#that have been written off by parents/authority figures as ‘that’s not a real problem you’re just a mess’

[sharkieboi]

headcanon that Edward Elric is lactose intolerant (hence the hatred of milk) but no one in this universe has the words for that so everyone is just like “you’re short because you won’t drink milk”

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed. 

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock! 

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

  The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

  I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

  Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths. 

  It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then. 

  Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird. 

  They were starting to scare me, really.

  “There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?” 

  “Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

  “You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?” 

  The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if  we have no victim,”

  “But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

  “Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

  Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

  I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

  Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

  I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy. 

  Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it. 

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

  Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed. 

  Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy. 

  I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site. 

  I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

  I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it. 

  Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground. 

  Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him. 

  Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb. 

  My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated. 

  He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg. 

  The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me. 

  I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

  I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers. 

  The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

  But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’. 

  Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty. 

  I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell. 

  With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone. 

  I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster. 

  Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

  I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door. 

  A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

  I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason. 

  Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face. 

  A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!” 

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

  My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction. 

  I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck. 

  When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!” 

  Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us. 

  “No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

  Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while. 

  When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

  Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways. 

  All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg. 

  While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me. 

  After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow. 

  “Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

  “You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  “I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

  I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

  After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot  something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless. 

  ——————-

  One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise. 

  A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare. 

  I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

  “Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was. 

  From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin. 

  “I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly. 

  “Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

  I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy. 

  “My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

  “Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

  I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion. 

  Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes. 

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

  I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk. 

  “Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe. 

  “It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

  Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

  I nodded. 

  “So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “Same.”

  He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,” 

  Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!” 

  I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game. 

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it. 

  He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them. 

  Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama. 

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

  He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

  By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd. 

  Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly? 

  Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me. 

  I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

  One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

  “Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh. 

  Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed. 

  “Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

  I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world. 

  I nodded.

  Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,” 

  Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.” 

  “Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

  “For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

  “Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?” 

  Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body. 

  “Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

  I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

  Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

  From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage. 

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

  “Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!” 

  There were gasps all around. 

  It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

  I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

  “What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody. 

  I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree. 

  ‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with. 

  “Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

  Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all. 

  Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them. 

  Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on. 

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

  “I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

  “I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

  “Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

  “Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one. 

  I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker. 

  Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?” 

  My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

  “Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

  “Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

  “It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

  “Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises. 

  I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate. 

  Still…

  “No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning. 

  “Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

  “Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly. 

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals. 

  The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

  It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me. 

  Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily. 

  Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain. 

  It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too. 

  We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.  

  It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup. 

  Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. 

  I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone. 

  “There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me. 

  “I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate. 

  Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address. 

  After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe. 

  Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

  “What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears. 

  Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit. 

  First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself? 

  “Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

  I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest. 

  “What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

  Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered. 

  “He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.” 

  I turned 16 that spring.

  I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back. 

  I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

  “Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

  After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass. 

  “And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

  “Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!” 

  “Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

  “What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

  “Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

  I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

  “I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

  I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes. 

  Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

  I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody. 

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

  “How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically. 

  “Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

  I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly. 

  “What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

  One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there. 

  Whatever happened, was bad.

  “Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced. 

  “No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot. 

  Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad. 

  “Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

  Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,” 

  “We’ll see.”

  The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by. 

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12” appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

  “District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

  Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2” 

  We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him! 

  I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned,  “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

  “Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

  The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such. 

  “Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

  “He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

  Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

  That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

  “Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,” 

  “You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

  “There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,” 

  “You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

  Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

  “YES    NE”

  “North East! I told you it’ll work!” 

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

  “K”

  With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district. 

  “Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!” 

  There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy. 

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

  I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone. 

  “Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me. 

  “Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

  I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks. 

  I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

  I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain. 

  I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue. 

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

  “I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

  My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way. 

  “How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

  “Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again. 

  I was momentarily frightened.

  “Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,” 

  His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?” 

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

  “Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

  Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree. 

  “And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice. 

  He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

  It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional. 

  “Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

  “Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

  Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly. 

  I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,” 

  He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…” 

  “Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

  “I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

  “I can’t go back to my house though—“

  “You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely. 

  I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming, 

  “Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated. 

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

  My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

  “My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

  “Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer. 

  “My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

  “That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

  “After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

  Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away. 

  “What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

  “The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple. 

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

  He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

  Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

  “How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius. 

  Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

  Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?” 

  “Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head. 

  “Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers. 

  Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?” 

  “I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

  “Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

  “The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

  Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me. 

  Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers. 

  “Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook. 

  “Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

  Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!” 

  “No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

  “It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,” 

  Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

  “‘kay.” 

  “Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly. 

  Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

  We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned. 

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

  “Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

  I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which. 

  “So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string. 

  I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods. 

  “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

  Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already. 

  He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,” 

  He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”  

  My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,” 

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

  We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

  I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

  Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,” 

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff. 

  “If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

  “It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips. 

  My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course. 

  “Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed. 

  After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief. 

  I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had. 

  “I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

  “I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

  He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

  When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up. 

  “I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie. 

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

  “Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?” 

  I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness. 

  The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement. 

  Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons. 

  Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants. 

  Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help. 

  The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure. 

  The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope. 

  It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

  Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves. 

  “I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once. 

  After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18. 

  Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips. 

  On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control. 

  My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul. 

  After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

  “You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

  “Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[ourladylennon]

list of mclennon fanfics? 👀

Coming right up!

Camera-less by fingersfallingupwards | smut | AU | length: >10,000 | “The words register and Paul barely keeps back an incredulous laugh. Is Lennon… is he really trying it on with Paul? There’s no hiding the implication; it’s the same way Paul’s approached whores on the street, thriving on the ignominy of it all. Lennon must be taking the piss.If he is having Paul on, well, two can play at that game.”

What You’re Doing to Me by smothermeinrelish | smut | length: >10,000 | “John's not sure what is going on. Since arriving in Hamburg, the sex and parties are non-stop, yet he can't shake this growing feeling there is something going on with him and Paul.Is it the sin of the city? Or has John found a void within that is looking for it's missing piece?”

Initiation by unchained_daisychain | smut | length: >10,000 | “Initially, Paul thinks they’re all taking the piss. As the newest member of the band, he has learned to laugh off the jokes made at his expense. But a frown soon misshapes his smile as he dumbly watches the boys disperse themselves throughout the room.“Yer serious?” he asks, confusion cementing his feet on the carpet. “All of you just…sit around an’ wank together?” “If you don’t wanna join, just wait outside till the big boys are finished,” Len says with grating arrogance. It feels like some type of test or initiation. Buy into our daft game and you’ll secure your spot in the band; bow out and consider yourself nothing more than an expendable instrument. Paul’s hand tightens around the neck of his guitar. Soon enough it disappears from his grasp entirely as he deposits it against the wall and seats himself in a vacant armchair.”

Bright Are the Stars, Dark is the Sky by unchained_daisychain | smut | *warning: taboo with consent* | AU | length: >10,000 | “John can never recall precisely when the feelings arose. In the beginning, he had despised another figure of authority in his life, even if by association. Neatly kept and well-spoken, Mr. McCartney had seemed just that, too. From the very start, John had tried to break him down…only to later realize he was the one crumbling to pieces. Because, in an unforeseen twist, Paul proves to be unlike the other oppressive parents of his generation. For a while, he thinks it is a fatherly bond that keeps him a frequent visitor at the McCartney residence. But when respect begins to wane in the presence of something stronger, it frightens him to the core. He can count on one hand the number of times he has been blindsided in his life, and the realization of his attraction to Paul is one of them.”

Tessellate by cloudy_blue | hurt & comfort | length: >10,000 | “No one had prepared her for John. Maybe they could have put aside fifteen minutes in-between teaching her how to make her stitches even and her chicken cooked through – what to do if your man is also sleeping with his bassist.”

Whatever Gets you Through the Night by sleeprettydarling | smut | length: 10,000+ | “When John catches wind of a prostitute in Hamburg who's willing to do two blokes at once, he and Paul agree to pay her a visit. John has an ulterior motive, but he's unaware that Paul has a plan of his own. Misunderstandings, feelings, and an abundance of sex ensue.”

Lifting Latches by thinkpink20 | smut | length: 10,000 + | “Paul is used to talking about everything with John. About girls, sex, fantasies about Bridget Bardot - everything. They even talk about Mary and Julia, when they've had enough to drink. He doesn't talk like that to anyone else, and he senses from the way John speaks in such a rush about all the important things that he doesn't either.So when something happens that they don't speak about, he knows it must be serious.”/ OR: Paul and John swap t-shirts, and also somehow change the nature of their relationship...”

French Connection by smothermeinrelish & unchained_daisychain | smut | *warning: taboo with consent* | length: 10,000+ | “Running low on funds during their holiday in Paris, John and Paul have to find some way to finance the rest of their trip. A wealthy stranger approaches them with an offer impossible to refuse. He shook his head, slowly and confoundedly. “Bleedin’ hell, I can’t believe yer actually considering this.”“We aren’t really in the position to be refusin’ offers.” At the answering silence, he swatted Paul’s shoulder, pressing, “C’mon, a thousand francs, Macca.”

The Ballad of Lennon and McCartney by please_dont_wake_me | angst & smut | length: 30,000+ (wip) | "“I think that to make real art - like, if you want to tap into the current of what’s really going on, you can’t be fully aware of it. You can’t be all in your head about it. You’re not speakin’ the truth, you’re feeling it - lettin’ it speak through you. You’re taking from the realm of truth and transforming it into something a human can perceive, but you don’t always know what it is.” In late 1966, the baby-faced balladeer Paul McCartney meets an unsuccessful artist named John Lennon at an Avant Garde gala. The ensuing relationship causes him to publicly lose his mind.

What is Living is Burning by orphanbeat | fluff & smut | length: 40,000+ | “Looking at John, watching his hands, seeing the slope of his nose, Paul realizes he wants to kiss him, always has. He wants to tell him, but he’s too afraid. He wonders if it was the other way around between them, would John tell him? /OR: In 1968, Paul is publicly outed in a book called The Homosexual's Handbook, written by Angelo D'Arcangelo.” 

Boy You’ve Been a Naughty Girl by merseysidestory | smut | length: 40,000+| “John makes Paul a bet. Paul takes him up on it. Crossdressing shenanigans and angst ensue, and ~feelings come out in the wash. 1961.”

Metered by fingersfallingupwards | smut | length: 40,000+ | "The bloke said something just the same as you did, about floating off unless tied down, or maybe it was the other way around, getting tied down to float off, y'know.”/OR: Canon-era John and Paul haphazardly invent BDSM, and learn a few things about power, surrender, pleasure, and themselves along the way” 

Art & Obligation by imaginebeatles | length: 100,000+ | fluff & smut | AU-1800′s | “John Lennon works as the apprentice of a well-known portraitist and is tasked to do the picture of the young Mr. Paul McCartney. He is the son of Jim McCartney, a wealthy and powerful landowner, and has the reputation of an arrogant, spoilt brat with a pretty face, who has a way of wrapping anyone around his finger. But soon John finds that things are not as straightforward as they may seem.”

On Our Way Back Home by kathleenishereagain | fluff & smut | length: 300,000+ | “Something ticked in Paul’s mind as the familiar words washed through him. When he looked at John, his friend was already looking at him. And suddenly, it all became clear: He remembered having that conversation more than 50 years ago. He remembered it too well.He had been thinking about it for years, wondering what he should have understood, how he should have reacted. /OR: Summer 2019, 77-year-old Paul wakes up feeling surprisingly good. One tiny problem: he is back in December 1965.”

I originally had Red Hall fic on this list, before having actually read it and that was a huge mistake. I do not condone, support or recommend it. It's beyond deplorable and a line was crossed when it was written. I am so sorry I ever carelessly placed it on this list to begin with.

these are just some of my personal faves, so many more to read. You are all. so. AMAZING. 

Bonus: beautiful mclennon artwork by auroralunatica

[hihellogoodbyebruh]

No Letting Go

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Reader, Coco Cruz x Black!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Coco has been your best friend and rock since childhood. You’re having a problem learning to share him with the club, specifically a certain club member who happens to be your ex who you may or may not still be in love with.

Warning(s): 18+ only, smut (the sex!), foul language

Word count: 3,493

Author’s Note: This is for my fellow girls who’s love language is talking shit LOL. Also I’ve made this fic pre-season 1. EZ is in jail. This was two parts before I just decided to make it one fic. So it might be a little disjointed BUT just go with it okay? I’ve missed y’all and I hope you like this. Hopefully I’m not too rusty. Questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome. My inbox is open. Enjoy!

Your childhood wasn’t the most stable, drive by shootings and cracked out parents didn’t exactly leave room for normalcy, but there was always one constant for you and that was Coco. His mother was also an absolute train wreck. You guys kind of grew up taking care of each other. You remember Leticia being born while he was in jail and trying to talk some sense into Celia about giving the baby a better life. You remember when he got out of jail and joined the Marines. Just as you got him back, he was gone again. It was extremely hard not having him around, but it forced you to really take care of yourself. No more Coco to lean on. You only had yourself.

So after high school, you went to cosmetology school and got yourself a beauty license. You’d taken care of your hair for years and it’s important to you to teach others how to take care of theirs. Natural hair, wigs, weaves, braids, or whatever. You helped your clients with it all and showed them how to keep up with their hair. You got a job at a local shop and you were taking care of yourself. Things were good but you missed your best friend.

Then he was back. Coco was discharged from the military and you thought you’d have him all to yourself, but then he was telling you about joining the Mayans and you barely heard from him for months. Well, you weren’t just about to accept that shit.

You banged on the front door, “Coco open the fuck up! You know who it is! Open this damn door, Johnny!” You yelled, as you pounded your fist against the door.

The door whipped open and Coco stood there with an irritated look on his face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Don’t bang on my door like that. You know better.” The look on his face as well as the growl in his voice would have terrified anyone.

You just stared at him before breaking out into a smile. “I missed you.”

Some of the irritation left his face and he actually sighed at you. It was the closest to a pout he’d ever get. “Yeah, yeah. Get your ass inside.”

“I hear you grumbling, but this is what happens when you keep ignoring me. Imma stay on yo head boy!” You told him, walking into his living room before sucking your teeth when you saw who was there.

Angel. Reyes.

It was bad enough that Coco joined that damn club and was busy being their prospect. It’s been even worse since he’s basically become best friends with Angel, who happened to be your ex boyfriend. Well, maybe ex fuck buddy was better. He started to push for more and as someone who hated being cornered (and someone with serious reservations about his lifestyle) you broke things off with him. It was infuriating. You finally got Coco back, but he was taken away from you again and with the one person who you wanted to avoid. Feelings were still there, but you hid them by egging him on. Were you acting like a kindergartener pulling someone’s hair they had a crush on? Maybe. Using sass to hide your emotions? You’re a pro at that. Coco had no idea about y’alls past.

“Don’t you have your own place to live? Why the fuck you always over here?” You questioned, setting your purse down in one of the empty chairs.

“Hey! Don’t start Y/N.” Coco interjected, already knowing where this was going. It was equal parts exhausting and entertaining watching those two go back and forth.

“I do. I just like being over here. It’s more opportunities to run into you.” Angel replied from where he was sprawled out on the couch. He had a cap sitting backwards on his head, a gray sleeveless shirt on, jeans, and his legs spread wide.

“You giving off real scrub vibes right now.” You rolled your eyes at him before directing your attention back to Coco. “So where you been? See when you don’t return my calls you make me have to pop up on your ass. So wassup?”

“Nothing is up. You gotta chill. You know I’m prospecting with the club now. I got a job at the scrap yard and everything. I’m just busy living.”

“Mmmhmm...so you’re too busy for me now?” You asked, letting the spoiled brat come out of you a little before deciding it was safer to just change the subject. “ANYWAY, Leticia texted me.”

That caught Coco’s attention. “Why? What’s wrong? Is she okay? What the fuck did my mom do now?” He asked, worry clear in his tone.

You waved your hand to dismiss his concerns. “She’s fine. She has a school dance coming up and she wants me to do her hair. I think perhaps you should drop by and check on her, maybe have a small discussion about the birds and bees…” You implored, and he immediately began shaking his head.

“Nah. You should do it.”

“I’m not family.”

“Yes, you are. Plus you’re a woman. Y’all can talk about shit I don’t get.”

“It would still be good for her to have a male’s perspective. One to tell her how a respectable gentleman acts and better yet, shows her.” She has always pushed for Coco to spend more time with Letty. She knew it was hard from him, but she knew the girl truly loved her older brother.

“Who the fuck is Leticia?” Angel asked, clearly confused.

“His sister.” “My sister.” You and Coco answer at the same time. You both maintained eye contact as you basically glared him into submission. Your eyes conveyed the words you’d never let slip from your lips. ‘Spend some time with your fucking kid, Co’ was the thought written clearly on your face.

“Fine, I will stop by and check in.” He conceded and you smiled widely again. You loved it when you won.

“Y’all are so cute.” Angel teased, a small smirk on his face because he knew it would get under your skin.

The small smile on your face was quickly wiped away at his words. “Shut up. That’s my brother. Period.”

“I still have a chance then.” His smirk turned into a grin. He loved getting a rise out of you.

“Psh.” You scoffed, the retort leaving your lips quick and snappy. “A chance in hell.” 

“Then I’ll meet you there, sweetheart.” He always loved that fire in you. He missed not having it around as much. He felt bad about keeping the relationship from Coco, but he figured he’d bide his time for now. He still wanted you. He could remember the nights spent laid up in your bed as he watched you braid your hair or helped you lotion your body. His favorite thing to do was lather you up because it always led to him knocking your walls down.

You stood up from your chair and walked to where he was seated so you could stand over him. Your hands were on your hip and you just stared at him for a moment. He was so blasé about everything. You wanted to make him stumble just once. “Eat shit, Angel.”

“Only if it’s yours.”

You wanted to laugh so bad. He had such a quick wit and y’alls banter was something you have yet to experience with anyone else. Still, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so you turned away from him to keep your smile in check. “You goofy as hell. I don’t have time for this shit. I have appointments. Just needed to make Coco promise me to my face.”

“All that whining about me not returning calls or having time for you and you can’t even stay and hang? You’re so fucking fake.” Coco chuckled and you laughed as well.

“Don’t hate. I do what I gotta do. Walk me out bestie.” You grinned, walking toward the exit and grabbing your purse on your way out.

“Bye mamí.” Angel yelled at you and you merely lifted your hand to give him the finger. His answering laughter warms you up and you can’t help throwing him a look over your shoulder.

Coco walked you out the front door and closed it behind him.

“If you think that ‘tough bitch’ act is putting him off you’re so wrong.”

You stare at Coco with your eyebrows raised giving him that ‘you should know better’ look before going, “Who is acting?”

“Alright, Y/N.” He just shook his head and decided to let y’all figure it out. No way was he gonna jump in the middle of that. He knew it would resolve itself eventually.

xxxxxxx

The next time you got to see Coco things were an absolute mess. You don’t know exactly what happened but the gang got into a shootout. Coco was injured and your heart was beating against your chest so hard as you raced toward the scrap yard. This was out of your comfortable zone completely, but you needed to see that he was okay. 

Even though on the inside you were freaking out, you tried your best to keep a calm outer appearance as you came face to face with the gang. You went through the basic introductions and then you found yourself crouching in front of a passed out Coco.

“He always said he didn’t really have family so we didn’t know who to contact until Angel told us about you.” The president explained, as you studied the bandages on Coco’s chest. 

You tore your attention from Coco to look at Angel and saw him already looking at you. It was like he was studying you. You gave him a small smile, trying to convey your gratefulness that he contacted you. He just nodded back at you.

“Thank you all for everything you do and did for him.” You looked back at the president, Bishop, and all the other guys.

“He’s our brother.”

“He’s my brother too.” Your gaze went back to Coco, a soft look on your face that made Angel want to just wrap you up in his arms.

Luckily the bullets just grazed Co and nothing vital was hit. You could only sit still for so long before your anxiety got the better of you and you stood up, striding out of the door. You inhaled deeply once you felt the fresh air. 

You would have been so heartbroken if Coco had died. Just the thought made your hands start shaking. You curled them into tight fists and closed your eyes as you focused on slowing your breathing. Your eyes only shot open when you felt someone touch your elbow.

“Hey, you okay?” Angel asked, his eyes soft as he gazed at you so you diverted your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You replied, the sigh you let out in the end betraying your words.

“You want a drink?” He offered and you perked up a little.

“So badly.” You admitted. 

“Come on.”

He led you to the little trailer that was parked on one side of the scrap yard. You wanted to say something smart, but you’d been to his home and knew he didn’t stay here. Plus your heart just wasn’t in it at the moment. He grabbed two beers out of the fridge and opened them before handing you one. You immediately took a big gulp of it.

Angel went to lean back against the fridge and you saw him wince. It dawned on you that he was also in the shootout with Coco. You were so focused on your brother because they said only he was shot, but Angel looked hurt too.

“What happened to you? Don’t tell me you got shot too.” You set the beer down and invaded his personal space. You lifted up his shirt and noticed some bruising there and your head lifted back up quickly to look at him.

“I didn’t get shot. Just got the shit kicked out of me.” Angel explained, staring at you as you fussed over him. 

You let out a loud sigh. “Well you need to be icing it and resting. I can’t have both of y’all fucked up at once.” You murmured, eyes dropping back to his bruises for a moment.

“Are you admitting to actually giving a shit about me now?” Angel inquired and you immediately dropped your grip on his shirt and took a step away from him.

“Don’t start this right now.” You pleaded. It was easy when you two were bantering back and forth, but his face was so serious. You knew the conversation was going to get heavy.

“Don’t start what? So you still want to pretend we don’t know each other? That we didn’t spend nights wrapped around each other for months?” He stepped closer and closer to you as he spoke. “That you didn’t become mi corazón before you took it all away? I’m tired of pretending.”

As he stood directly in front of you, you felt your heart racing. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You knew if you looked him in the eyes you would fold. He knew as well so his hands caressed your cheeks before bringing your face back up so you would look at him.

“I know you love me and I love you. We should be together right now.” He was beyond frustrated. This game has gone on for too long. He wanted you back.

“Why? For what huh? So in five to ten years you can get yourself killed and leave me a widow? So I can have another person I love ripped away from me? So all I’m left with is bittersweet memories? Nah. Coco is laying on a couch with bullet wounds at this very moment. Fuck that.”

“I never would have taken you for a coward.”

“I’m a coward for wanting to live my life with as little pain as possible? Fuck you, Angel.” Your eyes blazed at his words.

“No you're a coward because you’re scared to face the fact that you love me and want to be with me. I can’t promise nothing bad will ever happen, shit something could happen to you and it would absolutely break me. But I’m willing to take that risk. I promise to make you more than just comfortable. You deserve to feel loved, cherished, appreciated, and fucking happy. I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy. Don’t you want that?”

Tears filled your eyes and you closed them as some spilled over. 

You weren’t ready to have that conversation with him. Not right now. You wanted to feel good. Your eyes met Angel’s briefly before you were surging up and connecting your lips to his.

His arms slid down your back to attach themselves to your ass, pulling your body against him. You felt every part of him. He wasn’t too muscular, but he was solid. It felt good to be back in his arms. The kiss got more passionate as your tongues tangled with each other. He was a fantastic kisser.

He turned you around and propped you up on the one table in the trailer. Your hands worked his kutte off and you let your fingers run under his shirt and feel his chest again. His kisses ran down your neck and you moaned as he sucked on that spot on your neck. You began unbuckling his belt ready to feel him inside you.

“Eager huh?” He teased, his lips at your ear. You pulled back to look him in the face and stopped what you were doing.

“Oh I’m sorry. Would you like to sit down and talk about our feelings more or would you prefer to feel this pussy wrapped tightly around you?” You asked cockily, one eyebrow raised.

Angel looked at you and smirked. “Continue.” Shit, who was he to turn you down? He never really could. You got his jeans undone and your hand was in his underwear and stroking his dick while kissing his shoulder before he could say anything.

“Ah, shit.” He moaned, as you stroked his dick and felt it harden under your hand. You squeezed it a little just to see if his breath still caught in his throat and you smirked against his neck when you heard the sound.

“Don’t get cocky.” He whispered, rubbing your pussy through your jean shorts. Your hips jumped a little at the contact and you felt your panties getting more wet than they were before. He kept rubbing; the friction of your jeans and panties rubbing perfectly between your pussy lips had you squeezing your thighs closed. 

You leaned your head back to look at him. “You’re gonna ruin my jeans, stop it.”

It was his turn to smirk as he took a small step back, your hand falling off him. “Then let’s take them off.” He peeled your shorts and panties down, spreading your legs so far apart that your right foot slid out of your pants. Your shorts and panties dangled around your left ankle.

“Oh baby, that pussy is still as pretty as ever.” He popped two of his fingers in your mouth, slipping them a little down your throat so he could hear the always beautiful sound of you choking before he stuck those fingers inside of you.

“Fuck..” You groaned, your hand squeezing his arm. 

“And you still feel like Heaven. I gotta feel you around my dick again. That’s what you want right? You want me to fuck that attitude right out of you.” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. He was just talking. “I know what you need, mami. Always have and always will.” He let his pants fall and in a quick and smooth move he removed his fingers and replaced them with his dick inside of you.

He had both hands squeezing your thighs as he kept your legs apart. He had you open wide for him. Your nails were digging into his arm and your other hand was bracing yourself on the table. There was so much in those thrusts. It was all his feelings in one. He was conveying how mad he was, how much he missed you, and how much he loved you. 

“Angel,” you moaned, head thrown back as you got lost in the feel of him. You couldn’t focus on anything, but him. He still knew exactly how to fuck you and drive you over the edge. Your stomach was in knots as you felt your orgasm building. He could feel it too and he slowed his strokes down to more shallow ones.

“Look at me.” He demanded, and you tilted your head down until you made eye contact with him. “Look at me fucking you. Look at me giving you what you need. I’ll always give you everything. All you have to do is ask. Tell me, mi dulce. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I-I wanna cum Angel please.” You begged, barely able to get the words out. You knew that he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

He kissed your lips and sped back up his thrusts as the pressure built back up in your stomach. He kept kissing you, his tongue tasting every inch of your mouth as he fucked you. With a shaky hand, you reached down and rubbed your clit to push yourself over the edge.

You moaned into his mouth as he fucked you through your orgasm. As you clenched around him, the tightening of your walls around him helped to trigger his own release. 

Angel tucked his head in your neck and placed kisses there and along your shoulder as you both came down from the high. “Will you let me take you to dinner, mi dulce? Por favor.” He pulled his face from your neck so he could look in your eyes.

You didn’t shy away from his eyes this time. You held his face in your hands as you gazed at each other. His words echoed over and over in your head.

“You deserve to feel loved, cherished, appreciated, and fucking happy. I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy. Don’t you want that?”

Mind blowing sex and one beautiful love declaration does not fix everything. You still had your reservations about the relationship. You were still scared. You were still worried. You were still unsure. But when you looked into his eyes you saw nothing but his love for you and his certainty. He was so sure it was you for him. You could picture a wedding and children in your future. Maybe even growing old together. Suddenly, you knew you wanted to try.

Don’t you want that?

With all that in mind, the answer was simple:

“Yes.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (18) || atz

You and Wooyoung are sitting in the rigging, staring out to sea.

The Treasure has left Tortuga for a few days now, sailing in the open sea for the town of Nassau. From what Wooyoung has told you, Nassau, Seonghwa’s hometown, used to be a port thriving with pirate activity… until one day, the Royal Navy decided retake the town from the pirates. Pirate ships were burnt to the ground, the crews hung at the gallows and anyone associated with them brought in for questioning.

It is during that purge that Seonghwa’s parents were killed.

Seonghwa has finally left the confines of the galley, escorted to the sickbay to sleep and rest. Yunho is keeping a vigil beside Seonghwa, while you’ve taken over his cooking duties and Yunho’s lookout role. You may not be as well suited to the job as the two of them are, but it’s the most you can do for being to blame for Seonghwa’s condition.

If only you had known what to do.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

If only you hadn’t let the herbs be stolen.

You know it’s stupid, but the thoughts won’t stop echoing in your head.

If only you hadn’t gone out to celebrate your name.

You chew your lips.

If only you hadn’t come to this ship.

Guilt tears at you from the inside like the teeth of a piranha. The pain is all too acute, all to real.

“Hey.”

You’re jerked back from your thoughts by Wooyoung, who’s grinning at you. Somehow, the head gunner has pushed past the air of gloom surrounding the ship, managing to keep a broad smile on his face despite the weight on everyone’s shoulders. How he’s doing it, you don’t know, but part of you resents how easily he can seem to forget that Seonghwa is still in the sickbay, struggling to block out the voices of his dead family from his ears while all of you are absolutely powerless to help.

Even now, Seonghwa’s still refusing the sleeping incense, but Yeosang has given given him back the steak plushie, which he hugs to sleep every night. Jongho helps by singing his hyung to sleep. San mixes relaxing teas for him. Captain and Mingi studying the overlay of Nassau, trying to find the most inconspicuous way they can enter the town without garnering the attention of the authorities.

It’s only you and Wooyoung who can do nothing. And the guilt you feel is swallowing you whole.

Wooyoung suddenly leans forward, shackles clanging as he uses his fingers to turn your mouth up in smile. “I’m sure captain and Mingi will think of something. We’ll help Seonghwa-hyung and everything will be fine soon. Don’t be sad.”

Anger rushes forth.

“Don’t be sad?” You snap, smacking his hand away. Wooyoung looks visibly wounded, pain flashing across his face as his hand falls to his side, but you’re too caught up in your fury to notice. “Seonghwa-hyung is in this state and you have the gall to smile and act happy?”

Something in Wooyoung’s normally bright viridescent eyes darkens suddenly as he silently watches you rant.

“I hate how you’re still so happy go lucky! It’s like you don’t understand what it’s like to lose someone even though you’ve had family like Jongho-hyung and Yunho-hyung!” You continue raving, not seeing the way Wooyoung’s fingers clench so tight around the ropes his knuckles turn bloodless. “ I’m the only one who has no family, alright? I’m not like all of you, I don’t know what it’s like, but you’ve had family before, so shouldn’t you try to be more understanding?”

Silence falls between the two of you as you finish. Then you realise that you’ve just literally just thrown everything, your hurt, your pain, your guilt onto Wooyoung, who must be suffering too somewhere deep down inside. To your horror, his head hangs low so that you can’t see his expression, but from the way his shoulders are curled in on themselves, you must have wounded him deeply. Regret and guilt fills you.

You can’t seem to do anything right.

“Wooyoung-hyung, I’m sorry-”

“What else am I supposed to do, then?” Wooyoung breathes, turning to meet your eyes head on. You desperately want to look away, but his gaze is unbreakable as steel. There’s something utterly frigid about them, almost terrifying, like a dragon rearing its head. “Cry? Complain? Feel pity for myself? Curl up in a ball and hide until all the problems disappear?”

That’s exactly what you want to do right now under the weight of his of his intense stare, pinning you down.

“Hyung, I didn’t mean it-”

“You did.” Wooyoung cuts you off fiercely, his green eyes burning. “You meant every word of it and I don’t blame you. But I want you to know that I don’t intend on moping around because that’s not going to help anything. So get those stupid thoughts about it being your fault out of your head because none of them are true and smile because you need to believe things can get better.”

The resolve in his voice is unshakable, and you curl in on yourself to avoid Wooyoung’s stare, shame burning on your cheeks. All this while, you’ve only been thinking about yourself and your guilt, forgetting that you also affect the members of the crew and that moping around hasn’t helped at all.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper quietly under your breath, but Wooyoung hears you anyway and his smile returns once more.

“I forgive you.” He beams at you gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your head rests against his shoulder, seeking comfort. “I understand.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you swallow down your emotions. Right. Smile. Be positive. Staying negative isn’t going to help anything.

Then Wooyoung frowns as he looks down onto the main deck. “Yeosang is coming over. I wonder what he needs.”

“Wooyoungie! Is Chin Hae up there with you?” The navigator stops in front of the main mast, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks up. Wooyoung nods. “Yeah! Do you need him?”

“Can you tell him to come down? I have something to discuss with him.”

You frown, a little confused as Wooyoung glances at you in surprise. Then he leans forward to pinch your cheeks into a smile again, mirroring his own. “Go on. Don’t forget to smile.”

You manage a real smile for the first time in days.

“Thanks, Wooyoung-hyung.” You say as you climb over the side of the crow’s nest, making your way down and dropping lightly to the main deck. Yunho would be so proud if he saw you doing that. “What do you need, Yeosang-hyung?”

“San spoke to me earlier about your encounter with a fortune teller.” Yeosang explains to you as the two of you make your way across the main deck. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s talking about. “Since Hongjoong-hyung is steering and Mingi is sleeping in the main hold, the captain’s quarters are empty and I thought that I could take this time to research on what the fortune teller said with you.”

Your heart leaps into your chest with ecstasy at what this could mean, but then you pause a little.

“Should we be doing this now? With everything that’s going on?”

Yeosang stops in the middle of pushing open the door to the captain’s cabin to look at you seriously. You’ve never realised how big and clear his eyes are, completely genuine and free of any trace of ill will. “It’s not like we can do anything now. What we can do is keep our spirits up and be strong for Seonghwa-hyung until we reach Nassau. And you’ve been looking down lately, so I thought I could try to cheer you up by clearing some of your questions.”

Warmth blooms in you at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Yeosang-hyung.”

The navigator smiles happily at you, almost radiant. “No problem. It’s my honour you’d trust me with such an important piece of information.” He opens the door and ushers you in.

You’ve never been in the captain’s cabin without the captain being present, so the room is unnaturally quiet and still. Yeosang, however, seems to know the room like it’s the back of his own hand, moving towards one of the shelves at the far end of the room while you hover awkwardly at the door.

“Please sit.” He indicates to the bed as he pulls out a scrap of parchment. You recognise it as the one Seonghwa had written your prophecy on the other time when you were discussing your visit to the fortune teller. Yeosang brings the paper over to you.

“So, what part haven’t you figured out?” He asks seriously, as he reaches in his pocket for a small wooden case, producing a pair of thin, gold rimmed eyeglasses and placing them on his nose delicately. You look over the words.

“The sea witch and the jar of clay.” You answer honestly.

Yeosang nods and moves over to his array of books. The walls are covered in them, from texts to maps to travel rutters to books of varying languages. There are even some tied up in stacks and placed neatly on the floor, all of them well kept and not a speck of dust on them.

He pulls out a few books, putting them in his arms as he mumbles to himself, eyes flitting among the shelves. Then he returns to you, setting the books on the table with a huff. “Let me look through these for a moment.”

You study him intently as he flips through the books faster than you can blink, fingers flying along the pages. The title on some of the books read ‘Legends of the Sea’, ‘Mythical Folk’ and such.

“The sea witch is a powerful entity who was once human with a bond to both the land and sea. She holds immense power, drawing upon the sea to cast spells. In return for a high price, she grants both magical and non magical folk alike what they desire.” Yeosang reads aloud, meticulously focusing on every detail. “Only people in great desperation can find the sea witch, as her lair lies hidden in a magical realm of the sea in which mortals cannot find. The entrance is rumoured to be off the coast of several uninhabited islands in the Atlantic, guarded by the sirens and fierce tidal straits rip through the waters, smashing any ship that dares pass through.”

“That’s… good to know.” You swallow uncomfortably. The only one who probably knows exactly who you are, and she’s probably out of reach. You’re unwilling to put the crew in danger because of your own problems.

“Those who have made a deal with the sea witch tend to have a token on which the deal was sealed.” Yeosang continues, glancing at the necklace hanging from your neck. “The price is often exorbitantly high, and is rarely something of material worth. It often is something of immense value to the person making the deal.”

Your memories.

You had given up your memories.

“In popular folk stories, she was responsible for taking the voice of a mermaid who’d fallen in love with a prince of the land in return for her legs. She also gives out pieces of ropes with three knots. Pulling the first knot could yield a gentle, southeasterly wind, while pulling two could generate a strong northerly wind, but the third knot would unleash a hurricane.” Yeosang looks slightly interested. “Hongjoong-hyung has one of these, but he’s used the first knot already.”

“Really?” You gape. This sea witch can’t be mere legend now.

The navigator nods as he picks up another book. “We were being chased by the Royal Navy, but he used the wind to blow the ships away. That’s when hyung really started to believe in myths a little.”

He opens a book called ‘Symbolism Through Ages’. “Jars of clay, jars of clay… Jars of clay refer to humans. In many books such as the Holy Bible, humans were described to be jars of clay, having mortal bodies while holding precious souls of great value in them.”

A jewel resting in a jar of clay.

Yeosang’s eyebrows pinch together as he continues reading. “This is a interesting explanation, but not rather helpful as it’s quite metaphorical. You said that the fortune teller asked you who’d made you?”

“Yeah…” You shiver a little at the words. “Then she told me the sea witch was my mistress.”

Yeosang frowns thoughtfully, and you can literally hear the gears in his mind turning. He picks up another book, flipping through it absentmindedly as he glances through it. “Made… Clay… Vessel… Humans… Sea Witch… Bargain...”

Then he stops.

All at once, his eyes fly wide open, pupils dilating in realization, mouth going slack, face ashen. The expression on his face can only be described in pure, unadulterated shock, and he stops breathing for a second as if air has trapped itself in his lungs.

Your heart skips a beat in excitement.

“Did you find something?” You begin to ask excitedly, but Yeosang barely seems to hear you, staring in horror at the page, then at you.

Unease begins to crawl up your skin, but you force it to the side and ask. “Yeosang-hyung… what is it?”

That seems to snap Yeosang out of his daze and he desperately tries to smooth his face in a neutral expression, but he can’t quite hide the terror in his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just thought of something, but it’s no big deal.”

The way his voice is trembling tells you it is anything but.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and barely restrained anger. “Yeosang-hyung, what are you hiding from me?”

“It’s nothing.” The navigator insists, slamming the book shut. You get a mere glimpse of the cover. Prome-, but then Yeosang’s hand slides over the title and you can’t see it any longer. “It’s nothing at all, so just let it go, please.”

Usually, you’d let anything he says go, but this is different.

“Then let me see it.” You hold your hand out to take the book, but Yeosang wrenches it from your grasp before you can even hold it, eyes flaring in panic.

“Don’t touch it!” Yeosang shouts furiously, clutching the book to his chest. Rage fills you, what may be an answer to your identity is right there, but Yeosang won’t give it to you. You storm over to him, ready to rip the book from his hands if you need to.

“What are you doing?” You snarl at him, almost animalistic as you reach to tear your only clue from him, but Yeosang shakes his head, arms folding around the book.

“You can’t see it!” He screams at you, tears streaming down his cheeks and you feel red hot anger thrumming in your veins, purring to life like an awakening monster. Icy calm washes over you, in complete contrast to the fury burning in your heart. How dare he cry as if he’s the one losing anything from this?

Yeosang must see the shift in your eyes as your expression settles into one of dark determination, because his knees start knocking uncontrollably and his eyes dilate with pure, undiluted and primal fear.

“Give the book to me, Yeosang.”

In this moment, Yeosang makes a decision.

His fingers fumble with the latch behind him. Before you can realise what he’s doing, he’s opened the pothole, turned away from you and tossed the book into the ocean.

You feel like your last hope has been crushed into shards and scattered to the wind. Broken fury and grief screams within you like two clashing hurricanes, tearing you apart and ripping through you. Your eyes land on Yeosang, who looks stunned by what he’s just done.

You finally manage to find words in your rage to convey to him what exactly you’re feeling now.

“I hate you.” You spit with every bit of loathing you can muster, and with that, you whirl around and dash out of the cabin, the door slamming shut behind you.

Yeosang doesn’t say anything. Instead, he merely slides to the ground on his knees, body curled into a ball, wishing he could beg for your forgiveness.

And his fist pressed against his mouth to stifle the sobs pouring from his chest.

[myglogic]

Priceless | Bang Chan | 01

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Pairing: Bang Chan (Stray Kids) x female reader

Genre: Crime, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, fluff

Short summary: Y/N is a journalist who dreams of writing a frontpage article at the Seoul Times. She gets the chance to attend the Bang Charity Gala through her work where she plans exposing Kevin Bang, father of Chan and one of the richest men in Seoul. How is she planning to do that? The Gala is a masquarade ball where no one will recognize her. Y/N just wants justice for herself and everyone Kevin Bang hurt.

DISCLAIMER: Everything in this fanfic is fiction - that includes Chan’s fictional father who of course does not represent Chan’s real father! ♥

The event was full of people. Full of filthy rich people, you might add. It was the event of the year for Seoul’s richest and most famous people. The Bang Gala. What is the Bang Gala, you might ask? It was a charity gala where tons of money was gathered for a good cause every year. The cause is always kept a secret until the gala. Last year the money went to an organization that helps orphans who didn’t get adopted to adjust to society. Sounds like a beautiful event, right? In one year, the money went to survivors of natural catastrophes, another year it went to the homeless. Each year millions of dollars were donated. You couldn’t even imagine how big the sums must be.

Bullshit. That was what you thought. Because the people behind this charity gala were the Bang family. Kevin Bang, the owner of Seoul’s biggest real estate agency, no, you could even say the owner of South Korea’s biggest real estate agency hosted the gala. In the media, he was known for being a generous businessman, always leaving huge tips at the restaurants he was eating at. He was not only known for being generous, but also being down to earth too.

All of it was an act. Because you knew who the real Kevin Bang was. You knew how the real, evil, Kevin Bang was like and how he treated the people around him too. He was the reason why your father lost everything.

You were just a kid when all of that happened. You didn’t like to dwell on the past but you were a girl who hated unfair treatment. The past was the past but it wasn’t easy to forget. In the past two years you have been working for a pretty big newspaper – the Seoul Times. Okay, working would be an overstatement. You were basically there to proofread the articles written by the real authors and bring coffee. But you were still happy to be there because it was a start. You studied journalism but had no experience yet so it was even a miracle that you got a job at such a renowned company. Sometimes you did write small articles but mostly it was about boring stuff, for example, how the private school next door opened their new library which was – what a coincidence – sponsored by none other than Kevin Bang.

Your parents were proud of you because you worked your ass off at university for this degree. It was very underwhelming to get such an underpaid job, but you had to work hard to become the head editor one day. Right now, you worked at the “celebrity” department, where they basically gathered all kind of news about any kind of celebrity. Like for example how BTS got another win for their latest album. It wasn’t what you envisioned. Sometimes you switched departments too and just work wherever you were needed. That is why you needed an incredible story to write, a story that you have discovered. You didn’t only write articles but sometimes you had to investigate too, like doing interviews outside the office if the writer himself was too lazy to do it. But this story was your personal story. No help from Seoul Times or any other editor. You knew that this story, your story, would secure you a job on the top. That story was exposing Kevin Bang.

Exposing the real Kevin Bang. Not the beloved charitable, kind person that everyone looked up to, but the asshole, getting-anything-he-wants Kevin Bang. Why was your hatred for him so deep when everyone seemed to love that guy? The answer was simple. If something didn’t fit into Mr. Bang’s plans then he just bought everything with his money and influence. He was one of the reasons why an orphanage was demolished because he wanted to free some space for his clients, so he built a 5-star hotel on that area. According to your research he made some hefty payments to make sure that this does not reach the media. It hurt you a lot because you volunteered a lot at that specific orphanage. The kids there were not prepared to leave at all. It was a shitty move of him and you hated him more for that.

But that was just one of his many wrongdoings. You hated reading anything about that guy and his family.

♥.

Chaos. The office was very chaotic because of the on-going charity gala. A lot of newspapers used the gala to get interviews with big names, because anyone who had influence attended that gala. But this year’s theme was not optimal to get a lot of interviews: Masquerade. Everyone had to wear masks so no one knew who you were.

It was interesting since all of the people there already had two faces. The theme made a lot of interviewers back out because if you can’t see the celebrity, interviewing them would be difficult.

You were sitting at your desk, trying to find more dirt on the Bang family when you heard a stack of papers landing next to you, making you flinch a little. It was your supervisor, Hana, who looked at you, annoyed. “Proofread these, okay?”, she sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Okay.”, you said, not wanting to annoy her more.

“I need these by tomorrow by the way.”, she added arrogantly.

“Excuse me, what?!”, you said, standing up in shock. “I can’t even get half of those done in a day!”

She stared you down with an angry expression. “Okay, then why don’t you go and try to interview some masked celebrities at that stupid gala, huh? Our top interviewers don’t want to go because they think it’s a waste of their time!”

You sighed. “Just because you have problems, doesn’t mean that you can put all the workload onto me.”

“I am sick of you complaining, Y/N. This gala is stressing me enough already. It’s not like anything happens at these galas anyway, I don’t even know why we have to send so many employees there. The big boss is crazy. Taejoon doesn’t want to go and we have to send someone from our department.”, Hana said angrily, clearly angry at Taejoon who usually does the interviews for your department.

Then an idea popped into your mind. “Wait… So technically if Taejoon goes to that gala thing, doesn’t he get a free pass?”

“Yeah, we cannot identify the celebs there anyway. But we still have to send ten of our people so that they can write down how much money was donated, where the money goes to, blah blah. Also, if anyone decides to show up without a mask, interview them. Stuff like that.”

This was the idea! You gathered information on Kevin Bang for a while now and if you could find a way to get in there, you might be able to turn everyone against him. You just needed to get the attention of the guests and the media. You knew that you wouldn’t get the recognition you wanted but it would be a start to dig the dirt on him.

Maybe, if you tell the boss that it was you who exposed him, he will let you write the big front-page article about him. Nobody knew more shit about Kevin Bang than you.

“You know, if you let someone else proofread these articles, I would go to that gala instead of Taejoon.”, you offered her.

She gave you a tempting look. “You never went, right? Of course, you would be excited to enter such an exclusive event. But please don’t fall asleep, it gets boring pretty quickly.”, Hana warned you. “Also, you can’t wear a mask as someone from the media. You need to stay in the background, especially since you are still a rookie. Got it?”

Yeah, of course, it was because it was an exclusive event. It’s not like you had a huge ass plan to destroy Kevin Bang or something. “Yeah, got it. Can I go?”, you asked innocently.

She sighed. “Okay. But don’t do anything stupid!”

“I won’t!”

‘At least not when you are around.’, you thought.

Now that you got your free pass to the Bang charity gala, you needed to make up a plan. A really good one. Because your operation was big and you couldn’t risk making any mistakes. The gala was in two days and you quickly needed to figure out what to do and how to do it.

♥.

With all the information you had on Kevin Bang, you knew you had to somehow get the attention of the audience that would attend the gala. Through some insider information you found out that there will be a huge projector. It’s projecting at the main stage. So, you somehow needed to get to the tech room to show the audience your evidence.

You found out that a friend of yours, Felix, will be working there on the night of the gala as a waiter for drinks. You were sure that he would be a huge help and approached him but at first, he thought you were crazy. You were basically trying to ruin a charity event. But after explaining why you wanted to do it, he agreed to help you with your plan. There was a designated area for the press, so you needed to get inside and change first to mix with the actual guests.

This was your plan:

1.    Get inside the actual building as someone from the press

2.    Bring a sexy dress and a mask

3.    With the help of Felix get in the employee area to change

4.    Act as if you’re a guest and talk negatively about Kevin Bang

5.    Get in the computer room to “hack” the projector

6.    Expose Kevin Bang

Sometimes you felt like one of those drama Youtube channels. But this was more than just telling everyone about a horrible person. You did this for your family, especially for your dad. Your family was ruined because of him. Your parents worked their hardest just so you could go to university. Of course, you also did this to write an article about him and get a better position at work. But there was more of a personal agenda behind this.

After a long day of work, you finally came home, clearly exhausted. The gala was tomorrow and you were really nervous about everything. Your roommate Jisung walked out of the kitchen and looked at you. Jisung and you met on your first day of university and became friends quickly. He was your closest friend and you knew you could trust him with your life. “Hey, I got a huge ass dress delivery for you today? What are you going to do with such a fancy dress?”, he asked you curiously.

You smiled at him, determined. “I will attend the Bang charity gala tomorrow.”

Jisung’s eyes widened. “What? For real? Because of your job or what?”

You smirked. “Just wait. After tomorrow, I will finally get the recognition I deserve. And yeah, I will get in thanks to my job.”

Jisung looked at you suspiciously as he sat down with a bowl of chips in front of you. “You're planning something, aren’t you?”

You put on a confident smile as you laid down on the couch. “Yeah. Look, I will tell you everything after the gala. It’s a huge thing so…”

“Don’t get arrested or something, dude.”, Jisung sighed. “Well, since you won’t tell me now, why don’t we watch a movie on Netflix then?”

“Sure.”

♥.

The day of the gala arrived quickly and you found yourself with a camera hanging onto your neck in front of the huge ass gala building. You gave your dress to Felix before so he could hide it in the employee changing rooms. Your hands were sweaty as you took some pictures.

“So, we will be at different locations throughout the building. Try to get some good pictures and if you recognize someone, try to get an interview, okay?”, one of the interviewers told the Seoul Times journalists.

As you went to your designated areas you looked around for Felix to get out of here. At the same time, you admired the huge building with a rich history. Literally, rich. The guests were coming in slowly and everyone looked glamorous and fancy. Their dresses probably cost more than you earn in a month. The location was beautifully decorated, the main stage was huge. While looking around you saw the tech people going upstairs. The tech room must have been upstairs. You couldn’t find a good floor plan on the internet and security was high alert. There had to be a way to get up there. Dressing up as someone from the tech crew would be too obvious but no one would suspect a masked woman in a dress. Especially since you were masked, you were even safer.

As everyone was seated Kevin Bang entered the main stage shortly after. His crisp suit looked expensive, his hair was slicked back. His face was half covered by a black mask. Behind him was his wife, probably number 6 by now, and his son Chan. They also wore masks that didn’t do a good job with covering their faces. Your gaze wandered more towards to his son than Kevin himself. He looked handsome, you couldn’t deny that, with his black hair and dark blue, perfectly sitting suit. You also noticed that he didn’t look too excited to stand there. Interesting.

“Welcome to the annual Bang charity gala! I am happy to see so many faces – well, technically I can’t see you but I appreciate every single one of you!”, Kevin said enthusiastically which earned him hearty laughs from the audience. You rolled your eyes. “You for sure have been wondering where the money goes to this year! This year, we are donating the money of this beautiful gala to a brand-new hospital! With the money you donate every year we can build a completely new hospital where everyone can be treated! The best thing about the hospital?”, he started and showed a picture of the future hospital that was projected behind him. “We will get the best doctors! Anything for our residents of Seoul!”

The crowd cheered and clapped politely. The rich were delighted. “Let’s see how much money we can gather tonight!”

You scoffed at his stupid smirk. “What a freaking liar, the money doesn’t even arrive there.”, you whispered angrily.

The event kicked off, classical music was playing in the background. Since the theme was “masquerade” the guests started waltzing in pairs. It did look very appealing but it felt like this wasn’t your world. In fact, this was not your world. You sometimes wished it was. Not worrying about anything, especially money. You knew you could never fit in.

You then got up looking around. Security was everywhere. Then you spotted Felix who walked up to you. “Hey, sorry, I’m late. These rich people never stop drinking.”, he sighed, clearly exhausted as he pushed his blonde hair back.

“It’s fine the event just started. How can I get out of here without security noticing?”, you asked him, feeling the fear inside you coming up.

“Just walk next to me. As long as you don’t act suspiciously nothing will happen.”, he assured you and walked you to the employee changing rooms. You noticed a few glances from some security guards but nobody stopped you.

As you were getting dressed, Felix spoke up. He was hiding behind some lockers so you could dress in peace. “But Y/N… what if you get caught? How do you plan on getting out of here after doing that stunt?”

You sighed, “I need to do everything step by step, Felix. First, I need to get to the tech room and make sure that everyone out there can here hear me. Then I will decide what to do. But I won’t get caught.”, you told Felix while putting on your red dress that had lace details on the top part. It wasn’t tight but still looked really nice. It was a rather flowy dress and you could breathe in that dress. It looked expensive enough for the elite of Seoul. Good thing that you can rent dresses. You then put on some red lipstick and put your mask on that covered nearly your entire face except for your lips. You were unrecognizable, especially since you looked like a zombie normally.

As you turned the corner to meet Felix his eyes widened for a moment. “Wow, you look nice! I bet you will fit in without any problems!”

You smiled at him and then squeezed his cheek. “Aww! Thank you, Felix. I’m really nervous… but I have to do this.”

He looked at you with a worried expression, “Please, be careful, alright?”

You nodded and quietly exited the dressing room. Some people sat at their assigned seats, others were talking about the event. The music was loud but the atmosphere was alright. For now.

You decided to join a group who were talking. They were two women who were gushing about how extravagant this gala was. They were wearing expensive designer dresses.

“I love the gold details in the decoration.”, one of the women, the one who wore a black mask, said.

“I wish they would serve some more seafood. The buffet is horrible.”, the other one said, sighing. Wow.

“But no matter what Mr. Bang does, his galas are still the best!”, black mask spoke up again.

“I don’t get why everyone likes him so much…”, you spoke up, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter that was walking by.

The women looked at you, a look of confusion in their eyes. “Why would you say that? Everyone loves him.”, black mask said, defending the man.

You sighed. “I heard that he's a real asshole in reality. Ever heard of when he bulldozed an orphanage for his new hotel?”, you told them.

They gasped in shock. “He would never do something like that, would he?”

“Well he paid the media so word couldn’t get out.”, you told them.

Then they started discussing if this was real or not. That was what you did for the first hour. While there was some show on the stage, you trash talked Kevin Bang. While some people didn’t even listen to you, others were saying that they had assumptions about him. Kevin Bang was a smart man. He wouldn’t show his real face to anyone.

As you were looking around the room, you felt something or rather someone staring at you. Now that you think of it, you felt that even earlier. Then you saw that in fact someone was staring at you. That suit and mask… He looked really familiar. He walked up to you and held out his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”

You were surprised and didn’t know what to do. “Uh, I’m not really a dancer.”

“Just follow my lead, you will be fine.”, his butter smooth voice assured you. Damn it.

You then took his hand and followed him to the dance floor. He put one hand on your waist and his other hand held yours. You wondered why he asked you out of all people. You carefully followed his steps, trying not to embarrass yourself.

“So, what’s your deal? Who are you?”, he grumbled, his eyes dark.

“This is a masquerade, isn’t it? Why would you ask me that?”, you told him, slightly surprised by his sudden change of attitude. What was he trying to do?

“I heard you talk shit about my father. What the hell are you even doing here if you hate him that much, huh?”

Your eyes widened. Of course, he was Kevin Bang’s son! You recognized him from earlier. “Why do you act like everyone in this room loves him? As if I am the only person who dislikes him.”

He tightly squeezed your hand and waist to symbolize his seriousness. “Oh, really? You don’t know him. He is a businessman, sometimes he has to make sacrifices like relocating an orphanage.”

So, he was listening to you. Interesting. “You call that relocating? You don’t know shit.”, you said in an annoyed tone.

“And you know that better than his own son?”

It was your turn to give him a tight squeeze on his shoulder. “Yeah, I actually have my sources.”

You were dancing in circles and his gaze bore into yours. You would find it cute that he tried to defend his father if he wasn’t Kevin’s son. “I will find out who the hell you are. I bet you are one of the Lee’s. You guys are always jealous of us.”

You sighed. “I am so jealous of you and your life. Oh, fuck off. You know, I don’t have to like you or your father. And here I thought I would dance with a gentleman.”, you said, trying to sound disinterested.

The music finally came to an end and you looked at the man in front of you. “It was not nice to dance with you. Let’s not do that again.”, you said and turned your back, walking away from him.

“Wait! Who the hell are you?”, Chan shouted, gaining a few looks from the crowd. But before he could follow you, you were lost in the crowd.

You tried to go through busy crowds and then tried to find a way to go to the computer/tech room. You decided that it would be best if you pretended to search for a bathroom or something, so you sneaked upstairs without anyone noticing you for now.

It was time. Time to get revenge. Time to show the world who the real Kevin Bang was. Time to shine.

A/N: Hello guys, this is my first (consistent) series on this blog! This is also the first time I am writing for Chan and I hope I do him justice. Buckle up because this story has a lot of twists and turns. I appreciate every form of feedback and maybe even theories! What do you think will happen next? Thanks for reading! ♥

[olivieblake]

Let me preface this by saying I have always shipped dramione. However, I’m re-reading the Harry Potter series for the first time in years. In that time I’ve become a lot more educated on racism (and it’s many forms, etc...) Also, this is my first time reading it where I didn’t think of mudblood as some made up word for muggle born wizards, but the wizarding world equivalent of the n-word. Given all that, my feelings about the dramione ship have shifted. (1/2)

I often wrote off Draco’s violent racism as the fault of Lucius not Draco, but at what point does it become Draco’s fault. It is chicken soup for my souls when I see racist teens being denied or expelled from schools because of using the N-word or doing something equivalently racist. They probably learned it from their parents as well, but I still blame them. I don’t know what my question is. I just wanted your thoughts

I have a lot of thoughts and here they are in a stream of consciousness format

one is that I think you’re right to recognize that “mudblood” is the wizarding world’s n-word and in a lot of ways there are problems with the dramione ship that we have to be careful about. there’s a reason, for example, that I never write draco using the term “mudblood” in a romantic or sexual way (I really don’t understand why people seek that out) and also a reason I never write historically untenable situations, such as the nazi officer and auschwitz prisoner prompt someone asked for a few months ago. I do think you’re right that there’s a layer of distance we’ve taken advantage of in romanticizing the relationship; it’s hard for us to make the connection to white supremacy because the potterverse is an imaginary world—which is important for children! we feel safe within this world because our imaginations are supposed to be safe and they are children’s books. also, the decision to cast a pretty white actress named emma watson meant that for a lot of us, issues of racism seemed like very distant parallel. should we realize differently now? yes, probably, maybe. I’m still working through my feelings on this, so we’ll come back here

point two: this is the problem with so-called cancel culture, though, that you seem to be implying that at some point draco’s “racism” becomes unforgivable. but it’s not just within the dramione ship that he realizes his wrongs—canonically he shows evidence of awakening, if not actual repentance. isn’t the idea that we want people to wake up and realize they’re wrong, regardless of how long it takes? I would LOVE for donald trump to wake up tomorrow and be like oh shit I’m a racist misogynist, fuck!! that’s obviously not going to happen and it wouldn’t undo anything he did prior to that—but the whole point of dramione is to write draco’s process of 1) realization and 2) contrition. I would argue that every dramione fic (certainly every dramione fic of substance) involves him facing his prejudice and perceiving his error. does it matter that he doesn’t figure this out until his life is threatened at age 17? I mean yes, of COURSE you can blame him for his prejudice (and his prejudicial actions) whether it starts with his parents or not. 

but isn’t THE WHOLE POINT that he changes his mind? 

I mentioned in our AMERICANAH discussion that I think the author was right—the only way to “cure” racism is romantic love. “Not the kind of safe, shallow love where the objective is that both people remain comfortable. But real deep romantic love, the kind that twists you and wrings you out and makes you breathe through the nostrils of your beloved.” I think the dramione ship has this concept at the root of it: that draco falls in love with hermione and in valuing her over himself (which is what love is!), he begins to not only understand her trauma and the way he caused her pain but also begins repenting for it with his choices. this is always at the heart of it. we always want draco to feel that crushing devastation of knowing exactly what he’s done, and then we want him to be on her side, unconditionally.

is it EXTREMELY ICKIER when you think about this within the frame of a nazi loving a jewish woman or a white supremacist falling for a Black woman? YES, immensely so, I hate it and I would never write an AU for either of those scenarios. I would absolutely not touch that at all. so I think that distance I mentioned earlier is pretty crucial here, because yeah, this is a fake world with magic that doesn’t exist and “mudblood” isn’t the n-word because it isn’t preceded by centuries of slavery, imperialism, or punitive institutional bias. well, there’s obviously institutional bias once voldemort pops up and wrecks shit, but historically? it’s unclear

—which is not to excuse anything. I do think intellectually there is a line to be drawn between these comparisons, though it’s a fine one. if I could choose to unship this at this point in time... maybe I would. personally I have always been diligent about the way I address morality in my fics, but was I ever considering it in terms of racism? no, not really. would I have romanticized this relationship if it felt even remotely like a real prejudice that existed in the world? I don’t believe so, no.

ultimately... I stand by the way I have written this ship. can I stand by the ship in general? I think that’s much more questionable, and also the reason I have avoided so many dramione fics and tropes in the past. because sure, you can romanticize the bad guy for the thrill of the angst, but at a certain point there has to be a moment where we question what, exactly, we’re romanticizing. while I do think there’s an argument for making the intellectual distinction (again, these are children’s books, and also as a first gen immigrant american who was neither british, white, nor magical, I already felt extremely distant from literally everything in these books, so at 11 years old I would not have made the connection between the n-word and “mudblood”) there is also a strong argument for being more conscious of what you read. if you seek out fics where draco is the one who saves hermione, are you seeking something akin to a white savior narrative? if you like fics where draco fetishizes muggle culture, is that the same as fetishizing Black culture? or are you just normal and horny and interested in reading fantasy romance using characters you already know from a fiction series you grew up with??

in conclusion: I think, as in all things, there are gradations to the morality of what we romanticize, and being aware of what we consume and why we consume it is what’s important right now. on a broad scale, however, there are no definitive answers as to whether something is wrong or right, and I will definitely have to think about this when I approach it in the future.

[idiot-cheesehead-archenemy]

Maybe it wasn’t written in the stars

Happy (belated) Holidays, @spoop-geist! You asked for “any kind of Danny angst” - I hope this qualifies.

Word count: 9642

CW: implied/referenced suicide

 Tucker accepted the call almost immediately, as usual. His room was dark, his face illuminated only by the light of the phone screen.

 “Danny, hey. You’re looking surprisingly happy.”

 “What, me?” Danny’s smile widened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “Really, though - this is the first time I’ve seen you really smile since you’ve been in the hospital. What’s the occasion?”

 Danny paused for effect, then said, “I told my parents.”

 “Oh, wow. That’s …”

 “You guys were right - if whatever’s making me sick is a ghost thing, they might be able to help. I didn’t want to risk being stuck here longer than I needed to be because I was too much of a coward to tell them.”

 “Nobody thought you were a coward, man. Telling them took a lot of courage.”

 “Yeah, I suppose.” Danny laughed awkwardly. “I actually waited until right before visiting hours were over, so that the hospital staff would make them leave afterward. I was afraid they’d need some time to cool down, you know.”

 “But I take it the conversation went well.”

 “What gave it away?” he asked, grinning. “Yes! Yes, it went well. Tucker, you have no idea the relief I’m feeling. I want to cry. I cried already. I’m just … it still doesn’t feel real.”

 “Congratulations? Is that the right mood?”  

 “I think that fits, yeah. Thanks.” Danny flopped back onto his pillow, careful not to pull on the tube connected to his oxygen mask. “It feels so good to be done with it.”

 “Have you told Sam?”

 “I’m going to as soon as I hang up.”

 “You called me first? She’ll love that.”

 Danny frowned. “I didn’t mean anything by it; you were just first in my recent contacts.”

 “Sure, but she’s your girlfriend.”

 “What? No she isn’t.”

 “She is a girl, yes? And you’re dating her?”

 “We went on a date. We’re not, like, officially a couple.”

 “So, what, you’re courting her?”

 “Yeah.” Tucker looked surprised. “Is that alright with you?”

 “I just don’t understand why you’re so old-fashioned about relationships. Have you been overshadowed by a dead Victorian boy or something?”

 “Cute, yeah, that must be it. Obviously I’m the one here who’s completely out of touch. You know, I don’t think the guy who thinks that two years is a generation is an authority on what is or isn’t old-fashioned.”

 “It can be, depending on the context, and also that’s irrelevant, and also I think you should call Sam.”

 “Okay, yes, I will.”

 “And, you know, take care of yourself. And let me know if you need anything and all that. I wanna be here for you.”

 “You’re always there for me, Tuck. And I will. Thanks.”

 “Anytime.”

 Danny hung up, found Sam’s name and hovered his finger over the “call” icon. She wouldn’t really be upset that he hadn’t called her first, right? He took a breath and tapped the button. A moment later, Sam’s face appeared, smiling. She’d taken her makeup off for the night, but Danny knew she probably wouldn’t be asleep for another couple of hours.

 “Danny!”

 “Hey.”

 “What’s up? Any news?”

 “No news about the, you know, but I do have good news of a more personal nature.”

 “Oh?”

 “I told my parents.”

 Her jaw dropped, just a little. “That you’re Danny Phantom?”

 “Yeah.”

 “And everything’s good?”

 “It really is. It was super emotional and admittedly I did say some stuff I wasn’t really planning on saying, and some of it was pretty mean, maybe justified but still mean, but they were totally understanding and apologetic - I mean, really, they apologized! They said they were wrong and they promised to change and that whole schtick. And it just felt -” his voice cracked slightly, and he suddenly felt his eyes stinging. He started blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “It felt really good, to hear them say all that. And to just have this off my shoulders.” No tears escaped his eyes, but he kept blinking to try to make the stinging go away. “Sorry.”

 “You’re allowed to cry, Danny. It’s okay. Besides, I’m goth. Crying is, like, our favourite emotion.”

 Danny chuckled. “I don’t think crying is an emotion.”

 “It is in some cultures.”

 “Okay.” He took a couple of deep breaths and checked his pulse oximeter - 91%, not too bad. “Well, yeah, that’s my news.”

 “That’s really great, Danny. I’m really happy for you. And proud. I know how big this was.”

 “Yeah. Yeah, it … it was nerve-wracking. But worth it.”

 “Was Jazz with you?”

 “Yeah, she’s been really leaning into the overprotective-big-sister role since she got back.” Danny cringed slightly as he remembered how she’d come into his hospital room for the first time and almost immediately started lecturing a nurse about the lack of natural sunlight Danny was getting. “I would have thought going to college might mellow her out, but she’s more the same than ever. Not that I’m complaining that she was with me when I talked to mom and dad. I don’t think I could have done it without someone I knew would have my back.”

 “You know I or Tucker could have been there, right? We wouldn’t have minded.”

 Oh, shit, should he have asked her to be there? Did she expect that because she was his quote-unquote girlfriend? “Well, it was kind of a family conversation.”

 “Right, totally fair. Have you told Tucker, by the way?”

 “Uh, yeah, I told him like a second ago, and then he made me hang up to tell you. He was afraid you’d be offended that I called him first.”

 “Ha! Probably because he would have been offended if you’d called him second.”

 Danny smiled. “Probably. I love him, but he is a tiny bit jealous sometimes.”

 “Do you remember that time …”

 “Ugh, no, I don’t, let’s not talk about it.”

 “Sure thing. So you told your parents, they were cool, was that the end of the conversation?”

 “They said they’re gonna set up their lab to try to figure out what’s wrong with me, working under the assumption that it has something to do with my ghost half. Not thrilled about the fact they’re probably going to need to take, you know, samples. But the alternative is worse, so.” He shrugged, then realized his shoulders weren’t in frame.

 “I’ll keep praying, too. With the combined powers of modern science and the Almighty, I’m sure you’ll be out of there in no time.”

 “Thanks.” There was a pause. He felt like he was supposed to say something else, but he didn’t know what.

 “So, it’s a good thing you called, because my grandma and I were planning to bake some cookies for you, but I wanted to ask if I’m allowed to bring homemade stuff into the hospital. Oh, and my grandma wanted me to let you know that she’s praying for you, too.”

 “Tell her thanks and I’m not sure about the food. I’ll ask the nurse next time they come in. Text me so I don’t forget.”

 “Will do.” There was a pause again. Danny wondered how to tell the difference between an awkward pause and a regular pause. “Did you have any other pressing news to share?”

 “I don’t think so. Things are pretty dull around here.”

 “So you’ve said. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, possibly with cookies.”

 “Sounds good.”

 “I love you.”

 “Love you too.”

 Sam disconnected, and the silence Danny was left in wasn’t really silent at all. The beeping of the heart monitor, the ticking of the wall clock, and the hiss of the oxygen tank were so much more noticeable when they were the only things to pay attention to. He thought, not for the first time since he’d been here, about the vacuum of space. No sound, just the gentle darkness enveloping him and the billions of stars to keep him company. They wouldn’t twinkle, they’d just be points of light, the photons having traveled uninterrupted for thousands of years just to reach his eyes. He wished he could see the stars now. He wished he could fall asleep every night and wake up every morning surrounded by stars. In a thousand lifetimes, he was sure he’d never get tired of the view.

 ***

 Jazz stepped into the cramped hospital room holding two water bottles.

 “I know you said soda,” she began, not even waiting for Danny to protest, “but that stuff has a lot of sodium, and I know I’m not a doctor, but you really need to stay hydrated, so I think you could stand to drink a water bottle now and then.” She held one of the bottles out, and he took it with as little hesitance as he could muster. It was cold, at least.

 “Sure, I can do that. If it’ll make you feel better.”

 “Well, I thought maybe you would do it for your own health, but I’ll take it.” Danny opened the bottle and took a few gulps as Jazz took a seat in the plastic chair beside his bed. “So, how are you feeling?”

 Danny rolled his eyes; it was at least the dozenth time she’d asked the exact same question in the past two weeks. It would be fine if she would accept “okay” as an answer, but she always wanted more detail.

 “About mom and dad, good but a little nervous. I’m glad they’re so accepting of Danny Phantom, but sometimes it feels like they care more about him than me, you know? It’s all they want to talk about.” Jazz nodded seriously, like she was being briefed on a military assignment. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything. “Bored, otherwise,” Danny continued with a shrug. He looked at the water bottle in his hand. “Slightly craving soda. But, you know, this is good, too.” He uncapped the bottle again and downed the rest. He knew if he waited until it was warm he just wouldn’t drink it.

 “Have you talked to mom and dad about how you feel?”

 “Well, no.”

 “They won’t change if they don’t know there’s a problem.”

 “I guess not. But I don’t want to start a fight, especially when it seems like everything is basically going well.”

 “I can understand that, but you deserve better than ‘basically going well.’ You deserve to be happy, Danny.”

 “Sure, but you don’t think there’s even a small chance that starting a fight about this would make me less happy in the long run?”

 “It doesn’t have to be a fight. Mom and dad still love you, even if they aren’t always the best at showing it. They want you to be happy.”

 Danny fiddled with the tube of his oxygen mask. “I know.” Of course he knew that. But he also knew that them loving him didn’t necessarily mean that he could get through to them. He’d thought he’d done that already, when they agreed to reconsider their all-ghosts-are-evil stance, but even the best-intentioned leopard could only change so many of its spots at once.

 “Well, I hope you figure something out that works for you. In the meantime, I can try to help with the boredom, but not for too long, unfortunately. I have some readings I need to do before tomorrow.”

 “Oh, I mean, you could go home if you need to do homework. I don’t want to distract you.” He didn’t want her to leave, of course, but he knew from experience this wasn’t the best environment for focusing on schoolwork, especially since she already had the added difficulty of not going to class because she was visiting him.

 Jazz smiled faintly. “I was thinking I could do it here, if you don’t mind just sitting in silence with me for a while. And, hey, do you have any homework?” Danny’s slight wince apparently answered the question for him. “So why don’t you work on your homework and I’ll work on mine? We can be accountability buddies.”

 “What’s that?”

 “What, accountability buddies? It’s when two or more people agree to do something together and keep each other accountable for doing what they set out to do. A lot of people have accountability buddies for exercising - maybe that’s where the term is from, I’m not sure - but it works just as well for studying.”

 “Leave it to you to take a thing that jocks do and make it a nerd thing.”

 It was Jazz’s turn to roll her eyes. “Danny, I don’t know if anyone has informed you, but you are, in fact, also a nerd. I know a lot of people who would say you’re a heck of a lot nerdier than I am, actually.”

 “I wasn’t …” He shook his head. “Whatever.”

 “Oh, wait, was that a compliment? If it was, thank you, but I didn’t come up with the idea of having a buddy to keep you accountable for schoolwork. Really, that’s basically what a study group is.”

 “Is it? I guess so. I’ve never been in a study group. Kinda thought they were just a plot device in movies and TV shows to get the cast together.”

 “Well, they can certainly fill that role, too, but they are real, and they can be pretty cool.”

 “You would think studying is cool.”

 Jazz frowned. “What makes you say that?”

 “That you think studying is cool?”

 “That you don’t. Where is this too-cool-for-school attitude coming from?”

 “It really doesn’t need to be that deep, Jazz. I was just teasing you. That’s a normal thing; it doesn’t mean I have some deep-seated mental issues.”

 “Oh, trust me when I say that we all have some deep-seated mental issues, and denying that fact never helped anyone. For example, I think maybe you’re not doing as well in school as you want to, and you also think that studying is for losers. Do you think you’re going to get better at school while thinking that?”

 “I never said that I think studying is for losers, and even if I did, how I do in school is based on, you know, the work I do, not how I feel about it.”

 “But the work that you do is a behaviour, and behaviours are caused by - and cause - thoughts and feelings. It’s all connected. So if you want to change your behaviour, one of the best things you can do is identify the thoughts that are causing it. That’s basically how cognitive behavioural therapy works.”

 “Ok, cool. And …?”

 “And, if you want help with that, I can print off some worksheets for you.”

 “Would that make you feel better?”

 “Will you promise to at least read them? Proper CBT is a little bit labour intensive, and it’s really not the same experience working with just a book and not a therapist, but I think it could be useful for you to learn some of the language and techniques, even without committing to the whole process. It becomes another tool in your toolkit, if nothing else.”

 “Another weapon in the arsenal against … bad mental health?”

 Jazz hesitated a second before smiling and saying, “Exactly.”

 “Then sure, I will do that, then. Who doesn’t love more weapons?”

 “Yes, that does make me feel better.”

 “Cool. Now, didn’t you say you had homework?”

 “I believe we both did, if I’m remembering correctly.”

 Danny glared ruefully at his backpack for a moment before he reached into it and pulled out a textbook and a binder. “Yeah, yeah, I’m doing it.”

 ***

 “Hey, sweetie.”

 Danny took out his headphones and sat up. “Hey, mom, long time no see.” He was joking, of course - she’d been here every day for the past month, except yesterday. But she frowned, and Danny wished he hadn’t said anything.

 “I’m sorry - I wanted to come visit yesterday, but -”

 “It’s okay, mom. I was just joking. You’re fine.” She smiled weakly, but her eyes still looked sad. Danny had a feeling his answering smile was not much more convincing. “So, what news?” She didn’t need to say anything - the way her face fell, losing even the shadow of happiness, was answer enough. But she spoke anyway.

 “We’ve … ruled out a lot of things. So, we are making progress.” Danny didn’t think that was the way she thought of it. “But we still don’t know …” anything useful, Danny filled in mentally.

 “You don’t know how to cure me.”

 “Sweetie, I’m so sorry, but we have to keep our … chins up. We’ll get through this together.” Had she been about to say ‘keep our spirits up’? Was she trying to make a pun, and then thought better of it, or did she not realize it would sound like a pun until she’d already started talking? He thought about asking, but he didn’t want to accidentally upset her again. He kept doing that. Obviously this whole situation was a bummer, but over the past couple of weeks, it seemed that people always got sadder when he spoke to them. As if it wasn’t bad enough that his health was a burden on everyone, apparently he had a talent for saying the wrong thing. He smiled again, trying to make it look more genuine.

 “I know we will. I know you and dad are kicking ass in the lab - you’re two of the smartest people I know. If anyone can do this, it’s you. I mean, it’s all of us, the Fentons, together. We don’t give up, right?” Why did that sound so unconvincing? His mom nodded.

 “Of course we don’t. Speaking of which, your father and I are still trying to convince the doctors that we can take care of you at home, but they’re still pretty nervous, given how …” She glanced at Danny’s oxygen tank. “… how quickly things might deteriorate if something did happen.” Danny nodded. He’d only had one scare since the one that had landed him in the hospital in the first place, but he was certainly grateful for the ability to summon a nurse so quickly with the push of a button.

 “I do get where they’re coming from, but also, it would be nice to go home.” He wondered what home would be like. Would they keep him in the lab, so they could run tests more easily? Would he be able to walk around the house? Would it feel like the nightmares where he was trapped down there, being experimented on? Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe he would be able to sleep in his bed, in his room, and everything would be almost normal except for the oxygen tank and the regular visits to the doctor.

 Danny shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I trust the doctors to make the best decision. But, thanks for trying. And, you know, for … everything.”

 She came to the side of the bed and crouched down, so her eyes were level with his, and she took his hands in hers. It was too close; Danny wanted to pull away. He didn’t know why. But he resisted the urge, and he met her gaze. “You know your father and I would do anything for you, Danny. And do it happily. We love you.”

 “I know, mom. I love you too, and dad. You guys are the real superheroes.” He smirked at that last part, and it wasn’t even faked. It was just such a corny thing to say, he almost laughed. Especially since it wasn’t true at all.

 “Aww, Danny.” She looked like she wanted to cry, and she leaned in for a hug, which Danny returned awkwardly, mostly because of the positioning, he told himself. “I love you so much,” she muttered into his shoulder. “You know that right?” She pulled back to look at his face again, and she stroked his hair. Danny smiled what he hoped was the right amount. “Your father and I love you, and we want nothing more than for you to be happy and healthy and safe.”

 “Mom, if you’re trying to apologize again for trying to hunt me …” She was shaking her head. “Okay, good.”

 She stood up, then leaned down again briefly to kiss the top of his head before going to sit in the chair against the wall. “So, how are other things? How’s school going? I hope your teachers are cutting you some slack.”

 “Eh, not really, but it’s fine. I mean, I have plenty of time to do homework, and no distractions, so I’m actually keeping up pretty well. Better than before, I think.” He frowned. “I hope that doesn’t reveal some kind of uncomfortable truth about me.”

 “I wonder if ...” she began, then she apparently thought about whether to say what she’d been thinking. A moment later, she said “You haven’t been ghost hunting, right? That must make a pretty big difference.”

 “Yeah, I haven’t, that’s true.” He wished he could, but his grasp of duplication just wasn’t at that level, and he couldn’t exactly practice, now. “It is okay out there, right? I mean, you and dad are trying to figure out what’s up with me; you can’t also be out ghost-hunting all the time. And you banned Sam and Tucker from ghost-hunting alone, so you don’t have a lot of help, besides the red huntress, I guess. I’d hate to think … I don’t know. That the town was descending into chaos or something because I’m not there.”

 “That’s sweet of you to worry. It’s also very in-character of you to feel like you’re holding all of Amity Park on your shoulders, but I can assure you that we’re managing to keep the chaos firmly at bay, even without you. It’s almost as if you don’t really need to push yourself to exhaustion. Like, maybe, you can actually relax and just be a teenager.”

 “Hm. That’s one theory, I suppose.” He said it with a straight face, but then he cracked a smile, and his mom did too, and he was starting to feel like this whole conversation thing was going the way it was supposed to. In a more wistful voice, he said, “Still, it would be nice to go outside. See the stars, feel the wind in my hair, that sort of thing.”

 “Well, when you get out of here, you’ll be able to do all that and also get your schoolwork done, since you won’t be out ghost-hunting until the sun rises anymore.”

 “No, definitely not.” Not unless it was really important.

 “Though, I’m curious about your grades … Do you feel mentally the same way you did before, like your mental capacity for doing schoolwork is the same, and your improvement is just because you have more time, or do you feel like your mental abilities are different now, so that the work feels easier? Does that make sense?”

 “Uh, yeah, I think so. I think my mental abilities are the same, and the work still feels pretty hard … I guess math is easier, just because I’ve had time to catch up and read and watch stuff online that explains the parts I didn’t understand, so now I have that solid foundation to build on the new stuff we’re learning. But I don’t think everything is easier in general. I think it’s just time. I suppose I am sleeping better, and that’s supposed to be a big deal for attention span and stuff, but I don’t think I’ve noticed a huge difference.”

 “And you haven’t been in ghost form at all since you’ve been in the hospital, right?”

 Oh, of course. This was about him being half ghost. Everything was, nowadays, wasn’t it? “No, I haven’t. How could I transform when I’m hooked up to a heart monitor? I think someone might notice the sudden lack of a pulse.”

 “Yes, I think that would be a cause for concern.” She said it with a joking tone and a half-smile, but Danny was having trouble matching the expression now. “And you don’t feel like staying in human form for this long has had any mental effects, deleterious or beneficial?”

 “I don’t think so.” His voice was flat.

 “Don’t you find that interesting?”

 “I guess. Can we talk about something else?”

 She looked disappointed. “Of course we can, if that’s what you want.”

 “It’s just -” Danny stopped. He knew he should say something. He wanted to, even.

 “What is it?”

 “I don’t … like it … that …” He looked down at her feet. This was so much harder than it needed to be.  “… it feels like you always want to talk about … my ghost half. I feel like every conversation always ends up there, and it makes me feel like you … I mean …” He was trying his hardest to do the whole ‘I-statements' thing, but gosh it was annoying. “It makes me feel … not … seen. Like you’re only seeing me as a half-ghost, now, instead of that being just one thing about me.”

 “Oh, sweetie.” She walked back over to the bed, knelt beside it, and gave him another awkward hug. “Baby, I’m sorry. I thought you would want to talk about it. I didn’t want you to think it was something I was afraid of or judging you for. I wanted it to just be a normal thing to talk about, like school or friends. I’m so sorry that I did the opposite.” She pulled away from the hug, but left her hands on his shoulders as she met his eyes. “I promise I don’t see you any differently, Danny.”

 Danny was very tempted to accept the apology and leave it there. But he didn’t think he’d be brave enough to broach the topic again, so whatever he wanted to say, he knew he’d better say it now. “But you do, though. I mean, I expected you to. I’m literally a ghost - that’s different. But when you ask me about ghost stuff, it’s never just … normal questions, like you would ask about school or friends. You always sound more like a scientist than a mom.” She looked hurt by that, and Danny immediately regretted his words. “I mean, I’m not trying to say you’re not being a good mom or anything like that, just … You do see me differently. You are a scientist, and I am a ghost, and that’s … I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

 His mom appeared to be thinking about what he’d said. She looked upset, but he didn’t know whether it was about-to-start-crying upset or about-to-start-lecturing upset. Finally, she just said, “I don’t understand.”

 “I mean … I don’t expect you to see me the same way, but I guess I don’t want you to treat me differently? Or, no, that’s not … I’m not saying I don’t want to talk about me being half ghost, because that is part of who I am and I do want to talk about it sometimes, but I’d rather, when we talked about it, that you would be more interested in, you know, me and how I’m feeling and stuff, instead of my … biology or psychology or whatever.”

 “Danny, I’m trying to understand, but I thought that’s what I was doing. I thought I was asking you about your feelings and experiences. I do care about you as my son, not some science experiment.” She was definitely looking closer to about-to-start-crying upset, now, and Danny had to look away.

 “Okay, well, sometimes it doesn’t feel that way, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just biased, but sometimes, a lot of the times, it feels more like you’re gathering data for a report instead of just talking to me.”

 “I want to do better, but I’m not sure how.”

 “Just … maybe let’s just stick to not talking about ghost stuff unless I bring it up first. Does that work?”

 She nodded. “I can do that.”

 “Thanks.”

 “I love you, Danny.”

 Danny leaned against her shoulder, and she responded by wrapping him up in her arms. The hug still felt awkward, but he didn’t really want to pull away.

 “I love you too, mom.”

   ***

 “I’m not sure I would’ve come back so quickly,” Valerie said. “It might be nice to get a vacation from all the high school bullshit.”

 “Yeah, I’ll be honest, I somehow managed to forget how much of an outcast I was, and having tubes stuck in my face hasn’t helped, if you can believe it.” Danny looked idly around the cafeteria. Nobody was openly staring at him, but he saw a few people throw glances his way. He shook his head and turned back to Valerie. “But trust me, being stuck in a hospital room is no vacation.” Still, he wished he’d at least tried to convince the school he needed to stay home a while longer. Maybe he could have pulled it off.

 Sam eyed the ambiguous meat that had slipped off Danny’s fork while he wasn’t paying attention. “You can’t tell me that the food wasn’t better, at least.”

 “The hospital mostly just had prepackaged stuff, so, I guess that was better, but I kinda like getting different foods every day, even if they suck. Variety is the spice of … food, I guess.”

 “I think spice is the spice of food.”

 Danny didn’t reply - he’d just noticed someone walking purposefully toward their table, and he groaned. Sam and Valerie followed his gaze, and Valerie muttered,

 “Not this again.”

 Danny shot a look at her, and then at Sam, who shrugged as if to say, ‘I don’t know, either.’ Danny wanted to ask Valerie what she meant, but obviously that would have to wait.

 “Fenton,” Wes began, a smile that could only be described as sarcastic plastered across his face, “it is so good to see you again. It’s been so quiet the past few weeks.”

 “Oh, has it? Where did you go?”

 “Oh, no, no I’ve been around. But it’s actually funny that you say that, because there is someone else who’s usually here who -”

 “Just spit it out,” Sam said. “The faster you’re done, the sooner I don’t have to be talking to you anymore.”

 Wes didn’t look at all phased, but of course he didn’t. If he was capable of being phased, he would have stopped bothering Danny and his friends years ago. Danny thought about telekinetically untying Wes’ shoelaces, but remembered that he had switched to slip-ons last semester precisely to avoid that.

 “Fine. Nobody has seen Phantom since Fenton here was in the hospital. That is,” he said quickly, sensing that everyone at the table was getting ready to cut him off again, “until last night.” Oh, right. Danny had been so excited to see the stars again, he hadn’t even thought about being stealthy. “Apparently he was spotted over a park by multiple people. Danny, you got home from the hospital yesterday, right?”

 “No, I’ve been here the whole time. I don’t know how you missed me.” Wes rolled his eyes. Sam smirked. Valerie was looking down at her food. She looked … uncomfortable. Embarrassed, maybe? What the heck had Wes said to her?

 “Well, I’m just saying,” slogan of assholes everywhere, Danny thought, “that it’s an interesting coincidence.” He turned to Valerie, who was still avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Don’t you think it’s interesting, Valerie?”

 Valerie’s expression went from awkward to pissed in no seconds flat. She glared at Wes, stabbing her fork in his direction as she spoke. “I think you need to back off. Nobody wants you here, nobody wants to talk to you, nobody gives a crap what you think. And, like you so nicely pointed out, Danny just got out of the hospital. You couldn’t leave him alone for twenty-four hours? Come on, man. Just leave.”

 Wes raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m -”

 “She said leave, dude,” Sam snapped. “That means now.” Hands still raised, Wes backed away from the table without saying another word. Danny mentally reached out to form a small ecto-shield under Wes’ foot, causing him to slip and fall onto his ass to the laughter of the nearby tables.

 Danny turned his attention back to Valerie, who was looking at the clock. They were about ten minutes into the period. “Hey, sorry about him,” Danny said. Valerie met his gaze, her expression somewhere between surprised and confused. “I wish I knew how to make him only harass me instead of everyone around me.”

 “Oh, it’s … it’s fine, Wes is Wes, it’s not your fault.”

 “He never, I don’t know, made you uncomfortable or anything, did he? I mean, more than just being his normal jerky self?”

 “No,” she said, very quickly.

 Danny shot a sideways glance at Sam, who had her eyes narrowed. She asked, “Are you okay? Do I need to kill Wes for you? I can make it happen, just say the word.”

 “No. No, guys, I’m fine. It’s nothing like that. I just hate the way he treats Danny.” She didn’t look angry anymore, though. She just looked distracted. Her eyes kept moving around the room. “I mean, it’s ridiculous right? A ghost being part human? Who ever heard of something like that?” Danny did not laugh nervously, nor did he exchange a look with Sam. What he did was nod, which was obviously the least suspicious thing to do. “And I mean, it’s not like he has any evidence. Just, you know. Coincidences.” She dropped her eyes to her food, again.

 “He claims to have coincidences,” Sam said. “But he has a pretty clear agenda. You can’t just trust everything he says.”

 “Right. Right, yeah. How would I know whether Phantom was actually seen last night, or any time over the past six weeks? All I have is his word.”

 Danny could see that Sam was about to say something else, but he spoke first.

 “Val?”

 She looked up. “Yeah?”

 He could feel his heart trying to escape his ribcage, and he considered whether to give himself more oxygen. “Why don’t we just finish lunch and forget about Wes for now. And maybe later … if you want to … talk …” He shrugged. Valerie was quiet for a minute - or maybe a couple of seconds - then she smiled faintly.

 “Can do. But, I don’t really need to talk. It’s okay.”

 “You’re sure?”

 “Yeah. I mean, what is there to talk about? Some dumb kid and his dumb theories? I already forgot what he was saying.”

 ***

 Danny awoke with a feeling of mild dread, as he usually did, and he did his best to dispel it by meditating, as he had recently started doing. He tried to just imagine himself floating through space. When his mind drifted, it was mostly to his parents. He wanted to believe they were making progress, but … he didn’t. After almost three months, they still seemed to be saying the same things, about how that last analysis had ruled certain things out, and how this new analysis would really give them something to work with, and so on. At least the doctors were honest about the fact that they didn’t know what to do.

 Eventually he opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight. It was Sunday. He vaguely remembered that Sunday used to be a chill day to relax and do whatever he wanted. At some point it had become a day to catch up on all the school he’d been neglecting all week due to ghost-hunting. Danny hadn’t been doing much by way of ghost hunting, since he’d gotten home from the hospital. (He got winded easily, even in ghost form. That seemed unfair, that he needed oxygen even as a ghost. But he supposed it was the trade-off for having access to some of his ghost powers even as a human.) Somehow, though, he’d still managed to neglect his homework all week, and now he had a draft of an English essay to write in a day. So apparently it was never the ghost stuff - he was just terrible at school. He was going to fail and never get into university and -

 No, stop. Danny took a deep breath from his diaphragm. That was a cognitive distortion. Catastrophization or something? Overgeneralization? Either way, he had evidence it wasn’t true. Danny had been doing well this semester. He probably shouldn’t have waited so long to write this draft, but he did have his thesis and a few quotes picked out. He still had all day. He took a few more deep breaths before taking out his English binder and his laptop.

 Tucker came by in the afternoon with some brownies.

 “Is it good?” Tucker asked, excited.

 “It’s great,” Danny said between bites, “Did you make these?”

 “Yeah, it’s a new thing I’m trying. Turns out brownies are, like, really easy. And cake and cookies - you just mix a couple basic ingredients, throw in whatever else you want, and then cook, and now you have food.”

 “Convenient.”  

 “Right? I can’t believe I’m only just now discovering this. Can you imagine being ten years old and knowing that desert was never more than an hour away, if you wanted it?”

 “There might be a reason that knowledge was kept from us.”

 “Adults and their conspiracies. So, what have you been up to?”

 “Ugh.” Danny glanced at his laptop. “Right now, English essay.”

 “You make it sound so exciting.”

 “Well, it’s certainly got my heart rate up, since it needs to be done by tomorrow, for whatever that’s worth.”

 “What are you writing about?”

 “The Lord of the Flies as an indictment of toxic masculinity.”

 “Sam’s idea?”

 Danny made a face. “No. I can criticize society, too, you know.”

 “Sorry, sorry.”

 “Also, I’m a trans guy, so I feel like I’m pretty well within my wheelhouse, here.”

 “Fair point. So it kinda sounds like you are actually enjoying writing it.”

 “Eh, it’s not as interesting as I’m making it sound. It’s just finding quotes and then explaining how they show that the author believes such-and-such. Well, you know; you had English last semester.”

 “Yeah, I guess I don’t remember it as a rigorous intellectual exercise. Speaking of rigorous intellectual exercises, though, you remember the robot I was telling you about?”

 “The one you’re building? Sure.”  

 Tucker held up a finger, then fished his most recent project out of his bag and held it out for Danny to examine. Danny’s eyes widened the appropriate amount and Tucker grinned, satisfied, as Danny took it and turned it over. “That arm can grip everything from an egg to a bowling ball - the grip strength varies smoothly and it has a smart sensor that chooses the minimum effective strength. And it can choose whether to use the legs or the wheels - they’re tucked up underneath, there - based on the type of terrain, which it judges based on data from the gyroscope and the camera. Oh, do you wanna see the code?” Tucker took out his phone.

 “Uh, you can show it to me, but I don’t think I’ll understand much of it.”

 “I won’t get too detailed, I promise. I’m just really proud and I wanna show you what I did.”

 “You should be. This is totally cool.” He looked at the robot again. “I wish I could do stuff like this.”

 “What’s stopping you?”

 “A lack of the knowledge of how to do it, for one thing.”

 “So learn. What are you doing this summer?”

 Tucker had him there. “Not much.”

 “You should do a coding course. There are some really affordable, totally online ones that you can do from anywhere. I mean, there are some garbage ones, so do your research, but if you have even a little bit of interest, I absolutely recommend it. The future is written in code; if you can write code, you can write the future.”

 Danny laughed. “That’s a pretty good tagline.”

 “And it’s true, too.”

 “Okay, I’ll look into it.” He typed a note on his phone that read ‘coding course for summer?’ “And I believe you were going to regale me with the story of how you taught this thing to tell different types of ground apart.”

 ***

 Danny didn’t blink, and neither did Dr. Dufour. The doctor took a deep breath. Danny didn’t. Finally, the doctor said, “No. I’m not legally required to tell them.” Danny let out his breath.

 “Then I don’t want you to.”

 “Are you sure, Danny? I want you to really consider what the next few months are going to look like.”

 “That’s what I’m doing. I don’t want it to look like … everyone mourning me while I’m still here. I just want it to be normal.”

 “It might be easier for both you and them to find closure if you have more time to talk about and make peace with the situation.”

 “I know.” Danny pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his forehead against them. “I know. Maybe later … but not right now.”

 ***

 “You can breathe, dad. I’m the one with the oxygen tank, remember?” Jack was still standing next to Danny, looking around, hands raised as if to grab some tool or press some button. But of course Danny had already adjusted his oxygen intake just like the nurse had shown him and Jack and Maddie how to do before Danny had been allowed to come home. Now his pulse oximeter was showing 93% - low for a normal person but pretty high for Danny. And Danny looked … well, a little bit paler and a little bit heavier than he had three months ago, but otherwise perfectly fine. Of course, he’d looked perfectly fine a few minutes ago, too, right before his blood oxygen had suddenly started dropping.

 “You’re sure you’re okay? Is there anything else I can do?”

 “I’m all good.”

 “Do I need to bring you to the hospital?”

 “No. Doctor Dufour says that I only need to come in outside of the tests and check-ups if something changes. This is … this is normal.” Danny looked so sad when he said that, it broke Jack’s heart. He just wanted Danny to be okay.

 “It’s not normal, son. I promise, it won’t always be like this. We’ll fix it.”

 Danny smiled a little. “I know you’re doing everything you can. The doctors are, too.”

 “You can’t give up hope, son. We can do this.”

 “Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean …” Danny, looking like he was lost in thought, turned to look out the window. “I just meant, this is normal for now. It’s nothing to worry about. That’s all.”

 “You’re right, I’m not worried. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ll get through this.” Jack bent down to squeeze Danny in a bear hug.

 “Dad, oxygen tubes.”

 Jack let go quickly. “Sorry.”

 “It’s ok.” He met Jack’s eyes and smiled. “I love you.”

 Jack caught his breath. It wasn’t something Danny said often, and hearing it brought happy tears to Jack’s eyes. “I love you too, son.”

 “Now, can we forget about this -” he gestured to his oxygen tank “- for a bit?”

 “Already out of my mind,” Jack said, and Danny tried to hide a smirk. He sat back down in Danny’s desk chair, which complained under his weight but held him just fine. “What were you talking about before? Creation disks?” Danny smiled again, much bigger this time.

 “Accretion disks, but I actually like ‘creation disks’ if you’re talking about the formation of stars. Or, it works for protoplanetary disks, too. But I was talking about quasars, which are kind of the opposite. You know how black holes form, right? Just as a quick summary, the fusion of light elements like helium releases energy …”

 Jack listened as intently as he could. He’d been disappointed at first when Danny had told him he wanted to talk about things other than ghosts and ghost hunting - it had been something they could easily bond over, and Jack didn’t understand why Danny wouldn’t want that. It had felt like a rejection, like he was saying he didn’t want to bond with him, or even that he didn’t want to be like him. But when Jack saw how excited Danny got talking about this space stuff, he could tell this was a good thing, even if he didn’t understand it.

 ***

 “ … not sure whether I should be making the posters out of something more durable, maybe laminating them. Obviously a lot of them are just going to get torn down, because, you know, people don’t like when the system that benefits them is called into question, so it might be kind of wasteful. On the other hand, I definitely don’t want them just getting wrecked if it rains or …” Sam stopped, realizing that Danny was somewhere else. It took him a few seconds to notice she wasn’t talking anymore.

 “What? Sorry, did you ask me something?” Sam frowned. “Shit, I’m sorry, I just didn’t sleep well, and -”

 “Danny.”

 He looked nervous. “Sorry.”

 “No, I’m not … Danny, are you okay?”

 “Yeah, just tired.”

 “Like you were ‘just tired’ every time your parents asked why you looked like shit after fighting a ghost?”

 “No. Just regular tired.”

 “You know you can talk to me.”

 “I know.”

 “What were you thinking about, just now?”

 “Nothing. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Just … nothing.”

 He was obviously upset, and Sam had the feeling that he wanted to say something but was second-guessing himself. She didn’t know what to do about it, though. “Is there anything else you want to talk about? I was going on about my stuff for a while. What’s up in your world?”

 Danny shrugged. “Nothing interesting. And I like hearing you talk.” He smiled. “I love you.”

 “I think that’s the first time you’ve said that.”

 “What? I say it all the time.”

 “No, it was always ‘I love you too.’ This is the first time you said it first.”

 “Oh, well …” He looked so uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t have pointed it out. “It’s true, though. I love you.”

 “I love you, too, Danny. All of you.”

 He laughed nervously. “What … what is that supposed to mean?”

 “It just means … you don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to. But if you do tell me … anything, it’ll be okay.”

 “I …” Sam could see the mental back-and-forth. There was something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “Do you promise not to get upset? I don’t mean mad at me, I mean … upset. In general.”

 Sam did not think she could promise not to have any kind of negative emotional response, but she also badly wanted to know whatever it was he was afraid to say. “Okay. I promise.”

 He took a deep breath, then another. He looked down at his pulse oximeter, and his eyes widened a little. It showed 89%. He took a few more deep breaths before he spoke. His eyes were firmly fixed on his sheets. “I’ve been wondering … what would happen … if I died.”

 Oh, yeah. She could see how someone might find that upsetting. Danny peeked up at her. She had no idea what he saw on her face.

 “I think my ghost half would still exist, or at least I don’t see why it wouldn’t, but would it still be partially human, or would I just be a full ghost, with all the full ghost powers? Would I feel like the same person? Would I have an obsession? Just stuff like that, you know. I’m not trying to be morbid or anything, but … that’s what’s been on my mind. I don’t want you to read too much into it, but you asked, so. Yeah.”

 She could read too much into it, if she wanted to. But Sam would be the last person to believe that there was anything inherently wrong with being morbid. If Danny wanted to speculate about his own death, more power to him. And besides, she’d been wondering a lot of the same things.

 “I appreciate you sharing that. And I promise I’m not upset.”

 Danny’s shoulders dropped as he let go of the tension in them. “Thank you.”

 “You’re not thinking about hurting yourself, right?”

 “No!” He looked disturbed that she had even asked. “No, of course not.”

 “I had to check. And you’re … okay? Generally?”

 “Yeah, I am. Things have been going really well, lately.” For a moment, his eyes were focused on something far away, again. Then he met her eyes and smiled, and she smiled back.

 ***

 When the temperature suddenly dropped in Wes’ bedroom, he knew exactly what it meant, even before he heard the familiar voice behind him.

 “Hey, Wes.”

 Wes spun around in his desk chair, trying to mentally chart a route from where he was sitting, past the ghost in the middle of the room, to his bed, where his small ecto-gun lay hidden under the pillow.

 “Calm down, I’m not here to fight you.” Phantom - Fenton - was floating just above the floor in a casual pose, his hands at his sides. Wes eyed him with open suspicion.

 “What do you want, Fenton?”

 Fenton smiled a little. “If you can believe it, I want to apologize.”

 Wes crossed his arms. “I can’t.”

 Fenton nodded. “That’s fair. But I’m going to do it, anyway.” He lowered himself gently so he was standing on the floor, and then a ring of blinding white light appeared around his waist. Wes hit the floor, covering his head with his arms in a vain attempt to protect himself from whatever this was. There was no heat, no noise, no shockwave. The light faded after a second and Wes heard Fenton chuckling. He looked up to see Fenton - Holy Shit. Fenton, looking as human as he’d ever looked, standing where Phantom had just been. “What’s wrong, Wes? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Fenton chuckled again.

 “You … you just … but … why?” Wes winced slightly at his incoherence.

 “Why am I finally admitting it after all this time?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

 “Is this … the apology? You’re sorry for making everyone think I was crazy when I was right?”

 “No, I think I was very justified in keeping this secret. But I probably wasn’t justified in tormenting you with my powers. Constantly tripping you, stealing your homework -”

 “I knew it!” He could never tell any of his teachers that a ghost stole his homework, but what other explanation was there? And all those times he tripped over seemingly nothing … of course it had been Phantom. Wes had known, just as surely as he’d known that Phantom and Fenton were the same person, but it felt so good to have it finally confirmed. “Wait, did you pour water on my pants that one time to make it look like I peed?”

 Fenton burst into laughter. Wes glared. “Oh man, I forgot that one. That was brutal.” Fenton wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry for that, too.”

 “You don’t look very sorry.”

 “I mean, it was funny. But -” He took a deep breath, then got a nervous look on his face and suddenly the white ring appeared again. Wes flinched and closed his eyes, then opened them to see Phantom standing there again. “Yes,” he said, looking more serious, now. “I am sorry. I never really tried talking to you. I just decided that, since you were trying to out me, you must be a bad person, and I was justified in messing with you however I wanted. But you’re probably not as bad a person as I think you are, and even if you are, that doesn’t make it ok for me to bully you like that.”

 “So … you’re saying you’ll stop?”

 Fenton smiled, but there was something about his eyes … it almost looked like he was about to start crying. Could ghosts cry? “Yeah. You don’t have to worry about me messing with you anymore.”

 “Are you going to tell everyone that I was right?”

 Phantom’s expression didn’t change. He just looked at Wes. After a few moments, he took a breath as if he was about to stay something, held it for a second, and then disappeared. Wes felt a soft rush of air and figured he was probably alone, again.

 “... What the Hell was that about?”

 ***

 “Hey, what’s up?” Danny’s voice was slightly muffled by what Jazz assumed was wind.

 “Hey, not much. Are you outside? I can’t hear you very well.”

 “Oh, sorry.” For a second there was just the sound of wind, then a static-y noise that made Jazz pull the phone away from her ear, then it was quiet. “Is this better?”

 “Yeah. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

 “No, I was just stargazing up on the roof. How are you? How are things?”

 “Things are good. I’m enjoying all my classes this quarter, great profs. I’m taking a really interesting one about the effects of the environment on health, so things like how poverty affects the immune system, all through the lens of neurology, of course. It’ll probably be one of the harder classes that I’ve taken, but it’s really exciting stuff. We don’t even have a textbook; it’s all based on really recent research that the prof is collecting on the course website. So that’s fun. What about you? How are things?”

 “Uhh … good, I guess. It’s close to finals, so, busy. No change in health.”

 “Well, hang in there. You’ll get through it.”

 “Thanks.”

 “I actually wanted to talk about school. Not trying to stress you out or anything, but I just learned about a new program Stanford is going to be offering that’s aimed toward future astronauts.”

 “Oh. Cool.”

 Well, that certainly wasn’t the reaction Jazz had expected. He usually got so excited about anything related to becoming an astronaut. “Do you want to hear about it?”

 “Yeah, sure.”

 Was he okay? Should she ask? “... right, so, it’s not a separate degree, but if you’re in the aeronautics and astronautics undergraduate program, there’s going to be a specific class you take each year, with some kind of capstone project at the end, like a thesis I guess, uhm, and then when you finish there’s a special designation you get, which, basically it will look really good for any grad school applications. I can send you a link if you want, there aren’t too many details yet but I thought you’d be interested to know for when you start applying to colleges.”

 “Uh, yeah, you can send that. I’ll take a look. Thanks.”

 She should say something. He might be annoyed now, but she didn’t want to regret it later when she found out something was really wrong and she could have helped. “Danny, are you okay?”

 “Yeah, fine. Aside from the obvious, I mean.”

 “You said there’s been no change?”

 “Yeah. Still sick, but getting by.”

 “It’s just, you sound sort of down. Not to be presumptuous, but I thought you’d be excited that there’s a program that can bring you closer to being an astronaut.”

 “Oh, yeah, well … it’s just, my grades, you know? I’m not sure about getting into Stanford, let alone a special program at Stanford.”

 “Oh!” Of course it was about that. He’d been struggling to reconcile his current grades with his future plans since freshman year. “Well, I can’t promise anything, but you know I’ll help you with your application, right? And there’s still time to get some extracurriculars in to round things out, especially since you’re not spending as much time with ghost hunting these days. And, actually, you’re kind of working with mom and dad in the lab, now, right? So you’re getting a head start on a lot of engineering stuff - that might give you a leg-up.”

 “Yeah, I guess so.”

 “I don’t mean to stress you out prematurely, but if you start thinking about your application now, I think you can have something really strong. Again, not making any promises, but I wouldn’t count yourself out just because you don’t have the highest grades. Lots of people have good grades, but the admissions officers will really care more about your experiences outside the classroom.”

 “Okay, cool. That’s … something to think about, then. Sorry, it’s getting late here, so …”

 “Right, right, I’ll let you go. It was good to talk to you.”

 “Yeah, you too. … I love you.”

 The line disconnected before Jazz could respond.

 ***

 Maddie read the note first. She found it lying on top of Danny’s uncharacteristically well-made bed. There was no addressee or signature.

     If things go according to plan, I’ll see you soon.  

     If not, know that I’m grateful to you for everything, and I’m sorry, and I love you.  

 ***

 Apparently, things didn’t go according to plan.

 ***

 “... reported it to the police, but it doesn’t feel like they’re doing enough.” Jack was trying not to raise his voice. His hand that wasn't holding the phone was clenched into a fist. “I get that they’re busy, but he’s my son, and he’s missing, and I can't just -”

“You don’t need to explain yourself; I understand.”

Jack sighed. “Thanks. So, do you think there’s anything you can do?”

“I regret that my powers as mayor are quite limited in this regard, but I can assure you that I will dedicate all of the resources at my disposal, both public and private, to finding Daniel. Nothing is more important to me than assuring his safety.”

[americasmarauders]

Wasteland, baby! (part 4).

author’s note: this is it guys. what a journey. the final part of this short series. I have loved every part of it. Thank you to every single person who have read it, liked it, reblogged it and sent me asks saying soft and sweet things about this silly little story i’ve come up with. i’m going to be honest: i had no idea where to take this story after part 3. I had so thoughts about it (as I have discussed with @cutekittylexie) but I was struggling. Eventually settled for a small detail i slipped into the story in part 2, i believe, and I kinda fleshed it out, with loads of angst and closure. So once again, onto the text. don’t forget to reblog, please. 

words: 4268

Beware: feelings.

masterlist

part 1

part 2

part 3

#

#

Y/N groaned in frustration as the light of the sole lamp illuminated the work she was weaving. It would be easy, they said. It’s a problem all of the senior researchers couldn’t solve, it’s half way done anyway, give it to the new researcher to solve. She rubbed her eyes, her glasses lifting slightly at the motion. It was well past midnight, and she was nowhere near the solution.

           She heard tiny paws hurriedly come to her encounter. A tiny black dog came to view, yawning at her. She smiled softly. “Come here, Manny,” she said calmly. The tiny dog leaped to her lap, making himself comfortable to continue his slumber.

           She adopted him after she moved out of her parents house. She hated being alone. It felt cold and empty, a feeling that had rested on her heart since that fateful day. She didn’t like to think about it, even if, most times, the memory of Ben was staring at her in pictures, books, pastries, everything. It was still too painful, even after all these years, even if she had moved on.

           Enter Manny, the smallest dog she had ever seen. The shelter said most thought he was too shy and too tiny. Y/N saw no problem at all. He became her companion. When she was too stressed, he would come running to her, licking her hand, hugging her in his own way. She would hug back, of course. Sometimes, she felt as if Ben’s spirit was in this angel of a dog. But she knew it wasn’t the case. Ben was gone.

           Manny’s ears perked up, his head leaving the little nest between his paws, looking at the window. He let out a bark, jumping out of her lap and prancing towards the opening window.

           Diego climbed into her apartment. He let a small fuck, pained, as he saw the tiny dog looking at him. His eyes travelled to Y/N, a yellow smile on his face. “Hey,” he said, slightly embarrassed.

           “Is it needle injury or ice pack injury?” she said tired, her tone flat. She was completely used to this situation.

           “Maybe both,” he threw himself on the couch, Manny following him. He nuzzled himself next to Diego, once again resuming his sleep.

           She looked at the scene. It would be extremely domestic if Diego wasn’t wearing all those harnesses and wasn’t actually hurt from some fight he had gotten himself into. She wished it didn’t send fuzzy feeling all over her. It wouldn’t bring any good to her, not at all. Not again.

           “You’re lucky I have first-aid training,” she said, a half-smile on her face. She got up from her table, getting away from her work. She turned to her bookcase, a small cabinet in the bottom of it, opening it up and grabbing the first-aid kit.

           “I thought you had taken that course because of me,” Diego noted.

           “Yeah, yeah. I was tired of not knowing what to do when you were bleeding on my couch,” she said. She moved to grab alcohol from her kitchen, to sterilize, well just about everything. She opened the fridge and grabbed the already ready bag of ice.

           “You always know what to do when it comes to me, Y/N, don’t sell yourself short,” Diego said. She handed him the bag, and he rested it on his eye. She ignored his comment.

            She kneeled next to him. She grabbed calmly her dog, resting him next to her. He shifted cutely as he settled to his new position, completely unbothered at the situation. “Well, Diego, you know the drill,” she said, opening the kit on her coffee table.

           She heard the rustling and clanking of his knifes and the loud thud it made when he dropped it behind the couch. When she turned back, he was already shitless, his head resting on her couch armrest. The light now on, she inspected the wound, where his hand was just resting. It wasn’t deep enough to prompt sewing, so just a curative was more than enough.

           She poured a bit of alcohol on a piece of cotton and patted on the cut, a hissing sound escaping from his mouth. “Goddammit,” he swore. “A little warning next time.”

           She smirked. “You know that’s not how it works.”

           “I’ll still ask every time,” he said, wincing in pain at the last pat of alcohol on his wound.

           She remembered when he came to her house—when she still lived with her parents—a bag in his hand a suitcase on the other. He said he had nowhere else to go, and that he needed somewhere to stay for a couple of weeks just so he could figure out his next steps. Y/N let him in, she instructed him to stay in the office, a tiny room next to hers that had a comfy enough couch to sleep for a few weeks. It had been 2 weeks since Ben died. She was still devastated.

           Without intending to, Diego mended her pieces. The whole that she felt in her chest was filled again. She felt like she had a heart once more. He was her best friend. And Y/N had a terrible habit of falling for her best friends. The last time that happened it ended catastrophically.

          She fought so hard not to feel this way, it felt wrong. He was Ben’s brother. It felt like she was betraying Ben by feeling the way she did. Most of all, he was not Ben.

          “There,” she said, smiling sadly, “all fixed.”

          She got up, the first aid kit in her hand. She walked to her bookcase, the photo of her and Ben staring at her, making her feel guilty for the way she was feeling. She shouldn’t feel this way, it has been 12 years. But she felt it.

          “You shouldn’t have been awake,” Diego said. “Go to sleep, I can find my way out.”

          “No, no, no,” she said turning to him. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

          “Well, you have a real job, you need to sleep.”

          “That’s bullshit, Diego and you know it,” she shot back. She walked to him and kneeled beside him. “The spare room is open for you, always. Always.”

          “You’re too good for me,” Diego said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Too good.”

           She didn’t know how to reply. “Stop it, that’s not true,” she murmured. She opened her fridge and pulled out the chocolate cake she had made earlier. She had needed a distraction and stress baking was a real thing. “Do you want a piece?” she asked.

           He simply nodded, clumsily getting up to sit. She cut him a piece and rested it on a pretty plate. She picked a piece for her and gave him his. She sat on the ground, facing him, Manny sleeping soundly next to her. They sat there in silence.

 #

# 

Next morning, Diego woke up to the smell of coffee and pancakes. He couldn’t remember the last time—if it had been a time—he woke up to the smell. It felt really tender and domestic.

           It was fitting to the person making the breakfast. Y/N was always tender and kind. Even when she was angry, she found a way to be kind to others. Diego had never seen it before. She would rarely lash out at a bystander. Diego could learn from her.

           In hindsight, it almost felt inevitable that he’d fall for her. She was there for him, she showed him love and kindness, when she had every reason to be the opposite. She had lost her first love—at the time it felt like it was her only love, she had once confessed to him—she was supposed to be angry, she was supposed to be bitter. But she wasn’t.

           She was quiet. He remembered the first week he stayed at her house, she had barely talked to him, or anyone for that matter. She was still processing the loss. Diego didn’t blame her. He was still processing too.

           Slowly, she started showing up for him. She would hear the quiet cursing in his room, and she would knock on the door and ask if he was okay. He wasn’t but it wasn’t like Diego was going to open up to her. Even after he dismissed her concern, she stayed with him. He was unsure whether it was for him or for her, but she stayed. Not everyone did that.

           She was there through a lot. Police academy, dropping out of the police academy, vigilantism, unemployment, several houses, and one time he had been homeless for a few days when she got him to finally stay in her spare room. Since then the spare room was his.

           Diego couldn’t even put into words how grateful he was for her. It was bigger than him. He never had someone like that, and he sure as hell got the best one in his first time. Thanks to Ben.

           Ben. He missed Ben. Sorely and deeply. But sometimes he caught himself thinking that if Ben hadn’t died, maybe Diego wouldn’t have this whatever with Y/N. She would have probably married Ben, lived a happy life, and seen Diego on rare occasions the Hargreeves reunited. Maybe not even then.

          It wasn’t a feeling of gratitude, he wasn’t glad Ben died. It had broken him, it broke his family. Maybe he was glad he had the opportunity to try something with her. Maybe he was glad he got to act on the fuzzy feelings he felt near her. Maybe he wasn’t glad at all.

          At first, he had written it off. Those fuzzy feelings were nothing. It was rare he felt it. But over the years he was forced to confront those. He couldn’t bury it anymore, pretend it wasn’t there—it was bringing more pain to him than acknowledging it.  So, he did.

          He said to her: “I like you more than just a friend.”

          She replied: “I need some time to think on it.”

          That had been a year ago. And he had been patient with her, which was unusual for him. He let out his frustrations on the boxing ring. But he wasn’t saint, and his patience was wearing thin.

          He got up from his bed, careful enough to not hurt. His harness laying on the ground next to his shoes, he picked it up and puled it on, fully intending to leave after breakfast. He pulled his boots on and slightly limped to the kitchen.

          The sight was enough set Diego’s heart on fire. It was Saturday. She wasn’t supposed to go to work. Yet there was she, dressed ready to bolt out the door to her lab to discover the next big thing in science. Manny barked loudly at him, circling around his legs happily. Sometimes he swore that dog liked him more than his own owner. Y/N said a quiet ‘Manny!’ and the dog promptly stopped running around Diego and went to her side, sitting next to her feet, wagging his tail.

          “Good morning!” she said with a smile. “I thought you’d sleep in.”

          “Nah,” Diego replied. “I got some stuff to sort out at the gym before Al kicks me out.”

          “Okay,” she shrugged. “Well, I made some pancakes for us,” she slid him a plate, “just the way you liked it.”

          “Yeah, thanks,” he said quietly. It was the one year anniversary of that one night. Diego remembered it well, it was a setup similar to the one in front of him. The question was itching to get out. “Have you thought about it?” he said lowly.

          “About what?” Y/N questioned in return, confused.

           “You know what, Y/N,” he said.

           “Oh,” she murmured. Manny sensed tension and Diego heard the dog whimper next to her. “I—I—”

           “I need an answer. I can’t be hanging anymore. I’m tired of it,” Diego justified.

           “I know,” she whispered. “I’ve thought about it.”

           “And?”

           “I need a week,” she replied.

           “Why?” Diego said, getting angry. “Why? Didn’t you have enough weeks already?”

           “Diego, please,” she said, looking at his eyes, tears threatening to spill, “calm down.”

           Diego wanted to fume even more. Who was she to tell him to calm down? She had strung him along for over a year, and he had patiently waited. He at that point loved her more than anything. But he was tired. “I don’t know. I want an answer.”

           “I have the answer,” she said brashly. “But I need to speak to someone first,” she added. “Please.”

           She gave him puppy eyes, and Diego couldn’t resist those eyes. “One week and that’s it.”

 #

#

Being a ghost was weird. It was like Ben was himself—he felt like himself at least—but still not completely. There was something always missing.

           But what was weirder was being attached to Klaus. The constant cycle of drugs, alcohol, sex, rehab was weird and tiring in itself but it wasn’t like that. Ben was there but most of the time he wasn’t. Klaus was rarely ever sober enough to hold Ben’s presence for longer than a couple of minutes.

           It went on like this for about ten years. Klaus would get high and when he was just going down from it, Ben would appear and he would get high again to fend off the ghosts. Sometimes he would overdose, others he would toy with the line. Those times he’d find a place to sleep. Most times he would end up at Y/N’s couch.

           She was always too kind for her own good. Even if it was practically morning, she would drag herself out of bed and let Klaus in. She would put a bucket next to him and cover him with blankets. She’d always prepare breakfast for him and leave it on the counter for when he woke up. If it wasn’t there, there was a note on top of it signaling to where it was.

           It hurt to see her and not talk to her. Not hug her, kiss her, do everything Ben wanted to do with her. It hurt so badly. The first couple of years were too much for him. If Klaus was in her house, Ben wouldn’t appear. Maybe that’s why he was there so much. Over time, the wound healed. It hurt less and less, and Ben didn’t find too unbearable to be near her. It would sting, but it wouldn’t hurt.  

           She had moved on, too. It was only natural for her to. And Ben didn’t want her to be chasing him for the rest of her life. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be healthy. She would only hurt and Ben couldn’t see her do that. His heart couldn’t handle being the cause of her pain.

           Klaus stumbled out of the ally, the transparent bag in his hand. Ben hated that he had just come out of rehab for what felt like the thousandth time and he was already drowning in drugs. Ben didn’t like to see when Klaus was consuming—for lack of a better word—drugs but being attached to him it was inevitable.

           Klaus was on the verge of an overdose when he decided to head to Y/N’s apartment. He walked. It was fairly early in the night, for Klaus’ standards. Ben felt a twinge of hope inside of him, but he knew not to make much of it. It was probably more because he was tired and sleepy than self-preservation.

           Ben doesn’t remember much after that. Maybe it was because Klaus had finally managed to keep him at bay. Maybe it was because Ben decided he didn’t want to see his brother in that way that day.

           That morning, Klaus woke up earlier. No, Klaus was woken up earlier. Y/N gently woke him up, whispering for him to open his eyes and wake up so she could talk to him. He woke up and groaned in complaint.

           “If you didn’t get so high, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Ben said.

           “Shut up,” Klaus replied, waving his hands at him.

           “Oh,” she said, her face crunched up in confusion.

           “It wasn’t meant for you,” Klaus said, her face easing into a neutral expression while Klaus glared at Ben.

           “O—okay,” she muttered. “Well, there’s breakfast on the kitchen island for you.”

           “Fine, fine,” he rubbed his eyes. “Is everything okay? You usually don’t wake me up to say there’s breakfast,” he asked, seeing her face overcome with emotion.

           “I—I—” she hesitated, “I know you don’t like to use your power, but I’ve been wondering for a while, I mean for about 10 years, if you’ve ever seen Ben?”

           Klaus was taken back by the question. Ben guessed he thought he was thinking he was too sober for this. “Sometimes, yeah.”

           It wasn’t exactly a lie. But he did omit that he was almost always too high to see Ben. It kind of pissed Ben off.

           “Well, when you see him can you tell him that I love him and that I miss him so so much,” she shook her head, tears welling up. “And that I’ve moved on, that he can rest.”

           “Yeah, yeah,” Klaus grabbed her hands and squeezed it in reassurance. “I’ll tell him.”

           She smiled. “Thanks,” she replied quietly. She sniffed, “Well, I gotta get to work.”

           She got up and grabbed her bag, passing just beside Ben. It pained him that she couldn’t see him. Pained more than it should. “Well, Klaus, you know the drill right?”

           “Yeah, yeah,” he breathed out. “Don’t worry.”

           She smiled at him, her hand on the doorknob. “I don’t. You’re a good person Klaus.”

           With that she left, leaving Klaus alone with Ben. “You heard it?” Klaus asked.

           “Yeah,” Ben said, quietly.

#

#

Diego stumbled through her window again on a Friday. He had given her some space. She didn’t want that.

           Manny was always excited to see him, the little rascal. She saw her dog jump out of her bed and run out of the bedroom. She laid the book on the nightstand and headed to the living room, barefoot.

           Diego was kneeling down petting Manny, his tail wagging happily as Diego’s hands found their way to that nice spot behind the doggy’s ears. She smiled at the sight, no longer guilty about the butterflies roaming in her tummy. It was arduous and painful, tears had been spilled, but she finally came to terms with it.

           “Do I need to take out the first aid kit?” she said, her arms crossed on her chest.

           Diego got up and rubbed his hands on the side of his pants. “Nah, it was a calm night.”

           “Oh,” she muttered in response.

          The atmosphere was tense. And Y/N didn’t want to take the first step to lighten it. Even if she probably should, it was her fault it was like that after all.

          “Have you spoken to that person? Can I have my answer?” Diego asked impatient.

          “Okay, we’re ripping the band-aid off then,” she murmured. “Yes, I’ve spoken to him.”

          “And?”

          “I—I—” she suddenly was speechless. It felt surreal admitting this.

          “You what?” Diego questioned. “You don’t like me?”

          “No! No, Diego,” she sat on her couch and patted the sit next to her. Diego moved swiftly and sat next to her. She grabbed his hands and squeezed it. “It’s not like that.”

          “I needed closure,” she started. “With Ben, everything was so quick and intense and I’ve felt for years that something was missing,” she explained. “It wasn’t him, not only him at least. I needed a goodbye,” she said. “I got that, even if indirectly.”

          “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said, impatiently.

          “It doesn’t but it explains why I took so long to answer you,” she replied. “I spent so long denying what I felt for you because I felt like I was betraying Ben,” she justified. “I love him, I loved him so much—he was my first love, how could I not? And by loving you I felt like I was cheating on him somehow.

          “I have loved you for far longer than a year, Diego,” she said. “The problem wasn’t loving you. The problem was coming to terms with the fact that I had to say goodbye to Ben. And that hurt too much, for far too long,” she finished, tears slowly spilling from her eyes. Diego’s hand found her face, and cleaned the tears falling on her cheeks. “But I finally let go, Diego. I did it. And now I can say and shout and yell that I love you.”

          He smiled at her, his hands still caressing her face. His touch was firm, so different from Ben. With Ben, she felt like he thought he would break her if he wasn’t delicately with her. Diego needed grounding, he needed the firm touch and the firm reassurances. And she loved it. It was perfect in a whole different way. It was exciting.

          His forehead rested on hers, his thumbs running small circles on her cheeks. “I love you,” he replied.

          What happened after that was for special on so many levels for them both. It was a treasure Y/N rather keep it to herself. It was like if she told that soft story, the universe would find a way to rip this man—this godforsaken man—away from her. She had enough of that.

          Little did she know that in fact he would be ripped away from her. She would perish in flames and ashes along with the rest of the world. And Diego would do anything to go back to her. He did everything to go back to her.

#

#

Ben never really quite grasped what that book Y/N had given him meant. He understood the story perfectly. He connected with the main character deeply, he was the main character on so many levels. But he couldn’t understand—at least not at the time—what it meant. He had re-read the book several times, each time he interpreted something different.

           But, now, he finally understood. He finally understood how transformative the moral of that story was.

           Being stranded in time was weird, if it wasn’t enough being permanently attached to Klaus and his weird ass cult. Ben had had enough of Klaus’s antics, and after 17 years of watching his brother self-destruct and the feeling of powerlessness it came with it, all he wanted was to explore life and experience all that he hadn’t.

           But he was a ghost. And, boy, did that put a damper on his plans.

           Jill was a sight to see. Ben could feel his heart stammer a stutter every time he got to see a glimpse of her. It was different from the love he felt for Y/N. That love was intense and short, even if it was sweet and gentle while it lasted. What he felt for Jill was something else entirely.

           It wasn’t love, no. At least not yet. It was possibility. Hope. Something that could blossom into something beautiful and meaningful. If only he wasn’t a ghost. Well, if he wasn’t would he really be there in the first place? Would he have gotten attached to Klaus and met Jill? Would he be pinning for her like a teenager?

           No, he wouldn’t. Most definitely. He would have married Y/N. He would have continued to love her. He would have become a photographer, maybe, or a writer. They would have had the most amazing children, or maybe not, maybe they wouldn’t have any at all. With Y/N, everything felt so vibrant and colorful, the world seemed endless with possibilities of what they might become.

           But he had been stripped of that. Both of them. He died, and she had to live through her grief. He had to come to terms with the fact he would never be able to touch her, kiss her, hug her, marry her. The future that seemed so bright, the future that he wanted was stolen from him, from them. And for a long time, he felt terrible for it.

           But she had moved on. She had found love again. He was happy for that, even if he wasn’t the person she loved anymore. He hoped that lucky person realized how lucky they got.

           And so all there was left to do was move on. Enter Jill.

           It was only when Ben met Jill that he fully understood what Y/N had insisted he read My Sweet Orange Tree. The story about a boy who hadn’t experienced love in any form and when he did he was so deeply transformed he couldn’t come to terms with how he was treated anymore. Ben felt that.

           Y/N had transformed him deeply. It wasn’t because of her greatness, or kindness. It was simply because she loved him fully, without conditions. The first time he experienced unconditional love in his life, and he would go as far to say the first time he was loved. Ben didn’t think he’d be able to realize that without her. Even in his afterlife she continues to change him.

           He can’t accept his conditions anymore. He loves Klaus, dearly, but Ben has had enough with him. Seventeen years of constant living with someone and finally their relationship is in ruins. He can’t take anymore. He wants his autonomy. He wants Jill. He wants love again.

           It was a conjunction of lots of things. His stars aligning if you will. But he finally understands. He couldn’t be more grateful to her. His first love.

#

final notes: well this is it guys. please reblog if you liked it, and feel free to send me an ask with anything really, i’m always open to talk. see you next time ;)

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 6: Mistakes

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 6. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 5 'Animals'. As they arrive at their destination for the trip, Hiccup manages to slip away long enough to tell someone where he is.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Eret, Viggo, Ryker

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 7 768

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Branding”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Please read the tags.

I think this is the darkest fic I've written to date, which Day 6 probably taking the cake. (Unless a future Day tops that and I may now which one, but that is just my opinion) I think this counts a dark fic, doesn't it? I've surprised even myself! I've had a dark fic in mind that I've been working on, never thought I would write this one before I finish that one!

Constructive criticism is appreciated! Including on the tags! I tried to tag everything under the sun, but I might've missed some.

Enjoy!

I almost want to tag this as a coffee shop AU.

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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

Hiccup is ashamed to admit that he's quiet the rest of the way. As they sail towards their vacation destination, he thinks of his friends, his parents, Gobber, Toothless, and White Spot, too.

Will he ever see them again? He won't if he doesn't get away from these two madmen, because submitting to Viggo simply isn't an option.

He certainly tries to persuade him. He can see that Hiccup is quieter then usual and he wants to make use of the emotional turmoil he must be going through after being told how this little trip can possibly end. He's even quiet compared to his time spent in the basement and his ribs were broken back then, not allowing for much breathing space.

There's an empty look in his eyes as Viggo tries that he quite likes. It's quite promising, he finds, and so he's been persuading him with promises of letting him leave the house once in a while. They have a big yard, they can let him sit outside for a few minutes. So long as he does it quietly, of course. Cars still pass their home on occasion, so they can't let him make too much noise.

And maybe, when he's really good, they can even let him call his family or that blonde girl that clung to him.

They can spin a little story, make it seem like Hiccup's been found by them, the Grimborns, after having been missing for years. But only after it's been years. Surely by then, they'll have conditioned Hiccup enough to not leave them and not betray them. They can even give their tale the exciting twist that Hiccup now forever clings to "his rescuers". So that when Hiccup is given the generous opportunity to see his loved ones again, they won't be too suspicious when he inevitably chooses to stay with the man who rescued him rather than the people who lost him.

It's a horrible, horrible thing, truly disgusting. The worst part is, Hiccup is actually tempted by the sweet, sweet promises. He doesn't look forward to the years more of pain and misery, but he does so long to see his friends and family again. But the fact that more suffering seems more tempting than fighting that suffering is just one more reason why he can't submit.

The whole reason for them being here is to get him to do just that and if he submits, he's lost.

The steady decline of trying to physically oppose his abusers followed by the decline in opposing them verbally until all that remains is secret rulebreaking that was never secret to begin with, actively using Viggo's desire for him to save himself from hurt or the threat of returning to the basement, not correcting those men at the party when they told Viggo how lucky he was to have Hiccup... These past months have been a gradual descent to a broken spirit.

Hiccup can feel the cracks desperately trying to glue themselves back together again. He wasn't aware of it until now, after this kick while he's down, but they might've been trying to ever since he got to see the light again. The cracks were already there, they've always been there, and they can't put themselves back together. Every time they try, more of them appear, and all the more impossible it becomes to lose the pieces.

Something else that makes it difficult to keep this fight up is that Viggo can actually be called nice for once.

Of course, Hiccup is smart enough to figure out that this is just another ploy to manipulate him. Viggo knows he's close, he just needs to reel him in.

Besides the empty promises replacing the very true threats, he hugs him when he feels lost. It's nothing like the forced cuddles after sex and Viggo isn't an affectionate man either, which makes this one feel almost sweet.

How easily he sinks into the hug frightens him. How he lies his head on his shoulder and feels the tears burning in his eyes frightens him.

Though he never wants to be touched by either man, especially not the younger brother, this is the first time he realizes how deprived of affection he's been throughout it all. The sex was empty to him, when it was consensual, and besides that, there were only bruises, broken bones, and burns. His blistered hand itches terribly underneath its bandage.

In that moment, he begs for his father then. He wants him to show up out of nowhere and pull him out of this nightmare. Or maybe his mother can come down with a dragon and whisk him away back to the sanctuary. Either way, he wants them to come for him before he's lost forever.

In the final minutes of their trip, Viggo holds him, and then they land on the docks of a snow-covered fishing Town by the name of Port.

It's small and Viggo has probably chosen it because of how small and remote it is. Maybe he hopes the news of a missing 19-year-old hasn't reached this place yet or maybe he hopes the sudden appearance of a clearly very rich man scares them out of being nosy about the oddly dressed person with them.

Because just before they dock, Viggo releases him and a pair of sunglasses are shoved onto the bridge of his nose and the hood of his hoodie, and then his coat are pulled over his head. It's to keep people from recognizing him and the Grimborn's presence is supposed to scare them off. One brother rich, the other clearly trouble.

Hiccup says nothing as they dress him up in this little disguise before they land and leave the boat after anchoring.

The docks are busy. It makes sense, their biggest income comes from fishing and not the tourism their beauteous little landscape would probably attract. On a more normal day, Hiccup would appreciate the view of the mountain in the very back with the vast and wide forest at her base, but this isn't a normal day.

But he's not quite as gone as the Grimborns seem to think he is, because he notices that neither of the two is holding him. Have they been lulled into a false sense of safety by his quietness? They couldn't even drive him to the boat without blindfolding him and tying his wrists together.

But then, aren't many criminals caught because they made a mistake?

Unfortunately for them, Hiccup sees an opportunity and he takes it.

"HI- HENRY!" By the time he hears that fake name, he's already disappeared into the crowd of fishermen and dock workers.

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

Minutes later, he can finally breathe. Crouching in a little alleyway between two buildings, he pants and attempts to recover his lost air. It's not easy to run with a prosthetic, but his is self-made and it was made with the intention to allow running. There's a system with a spring to allow a bit of ankle movement, too. Can't chase unruly dragons if he can't run, can he?

He dares to peek around the corner, staying low and not quite leaving his safe haven behind a trashcan, but he sees neither Viggo, nor Ryker.

Are they... gone?

Overwhelmed by the feeling of relief, he sits back against the wall, staring straight ahead of him.

No, this can't be real. He can't have really just escaped, right? This has to be some sort of prank or a joke. It can't have been that easy.

But he checks again, this time daring to peek out a bit farther, and he still doesn't see either of them.

They're gone. And not just at work gone, they're gone gone!

He feels emotional and it's so easy to lose himself in that emotion, but if he doesn't get back up and start moving, they won't stay gone for long. That's the only reason why he manages to get back up on his feet and face the public outside of the alleyway.

Scanning his surroundings a third time, the people who pass him by are staring, but he gets why. He's wearing sunglasses in the middle of the Winter in a small town that probably isn't used to much.

So he gets moving and wonders what his next move is.

They've only traveled along the shore, can he grab a cab or travel back by bus or train somehow? Though, there is the problem that those options require money, which is something he doesn't have.

The police? No, he feels strangely distrusting of them after their failure to find him for so long.

The hospital? That means finding out if Port even has one and if he can navigate his way there before he's caught.

But then he comes across a little story, a fishing and bait shop, and something promising catches his attention through the window.

A poster with his face on it. A missing person's poster!

He walks in urgently, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in his hurry, the bell above it jingling loudly, and removes the hood of his coat.

Unfortunately, there is only one person present in the story and he, a man with black hair tied back in a ponytail and a blue tattoo with meaning on his chin, he doesn't look at him with the most welcoming of frowns.

Can Hiccup blame him? Who comes into a calm store in the middle of Winter with sunglasses and a hood on? And nearly breaks the door on his way in, too! Still, he doesn't waste any time as he makes his way to the counter.

"Listen, Bub, I don't know what you're planning on doing, but if it's trouble you're looking for-" The man speaks with an English accent, but he's cut off when Hiccup reaches him.

"Please," He begins, removing his sunglasses and pulling the other hoodie down. "You need to help me, I'm-"

But he barely needs to say anything, the second he reveals his face, that of the young man's changes to one of shock and he whirls around in his spot, immediately searching for and finding the poster hung on the store's bulletin board.

"You're him?" He asks, pointing first to the poster and then to Hiccup. Hiccup nods, happy that someone recognizes him. This man, Eret he reads on the nametag that is a sticker on his sweater, recognizes him.

"You're actually alive? I followed the news, they said that they caught the guy and that they were sure you were dead because the guy wasn't giving up where you were!" He talks to him and Hiccup finds that to be news to him.

"If they caught the guy, then who have I been held captive by since June?" He asks, quietly sarcastic instead of loudly sarcastic like before, and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

Is that why they never came for him? Because they just put someone in jail and called it a day?

"Please, you have to help me. The people who kidnapped me, the actual people responsible, they want to kill me!" As if he wasn't already alarmed enough before, he certainly is now. But Eret seems to take it in stride and nods understandingly.

"Don't worry, you're safe here." He tells him, briefly grabbing his fist to squeeze it reassuringly. He draws back and pulls his phone from his pocket. "Do you want to call the cops?"

His thumb is ready to dial, but Hiccup hesitates and thinks of the likelihood of them showing up when they arrest some guy and then assumed he was dead just because they couldn't be bothered to actually solve his case. The media attention hounding them for answers must've annoyed them instead of urged them to find some.

So Hiccup shakes his head.

"Can I have your phone for a sec instead?" He asks and Eret, figuring he might try to call someone who can be of actual help, decides to hand it over after unlocking it.

"Thank you," Hiccup thanks him and leans on the counter to spare his stump his weight for a moment. He sags in relief, holding a phone without consequence for the first time in forever. With Eret here, he already feels a bit safer.

But Hiccup doesn't immediately call for help, instead signing in into the first social media account he can think of to find the first person with an account he can think of.

Astrid.

Perhaps, the smarter idea would be to call his dad or someone who can come get him. Maybe he could've called his mom to tell her where he is and maybe then the "whisked away by dragon" dream isn't so farfetched after all.

But that's not what he does and he can't quite explain why he didn't either. He'll kick himself for it later, but all he wants is to see his friends.

When he finds Astrid, he notices that her head has changed since the last time he's seen it. It's no longer her and Stormfly, now it's her and him. And as he scrolls through her page, she hasn't posted much of her usual stuff, instead there are just pictures of him and pleads for any tips. He's always known that she has a library full of him, none of these were taken without his permission.

So he's right about one thing. His girlfriend and friends have been looking for him in one of the few ways they think they can. And his dad, well, he doesn't have an internet presence, but he doesn't need one for Hiccup to know that he hasn't given up on him yet either. He hopes so, at least.

There are those emotions again, he must be tired.

Eret watches him, sees him wipe at his eyes with a sleeve quickly to avoid spilling the tears they both know are there. There are blue bruises surrounding a cut on his cheekbone and staining his jawline. It appears his left hand is bandaged, too. Even without the context of the escaped abductee, Eret can still tell he's been through the wringer and so he walks away from the counter.

Hiccup hurriedly looks up, too alert.

"You want something to eat while we wait? Something to drink? We only have snacks, but I think they"ll keep you going until we can get some actual food in you. You want a coke?" Eret asks as he stands before the fridge, wondering if he can lift his spirits with a little food. He does look awfully thin.

"That would be great, but I don't have any money on me." Hiccup informs him that he can't pay for anything for the time being. Turning to a different screen on the smartphone, he quickly finds the call function with the intention of dialing his dad's number.

"It's on the house!" Eret opens the fridge to take a coke from. Next on the list will be a candy bar and he'll probably go for the one with the most calories.

Hiccup smiles at him and for once his smile isn't forced. It's small, but it's certainly there.

Behind them, the door to the store opens, and the little bell jingles. Eret barely responds to it, it's a sound he's heard so many times before. In his search, he disappears behind some shelves.

"You own this place?" But Hiccup looks over, taking his eyes away from the phone, away from the number he's only just dialed a mere three numbers of.

He finds them and he can tell by the built and the clothes who it is. He doesn't need to see his face to know, his bald head covered by the hood of his jacket. And as he spots something gleaming in his hand, he simply freezes in place.

This store is too small and Ryker is upon him too soon.

"No, I don't, my dad runs this shop, I'm usually out at sea. So it won't be a problem, I'll take care of it!" Eret replies to Hiccup's question, completely unaware of what's transpiring before the counter. Behind those shelves, he isn't quite close enough to hear or to see what's going on.

Ryker's too close to run away from without making a scene and the brothers hate making a scene. If he does anything stupid, the man kind enough to help him out will get hurt. Eret doesn't look particularly weak, but Hiccup knows Ryker isn't and he doesn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Not when someone else's life could depend on it.

The tip of the knife pushes into his stomach, threatening to pierce his coat with ease. It certainly looks sharp enough for the job.

"She hasn't been in your sight for a few days and you already forgot her? Don't think that just because she's in a shelter that she's safe." Ryker is so close Hiccup can smell and feel his breath as he whispers in a growly voice.

He did think that White Spot being out of the picture meant that they couldn't use her against him. Apparently, he was wrong.

"And what's worse, dragging an innocent man down with you, are you? You better be quiet and follow my lead or your new boyfriend is going to die in a mugging." Ryker threatens him with Eret's life If he takes the money from the register, people are probably not going to link a presumed mugging case to a kidnapping case. And if there are cameras, well, Ryker isn't so stupid as to leave those intact.

"You're-" Hiccup wants to tell him that he and Viggo are sick for playing with the lives of a two-month-old cat and an innocent, but Ryker raises a finger in warning and he quiets down.

"Hiccup?" Upon not receiving an answer, Eret returns with an armful and lays eyes on the other man, too.

He'd welcome him, as he would any customer, but he doesn't like the close proximity between him and Hiccup.

"What's going on here?"

Ryker wraps a strong arm around Hiccup to pull him against him and the young man jumps when he can feel the knife be pushed into his lower back now. It's with such pressure that it makes him gasp in discomfort.

"You'll have to excuse us. My brother's partner here thinks he can get attention by pretending to be that poor missing boy. Not the first time, he's been in and out of institutions for years. He's an addict, too, so please don't be angry with him." Ryker uses the fakest voice he can muster as he excuses Hiccup's behavior before he pulls him along.

"Hiccup-" Eret is ready to jump in, but Hiccup stops him.

"It's Henry, actually. And he's right, I should be going." It hurts to accept that false name for his own, no matter how briefly, but he feels like he needs to. It's bad enough that White Spot's sole purpose in life is to be used as leverage, he doesn't want Eret to get hurt just because he made the stupid decision to go into the first shop that had his face in it.

Eret doesn't give chase when Hiccup is pulled out of the store, he's left to watch them go. The jingle of a bell has never sounded as ominous as it does at that moment.

"Maybe making an addict out of you wouldn't have been such a bad idea. At least addicts don't run." Ryker growls into Hiccup's ear and he can't help but feel like he talks out of experience.

Inside the store, Eret leaves his armful of delicious goods on the counter. His gaze is still on the door and he debates running after the two all the same. He's weighing his options, how risky would that be?

But then he notices that Hiccup left his phone and picks it up.

"He never even got to call anyone." Unlocking the screen, he notices a partial number. He takes a screenshot of it, maybe it can still be of use later, and then swipes the phone app away to see a stranger's social media page.

"Astrid Hofferson?" He reads out loud and sees the number on one of her posts asking for tips.

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

Maybe asking Eret for help was a mistake, maybe the decision to go with Ryker was the mistake, either way, Hiccup can't say he regrets it. There were too many uncertainties in that situation, too many risks, he feels like he made the right choice.

After a... reunion with Viggo, they take their bags and stuff them into a rental car. It's the nicest and most expensive one Port has to offer and it makes Viggo sneer in disgust, but it'll have to do.

While Ryker has seemingly calmed down a bit, as a matter of fact, he almost appear expecting something, Viggo's anger is so thick it's palpable. The whole ride to their destination, there's pressure inside Hiccup's chest, a pain, and it's difficult for him to keep breathing. And while neither brothers are chatterboxes, the silence is unusual even for them, and that makes the storm brewing on the younger one's face all the more concerning.

What is supposed to be their home for the next two weeks is a cabin far, far outside of town. It, too, is way below the younger Grimborn's usual taste and it further rubs in the fact that this vacation isn't supposed to be a vacation.

The second they enter and the door closes behind him, another hit, this time on his other cheek, and a pair of hands wrap themselves around his throat.

"No!" That is all Hiccup can choke out before his airways are closed off and he's pushed into the nearest wall.

"What about last chances did you mishear, Dear?!" The temper flare Viggo's been holding in on the way here bursts free and he squeezes.

Ryker watches for a moment with little care, only glad that Hiccup isn't getting out of this without consequence, and he's soon off to find his usual room. Viggo may think this place beneath him, but Ryker quite likes it.

"N... n-" Hiccup would respond, except he can't. He can't draw a single breath and he can't exhale one either. His lungs are burning to do both, the pain in his chest worsening. All he can do is try to remove those hands from his throat and that's hard to do with one hand burned. His good foot is standing on its toes, too.

"What do I have to do to make you submit to me, you stubborn boy!" Viggo shouts. He would squeeze harder if he could without irreparably damaging something important and it's taking him everything to hold back just that.

"St... st-" Hiccup continues to try, pulling on his abuser's hands, attempting to curl his fingers beneath Viggo's without luck. He's begging him to stop, face red, teary-eyed, and saliva with nowhere to go building up in his mouth.

Is this how he's going to die? By being strangled to death? Surely, Viggo isn't willing to give him up quite yet? Why put all these months in him just to throw him away?

Black dances at the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him. He wants air so badly. He wants the pain to stop.

And then Viggo's glare softens lightly as an idea comes to mind. His eyes fall on the fireplace on one end of the room.

"Ryker, light the fireplace. I may have an idea." His hard gaze goes back to Hiccup, who is only moments away from losing full consciousness, while Ryker returns and does as he's told.

Hiccup passes out soon after, the hold on his throat relinquishes and he crumples to the ground.

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

When he comes to, it's to his hoodie being pulled on, alarming him.

"No... No-no!" He croaks out a protest, weakly attempting to pull those hands away from him now, but in his current state, he's no match for them.

He's pinned to the ground on his front by Ryker, his face pressed into the wooden floorboards beneath the fire.

"Oh, stop your struggling, you know it's pointless." He tells him and Hiccup can't reply to that, his throat in too much pain. The hurt inside his chest is horrendous as well.

"Please-"

"If you want to be let go, then either you undress for us or we'll have to use force," Viggo says, crouching by the fire. What he's doing there, Hiccup doesn't know and can't see, but it's can be good. It sounds like he's playing with the fire, poking the wood inside. Is it a fire poker?

Hearing no more protests from him, Ryker releases him and Hiccup somehow manages to get up on his knees. He glances towards Viggo and what he's holding doesn't seem like a fire poker to him, but he can't see the entire thing.

"I'm waiting, Hiccup, don't test my patience any more than you already have," Viggo warns him and, reluctantly and with difficulty, Hiccup does as he's told and slowly removes both the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath. At his belt, he hesitates.

The clothes they made him wear, he's just noticing that they're the ones he wore the day he was abducted.

What a time to notice that.

"That's enough. Now, back to me." Viggo tells him, standing up with the rod he holds as it's glowing a bright orange. At the very end, there are the distinct letters of 'V.G' and they're the brightest part of all.

With horrible dread does Hiccup realize that they plan on branding him. Him! Like cattle! Like property! As if they couldn't treat him like any more of a personal slave, they want to do this to him.

"No!" His throat hurts as he speaks. When he makes a move to stands up, Ryker is quick to take an arm and twist it behind his back, making an end to his futile attempt to escape.

A cry rips out of him, worsening the pain. He can squirm and writhe, but all it does is convince Ryker to test the limits of his elbow. Cringing, Hiccup can feel the joint's want to pop apart.

With just this move alone, he's completely restrained and Ryker grabs his hair with his free hand and pushes his head down.

Though never an overly prideful kind of person, Hiccup had dignity at some point. That seems to be gone now as he has no problem begging them not to do this to him.

"No, please, not that! I'll behave! I swear I'll behave this time, just don't brand me! Viggo!" He hates those words, hates that they even need to be said, that he needs to beg for something so inhuman to not be done to him. His voice comes out hoarse and there are cracks with every other spoken word.

But Viggo doesn't care to listen to his pleas. While the iron is hot, he comes to stand by him and with one swift motion does he choose a spot and presses the branding iron on his right shoulder blade.

The feeling of flesh searing away is instant and Hiccup screams. Whitehot agony sets his nerves ablaze and they scream with him.

Viggo holds it there for a second, two seconds, three, until a total of five have passed and that's when he removes it. Those five seconds felt like an eternity and Hiccup's life has been changed all over again.

He doesn't need to see it to know that it's there, he can feel it on his skin. He's been branded to be someone's property and after everything that's already been taken from him, Viggo might as well make him something akin to furniture.

The figurative cracks bleed and they give up on trying to fix the damage.

Ryker releases him and Hiccup brings a hand to his arm, folds over, and cries, his forehead pressing into the floorboards.

He's been defeated. What more needs to be done to him to prove that? He never stood a chance.

Viggo stands over him with a smirk, certain that his young captive has finally been broken.

"Get me the medical supplies, Ryker, we don't want that to get infected." The younger brother tells the older one and he leaves to search the luggage for them. They'd certainly come prepared for this.

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

"If you'd just been smart and stayed out of trouble, this could've been avoided," Viggo tells him sometime later as he puts the finishing touches on the dressings covering the fresh brand. Honestly, Hiccup has no one to blame but himself. If he hadn't been so stubborn, this wouldn't have been necessary.

As for the brand, it's been properly cooled, cleaned, and there's a healing and disinfecting salve on it. All that remained were the dressings and Viggo has been applying them gently.

They're sitting on the bed they'll be sharing together for the next two weeks and he's faking being nice again. He's acting like a net, there to catch Hiccup at his lowest moment thus far, like he was on the boat. Like he was the day Viggo let him see sunlight again.

Hiccup doesn't respond to him, which is quite fine with Viggo. He usually has an answer for everything, very annoying, so silence from him is a good chance of pace.

The dressings are in place and Hiccup doesn't shy away when a kiss is placed on the back of his neck, his hair moved out of the way. The hand stays on his neck, thumb rubbing his spine.

In as much pain as he is, Hiccup doesn't even feel the usual cold shivers those touches give him.

But then thick lips come down on him again, meeting with his hair, the skin on the back of his neck, and then his shoulder. They're placed deliberately slow and Hiccup can feel his heart sinking. He can already tell what's about to happen, what his wanna-be owner wants from him. The same thing he's wanted from him since the very beginning, that which he's used as a shield more times than he'd like to admit.

"Lie down on the bed, on your front." Viggo growls into his ear, this time not in anger, but in desire. His hand caressing Hiccup's back and coming too close to the overly sensitive area surrounding his shoulder blade, he can only listen.

He kicks his shoes off, brand pulling beneath the dressing, and removes his prosthetic before he gets further up on the bed. He lies down, his arms wanting to wrap around a pillow only for him to yelp when the initials on his back don't agree with him. So now two letters have more say over his own body than he does.

That hand returns to his back and he can feel its fingers tracing his spine upwards, going ever so slowly until they reach his hair and then they go back down. Going lower and lower, they reach his belt and that's when they leave.

He can hear the other remove his shoes, a belt that isn't his be undone, and then he's straddled. All he can do is bite into the pillow and hope it'll be over soon. That is how his first evening on this trip ends.

The fight has entirely left his body.

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

The next morning, Hiccup is certain he's finally been broken. The brand and last night's sex, if it could be called that, after he thought for a short moment that he was free is what it took.

Every single day since he's seen sunlight, he's had to wake up at 5 am, every day without fail. While Viggo showered and went on with his morning routine, Hiccup was expected to lay his clothes out for him, make the bed, and then make breakfast. Every single day.

So imagine how strange it must feel to wake up and see that it's light out. It's winter and so the sun shouldn't even begin to rise until after eight. Have they let him sleep in?

His head is heavy, his everything is heavy, and the brand, while still painful, doesn't burn quite as much as it did the night before.

Reaching for the watch on the nightstand, he sees that it's 11 am and that is even more troubling. And yet, Hiccup can only decide to take whatever punishment must be awaiting his tardiness. What's the point of fighting it?

He gets up and dresses in the same clothes as the day before. He doesn't know yet if he's allowed to shower or even wash up, so he attempts to ignore how uncomfortable he feels, feeling sticky with sweat and whatever else, and he finds his way to the living room and then the kitchen.

As he walks, he doesn't feel like he's the one doing the walking. He doesn't feel like he's entirely awake either, though he's certain he is. It's like he's stuck somewhere between reality and a dream.

When he finds the kitchen and the Grimborn Brothers, it's not him who tells them good morning with a sore throat and a barely audible voice, and neither of the two even mention how long he's slept in.

On autopilot, Hiccup leans down and presses his lips to Viggo's in a good morning kiss. There is no feeling behind it, certainly no love, not even the slightest hint of something akin to like. Though he's almost certain good morning kisses used to have a spark to them once upon a time, in a long distant past.

They talk to him, like they would talk to a person, and Hiccup doesn't hear himself respond, but he does. He's too out of it for the words to reach him, though it's him that they leave.

He's starving, but he gets to work on lunch for the two older men first. Because that's expected of him, because what he is to them, what he was taken to be, was nothing but free personal labor. A one-dimensional companion with a select desirable attributes and personality traits. Someone willing to give it up for free and without complaint whether he feels like it or not.

A slave, that's what they searched for in him, and a sex slave is what Viggo was specifically looking for. One they could have the pleasure of personally destroying until nothing was left. One Viggo could occasionally play chess with if he wanted to.

The thought should hurt, but if it does, his mind is too far away to realize it.

Are minutes passing? Before he realizes it, lunch is over. Ryker has left while Viggo is with him as it's his turn to eat, their hands together on the table. And then lunch is over and he's unpacking their stuff while they're each off doing... he can't remember what Viggo told him.

Hours are passing and it seems like time is no longer a concept he can perceive as it goes by like a blur. It seems like his mind and his body have separated from one another, though still very much in touch.

The day goes by and he can barely remember it, though it still somehow goes so agonizingly slow. He sits around for most of it, only leaving his designated spot on the couch when he's told to go do something.

Somewhere inside of him, the very notion that he's been broken saddens him, but he's all out of tears to shed. And even if he shed some more, who would care? Viggo would see it as more proof of his victory. He'd use it against him, comforting him as he'd done on the boat and after the branding. And Ryker, he would just find amusement in it after all the trouble's caused them.

It isn't until evening creeps up that he seems to be snapping out of his trance. He's been washed by then and it's like he's waking up from an hours-long slumber.

It's time for dinner and as Hiccup is finishing it up, the brothers are sitting at the table waiting for him to be done. They're talking, almost completely ignoring his existence. Or rather, Ryker is talking and Viggo occasionally hums in response while not bothering to actually listen.

Ryker is complaining about having had to go through all of this and needing to travel all this way just to break one person.

"I told you, Viggo, you should've stuck to female. If he were one, he'd be knocked up and known his place already. Like a woman would." It's a disturbing thing to say and Hiccup feels sick to his stomach, almost counting himself lucky that he was born a male.

And now he finds himself thinking about the phrasing Ryker uses. "should've stuck to." Hiccup has had his suspicions, of course, but this means he definitely wasn't the first. And this cabin that is Grimborn property, but has gone unused through most of the year as it is far beneath their standards, and where he would have his last chance to become theirs for good, is probably a murder cabin.

Does that mean all those previous people, mostly women, but without a doubt, there were men amongst them, too, have they all been buried here? With these two, Hiccup doubts they were even allowed to identify as themselves under their roof.

No longer paying attention to the food, his gaze goes downwards and sticks to the wooden floor. Are they outside? Or is there someone beneath his very feet?

"Henry!" Viggo uses what is apparently not only a fake name for in public, but also a new and permanent name. He has to stand in a hurry to shut off the stove, the fish in the pain falling apart and burning to a crisp.

To do so, Hiccup is shoved aside and the pain falls, landing on his toes.

"Oh fuck!" A yell leaves him, his foot off the floor as a terrible pain radiates from the limb. It's cast iron, so he can expect his toes to be broken, if it's just that.

This must be the universe spitting on what remains of Hiccup haddock. What else could this possibly be?

"It's your own damn fault for being such a clutz." Ryker can't stop his chuckling. "Another reason why we should've stayed with girls, Viggo, at least they know how to cook."

"That is so insulting." Hiccup mutters as he leans on the kitchen counter, he doesn't even realize that he said anything.

But then, he's not supposed to speak unless spoken to or unless explicitly given permission. Like a dog told to bark on the command, but to otherwise keep silent.

Ryker stares at Hiccup in surprise. Meanwhile, as Viggo was trying to salvage their dinner, he stares at his pet project, too. Only then does Hiccup realize he's spoken. Those were just four simple words, but they rock all three of them.

"What was that, my Dear?" Viggo challenges him to repeat himself, to show if he's brave enough to speak up again and prove that he isn't quite as there as they first thought he was or if he'll prove that he's mistaken.

Looking up to him, Hiccup can feel his heart pounding in his ears.

"I'm-I'm just-just-I'm just saying that-that it's... that's it's- you know- sexist to think of women in such a way." Hiccup can hear his thoughts shouting at him to shut up, to finally, for once in his goddamn life, keep his trap shut if he doesn't want a repeat of last night.

But the words are out before he can stop them and his sentence isn't a mere four words like his previous one.

Does that mean... that he isn't as broken as he felt like he was?

"I suppose thinking you could still come around was a mistake." Viggo is surprisingly calm as he speaks up again. There is the undeniable undertone of anger, however.

Ryker recovers quickly, figuring he isn't entirely surprised by this turn of events.

Hiccup hasn't been given them sass for months for nothing, after all, even he recognizes that. To date, Hiccup's been the most troublesome one by far. Viggo's methods have been much too damn slow. Him and his meticulous planning... If it were up to Ryker, that boy would've been broken long ago.

But the laughs. He laughs because this means only one thing.

"You see this, Viggo? You know what this means, don't you? We get to kill that boy, after all!" He laughs, almost relieved with this surprise.

When the laughter abates, Ryker grabs Hiccup by his hoodie.

"And after we ride ourselves of you, it'll be my turn to choose your successor and I've had my sights set on a pretty lass for months already." Once again he's in his face, close enough for Hiccup to feel the spit on his skin.

Who? Who is this girl that's going to be next?

"Remember that girl of yours?" At the mention of Astrid, his eyes grow wide and he grows colder than he's ever felt than in all the time he's spent with them.

"Blond, pretty, good curves, tits, and ass, if there's something I can respect you for, it's that you have good taste. And when you're dead and buried, we'll be taking her next." Never in all his life, no matter how short it's about to be cut, has anyone ever dared to sum Astrid up using only her body.

"And don't you worry, I'll take good care of her as I personally make sure she's broken before her first month is up. I'll tell her all about y-" When Astrid and Ryker's apparent plans with her are brought up, it sparks something inside of Hiccup he thought he'd lost. The urge to punch someone in the face so hard that they lose a tooth.

So the biggest proof that he can still get up while he's down no matter what, is without a doubt when his reaction to such a horrid thing is to follow up on that urge and punch Ryker in the jaw with such strength and anger that he ends up flooring a man bigger and stronger than him.

It is... such an invigorating feeling.

"Don't you... Don't you dare talk about her like that. I don't care what happens to me anymore, but don't you dare think about hurting her, my friends, or anybody that I love the way you've hurt me!" He warns them, growing louder with every word to the point that he's shouting.

And it feels so, so good.

He wants to cry and this time out of pure relief, out of the sheer overwhelming flow of emotion coursing through him.

For once, Ryker is the one too frozen to move. Never has he been flattened by anyone before, let alone someone like Hiccup, who is looking all too energized by his achievement.

But while his attention is entirely on the elder of the two, the current object of his hatred, it's the younger one to takes action before Hiccup can get any more ideas. He uses the fallen frying pan and lifts it high before bringing it down onto his skull.

The pain erupts, but it disappears quickly as Hiccup passes out, temple connecting with the kitchen counter on the way down.

Either way, it's suddenly black before his eyes.

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

"Abysmal." Breaking the silence for the first time since they started playing, Viggo does so with an insult.

"You're not the most supportive of winners, are you? You could've at least given me an "you did your best, kiddo!" instead if giving me that." Hiccup isn't a sore loser. He can be a bit of a boastful winner at times, but he's not a sore loser. Still, when that is what he gets to hear upon losing at chess, again, he does feel a little sore.

Viggo is a very critical man, it seems.

"I would never say such a thing. You have to earn it first and your poor chess skills make me nauseous." Hiccup rolls his eyes, feeling even sorer.

His left leg is up on a chair, complaining after being on his feet all day. Maybe Astrid was right and he should've listened when she told him to come home with her. An evening with her and Snotlout, maybe even Fishlegs and the twins if they feel like coming over, definitely sounds 100 times better than this.

But Viggo is clearly a lonely man or he wouldn't be spending his after work hours on a young adult who can barely play the game he wants to play with him.

He pulls his phone out, realizing what time it is.

"I'd ask Viggo, the greatest chessplayer of all time, to teach me some of his tricks, but it's almost 11 and I haven't eaten anything yet. Astrid's going to kill me if I don't go home now." He tells his opponent, missing, the dangerous disappointment on his face. He misses it as he's texting Astrid to come to pick him up.

He's perfectly capable of walking himself home, but Astrid clearly insisted on her and his friends coming to get him, so he listens. She can get a bit overprotective of him at times ever since the whole Dagur incident and he hates worrying his loved ones.

The text message sent and slouching in the chair, Hiccup looks up to Viggo as he cleans their game up.

"A great chessplayer never just reveals its secrets, Hiccup." He tells him when he finishes and their eyes meet. "But you would do well to learn from him if you intend to survive even one game."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I need to head home myself." With the folded chessboard and work briefcase in hand, he takes his leave.

As he reaches the door, Hiccup briefly stops him.

"Sometimes being smart isn't enough, Viggo. You'll see, someday my stubborn butt will beat you!"

Hand on the door, Viggo takes a moment to look at Hiccup, who will, without mercy, roast someone so badly they'll need an actual burns unit, but somehow can't bring himself to say the word "ass." He's a funny one, for sure, and Viggo only holds so much weight to his words.

"Goodbye, Hiccup." He tells him and exits the coffee shop.

[inkribbon796]

Dr. Strangelove and Ticking Timebombs Ch. 1: Suspicious Contraband

Summary: Tommy goes on his first real hero patrol as a mysterious shipment comes into the Brighton.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

At 23:15 hours the officers arrived on the scene. It was one of the many warehouses along Brighton’s industrial ports. Ships came in and out bringing all kinds of goods.

Somewhere, someone with a conscious raised the alarm. Or at the very least someone who didn’t know how much money was trading hands to keep a particular shipment under wraps.

The instant the ship docked at port the flagged cargo was isolated as soon as it could and pulled to the side for police to investigate it.

Because of the way the contents of the shipments had been written it had led people to assume the type of illicit cargo that the shipment contained was living people.

But when they popped the cargo container it was mostly empty except for a five-foot airtight sealed lead box, and three other crates each about twenty feet in length. In one was a bulk order of smoke detectors, and in another a bulk order of Coleman gas lanterns. The third was full of different magical supples, all categorized and put into smaller boxes.

With no people, apart from the investigation team, the contents of the container were seized while unseen, a young man stood and watched the police proceedings from a distance. He silently followed the group to the lockup site they were taking the heavy, lead box to.

The next morning the heroes went on a patrol with no knowledge of what the police had found.

Ethan had finally started to feel like he was shaking his “junior member” shtick. Which was a relief because he’d been trying to get rid of that for years. But that came with a price because the rest of the heroes through the perfect person to mentor Tommy — who was a loose cannon who ran off at the first sign of adventure — was someone who had been the exact same thing.

When Tommy first entered the base he woke at least five people up from a dead sleep. He had two volumes: loud and deafening. He never accepted the answers “no” or “wait a second”.

So the Septics loved him, in fact he fit right in with them. Jackie called him their “vulgar firecracker”. But after Robbie’s death and revival, they were extremely hesitant to take on another apprentice, even one they really liked like Tommy. That’s why Tommy’s mentorship was given to Ethan.

Ghostbur was a different matter. Marvin was the definition of a helicopter parent around him. He might have never apologized for reviving Robbie, but he certainly learned his lesson. He didn’t want Ghostbur anywhere near any of the big villains. Which Ghostbur was alright with. The young man could go through walls and was more than capable of getting himself out of a dangerous situation.

The only problem was that Tommy was still a minor and they had yet to contact his father. Tommy refused to help them on that front and Ghostbur couldn’t remember a number. But said his name was “Phil” and that he was apparently very nice.

But Ethan decided that since Tommy was already running up the walls he could stand to be out on a patrol or two, to learn the city as Tommy was mostly unfamiliar with most of it. So because they were dealing with an apprentice who also happened to also be a minor, there was more than a bit of a cautious group around Tommy. Silver, Logan, and Marvin had accompanied Ethan and Tommy. With Ghostbut just accompanying them because Tommy and Marvin were in the group.

“Come on,” Ethan called out to Tommy, who had firmly decided that his superhero name would be “Big Man” and he would accept no other comments or suggestions on it. “Gotta[1] head back to Brighton.”

“But we went there first,” Tommy was already halfway down the street and looked like he was about to size up busy Egoton traffic like he could take the cars in a fist fight.

“Yeah normally we wrap around to check the first area of the patrol. Unless something else is going on or we get called somewhere else,” Ethan had a little spring in his steps as he walked down the street. Thankfully, Tommy rejoined the group and rushed toward the head of the group before shooting ahead.

Ethan sighed and Mark chuckled behind him, “Having fun, Crank?”

“Shut up, man,” Ethan rolled his eyes and shoved Silver away, which only resulted in Mark floating harmlessly. Ghostbur quickly trying to catch up with his brother.

“Tell me if you’re in over your head and he’s acting like a maniac,” Silver even had a smug way he was flying. “I’ll just show you a mirror and tell you all about the times I had to deal with your bullshit.”

“Hold!” Logan called out, he was still in his old outfit as he was extremely hesitant to put on a nanite suit again. “Would someone go and get Big Man and Ghostbur, they’re probably two blocks down by this point.”

Silver was the one to fly out and corral Tommy back and at the possibility of getting off of patrol duty, Tommy came racing back.

“Did something happen?” Tommy almost knocked Ethan over. “Is it a bank robbery, or a murder?”

“Due to speed and efficiency, usually Jackie and the other Septics handle those sorts of engagements. All homicide cases are conducted by the proper police authority.” Logan was on some type of PAD, receiving and answering information without even looking at Tommy. Ghostbur came to float over Logan’s shoulder. “As for homicide cases, unless magic is somehow involved, we don’t usually handle any part of those cases.”

“You know, yer[2] a real downer,” Tommy told Logan. “Don’t break that stick that you’ve shoved up your arse[3].”

With all the information he could collect, Logan closed down his PAD and finally looked over at the young apprentice. “If you’re intending to entice me to anger, you’ll have to do a lot better than schoolyard taunts and minor vulgarity.”

“Oh, you fucking asshat, I can do way fuckin’[4] better than that,” Tommy promised with a huge smile.

Logan rolled his eyes and before Tommy could start his torrent of screaming random curse words at Logan, the logical Side began talking. “It’s fortunate that we’re already heading towards Brighton. There is a situation over by the docks where Abe and his investigation team found something last night and need my assistance. The rest of you should form a perimeter around the area, Abe made it sound important.”

“Why can’t we go in with you?” Tommy demanded.

“I said nothing about entering the scene itself,” Logan countered. “I will be there to consult, then we will leave. There will be little excitement on the matter.”

Tommy kept step with Logan and began poking his arm.

Logan stopped, “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’[5] ta[6] figure out where you keep the lazers,” Tommy paused for a second. “Are you a robot?”

The logical Side yanked his arm away from Tommy. “I’m wearing a different suit. This is a nanoweave micro lycra that’s been fortified with Kevlar. The suit you happen to be talking about is my nanite-infused version of this suit.”

“The hell’s a microwaved lycan?” Tommy asked. “Is that like some type ‘a[7] mutant hot dog?”

“No, it’s a type of spandex that can stretch and flex in four directions instead of two,” Logan explained, his stride quickening. “In any event, I only have access to my TASER, EMP bursts, and my other nanite-free weapons.”

“What happened ta[6] yer[8] other suit?” Tommy asked.

After a bit of a silence, Logan answered, “The nanites and I were too compatible and they were causing problems for others and myself. So I can no longer wear it or come into physical contact with nanites.”

“That fuckin’[4] sucks, wasn’t that yer[8] whole thin’[9]?” Tommy asked.

“My “thing” for lack of a better term, is the pursuit and acquisition of knowledge,” Logan corrected. “It is my purpose, my reason for existence. However if that pursuit puts myself or others in danger, it is an unacceptable dereliction of duty on my part.”

“Heh, dooty,” Tommy snickered, getting a long-suffering grumble out of Logan. “Do you e’en know what half ‘a the words yer usin’ e’en mean?”[10]

“Of course I do,” Logan scoffed. “Why on Earth would I use a word if I didn’t know what it meant?”

“I mean, lots ‘a[7] people do that,” Tommy explained as the group kept heading back towards Brighton.

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

Accessibility Translations:

1. Got to

2. you’re

3. ass

4. fucking

5. Trying

6. to

7. of

8. your

9. thing

10. Do you even know what half of the words you’re using even mean?

[carriagelamp]

September Book Roundup, back-to-school edition aka The Season Of Red apparently?

Here is a selection of the books I’ve read this month. Summer is over, so the little bit of brain power I had managed to scrape together is quickly disintegrating, so enjoying the hodge podge of stories.

Binti

This was probably my favourite book that I read this month. It’s a novella I first heard about hear on tumblr and went to find a copy in my library. I have since bought the collected trilogy so I can read book two and three at my leisure because it was honestly just that friggin cool. This is exactly my flavour of scifi and I tend to be very very picky about the scifi I consume. It’s about a girl named Binti, a member of the Himba people (a real group of indigenous people from Namibia). They are a people well known for their mathematical and technical prowess, but due to their strong connection to their homeland and the earth they choose not to travel through space like so many other humans do. However, when Binti secures a position at Oomza University, the greatest university in the galaxy, she chooses to go against her family’s wishes and traditions in order to set out into space to attend. Everything is ruined though when her spaceship is attacked by a hostile alien race and everyone is killed but Binti, who must rely on all her intellect and abilities if she wants any chance at survival.

A seriously cool book with great world building – it really successfully introduces readers not only to the fictional scifi world and races of the novel but also to the culture and traditions of the Himba people. It’s a quick read, and feels like a cross between Dead Space and Tamora Pierce. Would totally recommend a read.

Fake Blood

A Canadian graphic novel. It was a goofy cute read. It’s about an awkward group of friends in middle school, and one boy with a crush on one of the girls in his class. Knowing her love for vampire stories, AJ decides, like any self-respecting middle schooler, to try to pretend he’s a vampire. Naturally nothing goes right and some things go wrong in unexpected ways. It’s funny and cute. Nothing amazing but it was a cozy evening read.

The Last Book On The Left

I’ve been listening to this podcast a lot since my friend recommended it to me and finally decided to read their book. For those that don’t know, The Last Podcast On The Left is a immaculately researched comedy podcast that’s hosted by Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks, and Henry Zebrowski, and explores the darker realms of human nature. Ghosts, paranormal, aliens, cults, and of course serial killers. In this book they collected several of their biggest name serial killer series, did some renewed research, and put together a book that is both informative, irreverent, gross, and very funny, complete with some really amazing illustrations by Tom Neely. A very cool read (and listen, if you decide to check out the podcast instead), I really love how they tell these stories without idolizing or romanticizing the people they talk about. Their humour always makes sure you know exactly how much of a pathetic loser these people are. Fantastic true crime, from someone who has never really felt the need to read about true crime before.

Midnight Sun

I won’t harp on this one, everyone is already going to firmly have their opinions here. I grew up on Twilight, I was reading them as they came out, and I still love them. Were they dumb? Oh my god yes. Did they have problems? Sure, they came out in 2005 it was part and parcel. Were they also a really fun for a thirteen year old to read? Absolutely, I don’t regret it. Sometimes teenage girls should just to get like things without being mocked.

Anyway, I am off my soapbox now (can you tell this is still a raw spot for me?) I unironically loved this book! Getting to see Edward’s perspective was really cool, and since he can read minds it essentially let you get the perspective of everyone else around him too. The Cullens family is a great set of characters so it was really cool to see more of them, and I was very impressed by how Stephenie Meyers took a YA romance she wrote in 2005 and was able to make it feel updated and more appropriate for a 2020 audience even though she couldn’t actually change any of the events themselves. So fans of Twilight, don’t be ashamed, go read Midnight Sun and have the shameless fun you deserve. Is there anymore appropriate book for the bizarre ass year that was 2020 than a return to this goofy nonsense?

The Paperbag Princess

(and Up, Up, Down, and Robert Munsch in general)

I’m back in schools so I’m back to reading children’s book! And honestly, and of you that don’t occasionally sit down and read a kids book out loud don’t know what you’re missing. Anyway, Robert Munsch is a Canadian author, and one of my all-time favourite children’s authors. It surprised me to learn he isn’t as well known in the States apparently? I don’t know if that’s changed or not, but he is a Canadian staple for a good reason, his books have ridiculous premises, are specifically written to be fun to read out loud, and have beautiful, involved, and hilarious illustrations. The Paperbag Princess is one of my absolute favourites, and as a kid it was one of the first stories I had ever read where a princess is the one saving the prince… and then telling the prince to piss off when it turns out he’s a jerk. Up, Up, Down is another favourite I reread this month, because it’s just hilarious funny and makes a fantastic read aloud with kids. Some other Robert Munsch I reread this month include: Mmm, Cookies, More Pies, Ribbon Rescue, Just One Goal, and Andrew’s Loose Tooth. You just cannot go wrong, for kids or adults.

Pit Pony

Another Canadian staple while I was growing up. If you’re a young adult know who went through the Canadian elementary school system, you probably had your entire heart ripped out and stepped on by this chapter book. It’s a historical fiction that looks at the economic hardship, debt slavery, child labour, and animal abuse that was tied to coal mining in the Maritimes. Finding a copy was harder than I would have expected give how pervasive it was a decade or so back, but reading it again was a pure shot of nostalgia.

Seeking Refuge

A graphic novel written by a German-born Canadian about a Jewish girl who flees Nazi-occupied Austria by way of Kindertransport to become a child refuge in England. It follows her as she is moved from host family to host family as the war continues to pick up and gradually makes it’s way to the United Kingdom as well. It’s very poignant and the pencil-sketch illustrations are an interesting change to a lot of the graphic novels that are out right now. This story is still aimed at a younger audience, so it never gets too brutal but it still is a hard hitting story, especially with everything else going on right now.

Silver Spoon #9/10

I know I’ve talked about these books before, but my library got some more since I last read them, so I’m continuing my way through the series. It’s about a teenaged boy who, after having a breakdown from the pressure he was feeling to study and succeeded, decided not to attend an academic, urban high school, but rather to apply for an agricultural high school so he could live in the dorms, far away from his parents. The series just gets more and more heartwarming as it continues. It’s all about failure and overcoming and how worth can be measured in different ways, and about family and understanding each other and coming together… but also about the realities of farming which aren’t always very nice, especially when it comes to finances and survival. It’s written by the mangaka behind Fullmetal Alchemist but I’ll be honest… I think I like this series more. It is honestly one of my all time favourite manga series, it just has so much heart.

Ruby Finds A Worry

aka Ruby’s Worry apparently? I can’t figure out why this has more than one title. I actually read it in French not English, so for me it was Le Souci de Calie. Regardless, this was a nice little picture book for talking about worries and anxieties with children… especially with the amount of Covid stress a lot of kids are dealing with. It explains in a really nice way how talking about anxieties are often the best way to make them more manageable, and how pretending nothing is wrong can just let it grow bigger and bigger. A good explanation for kids and possible a good reminder for adults.

War of the Realms: Journey Into Mystery

I read this because the Mcelroy family wrote it so I figured Hey! Why not give it a go! And I’m glad I did. Their brand of humour was all over it, and it made the story a delight to read. I don’t follow all of Marvel’s weirdness, so I didn’t actually know most of the characters (Miles and Kate were actually the only two I was familiar with) but they do a great job of introducing the characters and making them all feel distinct and interesting. I absolutely adore the Dog of Gods (God of Dogs) who is a very very good boy. And Miles is absolutely always a delight so you can’t really lose. It’s a single book that I think is a part of a larger plotline that I have zero interest in. This book is a fine one to read though if you don’t mind jumping into the middle of the action and just getting swept along for the ride. Also Mcelroys!

Witcher Omnibus

Bleh. Absolutely not worth it. All the misogyny and Dumb Bullshit that I hate in the original books and from video games in general. Honestly, Witcher III did way better by its characters than most of these short stories. The only one worth reading in it is Curse Of Crows – that one was actually really enjoyable, probably because it was about Ciri and had an actual fucking woman on the writing team. (Seriously guys what were you thinking with Fox Children that’s literally just a story from Season of Storms but done worse. Fuck off.) If you like The Witcher, go read Curse of Crows and skip every other story in this book.

Billy Stuart: Les Zintrépides #1

Another French (Quebecois) book I read, though I believe you can get it in English as well (Billy Stuart and the Zintrepids). It’s a chapter book / graphic novel hybrid, and was honestly a fairly fun little read. It’s in a similar vein to Geronimo Stilton but done much better in my opinion. The humour was funnier, the characters felt less like caricatures, and while it still used stylized fonts it was also less intrusive and eye-strainy than the Stilton books. Also when the story suddenly pivots into the main adventure and mystery of the series? Fantastic. Was not expecting a hell-beast to appear part way through the story. Very interested in reading more.

Over all, it was cute and funny, and I can see it being a good next step when children have read their fill of the Stilton series and want something similar but possibly a bit more involved and coherent.

[tlbodine]

An Irritated Review of an Aggressively Bad Book

As a child of the 90s, I cut my teeth on R.L. Stine’s books. Goosebumps in elementary school, graduating up to Fear Street -- with its guts and gore! -- by my tweens. But the time came when I had voraciously consumed all of the R.L. Stine at the library, and I hungered for more books in the same vein. 

Which led me to Christopher Pike. 

Christopher Pike was another of the “Point Horror” series writers popular through the 80s, and they were an obvious thing to recommend to a budding young horror fan (especially as his books tended to be popular with young girls, thanks to the romantic subplots they often featured). But I just never really enjoyed them. I read a handful, shrugged it off, and eventually moved on to reading Stephen King and other adult authors instead. 

Which brings us to this motherfucker. 

@comicreliefmorlock​ sent me a small stack of vintage YA horror titles, because reading ridiculous cheesy teen thrillers sounded like good nostalgic fun. 

But this book isn’t the fun kind of cheesy. It’s the kind of cheesy that drives me to start blogging in irritation at 12:57 am. Because this book isn’t just bad, it is aggressively bad, and it says a lot about 1984 and the state of horror fiction and YA fiction and publishing in general that this fucking book launched Christopher Pike’s career. 

So let’s talk about this sumbitch below the cut.

The story is about a group of teens who meet up for a ski weekend. The girls were all very close when they were younger, but drifted apart after an accident that left one friend badly burned and her little sister dead. The burned-friend is the one whose family owns this very fancy house and so graciously invited everyone to come hang out. 

Our characters don’t really get much in the way of actual characterization, but here’s the cast: 

Nell, who has some facial scarring and whose family is apparently loaded

Nicole, the dead little sister

Lara, the main character (ostensibly)

Dana, who likes to eat and crack jokes (funny fat friend solidarity fist bump)

Rachael, the gorgeous blonde beauty rival of Lara

Mindy, who chews gum

Celeste, a shy girl with back problems who they’ve befriended somewhat recently 

They arrive and hand over their keys to a park ranger to valet-park their car while marveling at how they don’t really know if he was a real park ranger, because I always give my keys to strangers when visiting an isolated location. Celeste asks some innocent questions about why the group hasn’t hung out recently, and the group neglects to mention the dead sister, but the reader figures it out. 

Don’t worry, we’ll hear all about that in a moment. But first there’s a small, stupid mystery about a disappearing snowman, that melted really fast like it was burned and Lara will continue to fixate on this for the rest of the book. 

They spend a little time getting settled in before hitting the slopes. Celeste and Nell hang behind despite being the two people at this gathering who presumably don’t know each other, but they hit it off great right away so good for them. 

At the ski lodge, they run into a pair of boys that Rachael and Mindy know -- Percy and Cal. Lara falls into an instant and irritating infatuation with Percy for some reason, deepening that rivalry with Rachael. Cal creeps on Dana, trying to grope her when they get a minute alone, but Mindy of course gets jealous of Dana for horning on on her man because of course she does. 

Note: The book was written by a man in 1985. 

Anyway, at the ski slopes, Dana disappears, and everyone kind of assumes she’s just trying to avoid Cal even when they find one of her skis sitting in the middle of a very mysterious patch of snow that seems to have some ash and ice in it (just like the snowman! gasp!) but it’s probably fine! 

Somewhere in here we get an entire chapter told in italics to provide helpful background information about how Nicole died -- which involved a bunch of 6th graders at a sleepover getting drunk from stolen brandy in the liquor cabinet, deciding to hold a seance, knocking over a candle, catching Nicole on fire, and then Lara trying to put her out with the brandy (because it’s wet!) and that of course creates a Nicole-Flambe situation. Nicole is whisked away to the hospital and dies there and Lara is wracked with guilt and so forth and so on. 

And scene. Back to the present, where Dana is still missing, they can’t find the ranger who has their car keys, there’s a storm bearing down on them, but of course the most important thing is whether Percy likes Lara better than he likes Rachael. They invite the boys to come over that night. 

Dana’s not back at the house, so Lara calls the lodge to ask for them to have her call if she shows up, but otherwise big shrugs about the friend’s disappearance and presumably being lost in the middle of a storm. Celeste is scandalized that they were going to eat cold cuts at a party and sets to dressing and roasting two whole chickens and a bunch of side dishes, which is of course an extremely normal thing for a teenager to do at a party. 

The boys show up, and Lara feels kind of bad about not really caring where Dana is, except not guilty enough to do anything about it. Dana, you’re too good for these people, get better friends. 

Anyway, they eat and do some drinking then play charades, which Celeste and Nell are eerily good at (hmmmm) and then Cal creeps on Celeste which starts a whole argument culminating in Percy punching him in the face, Cal stumbling backward, and Mindy’s arm catching fire because Nell had bitchily thrown alcohol at her earlier. They throw out the boys and start doing some first aid on Mindy, including dosing her on some codeine that they conveniently have lying around. 

Percy’s gotta go, so Lara walks him out in the woods, refusing anybody else’s offer to come with her so she doesn’t get lost because she wants to make a move on him. There’s some painful flirting, some kissing, some talks about pyrokinesis and the mysterious Dana disappearance (and the snowman! that damned snowman!) and also Percy has a flare gun in his pocket for some reason. 

Gag. Ugh. But ok, fine, Percy gives her the flare gun, presumably because he’s letting her walk back through the woods alone in a blizzard. She scoops up some of the ice from Dana’s disappearance-spot to bring home for evidence and then goes to bed. When she awakens, the ice has melted and she can see bones! and ash! Ahhhh! 

This causes her to panic, so she runs out of the house at 3am into the woods and then, idk, freezes or something. Cal is there for some reason? She conveniently blacks out and awakens to find herself tied up in Nell’s basement. But hey look, Dana’s here! And so is Rachael! 

We helpfully learn that Dana’s been tied up in a closet this whole time. Also, SURPRISE! Celeste isn’t actually Celeste, she’s Nicole! (in case this wasn’t already painfully obvious from all of the foreshadowing). She didn’t die after all! She just assumed an entirely new identity! She was just pretending not to know who Nell is! 

Never mind that Celeste has parents who we have literally talked to in this book (they briefly call to check on her and Lara speaks to them instead). Apparently Nicole’s family....gave her up for adoption? but she’s still really close to her sister? Or else Lara somehow doesn’t realize that Celeste’s parents are Nell’s parents? Literally no part of this is explained in a way that makes any sense at all. 

But anyway, turns out this whole weekend was just an excuse to get everybody together so that Nell and Nicole/Celeste could get revenge by dousing them in kerosene and burning them alive. Like you do. 

There’s a lot of waffling and trying to win over Nicole with the power of friendship, and then she changes her mind about the plan but Nell doesn’t, which leads to some dramatic scuffling and ultimately Lara shoots Nell with Chekhov’s flare gun, but it’s totally OK because her expression is “the most peaceful” Lara has ever seen so that’s cool, and then they manage to rescue Mindy before the house blows up.

From there, we’ve just got some loose ends to tie up. We’re rescued by the suspicious ranger from earlier who it turns out actually is a ranger, so that’s cool. How did he find them? Why, that strapping young man Cal tipped him off that they might be in trouble! 

You heard it here first, folks. Cal, the guy whose characterization up to this point has been “gropes girls without consent” and “tells funny war stories about napalm” is actually the real hero here! What a find stand-up young gentleman that serial offender is. 

Also, again, Dana, you are too good for these people, find new friends. 

Anyway, the girls end up in the hospital, where they promise a vow of secrecy but also Lara and Nicole are totally going to be best friends now, no harsh feelings. Also Lara is totally going to hook up with Percy, because that was definitely the most important thing to come from this weekend and she’s definitely not in any way going to be traumatized about any of this. 

The end. 

distant gagging sounds

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 5 OF 22

It’s not on purpose.

Theo isn’t intentionally testing her determination or anything of that sort. He just can’t wrap his head around her persistence.

He doesn’t purposefully make himself hard to contact to shrug her off. It’s just that he’s not as fond of social media as the next person. Sure, he does have accounts for the biggest names in the industry—Instagram, Facebook, the works—but he doesn’t use them regularly, or posts on them at all. The easiest and more surefire way to contact him, really, is through the usual, plain old messaging app on the phone, or maybe through a call.

(And he’s not so sure about giving her his number so suddenly.)

He doesn’t give the most roundabout answers to Arthur’s questions to keep her hanging. He just doesn’t want Arthur sticking his nose in business that isn’t his to begin with. He doesn’t find any reason to tell his coworker anything about their book exchange, even if—after Arthur’s admission—this entire friendship began with his orchestration.

He’s not doing it on purpose.

He knows how easily this could lead to understandable frustration. Maybe even the vague feeling that maybe he’s only attending their little book exchange sessions at the Grove because she gets Vincent to tell him. Maybe she won’t have the patience for him. Maybe she’ll just drop it.

But she doesn’t.

And that makes it even more confusing.

“Why are you taking this so seriously?” Theo asks one day, after they’ve handed the next week’s books to one another. He’s looking at her with a stern gaze, as if calculating every minuscule twitch on her face.

She only shrugs her shoulders and looks up at him innocently. “I’m having fun, aren’t you?”

As if the extra steps he’s making her take are not wasted time. As if she sees that she’s already slowly melting ice. It’s not that Theo is shunning her—but it’s safer like this, keeping her at a distance. Theo has his own priorities, and all arrows point to Vincent. The least he can do is make sure the books he lends are good; make sure he has the appropriate insight to bring with him. And she, in turn, sends every pass-the-message text (to Arthur, to Vincent), leaves all the notes in between lent and borrowed books, shows up to every meeting with that unbeatable smile on her face.

And in truth, Theo isn’t sure where this is going. Theo isn’t sure what she’s going to do to him, why they’re doing all this. But for now, he’ll just let her keep on doing this. For now.

They just both have a good feeling about it.

--

There is a certain art of choosing books to recommend to people. There is, of course, the matter of having a certain level of being well-read, as choosing from a hundred books allows more elbow room than choosing from ten.

But she knows better; there is more to it than just that.

If there’s one thing she is absolutely sure about the world, it’s that books—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, name it—all have the ability to bring people elsewhere. It’s magic she wishes she could have in real life. Sneak in between the pages and find yourself transported to an entirely separate timeline of the universe where these things happened. Slip a hand at the center-point and find yourself in a different world, where things are different.

Wouldn’t that be amazing?

But it’s not just about the bringing into, but also the bringing with—what do the books carry with them that will be useful to the reader? Which of its commendable qualities will match the receiver? Is it its storytelling, the way it weaves each character through their growth and journey? Is it the message, the core of it which it carries throughout the text through every plot point that happens? Is it the imagery, the space between the real and the imagined, where the infinite possibilities exist?

This is the tender part. This is the part that feels the most raw.

Romance has never been at the top of her priority list. She’s no newbie to it, but it’s just never been the most important thing in her life. It’s never been on the list at all. Getting into a relationship, the dating scene, being romantically attached to people—she understands the joy of it, she’s definitely dipped her toes into the water, but it isn’t what she wants right now.

She figures choosing books for people is the closest she can get to that feeling for now.

It’s not only Theo, of course—sometimes Arthur asks her for some recommendations too, and sometimes Dazai does, as well. To her it’s nothing more than a way of showing her affection, a little, “I had you in my thoughts,” as she matches a book to its recipient. It becomes more than just another title, not just another author.

She clutches the book Theo’s lent her for the week close to her chest as she crouches in front of her bookshelf to browse her own collection. She thinks, matching their theme to her heart: which book would best suit Theo’s needs? Which things might he benefit from hearing?

Pulls a book out from the shelf and wonders—which one would grace his life with a little bit of stardust?

--

That week, Theo asked her to “lend me the book you wish everyone would read at least once”—and when she answered with “no, that’s impossible, I can’t lend you 39 books at once?”—he clarified, “the one you’re still coming to terms with.” And that’s a really odd way to describe a book you’d want everyone else to read—Theo himself knew that—but somehow it made perfect sense to her, and the week later she hands him the small bound book.

She had passed onto him Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.

An interesting choice, really, for that book to have fit under the said category, but Theo’s stopped trying to make sense of the surprises she brings up for him at this point. The book isn’t really lengthy—this particular volume is less than a hundred pages long, and it only took Theo a good hour to go through the contents, even while relishing every word of it. (She does the opposite, speed-running every book as fast as possible, because she “can’t be patient about what happens next”, a concept he cannot understand—“The book is not leaving, why don’t you enjoy what is written?” “I can’t wait! I need to know!”)

It’s not a complicated book.

But it sure has complicated feelings.

So he kind of understands why she had chosen that one.

Theo has a complicated relationship with love. Not that he’s had any sort of traumatizing past relationship or a lingering resentment for an ex, but there was just something about the concept of romance that doesn’t sit…right with him.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what it is, he does. There are books he loves—books he is very thankful for having found in this lifetime. There are food he loves, food that fills his stomach with warmth and makes his heart flutter and makes him feel like maybe world peace is achievable, and it’s in a spoonful of this creamy sugary pancake after all. And most importantly, he loves his brother very much; would like to see Vincent do great things in the future, or, if not that, then at least be happy, and live the life he wants to live—that’s what love is, isn’t it? To enjoy something wholly for what it is, and what it does to you. To want the best for a person.

His problem with love is he doesn’t know what to do with it.

In the same way that he still loves his parents even if they don’t understand why he’d go through such lengths for Vincent. In the same way that he still loves the people who’ve left him behind in the past, friends, old lovers, even when his heart was still pouring. And isn’t that what love is? To love something wholly for what it is, what it does to you, to forgive it of its mistakes and shortcomings?

Even when the cost is yours to bear?

What to do with a love that can live in his heart when the other no longer wants it?

Theo reads Neruda’s poetry book once. And then reads it again. And then reads some of his other books for good measure.

--

It’s pretty common to find Arthur walking around the campus with his hands in his pockets and the many eyes of adoring (or maybe loathing) girls on him—for all the understandable reasons. Today was a little different though, because he is outside the Arts Building in the late afternoon, reading some sort of a flyer.

“Arthur!”

He hastily keeps the flyer into his bag as she jogs up to him. “Hello, little miss. Nice to see you around.”

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, trying to peep into his bag.

Arthur, instead, pushes himself off the wall that he’d been leaning on, smoothly slipping his arm around hers. Months of friendship had gotten her used to him being touchy; she lets him. “Labor of love. Walk me back to the bookshop?”

She’s not surprised, but she asks anyway. “Are you on your shift?”

“It was an important errand to run, no need to be so incensed,” he says, half-laughing. “Let’s go back before your boyfriend has more than words for me.”

Pinching Arthur’s arm, she quips back: “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why, that’s exactly what he told me! You know you don’t need to keep it a secret from me.”

“You’re the absolute worst, Arthur.” The two of them fall into an even pace walking down the sidewalk. She relies on the silence to get them there, but there is something about the biting intrigue that snags her. “…What did Theo say?”

Arthur smirks. Openly. “Curious suddenly?”

“He doesn’t exactly talk to me about things like this,” she huffs. “It’s just books and literature with him.”

“That just means you haven’t cracked him.”

She pouts. “You’re not supposed to need to crack people.” She tugs at Arthur’s sleeve, insistent. “C’mon, tell me. He has to have told you something, right?”

Confidently, Arthur says, “Theo tells me everything.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I suppose my information is subpar, then, so why should I—”

“Arthur!”

“Yes, yes, okay,” he says, finally relenting. “He won’t say it to your face, but he really enjoys spending time with you, little bird.”

Her face lights up like a little sun. “Really?”

“Oh, dear. Whatever will he feel, ratting him out like this—”

“Please, we all know you do not care because we are your source of entertainment,” she says, elbowing him. “…I was doubting it, honestly, but that’s a relief.”

“He never stops talking about your book club, actually.”

“No way.”

“Always masked in a complaint, but always about it all the time,” Arthur says, watching the smile grow on her face. “You’re a good influence on him, at least he’s not brooding away in a corner all day long. The customers have enjoyed his new, refreshed presence. All the lovely girls coming in now, what a joy.”

She squeezes his arm as they round the corner. “Why do I feel like this is going exactly according to your plan?” Arthur does not attempt denial. 

--

Theo does not stop asking for poetry books.

Only because he knows that even if she doesn’t voice it out loud, she’d want to lend him poetry books anyway. She, on the other hand, changes genres every week. Poetry, nonfiction, YA fiction, children’s fiction. She jumps from Ariel to A Little Life to The Girl Who drank the Moon to On Earth we Were Briefly Gorgeous. She has so much to say and so much to ask.

It’s just about driven Theo insane.

(It’s a good thing he enjoys her company.)

He won’t admit it, of course, but he shows up anyway. He frowns at every text she sends Vincent but he’s there. Every single Saturday. Reads every stray fast-food receipt note she slips in between the pages of the books she returns. Spends time on the books she lends him.

Ah, what did he get himself into?

Whatever.

Today, he’s brought with him Kerouac’s On the Road because she asked for a book that made him want to go away.

“Why am I not surprised that you brought me a Kerouac?” she asks while taking the book into her hands. She always holds them so gently. “His style is so interesting, though. Is it a shame to admit I’ve only read his poetry?”

“Only a little,” Theo says, but he’s joking because the corner of his lip is curled up ever so gently.

She flips the book to read the summary at the back. “Beat Generation, huh.”

“They wrote about liberation,” Theo says, sounding somehow defensive of his choice of a book. “Gritty and maybe even sloppy writing, but they wrote about freedom. Breaking the norm, finding yourself, facing the reality… doesn’t that fit your criteria of making one want to go away?”

She turns to him curiously. “Have you ever wanted to go away, Theo?”

He doesn’t turn to her. “I’m more the kind of person that stays.”

“Well, being a househusband isn’t bad work,” she comments, to which Theo snorts. “You know, I’ve really found that you have some sort of… classical, helpless romantic kind of aura on you.”

That makes him turn towards her. “What.”

“I mean, the books you’ve lent me—they all have some sort of romantic quality to them, you know? No matter how serious they get. I’m still recovering from A Little Life, you know.” She laughs. “Plus, all you’ve been asking me to lend you is poetry. Have you perhaps changed your mind about poetry?”

He narrows his eyes. “I don’t see how that makes me a romantic.” He sighs. “I didn’t think lowly of poetry, it just wasn’t my priority,” Theo clarifies. “We agreed to let the borrower decide the genre of the book but you’re so insistent on poetry that I’d rather take what you have instead of asking for something else. You’re pretty annoying when you’re insistent.”

She doesn’t deny the fact that she’s always saying about how she already has a poetry book to lend him every week. “I’m not annoying,” she says, pouting. “Geez, Theo, all you need to do is be honest and say you love poetry now and it’s because of me.”

“Is this a cause of yours? Getting people into poetry?”

But then, the banter stops. She falls silent for a moment that feels too long. Theo feels like he has to take back what he says, when, “Yes, something like that,” she says, softly. “They’re like love letters to the universe, I think they’re great.”

“That’s an interesting take.”

She frowns. “Do you not like love letters?”

Theo shrugs. “They’re classical.”

“That’s a non-answer,” she huffs. Holding her palm upward to the sky in a gesture, she says, “I just think they’re neat. It’s like a different experience in every book, every collection. You ever get a feeling that some poems find you, instead of the other way around? Like you were meant to find it at that exact moment?” Theo lightly shakes his head. “Really? Maybe you’ll experience it with some of the stuff I give you.”

He doesn’t know what’s hiding behind that serious expression, that other reason she’s so attached to poetry that she isn’t quite ready to say yet. He can feel it though. He doesn’t have the right to ask yet.

Instead, he raises his eyebrow and says, “You seem awfully confident.”

“I’m planning to make you read hundreds and hundreds of them, so it’s just a matter of numbers,” she says with a grin. “C’mon. Have any of the books I’ve given to you at least had a poem that resonated with you?”

And Theo pauses. Resonated, that’s a heavy word, it carries a lot with it. One could wish what they create would resonate with a lot of its consumers, whether that’s paintings or poetry or philosophies, but it’s not an exact art, and sometimes it’s all just a question of luck. Theo hesitantly shakes his head. “Not that I can think of,” he says. Thinks of the lines he’d copied out of the books to be remembered later. They were good lines, but hardly ones that resonated.

She hums, not sounding too put down by his answer. “Well, that just means we have to keep looking, right? I hope today’s at least gets some emotion in your face, Mister-Statue-Face-With-No-Feelings.”

“Hondje… What did you just call me?”

--

That day, he gives her his phone number.

--

She doesn’t know why everyone keeps asking her about it.

Sure, she had a crush on him, but it was really only entirely out of aesthetics. There was no denying he was hot, but he’s rather rough on the edges and has a rather sharp personality to be someone would want a boyfriend out of. Really, at this point, all she wants is to hang out with him and maybe reads some of the books he reads. Again—she doesn’t have space for distractions right now.

But everyone keeps asking her about it. Non-stop.

When she goes to the bookshop and Theo is at the back, Arthur comes up to her and asks her how The Friendship is going—as if it were something more special than just your regular old friendship. Most of the time she doesn’t know what to tell him, because somehow all he ever says to her after hearing about it is a small hmm like the answer didn’t quite fill in what he wanted to hear. Well, Arthur, sucks to be you, but you’re not hearing what you want to hear, she says to herself. Arthur’s a secret sucker for romance, the playboy that he is, and she’s not giving him a show.

But it’s not just Arthur. Vincent, too, asks her regularly. And considering she spends a good amount of time in the café he works at, the questions aren’t exactly that avoidable. She’ll order her drink and a pastry and Vincent will go, “is Theo being nice to you?” or any other variation of that sentence. (Somehow that feels like Vincent knows Theo is just mean in general, and that’s a kind of relief she doesn’t know how to explain. If his brother thinks he’s regularly mean, maybe that’s really just who he is, and also kind of forgivable.) Of course, she can’t exactly tell Vincent that Theo isn’t being nice to her, but oppositely, Theo isn’t really being mean to her either. He’s tolerating her every attempt to annoy him—or really, not annoy him, just hang out with him—and he hasn’t pushed her away exactly, so it must be going alright, right?

Of course, Dazai is curious as well, despite his earlier misgivings with Theo. (Dazai’s had bad experiences with business majors and romance in the past.) He’s not as persistent as Vincent and Arthur, but every chance he gets—say, an offhanded remark about a book or the bookshop, any little topic he feels he can reasonably steer towards the direction of Theo—he does ask. He asks in the way a friend would be curious of a new relationship—it is one, just not romantic, she insists—all full of worries for said friend. She appreciates this in many ways, because she knows Dazai can give her advice that will be very valuable to her. Still—the attention the thing pulls is kind of ridiculous, to her.

It doesn’t end with Dazai though, and at this point, it’s just going to be a long laundry list of people who are looking for gossip between her and Theo when—there really isn’t any. Despite being a literature major, she’s actually part of the campus’ local astronomy club, because why not? Stars are neat and she can’t quite catch up with the rest of the astrophysics majors that is actually with her, but the stargazing with the telescopes definitely makes it worth it. It’s just that Dazai is friends with their club head for a reason or another—a graduate student in astrophysics, Isaac Newton, and when Dazai knows there really isn’t any much harm, he runs his mouth, so—Isaac’s asked her at least once about Theo as well. Luckily Isaac is more on the awkward side—and they really aren’t that close quite yet, club aside—so he asks once, sees her reaction of despair and exhaustion, and never asks again.

She wonders if Theo gets the same barrage of questions as she does. From Arthur, for sure, but—Theo doesn’t exactly talk about other friends of his. Maybe they just haven’t gotten close enough for him to bring them up. Besides, whether or not people ask him about them or not, he’s sure that he already knows about the little crush—he’s just playing at it. Playing for what, she doesn’t know, and somehow, she’s fine with that.

That was all it was ever meant to be, anyway—a passing crush, a nice face, a sight for sore eyes, something to fall back on to refresh herself after long days of pushing her mind to the limit, working herself to exhaustion.

He was meant to be a breather, not a distraction.

To be friends is more than enough.

She screams into a pillow and grins.

[mannatea]

Hi. I used to follow your old blog on a different account. Hope you're doing well. Do you have any tips on thinking up stories that are *not* dark and depressing due to subject material? The last story I was working on I had to quit because the backstory I was developing for my passive male character was super depressing. At times I enjoyed researching it, though what won out was the thought I was wasting my time looking into angsty things for something I wasn't even planning to publish. Now I want to write something a little happier. But I have the most experience in writing angst and cringe comedy 😅 thanks for any help you can give. Stay safe out there!

By the way, good on you for dropping that manga you used to follow. I was happy most of the characters lived, but other than that, it felt "meh" to me (granted, I didn't read all the way from the beginning). The author was probably going for a "people will always be fighting each other" theme, but some of the imagery of what happened after a time skip could definitely be taken as pro-fascist. And I was disappointed the protagonist basically said he wanted to bring about destruction! I'm glad I didn't spend any money to read it.

Wow, hi! I’m doing all right, thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing all right, too. :)

As far as “that manga” goes, I’ve kept tabs on it. I’ve been on the fringes for the last two-ish years; I dedicated something like four real life years to that fandom and mostly had a good time while I was there (made some friends I hope to keep for life), so it was one of those situations where I just had to find out how it ended. I realized at some point that I was in a very negative space in the fandom, and felt it was better to publicly drop the series and the blog associated with all of my meta/discussion than to play in what had become a toxic pool for me. I didn’t really want to drop the account after my time there, but I couldn’t have dealt with the nonstop questions/messages/etc that would have piled in over the years, and eh, when you’re done you’re done. I criticize Hallmark television for fun, now, instead. It’s a lot less stressful! And literally nothing is That Deep so there’s very few delusions, at least on the Tumblr side of things. (Reddit, however, is insane, but I don’t post in the fandom there.)

As far as writing advice goes, I am going to apologize in advance for muddled thoughts. I just got out of work and have been staring at numbers all day, so it’s hard for me to think lmaoo.

In my opinion, any sort of character or personality type/flaw/whatever could have developed via a negative OR positive influence/catalyst, so that’s something to consider. I also think people tend to reach for “sad” or “traumatic” pasts either as a way to cope with their own issues/pasts/whatevers, or because it’s the “easy explanation” for why a character is the way they are.

If you WANT to write things a certain way, it’s sometimes a matter of changing the lens through which you’re viewing life, the story, the characters, or character writing in general. This is never easy, especially when you find a genre you feel comfortable in, but it’s always possible. When I was in college and submitted an autobiographical piece (Rot Tooth) for a creative writing final, I received multiple comments from classmates and even the professor that my talent/skill was in writing comedy. COMEDY!!!! I don’t think anyone who has read my writing from the last decade would say that I was a comedy writer. I stopped labeling ‘fics as humor/romance so long ago I can’t even remember when it was. But boom. I had written a comedy piece.

I don’t think I can ignore that most of the comedic elements in Rot Tooth were brought about because humor is one of the ways in which I cope with things, but it was also a very conscious choice I made. I wanted people to be able to engage with the story without being grossed out, without getting bored, without feeling that it was a poor-pathetic-me story, and humor was the classiest way to do it. Here, read this long story that includes journal entries from Ye Olde Livejournal days, but it will make you laugh often enough that the depressing aspects of the story don’t weigh it down too much! It was probably the only way to make the subject matter widely palatable. 

As often as I joke about characters or scenes or moments that “just write themselves” the author does have control. I mostly write fanfiction, so let’s go with examples from that.

I’m (very slowly) working on a ‘fic called Three Years which features a character who, when last seen, was headed off to serve a prison sentence. They haven’t been on the show for three years and thus I assume they have been serving that sentence for the last three years. The story starts when this character is released from prison. They are a woman. This is a historical piece of fiction. Prisons were vile to women and yet...this is fiction. I have a choice. I get to choose. Does she get to start her life off carrying 25 bags of trauma or just 2? It would be unreasonable to expect that someone, especially a woman, who was imprisoned for 3 years in the early 1900s wouldn’t have some issues (at the very least, the isolation would have been awful), but it doesn’t really have to be much worse than that. It doesn’t.

I have the power to choose.

A character has anger issues. Sure, he could have had a traumatic past with an abusive parent who took his anger out on him or his mom or whatever...or maybe it is an inherited personality trait and the parent figure with the problem was never really That Bad about it, but seeing it normalized makes it harder for the character in question to realize it’s a huge problem and part of their character arc is realizing they need to get help, not because they don’t want to be like their dad, and not because they hate their dad, but because they just want to be a better person/they don’t want to let that struggle consume them.

Someone’s sweetheart goes off to war. Guess what? They don’t have to die there to force a traumatic past. They don’t have to come back a raging alcoholic either. Maybe the time apart, and the time fighting a war just puts a natural sort of crack in the relationship by making it clearer to each character what they want in life/what matters to them in their life.

A character is super passionate about their work/hobby. Maybe they have ADHD and it’s a hyperfixation. Maybe they’re autistic and it’s a Special Interest. It doesn’t have to be “their parents ignored them and forced them to be alone all the time and they used this thing to cope so it means everything to them because it’s always been there.”

Maybe you have a character whose greatest fear is losing the people they love. It doesn’t have to be because a pet died in their arms when they were four and it traumatized them. It doesn’t have to be because they only have one person they love in the whole world. It can just be a thing because that’s a valid fear literally anyone can reasonably have, and maybe it’s a bigger deal because they don’t have siblings or aren’t close to many people! (And the “aren’t close to many people” thing doesn’t have to stem from trauma, either. Most busy adults for example who get to choose their friends, are just like that.)

A perfectionist might just have the personality type; it doesn’t mean their parents criticized everything they ever did. A person with three failed marriages might hesitate to fall in love and try again but it doesn’t have to be because those three failed marriages were abusive. A quiet character may just be shy or introverted by nature. 

I think everyone carries some kind of trauma with them, so it’s never unreasonable to have some in a person’s past (you can’t write an ugly character without having to think about the fact that they carry some trauma from what it’s like to grow up ugly), but it doesn’t have to define them. It doesn’t have to overshadow everything else in their past.

You can always ask yourself, “Why am I reaching for angst every time I create a backstory?” Literally everyone has some kind of angst. Most kids were hurt by things said to them in school, for example, or made fun of for some reason. Most people did something extremely embarrassing as a kid and never got over it. There are a thousand little moments in our adult lives that go back to these little points—you might call them the tiny traumas. But they’re not defining. They’re not so heavy they also live in the present. Not all of them.

Why do you reach for the darkest corner? Why not for the light? Or a middle ground?

I encourage people to write basically whatever floats their boat, but it sounds like you’re at a point where you just feel weighed down by that sort of stuff, and that’s not a great way to feel, especially when it discourages you from working on a project entirely.

My final suggestion: look at some of your favorite characters from various types of media. Are they all traumatized? What are their defining characteristics? Black Beauty has some depressing stuff in it, but is ultimately a story with a happy ending. Pride and Prejudice has drama, but nobody’s past is filled with the darkest stuff imaginable. North and South has awful things to consider in it (cotton mills were sooo awful) but the characters are not wildly traumatized people.

What kind of story are you trying to tell? Do the characters need to be traumatized to tell it? Does the story have to be dark to get across the message you want to send? 

Way back in the day, when I was into “that manga” I made an RP blog for a one-off character that nobody gave a damn about. Like, he was so one-off that even back in those days nobody even remembered him having existed. It was sort of a joke RP blog that wasn’t supposed to be serious. The only canon information we had about this character was that he enjoyed drinking. I decided to make him a lighthearted character because the series was pretty dark and I wanted to send people hilarious starters instead of wading through the muck of depression with everyone else’s sad, abused characters. I decided his family was old money and he had a brother. Nothing super traumatizing in his past. Some family issues but not the sort of thing that would haunt anyone. He was not traumatized in his recent past any more than other characters were. Mostly just “a regular guy.” I really loved RPing him. He was fun! The story could get heavy but he didn’t have to be.

Anyway, dive head-first into the dark angst if you want, but if it’s not necessary to tell the story you want to tell, just remember you don’t have to go there. You have the choice.

[feather-dancer]

Now Ghosts he left behind Chapter 3 has been out nearly a couple of weeks suppose now is an acceptable amount of time to go on about ~*themes*~ that have been cropping up in the fic so far that aren’t at all plot relevant but are still important things I want to do justice to: LGBT+ rep and mental health particularly centred around anxiety. Understandably the following will contain spoilers I can’t avoid it, sorry!

~~~

Mental health

It probably doesn’t come as too big a surprise on the latter front, after all in the second chapter of the Strickler fic I tagged for unhealthy coping mechanisms which are loosely based on my own which also happened to have a reference at the end of the second chapter in Ghost!AU showing how far he’d come since then. Now I’ve read some excellent fics on the PTSD front, a few on dysphoria regarding the change from human to half troll but in regards to anxiety many seem to fall into the trap of thinking somebody is a bit more skittish or that it just gives you a more nervous nature. As somebody who has generalised anxiety myself, I really wish it was that simple.

In this fic’s case the anxiety is being heavily tangled in the dysphoria of the change where he’s left alone to process everything while being hit with reminders of what he no longer is thus putting more fuel on the pyre as a result. In a stressful situation (Sometimes not even then!) it can get stuck in a loop of self-created belief such as here Merlin kept him away deliberately though we know this isn’t the case and will warp reality/memories to fit like how he misremembers that Merlin also said his visions are imperfect if there’s nothing to snap you out of it then those spirals often lead to panic attacks or worse a full breakdown. Here his brain is trying to make sense of the impossible, jumping to the most logical conclusion it can come up with and through bad luck has this very wrong thought process that he’s a threat to everyone else. Having been on one or two of these they really do suck! Quite often dissociation goes hand in hand whether you’re aware of it happening or not and thus far he’s had a couple bouts that he’s dubbing blackouts currently. There is also the classic ‘background’ noise variant where for no real reason your fight / flight reflex is jammed on when it feels like it though Jim as shown by the CBD techniques at the start of chapter 3 is doing his best to keep a handle on those spiking too far and Claire mentions he taught her a few to help out to show that his friends know and he is able to talk about it without feeling the need to hide in plain sight every waking moment. If you’re forced to stealth you get frighteningly good about hiding full blown panic attacks and it’s not a healthy situation to be in.

On Toby’s end he mentions a specific situation where anxiety was likely involved before Jim was diagnosed. In it when confronted with a situation option a was bad, option b was worse and there was no good outcomes because his brain got stuck on those. He also mentions being moral support helping get Jim into a position that he would be able to go home but refused to leave him alone until he was sure he was okay. It’s worth pointing out he figured the reason everything kicked off was the ‘problem’ of coming out to Barbara and her not reacting well (Which was an understandable conclusion!) and only later realised anxiety was what made the entire thing even worse and he unintentionally did the right thing to help. Barbara also mentions Jim being on medication for it, the original ones to mysteriously stop working which are implied to be while Toby was pretending to be Jim then moved onto another treatment which was brought up via Strickler’s concern about going cold turkey. As much as anxiety freaking sucks I felt it was important to show that nothing in relation to it is treated as abnormal, it is simply life with having your brain being a bit on the funky side and that sometimes makes you think illogically. It’s not your fault when it happens.

~~~

LGBT+

When I began writing this fic one thing I wanted from the get go is that characters who are LGBT+ are not forced into a scenario created by the plot to out them to the reader/someone else nor signposted in a cheap way to score points because even when you’re with friends who know you’re not saying it every two seconds and even more so when in a stressful circumstance where your son/best friend is currently missing. With this thought in mind, Jim has always been written as Trans but prior to Chapter 3 I simply had no way to bring it up because right now he’s too busy freaking out about being a half troll to notice if anything is different and on this same coin, Claire is Bi while Toby is Pan with a bonus order of trying to figure himself out. There’s others too! Sadly much like confirming Jim is also Bi I’ve not had a way to naturally bring it up as yet if I will at all but they are being written with it in mind.

Jim was a trickier one to bring up because he’s not about to vouch for himself so it was a much easier route to instead hint drop and hope one if not all of them clicked with a reader who he is without any of them being done in a way that could come across as dickish. Barbara got the first two with mentioning Jim should know better about using a given name in regards to Not!Enrique and a second one in regards to another form of medication he’s taking but because she didn’t know if Strickler knew (Incidentally he does) thus she deliberately phrased it vaguely and was ready for the possibility of upset without outing her son because she’s a good parent!! Toby is who gets the rest through a roundabout way mentioning how bad his pre-medicated anxiety could be when he came out as mentioned in the previous section and a second time where he says he didn’t care what he looked like because Jim is always Jim to him. The final important note was how he specifically said that he would not second party exactly what happened because it’s Jim’s choice if he tells her or not. We love and support good friends in this house.

Then there was the inclusion of the river troll Trisantona who is marked as non-binary by calling themselves the child of and the kids think absolutely nothing of it and are more annoyed with their attitude than anything else. Personally I see many trolls and changelings particularly very eh about gender and wanted a little implication they are far from the first troll they’ve encountered who doesn’t fit a human binary so it doesn’t even register as unusual. 

In Claire’s case she had two hints, the first bring a straight joke because it might be low hanging fruit but it’s hilarious I can’t help it while the second was her commentary on Toby’s reactions to name drops because she couldn’t resist teasing him. Small but both very deliberate.

Toby in the meanwhile has been having hint drops since chapter 2 which has only continued in how he keeps comparing reactions Claire is causing to what Jim does to him then you get him openly telling Claire about how it feels like his heart is a bunch of apartments and can the world stop having so many good-looking people in it. That ties in with the two mentions of doing research for a word he hasn’t quite got yet but he’s mostly been sidetracked by everything going on right now.

Homophobia, biphobia and particularly transphobia is rife and only increasing in this country where it feels like every week it’s only getting worse. While in the grand scheme of things it’s probably inconsequential it is important to be the change you want to see in the world. Mine? Even in this mess of an angst fic I want to showcase LGBT+ peeps who are treated as they should be with love and support by friends, family and strangers alike. Being Trans, Bi or whichever label that particular character uses it is simply part of who they are and not a character trait slapped on afterwards for easy points plus if I see one more fic where a Trans character gets outted to others without their consent because the author figured that’s the only way you can do it I’ll go feral.

In a completely unrelated note Douxie is non-binary Panromatic Ace in everything I write and anybody who doesn’t like that can suck it.