Are you sure?” the driver asks waveringly, “the downpour is quite severe after all.”

“I’ve had worse. Now here, your money,” the strange man maintains, shoving a fist of cash towards him. The driver counts it eagerly.

“130,000 lire? That’s far more-”

“The first half is for the journey, the rest says you never saw me,” he elaborates impatiently. Reaching for the door, he steps out detachedly into the rain and begins his long strides forward. After a moment he stops, and looks back. For the first time all journey, his bitter face is lit up by the glare of the headlights. For all he has said and done, the driver cannot bring himself to feel shock at the sight of the black and red eyes the stranger looks at him with.

“And really,” the young man repeats. “Ensure you speak nothing of me. If you do, I have contacts who will ensure you regret it,” he snarls, turning his back ardently on the car and pacing away down the street. The driver wastes no time in leaving him be.

Risotto Nero wipes rain from his brow as he climbs the hill towards his destination. Somewhere, deep within his mind he acknowledges the unjust callousness with which he regards his childhood town around him. Perhaps, it is easier on his soul not to do otherwise.

Even as the darkness affords him no aid, Risotto guides himself by muscle memory towards the old tower of the village church. He knows by memory too, the way through the ancient graveyard to the place he came to visit. Reaching the far corner, he stumbles on the dirt and feels his hands for the stone. Icy hands trace its name, pangs of both relief and guilt when the familiar lettering is felt by him.

“Domenico,” Risotto half-gasps. He lets his knees give way as he sinks down onto the dirt of the grave. “I came back, as I promised you. I have to go again soon but…” he reaches into the pockets of his coat and pulls out a metal box the size of his palm. It’s starting to reek, a miracle the driver of the taxi didn’t notice, but it’s here now. “I did it Domenico. I killed him. For you,” Risotto speaks. He wrenches off the lid and the foul stench of rotting blood ebbs out. He hold it shakily over the grave, and tips it onto the dirt.

“I wanted to make him suffer more. Show him just what he did to Nonna and I by taking you. I couldn’t do that, there wasn’t enough time. But… I hope this is enough for you, Amico. I hope you can be at peace now.”

Risotto kisses his palm and presses it to the gravestone.

“Goodbye, Domenico.”

Risotto stand to his feet and turns away from the grave. A clap of lightning brings a brief moment of light to the rugged graveyard. There at the other end, Risotto sees a figure familiar to him, looking out over the sea of graves.

Damn it, Risotto thinks to himself. How in God’s name did she find him here?

Risotto crosses his palms and stands sheepishly as the figure of his grandmother approaches him. Vittoria stops when she’s close enough for the faint light of the night to force them to see eye to eye. Risotto knows he could not look away from her if he tried.

“I saw a vehicle coming into town,” Vittoria speaks. “Somehow, I knew in my heart it would be you.” The aging woman reaches a hand for her grandson’s arm. He flinches, but does not shake her off. “What have you done, Risotto?”

Risotto breathes deeply. He gives her the firmest look he dares.

“Exactly what I said I would.”

“It’s all over the news,” Vittoria laments. “The theories are ceaseless. I can only thank god you haven’t been named as a suspect yet, but with all that’s happened it’s only a matter of time.”

“They aren’t going to name me,” he promises. “I sought protection as I said I would. No police force in Italy will dare put blame on me, and they will not harass you either.” Risotto assures her. Vittoria’s eyes go wide as panic flashes across her face. She opens her mouth fearfully.

“Who?”

“Passione,” Risotto answers.

“Then you really have doomed yourself Risotto.”

Risotto takes a step back.

“I’ve sworn to report to Naples by 4pm tomorrow. I have to go, Nonna,” he excuses himself.

“Stay, just a few hours, I beg of you,” Vittoria pleads. As he marches to the edge of the graveyard, she follows him desperately. “If you must go, I can take you myself in the morning. Don’t you want to bring more of your things? At very least- give a passing goodbye to your home?” she vies. Risotto shakes his head without looking back at her. “Risotto, please,” Vittoria begs, grabbing him by the wrist. “You’re all I’ve got left. You don’t have to go to them. I can hide you. I can take care of you.”

“I’m not going to be so dishonourable as to break an oath. Even if you could find a place for me out of Passione’s reach, my conscience would not allow it,” Risotto insists. “Surely you can understand that.”

Vittoria nods shakily.

“Unfortunately, I can. Very well, Risotto, I see your mind is made up. But won’t you at least come home for tonight?”

“No. It’s easier if I just go,” Risotto denies her. “Thank you for everything, Nonna.”

::::::::::::

A car horn sounds outside and Risotto snaps his eyes open. Sweat clings the sheets to his skin in spite of the cold weather. His head hurts and the light of his desk lamp stings his eyes as he switches it on.  He doesn’t want to leave the bed. He wants to curl up and throw the sheets over his face but he knows he can’t do that.

It’s 11pm. No doubt his superiors will have tasks for him overnight and glancing over at the other bed, his roommate is already up. Risotto forces himself from bed. He notices the wrinkled photograph of his Nonna and cousin out on the nightstand- he must have left it there before he fell asleep. He tucks it quickly into the drawer. The idea of his roommates seeing it always leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Dressing in the first thing he can find, Risotto stumbles into the squalid little bathroom. Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s only 20, a gaunt, ghoulish figure whose eyes never focus and mouth never smiles. He used to think himself lonely as a child. Now he longs for a life that loved.

Risotto turns the tap and splashes his face with a little water. It hardly helps him look much better but it helps a little with the headache. He dries his face with a wipe and casts it into the bin. Often, he wonders whether his roommates haven’t noticed all the bloody tissues that keep piling up in there or if they’re just keeping quiet, but either way he’s glad for their silence. Wiping his hands on the towel, Risotto leaves for the kitchen.

“You look like shit,” Marco remarks. By the time Risotto looks at him back he’s already lost interest, eyes focused on the book he rests against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Thanks,” Risotto responds. He turns the dial on the light a little brighter. “Where are the others?”

“Fucked if I know. Nowhere good, I reckon,” Marco answers him. He pushes his glasses back into place, before scooting back in his chair to look up at Risotto. “But it works well for us. We’ve got an errand ‘needs doing. Whole massive sack of cash needs running to the warehouse. You know I can’t trust the others with that sort of thing, so I’m giving it to you. Fair?”

“Fair. I could use the walk,” Risotto shrugs. He reaches for his coat.

“Woah woah woah,” Marco stops him. “Please tell me you’re at least going to eat something before you head out. You look like you legitimately might fall over.”

“I’ll be fine, Marco, I just- don’t feel up to it,” Risotto excuses himself, slinging his arms into the coat sleeves.

“I am not letting you do such an important job for me in a state like that. Sit. I’ll get you something. As captain of this house, I’m ordering you,” Marco insists.

“If you’re so powerful how about you get Niccolo to stop barging in drunk every morning at 4am?” Risotto grumbles. He sits down anyway.

“I’m house captain, not a damn miracle worker,” Marco half-chuckles. Risotto gives a tut and forces his tense body to relax.

He heads out right after he’s eaten, not particularly wanting to converse with his roommate much longer. Risotto likes walking, especially at night. The cool air helps with the constant feeling of sickness and the quiet clears his head. He knows the place he’s going- an old warehouse a few blocks away where a lot of the money and drugs Passione seizes are taken as a first port of call. It’s not far, but Risotto thinks he’ll take the long route back. He’s enjoying this.

Risotto spies the run-down silhouette of the warehouse towering over the end of the street. The front entrance is right ahead, but Risotto knows he’s not supposed to use it for this sort of work. He heads left, down into the brick alleyway that takes him to the back door. A man is leaning against the wall. His face, scarred and stubbled, is made visible by the lighter he uses to light his bent cigarette. He spares a glance to Risotto, and Risotto feels the sudden urge to give him a wide birth.

“You got a watch on you?” the stranger asks.

Risotto isn’t falling for that one. He looks dead ahead and keeps walking, clutching the bag between himself and the wall. Pain assails the back of his shin and he falls, string-tied money falling out on the floor.

“We’ve been expecting you,” says the stranger. Face against the mud, Risotto hears the click of a gun and his instincts take over. He flings to the right, just as the deafening sound of a gunshot fires right by his ear. He rolls onto his back and grabs the stranger by his wrist, twisting the gun away before it can fire again. There’s a noise in the alleyway and Risotto wonders if it’s help. Two silhouettes come around the corner and point their guns, but it isn’t at the stranger. It’s at him.

Risotto twists his attacker’s wrist further until he hears something pop. The man yelps in pain and lets go of the gun. Grabbing it, Risotto aims at the two newcomers and fires rapidly. The angle is hardly idle but Risotto is fervent. There’s a scream and one of them falls, distracting their companion long enough for Risotto to take care of his other problem. Gripping his arms with both hands and summoning all his strength, Risotto flips the first attacker over his head, the injured man landing with a thud behind him.

Risotto scrambles to his feet. The man tries to do the same but he isn’t fast enough. Risotto straddles him and draws his knife. He stabs him again and again, blood spurting from his neck and chest as his struggling slowly stops. He stills. Risotto pulls the knife from the dead flesh and sighs.

A blinding brightness shoots down from above and Risotto reels in pain. Falling to the ground beside the body, he tries to blink his eyes open only to be met with more agony. It’s like a million needles of light are stabbing him from the sky.

The stars. Something is up with the stars.

“Bet they didn’t even give you a stand, did they? Worthless nobody.”

Steps approach Risotto from behind and the third attacker stops beside him. “Obviously not, otherwise you would have noticed it earlier,” the man scowls. Risotto tries to look up and catches a brief, blurry image of his face with no detail. It’s isn’t good to confirm much other than the man is there.

“What have you done to me?” Risotto demands. He tries to press his hands to his eyes but it still hurts. The light gets brighter still.

“I’ve used my stand on you. It’s only your perception of the stars that has been changed and not the whole planet, so don’t feel too mind blown. Believe me, if I could do that, I wouldn’t be stealing from Passione to subsidise what they pay me.”

Risotto’s eyes blink open again and in their brief moment of vision Risotto sees something that stills his blood. The stranger holds Risotto’s own knife, raised high above his head. Risotto lashes out.

Relying on instinct alone he lurches up to tackle his assailant to the ground. The stranger chuckles and throws him off of him. Risotto may be strong, but he isn’t used to fighting without his sight. It puts him at a severe disadvantage.

Risotto feels a harsh punch to his spine. He stumbles back to the ground, stopped from landing face first only by his scratched hands. He knows he would have heard it if another individual had approached it. That can only mean one thing- his attacker’s stand.

Risotto despairs. He knows stands are immune from all damage by things of this world, so without a stand of his own Risotto is defenceless against it. He has only one hope: kill the user first. Risotto lunges forwards, grabbing onto his attacker and pushing him to the ground through sheer force. He sinks his hands around the man’s neck and pushes down with all his force. The man brings up the knife and stabs it into Risotto’s chest. The pain is blinding, but Risotto knows it’s nowhere fatal. He is not deterred. The knife is brought up again and strikes him again between the ribs, but it is not deep enough to make Risotto give up his grip.

The stranger’s arm falls and the knife clatters out of reach, but Risotto is not safe yet. The unseeable stand unleashes a barrage of blows to his body, but Risotto forces himself not to give up. He stays there for what feels like an eternity, eyes clamped shut and body in agony, until the light starts to get weaker. The stand’s punches lose their strength.

Risotto can see clearly again, though the pain isn’t entirely gone. He looks down unfeelingly at the dying man below him, retching, wheezing for air as he grips Risotto’s wrist pleadingly. Risotto feels nothing as the man’s eyes glaze over and his body goes still. He holds his grip for another minute, making absolute certain the assailant is dead and not unconscious. Then he collapses.

Risotto stares up at the sky. Blood clings to his chest and oozes around his clothes. He notices how acutely aware he is of his heart, beating erratically as it pumps the blood out his skin. His limbs are heavy, the feeling in his hands already gone. He can feel himself fading second-by-second. He comes to realise just how long he’s wanted this.

Risotto thinks of Domenico and his Nonna, and patiently waits for the beating in his heart to stop.

::::::::::::

The next thing that Risotto is aware of is the heart monitor, beeping rhythmically as the white of the hospital surrounds him. He moves about in the sheets, noting the feeling of his chest constrained by bandages. A nurse rushes over to him and his awareness dissociates. It doesn’t come back until she’s leaving.

“There was a man here to see you earlier,” she mentions.

“Not some twerp with glasses, was it?” Risotto asks. He hates how weak and strained his voice sounds.

“No, some classy guy. His name was… Prosciutto Crepuscolo? I’ll have to check the book, but it’s something like that anyway. He seemed pretty ardent about seeing you so I’ll expect he’ll be back soon.”

“Alright,” Risotto sighs. “Thanks for the warning.”

Great. This is probably some stuck-up management asshole here to interrogate him about what happened. Risotto can only hope they know what the attackers were up to and don’t think he just decided to murder three soldatos on the fly. Otherwise, Risotto’s troubles may be just be beginning.

Risotto waits. The clock strikes 6am, but there’s no way to know how many times it’s done that since they took him here. He’s half-tempted to get up and find out but then he remembers the tube in his arm. He can’t really be bothered, anyway. At very least, they gave him a private room. It’s clear they know who he is, so it must have either been his roommates or the operatives of the warehouse who took him here. Someone who knows where the doctors on Passione’s payroll work.

The clock strikes 9. That nurse came back to check on him at some point but Risotto barely even noticed. He wants to go back to sleep but the pain is too bad for that. He can’t do anything but think, and even that is hard for him in so much pain.

The door clicks and an unfamiliar man enters. He appears disdained by the rain on his fine jacket as he takes it off quickly, brushing strands of blond hair from his eyes. He is a young man, though seemingly a fair bit older than Risotto if the way he carries himself is anything to go by.

“Nero?” the man asks. He regards Risotto critically as he steps forward.

“Yes, you’re Crepuscolo, correct?” Risotto replies.

“Call me Prosciutto. I can’t stand when people use that surname,” the man answers. He places his blazer on the back of the visitor’s chair and sits down, folding his hands.

“You’re from Passione, aren’t you?”

“That obvious? I suppose it must be,” Prosciutto shrugs. “I’m less special than you probably think. I handle logistics, usually more to do with murder than drugs and gambling, but I report to Polpo just like you do,” he explains.

“Are you currently sorting the logistics of having me shot, Prosciutto?” Risotto asks dryly. Prosciutto rolls his eyes.

“No, no. The operatives at the warehouse recognised one of your attackers as having tried to rob them before, and your team was quick to vouch for your character. Everyone accepts you acted in self-defence and there’s no suspicion otherwise,” Prosciutto reassures him. “In fact, I’m here on a personal whim.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been tasked with the elimination of an important politician residing in Naples. I don’t usually carry out such orders myself, but when the stakes are high it’s usually best that I, as a stand user, step in personally. Even still, it’s best to have backup and frankly, all my usual contacts are either out of town or hapless fools I wouldn’t trust to water a houseplant,” Prosciutto explains.

“And you’re looking for new options, I presume,” Risotto deduces.

“Precisely,” Prosciutto nods. “Winning a three-on-one fight with one stand user is certainly an impressive feat. I was hoping to find you in better shape than this but I can afford to wait a month or two, so I won’t strike you off my options yet. I must say, Risotto, you look like you belong in this place even without the multitude of chest wounds, but I haven’t figured out if that makes me more or less appealed to you.”

“Charmed,” Risotto sighs. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, they’re giving me 30 million lire for the job and it would only be fair for me to give you a cut. How does 5% sound?”

“10, at least,” Risotto contends. Prosciutto smirks and makes a little huff.

“You’re an eager bastard aren’t you. Done,” he concedes.

“What do you need from me?”

“I live across from the promenade. Number 23. If you’re in shape by the 3rd of December, come to me in the afternoon. I do my hits at night but there’ll be plenty to discuss, so make sure you’re there by 4 at the latest. I can give you the pay there and then but you’ll have to keep it on you until we’re done so you don’t try to leg it.”

“And is there anything in particular I should train myself for?” Risotto asks.

“Nothing in particular. You’re only there for backup so you might not even need to lift a finger. Really I’m giving you money for nothing,” Prosciutto remarks, standing up dignifiedly from his chair. “But making new connections can only help us both, don’t you agree?”

With a small parting smile, Prosciutto departs without awaiting his answer. Risotto is left alone with the beat of his heart monitor. He doesn’t know what to think of his new acquaintance yet, but an allegiance with a stand user could change everything. If Risotto were to gain status within Passione, would it finally fill the hole in his heart left by Domenico? He honestly doesn’t know.

::::::::::::

It’s the third of December, 1992, and Risotto is in good spirits. He worked hard to restore his health after his injuries, making a point of taking better care of himself and spending many hours working on his mobility. What Prosciutto has given him is a goal, and that’s something he hasn’t had since hunting Domenico’s killer. Now, when Risotto looks in the mirror, he sees resolution. He’s going to impress his new acquaintance if it kills him.

Risotto walks along the promenade counting the houses for number 23. It’s a fancy looking place, as he expected, made of sandstone with a twisted copper fence surrounding the upstairs balcony. He passes a grove of palm trees and knocks on the door. The answer is immediate.

“One moment, one moment,” Prosciutto calls impatiently. The smaller man opens the door and Risotto is struck by the smell of expensive cigarettes. “Sorry, do you mind?” Prosciutto asks, gesturing to the cigarette in his hand.

“Not at all,” Risotto assures him. “May I come in?”

Prosciutto walks wordlessly into the living room and Risotto gets the hint to follow. The pair sit down on a lavish settee. Risotto finds himself anxious in such an alien place to him.

“You live on Firenze street, close to the cinema, yes?” Prosciutto enquires.

“Yes. Piece of shit dump.”

“Tell me about it. I used to live just on the next road when I started out with my first squad,” Prosciutto reminisces. Risotto leans forward in surprise.

“You’re self-made?”

“More like… earned back,” Prosciutto clarifies. “Though for the record you’ll find most of my possessions here are cheaper than they look. I’m not nearly as rich as I was as a young man. Perhaps someday,” he hopes.

“When did you join Passione?” Risotto asks curiously.

“Three years ago. If you’d started just a few months earlier, we would have been neighbours,” he muses.

“And your stand?”

“Now that’s newer. I’ve had it for the best part of a year.”

Risotto taps his leg nervously.

“How did you do it? Move up the ranks so quickly?”

Prosciutto tuts.

“Wondering how you’re still stuck as Polpo’s postboy at the same point in your career I was lined up for a stand?” he asks cuttingly. Risotto chokes out a half-formed rebuttal, then looks down in shame. “A bit of luck, a bit of knowing the right people, and a lot of speaking bullshit,” Prosciutto answers. “It also doesn’t help that… you know…”

“You can say it. Everyone knows I’m an utter state and sometimes I legitimately impress people by waking up alive in the morning,” Risotto grumbles.

“Well, that’s one way to put it. If it’s any consolation you’re no worse than most at your level of the organisation. The problem comes when you want to move up,” Prosciutto takes another drag of the cigarette and leans back into the cushions. “You’re hardly a rare case. You thought Passione would be something it wasn’t for you and now you aren’t sure what you’re living for.”

“Did you… look into me?” Risotto asks defensively. Prosciutto shakes his head.

“Like I said, it’s a common story. I don’t really need to look into you to know.”

“It’s not entirely true,” Risotto protests. “I never really expected anything out of Passione. I just didn’t think I’d care what happened to me anymore. Sometimes I don’t, but it still hurts.”

“Shit parents?”

“No! Well, yes. But they weren’t the ones who raised me so it doesn’t matter. Someone… died, someone very close to me, and in avenging him I asked Passione to protect me. I had to join them of course, in exchange, but I didn’t mind. I thought I’d be at peace once I had my vengeance. I was wrong,” he says quietly. Prosciutto is quiet for a moment.

“Come on, let’s get ready to go.”

::::::::::::

It’s a cold night. Risotto is starting to regret volunteering to wait outside. His task is simple, watch the front door and shoot if the target tries to leave. He lives alone and the two guards have already been disposed of, so the job couldn’t be simpler. Risotto hopes the target really does try to run. It will make him feel like he had an actual purpose being here.

Even out here, Risotto can hear the scuffle inside. It’s a good thing they’re far from the city and there aren’t any neighbours nearby, but then again, does anyone living in Passione’s territory really still trust the police enough to call them?

After what feels like ages, the door falls open. Risotto aims his gun and prepares to seize his moment, only to find the stumbling target looks half-dead already as he collapses onto the porch. He fires a couple of shots anyway, just for good measure.

Prosciutto steps out. He kicks the body. Risotto starts to walk forward.

“No!” Prosciutto shouts. Risotto stops in his tracks. “Alright, you can come now,” Prosciutto permits him. Risotto steps forward uncertainly. “Apologies, my stand is indiscriminate so I can’t have you going near it. It’s gone now, so you’re safe. Come, come over here,” Prosciutto urges.

Risotto eyes the dead body in front of him. He is struck immediately by how old and shrivelled it seems- he could have sworn the politician was only in his early 60s.

“Is your stand… aging?” he asks.

“Well-guessed. It’s morbid, I know, but it does the job,” Prosciutto confirms. “You’re welcome to leave now. Cleaning up is a delicate process and it’s best I do it myself.”

“So this is it, I just go now?” Risotto says, a little disappointed.

“You have your money, don’t you? Now go, before someone drives by!” Prosciutto urges him. Risotto sulks away down the front path. “And Risotto?” he calls back. Risotto turns to listen to him. “I’ll be sure to give you a call if I ever need you again. You’ve impressed me, Risotto.”

The young man smiles. He nods in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Prosciutto. I hope we can work again together soon.”

::::::::::::

It’s May, and Risotto is freshly 21. He finishes sweeping the floor of the kitchen and sits at the table, taking a sip of his coffee as he watches out the window. There’s a knock on the door.

“Hello?” Risotto says, opening it. The sight that greets him is a surprise- the familiar figure of Prosciutto Crepuscolo standing at his doorway.

“Apologies for the delay, I finally had an excuse to meet with you,” Prosciutto greets him. “May I come in?”

“By all means,” Risotto smiles. The two enter the apartment.

“You’re looking… better, Risotto,” Prosciutto notices. Risotto brushes his fingers through his hair.

“I wouldn’t say I’m doing well, but it’s a start,” he agrees. “So, what finally dragged you out here?”

“It’s possible I might have a position for you,” Prosciutto announces. Risotto perks up eagerly.

“Under you?”

“Over me,” Prosciutto corrects him.

“Now I’m intrigued.”

Prosciutto steeples his fingers and starts to explain.

“Passione is forming a new squad. Assassination, at long last. No more running around Naples for volunteers last minute. I’ve been chosen, no surprise, but I’ve made it very clear I refuse to be team leader. I have personal commitments. It wouldn’t be ideal. I’ve already got two others on the team with me, good men I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to let either of them anywhere near positions of power. You on the other hand, my superiors are willing to consider.”

“I’m hardly qualified.”

“You’d be surprised how good an option you are. Being able to kill without a second thought is rare enough in itself, and on each of the few occasions your combat prowess has come into play, you’ve performed exceptionally. While it’s true you don’t have much experience as a leader, you’ve got all the hallmarks of someone who could be taught to be one. And you will be taught. I’ll be there to teach you.” Prosciutto assures him. He leans back in his seat. “There’s only one issue. We need to get you a stand.”

“I see. Can you get me put through for one?” Risotto asks.

“With your consent I can get you put through tomorrow. But I need you to be certain, Risotto, I need you to agree to lead us.”

Risotto takes a moment to think. He breathes deeply.

“I agree Prosciutto. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. It’s time we got you out of this dump.”

Risotto wakes the next morning to knocking on the door of his new bedroom. He sits up and takes a moment to regard the room around him, his mind planning already how he’s going to make it look once it’s concretely his. Really though, he’s just glad to have a space to himself now.

“Risotto it’s time to get up,” Prosciutto calls impatiently.

“I’m awake,” Risotto answers him. “Give me one minute and I’ll be dressed.”

Risotto hurries into his clothes and exits the room. Prosciutto is waiting for him, leaned against the wall. He regards Risotto with a nod.

“We aren’t expected at any particular time, but I’d rather we go sooner than later. Best to get it out of the way.”

“I’d prefer that too,” Risotto agrees. “Let me finish getting ready and we’ll head out.”

Prosciutto follows Risotto downstairs into the large front room. Risotto can tell Passione intends to grow this team beyond its current meagre size, else they wouldn’t get a house this big. At least he can enjoy the privacy while it lasts.

Down in the sitting room, two men look up from their sofa. They are entangled in each other, arms splayed lovingly over each other’s shoulders with little care who sees them. The smaller blond shuffles from his partner’s lap. He crosses his legs and looks at Risotto with wicked eyes.

“And who might this be, Pros? Our first victim?” he asks. The dark-haired man beside him presses his knuckles to his lips in a poor attempt to hide his malicious smile.

“This is Risotto Nero,” Prosciutto corrects him. “Should all go to plan, our leader.”

“What a young face,” the dark-haired man remarks.

“And so… uniquely dressed,” his partner adds. They pass a wicked glint between them.

“Risotto, this is Sorbet, and his husband Gelato,” Prosciutto introduces them, pointing to each. “The two recruits I mentioned earlier.”

“Recruits?” Sorbet asks, a hint of offense in his voice.

“We’ve been in the game far longer than you have, Prosci,” Gelato agrees.

“You both know what I mean,” Prosciutto sighs. He leads Risotto to the door and the pair get up after them. “Where on earth are you going?” he asks.

“We thought we might go with you, to… see our new friend off,” Sorbet explains.

“Very well, but no dawdling,” Prosciutto agrees.

The four pile into Prosciutto’s spotless Ford, the man himself taken the driver’s seat as Risotto sits behind him. Sorbet and Gelato jump eagerly into the back, gripping the seats in front of them and holding their faces way too close to Risotto for comfort.

“Now, you remember what to do?” Prosciutto checks.

“Yes,” Risotto assures him.

“My advice would be to find a street with no wind and stay there. Occupy yourself mentally, but don’t walk around or you’ll be asking for trouble,” Prosciutto advises.

“Thank you, Prosciutto, I’ll remember that. Any hope of you telling me how I’ll actually get the stand?” Risotto vies.

“Sorry, no chance. Just believe me when I say I have faith in you.”

“Very well,” Risotto accepts. He chuckles quietly.

Prosciutto drives just a few more minutes before stopping at the gates of a prison. He regards Risotto’s surprise with a reassuring pat to the shoulder.

“The guards will let you in, don’t worry. Go now, we have faith.”

Risotto thanks him with a smile and steps from the vehicle. A hand tugs his wrist. He turns to see Gelato holding onto him.

“Prosciutto’s going to tell me off for saying this, but drop the lighter. It’s what you’re actually meant to do.”

Unsure of what to say, Risotto shakes him off and carries on towards the gates. He hears the conversation behind him.

“Gelato, what on earth are you doing?!” Prosciutto chides.

“Giving him a faster death.”

::::::::::::

Risotto pushes against the arrow with all his might as it digs into his chest. He lets out a grunt of exasperation as he battles for his life, adamant in the resolution that he refuses to die today. He begins to hear screaming, passive at first and then steadily louder. It isn’t him, but it’s coming from within him. The iron grate by his side begins to twist and contort.

::::::::::::

“So, do you think he’s dead yet?” Sorbet says humourlessly. He checks his nails while caressing Gelato’s head in his lap.

“He’s going to be fine. I really don’t know why you have so little faith in him,” Prosciutto admonishes him. The pair chuckle.

“He’s just another dumb fuck dragged in from the gutter. There’s no way he could possibly survive obtaining a stand,” Gelato maintains.

“I’d like to see you say that to his face when he gets home alive,” Prosciutto tuts.

The front door clicks, the lock giving way on its own accord. The door swings open and Risotto Nero steps through, a cascading wave of metal swirling around his torso at his command. He reaches his hand into the iron dust and a shining blade is molded from the air. He presents it to Prosciutto proudly.

“Will this be adequate, Prosciutto?”

The older man stifles a laugh and looks over to the stunned lovers on the opposite sofa.

“My friends, I think it’s time you gave your new leader the greeting he deserves.”

[avmisworld]

BTS on your first date:

Kim Seokjin:

"How do I look?", you send your reflection another weary glance before turning to your best friend, who looks at you judgingly, looking rather unbothered while chewing a fat piece of gum loudly.

"For the last time, perfect", she says with a sigh of exasperation, lifting her hands up in the air when you still don't look satisfied, biting your lip and pulling on the bottom of your short flowery dress. "Damn, you really like the dude, huh?"

You blush, tucking a strand of your dark hair behind your ear, avoiding your best friend's examining eyes as you mumble a bashful: "Maybe?" 

Y/F/M's eyes soften slightly at your nervousness, and she reaches out to tug you into a warm hug, making sure not to smear the makeup she finished applying mere moments ago. "You have nothing to worry about, he's going to fall for you for sure.", she says sweetly, pulling back to look you in the eye.

Before you can say anything else, a knock on the door startles the both of you, and you send your friend a panicked expression, ready to bolt for the bathroom and flush yourself down the toilet. Before you can do that though, your friend's grabbing you by your shoulders and leading you to the door, her firm grip not letting you escape.

With one last shaky breath, you tug the door open, a small smile spreading on your face when you see Seokjin standing in the doorway, a nervous expression on his face and holding a beautiful red rose in his hand.

Jin was actually your boss in the restaurant you worked at, and you've had the crush on him for the longest time before you accidentally confessed to him at a group outing where you had a little too much to drink. To your surprise, he told you he felt the same, and asked you with the sweetest smile if you would like to go on a date with him. Obviously, you said yes.

And here he was, in all his handsomeness, wearing a semi-formal outfit, a crisp white button-up clinging to his broad shoulders and black slacks hugging his long legs, his soft brown hair styled away from his forehead and a shy smile gracing his plump lips.

"Hey", you say shyly, playing with your fingers the way you always do when you're nervous, your best friend already closing the door behind the two of you and disappearing in your shared apartment. 

"Hey", Jin responds, scratching his neck for a second before handing you the single flower in his hand. "This is for you", he says, a light blush dusting his cheeks when you take the flower, your fingers brushing against each other as you do.

"It's beautiful, thank you", you say gratefully, feeling like a teenager all over again, and walk down the two steps until you and Jin are both standing on the pathway, the other towering over you with his height. 

"Let's go then, our table is reserved for 20:00", Jin says, leading the way to his sleek black Mercedes, his body close enough to yours so you can feel the heat he is emitting, but he doesn't touch you yet, his hand hovering over your lower back. 

Jin is a gentleman and nothing less, holding the door open for you when you slide into the passenger seat, saying that 'you look gorgeous tonight, by the way', and engaging in some small talk on the way to the restaurant he reserved you. It feels too good to be true, really.

When the GPS announces that you reached your destination though, you look around in confusion, waiting for Jin to say that you reached the wrong location, but to your shock, the young man opens the driver's door, sliding off the soft leather seat before walking around the vehicle and opening your door with an all-knowing grin.

"You can't be serious", you say, staring at the other in bewilderment, not even trying to get out of the car as Seokjin laughs, enjoying your disbelieving expression. 

"Did you seriously reserve a place at a 5 Michelin star restaurant? Are you out of your mind?", you gape at him, forgetting all the shyness you felt moments ago, too busy thinking how the hell you're going to pay for this meal tonight.

As if reading your mind, Jin smiles gently at you, reaching his hand out to you. "Hey, I asked you to go out with me, so I decide where we'll go. Trust me, okay?"

You hesitate for another second, still feeling angry at the other for bringing you to a millionaire's restaurant, but you take his hand anyway, trying to ignore the warmth flowing through your body at the simplest touch from Jin. 

"I couldn't bring a girl who works at a restaurant to Panda Express, you know?", he explains jokingly, and you try your best to stop from laughing, keeping your glare on determinantly.

"You're unbelievable", you mutter, punching Seokjin's arm half-heartedly as he laughs, making a big deal of limping the rest of the way to the grand entrance of the building, where two well-dressed bodyguards are standing by the doorway.

After you confirm your reservation, the two of you get led inside the restaurant, and you can't stop gaping at the marvelous architecture, your eyes bulging as you walk past dozens of round tables covered in silk white tablecloths, shiny silverware placed placed carefully and glamorous chandeliers giving the room a fairy-like glow.

Jin chuckles a bit at your amazement, endeared by your innocent behaviour, and pulls back the red velvet chair when you reach your table, placed in an intimate corner where no one can pry too much, pushing you down gently when you don't even realize you need to take a seat, his eyes crinkling from smiling.

"You look so amazed, I'm afraid the food will be a disappointment", he says teasingly, and you blush, unable to stop your racing heart at all the kind gestures you're receiving from the other, and the evening just started.

The two of you start looking at the menu, both of you knowing most of the foods on the menu thanks to your job, and talk in between, the two of you filling each other in on everything you don't know about each other as co-workers.

You like talking to Jin. Even before you started crushing on him, he was a role model to you, and probably, to everyone in the restaurant. He came from a very rich family, and he could easily have lived his life doing absolutely nothing, or continuing the work of his business-man father. 

Instead, he chose to open a restaurant, and work as a chef, ignoring what everyone said about him and pursuing his dream from a young age. He became successful and respected, but not because of his parents, because of his own hard work, and you always admired that greatly.

"Oh my God", you moan around another bite of ratatouille, closing your eyes as a symphony of flavors explodes on your tongue, and you hear Jin hum in agreement, the shared dishes you bought quickly running out as you take bite after bite, drinking sips of expensive wine and continuing your conversation as well.

When it's time to go, you don't miss Jin sneakily trying to push his credit card into the waitress' hands, and you frown, fishing out your simple black purse and pulling out your own black card. 

"Hey, why didn't she take mine as well?", you ask with confusion lacing your voice, noticing immediately the way Jin avoided your eyes, taking a too-long sip from his now almost empty glass of wine, before setting it down with a small smile. 

"How about you pay next time?", he suggests, voice nonchalant, but you notice the nervousness underlining it, Jin's slim fingers wrapped too tightly around the glass, his knuckles turning white.

"Next time?", you say, feeling your own cheeks heat up, momentarily forgetting the fact that your crush paid what must be a huge amount of money on your first date, too busy clinging to the 'next time', which you so desperately want to happen.

"Yeah", Jin says, lifting his soft brown eyes up and meeting your own wide ones, his smile now slightly more confident. "I really like you, Y/L/N Y/N."

Min Yoongi:

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at the tall wooden door in front of you. You've been here a hundred times before, but this time felt different, and the thought set a flock of butterflies in your stomach.

You knock on the door before you can overthink it, retracting your hand quickly and tucking it behind your back, rocking on your heels as you listen to the sound of footsteps approaching the entrance slowly.

You smile when the door opens, revealing your life-long childhood friend, and now, your date for tonight. You don't know how many times you've seen Min Yoongi like this, with his messy black hair and pale skin, a small smile on his face, wearing a hoodie two sizes too large on him and basketball shorts, brown eyes concealing his happiness at the sight of you. The only difference is, usually, he doesn't look this nervous.

"Hey", Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, pushing the door open even more to allow you to come in, and then moving aside, and you try not to think too much about his arm brushing yours when you enter, the weird thoughts making your cheeks warm.

"Hey", you hug your friend gently, and even though you've done this many times as well, it feels different, the arms wrapping around you holding a new protectiveness and care. You can't say you don't like it.

"So", you follow Yoongi into the apartment, already knowing this place by heart, and slip into the kitchen to grab a cup of water. "What are we doing today?"

"I thought we could just watch some Netflix, you know. If you want.", Yoongi responds, disappearing in the living room, probably to set up the huge flat screen TV he owns, and you return the glass water bottle to the fridge, entering the living room as well.

"So just Netflix and chill?", you ask, enjoying the way your friend's fingers freeze over the keyboard, before he shoots you a sly smirk that sends shivers down your spine. "If that's what you want."

It's your turn to blush now, and you curse Suga under your breath, choosing not to respond, instead slipping onto the soft blue couch, covering yourself with one of the many fluffy blankets your date prepared beforehand.

Being Yoongi's friend since preschool meant you two were very open with each other. He knew all your problems, fears, secrets, desires, and you did too. It was scary to suddenly feel shy next to the one person you always felt comfortable with, but you can't blame anyone but yourself for falling in love with your best friend.

You don't know when you started looking at Yoongi like a potential lover instead of a friend, but realizing it was the scariest moment in your life. You felt ashamed for feeling like that about your childhood bestie, and alienated yourself from him in hopes it will get your mind to work properly.

But Yoongi, being Yoongi, didn't let you hide away, and after you wouldn't answer his calls or texts for two weeks, he came to your house, surprising the shit out of you, and demanded to know what this was all about. 

You knew he wouldn't accept a lie, so you went for the truth and hoped that he would somehow forgive you and your friendship will overcome this obstacle. What you didn't expect however, was Yoongi mumbling a tired 'pabo' before he pulled you close, pressing a searing kiss to your lips that had you gasping for air. 'I like you, too. More than a friend.', he said. And now you were here.

"You good?", Yoongi's curious voice shoots you out of your thoughts, and you snap your head up to meet his amused, yet somewhat concerned expression. "Yeah, sorry", you mumble, shooting him a small smile, and he nods, passing you a bowl of popcorn before sliding into the spot next to you, close enough to feel his body heat, but not quite touching.

The movie starts after that, the two of you concentrating on the plot. Yoongi chose a random action-thriller and it was so good you completely forgot about the popcorn in your hands and the now-cold pizza on the table, your mouth agape and eyes wide as you stare at the blaring television screen.

In the corner of your mind, you're aware of Yoongi shuffling next to you, as if something's bothering him, and you almost turn to snap at him for ruining your concentration when there's a sturdy arm pulling you closer to a warm chest, and you feel your cheeks burn. Oh my God.

You try not to breathe when Yoongi pulls you even closer, albeit hesitantly, until you're practically cuddling, both of you wrapped in fuzzy blankets and Suga's arms wrapped around your stomach firmly, his lips so close to your hair you feel light-headed.

"Is this okay?", he whispers after a few more seconds of silence, and you gulp, the older's deep voice giving you goosebumps and sending chills down your spine.

"Yeah", you answer, because it is, it's perfect, even if your body is tense like a ruler and you can't quite get yourself to relax into Yoongi's hold.

"Y/N.", Yoongi's firm voice, not leaving you a choice but to turn and look into his mysterious dark eyes, his pink lips hovering over yours. "Can I kiss you?", he asks simply, not beating around the bush, and your heart combusts in your chest, your breath quickening.

"Yeah", you answer, voice shaky, and it seems like everything disappears, the movie long forgotten and fading in the background as Yoongi reaches for you, tilting your chin up gently until your lips brush slightly, like the touch of a butterfly.

And then he's kissing you harder, his hand sliding higher to cup your cheek, and you turn around even more in his hold, until you're practically sitting in his lap, your own arms locking behind his neck.

"Let's not make this weird", he breathes out when he pulls away from you after a few seconds, slightly panting, his lips tainted bright red from your little make out session. "I want you, Y/L/N Y/N."

Jung Hoseok:

Blind dates were never really your thing. You hated the feeling of insecurity that came with blind dates, the burning curiosity in your chest and the awkwardness.

Which is why the first time your best friend suggested you go out with a guy she met at her new zumba class, who also happened to be the instructor, you were quick to say no. 

You were laying on her lap, the two of you sprawled on your ratty blue couch in your shared apartment, and you were complaining to her about your exams this week, and how you were positive astronomy was going to kill you. 

It took you a few minutes of angry rambling to realize that your friend was hardly listening to what you had said, nodding half-assedly and humming at random times, her mind obviously busy with something else.

"What are you thinking about?", you demanded to know, sitting up so the two of you were face to face and pointing at her accusingly. "You hardly heard a word I said."

"I did.", Y/F/N defended herself quickly, "Your life sucks", she elaborated, wincing when you raise an unconvinced eyebrow at her, not buying the whole innocent facade.

"Okay, fine, I was thinking about something.", she admitted, smiling at you sheepishly before moving to hold your hands in hers, an action that only succeeded in raising your suspicions even more.

"I know you don't like this kind of thing", she started slowly, and your confused expression turned into a frustrated one, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"But you know how I started taking a dance class recently?", she asked, and you nodded despite the urge to cover your ears and ignore this conversation. 

"Well, my dance instructor is super cute, like a literal sunshine. And the fact that he's super hot and an amazing dancer is just the cherry on top to his perfect personality.", Y/F/N said so enthusiastically, it almost broke your heart to interrupt her fantasies. 

"So I thought, if you want, I could set the two of you up for a blind date? I already checked if he's single.", your friend asked hopefully, puppy eyes on full display, and you sighed, shaking your head.

You were thankful to Y/F/N for always taking care of you, you really were. Since she started dating her boyfriend a year and a half ago, she's been trying to set you up with lots of guys, maybe because she didn't want the moment she moves in with her partner to be hard on you, which you knew was getting closer judging by the increased amount of guys she talked to you about.

 But you just weren't looking for a guy right now. The last thing you need this year is another distraction from finally getting your degree and finishing uni.

"Y/F/N, he sounds great, but I'm just not interested, okay?", you said gently, but your tone left no room for argument, and judging by the way the light in your friend's eyes dimmed slightly, a small pout growing on her face, you knew she understood there's no point to continue this conversation.

"Okay", she sighed defeatedly, and you smile at her thankfully, returning to your previous lying position, and the two of you ditched the topic, moving on to see some cheesy rom-com on Netflix.

Unfortunately, your best friend ditched the topic for exactly two days. Since then, she brought up that freaking dance instructor every day for the next two weeks, stopping when you called her out for it only to continue the next day. 

Maybe it's the annoyance that brings you to say yes, or the notion that actually going on a bad date will prove to your best friend that there's no point to meddle in your life. Either way, much to your best friend's happiness, you agree to go on a coffee date with him.

You tug on your ripped blue jeans, feeling slightly uncomfortable in your unusually attractive fit. You don't even remember when was the last time you dressed up for someone, although you had to admit it was refreshing to look good for once, and not feel like a couch potato in the same sweatpants and blank t-shirts.

It's a pretty day today, the perfect day to grab a coffee at a local coffee shop with a friend or a significant other, and it's kind of sad that you're going to be wasting your time on some guy who will never want you for another date.

You cross the street, heading towards the cafe where you know Hoseok is waiting, and ignore the painful churning in your stomach and the constant buzz of your phone, signaling becoming messages from your BFF, who's probably reminding you to be nice and text her the second you get out of there. 

The cafe is one you visit many times with your friend, a cozy shop with small round tables, potted plants and soft jazz music in the background. You push open the door to the store, the familiar bell signaling your arrival, and wave at the workers you already came to know, who smile back at you before continuing with their jobs.

Your friend described Hoseok as tall and lean, with brown hair and eyes that crinkle when he smiles, so you look around, searching for a matching face and freezing when you spot it. But that can't be him. He's way too hot to be on a blind date with you.

The man is sitting in the far end of the coffee shop, the golden light streaming through the large glass windows giving his tanned skin an angelic shine. He's scrolling through his phone, a small pout on his full lips, and his hair is a dark brown, almost black, parted in the middle and streaming down his face in shiny waves. 

There are silver glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and he's wearing olive green wide denim pants, tucked into an oversized t-shirt that did nothing to hide his small waist and bulging biceps. All in all, he was a total snack. And way out of your league.

But another glance at the cafe proves to you that, despite the absurdity of the situation, this guy was your only option, unless Y/F/N set you up with a grandma or a black-haired teen, which wouldn't surprise you as much as it should.

You feel your heart practically beat its way out of your chest, the need to run out of the coffee shop and back into your safe apartment growing the more you look at the handsome man. But that wouldn't be fair, not to your friend or your date. So you stay.

Gathering all the courage you have left, you walk hesitantly towards the table, the young man not noticing you yet, his eyes still fixed on his phone where he is typing away furiously. You clear your throat awkwardly. "Hello."

The dark-haired man in front of you startles from his daze, snapping wide brown eyes to you, before breaking into an unexpectedly bright grin, showing off two rows of straight white teeth and an adorable dimple.

"You must be Y/N!", he exclaims, getting out of his seat to shake your hand enthusiastically, the glimmer in his eyes not disappearing for a second. "I'm Jung Hoseok, but you can call me J-hope if you like."

You nod shyly, the other's bright attitude and overflowing charisma taking you by surprise, and let the young man pull your chair out for you dramatically, a small smile making its way on your face as you slide into the comfortable seat.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice you, I was just taking care of some work-related things", he explains with a guilty expression, and you shake your head quickly. "It's all good", you say, waving your hand dismissively, and your heart beat rises slightly when the other's worried expression turns into a wide smile once again, J-hope sighing in relief.

"So, you're a dance instructor, right?", you ask as a way to start the conversation, noting the way J-hope's eyes turn impossibly bright at your question, an unmistakable passion glimmering in his eyes. 

You listen as J-hope explains to you all about how he got to his career, why he loves it so much and where he wants to go with it in the future. To your surprise, you listen with fascination, J-hope's excitement and sincerity captivating you completely. It was obvious dancing was the only career for him.

You have to admit that he's adorable, with his cute hand gestures and face expressions, and he's a complete gentleman as well, ordering for you first and asking you about your major and what you want to be doing in the future with so much interest, you actually start to believe that you have something to tell.

The conversation never seems to die down, the two of you talking passionately about the most random topics for what seems like hours, the sun slowly setting without you even noticing, the food you ordered also forgotten. 

You think it's the most you've laughed for a while with someone who wasn't Y/F/N, and the most you've talked about yourself so openly, but you can't seem to mind when Hoseok smiles at you like that, leaning his head on the palm of his hand as he stares at you with something scarily close to fondness.

When you finally exit the shop it's already pretty late, the last birds chirping their goodbyes and people already coming back home from work, the roads filled with cars and crowds of fast-walking men and women.

The two of you walk side-by-side after Hoseok insists on escorting you to your car, despite his being the opposite direction, and it dawns on you that you actually would really, really like another date with this charming man.

"Actually…", you're already in front of your small red Jeep when Hoseok speaks up, and for the first time today he looks insecure, his gaze flitting away from your face and to the black asphalt. "I was wondering if I could get your number?"

There's a hidden meaning behind his question, a hope for more than just one date, and you're so happy you could dance right now, but you stop yourself, instead smiling so wide you think you break your jaw. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Kim Namjoon:

"Are you sure you're okay with this?", you ask Y/F/N hesitantly for the tenth time, your hand hovering over the doorknob as you await her response. 

Your best friend snorts, rolling her eyes slightly at your overly worried behaviour. "For the last time, it's okay. I'm honestly surprised he asked you out only last week considering he's been drooling all over you since we became friends.", she says sarcastically, a mischievous smile on her delicate face, and you blush furiously, pushing her weakly as revenge.

Going on a date with your best friend's brother was pretty awkward, but it seemed like you were the only one sharing that thought. Y/F/N looks scarily nonchalant right now, standing by the door in her unicorn onesie, her brown hair tied into a messy bun, sipping on her cup of coffee, like she always does in the morning. 

Namjoon and you met when your best friend invited you over to a family barbecue a few years ago. It was the first time you were going to meet her family, and you already knew she had an older brother and two more younger siblings. But your excuse of a best friend never told you that her older brother was amazingly attractive and a perfect gentleman.

The fat crush you have on Namjoon was probably there since the first day you set eyes on his face, with the adorable dimples and the melanin skin, but you pushed it down, knowing that falling in love with your best friend's brother was just plain wrong. 

But how could you not fall in love with him, when he was everything you ever wanted in a guy? Intelligent, a good listener, handsome, a hard worker and a family guy, always looking out for his parents and younger siblings. 

Honestly, you had no idea he felt the same, even if you caught him sending you soft smiles when he thought you weren't looking, or staring at your lips when you talked, but you ignored these moments, excusing it as attraction and nothing more.

When Namjoon asked you out, after two and half years of you knowing each other, your best friend already knew about it, since he wanted to ask for her permission to take you out. Just when you thought you couldn't be more in love with him.

You hug your friend one last time, tightly, as a sign of gratitude and maybe also apology, and she hugs you back just as tight, even if she laughs and says teasingly: "Just go already."

So you go, shutting the door behind you and walking towards the elevator of your building, your stomach filled with butterflies as you enter the empty elevator, pressing on the first floor.

You stare at your reflection in the large mirrors, anxiously tugging at your checkered plaid skirt, which you thought went well with the cream-colored sweater you had on, but now doubts fill your head, and you curse silently, turning away from your image.

Rushing out of the elevator, you spot Namjoon waiting in the lobby of your apartment building, rocking on his heels as he whistles a tune absentmindedly, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks.

He looks handsome like always, wearing beige slacks that compliment his long legs, a white shirt and a green denim jacket to top off the look, and his dirty blonde hair is perfectly combed to show his forehead, soft strands framing his sculptured face.

Before you can even reach him, Namjoon notices you, his brown eyes widening and a smile adorning his lips, the deep dimples in his cheeks popping out. "Y/N!"

You smile when you reach the other, walking into his outstretched arms, the gentle, protective hug he gives you warming your heart, and you let your own hands wrap around his strong torso, standing on your tiptoes and burying your face in his neck, so you can smell the nice scent of his cologne, sandalwood and blueberries.

"Hey", you say when you break the hug, still standing close enough to feel the body heat radiating from the taller man, see the warmth twinkling in his brown orbs. "Where are we going today?"

"I thought we'd just take a walk. I know a really nice place not so far from here, and I bought sandwiches in case we get hungry", he adds with an adorable smile, waving a small metal container, and you laugh at the pride in his face, knowing Namjoon was literally banned from the kitchen in his family's house, since that one time he made the toaster explode.

"I love that idea", you say honestly, your own wide grin splitting your face, and you can't help but add with a teasing tone: "And I can't wait to taste your sandwiches."

The two of you start walking then, and it's the perfect weather outside, a beautiful morning in the fall, when there's this chilliness in the air, but the sun is still shining from above, so you can still walk peacefully without worrying too much about a coat or heavy clothing.

You walk for something like ten minutes until you reach a pretty park you've never seen before, despite it being so close to your home. It's quiet, with a simple brick trail leading into it, wooden benches and an assortment of trees, the green almost blinding in the midst of the hustling city around you.

The two of you spend time talking, something you would gladly do all day with Namjoon, his smart takes on life and his opinions on the most trivial matters all fascinating to you, giving you whole other points of view you never considered. 

When you get tired and hungry, you sit down on one of the benches, and Namjoon opens the small container he brought, taking out two delicious looking sandwiches with salami and a bunch of vegetables, the bread almost bursting from the generous amount.

The two of you eat, the conversation not ceasing for a second, and you're enjoying this way too much, loving the peaceful atmosphere surrounding you two, the chirp of the birds and the absence of people.

"I hate to do this, but I have a shift soon, so we should start heading back", Namjoon says sorrowfully when the sun is already in the middle of the sky, his eyes showing actual sadness at the thought of this date ending, and you can't help but feel the same, a small pout growing on your lips. 

"Of course. It's been hours anyway.", you say, putting on a cheerful smile that probably seems forced, because Namjoon smiles at you fondly, getting up from the bench before taking your hand hesitantly in his, the warmth of it seeping through your skin, tightening his hold around you when you don't pull back.

"I'll take you back home", the older says gently, and you let him pull you up, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks with your dark hair as you start walking again, back to the entrance to the park.

When you reach the entrance of your building, it seems like there's many unsaid words hovering between the two of you, Namjoon avoiding your eyes while you bite your lip shyly, playing with your long fingers.

"I had a great time today", Namjoon says after a few more moments of silence. "And I'd really like to take you out again.", he continues, a cute blush forming on his cheeks as he stutters nervously. "If you'd like to, of course."

"I'd love to", you breathe out, and Namjoon grins, relieved, pulling on your interlocked arms to close the space between the two of you, before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, so soft you think you might have imagined it. 

When he pulls back, you're pretty sure the two of you look like some teenagers in high school, blushing furiously. Namjoon studies you for a moment, eyes warm, before saying: "I'm really lucky I met you, Y/L/N Y/N."

Park Jimin:

When your best friend said her friend, a music major like her who she met through the university, was coming over to study, you expected a shy young man, maybe with round glasses, lean and tall, wearing plaid shirts and baggy jeans.

You didn't expect him to have silver hair, a muscular body easily seen through his purposely tight clothes, and full pink lips that curved into a flirty smile. Said music major knocked on your front door wearing a dangerous all-black outfit, skinny jeans, a tight golf sweater and a leather jacket, and he looked like a mafia leader in a drama, if it weren't for the colorful notebooks in his hands.

"Hi, I'm Park Jimin. Is Y/F/N here?", the young man said with a surprisingly sweet voice, his dark eyes examining you closely before flitting back to meet your wide eyes. 

You gulp, hating yourself for answering the door wearing freaking checkered sweatpants that you should probably burn, and a loose gray shirt that made you look like a sack. And let's not even talk about the bird nest on top of your head.

"Uh- Yeah, yeah, she's in her room", you stutter, feeling your cheeks burn when the man smirks at your awkward behaviour, his eyes twinkling like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Thanks", he says simply, sending you an adorable eye smile, the complete opposite of the sexy smirk from seconds ago, before disappearing down the hallway, with you staring at his broad back dumbly until he disappeared from view.

Since that day, Jimin came to your apartment frequently, Y/F/N smiling slyly whenever she mentioned how eager her classmate was to come over, something he never wanted before.

You and Jimin's talks were limited to the usual greetings and the occasional small talk when your best friend would get stuck in the bathroom, something she seemed to do more and more frequently as time passed.

You did learn however, that the intimidating aura Jimin first gave off when you met him, was nothing like his personality. Sure, he was flirty, randomly throwing you compliments about how beautiful you are that make your face explode, but he was mostly a giggly softie, almost baby-like in his behaviour, with his cute gestures and way of talking.

Apparently, unlike your best friend who specializes in a variety of instruments, Jimin was a dancer and a singer, and you actually saw him performing one time, from a video Y/F/N sent you when he was practicing, and it was honestly jaw-dropping. The more you knew Jimin, the more you liked him, and it was a big problem considering he was way out of your league.

So when Jimin shows up one evening at your apartment, wearing a huge green bomber jacket and ripped jeans, his nose red from the cold and now-brown hair covered in a black beanie, you can't help but be slightly confused.

"Y/F/N's not here right now", you say apologetically, concealing your surprise that Jimin came here without talking to your friend beforehand, the opposite of his usually organized behaviour.

"Actually, I came here for you", Jimin says with a sly smile, and you blanch, staring at him for a second dumbfoundedly before saying dumbly: "Oh."

Jimin seems to notice your helplessness, because he smiles at you gently, motioning vaguely at the inside of your house. "Can I come in? It's really cold outside."

"Oh! Of course, sorry.", you blush, muttering more apologizes as you move aside, letting Jimin enter the house and trying to ignore the way his hand brushes yours on the way in. 

Jimin entered the house, sitting down on the comfortable gray couch in your small living room, and looked at you almost nervously before clearing his throat, his fingers fiddling restlessly on his lap as he waited for you to take a seat in front of him.

"So… Are you coming to the music major performance next week?", Jimin starts, his voice hopeful as he looks at you with wide brown eyes, the sight so adorable you almost coo.

The end of the year performance of the music majors is basically the biggest event of the year, to them and to everyone else. Their participants and their performance is crucial to their grade, so it's a really big deal. Y/F/N had been practicing day and night for weeks now, walking around your apartment like a zombie who lives on espresso. You assume that Jimin wasn't any better.

"Of course I am. There's literally no excuse except death that'll make Y/F/N forgive me for not coming.", you snort, and Jimin laughs, his eyes crinkling. "Right, stupid of me to even ask."

You talk for a few more minutes about the performance before Jimin seems to get nervous again, the continuous movements of his hands returning, his mind wandering elsewhere.

"You good? It looks like you're hiding something.", you ask, voice teasing but tinged with worry, and Jimin sighs heavily, cracking his knuckles before looking up at you.

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you'd be my date? For the after party. All the music majors go to a nice bar in the city, and I thought if you'd like to come with me…", Jimin's nervous rambling turns into a quiet murmur by the end of the sentence, his cheeks sporting a light blush as he avoids your eyes.

You stare at him, not quite understanding the situation. Park Jimin, the heartthrob of the campus, your best friend's friend, and the most talented man you've ever met, was asking you out. 

Jimin's awkward cough is what snaps you out of your shock, meeting his expectant eyes with your own wide ones. "Yeah, I'll go with you.", you manage to say, your cheeks reddening when Jimin breaks into an attractive smile, letting out a relieved sigh.

"Damn, you really had me worried there", he says with a breathless laugh, running a hand through his shiny brown hair, the strands falling over his eyes messily, and you giggle, looking down at your lap.

The two of you end up talking some more, the night flying by as you Jimin tells you about the upcoming performance, which is rumored to be the best one since the university was first opened. When he finally leaves, sending you a sweet smile as he exits your apartment, you can't wait for next week to come.

And now you were here, your throat hurting from all the screams that came out of it during the performance, the images of a sweaty black-haired Jimin, wearing a see-through white mesh shirt and black dress pants, hugging his strong thighs perfectly, not leaving your mind for a second.

Y/F/N was amazing as well, obviously, and you gave her a bucket of red roses she probably already saw that morning as a congratulatory gift, but she still smiles gratefully and hugs you tightly, her face practically shining with happiness.

"Y/N!", you turn at the sound of the soft voice, grinning when you see an excited Jimin skipping his way to you, now changed into a loose denim shirt and his familiar black skinny jeans.

You don't hesitate to leap at him, ignoring the smell of sweat still clinging to his skin or the fact that any other day you would never act so bold. "You were amazing today. Seriously, Jimin I'm speechless", you mumble into his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso as he laughs, his own hands encircling your small waist. 

"Thank you. I'm really happy you're here.", he says honestly, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes, his arms not leaving your waist.

The two of you go with the rest of the music majors to a bar in a bus the school rented for the night, the whole ride filled with excited chatter and scream of happiness. You sit in the back between Jimin and Y/F/N, happily listening to them talk about the performance, still high on the adrenaline.

The bar is a small, nice place, with good music and clean wooden tables, formally dressed barmen treating customers with an assortment of different alcohols. 

Y/F/N goes to sit with the rest of her classmates, after sending you a not so discreet wink and a pat on the ass, leaving you and Jimin alone by a table in the side of the room, Jimin ordering the two of you bottles of soju and glasses of champagne.

You spend the night talking with Jimin, and then after you get drunk, laughing stupidly about nothing and everything, leaning on the young man's shoulder when you get tired, the late hour having its effect on you.

"Let's get you home, hmm?", you hear the older mumble next to your ear, and then there are strong arms picking you up carefully, making sure not to jostle you too much, and Jimin's sturdy figure supports you gently as you walk out of the bar slowly. 

The ride home is rather quiet, with you leaning on Jimin the whole way home, your head buried in the crook of his neck and his hand wrapped around your shoulder gently, humming a soft tune into your hair.

Jimin takes you all the way to your apartment, going as far as opening the door for you, before he brings you in for a sweet hug, rubbing your back gently. "I had a lot of fun today", he mumbles above your head, and you hum, pulling back to look him in the eye.

"I hope this isn't a one time thing", your tipsy self says with confidence you could never have, and Jimin chuckles, brushing a dark strand of hair away from your eyes carefully. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Kim Taehyung:

"So, where are you going to meet the guy?", Y/F/N asks curiously, following you out of the bathroom where you were combing your wet black hair and into your bedroom, trying to match her walking to your hurried strides.

"He suggested we go to some famous art gallery in the city", you say half-mindedly, struggling to pull up your leather knee high boots as your friend whistles lowly with appreciation beside you. "Damn, he's a man with taste."

You nod, barely hearing your friend as you look at your reflection in the mirror, biting your lip as you contemplate whether you went too far with your outfit, the short black dress and long beige trench coat suddenly feeling like too much.

"You look great", your friend interrupts your thoughts, her excited expression now changing into a more understanding one, her eyes glistening with comfort. "First online dates are always nerve-wracking.", she adds knowingly, patting your hair gently with a soft smile before exiting the room and letting you finish freaking out by yourself.

Online dating was terrifying, you have to admit. When you first saw the picture of the model-like man on your Tinder, asking for you to swipe right, you were hesitant. Men like this don't need dating apps to get girls, that's for sure, so you were scared he was just another guy who uses a picture of some hot dude as his own, trying to lure women into his trap.

You probably would have let him go too, if it wasn't for his bio that piqued your interest. Apparently, the guy did modeling as a part-time job, and he was also an "independent artist", knowing how to sing and play a few instruments. He was a dog person and his dream is to design clothes, and his other hobbies are: sightseeing, photography, and painting. 

Anyone who has just a bit of sense would never miss out on a guy like that, so you swipe right on this Taehyung guy and hope that he's not a fraud. The two of you start talking through the app, and he sends you a lot of selfies of him and his dog, Yeontan, giving you more confidence that he was actually who he said he was.

Now, after you've been talking for a few months, he finally suggested going out for a first date, which made you extremely stressed. From texts alone, Taehyung seemed like a talented, kind, funny young man, and you had great chemistry, your conversations always filled with passion, even when it came to the weirdest topics, but that can change completely when you actually meet.

You sigh, making your way out of your apartment building, hugging your coat closer to you when another wind raises goosebumps on your tanned skin as you wait for a taxi to arrive.

The ride to the gallery takes a bit of time, so you text Taehyung quickly, telling him you're on your way and he responds saying he's already there, suggesting you meet by the entrance of the museum.

When you reach the destination, you thank the taxi driver, quickly handing him the money you owed him before exiting the car, your eyes immediately searching for Taehyung's tall form while you walk towards the fancy building, the interior lit with bright lights.

"Taehyung-ssi?", you ask hesitantly when you reach a man with a white mask on his face, fluffy dark hair barely showing thick eyebrows and soft brown eyes. He's wearing something you would imagine Taehyung, the fashion expert, would wear: mustard-colored slacks, a light gray knit sweater, a checkered scarf and a long dark-grey coat, nearly brushing his ankles.

"Y/N?", the man says with a voice so deep it sends shivers down your spine, and you gulp, nodding shyly at the man, who takes off his mask to reveal his face after hearing your positive answer.

Somehow, Taehyung is even more handsome face-to-face, and you feel yourself blush even more when you're met with the guy for the first time, merely a feet away from you. You can't help but admire the golden skin, the pretty mole on his nose, the perfect nose and the inviting heart-shaped lips, awed by the fact that you met this god through a dating app.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N", Taehyung says with a small smile, and the only thing you can do is agree, still mesmerized by the other's sheer beauty. "Shall we go in?", he asks, pointing at the museum with a slender hand, and you nod once again, following him into the large building.

The two of you walk slowly, talking in hushed voices as you enter the gallery, where more people are already admiring the variety of works, from art critics holding pen and paper to couples walking with hands interlocked, flitting from piece to piece with admiring eyes.

To your relief, there isn't an awkward atmosphere, the conversation between the two of you going great once you loosen up a bit. Taehyung asks a lot of questions you didn't discuss online, and also brings up topics that he wants to know your opinion about, along with saying his thoughts on the different art works, where Taehyung got to show off his obviously wide knowledge, talking to you about textures, and colors, and more things you don't understand, but interest you nevertheless.

Taehyung tells you about how he also paints here and there, amongst his other interests, going by the artistic name 'V', a symbol of success and victory, and you're fascinated by the man in front of you, who seems so thoughtful and intelligent, yet somewhat innocent, with his sparkly puppy eyes and curious nature.

When you finally exit the gallery, it's close to closing time, and the two of you head down the street, not wanting the night to end quite yet, so you go buy a cup of green tea from a small, cozy store close to the museum. You sit on one of the empty tables in the shop, sipping on the piping hot liquid and letting more time pass by as you laugh and chat.

"Text me when you get home, okay?", Taehyung says when you slide into the cab, a small frown on his face, clearly not pleased by the fact the two of you are parting ways. Not that you're any better, but his worry warms your heart, and you smile, an idea popping in your head.

"How about you give me your number?", you suggest shyly, before adding stupidly. "In case something happens… It's faster, you know?"

Taehyung chuckles at that, and the sound is so hot and lovely you can feel yourself burning up, the other nodding his head with a boxy smile you came to be obsessed with. "Definitely. That's a great idea."

Jeon Jungkook:

"Are you ready to go?", the soft voice makes you raise your head up from where you're packing your things into your small leather bag, meeting Jungkook's slightly nervous doe eyes, a shy smile on his pink lips.

"Yeah", you smile at the other gently, slinging your bag on one shoulder before walking over to the young man, admiring the way Jungkook's eyes sparkle when he looks at you, following your movements carefully, a habit of his since you met.

When you first started your chemistry class, you didn't understand why the university's bad boy was staring at you all the time, with dark eyes and a serious expression. It was rather intimidating, especially after you heard the whispered rumors of him breaking girls' hearts wherever he went, so you immediately thought he hated you.

Jeon Jungkook was the typical hot emo guy, the kind who girls love to fall for, even more because it seems hopeless, every woman wanting to be the one to steal his heart and get him out of his private bubble. He always came to class with earphones deep in his ears, ignoring the looks from the rest of the thirsty, or just plain curious, students, wearing all-black outfits, his long dark hair falling over his eyes in soft waves.

He hardly spoke in class, and it didn't seem like he listened too much either, most of the time with his earphones in, or doodling something on his notebook. Yet, you accidentally saw his test once when the teacher was passing by, and it was a straight A. Basically, Jeon Jungkook was a mystery, one you did your best not to fall for. The last thing you wanted was to be like the rest of his crazy fangirls on campus.

So imagine your surprise when Jungkook came up to you after class, running a hand through his black hair, probably a nervous habit of his, as he stopped in front of your desk, his aura screaming discomfort.

"Um… hi", you said when the young man didn't make a move to say anything, instead just staring at you with wide eyes, feet tapping against the floor as if he was ready to run any second now.

Your voice seemed to startle the other from his daze, and he blinked owlishly, gulping hard before blatantly asking: "Do you want to go out with me?"

You stared at the other, frozen, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, your beating heart proving to you that despite how much you tried, Jeon Jungkook still managed to slither his way into your feelings effortlessly. "Excuse me?"

"Do you want to go out with me?", Jungkook repeated, more confidently now, his eyes locked with yours, hard on the outside but also showing vulnerability, fear of rejection, and everything suddenly makes sense. 

The fact that Jeon Jungkook avoided you even more than he avoided others, the constant staring, the blushing when your eyes accidentally met or when you sat next to him in the back row. It was all because he liked you. How ironic. 

And the thing is, you now fully understood that you like him, too. Talking with him solidified the feelings you were pushing away, so you took a deep breath before smiling gently and saying: "Yes."

Jungkook's eyes widened then, as if he didn't actually expect you to say yes, as if you were the university's heartthrob and not the other way around, as if he wasn't the most endearing person on the planet, with his surprised Pikachu face and his tattooed hands clenched into a small fists, his nerves getting the best of him.

And then Jeon Jungkook broke into a smile, one that you hadn't gotten the opportunity to see since the start of the year, and your heart positively melted in your chest, the cute bunny teeth and the crinkling eyes too much to handle. 

"Okay", he breathed out, playing with the strap of his black backpack for a second before raising his head to you. "So… I'll see you tomorrow?", he asked hesitantly, and it felt like the awkward air around you finally cleared away, after half a year of stolen glances and hidden thoughts. 

"Yeah.", you smiled widely, and Jungkook eyes seemed to soften even more, the high walls around them finally crumbling down, and he waved at you one last time, almost shyly, before disappearing in the hallway, leaving you alone with your frantically beating heart and blushing cheeks.

And now here you are, after a two more weeks where you and Jungkook sat next to each other every class, managing to attract the attention of the whole campus, who wondered how Y/L/N Y/N, the most average girl, succeeded in winning over Jeon Jungkook. Honestly, you were wondering the same thing.

Jeon Jungkook was nothing like the cold-hearted lone wolf everyone made him out to be. He just happened to be really shy, but he had a few close friends who he introduced to you one day at lunch, and next to them he was another person, one that laughs a lot and acts silly and gets babied all the time for being the youngest in the group.

Jungkook takes you on your first date to a fair, which is perfect for both of you, since you both happen to like thrills and competitions rather than a candle-lit dinner. You go there in Jungkook's black Toyota jeep, singing to the pop music playing on the radio and talking about what you'll do first when you reach the fair.

You fix your striped black-and-white crop top and denim shorts when you exit the car, the heat of mid August hitting you the second you get away from the refreshing air conditioner in the vehicle, and you huff, thankful for your short clothes.

Jungkook is dressed comfortably as well, adding a pop of color to his usually all-black fit by matching his oversized black shirt with ripped blue jeans that hug his thighs in all the right ways, and brown Timberlands. 

"Where should we go first?", he asks you after closing the car door, the sun reflecting on his shiny hair as he walks towards you with light steps, his eyes twinkling with undeniable excitement. 

You look at all the attractions in the fair: a huge ferris wheel, various food stands, a stage for musical acts, horses, all sorts of games and arts and crafts. "Everything looks fun", you say honestly, and Jungkook hums in agreement before grinning at you. "Let's check it out!"

The two of you enter the fair, walking close enough for your hands to brush, going to whatever happens to catch your eyes, with you pulling an amused Jungkook to pet a bunch of fluffy rabbits, cooing softly at the adorable animals while your classmate stares at you fondly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You do every game in the park, and because Jungkook is a competitive ass, he wins you every prize in the fair, your hands filled to the brim with plushies and keychains. You go the different rides, sitting close together on the Ferris wheel, your thighs pressed together, looking with awe at all the ant-people scurrying around and the orange sun starting to set in the horizon.

The atmosphere is light and humorous, Jungkook being the funniest person you've ever met and a crackhead in disguise, and there isn't a full moment, Jungkook going as far as participating in a hot-dog eating contest, beating a bunch of 5 year old kids with a trumphiant expression. 

"I'm so tired", Jungkook comments when the two of you are sitting on the soft grass, eating cream doughnuts sold only in the fair, the sun already halfway drowned in the ocean, the last rays tickling your skin gently. 

"Me too", you agree, brushing the powdered sugar off your fingers, and staring at the slowly emptying park, the different stands already starting to close, ready to open again tomorrow.

"Y/N…", Jungkook starts hesitantly after a few more minutes of silence, and you turn to him expectantly, meeting his soft brown eyes with your own. "I just wanted you to know… I really like you. And I hope you'll let me take you out again."

You think about Jungkook, who was acting like the perfect gentleman the whole day, making sure you weren't too hot, making you laugh continuously and paying for everything. "I like you too, Kookie. A lot."

[langst-is-my-unborn-baby]

The Path Down Memory Lane

Summary: A quirk causes Midoriya to disappear, and can only be returned through a trip to the past accessed by Bakugou Katsuki. The one who is very displeased to be there and face the childhood friend he pushed away.

As well as avoiding Ochako's death glare.

IRL friends, be respectful and ignore please <3

Word Count:  2907

The classroom fell to a stuttered silence, whispers and short gasps of surprise crippling into the quiet. Their Sensei, Aizawa, stood at the front, his hand raised to pause them as a sullen look soured his usually bored expressions. Bakugou felt his chest tremble with angered nerves, slimmers of questions rattling in his brain. His demand to begin the class and ignore whatever problem had occurred that caused this pause.

Aizawa watched them all, the first class of the morning and he had only just stepped into the room. As Bakugou had previously seen Iida hold down a bothered expression, he wondered what had caused the abrupt lateness. Mina and Hagakure who had seemingly arrived late, pressed themselves to the side of the door patiently, waiting for the teacher to speak.

“As some of you might have noticed,” the teacher began, his dull eyes falling over them. “One of you is missing.” Originally, Bakugou was planning on stating that Raccoon Eyes and the other one was actually here, but as their teacher waved them in, the empty desk pulled his attention.

“Deku,” Bakugou spat, his teeth gritting together as flames of anger stung him. “Of course, it’s fucking him.”

Round face has wailed a worried cry of the missing boy’s name.

Izuku Midoriya, a pain in his backside, was missing from class, a surprise due to his healthy appearance and calm demeanour as of the previous day. The boy had cheerily waved Bakugou goodbye the previous night, he had said he was planning to spend the evening watching over his mother. Despite the raw hate for the boy, Bakugou had no qualms with Aunt Inko, and he too knew that she was so lonely since useless Deku’s dad never appeared at home.

“Midoriya was going to visit his mother!” Round face shouted; her face flushed warm with worry. “He said so last night.”

“It’s true,” Momo agreed, her finger resting on her chin. “We assumed he must have returned later that evening; it was a quiet night.”

Again, the teacher raised his hand, that previous hush soon blanketing them. “It is not a question of where he is,” Aizawa said, his cheeks paled to a cold white. “But when.”

“What?” Kirishima murmured, his own eyes meeting Bakugou’s. He shrugged a response.

“Sir! What do you mean when?” Iida asked, his back straight as he stood suddenly, and even then Bakugou pitied the poor ass who had befriended Deku.

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, a sad crestfallen sigh before resuming his briefing with the class. “At 7:20 at night, there was a petty villain attack on the street of Midoriya’s home. As per usual of the problem child, he went to handle it.” Bakugou huffed a laugh, hiding his own confusion as he felt his hands clench into tight fists. “A quirk blew up, and it is – time sensitive.”

The class’ attention sat on Aizawa, their held breaths pulling on the atmosphere.

“The quirk was known as ‘Memory Lane,’ it throws the victim into the body of their younger self in the past, leaving behind only a piece of them.” As if on cue, the teacher dug into his pockets, retrieving a small white card. Deku’s ID.

Ochako let out a whine of misery, her hands clamping over her mouth.

“Please do not fear yet,” Aizawa said with a face with an expression that was a moment away from looking warm and comforting. “This ID acts as a gateway to that time, and to gain entry it needs to be opened by someone involved. The Pro-Heroes did not originally intend to explain to you the true situation of your classmate… but as his mother could not open it-“

Tears streamed down the cheeks of Round face as Aizawa stepped towards her, holding out the ID card, her fingers pinching it tightly and her expression squeezed. Nothing. Iida leaped forward immediately, demanding in perfect formality to touch the card. Again nothing, and Bakugou barked a cold laugh. Soon, the classmates followed. That frog and Momo both sadly pressing their hands to the card, even Kirishima had a go at holding it.

“It’s the manly thing to do,” Kirishima whispered to him, his hand falling to Bakugou’s shoulder. He bit back the urge to slap it off, sitting in his friend’s desperate look.

“Fine, back off idiots,” Bakugou barked, kicking his desk away from him as he stepped to his teacher. “Let me touch the fucking card.”

The look in his teacher’s eyes bothered him. What could Aizawa think of him that he hesitated to hand over the card. Regardless, the card was dropped into his grip.

“See assholes,” he spat, ignoring the tinge of a crack in his voice. “I didn’t do anything-“

The card burned, like a hot iron against his hand, it left his skin red and raw. “Fuck, Sensei!” Bakugou yelled, and immediately his teacher was at his side, clinging onto the card as well.

“Keep holding on,” he demanded, his head whipping around to watch the squabble of Deku’s friends who remained close. “Are any of your memories with Midoriya inherently violent?” The sweat that began to sit upon Bakugou’s head told it all. “We will enter the past soon, do not let go, understood?”

“Sir,” Iida shot loudly. “I could assist, I know Midoriya well.”

“As do I!” Round face cried; her arm wrapped around Iida.

“I too want to help Midoriya,” Icyhot said distantly, a chill to his voice as he suddenly reached to grab the card. Iida and Ochako doing the same despite the sudden short shout of their teacher’s disapproval. The card shot out burning white light, and all Bakugou saw was black before hitting the ground.

Bakugou let out a huff as he pressed his palm to his forehead, a sting pulsing as he pulled himself up from the grassy floor. Grass- his lips thinned, and he spat a swear.

“What the fuck? This fucking card took us out of our classroom.”

“Discipline yourself,” his teacher said strictly, and Bakugou was suddenly reminded that that man had every right to control his cursing habits.

Slowly but ever so surely, his three nosey classmates pried themselves from the floor. Iida instantly voacalising an apology. His eyes could not roll further back, Iida lived off being seen as a model student, but he broke every rule for Deku.

“Bakugou.” Ochako’s voice wavered slightly, her eyes following along the neighbourhood. “Do you know where we are?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, twisting to look at their surroundings. A series of building stood tall and imposing but straight ahead lay a little patch of scenery, a few warm patches of bushes and a couple tall standing trees. He raised one pointed finger. “There,” he said slowly, as if tasting the words that would be used to help Deku. “That park was by our school, he was always at it, stalking me.”

Aizawa sent him a disapproving glance but began to tread forward, Ochako and Iida stomping off with their arms linked. Icyhot just tilted his head slightly at him before following.

Their path ran smooth and uninterrupted. Ochako pale as a ghost when a person seemingly walked straight through her, a dreaded blue sitting sickly on her cheeks.

“Nothing to fear,” Aizawa murmured, continuing forward. “I assume only Midoriya will be able to see us, and perhaps young Bakugou too.” Round face just nodded.

They stood meters from the park, startled in the steps as a sudden cry sounded from within the park. Aizawa outstretching an arm to stop them moving into the scene, he lifted a single finger and pressed it to his lips, hushing them.

Izuku Midoriya, in all his six-year-old glory, stood small and green-haired. Kneeling over on the park’s ground, Bakugou recognised himself, a much younger version, standing in front of the boy. Cracks of explosions pulsed from his small hands, and a gang of jeering boys backed him.

“Stupid Deku!” The young Bakugou shouted, his hand shot forward as if to show a threat, a devilish smile overcoming him as Deku covered his face in his hands. “You can’t ever be a hero; you won’t beat me!” The mini version of him jabbed a thumb to himself. “I’m the best.”

“Kacchan, stop being so mean,” the little boy all but sobbed, a pitiful screech leaving his mouth as one of the boys began to pelt pebbles his way. “Kacchan, stop!

“They will stop when I say so,” the boy decided smugly, happy yells coming from the surrounding lot of boys, another joining in in the pelting. “But we won’t waste time on quirkless losers like you.”

“Bakugou,” Iida said, turning to look down at him with a thin look of dismay. “You could really say that to your classmate?”

His stomach churned with the burn of fury; a tight anger rang through his ears. He responded with nothing but a dirty glare, returning the attention to his young classmate with his crestfallen appearance as the young him and group of jerks fucked off. The infamous tears beginning to roll down the boy’s cheeks, quiet cries leaving him as the little Deku sat alone in the park.

Ochako sent him a glare that told him just how dead he was.

Even Aizawa looked deeply unhappy with the sight, his hand falling as Ochako and Iida dashed forward, with Round face’s arms wrapping around the small boy. His guilt lay buried in a hole he had dug himself, watching as Todoroki would no longer meet his gaze – instead, making his way to Deku.

A gurgled sound left him, pathetically stuttering as the young Deku always had, Bakugou kept his distance. His victim squabbled by his classmates.

“Izuku!” Ochako chirped happily, gleeful tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.

“Ah! Sorry ma’am,” Deku said, his hands furiously wiped at his tear stricken face. “I don’t think I know you, are you Mum’s friend?” His voice sounded stilted, as if slowed by a stutter.

“Ochako, rest easy,” Aizawa warned, kneeling to look the boy in the eye. “Midoriya, we are from the future.”

The boy’s eyes widen in shocked disbelief, crawling back slightly and Bakugou choked a wheeze, a shit-eating grin covering his face as he met his teacher’s stare. “You don’t fucking think a kid is going to believe that,” he said. “He thinks you all are some lot of psychotic strangers. Let me go.”

Bakugou pushed himself forward, elbowing Todoroki in the side as a little afterthought. “Oi Deku.” He turned his head down, a fearful expression fell on the boy and suddenly his chest felt tight. “Izuku,” he corrected, his voice gentle for his own standards. “Watch this.” He held out his palm, creating a sparkled of an explosion, letting it sizzle into a blackened smoke. “I’m Bakugou Katsuki, from the future.”

The little Deku’s eyes lit up. “You have the same quirk as Kacchan!” he smiled gleefully, Bakugou buried the twitch of annoyance. “Why are you here… a- are you mad, a-again?” he asked, voice twisted with apprehension as he was seemingly encircled by the much taller group.

“No one will hurt you, young Midoriya,” Iida spoke sternly. Bakugou felt his eyes widen by a fraction, his classmate placing a hand against his heart as he spoke such genuine words. To Izuku Midoriya, those words would only be a charming comfort of a lie, when had that boy ever escaped violence.

“Agreed, Midoriya, we need your help,” Todoroki added, calmly outstretching a hand to Deku, helping him to his feet. The boy tilted his chin upwards, a slight uncertainty.

“I know you Kacchan,” the boy said bravely, shuffling back slightly, prominent bruises revealing themselves on his knees. “But Mum told me not to speak to strangers.” His voice returned to that innocent quietness, a thunder of cracks breaking his words due to the whisper of volume he spoke at.

Round face pinched the corner of Bakugou’s shirt, shaking her stupid face when she had noticed that famous aggravated expression overcome him. He gritted his teeth and stayed still.

“I am an underground hero, Eraserhead, Shota Aizawa,” their teacher introduced, surprising them slightly. The kid’s eyes glittered with interest, questions threatened to spill from his tongue, an obvious look of curiosity from the boy. The teacher instead waved his hand, encouraging his students to do the same.

Iida nodded his head, following in his teacher’s footsteps. “I am Tenya Iida, class president,” he bowed furiously.

“Ah! Pl- Please don’t bow sir,” Deku wailed, waving his hands before rushing to bow, mimicking the older student, a smile erupting onto Ochako’s face at the sight.

“Ochako Uraraka,” the girl smiled brightly, pulling a peace sign.

Finally, that half-half bastard stepped up. “Shoto Todoroki.” A respectful nod at the green-haired boy before returning a previous few steps behind.

“Todoroki! Like Endeavour,” Midoriya mused, missing the skimmer of a wince that took over the boy’s face.

Pity. That feeling that Bakugou was beginning to resent. He huffed a grunt, digging his heel into the soft dirt, locking him into his place. “Hah!” He jeered, purposely steering his gaze away from Todoroki. “Who cares about Endeavour, you like All Might right, Shitty Deku?”

Aizawa most certainly chose that moment not to comment on the use of swearing, instead portraying a slight amusement as Midoriya was instantly overcome with a contagious happiness. The boy’s arms began to flail, rushed in saying all his reasons of loving the currently top hero.

Deku eventually fell out of breath, his face warm with redness. “Wait, if you are a Hero,” the boy asked tentatively, shyly watching his future teacher. “How am I able to help you?”

“Unfortunately, I am not sure either, but I have an idea.” Aizawa faced Bakugou, instilling him with a momentary fear. “The ID card.”

Oh yeah.

Searching his pocket, he plucked the card out, slipping it into his teacher;s hand.

“Oi Deku! Where are you?” A young yell sounded from ahead, and the group quickly turned to see the small Bakugou, returned without his petty crew of bullied. “Who are those weirdos?” He snapped, running over and snatching the little Midoriya’s wrists.

Christ, Deku’s friends were most certainly going to give him hell when the returned to the present.

“Deku- Izuku! Don’t talk to weird adults,” he scolded as he tugged the other boy back and aiming a dark look to Aizawa. “Why are you even still here?”

So many questions from his younger self, as if he had not left that very boy trembling and scared on the ground. But deep down, with out the addition of time travelers, Bakugou remembered this moment. Guiltily returning for his childhood friend, walking him home without uttering an apology.

“Kacchan, these are my future friends,” the boy smiled whole-heartedly, grinning up at Ochako’s painfully big smile.

“What are you on about Deku, anyway, I don’t want this- take it,” the young Bakugou said, dumping a small slip into his hand. “I already have one at home.” He turned his head, stubbornly ignoring the squeal of joy that left Deku.

“An All Might card, Kacchan you really are the best!”

“I know, now let’s go home, I’ll take you to Aunt Inko’s.”

The scene unfolded so quickly, and Aizawa dived forward, pressing the ID against the young Deku’s fingers. A shot of white light shooting out of it, yet the two young boys suddenly appeared with blank eyes when they looked at them – as if looking through them. Gone from their memories, and invisible now. As the card spun itself in a burning glow of white, the two boys walked on. Chatter on All Might leaving their mouths.

Instantly, Bakugou grabbed onto the card, poisoned with dissonance at the possibility of remaining in this aged memory. His peers joined, the five blinded by white before they fell in the screen of black.

“Izuku!” Round face shrieked; her arms wrapped tightly around the shocked boy’s neck. “Oh, I was so worried,” the girl mourned, ripping herself from the boy to look him over.

Bakugou smiled grimly, heat filling Deku’s cheeks as he sat on the classroom floor in casual clothes – gawked at by his peers. “Uraraka, Kacchan?” he whispered, green eyes dancing from person to person.

“Midoriya,” Iida said (cried seemingly more accurate). “Izuku,” he smiled wetly, his hands fixing themselves to Deku’s shoulders. “I too was worried! Please do not fight villains without me next time.”

The boy let shame overcome him, confusion tipping from his face, but regardless he offered warm comfort to his two friends. Even sending a short smile to Todoroki.

When they were so young, despite everything he did, he was Deku’s Kacchan, his best friend. A tickle of saddened hurt, as he stood distant to the hugging friends. Despite the arm slung around his shoulders by Kiri, he felt this tired longing for the friend he once had.

“Deku,” he yelled, 1A stilled. He buried his desperate tears. “Don’t forget, I saved you!”

He should feel humiliated, be burnt by the blistering jealousy that pulled him to say such words. But a warm laughter spilt from his lost friend’s face despite that remaining slip of loss of understanding at the entirety of the situation. “Of course, thank you Kacchan,” he beamed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Although I can’t remember what for, thank you.”

[ceo-caroline]

Portal is a feminist game and here’s why!! (some of my thoughts on the upload process and Caroline’s internal conflict)

When I think of a young woman in the workforce circa 1950, my mind first goes to the disparity between men and women; the sexism, the pay gap, the general feeling of existing as a female individual and how it is a constant uphill battle. Caroline is not an exception to that, and even if she is the boss’s favorite, she is still frustratingly determined to be recognized for her intelligence and not just her wit or appearance. She doesn’t want to just be a secretary for the rest of her life. (In my opinion, she didn’t even go to secretary school, she just finished college and landed a job at Aperture because she scared the hell out of her interviewer and Cave thought it was the funniest thing he’d seen in years.)

I believe that Caroline grew up living with her mother, who was also a very strong-willed and independent woman. Caroline had that positive influence all throughout her childhood, and that creates this determination to succeed even if it appears unrealistic. She doesn’t have some grand dream to destroy all sexism at Aperture Science Innovators, but she does want to be a scientist herself. She wants to not have to follow her boss around like a puppy all day. She wants her coworkers to stop staring at her ass. She wants her own office. I think for the first 20 years of her career she has a lot of drive to accomplish those smaller goals. Caroline strives for respect and equal treatment because she knows that she’s smarter than at least half of Cave’s employees that work in the labs. 

The thing that separates her from another woman in her position, however, is that she will go to greater lengths to achieve these goals, and do things that are morally grey. She doesn’t care a lot about integrity, she’s a good liar and she uses it largely as a defense mechanism. For most of her life, she has been a victim. She’s been forced to make herself smaller and quieter, so she learns that if she wants something, she has to go about it in ways that are often unethical. But the older she gets and the more corruption that surrounds her, the easier it becomes.

I have some hang-ups on the subject of the upload process because I feel that Caroline’s identity as a woman and everything that she worked so hard to achieve is something primarily important to her. It’s canon that she initially refused to be used as a guinea pig for GLaDOS. There was clearly something holding her back. I guess I just assume that it’s the value she has placed on her bodily autonomy. And I’ve read (and partially agree with) the argument that there is even greater body autonomy once Caroline has full control of Aperture and is no longer held back by Cave or the boundaries of being a woman. But she doesn’t know if the upload is going to be successful. She’s worked at Aperture since she was 22. She’s fully aware that they barely take any precautions, that a lot of the scientists lack a moral compass and have next to no regard for human life (herself included). She has a sinking feeling that she is going to die, and she doesn’t want that. Maybe, for once, she really sees herself and what she’s become. Maybe she sees herself in Cave. People have told her in passing that they act the same, and she’s dismissed it. But now she realizes that they really are so similar. Refusing his proposition is a last-ditch effort to separate herself from his madness and try to reclaim some of what she’s lost.

(This goes into my thoughts on caveline which I can talk about in full another time, but I really believe that Cave exercised this control over Caroline at the same time that she exercised control over him. Their relationship is so toxic because they are both simultaneously manipulating one another to try to gain something)

She wants Aperture, but she doesn’t want it as GLaDOS, she wants it as Caroline. Imagine working your ass off to be recognized for your talent and achievements only for it to be thrown away because a man tells you to give up your body for science (out of a twisted act of love). That seems miserable. I have this idea that I can’t shake of Caroline being unwilling to give up her life for her job. She is stubborn and selfish like Cave, but unlike him, she is also calculating. Cave will go about things with reckless abandon, but Caroline weighs her options, she always has. Just because she is cruel doesn’t mean that she isn’t intelligent. She clings to her logic, her human brain, because she really does value it. It has yet to fail her.

Caroline surely considered Cave’s idea, she didn’t just say no. I like to think that she had her own kind of relationship with GLaDOS as She was being built due to her fascination with artificial intelligence. But Cave’s mind was probably pretty compromised by illness at the point that he asked her (just listen to the lemon rant, which symbolizes his fall from grace). His desperation to preserve her was clear and terrifying. That impulsive, headstrong behavior that Caroline used to admire is now being directed at her. She begins to realize how truly flawed he is. It’s like she’s finally coming up for air after being underwater for decades. 

And I have to emphasize that Caroline lacks this inherent privilege. Her life is not easy. She fights tooth and nail to be respected, even when she has more authority than the men that talk down to her. She’s fierce, and she doesn’t back down from a good challenge, she keeps fighting. Though, I do believe that as she gets older, her coping mechanisms for the stresses in her life (like her toxic relationship with Cave & her obsessive/compulsive thinking patterns) become increasingly destructive, which is another example of her own flaws coming back to hurt her. She overworks herself and is under constant pressure from Cave. She’s exhausted with everything. So maybe there is some acquiescence that comes with her death. Maybe she stops screaming when she realizes it’s useless to fight. Aperture was going to kill her one way or another. She may as well go down with some dignity.

[lilolilyr]

Fics I Wanted To Write This Year But Didn't, Part 2: Star Trek AU

For @spookyvoidangelskeleton for this ask

Now I suppose these would have been several fics, but in a series or a collection as they're all about the same main storyline: The collapsing of a (or several) universe(s).

If you've known me for a while, you know that I am very into Multiverse Theory, both real life and fictional, and Star Trek with the Mirror Universe is of course one of the first fandoms that comes to mind for me to write my batshit ideas in xD

Basically, in my personal little (fictional, bc I know and understand 0 about real life physics or whatever would be relevant for this) multiverse theory, there are an infinite number of universes, evenly spread around the multiverse, and a new universe comes into existence when a timeline/universe (same thing) can go into 2 seperate ways naturally, or when there is timetravel involved to manually change a timeline: The original timeline won't be affected, you can't change what's already there, but a new changed timeline will be created.

Now, in some cases that works out well, with the timetraveller ending up in the new timeline and never knowing that their original universe is still out there- in other ways of time travelling, not so much. If the person trying to make a change manages to do just that but never notices, because they or a version of them is stuck in the orginal timeline, what do they do?

Try again, with the same result, many many times.

And that's where it gets problematic, because the multiverse gets unbalanced, and whether you see it as a sentient entity connected to the Qs in Star Trek or just as something that Works That Way automatically: the multiverse doesn't want to be out of balance, so the new universes start to collapse in on each other, creating a Splitter-verse and leaving its inhabitants to a fate arguably worse than death (in this fictional world): they completely stop to exist. This doesn't just affect the new universes but the surroundings ones, which would have split earlier and are already more different from each other, too, to make sure the one that was the cause for it all falls, too.

Now (of course, because I can't help myself) this would be part of @thelucyverse , with there being Central people trained in spotting such time anomalies before it is too late, but with there also being time-bombs (yeah hahah) created in inter-universal wars to create smaller, controlled splitter-verses (I say small and controlled here but like. We're still talking about entire universes), and with Central having back-up plans to get people out of the 'verses, in order as follows: anyone visibly IDing as Central (the organisation is still largely volunteer-based, shit's got to have some perks), then everyone whose energy indicates recent travel in-between universes, as these are also most likely to a) be Central and b) be okay in a new 'verse, after that, if there is still time and anyone willing to go back into the falling universe, children as they are also more likely to adapt in a new world. If there is enough warning, they also get out whoever people Central members want to have saved, but usually it just turns into whoever stands close enough to grab and get the hell out of there.

Whether taking people out of a universe against their will is a good thing or nah is ...debatable and still being debated amongst those who do it and those who think that taking someone away from the possibility of dying death in their own universe is vile (as amongst most religions, it is thought that you can only reach the same afterlife as those who died in the same umiverse- but again most also think that there probably won't even Be an afterlife in a splitter-verse).

Sometimes, people are also pushed out of the universe by the explosion itself, but they then tend to die upon impact as they seldomly end up exactly at the coordinates where they left, which leaves them either suffocating in hard matter or in space.

If you want to use these ideas for your own fanfic feel free, just give me credit and link this post as inspired by/ link to my ao3 or @ my tumblr!

Anyhow! To Star Trek... and I suppose this is now SPOILERS not rly for any Star Trek canon but for these fanfics, if I do end up writing them!

I tend to forget which characters are canon and which are complete OCs because I spend Way more hours on tumblr and ao3 + thinking about my own headcanons than I spend consuming the original media, but I am fairly certain a canon Joana McCoy, daughter of Leonard 'Bones' McCoy exists? If no and I stole the idea from sb else's fanfic I am sincerely sorry. Gotta look that up.

In one universe close to what would be the centre of the splitterverse, Joana- as a young child nicknamed 'Jojo', but now as a young teen trying to get rid of the childish nickname- has a younger part-vulcan girl as a friend, and this girl, nicknamed Aka, has, through having sticky fingers and connections to Central, a device that allows you to jump between universes. She's used it before and gotten into a lot of trouble for it, but to her it had always been great fun- until reality is starting to collapse around them while she is visiting Joana, and Joana is the only person she can reach in time and take with her to the next universe.

Distraught, the children are left in a new world, debating what to do, waiting for Central to contact them, hoping that they saved their families- but of course, Central has quite some different problems right now and won't contact them any time soon, and even if they did it wouldn't be with news of their parents: the adult families of non-Central members who only happened to have jumped between universes before themselves are really not the top priority, and the universe is collapsing too quickly to even get down the prio list to 'children',

Aka wants to leave the universe again and look for Central elsewhere, hoping that her moving around will attract their attention. Joana has enough from universe jumps for a lifetime. Thus, they part ways.

While Aka at some point does run into a group of Central troubeshooters who more or less adopt her as one of their own and teach her how to work their equipment and use magic and weapons and starships (not what a child her age should be learning. But then, none of the adults there ever signed up to be a parent, so who's to blame them), Joana goes looking for her family in this world.

Now I could write entire novels about Akas adventures and how it may or may not be healthy to not have a home at all and decide to not rely on anybody instead of either finding new versions of her original parents or letting someone new into her life properly (spoileralert: it isn't healthy at all), and how meeting a girl from one of the original splitter-verses (the not bombed ones) telling her not to make the same mistakes she made finally makes her think about her choices and and and, but this post is already going to be Long so I won't. That would all be a seperate fanfic anyways.

Joana finds a girl her age who looks just like her and acts almost exactly like her, too- the only difference seems to be that there's no Aka around, which made this version of her less used to adventure but also less wary of it.

The version of Joana from this universe- she decides to call herself Joan when they are alone, while the Joana we already know goes with 'Jojo'- her once loathed childhood nickname now a connection to her past- is thrilled to meet her and begs her to stay, I mean what is cooler than suddenly having a twin, and won't it be fun there is so much they can do! As their parents are seperated, they manage to spend their time mostly at one of their homes, either together when the parent is too busy to notice that there are two kids around, or one at each place, guessing correctly that if the parents were to talk about it, they wouldn't even think of the possibility of there being two children and instead just get mad at each other.

This goes on for a few months during the summer, with Jojo feeling vaguely guilty both to her original dead parents and these new ones who think that she is their real daughter, and the girls are just deciding about what to do when school starts again when-

Reality breaks apart around them.

Jojo clings to Joan in fear, and- as Jojo is now on the list of people who have travelled between universes in the past, she is saved by Central, and Joan with her. They are placed into a universe further away this time, a safe distance to the only slowly contained Splitters.

Meanwhile, in the same universe, two people were currently out on a space-walk: Michael Burnham and Philippa Georgiou.

They are thrown out of the universe in the explosion, and as they are wearing their suits, they survive as they end up somewhere in space again, but- they don't end up in the same universe. Michael ends up about 20-30 years earlier in a universe further away, and she doesn't even end up in what would've been federation space in her old 'verse. Philippa is only thrown one universe to the left and picked up by Central. As Central likes to name their acquaintances in some way that makes it easier to identify just which version of a person you are talking to without having to add the long universe number (even harder when the universe was destroyed and there isn't a known number), they ask Philippa to pick a new name. She is way too rattled and desperate to go looking for Michael as quickly as possible to care about what name she is supposed to have, so she goes with the first option given to those who don't have their own nickname ideas: lastname for firstname, making her Georgiana, short Gia.

Through Central, she finds out that the universal explosion left her and Michael connected- but it won't be much help in the search, basically just a way to say 'alright this verse is closer to it than that one', it's still trial and error... (I could also involve some body switching here, idk I already wrote a long fanfic with that trope in the Andromaquynh fandom, but I happen to Like that trope so yeah maybe I'll recycle some parts of In Your Stead if I ever do manage to write this Milippa story. Which, btw, if not already obvious, would again be a seperate fic from the Joana universal-sister story. On the other hand, Aka runs into Georgiana a lot, even calling her 'auntie Gia').

Meanwhile, Michael doesn't have to jump through universes but make her way through just the one universe to get to federarion space. Except what she find's isn't the federation at all... you guessed it, the 'verse she ended up in is more similar to a mirrorverse than to Prime. However, the Georgiou of this world isn't the emperor yet, she's young and Michael is able to influence her enough over the years so that she turns her back to the Empire.

Yes, it takes years for Michael and Gia to find their way back to each other, maybe decades... they also wouldn't have spent exactly the same amount of time apart as they aren't in the same 'verse. In fact, Cleo of Central carefully tells Gia that Michael might have died by now, but of course Georgiana doesn't want to hear this.

Michael and that universe's Georgiou also get quite close, though Michael doesn't want to cheat on her Philippa... of course, after years of this, she might think that she will never see Philippa again... (We are approaching ot3 territory here lol, and I don't even want to think about the potential of ot7 with the two canon mirror and prime versions adsfghjkl because if I finish this story here, I would 100% write a lil fix it where Central! Gia Mikay and Phil go fish Mirror! Michael and Georgiou out of a splitter-verse into the next prime verse in which Michael already knows that Georgiou... and ad they're already at it they also get half dead! Prime Philippa away from the Klingons... heheh sounds like the kind of poly chaos I would enjoy writing, but sadly I have to make it through all the Plot first)

Anyway! Back to Jojo and Joan: they decide that while they maybe should have told Joan's family about Jojo's existence soon if they had stayed in that 'verse, the initial idea of staying with one's universals wasn't so bad, so they go looking for this universe's Joana McCoy. The girl- (nicknamed Anna, which makes Joan decide to change hers from Joan to June because she doesn't want to be half Jojo and half Anna), is happy enough to meet them, but often feels left out from the other two as they act as if they've known each other forever even though of course it's only been a few months... In turn, Jojo and June aren't sure whether Anna really wants them around, whether she might think they're trying to steal her life and family from her...

Lots of potential for conflict! Yay! XD would of course come to a happy ending, with at least Bones accepting his three daughters, dunno yet whether they'd tell the mom... also Aka ends up in the same universe at some point, together with a version of her vulcan birthmother who she had never known the original version of but now gets along with alright... oh and if I do write aforementioned Milippa ot7 bullshitery, this would also be the Prime!verse for that, so all stories in the series or collection interconnect again!

this got... long... and I could obviously go on but I need to go back to writing my Bachelor thesis :(

@whoever read through all of this, do let me know whether you like these ideas and which you would like to read proper fanfic for! Might influence future writing decisions.

[fletchphoenix]

Skating On Thin Ice

Chapter 4 of the Varigo Coffee Shop AU is upon us!

Agh, I LOVE WRITING THIS SO MUCH!!! I’m so so sorry if all the content is getting annoying - I really want to get as much as I can done before school starts up again (in a week,,,,aha) so just let me know if it’s annoying y’all. Anyway! Thank you for the support!

Word Count - 3588

TW - Strong Language 

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

  Varian tied his hair back into a ponytail as he walked downstairs to the kitchen, Ruddiger strutting after him happily. He dragged his feet across the silver carpet in his still-sleepy haze, passing awards and family pictures that were displayed proudly in the main hall of the house. A yawn escaped his mouth despite his attempts to hold it back, and he reached up to rub the tears that built in his eyes away along with the last remnants of sleep. A sleep his body desperately wanted him to return back to, judging by how sluggish he felt. The kitchen door moaned as he pushed it open, taking his time on every movement he took.

  He scavenged through the kitchen for something to eat, all the while Ruddiger mewled and meowed to gain some attention and, while he was at it, some food to eat. Varian eventually gave in, lifting the bowl onto the counter and grabbing a sachet of cat food. He emptied the packet, the tabby cat jumping onto the counter and scoffing it down, causing him to chuckle while he took out the bread and butter from the refrigerator. “Toast it is, buddy.” he uttered to himself as he slid the bread into the device. 

  While the toast was..well, toasting, he climbed onto a counter and opened the cabinet near the stove. An assortment of cups greeted him - all with different colours and various patterns. A certain one met his eye. The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile as the memories came flooding back to him. 

  “Are you sure you want me to have this? After all I’ve done to you..?” his nervous voice asked. He was sixteen again in Rapunzel’s kitchen after his father had woken up from his coma. The aroma of cinnamon was in the air combined with apple, creating the illusion that it was fall in the small room as Rapunzel set aside the gift and took his hands in her own. Her expression was earnest, honest. 

  “Varian..I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. We’ve all forgiven you, regardless of what you may think. You’re family.” she stated with a smile that held nothing but love for the boy in front of her. Tears built in his eyes as he looked over at the silver box, wrapped in a teal bow, set on the kitchen table by the blonde only a few moments prior.

  Taking a seat on the lilac cushioned chairs, he brought the box closer to him with shaky hands and unwrapped the dainty bow carefully, as though it would fall apart at even the slightest amount of force. Upon lifting the lid, he was met with the sight of some paper - matching the color of the bow. Pulling it out, he gasped as his eyes met the mug that had been placed in the box with care. He took it out and examined it in his hands.

  The mug was teal (also like the bow and paper it was packed with) decorated with paintings of test tubes, beakers and a small raccoon on the side. Ruddiger. Unwillingly, his eyes started to water again, tears betraying him and rolling down his cheeks hitting the table cloth below him. “Thank you.” He uttered, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to hold back his tears. Arms came around from behind him and pulled him into a motherly embrace, a gentle kiss being placed on the back of his head as he let himself cry freely. A swift turn allowed him to hug the blonde, his eyes squeezing shut to rid them of the last few tears that had developed in them before he moved away.

  “Me, Eugene and Cass searched for hours, but couldn’t find the right one. Then I thought ‘Hey! Why don’t we paint a mug for him?’ and thus..that was created. It’s okay, right? I tried to put everything I knew you liked on it, but I wasn’t sure, so I had to get Cass to-” Her rambling was cut off as the boy clinged to her with his face buried into the fabric on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she ran her fingers through his raven locks and exchanged the hug. 

  “I love you, Rapunzel. You’re the best sister in the world.” he whispered as he held onto her, his hands gripping onto her shirt as he let himself be vulnerable around Rapunzel. He’d tormented and hurt her so much..but she still cared for him.

  “I love you too, Varian.” She replied, moving out of the hug when he was calmer and ready. “Anyway, Cmon! We need to make you one of my infamous vanilla lattes now that you have your own cup!” She declared, clapping her hands and picking up the cup to start the drink. His eyes followed her as she moved expertly around the kitchen and prepared his drink. A smile steadily grew on his face.

  He was forgiven.

  He was home.

  He seized the cup and hopped down from the counter, closing the ivory door of the cabinet and heading towards the coffee machine. He set the cup under it and started up the machine, leaning against the counter and checking his phone. Wednesday, 8:14am. Good - he woke up in time to get ready for his class at 11. “No messages from Hugo though.” his brain reminded him, disappointment making a heavy weight in his stomach. Maybe he wasn’t up yet? Probably, he reasoned as he took the toast from the toaster and buttered it before grabbing his coffee and sitting at the table. 

  Ever the greediest cat on earth, Ruddiger settled at Varian’s feet and swatted at them with his paw. “Oh my god, you’ve just had your breakfast! No!” he shook his foot to scare the cat away, but he didn’t let up. The evil little bastard continued swatting at his foot until, eventually, Varian let up. “Okay!” he yelled, accepting his defeat as he opened another package of cat food, emptied it into the burgundy food bowl and threw it away. That seemed to do the trick - the stubborn feline finally moving away from the table and leaving his owner in peace.

  “I swear..all you do is eat and sleep all day, every day.” he muttered to himself as he took a prolonged sip of his coffee. It hit the mark - him feeling way more energised as the caffeine kicked in. Taking a bite from his toast, he smiled to himself and looked around the kitchen at the wallpaper that had been wearing away for quite some time, at the window just above the sink that looked out on the garden (that they honestly never used enough now) he used to play in as a kid with his mom, at the small frames across the wall holding precious memories of his childhood from before the incident. It wasn’t much by any means, but it was his home. 

  He glanced at his phone screen again. 8:30am. “Okay, time for me to get ready.” he proclaimed to no one in particular, moving to his feet and scraping the chair back across the kitchen floor. Cringing at the noise, he cast a glance to Ruddiger, who was sleeping contently on the windowsill. He could be so cute sometimes. Only sometimes though. He picked up his plate and cup, placing them in the sink underneath the cat. He reached his now-free hand out and ran it down the cat’s fur gently before heading back upstairs to his room.

  Once he was dressed, opting for a black sweater and navy trousers along with some sneakers, he picked up his bag. Packing in his laptop and chemistry books, he moved downstairs for the final time to head outside. He glanced at the coat rack, pulling on an ink-like coat and a knitted emerald scarf Rapunzel had given him as a Christmas present one year - him silently noting that it matched the color of Hugo’s eyes. (This thought made him feel bubbly - knowing full well Hugo would love it if he saw it. He made a mental note to wear it next time Hugo offered for them to go on a date.) He unlocked the door, scooping up his keys and heading out the door.

  The first thing that he noticed was just how cold the temperature was - the chill travelling down his spine. Nonetheless, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began his journey to the campus, eyes focusing on the floor in silence. It wasn’t long, only 20 minutes, but the chill got to him fast and by the time he’d stepped into the labs, he was shivering intensely. Giving a nod to his professor, he took his seat (second to last row, three seats from the aisle) and took out his equipment, ready to start the lesson. 

  He couldn’t focus - all lesson he subtly scrolled through his phone as he prayed Hugo would send him a text or something to let him know he was okay. He gazed down at the phone screen. Surely he would be awake by now, so why wasn’t Hugo texting him. He huffed and slid back in his chair, desperately trying to keep his focus on the lesson.

  The professor kept them late. Again. Varian hurriedly shoved his stuff into his bag and began rushing down to the library. Wind whistled past his ears and his scarf blew frantically around his neck from just how fierce it was. His cheeks went a deep shade of scarlet, dusting his nose and ears. Freckles sat defined over his face as he made his way past the nameless students and over to Nuru and Yong - who, by the looks of it, had started astronomy without him. 

  “Sorry guys, I was just-” he cut himself off at the sight of Hugo, leaning over Yong and explaining part of the physics work set out in front of him. God, he looked breathtaking. His hair was tied back in its usual small ponytail, with a moss green winter coat around his shoulders and goggles hanging round his neck. He glanced up at Varian and immediately straightened, pushing his glasses up his nose with a broad smile on his face. Fuck. Why did he have to look so good in green?

  “Varian! Hey, I’ve been waiting for you!” he commented, making his way around the table to put his arm round the other boy’s shoulders. The mere action made Varian’s face flush in embarrassment, Hugo not helping whatsoever as he pulled the younger closer to him. He seemed to be revelling in the way he was making Varian a flustered, stuttering mess. “Well then. I know this may be extremely heartbreaking for you, Nuru, but we must be taking our leave now. I bid thee farewell!” he declared, ushering Varian towards the door as Nuru rolled her eyes and muttered ‘Yeah, you wish.’ under her breath.

  “Hold on-what do you mean? Where are we going?” Varian queried, looking up at the taller boy who had just swept him away from his friends with absolutely no explanation. His mood became disheartened as a wicked grin grew on Hugo’s face, him stepping back and raising his eyebrow. “What are you planning, Hugo Atkinson?” he implored.

  “Welllll….” Hugo began as he took Varian’s hand in his own and interlaced their fingers, moving to stand in front of him. “I promised you another date! So I came to pick you up and remembered ‘Shit, it’s Wednesday!’ so I drove to the library and waited! Your friends showed up and you hadn’t yet, so I just..sat down with them and decided to offer my extensive knowledge on literally everything to them. And managed to convince Nuru to give you up for a day so I could take you out. Also off topic but..I’m ninety-eight percent sure she hates me, but as if I care!” he rambled, looking down at the confusion on the raven haired boy’s beautiful face. A smile tugged at his lips. “Long story short, I’m taking you on a date. Surprise!” 

  Varian stood dumbfounded before a breathy laugh left his lips, bringing Hugo down to his level and placing a fleeting kiss on his cheek. “That’s adorable. Go on then, take me away, Casanova.” 

  He relished in the blush that flooded over Hugo’s cheek and the stuttering that followed as he held Varian’s hand tight and led him along the cobbled streets of Corona. They walked and walked until Hugo gestured to a small ice-skating rink in the town centre. “And our date is ice-skating!” he remarked, squeezing Varian’s hand. “I hope that’s okay. I just thought we needed a little switch up from the coffee shop.”

  Varian gasped in excitement and gave a frantic nod. “Hugo, this is perfect! Thank you so much!” he cried as he dragged the blonde along to go and get some skates so they could go onto the ice. The taller boy merely laughed and looked down at the childish excitement on his face. God, he loved this boy so much. It didn’t seem real. 

  As soon as they got their skates on and headed onto the ice, Varian’s mood soured.

  He must’ve slipped a billion times as soon as they got on, finally relenting and heading to grip onto the barrier. His mom took him thousands of times when he was little. Why was he forgetting how to do it now? He let out a groan of frustration and rubbed his face with his hand. Why was this so hard? Now he was embarrassing himself in front of Hugo and Hugo would never want to see him again and-

  “Hairstripe?” a voice came from behind him, a hand resting on his waist. “Hey, no. Let me show you, okay?” Hugo gestured and trailed his hand down, linking it with Varian’s and beginning to glide, moving further and further away from the barrier. 

  It felt like time had frozen, or the universe had fallen away and left only him and Hugo as the travelled in continuous circles round the rink. Hugo squeezed his hand in reassurance whenever he thought he might fall and caught him when he stumbled. It was perfect - just them with no interference from anyone else. It was perfect. 

  After a while, they exited the rink laughing and high on a cloud of pure euphoria with their hands still interlaced and warm. Varian let out a happy sigh and turned his head to look at Hugo, who’s free hand snaked around his waist. “It’s been fun today. I wanna do this again. All the time.” He muttered, moving his hand to cup Hugo’s cheek and rub it with his thumb absentmindedly, his eyes focusing on the way Hugo’s sparkled in the soft light of the lanterns outside. 

  “Varian.” Hugo whispered his name in response, letting go of his hand to rest under the boy’s chin. He tilted his head and began to lean in. Varian’s eyes fluttered shut as they were only centimetres- no. Millimetres apart. He could feel Hugo’s breath on his lips. Just a little more-

  He was tugged back by a hand grasping his collar to see Eugene in front of him. “Varian what the fuck are you doing?! Why the hell are you out here with him?” he yelled and turned to face his little brother. Varian took a mental note on the fury painted over Eugene’s usually relaxed demeanour. “Y’know what? Tell me in the car. We’re leaving.” He grabbed the boy’s wrist and forcefully tugged him towards the car, despite Varian’s struggling and protests.

  Hugo stood dumbfounded and watched as Varian was pulled away from him, tears building in his eyes as he looked at the sidewalk he was left on as the car drove away. He pulled out his phone to make a call.

  “What.” Donella’s voice dripped with annoyance.

  “I won’t be coming in tonight, sorry.” he declared as he hung up the phone. Quietly, he pulled up the hood of his coat and picked Varian’s emerald scarf off the floor before silently putting it on and beginning his journey home. He knew full well he’d suffer tomorrow for that, but it didn’t matter anymore. He pushed his glasses into his hair and wiped away the tears they were hiding, continuing to walk away from the town centre and to his apartment.

  Unlocking the door, he leaned back to shut it before sliding to the floor and letting himself cry unabashedly. Why? Why did it have to be like this? Did life really hate him that much? Now he’d never be allowed to see Varian again-or Varian would find out about everything he’s done and decide he didn’t want someone like that in his life and leave him. Just like everyone else.

  He felt like he’d cried for hours when he finally went upstairs and lay on his bed, letting Olivia out of her cage to sit on the bed beside him as he stared numbly at the ceiling. Maybe that's how it was meant to be. Maybe him and Varian weren’t meant to be together. Someone as perfect as Varian deserved better than him...he let out a pained sigh and turned to face Olivia. “Well Liv..it was fun while it lasted, huh?”

  As soon as they were in the car, Eugene’s tangent had begun. “What happened to texting, huh? To letting your family know you weren’t gonna be there because you were busy with something else? Jesus Christ, Varian, we’ve all been terrified! I have been waiting outside the library since 5! Now it's 8pm! And what’s worse is you were with a criminal! A goddamn CRIMINAL!” he ranted on and on, Varian turning his head and glaring at Eugene.

  “What do you mean ‘criminal’? Weren’t you one before? Never mind that, I was a criminal before too!” he snarled, his head whipping back around to glare out of the car window. He didn’t even recognise where they were driving anymore - the surroundings too dark to see anything.

  “That little shit has been committing petty theft in the area - pickpocketing and all that. And so what if we were like that? People like him never change. I would know!”

  “But we’ve changed, Eugene!” 

  “We’re different to him, Varian-”   “How the fuck are we different to him?!”

  “Varian-”   “NO! Tell me how the fuck we are different to him!-”

  “THAT'S ENOUGH, VARIAN!” Eugene’s voice boomed through the car, stunning Varian into silence as he flinched away from the brunette in shock. His bottom lip trembled and his shoulders shook as he desperately attempted to hold back his tears. “Shit-Varian, I-”

  “Pull over. Now.” Varian stated, his voice oozing with hurt and anger as he kept staring at his feet. Eugene obliged sadly and pulled the car over, watching the younger boy get out and start sprinting into the night. He rested his head against the steering wheel, tears building in his eyes. Well, now he’d fucked up. He hadn’t meant to yell so loud at Varian...fuck. He sighed and began the drive home, praying to himself that Varian would get back safe.

  Once he knew he was far away from the car, he stopped running. He sat on the floor and pressed his head against his knees. In 7, hold 7, out 7, he told himself and kept repeating multiple times. His chest eventually stopped heaving and his limbs stopped aching. He leaned back and stared at the stars in the sky, deep in thought.

  Everything was perfect. He was happy, Hugo was happy..so why did it all have to end so badly? He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought of Hugo. He had to see him again. He couldn’t just leave him. His hands shook as he unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He took one final deep breath and called Hugo. 

“Hello? Varian?” Oh god. His voice sounded so broken. He must’ve been crying this whole time. It was so much different from how it usually sounded. Varian felt his heart shatter a little bit more as he listened to the boy on the other end of the phone. “Varian, whats up?”

 “What’s your address? I’m coming over. Now.” He bluntly stated, more of a request than a question. He definitely needed to see the other boy now, desperately.

   Confusion laced Hugo’s voice as he replied to Varian, a light creaking sounding in the background as he presumably moved to sit up. “Are you sure, Varian? What’s going on-” 

  “Just tell me, Hugo!” He yelled, his desperation clear. “Please. I need to see you.” He added the last part, lowering his voice significantly and brushing his tears away at the other boy’s barely audible ‘okay’ in response. 

  Hugo shut himself up, sending through the address and hanging up on the distraught boy. He lay back on his bed, a frown on his face before heading down the hall to sit in the living room. 20 minutes later, a knock rang through the tiny building and he sprinted to unlock the door, his eyes meeting the tearful boy that he loved so dearly. Silently, he stepped out of the way to let the boy in before closing the door and pulling him into an embrace. The younger gripped onto his shirt and cried, each sob wracking his whole, thin frame. Hugo bit his lip and let out an exasperated sigh.

  This really was going to be a long night.

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 20)

The sun rises and slowly transforms the pitch black night into early morning, then into forenoon. Daryl observes how the quiet community, as if it had been in a coma overnight, slowly wakes up. He sees people come out of the houses, hears Carol calling out ‘breakfast’s ready’ inside the house and the clinking of forks, spoons and knives against plates. But he doesn’t move from his spot at the porch stair. 

Ever since he and Jersey handed over the watchtower to Eric and another Alexandrian that he haven’t bothered to put a name on and Mila went to sleep for a few hours, he’s been sitting here, sunken in thoughts.

It’s too much to process somehow. Everything he feels, everything he found out about her; it’s overwhelming not knowing what to do with all of these swirling… whatever it is. She’s like a goddamn hurricane. All hair and hell. Damn, she’s pretty, beautiful even. And that accent. She talks a lot. She’s pragmatic to the point of being indifferent. Maybe because she was raised like a goddamn robot by a psychopath. She’s hot tempered, impatient, stubborn... and holy fuck, Daryl digs it. All of her; the big heart, the kindness, the humor and the sarcasm. It’s like booze mixed with cherry coke. The way she looks at him… or is it just a creation of his own imagination? Is he a complete idiot for thinking that she looked at him in a special way when they sat there together, in the dark, sharing that bottle of vodka? Could it be- no! Obviously she doesn’t- he’s a fool. But the way he felt, throughout his entire body and soul, when their hands touched, he definitely felt something. But that might just be it, his own stupid delusion. When she told him she’d been engaged, and declared that whoever gave her the ring was dead, Daryl felt like the devil himself for feeling relieved, but also bad for feeling like that. 

The night has truly been peculiar, he thinks, while resting his gaze on a bird in a tree, trying to feed its squeaking nestlings. Parts of what Mila told him Daryl had recognized from his own childhood. He’d been beaten up many times by his old man, leaving deep scars that never faded. He’d been neglected and abused for most of his childhood, by everyone when it came down to it. But he was a boy. Not that it justified his father's actions towards him, but Daryl could at least, and used to, fight back. He was a pretty good fighter at an early age and knew he had to aim for the kidneys. But Mila was a girl, an unwanted girl who had to face the shame and blame for not being born as the son her old man so badly wanted. He’d reminded her every single day of her shortcoming, and she had apologized, and that (and when she told about the physical abuse, because that’s what it was, even though she didn’t refer to it that way) had hit him hard. How she somehow, even though she clearly despised and distanced herself from his actions, could talk about him with something that sounded like affection, Daryl found astonishing. Like she desperately cling on to the good memories, the few she might have. Was it a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome, or just pure madness? She’d lived in a lie for almost her entire life, he’d murdered people; how was it possible that she was so indifferent after what she’d been through? Or maybe she just managed to conceal it behind a thick wall of oppressed feelings. He could understand that more than well in a way. But on the other hand it seemed like she’d turned her life around; she had a kid who she’d managed to keep alive. Her story had made him feel secure, less odd about his own history that he’d tried so hard to oppress, to push back into the deepest darkest corner of his soul, never to reveal to any living soul. 

Daryl had never talked to anyone about his upbringing, in fact he’d never talked to anyone as he talked to Mila. Somehow she managed to get these things out of him, that he had previously buried deep inside himself, that he’d never in a million years thought he would tell anyone as he told her the other night. She treats him in a way he’s never been treated before. 

Daryl twitches when he feels a thug on his vest. He removes his chin from the stock of the crossbow and turns where he sits on the porch stairs. 

“Hey kiddo.”

Juri smiles and sits down on the stairs next to him. He’s dressed in dungarees and boots, has seemingly managed to dress himself this morning, but has failed to tie the shoelaces that dangles around his soles.

“That won’t do. Come here.” Daryl waves his hand and nods at the shoelaces that flutter in the wind. The boy obediently raises his foot, Daryl takes it and puts it to his knees and begins to lace the small boot. “Gotta tie ‘em up good, or they’ll fall off ya’ feet.” he says and ties the shoe steadily, but not too tight. He doesn’t want to be responsible for causing Jersey Jr. a broken foot.

Daryl ties the other shoes too, then they sit there next to each other, quiet. Every now and then the boy snails up at him curiously. When Daryl snails back, Juri looks away, giggling. He’s kinda funny, Daryl thinks to himself and smiles. Cheeky, a li’ rascal.

“Ya’ mum’s not up yet?” he asks. 

Juri shakes his head, then makes a snarling sound. 

“She snores?” Daryl grins. “Yeah, ‘bet she does, kiddo. Heard ya’ were a snorer too.” He gives of a grunt, like a pig and Juri bursts into a big, faint, silent laugh. “Ya’ wanna go for a walk?”

Juri nods eagerly. 

“Let’s go.” 

Daryl gets up, grabs Juri under his armpits and lifts him up and places him on the ground. They walk around the pond, a walk that normally doesn’t take half an hour, but since his companion is only 3 feet tall, the pace is below average. When they arrive back to the house, Mila’s standing on the porch, shielding her face from the sun with her hand. Daryl once again gets all warm throughout the body and his tongue starts to crawl back up toward his palate. No, dammit! Juri starts to run towards her when he sees her, with three flowers clenched in his hand, that he picked next to the pond. 

“For me!” Mila’s smile could light up the entire Safe-Zone if it would've been night, when he hands her the flowers. “Moya lyubov, thank you.” She looks up at Daryl. “Where are your flowers?”

“Didn’t pick any.”

“What a shame.” She stands up and looks at Juri. “You know what! Carol has been an angel, and made lunch for you, Romeo.”

Mila shoves Juri into the house, while the boy waves at Daryl from between her legs. 

“Slept well?” 

��Enough.” she answers easily. “I need to get out of here for a while. Gotta go find new shoes for Juri. What kind of mother lets her son walk around in heavy boots in this heat?” 

“Good luck with that.” Daryl scoffs. “Getting past those assholes unnoticed won’t be easy.” 

The sapphire eyes peers at him through the sun. 

“Wanna join then?” She asks boldly with a grin. “Show off those hunter skills. Trust me, it’s easier to find game meat than a pair of kids size nine’s.” 

Daryl snorts and looks around. It’s not an impossible mission, but foolish. On the other hand, he can’t just wander around in here. He’s convinced that she would leave on her own if he doesn’t follow, no matter how much he, or anyone else, opposed it. 

“Gear up, Jersey.” He therefore answers and nods a little. 

Mila smiles triumphantly, turns on her heel and enters the house. She returns minutes later, with the automatic rifle on her shoulder and a backpack, dressed in a worn, black leather jacket over the dark t-shirt.

“New jacket?”

“Not directly. I got it for my eighteenth birthday. Saw it in this store down in Ashbury Park and thought, ‘hey, I’d look so cool in that’, so Adam and Peter brought it to me.” She corrects her left  boot with the other foot. “I love fun jackets! Fringes, embroideries- I'll be buried in this one, if that's the last thing I do.” Mila smiles. “Oh, and I told Carol we were going out.”

“What did she say?” Daryl asks, clenching his jaw. Some things are better left unsaid. Like sneaking off in the middle of what can be likened to a siege.

“Something like, have fun-” Mila replies and hurries down the porch. “And take it easy.”

They walk toward the wall, toward the place Daryl climbed to enter the Safe-Zone. Mila climbs onto the truck easily and soon they’re standing on the roof of the trailer, looking out over the landscape on the other side of the Alexandria walls.

“Head for the woods.” Daryl points. “The bike’s in there somewhere. Short run.”

Quickly and silently, they get down the trailer and start running towards the trees, into the woods. 

“Ya’ know where to go?” Daryl asks as they find the motorcycle in the same place he left it.

“I have a strategy.” Mila replies. “Houses with toys and swing sets outside usually have kids stuff inside too.”

“Fine.” Daryl gets the motorcycle up and leads it up the road. “Let’s go find some swing sets.”

He straddles the motorcycle and scoots forward, to give her room to sit behind him. Mila throws her leg over the body of the bike and sits down on the leather seat and wraps her arms around his waist. Daryl takes a deep breath, tries his best to maintain a normal heartbeat. 

”All right.” he coughs nervously. 

He warns the engine once again before he kicks off. He can feel all of the power in the machine throughout his entire body. Behind him, Mila squeezes his waist and makes a delighted cry as he increases the speed as he maneuvers the beast on the desolated road. 

“This is awesome!” Mila hollers into his ear.

A smile spreads on his lips and he speeds up, causing Mila to hug harder around his waist and laugh. They cruise around the nearby residential areas, scouting for children’s bikes in the driveways, basketball hoops, colorful slides and toys. Eventually, they find a street that seems to fill all the criteria. Daryl hits the brakes and the motorcycle stops next to a two storey house with a hoop and a climbing frame in the yard. Mila climbs off and takes her rifle, attaches the silencer over the barrel. 

“Okay, let’s find some shoes.” Daryl states. “Lead the way.” Briskly, Mila starts walking toward the door, rips it up and raises the AK in front of her and walks into the house. He follows, cautiously listening for hissing sounds and dragging feets. It’s clearly not her first rodeo. Mila immediately starts looking in wardrobes, in the laundry room and in cabinets. 

“Nope. Nothing.” she notes after a while. “Let’s continue.”

They leave the house and start walking down the street. Mila’s long hair blows effortlessly in the wind as they pass by abandoned houses, driveways and overgrown lawns. In the distance Daryl sees a lone, limping walker approach them in the street. He lifts the crossbow to his shoulder, aims and shoots. In the distance he sees it fall into a pile on the grund.  

“That house seems promising.” Mila points toward a house with what looks like a homemade skateboard ramp in the driveway. 

Daryl runs over to the walker, lying in a pile on the asphalt, to collect the arrow. When he turns, Mila has caught sight of a rotten creature, appearing from behind the molding ramp. With ease she lifts the rifle, aims and places a bullet in its head and it drops to the ground with a thud. With a crooked smile Daryl remembers what she said about the soup can. He then finds her inside the house, browsing the books in a bookshelf in the living room. 

“Children's Books!” Mila holds up a book for him to see. Where the wild things are, Daryl reads from the cover. He’s never read it. On the other hand, his ma’ never read books for him and Merle. “There’s so many cute books here! Peter Rabbit, Paddington-” she grabs the books and puts them in a pile. 

Daryl rests on the back of the couch, watches her stacking books on a chair. He’s amazed by how she engages her entire heart and soul to make sure that the boy has everything he could ever wish for. What would it have been like growing up like that? 

With about ten children's books stuffed in the backpack, Mila then continues through the house in the search of a new wardrobe for Juri, faintly humming. Daryl finds a weapon cabinet where the owner forgot a Glock and a few boxes of ammunition, and Mila finds a pair of Chuck Taylor’s in Juri’s size.

“Half a size too big, but his feet will grow.” She states and puts the shoes in the backpack.

If he thought they were done by now, Daryl was mistaken. They therefore proceed to the house next door.

“You notice something?” 

Daryl immediately turns all vigilant, looks around in search of hostility movements. Mila laughs a little. 

“What?” Daryl scoffs, mildly irritated, and lowers his guard. 

“We’re alone.” Mila says as they walk around a dense bush, once perfectly trimmed in a rounded shape, in front of the porch. “Like a little adventure. Pretty fun, right?” 

She feels the door handle and nods. Unlocked. She pushes the door open and it goes up with a creak. Mila quietly walks into the hall, Daryl follows, with a gut feeling that something will happen. And his guts don’t lie. All of a sudden Mila’s pushed to the carpet by a walker coming at them from the left, followed by its two companions. The first one attacks Mila and Daryl’s grabbed by a male, missing an eye. Mila swears loudly, a muffled bang is heard when she shoots the walker right in the face and tries to get up from the floor. Daryl tries to pull away from the one eyed bastard, that clings to his vest. The rotting mouth and disgusting fingers claws to his torso. 

”Watch it!”

With impressive force Mila grabs a hold of it by its shoulders, pulls it away from him and throws it into the opposite wall of the hallway. She takes her knife from her boot shaft and pushes it into its forehead. Daryl takes a hold of the last, remaining dead asshole and pushes an arrow deeply into its skull, forcing it down on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Ey, wha-”

Without another word, Mila lifts his shirt and searches his torso for wounds, or at least he thinks that’s what she does. Oh god, please don’t. Daryl gets intense chills of pleasure all through his body by her touch. Those soft, delicate fingers send shivers throughout his body in sheer delight. She withdraws, sighs in relief. 

”Though it bit you.” she says. 

“I’m fine.” Daryl replies, hardly meeting her gaze as he pulls the shirt down.

He tries to steady his breath, all while Mila still pants faintly. Their eyes meet, or are more like glued to each other. Daryl’s heart beats hard inside his ribcage, he can almost hear it like a drum inside his ears. Suddenly, before he’s able to say or do anything, Mila has thrown herself onto him, presses her lips against his in a kiss out of this world. It’s so sudden and so surprising that he can’t turn all flushed and angry, his usual defense mechanism in unfamiliar situations. But it’s also everything he’d ever dreamt it would be. Why would he withdraw? With her hands on each side of his face, her soft tongue finds its way in-between his lips into his mouth, exploring every inch of his mouth like a gold miner looking for nuggets. It’s mesmerizing, he’s never been kissed like this in his entire life. 

He cups her face with his hand, the one not holding on to the crossbow, feels the soft skin towards his palm. It soon finds its way to her lower back, as he presses her body against his as she begins to guide them away from the hallway massacre, with the three dead corpses, into the other room. Daryl briefly presses her up against a wall, making a framed picture fall to the floor. The rough, passionate kissing turns into a frenzy of hands and heavy panting. Daryl drops the crossbow to the floor and steers Mila towards the dining table. He pushes her towards the table, while their fingers eagerly search for buttons and zippers during heavy breathing and intense eye contact. 

He’s so excited, so frantically horny. Never before has he felt such a desire. He fumbles, all while Mila’s able to kick off one boot, push down her jeans and underwear, making them dangle around her leg and unbuckles his belt at the same time like a fucking magician. Daryl lets out a grunt as his palms run over her bare, soft thigh. He presses his forehead against hers and they kiss again, moaning into each other's mouths. Mila’s chest heaves rapidly underneath the t-shirt as she unbuttons his jeans, pushes them over his hips, releases his pulsating cock and drags him closer. She caresses him, touches him to the point of almost no return. Daryl ends it by grabbing her buttocks in his hands, lifts her up onto the table. She spreads her legs, pants breathlessly as she pulls him in between. Daryl grunts as he lightly fondles her, she’s so fucking wet. For him! That’s the most fucking incredible part, well, one of thousands right now. There is no darn turning back now. Without breaking eye contact, almost drowning in those sapphire eyes, while inhaling her scent, the floral and everything that enchants him, Daryl enters her, making both of them exhale loudly. She tightens around him and it feels as if he will come right away. Jesus christ, I can’t hold it, he finds himself thinking as he feels a rush of pleasure spread through his body, it won’t go. He starts to grind his hips into her, causing her to moan loudly, to dig her fingers into the back of his vest, as she jerks her hips forward against him. He lets out a low growl and starts to pound into her, making the table squeak, holding her in place while he with the other hand softly grabs the hair on the back of her head, not breaking their eye contact; all while a feverish heat runs through his body. 

Dear god he doesn’t want it to end, but he can feel himself edging as her body clenches around him, and he realizes that it’s more than close. He can feel it, her entire body screams that she’s on the edge too. She lifts her head to the ceiling, as she reaches climax and the surge of warmth from her orgasm surrounds him. Daryl moans loudly into her neck, feels his entire body tremble as he digs his hips into her, as deep as he possibly can, exploding inside of her.

They gasp for air, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, bodies trembling, but they don’t break eye contact. Something warm runs down his cramping thigh, bolting with his runaway pulse.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Daryl’s whimpers, his voice breaks. He swallows, but doesn’t move, just keeps holding on to Mila’s body like a castaway clinging to a piece of board. “I’m sorry-” 

“I’m not.” Mila pants with her fingers entangled into the back of his head, the other hand grasping the back of the vest. “I’m not.”

They remain like that for a few seconds; silent, trying to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, how amazing it was. Daryl lowers his eyes, for the first time in what feels like forever and with a soft movement he wipes away the warmth from her inner thigh with his thumb. He feels high on adrenaline, feverish, standing there with one hand under her left thigh and the other in a firm grip round her buttocks, welded together. 

“I want ya’.” Daryl manages to utter between the heavy breaths, looking back at her. “Ya’ asked me what I want. I want ya’.”

Mila caresses his face with the other hand, runs it softly over his lips. 

“I want you too.” She replies. Daryl’s uncertain, did she actually say that? The faint smile he gets, between the panting breaths, somehow says it all. ”You heard me, Dixon.”

[aki-draws-things]

NaNoWriMo 2020 #20

And here we are, at the end of this month. For around 2k words I didn’t met the 50k goal but it’s fine nevertheless. I wrote, everyday for a whole month, I created things mostly for myself, worked on fics I’m going to expand . I probably got even a little better. All while still working full time and currently battling mental health that is proving to be harder than ever. So, in the end, it’s still a success and I’m proud of it.

This fic ended up way longer, but it also belongs to one of my favorite AUs and I just couldn’t stop writing.

Just a little background that I didn’t explained in the fic, Lan Qiren finds the Yin Iron instead of Wen Ruohan and the story moves accordingly. I wrote a little snippet or two before, of this reverse au, but this one is mostly focused on Wen Xu and Nie Mingjue.

Prompt: Trail of blood

Ship: Mingjue/Zonghui (but that’s not the focus)

Word Count: 6608

They once had been friends. He once had dreamed of becoming their sworn brother like his father did when he was younger, he once dreamed the three of them, heir to three of the Great Sects, standing together, side by side. Undisturbed. Untouched by mundane fights. Powerful and proud and strong in their friendship and brotherhood. He had always been a dreamer and his father warned him, not too long before that day, dreamers have a hard life in that world. The world is cruel and people easily turn against you, even those you trust the most. Especially those you trust the most.

They take you by the hand one day, treat you with kindness and love, they teach you what teachers and parents won’t. And you trust them. You love them. You love them so much you burst into flames. And they stay there and watch you burn, because they're the one starting the fire and they admire their great work.

And you burn.

He didn’t understand at first. He blamed his father’s words on grief. His older sworn brother had been badly wounded by a horned beast during a night hunt together, a hunt his older son joined too. He still remembered the look on Nie MingJue’s face when he told him, little Huaisang wailing inconsolable in his arms, the look when he asked him to take care of his little brother because the Unclean Realm wasn’t the best place for him. It took a while for Huaisang to finally let go of his brother, promises of sweets and some new brushes and fans, in the end he let go, only to cling just as desperately at him.

“Da-ge will be back to you before you even notice.” It was a lie, but aren't lies that people always say in those cases? Nie Huaisang started to ask of his brother right after dinner and the wailings started again, now followed by his own brother’s crying, in solidarity.

“Why are you even crying now?” His brother sobbed, crawled on the bed next to them and tucked his head under his arm so that he was holding both of them now.

“SangSang is— is crying.” He sniffled against him.

“That’s not an answer, Didi. You don’t have to do what SangSang does.”

“SangSang makes me sad.”

He wished he had listened to his father that day, maybe all of that wouldn’t have happened, maybe it would have gone differently at least.

Maybe. But it was late now.

They once had been friends. They studied together in Gusu and Qishan, they trained together, hunted together. They spent nights getting drunk and wandering aimlessly around the streets of whatever city they were in, Nie MingJue always sober and running after them before they could get themselves into trouble. They dreamed and shouted wishes at the night, starlit sky. They had been friends, and they had been happy.

Friendship ended in fire. Just like his father said.

The Lan Sect was, first and foremost, known for their rules. Secondarily for following a righteous path, pure and kind and gentle and true like the white robes they wore. Their rules had probably rules of their own, sub-rules, hidden things written so small on the wall that only a Lan could see it. Third, they never lied. It was against the rules, several of them, it was not proper to establish a good relationship with the other sects, and they were absolutely awful liars. Lan Xichen tried once with them, he almost fell for it, then he turned to MingJue who was staring at the young Lan Heir, a hand under his cheek, the elbow on the table and his head shaking just slightly, a fond smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t try that again, Xichen. Even a blind man could see it’s not true.”

Lan XiChen blushed and took a sip from his tea, their game not involving some Emperor’s Smile that time, not after Nie MingJue had to run after them in the middle of the night, way past curfew, around Cloud Recesses, and they kept running, blindly and drunk, in opposite directions.

Lans really couldn’t lie to save their lives but, he soon discovered, they could omit details and plans all too well, they were convincing, with their words falling like silver from their mouths, and their smiles never faltering making them appear completely innocent and honest. That was, in truth, lying but most people failed to see it through, too enchanted by their words.

He didn’t see it coming either, not until it was too late. By then he was burning. 

Nightless city was on fire. Literally, with no exceptions. 

"I don't want to!" his brother cried, clinging at his robes despite not being a child anymore. Wen Xu shook him off and pushed him toward a hidden passage with a Bag of important documents and papers they managed to save from the fire, history of their clan, rules they knew by heart but written by wen mao in person. 

"but you will." 

"brother!" 

"take him somewhere safe, somewhere that will not fall." he said turning to wen zhuliu who simply nodded, he already had two places in mind, trying to decide which one would be safer for the second master, which one was less likely to fall before they reached it. He wanted to ask wen xu, but people could hear them. nothing was safe now in Nightless city, and they were alone. 

"No! - wen chao screamed again. - no, come with us." he tried to reach out, his hand only brushing the sleeve of his older brother's robe before getting dragged away, his cries soon disappearing in the maze of underground corridors leading out of the city. He was in good hands, wen xu thought, gripping his sword and running to find their missing father, the best hands. More than once he trusted wen zhuliu with both his and his brother's life, his loyalty unmatched, just like his. Brother in Qinghe. Maybe Qinghe would be a good place to hide, the sect leader would definitely give them shelter and aid, he hated the Lans for years, ever since his father's ultimate demise. But perhaps Qinghe was also too obvious. The friendship once binding the three of them was not a secret. Perhaps Qinghe had already fallen. 

He stopped short on the doors of the fire palace, he stared at the line of inner disciples, people he knew by name since childhood, people he trained with, hunted with, people with whom he joked around during long nights of drinking and games. Not just disciples, friends. They were kneeling in the ground, robes torn and burned, blades shattered before them, powerless, waiting to be justice by the man towering over them, smiling in his still pristine robes. Waiting. 

"I was thinking you had ran away, a-xu." 

Don't call me that. You have no right to call me that. He wanted to say, growl, instead he gripped his sword and took a step closer, and another, and another, until he was standing in front of his men despite their loud protests to stay back, to run. Despite them saying they would die before letting the young Master get wounded. Lan xichen laughed. Nothing compared to the sound he remembered from the long sleepless nights in Gusu. It was… Dark. It was a pretty obvious description but wen xu couldn't think of any other word, no matter how childish the description was. 

"I'm glad you didn't. There is something I want to show you." 

For a second, a long agonizing second, he feared he would take out a head from the sleeve pocket. His brother's head. Or his cousins' one. But it would have been too gruesome even for him, and in no way his robes would remain this white and clean. A banner then, his mind said in dread. Qinghe's banner. 

Instead it was a little piece of, seemingly, rock, floating on his palm, pulsating with red energy. 

"do you know what it is, right? - of course. Of course he did. Lan xichen smiled again and he swallowed. - well, of course you do. You have a piece too. Now, there are two ways this situation can work out. You hand over your yin iron willingly, - he smiled and walked closer. - and keep your life and your disciples lives. Or I kill them, one by one, then I kill you and take the yin iron from your still warm body. Your choice, little cousin." 

He couldn't give it up, not now nor ever, not to him. His father entrusted him with the shard their clan hid ever since the great fight. Letting lan Xichen have the shard wouldn't only break his father's trust, but he would make the Lans way more dangerous than they already were and he could have that. How many more clans he would destroy? How many sects would fall under his power? 

"xichen-ge…" he tried. Maybe he could still reason with him, maybe deep down it was still his friend, his almost brother. 

"a-xu, a-xu… don't be silly. I have you a great option, to keep your life and your disciples lives. We know you're not that stupid to turn it down." 

"I can't… Xichen-ge you know I can't…" 

He almost said he didn't have it with himself, which was actually true, but that would make him change plans and go after the actual person in possess of the shard. - he trusted wen zhuliu with his life and his brother's life. He trusted him to get the yin iron out of nightless city and hide it somewhere. Possibly forever. He couldn't risk his life more than that. He had probably already condemned him anyway. - 

"a-xu. - now his voice wasn't sweet and kind anymore, there was a not even hidden warning in his tone, dangerous, threatening. - you're forcing my hand here." 

Something told him lan xichen wasn't waiting for an excuse, he was hoping he would refuse, just to have one more reason to fight. One more reason to kill them all. 

He couldn't give him what he wanted, and even if he could he didn't want to. But he could fight. - he would lose. Wen xu was no fool, he knew lan xichen was stronger than him, but he could buy his brother a little longer. He could buy his father, wherever he was, a chance to escape, given he was still alive. He would die, and he wasn't scared of it. - 

"no." he said, straightening his back and unsheathing his sword. He tried to look strong, unfazed by his threats, not a scared young man trying to distract him long enough for the others to save their lives. Lan xichen cocked his head and shook it slightly, his smile never faltering once, he didn't move, still as marble with the glowing shard hovering above his hand, waiting for wen xu to attack first and give him the only excuse he needed to strike back. It wouldn't take much once reached that point, his martial superiority was known to everyone. A fair fight would have been between lan xichen and nie mingjue, not between them. Wen xu hoped it would never get to that. 

Lan xichen seemed distracted for a moment, he grabbed something in his hand and smiled again, pleased. 

"seems like lotus Pier fell just now. - he said nonchalantly, like talking about the weather or the latest gossip running around lanling. He had never been one for gossip. - it's quite a blessing that the Wei boy has such a crush on wangji, he wouldn't deny him anything, not even his home. There is just one problem. Yunmeng has no yin iron. Qishan, on the other hand…"

He didn't care much for yunmeng in truth. He was familiar with the Jiang sect, sure, he was friends with Jiang Yanli and would never wish for her to be hurt, or worse, but the Jiang sect didn't raise a finger when the Lans began taking power. They didn't show support when nie zhenxiang was killed and his son became sect leader. On the contrary, both Jiang and jin sects tried to make moves on him, securing alliances through marriage. Hell! Jin guangshan even tried to offer himself to take care of the young leader and his brother, take them as wards as he rules over Qinghe until they're old enough. His father almost threw himself at the Jin sect leader, a white robe in striking contrast with the usual red and black ones of the wen clan, if anyone would be allowed to take care of the newly appointed nie leader that would be him, he said standing in front of nie mingjue who almost looked even smaller than usual, with being zhenxiang sworn brother and all. 

"not that sect leader Nie needs someone to administer Qinghe in his stead. - he added and turned to look at him. - youth doesn't affect ability, and in these past months as acting leader he proved to be just as great as any of us." 

There was a clear accent of pride in his voice, pride the first time wen xu had been jealous of before realizing, as they grew, that it was because mingjue had been the first. The first newborn his father ever held in his arms, the one he spoiled and kept spoiling even after having kids of his own. He stopped being jealous and started looking up to him. 

Of course, imagining lotus Pier burning into ashes was something he never wished, no matter how useless and blind they acted. Heavens knew who would be next. "not Qinghe. Please, not Qinghe." he silently begged. 

"but it seems like little a-xu doesn't want to cooperate. That's a real shame. You know…" he took a step closer and wen xu pulled the sword in front of himself. "I liked you. You were always my favorite. Mingjue-xiong is strong, sure but… He's too soft, don't you think? Always spoiling that little brother of his. You're not soft. I think I will give you one last option, because I'm in a good mood today." 

Good mood? You stand in front of a city on fire. You killed dozens of disciples to get there. If that's a good mood, then---

"join me." he held out his hand and wen xu eyed him warily. "join me and qishan will be spared. No, not just spared. You'll have power." 

Sure. Like they were going to share it. 

It almost seemed like lan xichen believed he would accept, maybe he hoped, maybe deep down he wished he would accept. 

Wen xu charged against him without giving him an answer, his action was enough already. Lan xichen didn't move until the last moment. His sword remained sheathed but from the yin iron shard came a light, red and hot, a wave that sent him tumbling back and falling on his knees. The shard pulsed again as he tried to raise and a new wave ran over him and the disciples forced on their knees. He screamed. 

It wasn't a pain he was used to with sword fights, it wasn't a cut or even a slash, it came from inside. His body was lit on fire from the inside. For a moment he wondered if those wen zhuliu took the core from felt like that. Maybe it was, maybe it was similar to a qi deviation. Maybe the yin iron energy was triggering one in that moment. 

It wasn't just pain. He felt his energy, his life force and his blood stream through his body and veins, like a constant rumble in his head that made it impossible to focus on anything else no matter how hard he would try. He tasted blood in his mouth, he saw his disciples fall on the ground, some still, some agonizing and screaming, some-- he saw blood. Blood drenching the streets of the nightless city, blood flowing into the flames, its smell mixing with the smoke and rising high to the sky. 

A shiver ran through his back, he tried to use his sword to lift himself but his arms gave out and he fell with his face on the dirt. 

Fire. Smoke. Blood. Screams. 

The wens were born in fire, his father said. They stole the sunlight for the world to never be left in the darkness again. Or so was the tale told to kids  as a bedtime story. It was only a tale in the end, his father said that fire couldn’t harm a true Wen. Either he wasn’t one or that was a lie, he didn’t care at that moment, he just wanted the pain to stop.

“Wen Xu.” Lan Xichen’s voice had lost all the sweetness he had; it was cold, unforgiving, he accepted no answer that wasn’t what he had in mind and he would not put his thoughts into words. His lips could say “Will you now join me?” - Or maybe he had just said that and Wen Xu didn’t realize, struggling to make out what was real and what not. - and the answer he wanted was “Of course I will follow you.”, no more, no less, exactly those words.

“No…” Wen Xu coughed, blood trickled down his chin and his vision faltered, Lan Xichen’s body swam out of focus for a moment, the world tilted and he was glad he was already on the ground, saving himself from another fall. He was going to die. For sure Lan Xichen was going to kill him, search him and the palace for the Yin Iron and, realizing it wasn't there and he had lost a lot of precious time he would hunt down his brother.

“Please… please be safe.” He thought, and night dawned on the Wen’s city.

Lan Xichen didn’t kill him in the end and that was already surprising enough. Perhaps he thought him dead, but he must have not checked for whatever reason, or he had been distracted by something else, got a message or something. Anyway Wen Xu woke up coughing blood and shivering, surrounded by bodies and almost dead fires. No Lans in sight, like they all left Nightless city to its now obvious fate. He couldn’t stay anyway, he had to get out, get somewhere safe and find his brother and their father before it was too late hoping beyond hope that it wasn't already too late.

He felt his stomach churn as he forced his body to move, bile and blood rising to his mouth, everything hurt even where he can’t find any physical wound. Still he forced himself to move, slowly walk out of the city, away from the some and the blood and the smell of burnt flesh of people he once knew. He dragged his feet for hours, through the night and the following day, his strength too unstable to even dare to fly on his sword, the thought of enemies around every corner forbidding him to stop and take a well deserved rest. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t sit down on the root of a tree in a hidden path and close his eyes a moment. He couldn’t even try to stop the bleeding without risking losing consciousness on the spot. He could only move. Keep moving. Move forward until his weary feet crossed the borders of Qinghe. But he still couldn’t rest, not before reaching the Unclean Realm. He would be safe there, his older cousin would give him shelter, perhaps he already did it for his brother and Wen Zhuliu,. Perhaps he would get there and find them safely inside the tall walls. The Unclean Realm couldn’t fall, not to strength or convincing words. Unbending like the steel of their sabers.

The first time he saw the walls around the Unclean Realm Wen Xu was five and thought it was the most terrifying high walls ever. Everything was in dark gray and black colors, walls, doors, the robes of the soldiers keeping watch. Even the Sect Leader and his older son wore gray robes. Over the years, as he grew older and closer to Nie MingJue he began appreciating the hidden colors of the Nie Sect. Nie MingJue still wore dark gray, but there his inner robe was a pale, creamy white, something he would later see Nie Huaisang wear all the time, there were accents of silver on his outer robe, on the hems of the sleeves and the collar, silver for the sewing thread used in most of his clothes. Wen Xu had always been exceptionally fond of a light, almost transparent dark gray robe MingJue sometimes wore during official meetings and celebration. It made him look almost regal. There was also some gold, on the belt and the tassel hanging from his fan and from Baxia sheath, they said gold was his mother’s color. - he had a hairpin in the shape of a sun with a red stone, a symbol, Wen Xu recognized immediately, of the Wen Sect. When he asked when he got it, and from who Nie MingJue shook his head, finger brushing over the hairpin. “I have it with me since I remember.” He admitted, he later found out it had been the gift his father gave him for his birth, as a sign of his brotherhood with Nie ZhēnXiàng and as soon as MingJue was old enough, and his hair long enough, his father put it on. -

The Unclean Realm was much warmer than what his walls would give away and for Wen Xu that warmth meant safety. He dragged his feet weakly through the streets, he leaned on the walls of nearby houses and only stopped to cough in his hand. Blood trickled from his mouth, it pooled under his feet when he stopped, drenched the red robes and left a trail behind him as he walked. Wounds began to split open as he moved, like the energy that hit him and threatened to destroy his body from inside was slowly making his way out, cutting his chest to get out. The fire was gone, he felt cold, shivering and freezing; he felt numb, his limbs weak and heavy as he dragged himself closer and closer to safety, forcing his body not to stop moving.

There were voices, suddenly, voices close, familiar ones, they called his name, they screamed, demanded to know what happened. He couldn’t place the voices, or was it only one?, he couldn’t find the strength to answer, he looked up, eyes half closed and unfocused, his body trembling so much he felt like he was going to tumble over at any moment if he dared to take one more step, there was a translucent robe entering his line of view, a familiar one. Safe. His mind said at the blurred sight, and that was the last thing Wen Xu remembered. He fell into strong arms and finally stopped.

Qinghe winter nights were long. People living there got used to it after the first years, they got used to waking up in the early morning before the sun was fully up, they got used to seeing it go down as they were still working and returned to their homes in the light of thousands of lanterns. Some people carried their personal lanterns, some were classic, a candle in a metal cage with paper around it to protect it from the wind, others were fancier lanterns in silk, they all had the same purpose of lighting the way home. Nie MingJue had a metal cage colored in gold, the paper had some birds and flowers inked on it by Huaisang, in the perfect light the bird’s eye shone gold, nie MingJue knew he did it on purpose and couldn’t help but love the lantern, he used it to move around the palace at night, like in that moment.

He opened the door just enough to get inside and closed it behind himself before any wind could get in. Winter nights were cold just as much as they were long.

The young man on the bed didn’t move, he slept peacefully through the days and the nights, the healer said his body was recovering slowly, the yin energy caused more damage than what it looked like and his qi was struggling to balance itself.

“You’re telling me he had an induced qi deviation?”

“Sect Leader, I wouldn’t put it in those exact terms, but the symptoms are similar to a deviation, yes.”

“Induced one it is, then.” He decided, because there was no other explanation.

He sat by the bed, vigil and awake, waiting for a change that in three days didn’t come. He too had his small knowledge of healing, many years before, almost a lifetime before, he had begged Lan Qiren to teach him when the Nie healers said it wasn't a knowledge he should lose time on. Master Lan on the other hand taught him to heal wounds, to share his energy and to stabilize the qi. It wasn’t much but it probably saved his life many times already. What he didn’t know was how to stabilize it when a source of Yin energy was rejecting it, there was no one that could teach him, no one that could help. So he waited and kept watch.

“You need to rest Da-ge.” Huaisang said, slipping in the room when noticing the light still on.

“I’m resting.” His voice betrayed him, he stifled a yawn and closed the heavier robe in front of himself.

“It doesn't look like it. You snapped at ZongHui today.”

Yes, he did, he thought guiltily, he also went to apologize after the meeting was officially over; he knelt in front of his chamber and bowed, he said he was sorry, asked for his forgiveness and that it had been improper and unfair for him, as a sect Leader, to behave in such manner. ZongHui sounded almost surprised, not even angry at him. He understood his worry, perhaps better than most people, he shared that same worry, and the rest too.

“If you’re not angry… - Nie MingJue sounded uncertain, still kneeling in front of him until Nie ZongHui forced him on his knees if MingJue didn’t want him to kneel too. - then why did you get out of the council room that fast?”

“You asked me to check on our prisoner, didn’t you? I thought you meant in that moment.”

“Oh…”

“He still doesn’t want to talk.” Nie ZongHui had said.

“I know, Huaisang. - MingJue said to his brother, shaking away the memory of his voice rising to his most trusted man. - And I apologized already. You should be in bed already, or you’ll be late for training again, tomorrow.”

“Da-geeeee…” he complained pouting as he slipped out of the room.” “You go to bed too! Or you’ll fall asleep during training!”

He knew, it wouldn't be the first time either, but he couldn't simply leave wen xu and go sleep, not after--

The truth was wen xu reminded him of father. Nie huaisang was too young at the time, he remembered the shock and the pain of losing him, but not the long, restless nights spent awake, waiting for him to get better, waiting as his qi destroyed his own body. Healers said it was different, small details making it different, wen xu wasn't going to succumb to a massive qi deviation, probably. Still nie mingjue sat by his bed and waited. 

It was after a week that the wen heir woke up, dazed, looking at his surroundings until his eyes settled on the person dozing off next to the bed. He didn't feel rested, he felt like he could sleep one week more, but he also didn't feel his body threatening to split at any moment. 

"you're awake." there was a little surprise in the voice, there was sleep he tried to brush off, a hand holding his and a worried, yet relieved look on MingJue's face. Yes, he was awake. Alive. Safe. 

"my brother…?" he asked, voice raspy, his throat hurting. Nie mingjue shook his head, he wasn't there, wen xu hoped he still managed to reach a safe place. 

"think of getting better yourself, you almost died." he said. "I'll send my spies  to look for him." wen xu nodded, not thinking much of his words and fell asleep. 

The next time he woke up he felt better, more awake, more focused. Nie mingjue was still there. 

"you don't have spies." he stated as a greeting. He had never heard of spies in the Nie sect. They were known for strength, for heavy sabers and direct battles, spies were more something his sect had, or the Jin sect. 

"No, I don't. - nie mingjue agreed with a chuckle. - I have only one spy and it's my own man." 

As if on clue, a shadow appeared outside the door, kneeling and silently asking permission to enter, granted by a quick gesture of MingJue's hand. 

"I found them." 

The man was familiar, wen xu was sure he met him before but he couldn't remember the name, or where he met him. It wasn't important. 

"my brother?" 

"and zhuliu." the man nodded. The next thing wen xu noticed, when dropping his head with a relieved sigh, was the man's shadow. It was… Weird. It was long, stretched in a way that was impossible in that light, almost like it was checking outside. He blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light or due to his tiredness. 

"can you bring them here safely?" 

The man bowed and his shadow stretched more, before he turned to leave. 

"what-- who is he?" 

Wen xu finally dared to ask. 

"nie zonghui. My spy." mingjue said with a little smile. "he comes from the Zhao clan, you're familiar with it, right?"  

The name was familiar. Zhao… Zhao….

"zhuliu came from the Zhao clan… I thought he was the last survivor."

Nie mingjue sat with his back against the bed.

"they're brothers from what I know. The clan wasn't known for they're high cultivation, but every generation had a member with a particular, unnatural ability. In our generation there have been two." 

"and the destruction of the clan when zhuliu lost control over it. What is zonghui?" 

"a shadow. - well, that was obvious enough given how silent he appeared and how his own shadow acted on his own but… - they're twins and their parents were too so proud that zhuliu developed such strong ability, despite its danger, that they wanted to keep him safe. So they made his twin his shadow. He had to protect him from everything and everyone. Zonghui said that when he was 10 and his brother's power went rogue his own ability got triggered and he merged with the darkness to save himself. He lived as such for a couple of years before learning how to free himself, and then they took separate ways."

"he literally became his shadow…" wen xu said, almost sadly. "that's why sometimes zhuliu looks back at his shadow despite them not being together. But… but zhuliu never mentioned a brother, even less a twin." 

"Zonghui left in the night, without a goodbye. Like a shadow. That's when I found him, hiding on the walls of the palace. He looked cold and uncomfortable so I took him in." 

Wen xu stifled a laugh, people said the Nie brothers were nothing alike, but they were wrong. They both were way too keen on taking in strays, be it little birds like huaisang did or people, like mingjue did more time than people knew. Zonghui hadn't been the first one, and he probably wasn't the last either. - he was taking them in too, when most sects would ignore them in fear the lan would come after them. - 

"you're lucky to have someone like him." he commented, laying on his side, a hand playing softly over nie MingJue's hair like so many times before, they were close enough to let themselves be seen at their weakest point without fear, close enough to let the other touch them. - wen xu prided himself of having been the first person to have sect leader Nie under his hands, completely at his mercy, to have him beg for one touch more. It had been one night only, they knew they wouldn't work in the long run, but nothing could stop them from trying. Despite the two years Mingjue had more than him, Wen Xu immediately realized he never let anyone close. Not that close. For a moment he wondered if he still was like he remembered, melting like snow in the sun in the care of someone he trusted and loved. - "it looks like he belongs to you, from the way he was bowing." 

"the way he was… - nie mingjue laughed lightly and cocked his head to look at him. - are you sure you're not referring to the mark you keep touching now? Always so subtle, xu'er. Subtle indeed." 

They slipped back in a familiar banter as they waited, knowing, both of them, that this was the only way they wouldn't fall apart in the dawn of a war. 

It took three days for ZongHui to return, while he could move easily and fast through the shadows he couldn’t bring anyone with himself. Wen Xu woke up with a sudden movement of the mattress, like someone had joined him, he opened his eyes to the sight of his little brother hugging his neck like life depended on that, desperately grasping at his robes and hiding against his shoulder. As soon as he realized who it was his arms flew to hold him just as tight before grabbing Wen Zhuliu, silently waiting beside the bed, and bringing him down in a hug.

“Let’s leave them be. - Nie MingJue said, a hand resting over ZongHui’s neck. - You traveled far and spent enough energy. Come rest.” He di9don’t complain, letting MingJue lead the way, for once.

The Wens never spent more than a week in the Unclean Realm before, usually during cultivation conferences or meeting his father had with the Sect Leader, both MingJue and his late father. Now, despite wishing to return to Qishan and help rebuild it, despite wanting to search for their father, they stayed in Qinghe, if possible the safest place. The Lans could easily get them there, it was true, they could come, both Twin Jades, and destroy everything on their path, but Lan Qiren wasn’t stupid, and neither were his nephews. A direct attack on Qinghe would mean an instant war, and even they, with their seemingly unstoppable army of puppets, couldn’t hope to win without proper preparations.

Lanling, they got notice of, had been quick to bow to the new master of their lands, giving them up in fear masked by an obviously fake alliance. Not even someone like Jin GuangShan could really believe Lan Qiren words of keeping them safe would hold as soon as someone spoke ill of them.

Qinghe still had a little advantage. If the Lans dared to attack the prisoner they had would be delivered to them instantly. In pieces.

What surprised more Wen Xu was how unafraid Nie MingJue looked when speaking of threats and possibilities, when he planned for the oncoming war, be it in a month or a year. The soft young man he knew once had totally been absorbed by the hate for those he considered part of his family in their youth, and Wen Xu couldn’t blame him. His people, his disciples always swore to follow him, to advance and retreat with him, no matter what lay ahead or behind them. He almost wished he could inspire his people with the same loyalty one day, one very distant day, because in no way his father was dead, in no way he would become Sect Leader right before a war, he didn’t even know where to start. And as he watched and dreamed to be like him he saw the cracks stretch bigger and deeper. When the world was turned and people weren’t looking at Nie MingJue he saw the cracks appear. One by one he saw them stretch larger, threatening to destroy him before the time, threatening to swallow him.

“Do you think it exist, a different way?”

He joined him one night when he noticed him sitting on the stairs of the silent training ground.

“A different way for what?”

“Stop them. To avoid a war. Do you think—”

“No.” And his voice broke, because deep down, Wen Xu knew he wished too to find a different way, buried deep beneath rage and grief and desire to protect. “We knew war would come for us the day Master Lan found the Yin Iron, we just turned a blind eye on that until he arrived in our gardens and trampled on everything on his path.”

“But maybe… What if we destroy the Yin Iron?”

Nie MingJue turned, he looked at him, pained, before standing and crossing his arms over the chest, pulling the robe so that it closed on the front, protecting him from the cold.

“I don’t know. - He admitted and Wen Xu looked up. - I don’t know what would happen, I don’t know what will happen the day we’ll move. But I know it will end in war and people will die.”

Wen Xu didn’t want a war. He had been trained, of course, he knew how to fight, and he knew how to survive. He had people he wanted to protect and that was enough to convince him, but he had never been on a real battlefield, he never had to look at his men in the eyes, the few that survived the burnt, and led them into battle. Her would, of course, because it was the only thing to do, right rot wrong meant little when fighting for survival, but he would carry the guilt and the weight of every man he would lose. Nie MingJue seemed to read his thoughts as clear as he had spoken them.

“Maybe there is another way, and maybe that way would work, - Wen Xu looked back at him, suddenly hopeful. - But I will take the higher risk in a battle so that you, and our brothers, won’t have to fight one later.” “Because I will not survive this one.” He thought.

In the end war came. In the end the four Sects came together against the Lans. In the end Wen Xu felt no shame in admitting how scared, absolutely terrified, he felt even when standing side by side to Nie MingJue. In the end he curled up on Nie MingJue one night, their fingers intertwined and held tight in fear of having the other disappear. In the end, when morning came, Wen Xu woke up to an empty bed.

In the end there was blood running down the white stones of Cloud Recesses as he ran as fast as he could until he reached a small pavilion surrounded by absolute silence and a red, pulsing light; Nie MingJue's body, bloody and battered, laid slumped against the wall. At the sound of his footsteps stopping Lan Xichen turned, eyes flashing red and blood smeared on his smiling lips, a hand holding Nie MingJue’s face up, fingers clawing in his skin.

“You arrived just in time. - He said, voice low, never looking away, almost freezing Wen Xu in place. He wasn’t scared. He couldn’t be scared. Not now. Not when it mattered. - Will you join me, now?”

[awesomehoggirl]

it’s wip wednesday so i thought i’d share a quick writing wip from my multi chapter fem howince fic which will maybe be done in 20 years ! it’s got 8 chapters and i am still on chapter 2 if this gets finished it’ll be a miracle. the fic is called eau d’bedroom dancing because i love le tigre and imagine how fantastic riot grrl vince would be ...

mentioning before hand that i write all my first drafts and oneshots with no capitals because i find it a lot easier but with this fic when i go back over i’ll put capitals in :) (also this is a section from chapter one not the opening)

—

her name is vincenzia mirabella lucie-marié le manteau rafflesia vaisseau-spatial noire (the longest name in the class, and the only one never written up on the ‘star student!’ chalkboard) but everyone refers to her as vince. she’s new to the school, and seemingly england, but her accent is pure south london. two teachers have quit because of her already. holly moon has never been so interested in a person in her entire tiny life.

oh, she’s read up on musicians, heard their stories, wished ever so slightly that her life would someday be just as interesting — did you know nina simone had seven siblings, that john coltrane was in the navy? but the weirdness that seems to just bounce off vince’s tongue beats every story she’s ever read hands down.

it quickly becomes apparent that she’s borderline feral: if the staff-room murmurs of the teachers are to be believed, she came from a ‘neglectful home’; if vince’s own word is to be accepted, she was raised in the jungle by a cast of rock stars, animals and french nobility. holly is sensible enough to doubt her at first, but before long (and after many demonstrations of her ability to talk to animals) she’s genuinely on board. they sit behind the ash tree at lunch time, out of sight from dribbling boys and disapproving teachers, and holly figures out that through half a chocolate bar vince can be coaxed into revealing all sorts about her unorthodox childhood.

‘dunno why you’re so desperate to know about my life,’ vince complains once, when asked again to tell the story about the great order of frogs and the backwards waterfall. ‘why can’t i hear stories about you for a change?’

‘all in good time,’ says holly, whose mother is a tax attorney married to a geography teacher. ‘plus, i know you love the attention.’

and so vince sits there and talks until she goes hoarse, or loses interest, or feels like changing the subject right at a crucial moment, or the school bell rings and they have to go inside. she talks about her house made of bus tickets and her animal friends, her french duke uncle who would come down on bank holidays and teach her table manners, about joining the jackals for hunts, about skimming the treetops in the claws of squabbling vultures, about the hoots and screeches of the monkeys as they chased her through the undergrowth on the back of a hippopotamus. and holly will listen breathlessly, trying to seem nonplussed when in reality she is clinging to every last word. (tell me again about the paper-mache tiger and the rhinoceros’ game nights. tell me again again again.)

because no matter how hard her sensible brain tries, she really can’t prove them wrong. vince is hopeless at all forms of spelling or arithmetic. she is genuinely flabbergasted when explained to that, in fact, biting and shoving are not always seen as ‘playful’ in the human world. she swears like a sailor (or perhaps a rockstar) would, until the little old lady vicar gasps, snaps her bible shut and refuses to read to the year six class ever again. idioms are beyond her, let alone algebra, and the teachers insist there’s no hope — but they can’t help liking her, despite it all. there’s something so genuine about her ever-present toothy grin, her bubbly demeanour, that they soon allow her to get away with anything.

and yet holly is her best friend. and the only person (maybe in the world) vince will tell her stories to.

‘once upon a time,’ she begins one lunch break, dipping holly’s generous sacrifice of a curly wurly into her pocket for later, ‘i was out with jahooli the leopard, who was my best friend — he’d give me rides on his back when i was really small, swattin’ the bloodsuckers away with his giant tail. he’d catch me fish in his big strong jaws, crush ‘em up so i could eat ‘em right, i was just a nipper, i’d not got all my teeth in yet, but he was a right sweetheart about that sort of thing. on the surface jahooli always seemed to be a reckless character, a real rough-and-tumble kind of cat, but i knew the reality: he’d lost his mate and his litter and he was gettin’ on a bit, i was all he had left in terms of fatherhood. it meant he did get a bit invasive at times, yeah, he could be real clingy. i didn’t mind though, see, i’m wise beyond my years, so i was quite good with all that stuff, i let him vent to me when it all got a bit too much for his poor leopard heart to handle. anyway, this one day he was lookin’ after me, on account of my foster father bryan ferry being away on tour. and it was a hot afternoon, this one. really hot.’ she sinks down on her heels. ‘the kinda hot that drenches you in sweat no matter how still you stand. the kinda humid that makes your palms slick and your eyelashes heavy. most of the animals were tucked away underground by midday, but the bigger sorts like me and jahooli, we couldn’t exactly join them. so jahooli said, why don’t we make our way down to the river?’

holly feels her spine prickle. it is eerie, the way her friend’s stories pull her in.

she follows vince along to said river, feels jahooli’s long speckled tail curling round her shoulders, bumping against her collarbones, keeping her close. feels the slick wetness of the air, feels the burn of her lungs as they work in shallow pumping gasps. breathes in the hot dark of the bush, the low chatter of the canopy. soon the lumbering gait of the leopard slows, the river is in sight — the banks are busy with boars, bucks and buffalo, sunning lizards and mice. slow-blinking crocodiles cruise in the shallows. vince is not afraid of them. (holly would be.)

‘is it true if you’re being chased by a crocodile you should run in a zig-zag pattern?’ she interrupts (not because the story is getting a little too tense for her or anything).

vince rolls her eyes, makes a face as if holly has asked her the stupidest question in the world (considering just yesterday she asked holly whether all numbers bite or if the three digit ones are just especially fiesty, they clearly have different opinions on what counts as a ‘stupid question’). ‘if a crocodile were to haul its fat arse out of the nice cool water just to give you a bit of trouble, you probably did something awful to deserve it. why? are you plannin’ to go pokin’ sticks at ‘em? cause if you are, insult their music taste, they’ll go absolutely mental. most crocodiles are obsessed with alice cooper, so there’s a good starting point, have that one on me.’

‘so what’s—‘

‘oi, hush! do you want this story or not?’

holly shuts up. vince lowers her voice.

the jungle is sweaty now, the riverbanks a dripping piccadilly circus. jahooli has left vince’s side, gone to make conversation with ranbir the great panther, so she ventures alone to the water’s edge (the animals watch over her, they all like her, tiny and pink and strange as she is) and dips her feet in. the water is so clear and cold it hurts, but soon the pain ebbs and gives way to a calm coolness. she sits down, slides in up to her knees, lies back against the soft mud

the jungle is treacle now, bubbling and pooling, thick. vince soon drifts off and the leaves behind her eyelids are red. the stars are wheeling gulls, the air is thick with salt-spit, her eyelashes tangle and she slips down into the mud. somewhere else, the dulcet waves begin to lap. the elephants have arrived. jahooli and ranbir share a look before they approach, hackles raised (they are not mean-spirited creatures, but they do like to play a prank).

the jungle is long gone now, and vince dreams of strawberry ice cream. somewhere else, jahooli and ranbir wind around each other dizzyingly, teeth flashing slick and sharp. somewhere else, the elephants are fussing, distressed by their feline dance, their ashy trunks whirling as they back up their feet. pelts twist and brush together before the big-cats turn, open their jaws and let out a combined roar that wakes vince, sends animals scattering, splits the sky in two —

and the jungle rumbles. and the elephants charge.

[bruh-haikyuu]

Yes I have been waiting for this day 😭😭 can I request some angst(is that how you spell it lol) for oikawa and kuroo where their S/O recieve a message from their ex saying that if they dont break up with the them they will cause them harm the s/o breaks up with them but doesn't tell anyone you decide if its going to be a happy ending or not also I dont know what would fit this request I was think scenario but it's up to you I hope you have a good day and keep up the amazing writing 💖💖💖💖

A/N: o shit damn this is going to hurt to write bUT IM EXCITED ANYWAY BECAUSE PAIN IS GREAT

Also I’ll write this in two parts; one for Oikawa and one for Kuroo because I feel like they deserved two individual posts. Have a great week anon! Thank you for requesting

Kuroo’s Version: here

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. It hurts me to see you with another man.”

You could only stare at your phone in silence as terror drains the color from your cheeks. He was back. He shouldn’t be back. He couldn’t be back.

“Don’t you miss me too, Y/N?”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your wrists threatening to collapse at the flash-flood from your past. “Please leave me alone.”

“Oh.”

You heard the sound of shattering glass in your head, like you had just cut off the wrong wire and set off a bomb. Then the stream of texts continued.

“I’ll do anything for you, Y/N. I’ll admire you from far away. Anything. But will that bastard do the same?

He can’t love you like I do. He could never.

Oikawa Tooru. Age 18. One older sister. Date of birth July 20, 2000. Lives in Kurihara-shi near the postal office with his parents. Attends Aoba Johsai High School, Class 3-6.

Him. Don’t you want to keep him safe, Y/N?”

internecine. | oikawa tooru

warnings: blackmail, angst

word count: 1154

(n.) mutually destructive

“Y/N-chan~ what’s with all the rush? Are we playing a game of tag you never told me about?”

Your obnoxious boyfriend (plus a gaggle of giggling girls sneaking up on him behind a pillar) trailed at your frenzied footsteps on the midday after that. You still haven’t told him yet. No, you weren’t even planning to tell him anything about it. You were already scared enough about it, and you didn’t want to burden Oikawa after his defeat by Shiratorizawa.

“Am I ‘it’?”

“Tooru.” You finally turned around, meeting him with dead-cold eyes. Those eyes and the way his name rolled off your tongue was enough to keep his advances at bay. “C-can we talk?”

“Sure.”

Eyes peering over the slope of his shoulders, your glare drilled a hole through the girls still watching from the nearby pillar. Without much consideration, you took the initiative to grab his unsuspecting hand and made a run for it.

Locking the classroom door behind you, your body slumped against the wooden frame, exhausted from all the extra cardio. You’re very much aware how short it would take for Oikawa’s fangirls to locate you; they were amazing in an unconventional way. There wasn’t going to be much time to spare to what you were going to tell him.

But how were you going to tell him?

“Hey, Tooru. My obsessive, pain-in-the-ass ex-boyfriend somehow found my phone number and he’s threatening to dump you into the ocean if I ignore him.”

You sighed. And you called yourself ‘creative’…

“Geez, Y/N… I knew you were one for games, but at least you gotta tell me what we’re playing.”

You almost forgot your boyfriend stood before you, arms crossed, a serious look dabbling across his features. “Is there something wrong, Y/N-chan?”

A lump of doubt rose in your throat, the truth threatening to spill out of your mouth. You couldn’t tell him. Not now at least. Maybe not ever. If you told him, you knew he’d try to spur up some bold solution that’d end up in some hot mess. Sure, the previous messes were fine to begin with, but this was your ex-boyfriend in question. Your obsessive, pain-in-the-ass ex-boyfriend. Were you really going to risk Tooru for the truth? What would become of him in the end?

“I-I…” you struggled, gaze fixed onto the wooden slats of the floor.

“…”

“I want to br-break up. I-I don’t think we’re going to work out…”

“……”

Say something, you idiot. You were quick to notice the brightness in Oikawa’s eyes disappear, like stars fading away at the wake of daylight. It was for the best, you repeated to yourself. For Tooru. There was no need for you to grovel in your despair.

“I can fix it, Y/N. Tell me how to fix it so…” he finally spoke, desperation clinging onto his pleas, “…s-so I can keep liking you…”

Your lips fell into a flat line, trembling at the sorry soul that was Aoba Johsai’s prized Oikawa Tooru. You wanted to cry, kneel with him on the ground, embrace him like nothing would ever come between the two of you. You wanted to tell him, I’m doing this to protect you! or I don’t want you to get hurt. But you left. It was the only thing you could do anyway.

“Y/N! Wait, please! I-I…”

His cries dissolved into white noise as your feet carried you out of the classroom, bringing Oikawa Tooru’s sure survival along with you.

Were you really going to end it like this? Letting the bad guy get what he wanted? You knew this wasn’t a shoujo manga, it was a seriously dangerous situation and submerging Oikawa deeper into your past wasn’t going to cauterize any wound.

Now, walking down the school halls led you into a cesspool of bitterness—where Oikawa wept, the entire student body wept with him. They made a point to even make sure you overheard their whispers under any circumstances. This was your punishment and you were willing to accept it.

For Tooru, you breathed, catching a glimpse of a trio of students sporting the Volleyball Club jacket talking quietly amongst themselves near the student restrooms. You recognized one of them as Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s childhood friend who probably would be able to take care of him without you.

“I don’t think we’ll structurally survive with the Captain’s emotional state,” one first year muttered. “H-he’s been pushing himself to the limit lately, I’m worried about him.”

“Geez, I haven’t seen him sulk like this since Shiratorizawa last term…” a pink-haired third year sighed, scratching the back of his neck gruffly. “Kindaichi’s right. Prelimins is in a few weeks, if he keeps all this stress training up then…”

“Then we support him,” Iwaizumi finally spoke.

Both the players and you perked up at his statement. Edging closer to the wall, you made sure the three didn’t catch you slipping your ears into their conversation.

“Oikawa’s a mess right now and our focus shouldn’t be on the cause nor the effect. We’re Aoba Johsai’s trustworthy volleyball team; our focus now should be Preliminaries,” he continued.

“I know Oikawa knows his boundaries as well as his priorities. I trust that he does. That’s why we can’t falter in front of him.”

Trust. It was something you always gave to others. You trusted your parents with your existence. You trusted your teachers with your goals. You trusted Oikawa with your entire living breath.

But you never let anyone give that trust to you.

Was it why you left? It was a merciless act of mercy after all. Not all sweet things can be painless.

Detaching yourself from the comforts of the concrete wall, you and Iwaizumi locked gazes before you walked off into your uncertain future.

One last message. You told yourself. And through your eyes, you told Iwaizumi Hajime:

“Take good care of Tooru for me.”