#there’s a mountain in between so while they have trade I wouldn’t see his stuff

[shewhoeatssand]

Ok I’m starting to get concerned now, I’m psyched about how Shironeki perpetuates the cycle of violence and how it’s kinda canon he enjoys it, my head is filled with his laughter and heavy breaths and shouting and quiet tangents and I don’t hate it and it was like this before things got bad again, I’m feeling tempted to choose him over everything again and THE YEAR JUST STARTED, how can I stop this before it devolves

[aminiatureworld]

Spotlight

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,707

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Modern AU in which the reader’s s/o is famous.

Author’s Note: My first crack at a modern AU and I enjoyed it immensely! My personal media of choice definitely came through in this prompt. I would now kill for Albedo to read Shakespeare. Also streamer Kazuha is an inspired idea, thank you anon for that! Not to mention musician Xiao, truly chef’s kiss.

Albedo

Albedo was a stage actor, both by education and by trade. Starting in high school he began in local productions, before entering into the Mondstadt Theateracademie. After appearing as Estragon in a filmed version of Waiting for Godot, he began to be scouted for various television miniseries, eventually becoming a well-respected film actor.

You arrived somewhere in the middle of his career. Working as a costume assistant at the Academie you had quickly fallen for the inquisitive and deceptively intense soul that exuded every color of emotion onstage, from raging anger to soft sorrow, before stepping into the wings and resuming an aura of utter calm. He had captivated you, both as an actor and as a human being; and when you learned that he had also become slightly infatuated with you, well, it was hard not to feel like you had stepped into a wonderful play, or perhaps simply a wonderful play had been brought to life.

The switch from theatre to screen was certainly a jarring one for both of you. When the first film contract was offered Albedo had stared at it for a long time, rereading it over and over again as the coffee in front of him quickly turned cold.

“Is there something wrong with the contract?” You had asked.

“No, it’s not that. It’s only…”

“Only?”

“Only on stage there is a single audience. You can feel their reactions, can measure their response. There is nothing nebulous about the people around you. But on film you cannot do that. You cannot adjust for time of day, or whether it’s a weekend or a Friday performance. You must let your lines out and hope that they land without even being able to calculate it.”

“It’s not a science experiment my darling,” you had teased.

“Maybe not,” Albedo admitted. Still he continued to read and reread, and it was only until the next afternoon that he had told you his answer.

Still, you had to admit that he made a fantastic actor. The naturally inward part of your partner’s personality, the part that always seemed to jump out the moment he left the stage, worked well to balance with the camera’s need for subtlety, unlike the projection required for stage plays. It was little surprise then that he should grow so popular. Despite all the worries about measuring audience response, there was no doubting the success of Albedo’s acting career.

Being a naturally withdrawn person Albedo mostly stayed off of social media. He had one private Instagram for friends – he didn’t post anything; one private Facebook for family – the only picture was one of you two in the mountains next to a particularly weird looking rock; and WhatsApp – which could barely be counted. Thus when he started blowing up on Twitter – a platform you had a mostly unused account on – the reaction was mostly one of “why are they talking about me?”

Not that Albedo minded fan enthusiasm, indeed when people started showing up in droves at the stage door for him he was always careful to thank everyone collectively and talk to as many people as possible, it just sort of confused him that so many people should take a vested interest in the actor and not just the character.

“It’s because they want to show you how wonderful they think your performances are,” you’d explained.

“I don’t have Twitter,” Albedo deadpanned.

Despite his protests though you sometimes caught him scrolling on your account, face slightly red at all the positive attention. His habit of internal self-deprecation had never truly gone away. That fact became slightly unfortunate in the face of hate comments. It was hard for Albedo not to take things personally. If someone said his acting was shit then you would catch Albedo reading the same line over and over again, as if to achieve mathematical perfection. It was a difficult urge to fight, and you were always careful to give Albedo plenty of reassurance when these things popped up, as well as surreptitiously blocking the trolls that wandered their way onto your dash.

This habit to take things at face value did not apply when you entered the mix. As far as Albedo was concerned you were his partner and no amount of complaining online would make him second guess that or second guess your worth. Even if you thought that you had a better hold on social media assholerly than he did Albedo would still make sure that for every hate comment that floated your way there were at least three compliments on his part. Mentioning you off-handedly in press interviews, saying that he had to go home to his partner, leaving small sketches on post-it notes scattered throughout your apartment, there were no lengths that Albedo wouldn’t go to assure you. And, if you had to admit, these things truly did make you feel better on the days when the small part of your brain said that this wasn’t mindless social media harassment.

Being an actor Albedo had an incredibly fine-tuned sense of the way that people responded to emotions, as if he were performing some grand sort of scientific experiment to see how many people he could sway with his gift. As of such he was always careful that, regardless of his success, things between you were never upturned. You were with him before he was really famous, and you would be there during and after. Albedo loved you deeply; though he often said that he hated romance plays for how sappy they were in his mind your relationship was the one, glowing exception – regardless of the other happy couples in the world. Though it was slightly idealistic, it was the kind of intensity that comprised Albedo’s personality, was the thing that had garnered him so much success.

Albedo loved you deeply, and no amount of surprise movie contracts would change that.

 Kazuha

You had to admit that when you had met Kazuha you had no idea about his double life as a streamer. He was merely one of the many singers that came and went to the recording studios, all people eager to unleash their talent on the world. But unlike the rest of them, Kazuha could make you laugh.

Perhaps then it was unsurprising that Kazuha should be a popular streamer. Though his often florid talking style might seem on paper like it would be too grating for streaming, in reality his soft cadence combined with a dry sense of humor made him wildly popular. He rarely lost his temper, making him palatable to those who wanted to have a fun time without blowing their ears out, and when he did lose it his hyper-specific, often nonsensical insults were the stuff of memes. No, in retrospect it was not all that surprising that Kazuha was a beloved streamer.

At heart though, Kazuha had told you over coffee, the enthusiastic and earnest internet sensation was a poet.

“When you’ve had a life as dissonant as mine, how can you not be?” He’d joked. And indeed perhaps he was right, for Kazuha was as wonderful a poet as you had ever read. He was born to be a writer, you had told him.

You were also an aspiring singer, as well as a friend of the studio owner where you did your recordings. As such you had made it a habit to help around the studio when you weren’t also working or studying. As you and Kazuha were both students with intense side jobs, the good natured complaining of overworked students also made their way into you rapport, a friendship that grew day-by-day. Eventually it sprouted into love.

Though you knew that Kazuha was a streamer when your relationship started, in reality you hadn’t realized how truly popular he had become. The first time you watched one of his streams you were blown away by his popularity. Watching your first livestream only cemented that. It was hard to believe that your down-to-earth, slightly self-effacing, partner could have garnered such a large fanbase. Not that you didn’t think he deserved it. He absolutely did. However after seeing that you admitted you were a bit awestruck.

“Why? Am I not the same person on screen and off?”

“Of course you are! It’s just, well, my partner’s a celebrity!”

“I would go that far,” Kazuha laughed.

“Well you certainly are to me!”

Nevertheless your dynamic didn’t change much afterwards, besides the occasional teasing on both of your parts. Kazuha was after all Kazuha at the end of the day.

At the beginning Kazuha didn’t mention you much on stream, certainly not by name, you had to admit you were a bit intimidated by the idea of being recognizable on the internet, even if it was just by name.

“This is also my partner’s favorite map.” Had been his first mention, during a game of Mario Kart.

Despite this offhanded remark however the chat had almost immediately exploded, followed by the rest of the fanbase. Though there was, of course, some disappointed buzz – isn’t there always – the reaction was immensely positive. Positive, and curious.

After a while Kazuha started mentioning you more often in streams, especially after the two fo you moved in. Sometimes you would hear him as you passed him room – Kazuha liked to keep the door open – other times you would watch it on stream yourself.

“My partner hates this character. Too bad you can’t throw evidence.”

“Nobody tell my partner that I’m afraid of basements. I don’t need them to know that when laundry day rolls around.”

“Hey if you’re watching this dear, I promise that it’s not that much money. You don’t need to look at the bank account. Who am I kidding, this is why we don’t share one.”

“Hey, darling I know you’re watching this. Can you check and make sure I left my keys on the coffee table, they aren’t on my desk. Also can you make tea?”

Despite fans knowing very little about you, you were surprised by the amount of positive comments that flooded the streams. You had to admit that your initial expectations had been “people are going to find me annoying”. Instead funny comics of your voice drifting in from the other room popped up, along with a lot of waving and “tell your partner not to trust you with the keys” after Kazuha fell off a cliff one too many times. It was an odd experience, to be so happy about the comments of faceless people, people to whom you were also faceless.

Eventually Kazuha’s hardwork in singing paid off and his first single was recorded and given a deal. On the evening of the release livestream Kazuha set up in the living room, angling the camera so that you could sit on the chair just out of frame. You had talked about the release for months now, and a few weeks ago Kazuha had brought up the idea of a pseudo-stream reveal.

“I was wondering if you’d like to say hello to the audience or wave when my song is released. I understand that you’re hesitant about those sort of things, and I would never ask of you something that would make you uncomfortable. This relationship is the most precious thing to me, and I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured or exploited in any ways.”

“Thank you for being so considerate Kazuha. I’ll think about it.”

Now you sat in the chair, fidgeting slightly, waiting as the countdown on his laptop reached one. You excitement certainly seemed matched by that of the fans, who were typing wildly in the chat.

Eventually the screen faded to black and the chatting quieted down. The first few notes of a wooden flute emerged, combined with the strumming of a guitar. As the familiar words began to echo through the laptop speaker you found yourself washed away. Kazuha was always enthralling when he sang. At the end of the song was a dedication, and though Kazuha had already alluded to it, the sincerity still took your breath away.

To my dearest partner. My compass and my guiding star throughout this realization of my dream. You are my sun and my stars, and I’m forever devoted to you. Thank you for sharing in this project, and thank you for giving me such love.

Perhaps it was slightly saccharine. Regardless you felt the sudden, uninhibited urge to cry.

“So, what did everyone think?” Kazuha asked into the mic, face reappearing on screen. He was slightly giddy, and you watched as his hand tugged on the fabric of his linen belt.

Immediately the chat exploded, as waves of “that was amazing”, “I’m crying now”, and “the end was so sweet!” flooded the screen.

“Thank you all for the encouragement!” Kazuha let out a laugh, one that you could tell was one of utter euphoria, and no little relief. “There’s someone else I think who would like to thank you.”

Who knew that a small sentence could cause such a splash?

You barely had time to let out a tentative “Hello,” before an immediate wave of excited screaming covered the bottom left of Kazuha’s stream. “Thank you for supporting Kazuha’s song. And thank you for always being nice to me.” With a tentative wave of the hand you collapsed back on your chair, slightly hysterical laughter rising inside you out of the relief that flooded through you upon seeing the enthused fan reaction.

Afterwards your voice became the occasional guest on Kazuha’s streams, always greeted with enthusiasm. Kazuha continued to grow in popularity, and his music continued to capture a larger and larger audience.

All throughout this you never felt a snag in your relationship. Kazuha may have been a big streaming personality, but he was also a kind and considerate partner, the best that one could ask for in a significant other. Kazuha’s love was never in question. And neither was yours.

 Xiao

Sometimes you were a little self-conscious about the way that you met Xiao.

Though Xiao had definitely grown a following by the time you met – being the main pianist for a popular singer and a classical pseudo-prodigy in both piano and flute his own right certainly had roped him an enthusiastic fanbase – you had simply known him as “the guy who hogs the practice room”.

“I swear to the gods, how long can that bastard take to practice!” You texted angrily at your friend one day. Qixing Conservatory was the premiere music place in Liyue, but what should’ve been an amazing opportunity was being overshadowed by a practice room partner who appeared to not have a life, one who also had the obnoxious habit of playing the same damn thing over, and over, and over again.

“Playing the same piece as before?”

“Yes! Ugh I don’t even know what it’s called but I’ve heard it enough times to last a lifetime, maybe five!”

“Damn I’m sorry, what time does he usually end?”

“I don’t even know. Some time in the early evening. It’s obviously never gotten through to his brain that other people also need to practice. Or that hearing the same notes over and over while waiting makes me want to chuck my binder against a wall.”

“Lol. I kinda want to hear it now. Can you send a video, will the sound pick up?”

“I don’t know how it wouldn’t.”

“…”

“Holy shit! Okay, I need you to watch this video and tell me if you recognize the pianist.”

Safe to say you nearly fell out of your chair upon figuring out Xiao’s identity. Not that you weren’t already about to out of pure exasperation. Still, there was something much more intimidating about shaming a successful musician, and you no longer had the urge to glare at Xiao every time he left the practice room. Honestly, you would have been perfectly happy keeping your head down and never interacting with him at all.

Fate, however, has a sense of humor.

To be fair, some of it was your fault. You knew that Erlkonig was a massively difficult piece. You knew that you should’ve picked something else, knew that even Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata mvt. Three had to be less painful than the non-vocal arrangement you’d placed in front of your eyes. You were never trusting your music taste with your piece choices again. This was a terrible mistake.

“These stupid fucking running notes!” You let out, a groan of exasperation racing through you. Half slamming (you weren’t crazy) the piano cover down you swung the door of the practice room open. You didn’t want to deal with this anymore. Trying to ignore the embarrassment that rose up seeing Xiao waiting on a chair next to the door you went to walk down the hallway.

“You should work on it with a dotted sixteenth note pattern.”

It was the first time that Xiao had ever spoken to you.

Afterwards a rapport slowly grew between the two of you. Often Xiao said nothing as you passed, rarely you made a gesture of recognition when he finally reappeared from the practice room. However soon the occasional word or phrase of advice grew into longer sentences, later these sentences evolved into pieces of conversation. Soon enough you discovered, to your slight horror, that you found yourself yearning for Xiao’s company.

Almost as soon as you’d finally figured out your feelings you were hit with a wave of denial. You weren’t falling for Xiao? How could you fall for someone who got on your nerves so much? Sure he gave you advice, but what about it? You deserved it after having to hear him over and over again while waiting. Certainly Xiao didn’t seem interested in you, he barely talked to you! Yeah he was getting more talkative, but it’s easier to talk to people when you’re giving them advice. There’s no way you were in love with Xiao. And there was no way he was in love with you.

To say that Xiao’s career as a musician, never mind his genuine technical talent at two instruments, was a barrier would be an understatement. The moment you thought you were making some progress, finally admitting to yourself that this crush was, in fact, real, a wave of anxiety would pass over you. Xiao was too good for you, he was too important. Here was a man who had a successful musical career already up in the air while you banged frustratedly on the keys. Why would someone that successful be interested in you? Not to mention the fact that he didn’t seem interested.

Because, you had to admit, you did like Xiao’s music. Not just his classical repertoire, but his pop music as well. It was slightly jazzy, mellow and playful and utterly unlike the scowling musician behind it – something you secretly thought extremely cute and surprisingly charming. To him you were just a practice roommate, and you were sure he’d find the idea of dating someone who was more familiar with his public persona irritating.

So you buried your feelings, or tried to. Unfortunately like sometimes attracts like, and just as Xiao secretly had the emotional understanding of a teaspoon, you weren’t nearly as clever about things as you would like.

“Is there something on my face?” Xiao asked, his voice gruff and slightly reluctant.

“No, why would there be?”

“Because you’re staring at it!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You let your head drop, looking intently at the ivories in front of you. Eventually there was a sigh.

“You don’t have to do that. I… I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! You staring down is weird too. Let’s, let’s just hurry up and do this passage.”

After that you became more aware of your staring habit. You also became more aware of Xiao’s own habit, leaning towards you. Sometimes you swore that you could feel the tips of his hair tickling your neck, light and feathery and stealing all your attention.

“Hey, Xiao, do you need glasses?”

“Why would you asked that!” Xiao flared up, face reddening. By this time you’d become more accustomed to these flareups of grumpiness, and ignoring it you pressed on.

“It’s just, you seem to be leaning forward.”

“I’m not!” Immediately Xiao shifted back, almost stepping away. Without thinking about it you reached to grab his hand.

“I didn’t mean it was a bad thing!” You got out, before becoming aware of your hand grasping Xiao’s. The touch felt electric, and you were suddenly so very aware of everything, yet unable to focus at all.

“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Xiao grumbled.

Slowly the musician leaned closer to you once more. You had already half stood up and now you found yourself stepping closer to Xiao. The world continued to shrink until you were almost pressed together. Xiao was leaning forward, as were you, and the longer tufts of his hair were tickling your cheek, helped by the fan whirring away in the corner. Your hand was still in his, but all your thoughts appeared to have died away.

“Xiao?”

“Is this, too close?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Xiao?”

“What?”

“I like your music. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Why would it?”

“I don’t know. I just, I also like you, not just your music. But I also like your music.”

“I also like yours too.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the most romantic of confessions, but at that point you were far too carried away by the moment, or maybe by the fact that was the most sentences Xiao had strung together that weren’t about triplets. Regardless of the fact, you were suddenly seized by incredible happiness, as all appeared to right itself.

Afterwards initially little changed, Xiao was a gruff as ever, you were still itching to play in the practice room more. Nevertheless when you went to a concert of his for the first time and he let out a small, almost imperceptible, smile your way you knew things had changed. They would keep changing perhaps, or maybe they wouldn’t. After all, this moment was beautiful.

So much that you didn’t even mind the hours spent waiting for the practice room.

[salemorbit]

Hello! I saw you were taking Botw requests, so I hope it's alright if I send one in. How about Sidon with a very short and kinda chaotic or excitable s/o? I'm talking around 4 feet, 11 inches tall kinda short, but they're just so excitable and honestly the cutest thing ever. Also, I hope this is okay to ask, but would you consider doing Botw Matchups/Ships? Not many blogs do them, and I am starved for that kinda content, but I completely understand if you don't want to. I hope you have a good day, best wishes hun!!

hey you're so sweet omg

if you mean botw ships/matchups as in between in-game character stuff like zelink or sidlink or revalink or anything like that then yeah! i don't have a problem with that :)

if it's matchups as in like you send in characteristics of yourself or something and you want a matchup with a character that i think you'd bode well with, yeah that's also cool! i don't mind that either :D

also thank you for the request!! i hope you have a wonderful day/night as well <3

~~~~~~~~

Fun-Sized!

[Sidon x genderneutral!Reader]

warnings: none!!

~~~~~~~~

Let's get one thing straight: Sidon has always loved little Hylians

But little Hylians that match his energy? He's in a completely different universe

When you walked into the Zora Domain, Sidon was the first to greet you with a bright smile

You immediately fawned over his bright red scales and sparkly smile, and he loved every bit of it

This natural connection made you two get really close really fast

You spent a lot of time in the Zora Domain for research reasons, and all the different flora and fauna kind of made you short circuit at times (in a good way)

Sidon loved to accompany you on your little escapades, acting as your tour guide and babysitter

The sun shone on yet another beautiful day in the Zora Domain as you hiked up a mountain with Sidon in tow. You hummed happily to yourself as you skipped through the rocks and chased after darners flying through the air.

Sidon always found himself grinning in your presence, feeding off of your excitable energy and improving his already great mood. There was something about you that was electric, nearly lethal to a Zora like him.

Every once in a while you would wander a bit too close to the edge, but Sidon kept a hand hovering behind your shoulder absentmindedly as you chattered on about the different flowers you were excited to log in your journal. Just as you rounded a thick pine tree, you stopped and gasped excitedly, mouth curling up in a large cheshire grin.

Sidon followed your gaze and spotted a glowing Blupee nibbling on some grass in a clearing. You started to bounce quietly, pointing at the blue rabbit frantically.

"Look!" You whisper shouted. "Sidon, look!!"

"I see it, [Y/N]," Sidon chuckled quietly.

"I wanna touch it."

"It might just run away," Sidon warned.

"I'm gonna touch it!" You concluded quickly, sprinting over to the unassuming Blupee.

Before Sidon could stop you, the Blupee perked up at the noise and nervously blooped out some rupees, jetting off into the surrounding brush just as you tried to enclose your hands around it. You pouted slightly at the disappearance, but your face brightened again when you saw the rupees on the ground.

"Sidon!" You called, holding the rupees in your hands, offering them to him as he walked up. "I got Blupee rupees!"

"That's wonderful, dear [Y/N]!" He beamed. "Let's go show my father, yes?"

"Yeah!" You laughed as Sidon scooped you up in his arms, nuzzling your forehead with his affectionately.

Sidon never had an issue with the height difference, you being so much shorter than him and all

If you ever wanted to kiss his cheek or forehead, he would have no issue bending down so you would be able to do so

Because of the height, you were big on kissing the back of his hand because that was as high as you could reach

Sidon is very protective of you when traveling, and always has to keep an eye on you so he knows where you are

You had a habit of running through his legs when he wasn't expecting it and going to investigate things that caught your eye

You two have a secret handshake, prove me wrong

Whenever he would see you after you had been traveling around other parts of Hyrule, you would go into handshake mode excitedly and end with a forehead nuzzle (IM CRYING THATS SO CUTE)

He loves you for every square inch!!! And he would never want to let you go

You were the light of his life as he dealt with the aftermath of his sister's death, and he wouldn't trade you for the world

Sidon firmly believes that Mipha sent you to him and that makes him love you even more omg

~~~~~~~~~~

CUTE i love sidon that fish man has a special place in my heart

again, thank you so much for the request!! if anyone has any questions or wants a clarification on what i do or don't write, don't be afraid to ask!

requests are welcome :)

[jeogiyall]

Pas De Deux; H.HJ

Word Count; 9.7k

Genre; Fluff, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Reader X Hyunjin

Warnings; Swearing, Suggestive, I would advise against reading if you have abandonment issues? It’s brought up a few times,,

Additional; Featured Chan, Felix, Jisung, and Minho; Ballerina Reader, Dance Partner Hyunjin, Reid once again writing about something that she has no idea how to do, (Sort Of) Slow Burn

A/N; when i tell u guys that i literally have no self control,, THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS WAS 10.46K ASFDSFS someone save me from myself. i’m sorry if anything’s inaccurate, i haven’t done ballet since i was like five and most of my research is from the unreliable internet,,, so if any ballerinas read this and are repulsed i’m sorry asdfdsa. please leave something nice if you enjoy <3<3<3<3

The last time that you saw Hwang Hyunjin was in fifth grade. You were wrapped up in each other on your front porch, him choking out tears as though it hurt. 

“Jinnie!” You cooed while running a hand through his short black hair, “I’m not dying, just going to boarding school!” His cries (along with the ringing guilt in your ears) only grew louder, “You’re really good at dancing, just audition next year!” He shook his head fervently against the crook of your shoulder, wet tears falling onto your skin.

“You know I suck at ballet!” If it weren’t for his palms pulling at his teary cheeks you would’ve giggled, maybe even teased him for the time in class that he almost broke his wrist while warming up at the barre. But he was crying, he was sad, and he was convinced that he’d never see you again. The sight alone was enough to make you pout, which only served to make him cry harder, “You could join my contemporary class for the summer?” He asked with starry, red eyes. It was almost enough to make you say yes.

“You know that I suck at contemporary!” The boy giggled at your counter, a sound that made your heart soar amidst all of the crying.

“Yea, you do...” He brought a hand up to his cheeks, trying desperately to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “Just promise that you won’t forget me! I won’t forget you so you can’t forget me!” His pinky finger extended so it was nearly brushing the spot in between your eyebrows, and you were hit by the whispers of your first crush. With the summer days spent riding scooters in your driveway, and the winter ones spent sledding in it. With the long nights spent giggling about nothing underneath a blanket fort, or the endless days spent climbing trees in the bottomless woods behind the boys house. You were hit with the last five years all at once, and you knew instantly that even if he wasn’t standing in front of you with a teary face that you would still promise.

“I promise.” You answered while hooking your pinky in his as if it were a vow.

The school ended up being a perfect fit, your favorite part being the dorm room all to yourself. Even though it was small, and very ugly, it was all yours. Just like the friend group that blossomed out of your first ever co-ed class (which is sadly not a very interesting story. Han Jisung just made you swear to not dislocate his shoulders during partner stretches, and who are you to break a promise? Afterwards you received an invite to sit with him and his friend at lunch, the rest is history. Loud, annoying history.)

Nothing could’ve made it better... Well, nothing except for your sweet friend who had once occupied each thought in your head. Your sweet friend who’s summers were suddenly too full to see you, even for just a day. 

Your sweet friend who didn’t keep his promise.

* 

When it was announced that the contemporary and ballet branches of your dance institute would be merging for a year, your mind immediately jumped to Hyunjin. Despite not seeing him for almost six years. He always had such a passion for the style, making you miss out on hours of homework to watch videos of his favorite performers (it’s not like you minded too much, though.)

Han’s, on the other hand, was pure rage. Pure rage which he was letting out from your bed while watching you unpack.

“I just don’t get why they have to take a ballet class too! I have enough trouble getting solos as is.” The boy pouts while resting his head on your orange wood headboard. You’d feel sympathetic if it weren’t for the fact that he was blatantly lying, Han Jisung had gotten nearly every solo since eighth grade. Instead you roll your eyes dramatically and throw him a wadded ball of fabric from your suitcase. Naturally, he screams.

“Shut the fuck up and be helpful.” You scold, earning a childish whine while he sits up to fold the countless leotards. 

“Remind me why I missed you?” He grumbles just as your other, much nicer, friend walks into the cramped room.

“Aww, you missed me Sungie?” Felix asks, voice booming deeply through the space. The two of you instantly drop the clothes in your hands and run to the boy, which you should reprimand Jisung for seeing as he just lifted a finger. But you don’t, because Felix is here with more freckles than the last time you saw him and fresh pink hair that’s definitely going to be dyed natural again within the first week.

“Yes.” The energetic boy answers while worming his way into your hug. Felix giggles softly while petting Han’s dark brown hair before pressing noisy kisses all over his cheeks. He pokes Felix’s ribs as retaliation, to which the boy screeches (directly into your ear, might I add,) and it’s back to the normal, loud chaos “I will kill you!”

“Hey! No murder in my room, if you’re gonna do that go in the hallway!” You snap playfully, pushing Jisung away while moving back into the hug, “Help me unpack? Jisung hasn’t done shit.”

“Not fair!” The boy shouts from your bed, which he’s already plopped back down on.

“I’ll help, besides do you even want him folding your clothes?” You look over your shoulder to see Jisung with his hands tangled up in three different leotards, then back to Felix with terrified eyes. 

‘No,’ you mouth, eliciting another laugh from your friend. He moves over to the bed as well, then sets Jisungs hands free. The three of you talk mindlessly for hours, rambling on about Felix’s summer home and the month that you and Jisung spent traipsing around the boys hometown.

“How do you feel about the merger?” You ask suddenly, cutting Jisung off in the middle of an embarrassing story about a night spent at his house. Felix sighs deeply while tossing you the rolled leotard (your favorite one, light blue with pearls sewn around the collar,) while Jisung throws a wadded up pair of tights at your face.

“It’s fine I guess, just for a year right?” You shrug while the brunette puts on a grimace, hands suddenly very busy with folding, “They really need that rebuild, building’s falling apart. Ours is way better and we have extra room, so why not share?” 

“Tell that to the rat in my mini fridge.” Han grumbles while passing you a pile of black leotards. You laugh and accept, but not before ruffling his stiff hair. 

“Okay, I’ll make sure to do that the next time I’m in your room. Are you done bitching now?” The brunette pokes his tongue out at you jokingly, to which you respond with blowing a raspberry, “Felix is right, besides how terrible is it going to be? We’re all dancers right, and stuff like that is meant to be shared. Who are we to say that they can’t come and learn?” The room turns uncomfortably quiet, Jisung gnawing at his lower lip while Felix picks up his phone.

“Damn it!” The Australian exclaims as his screen lights up. You and Han look at him with furrowed eyebrows before he rolls his eyes and brings the phone up in between your faces, “Administration says I have to fix my hair.” 

Han doubles over with laughter, knocking the mountain of leotards (followed shortly by himself) onto the floor. You follow his lead, and before you know it the three of you are clutching your sides and wiping away happy tears. Felix’s hands ruffle into your hair with a hum, “Maybe I can try Jisungs color, hmm?” You duck away with a snort.

“No! I draw the line at matching hair!” The brunette defends, hands moving to cover the top of his head. Felix lunges at him, fully ready to engage in a tickle fight. Naturally, Jisung screams as if he’s being murdered. It should be annoying, any other time you would find it annoying. But these are your best friends, one of which you haven’t seen in over a month, and for some odd reason your heart feels so full that it could explode. 

“C’mon Lix, I’ll do your hair. What do you think about blonde?” 

And even though tomorrow your school is going to be flooded with new people, and your classes full of students who have probably never done more than basic positions, in the moment it feels okay. Because one of your best friends is screaming ‘NO DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!’ while the other assures him that ‘It’ll probably most likely be okay! Look, she did mine!’ It’s a perfect chaos that you wouldn’t trade for anything.

*    

There have been plenty of strange coincidences in your life. Like how your first dog was named Felix, and it’s now the name of one of your best friends (who’s hair ended up looking perfectly fine, thank you very much.) Or how your usual waiter at the diner in Jisungs hometown ended up being the cousin of your first kiss. Or how your dorm room is the only one on the hall with painted walls, that just so happen to be your favorite color. Plenty of weird things, but none are as weird as this. Because you’re sitting on the floor of your second class of the day, ‘Intro To Pas De Deux,’ and Hwang Hyunjin has just entered through the side door. Two minutes late.

He’s hard to recognize at first, seeing as there’s more than an added foot of height and black hair that’s creeping down the back of his neck, but the more you look the more you recognize. Pillowy lips, full cheeks, a freckle right in the set of his eye bags. You’re not entirely sold until he laughs, a sweet and breathy sound. The laugh that’s always been three seconds away from turning into a wheeze.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung questions while pulling himself up by your hands, eyes following the line that yours draw to Hyunjin, “Do you know him or something?” 

You’re about to answer when Hyunjin finally turns around, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. He thinks that you look different, too. Taller and slimmer, everything that used to be squishy replaced with soft muscle. But there’s also the bridge of your nose, your hands that are barely gripping Jisungs, and of course your eyes that are staring at him like it hurts. 

“(Y/n?)” He questions, your name falling from his lips as though it’s meant to do so. You nod, mouth falling open dumbly. The boy takes a step forward then freezes.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on? Or at least help me finish stretching?” Jisungs voice reeks of annoyance, you think that if you weren’t in such a state of shock that you’d flick him on the forehead.

“You go to the contemporary school?” Jisung doesn’t take well to being ignored, puffing loudly while scrambling to finish stretching at the barre. Your brain immediately flashes back to Hyunjins second ballet class in third grade, when you were teaching him your favorite warm up stretches. He ended up tangled in between the barre and the wall, which shouldn’t even be possible, but Hyunjin managed. 

“Um... Yea.” Every inch of your body is screaming to stand up and engulf him in a hug, but your legs feel like jello. That, and there’s a small feeling of anger rising in your throat, “L-let me help.” He plops down in front of you before you can say yes. You don’t have to though, Hyunjin still knows that you can’t refuse him. You take his hands in yours, definitely ignoring the pink flush to his cheeks, and pull his torso towards you. 

“It’s been six years.” The words come out choked, full of the pain from your first summer without him. When you’d spend hours playing out in the sun, knocking on your friends front door every morning. He was never there. 

“Sorry.” You want him to show some type of emotion, let you know that he cares. That he’s actually sorry for breaking his promise, “I tried to come and see you in July but you weren’t home.” 

“I was at Jisung’s house, we spend the summers together.” If you were more angry and less hurt you would say ‘now that I don’t spend them with you,’  but he’s still Hyunjin. He’s still Hyunjin, and you don’t think that you could handle the way he would frown at your snide remark. 

Jisung flashes you a look from his place at the barre that reads ‘Who is this guy and why do you look so sad?’ You let Hyunjin pull you into the stretch while responding with a gaze that says ‘I’ll tell you later.’  Hyunjins grip tightens on your hands as you exhale deeply into the stretch, the light blue fabric of your leotard brushing against the dance studio floor.

“(Y/n,) I-” Maybe it’s the way that he licks his lips before talking, or the fact that he looks so much and so little like your best friend at the same time, or possibly even how you can feel the way that he hugged you at your last meeting sitting on your shoulders like a winter coat, but his hands suddenly feel like fire.

“I have to go!” You exclaim, popping up out of the stretch and onto your feet in one swift motion. The boy looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that spark a feeling so intense in you that you have to look away, “I have to go, I-I’ll um... I’ll see you around.” You dash off to the spot in front of Jisung, silently thanking every star in the sky that Hyunjin doesn’t have a chance to follow you. Because just as soon as you get up someone else sits down and begins to excitedly ask the boy questions (he’s short, with a petite frame and an unfamiliar face. Probably another transfer student.)

“Did he say something to you?” Jisung asks as you jump into your favorite warm up routine. There’s not really a right way to answer, because did he say anything just now? No, but six years ago he said that he’d never forget you. He promised as much, and then spent every moment doing nothing but that. You exhale while your feet continue to move instinctively, a slight sense of peace washing over you at the comfort of a routine. 

“We should focus, class is starting soon.” Jisung whines and argues, but you just ignore him. Similarly to how you ignore Hyunjins gaze on you for the rest of the class. 

*

Ignoring Hyunjin is much easier than you anticipated. In class you can distract yourself with Jisung before the teacher comes in, and lunch is fine enough. While he is there, sitting at a table that’s painfully close to yours, he doesn’t try to talk. Or worse, come and snatch up the free seat across from Felix. But no, he does nothing of the sort. Just laughs with his friends and shoots the occasional glance your way (the one composed of sparkly eyes and lips that are a breath away from pouting.)

But then there’s now, standing in the doorway of your stage chemistry class and Hyunjin is all that you can see. Hyunjin, standing in the center of the room and pressing play on the terribly outdated stereo. Hyunjin, running a hand through his raven black hair and inhaling deeply with closed eyes. All you wanted was to get your jacket, but now you have enough Hyunjin for a lifetime.

Loud, bass heavy music swells in the room as he starts to move. At first the movements are jerky, awkward almost. But then the music decrescendos every so softly and he exhales, then proceeds to move as if the dance is being pulled out of him. As if this choreo is the way that he was programmed to move. When the song peaks you swear that you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes, because this is so Hyunjin. The way he’s dancing with every bone in his body, the way his hair is now dripping in sweat and flying all around him, the way his plump lips suck in air. It’s Hyunjin down to the core, and you’ve missed him so much.

When the music dies you clap slowly, causing the boy to shoot up like a frightened cat. He whips around to where you stand, softening like butter when he sees your frame leaned up against the wooden door frame.

“You scared me!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to clutch his chest. It reminds you of your last Halloween with him, when the two of you got to trick or treat alone. Hyunjin decided that it would be a great idea to go to a fear farm, in which he screeched and clung to you the entire time. It wasn’t even that scary, he’s just a baby.

“Sorry.” You answer, mouth going as dry as the desert, “You, um... You’re really good.” He laughs flatly while moving over to his dance bag to pull out a towel. You watch as he dabs the sweat away, something stupid and needy churning in your stomach. You write it off as hunger.

“Thanks, I still suck at ballet though.” It’s a joke, you know it’s a joke, but something about laughing feels wrong.

“You don’t.” You take a step into the room, wandering over to where your windbreaker is piled on the floor next to the boy, “I’ve seen you in class, and you’re not bad. Just out of practice.” He lets out another flat laugh while dropping the towel, quickly exchanging it with a water bottle.

“Yea, about nine years out of practice. I barely even remember how to do a pirouette.” He’s trying so hard to make you laugh, just like the old days. The growing tension in your shoulders and lump in your throat is preventing that from happening.

“I can teach you.” You offer while shrugging the jacket on. Within seconds he’s babbling out excuses, which you wave off, “Don’t even worry about it, I need to practice anyways.” You bend down to untie your sneakers before moving to the center of the room, Hyunjin following in quick succession, “So you obviously know the proper foot technique, pointed toes only and all of that. And the retire position is just your foot in the notch above your knee.” You demonstrate it in the mirror, and even though he’s far from being a ballerina he’s done enough classes to know that you want him to copy it, “Yea, good. It looks good.”

“Where are my shoulders supposed to be?” He asks shyly, not used to questioning such simple things.

“Back, always back. Now check that your hips aren’t tilted, I-I’ve always been told to imagine that they’re a fruit bowl.” You steal a quick glance at the boy while he’s adjusting, heart fluttering the same way that it did so many years ago, “Okay, now um... Now put your feet into fourth position, just like that yea, then bend your knees and push off from your back leg.” You do the turn, a motion so natural that it might as well be brushing your teeth, “Like that, easy peasy!” The boy scoffs while bringing up his arms the same way that you had yours just seconds ago.

“Yea, easy peasy for you!”  A soft giggle falls from your lips, bouncing off the walls of the empty studio (as well as Hyunjins ears.)

“C’mon!” You tease while moving around to face him, a soft smile playing at your lips, “You see me mess up in class all of the time, just go for it. The worst that could happen is being wrong.” He nods, then exhales shakily. When he does the turn it’s a bit wobbly, but definitely not anything worse than what you’ve seen before.

“Oh my god, (Y/n) that was terrible like genuinely awful-” The words feel harsh, but he’s wearing a bright smile and laughing like there’s not a care in the world. You can’t help but laugh too.

“No, no! It was fine!” You assure through a laugh as he gets back into position. From the corner of your eye you see him mouth ‘liar,’ which earns him a harsh flick between the eyes, “Just bring your hips a little more forward like...” It’s instinctual for your hand to fall onto his hipbone, something you’ve done to Felix hundreds of times. The main difference is that when you adjust Felix he usually tells you to fuck off, then softly knees your stomach. When you do it to Hyunjin he audibly chokes and you feel fire ignite beneath your fingertips, “Like this. Now go into fourth and try again, but keep your hips aligned!” The boy nods before sinking into position and pushing up into a flawless turn.

“I did it!” He exclaims, hands flying up like he’s about to hug you, “You were right, you were right I did it!” Something about his wide, excited eyes makes every wall built around your heart crumble into dust. So you accept the hug, once again allowing yourself to fall victim to the sweetness that is Hwang Hyunjin.

“I was what, I was... Did you say right?!” He rolls his eyes at your teasing, trying desperately to pretend like he didn’t miss it. It’s useless, because the way that Hyunjin’s holding you let’s you know that he’s missed you just as much as you have him, “Alright big guy, let me go. I’ve got studying to do and shoes to break in.” He whines lowly, arms trying to grab you as you snake away. 

“Can we get dinner together or something?” He begs, hand briefly tangling itself in yours. You fight down the blush rising to your cheeks while pulling your hand away and stuffing it into your pocket.

“Not tonight, you have to keep practicing those pirouettes! But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing more of me... Partner.” Hyunjin smiles widely at your words, realization settling in as quickly as they leave your mouth.

“Do you mean...?”

“Yes,” You exhale, mentally preparing for another bone crushing hug, “I’ll be your partner for class.” 

Hyunjins hug is almost nice enough that you forget about how annoying Jisung’s going to be when you tell him.

*

It turns out that the friends Hyunjin made are almost as amazing as the ones that you did. Everyone was a little awkward when the two groups first merged, specifically Jisung who was still butt hurt about you switching partners. But then Felix got to talking with Chan (the person who’s been mothering your friend ever since he started at the contemporary institute. From the way they talk, Hyunjin would’ve both starved and failed if it weren’t for the older boy,) and suddenly everyone was meeting in your room on Fridays for a weekly game of uno. 

“Absolutely not, you’re fucking cheating!” Minho (the other new face from your stage chemistry class,) shouts while pointing a finger across the card pile and into Jisungs face. The boy moves to jokingly bite at it, causing Chan’s eyes to go as wide as the moon.

“No, no, no! No murder, and no biting what the hell!” You snort at your new friends bewildered expression while passing a canned sparkling water to Hyunjin. He accepts with a smile before mouthing ‘they’re insane!’ Felix sees and proceeds to nail him in the face with your favorite throw pillow.

“Says the guy who sleeps in socks-” Hyunjin throws the pillow back harshly, causing Chan to damn near pass out. It’s all that you can do to not roll over with laughter.

“My feet get cold.” He grumbles with a pout that makes both you and Minho coo from your spots beside the boy.

“Okay, okay, Minho just pick up the cards and let’s keep going? I’m about to finish!” The boy grumbles angrily, all ‘stupid card game’ and ‘I don’t wanna pick up twenty cards!’ You lock eyes with Chan from across the card pile, taking brief solace in the presence of someone else with a functioning brain.

“So we all know that (Y/n’)s about to win, and that she’s my best friend and favorite duet partner,” Everyone answers him with an immediate ‘rude,’ which makes a girlish giggle bubble up in your throat, “which is why it makes me so terribly sad to do this.” You watch closely as he dramatically pulls a card from his hand then places it on top of the deck, a fat draw four staring you straight in the eyes. Everyone goes silent while watching your face fall drastically.

“Hwang Hyunjin, I am going to-” The room bursts into chaos before you even finish the sentence. In the end there are about twelve fresh bruises, six entirely hoarse sets of vocal chords, and one demolished dorm room. Just a normal Friday night.

Except for the way that your heart stutters when Hyunjin mouths a simple ‘love you’ over the bustling group. That’s not normal, but you think that you like it.

*

“Hyunjin, if you keep your hands there I’m going to fall.” You say to your duet partner, whose hands are wandering aimlessly up your torso. They’re supposed to be on your hips, serving as an anchor for your body while it dips towards the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry.” The boy mumbles, not entirely meaning it. It’s impossible to be sorry when he can physically feel your heart speed up beneath his hands.

“Try to sound just a little bit less convincing next time, okay?” You shimmy slightly in a futile attempt to move his hands, which only makes him laugh brightly. If it weren’t for your less than ideal position (halfway bent into a split with every ounce of your weight balanced on the tips of your toes,) you would hit him.

“Do you want me to drop you, because I can drop you if it’s what you want-” The teacher snaps her fingers, pulling everyone’s attention out of the various warm up routines and to the front of the room. Hyunjins hands pull away from your torso so quickly that it burns.

“No dropping dance partners on purpose, that’s the first rule of building stage chemistry.” She chastises, eyes brushing briefly over your friend which causes him to turn thirty shades of pink. You giggle quietly to yourself before sticking your tongue out at him, “But of course, you can’t truly start to build a connection until there’s material. So that’s what we’re doing today, I’ve assigned each group with a pas de deux, or ‘dance for two’. Whoever I think shows the most promise within the next week will be given the opportunity to enter in the regional competition.” She says opportunity, but the stern tone of her voice means that whoever she picks will definitely have to do the competition.

Everyone floods to the front of the class before she even finishes, Hyunjin moving to do so as well before you quickly grip his wrist.

“She didn’t say to go yet, and if we want to qualify for that competition we’re going to have to start kissing up now.” You keep your face forward, chin up and shoulders back, but even then you can feel Hyunjins smile, “What?!”

“You want to do the competition?” He sounds hopeful, nearly childlike.

“Of course! That’s like half the reason I go to school here, the competitive atmosphere.” People are starting to settle back into place, your teacher wearing a look of utter annoyance. Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice, seeing as his mouth keeps moving.

“I’ve only known how to do a pirouette for a month, and I still can’t really get my double. You’d have a better chance with Han, or-” As soon as the teachers back is turned you whip around to your babbling partner, hands planted firmly on his broad shoulders. It takes a second for his eyes to meet yours, but when they do he nearly melts.

“I don’t want to do it with anyone else, I want to do it with you. And just because your double isn’t perfect doesn’t mean that it’s not good so stop stressing.” He looks down for a second, cheeks growing as pink as your shoes. By force of habit you hook a hand beneath the boys chin and force him to look at you, “I mean it.” He swallows harshly, then nods. With a sigh you let go of the boy and return to your previous (assigned) position. Just in time too, seeing as the teacher turns around right as you settle next to the boy.

“You may check your assignments at the end of class, if you haven’t done so already.” You flash a knowing glance to Hyunjin, almost as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He knows better than to argue.

At the end of class you go up to look with Jisung while Hyunjin gathers your things for you, the short brunette babbling excitedly about the previously mentioned regional’s. 

“I thought that you don’t do partner work?” You tease lightly while ducking down to look at the list.

“I don’t, but neither does my partner! So we’ll just be okay at...” He bends next to, head full of brown hair hitting you straight in the eyes, “Romeo and Juliet?” You bite down a laugh while pushing the boy away.

“Don’t try to fight it, you’re such a Romeo. Just like I am such a... Lise!” The boys face contorts with jealousy as he ducks back down, once again knocking your heads together.

“You guys got La Fille mal gardee? And the ribbon dance?!” You giggle back a small yes while pinching the boys frowning cheeks, “No fair! Absolutely no fair, I have to do stupid Romeo and Juliet and you got my favorite ballet, no fair!”

“It’s my favorite too!” You defend, which ends up being pointless because both Hyunjin and Jisung chorus back with ‘not true!’ 

“Your favorite is swan lake.” Hyunjin states while sliding your dance bag onto your shoulder. Maybe it’s the fondness in his action, or the way that he named off your favorite ballet as though it was a fact ingrained into his brain, but your heart swells so large that you swear it could pop like a balloon. 

“Okay,” you exhale, hand moving to the spot where his fingers were ghosting just seconds ago, “one of my favorites.”

*

At your first rehearsal for regionals you and Hyunjin are given the ribbon to use, seeing as it’s literally the ribbon dance. Practicing without it was honestly getting awkward, which is unfortunate seeing as the boy nearly got it taken away within minutes. 

“Look (Y/n,) I’m a present!” He had exclaimed, causing you to whip around to the sight of your partner with a pink silk bow tied around his chin.

“Oh no, Hyunjin!” You whispered through a quiet laugh, moving towards him to untie it, “You are so ridiculous!”

“What? Am I not a gift?” He pouted while trying to pull your hands away, which earned him nothing but a harsh smack on the wrist. You slipped it off his face and behind your back just as the teacher walked in the door to give the ‘your ribbon is not a toy,’ talk.

At the second you describe the plot of La Fille mal Gardee, which proves to be slightly (read: very confusing.)

“Wait wait wait, she doesn’t even like the other guy?!” He asks while shaking his head cutely, black hair bouncing along with the motion. If it gets any longer he’s going to have to start putting it up.

“Nope, not one bit.” His eyebrows furrow as he starts to grumble ‘this is kind of stupid,’ earning a giggle and a push to the shoulder, “No it isn’t! It’s funny, and sweet! I really relate to Lise and her... Character arch I guess.”

“Isn’t she the girl who needed guarding or something like that?” His tilts to the side, teeth catching ever so slightly on his puffy pink lips.

“Yea,” You exhale with a quickening heart rate, “something like that.” There’s silence for a minute, nothing but Hyunjin shaking his head and sighing softly.

“That’s not you. No one needs to guard you.” For some reason your brain flashes back to the third summer alone (that awkward stage where you were too old to make new friends and too young to go see Jisung,) when you spent everyday walking through the woods alone. Sometimes you would just walk until the sun went down and your only company was the stars, but most days you would find a new place to sit down and hum out the motifs of your favorite ballets, “No one.”

For a moment you think that he’s right.

The fourth rehearsal (exactly one week after the first) is when you get to a stage kiss in the choreography, your teacher describing the motions along with a recording that’s projecting on the back wall. It starts with the boy pulling in the girl by the ribbon, then swooping down to meet her lips with a smile. Then she twirls away, leaving your skin hot and crawling. 

“We’re um... A-are we gonna do that?” Hyunjin asks through a whisper, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath. It’s warm and smells like spearmint.

“We’ll know when we get there I guess, now pay attention!” You push his face away from yours and back to the projection, watching as the couple wraps each other up in the silky ribbon.

When you do finally get there an hour later he looks so nervous that he could puke. Your teacher shouts out the next move, ‘kiss and then twirl away,’ which only adds to the painful drumming of your heart.

“It’s okay, (Y/n,) you don’t have to.” His voice is low, hushed. Almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“No, no! It’s okay, I’ll just...” You lean forward as much as you can with the ribbon hugging your waist and press a feather light kiss onto the tip of his nose. The teacher coos, maybe even praises the two of you on the developing stage chemistry. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything over the erratic beating of your heart, “I’ll just do that, okay?” He swallows dryly, eyes flashing quickly down to your lips then back up to your sweet gaze.

“Y-yea, perfect.” There’s something building up in the space between your bodies, so thick that you could spread it over toast, “You should twirl away, right?” You nod, wanting desperately to stay. To kiss him in an earth shattering way.

A part of you thinks that you shouldn’t. That Hyunjin has the power to ruin every part of you, and that wanting to give that to him after your hearts already been broken is foolish. But you do, you want to. Because loving Hyunjin feels good enough that the pain doesn’t matter.

After the fifth rehearsal the two of you feel as though you’ve torn every muscle in your body. Your teacher decided within the first twelve minutes that the two of you would benefit from some conditioning, which resulted in you and Hyunjin holding side by side planks (as well as other terrible positions) and muttering curses for a solid hour.

“I’m gonna collapse.” Hyunjin whines, plopping down onto the hardwood floor beside his dance bag. Something that’s probably supposed to be a laugh falls out of your mouth before you pull the water bottle from your bag.

“At least you haven’t been wearing pointe shoes all day.” You groan while moving the bottle to your mouth. A mouthful of water slides down your throat right as the boys face twists into one of horror.

“Oh gosh, oh no I’m so sorry!” You try to wave the black haired boy away, which only makes him feel worse, “No, no! I wanna help let me umm... Come back to my room? I can set up a foot bath with...”

“Epsom salts.” You answer after swallowing another swig of water, “But I have all of the stuff in my room, I can take care of it.” Hyunjin whines again while rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself into a sitting position. There’s a bead of sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose, something that you shouldn’t focus on. It catches on the tip before falling delicately onto his collar bone.

“I wanna take care of it,” It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, “just... Here, wear my jacket into the building so no one can see that you’re uh... A girl.” You try to argue again, but then your cheeks are squished in between his hand and his eyebrows are furrowed just enough for it to be cute, “Let me take care of you.”

And really, how could you say no to that?

*

“Hwang Hyunjin, you are my favorite person in the world.” You sigh, feet dipping into the warm cloudy water. He plops down next to you with a laugh and arms full of snacks.

“Can I get that in writing? You know, just to prove it to Jisung.” Laughter bounces off of his dorm walls, filling the boys brain with childhood memories. Like the time that you two were riding scooters in your driveway and just as the sun started to set you skinned your knee. Hyunjin had thought for a minute that the shaking of your shoulders was sobbing, but quickly discovered by a tilt of your chin and hands wrapped around your sides that you were indeed laughing. Beautiful, clear laughter complete with sunshine dripping from your skin. It was the first time he can remember thinking that someone was beautiful.

“Yes!” You exclaim, effectively pulling the boy from his memory, “But only if you give me food.” He giggles tiredly, a sound so sweet that it might as well be honey, and tosses a bag of pita chips your way.

“You don’t even have to ask.” 

You’re supposed to go back to your dorm at eleven, thirty minutes after arrival. But then Hyunjin starts talking about anything and everything, ranging from how he met Minho to the old building of his school. The way he chuckles sleepily while reminiscing on water logged ceilings is enough to make you melt.  

Somehow your head ends up pulled against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. There’s an arm tied around your waist like ribbon, lips softly brushing your hairline as he mumbles endlessly about everything, your leg across his lap as though they’re supposed to be. 

“What time’s it?” You slur, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt. It smells like spice and fresh pine and Hyunjin. So much like Hyunjin.

“Midnight.” You think to yourself that it’s time to leave, that if any of the staff found out about this you’d be dead. You also think that Hyunjin smells like fresh pine and that he’s holding you in a way that you’ve never been held.

The sound of his even breathing and the weight of his arms on you lulls you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

*

When you wake up it’s to the obnoxious blaring of Hyunjins alarm. The boy whines lowly before punching it into snooze. It’s enough to make you laugh, then pull your head away from the cradle of his chin.

“C’mon sleepy, it’s time to get up. What do you have for breakfast?” If it weren’t for your hair tickling his cheek or the way your torso writhes beneath his arm he would be annoyed by your chirping voice. After the hundreds of early mornings school has thrown your way you can’t really help but be a morning person. 

“More sleep, that’s what I have.” He grumbles as you crack the curtains open, trying desperately to pull the comforter over his eyes.

“You need food to fuel your body Hyunjin-” Before you can finish lecturing him an arm shoots up from beneath the gray blanket, crashing your body onto his with a sleepy groan.

“M’ just kidding.” He pulls you under the blanket with him, mimicking the first time he spent the night at your house. You two stayed up until the sun was rising, hidden away from the world by the fluffy pink comforter of your childhood bedroom, “Protein bars are in the closet and apples’r on top of the mini fridge.

It’d be so easy to skip classes and stay here all day, not a care in the world besides the sweet boy that you’re currently tangled in. A part of you wants to melt away and give in, but a bigger part knows that doing that is a commitment. Like saying that you’re his to hold and break however he pleases. It’s the scariest thought that you’ve had in months.

“W-we should get going. Yea?” The words sound like you’ve been choking on them. A fact that Hyunjin takes notice of, eyes growing sad and attentive as his arms wiggle away from your waist.

“Yea, yea. Minho will be here in ten minutes, we walk to pas de deux together.” Before you can help it your expression turns panicked, eyebrows shooting up as your jaw drops open, “Sorry! He’s not gonna tell anyone or anything I promise!” Something clenches in your chest at the sight of him sitting up in bed, black hair sticking up every way that it can.

“I know he won’t, it’s just...” You look down at your body, clothed with Hyunjins sweatshirt and a pair of his long socks (turns out that he was onto something with the whole ‘sleeping in socks’ thing,) “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” His gaze shoots up to meet yours, so soft and relaxed that you could cry.

“Which would be?” There’s a pounding in your ears that’s quickly recognizable as a heartbeat. 

“That we’re together.” It’s barely above a whisper, but Hyunjin hears you loud and clear. From the light tremble to the breathy finish, he hears you.

“We could be, if that’s what you want.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, an action familiar enough that it’s normal yet tender enough that your cheeks are flushing pink, “Is that what you want?” 

“I-I, um...” Your heart is screaming yes, that you want to be his and only his. That while you aren’t a girl who needs to be guarded, you are a girl who wants to be guarded. Guarded from everything by Hyunjins thin comforter and strong arms.

But then you think about the promise that Hyunjin broke. The promise that he wouldn’t forget you, and then broke less than twenty-four hours later. You think about how badly you’ve wanted to spend the last day of summer with him every year since. Your mouth opens right as a knock sounds against his door, “Can we talk about this later?” Hyunjin nods lightly while getting up to grab two apples off of the top of the mini fridge. 

“I’m so sorry for however he reacts.” The boy groans under his breath, offering you a light green apple along with an apologetic smile. You accept, smiling back before popping out of bed to pull your dance bag over your shoulder.

“It can’t be that bad, Minho’s level headed.” If it weren’t for the fact that Hyunjin still has a question lodged in his throat he would’ve laughed.

You’re the one who finally opens the door, interrupting Minho mid-knock. At first he looks aggravated, ready to launch into a long speech about how ‘timeliness is important’ and ‘you always fucking make us late’ but when his eyes meet you his jaw goes slack. 

“What the f-”

If the sound of Minho screeching wasn’t telling enough, you were very very wrong.

*

The next four days are spent dancing around Hyunjins burning question, constantly talking about anything else or switching the topic when it seems like he might bring it up. At first he barely notices, simply assuming that you need time to mull it over, but then Jisung and Chan sit in on a lunchtime rehearsal.

The dance is coming along perfectly, so much so that the boys don’t even notice your hesitations. Hyunjin sees it though. Sees the way that your hands tremble before planting on his shoulders, the way that your face looks sad after pressing the soft kiss onto his nose. While he hasn’t seen you dance as much as Jisung or Felix probably have, he’s still seen enough to know that you’re never like this. Never uncertain.

“What was that about?” The boy asks after the rehearsal, hands crossed against his chest. You’re going to ignore him, focus on nothing other than getting out of your pointe shoes and off to your next class, but then his dark brown eyes catch on yours, “Seriously!”

“What are you talking about?” You respond, fingers working quickly to undo the ribbons around your ankles. A sigh leaves your mouth as one shoe slips off and into your bag, quickly moving to the other one before Hyunjin can continue the questioning.

Turns out that your friend is terrible at picking up on social cues.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Your head is briefly pulled up from the floor as his voice grows impossibly soft, your heartbeat faltering ever so slightly. There’s a quiet goodbye as Jisung and Chan leave the studio, “Y-you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, throwing the second shoe into your bag while a lump takes form in your throat. If he wasn’t your best friend then he would think that you’re just tired, or hungry, or anything other than deflecting. But he is your best friend, who knows that being tired or hungry only makes you sad. Your best friend who knows that you’re deflecting harder than you ever have before.

“It’s okay, just tell me. Please.” His last word is so hushed that you can barely hear it, but it’s there. Light, and airy, and perfectly there, “Is this about what I asked?” Before you can help you’re nodding, once again giving this boy every part of you that can break.

“Yea, kind of.” It feels like your mouth is full of cotton, leaving you uncomfortably hot along with speechless. A loud sigh rings through the studio as Hyunjin slides down to meet your height, hands burying into his raven black hair. The sight takes you back to the last day of fifth grade; you and him holding each other on your front porch as if the world was ending, your hands tangled into his hair.

“Is it because you don’t want to?” There’s his eyes on yours, your chest heaving, and nothing else in the entire universe. Just (Y/n,) the girl who wants to be guarded, and Hyunjin, (Y/n’)s beloved.

“No.” 

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Right now feels like when you’re at a competition, in the middle of a variation that’s been giving you hell since you started working on it. It’s seconds before the hardest part, the one that you’re still not sure of. It’s the adrenaline rushing through your veins and the words ‘now or never’ echoing with each timed exhale.

“Because. How do I know that you won’t forget about me when summer comes?” Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, causing his lips to part and then heave for air. 

“I-I never forgot about you.”

“Yes you did!” There are tears prickling the back of your eyelids, which you quickly blink away before continuing, “I waited for you outside your house every day! And then, when you wouldn’t show up, I-I’d spend every day alone. Doing what we used to do together, but by myself! I was all by myself and I missed you so much, Jinnie. So, so much.” He’s going to tell you that you’re wrong. That while all of those things happened, he never ever forgot about you.

But then there’s that old nickname, the one reserved specifically for family and you. He hasn’t heard it in months, and when he finally does it’s rolling out of your mouth like a plea soaked in honey. Something that’s going to stick with him for forever.

“(Y/n,) please-” You’re up and out of the door before he can even finish.

*

It’s a dreary Friday morning, rain trickling down your window and painting your room a gray shade of blue. With a deep inhale you realize that everything is finally smelling like fall, which only solidifies the fact that you never want to get out of bed. Unfortunately you have a class in half an hour that you do kind of need to go to. 

But it’s not too terrible. Maybe if you were getting up to go take a math class, or run a marathon, but you aren’t. You’re getting up to go to ballet class, and you can wear your favorite leotard again (the light blue one, with pearls sewn around the collar,) and the rain outside is heavy enough to be calming but light enough that you can fend it off with an umbrella. The only thing that could make this morning any better is your favorite childhood breakfast, honey nut cheerios with strawberry milk.

Which is, oddly enough, sitting outside of your door when you open it to head off to the dining hall. A gallon sized jug of bright pink milk next to a family size box of your favorite cereal, just sitting in the middle of the hallway with a folded piece of paper resting precariously on top. Something about this has Hyunjin written all over it. You lean down to pick up the note, reading it about a thousand times over before rushing back into your room to wolf down the breakfast that you haven’t had in months.

‘(Y/n,)

I never forgot you.

Come to my room tonight after rehearsal. Please.

Sincerely, Hyunjin.’ 

When you two do the first full run through of the pas de deux that night he holds you extra tight. Maybe because he misses you. Maybe because he thinks that after tonight he’ll never have the chance to do so again.

But when he opens the door to his dorm room you see pink fluffy blankets folded on his bed. On top of them is a basket, filled to the brim with every last one of your favorite things. Strawberries dipped in chocolate like the ones your mother would make on hot summer nights, snickers bars like the ones that you two would share after days spent in your driveway, glass bottled lemonade like you would buy from the stand up the street.

“I may or may not have also bought your favorite movie. Well, if it’s still Barbie And the Twelve Dancing Princesses.” A giggle sounds through the room, bouncing around the walls and then back onto Hyunjins burning cheeks.

“It is, but don’t tell Jisung!” Rain starts to fall again, the soft pitter patter mixing perfectly with the boys soft laugh. His hand grazes briefly against the small of your back as he starts to guide you into the tight room, “I’m serious! Him and Lix will make fun of me!” The pout on your face is enough to melt anyone’s heart, which is why Hyunjin doesn’t even think twice when his knees go weak as jelly.

“My lips are sealed.” He says, walking over the boxy tv (that certainly wasn’t there last week) on his desk and inserting the disc, “Now sit back and enjoy.”

It’s not a hard request to fill, your tired body sinking immediately into the fluffy blankets and mouth watering each time you bite down on a strawberry. Rain continues to patter softly against the window, the sound occasionally being replaced by a loud roll of thunder which makes the boy next to you jump. You had laughed at the action, asking softly if he was scared. It was a rhetorical question, you know fully well that he’s always been scared of thunder.

“No! Yes, shut up.” And if you mind that the boy cuddles softly into your side, one arm wrapped around the curve of your waist while the other holds a chocolate strawberry, you don’t say so. 

The two of you stay tangled up in each other like that until the credits roll, Hyunjins breathy sigh hitting your cheek as he shifts to get up. You watch with heartfelt eyes as he crosses the dimly lit room, his black hair briefly sweeping across his eyes. You want to reach up and push it away, but right as you manage to sit up straight he’s done with it and headed back to the bed. With a short laugh you realize that your noses are touching.

“Hi.” The word comes at as a short exhale, leaving a taste on your tongue that’s sweeter than chocolate strawberries.

“Hey.” Your heart flutters at the sound, an exhale laced together with a smile, as his arms return to their previous spot around your waist. There’s probably nothing in the world brighter than the smile he wears for you. Stage lights, the sun, every last star in the sky rolled into one. None of it even comes close to the way that his pink lips stretch perfectly from cheek to cheek, “Do you finally believe me?” He brings up a hand to caress your cheek gently, as though to rub away tears that haven’t fallen.

“Believe wh-”

“Do you believe that I never forgot you? That I never forgot any of you, not even the little things like your favorite color or what you liked to eat for dinner. Maybe I pulled away, but I think it’s because even then I knew how badly losing you would hurt. I-I knew that I never wanted to lose you, which is just what I did...” He swallows harshly, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “But I’ll never do it again. I’ll never lose you, and I’ll never forget you a-and... And I don’t want to remember you anymore, (Y/n.) I’m so done with remembering, let’s just be.” There’s something stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t hurt the way that tears do. No, this is a release gathering inside of you. One that’s waiting for you to finally give in.

“Hyunjin,” His fingers cradle the curve of your jaw, sending goosebumps down every inch of your body, “kiss me.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs to brush his lips over yours.

At first it’s gentle, almost questioning. Like he’s asking one last time ‘Is this okay?’ But then your hands tangle in his black hair, the way that they’ve been aching to since you first saw him, and he knows that you’re okay. More than okay, you’re in love. With every muscle in your body, you’re in love.

Hyunjin’s hand that was previously holding your face drops back down to your waist and pulls you in softly. They then travel down to your thighs, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips before he picks you up and guides you onto the bed. Every movement is so perfect yet raw, feeling like the stuff of ballets. Until your back hits an unopened glass bottle of lemonade, that is. The sudden cold is enough to make you jump.

“What?!” Hyunjin questions, eyes shooting as wide as saucers, “Did I hurt you?!” A laugh sounds through the room while your hand detaches from his hair, opting instead to reach around your body and remove the glass bottle that’s poking you in the least conventional way possible.

“No.” You answer through soft giggles, bringing up the bottle to lightly tap his forehead, “There’s just a lemonade poking me in the ass.”

He flushes bright pink before answering with a tiny ‘oh’ and burying his face into the crook of your neck. If you were less malleable you would’ve teased him even more, but then there are warm kisses on your skin and nothing in your head.

“I love you.” He whispers, head slowly moving until his lips are against your jaw. You’re going to answer, really, but then there are soft lips on your chin and a smile ripping through your body, “I love you.” 

“M-me too.” You stammer dumbly, body going entirely limp as he (finally) presses another kiss onto your lips. The boy pulls away entirely too soon, but it’s okay. There’s something that you need to finish saying, anyways, “I love you too, Jinnie.”

When you fall asleep that night it’s to the sound of pattering rain, with Hyunjins arms guarding you from the world. 

*

The bus back from regionals is quiet, the few sounds that do come about being Chan and Felix whispering softly or Minho giggling at Jisung snoring. You’re about there too, but who can blame you when Hyunjins hands are buried in your hair (which is both stiff and wavy from a combination of hairspray and braided buns.) If you close your eyes and focus really hard you can even feel the rise and fall of his chest where it’s connected with your back. 

“Who’s gonna keep our trophy?” The boy questions, lips moving softly against the shell of your ear. It generates a warm feeling in your gut, one that spreads quickly to your cheeks and ears.

“We’ll trade it off on the weekends. Like divorced soccer parents.” He giggles softly, moving forward to kiss your temple.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” If you were a little bit less tired, or a little bit less in love, then maybe you’d joke back. But you’re wrapped up in him like a ribbon on your waist, foot nudging against a plastic first place trophy while his lips move against you in a way that you could get drunk off of.

“Never.” You answer, hand coming up to wrap around his as if it were a vow, “Never.”

[neon-junkie]

you shouldn’t have kept me waiting

Summary: Sometimes, sex doesn't go as planned, especially when it's your first time.

Pairing: f!Reader x Flaco Hernández

Word Count: 1864

Rating: NSFW

Tags: First time, First kiss, Friends to lovers, Table sex, Making out.

Notes: Wanted to try a writing style a little different to my usual stuff, and I haven't written about Flaco for like 2 hours, and it's killing me bc hes my husband, so I wrote this lil oneshot <3

  You were bored, hunting yet again in Big Valley, dumping corpse after corpse by Cripp's butchering table, hearing endless of comments of "this'll do," and "beautiful!" But he soon told you to "calm down, we have enough to keep me busy for days! How's about you take some time to enjoy yourself? Go for a ride or something?"

 And, well, you did exactly what he suggested.

 You'd been itching to go and see him again, despite swearing you'd try and stay away for a while. Obsession is the right word for it, considering you used to trail up the mountain to see him once a week, but it had slowly become twice a week, then three times, then four. You were practically moving in at this point, but he didn't mind.

 Flaco adores your company, along with a long list of other things about you, and he'd begun listing a few things off whenever you've seen him. "Pretty coat, I hope it's keeping you warm," "your horse is looking healthy, they suit you," "you must be cold, chica, your cheeks are so rosy, but eh, it looks cute."

 Oh, yes, he's pinpoints each and every single thing about you, even the things you find unattractive like the bags under your eyes or the occasional cow-lick to your hair. Flaco hadn't told you directly how he feels, but it's hard not to notice from the way his eyes light up every time you've burst through his cabin door, or the way he soon began waiting in his doorway for you to return from your missions, shouting across the frozen lake to ask if you were injured. He doesn't care about the missions, but you he definitely does care about.

 Only today went differently.

You thought you were clouding up Flaco's personal space, using the excuse of 'work' to see him as often as you could, and although he'd never shown any disliking to your frequent visits, your mind had convinced you that you were a bit too much, excessive, in his personal space. Once a week is enough to work for somebody, right? You thought it was, until you finally entered his cabin for the first time in weeks to see his furrowed brows and a pout across his face.

 "Where have you been?" Flaco had questioned, his voice rough and rugged, monotone like it used to be, back when you first met him.

 You explained that you'd been busy doing other things, your trading company, the bounty hunting work, collecting odd items for a lady you met out West, but all your excuses were literally just that in the eyes of Flaco.

 "I didn't think I'd see you again," Flaco confessed as he rose from his seat. This wasn't the first time you'd stood against him, tilting your head far back to gaze up at the much larger man, but it felt off today, as if your neck actually hurt from looking up for once. "I was worried something had happened, something... bad, you know?"

 You attempted to calm his confusion, explaining that you were fine, just busy, but Flaco still wasn't buying it. Only he finally did the second you reached out to rest your hand on his arm, kneading at him gently, a small reassuring gesture that meant the world to Flaco. He's never really touched you before, the only time being when his hands linger in yours when he hands over payments, and the only time you'd ever touched him was when you wiped some food from his face, and his look of embarrassment is one you'll never forget.

 Flaco's facial expressions alone made it obvious that he was crumbling, and he pushed back at his sombrero, letting it fall around his neck as the cord kept it in place, and dipped his head down to your level.

 You knew what was coming, you were hoping for the same, and stood on tip toes to meet Flaco in the middle. Your hand continued to knead at his arm, eventually trailing up to his shoulder as the other one joined, and Flaco cupped your jawline so perfectly that he had to move his hands to your waist to ensure your knees wouldn't give way beneath you.

 Flaco didn't taste how you thought he would, of rich chewing tobacco or a chain of cigarettes, but of whiskey and the herbs he uses to season his meals. Mint was the strongest taste, and it was rich on his tongue as yours slid across it, Flaco letting out a whimper against your lips, his moustache brushing over the sensitive skin just below your nose.

  Desperate kisses had turned needier and needier, just like the hands roaming your body, eventually dipping down to tug at your thighs. You knew what he wanted, and you knew he'd catch you if you somehow fell, so you allowed him to lift you, wrapping your legs around his waist, barely able to cross your ankles over. The sound of an array of items hitting the floor caught you off guard, and you soon realized that Flaco had swept some of his belongings from his table, replacing them with your ass instead, still nipping at your lip as you relaxed against the wood.

 Everything about him felt so intoxicating, not just his musk or the way he was holding you, but the groan he let out as you broke the kiss to nip at his neck. Who knew a man so rugged could sound so poetic? and he watched with half-lidded eyes as you moved your hands down his chest, trailing over the thick fur of his coat, over each cold bullet strapped to his bandoliers, and settled at his gun belt.

 The belt hit the cabin floor with a thud, and Flaco moved his hands from your thighs to your waist, gently unpicking each button to your pants, though you can sense his eagerness as he fiddles with them. One of your boots is slipped off, followed by your pants and undergarments being pulled from under your ass, letting the cold air hit one leg, and leaving the other clothed.

 Flaco popped a thick finger into your mouth before pressing it against your entrance, returning his lips to yours as he slowly pushed himself in, chuckling at the moan you'd let out against his lips. His chuckle soon turned into a sigh once you got your own revenge, reaching beneath his coat to unfasten his pants, and free his thick member from his undergarments, pumping him slowly as you feel his precum run across the back of your fingers.

 A pair of dark eyes met yours, gazing at you for mere seconds, yet it felt like minutes. Lips were reunited, and both of you spent some time working at each other, prepping each other, finally able to feel and enjoy the other after too many months of tension and frustration.

 You'd guided Flaco to your entrance, looking up at him with lustful eyes as you pressed the tip of his cock to your hole. Flaco pulled his finger from you, "how can I deny you?" he questioned in a voice so deep it made you tremble, and he grinned at your body's response. But Flaco soon began melting into you as he pushed his cock in, taking it inch by inch, both of you sighing in unison once he was fully sheathed inside of you.

 You moaned his name and he moaned yours, cupping your jawline with his calloused hand. Flaco nuzzled you briefly, pressing his forehead to yours as his eyes fell shut, before placing a kiss on your forehead. He didn't say anything, and you could tell he was lost for words, but he soon began thrusting into you.

 The rolling of his hips was deep and smooth, slow and steady, both pleasurable and painful at the same time. There was no actual pain, Flaco could never hurt you, but it was agony having him go at this speed; you've needed him for so long, and now you finally have him, but of course he's going to make you wait just a little longer. There was a smug grin on his face as you began mewling in his arms, head buried into the curve of his neck, his cold bullets pressed against your cheek as you began to whimper.

 "What's a matter?" Flaco questioned in a playful tone. "This not enough for you, eh? You make me wait weeks to see you, and then demand everything at once?"

 He wasn't serious, you know that, and it was painfully obvious as he was visibly biting at his lip in an attempt to stop himself from grinning. What a tease. But Flaco was quick to give in, not just because you needed it, but because so did he.

  If you said you hadn't thought about this before, you'd be lying; you've imagined Flaco railing you just about everywhere in this cabin, but you always thought the table would be the dodgy spot. It's an old piece of furniture, somehow still standing in the harsh terrain, but remained standing as Flaco slammed into you on top of it. You were careful not to knock the candles over as you relaxed into the wood, your eyes flicking between watching Flaco's length disappear into you, and watching the expression of pure lust on his face.

 You were surprised he'd waited this long, seeing as there's been many opportunities to pull you onto his lap, but something must have burst in Flaco's mind when you disappeared for a few weeks, and you wouldn't be surprised if he made a promise to himself to come onto you the second you returned.

 The sounds Flaco made were intoxicating, grumbles and groans at all different levels of volume, but he fell silent as he came. Flaco had pulled you up off the table and wrapped his arms around you, holding himself deep inside and burying his head into the curve of your neck, arching his back over so he could hold you, and be held at the same time. "Mierda," he muttered to himself, his voice muffled by your coat. "Too much, too fast, augh!" he grumbled, and finally stood upright to look at you.

 "I'm sorry," he had said, and avoided eye contact with you as you tilted your head in confusion. "I... I came too fast," he grumbled, and slipped himself from you.

 You had to bite back on your laughter. Really? This grown man, a legend, is pouting like a child because he came within minutes during your first time together. "It's alright," you smiled at him. "We'll just have to build your stamina back up, hm?" you suggested.

 Flaco looked at you blankly before bursting into laughter, placing a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. "You tolerate me too much," he chuckled, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his heart at your kind response.

 "Now, come on," he said as he pulled you up from the table, letting you dress yourself as he tucked himself away. "Let's hear all about what you've been doing over these last few weeks..."

[blueskrugs]

Flickers of Light | Andre Burakovsky

I got two NYE requests and didn’t want them to be too similar and well. this ended up very angsty. I’m sorry in advance. this may also be the best request I’ve written yet, so there’s that. and yes this was highly influenced by happiness from evermore it kinda happened by accident. @beachbumvibes this was your request I’m sorry I made it sad, I hope you still like it!

40. NYE kiss

length: 1.4k

He wasn’t supposed to be here. That was a part of your life that was long over and gone, in a city you didn’t think about that was home to a boy whose name you didn’t speak. But it was New Year’s Eve in Denver, and across the room from you was André Burakovsky, laughing with a tall blond you didn’t recognize.

You hadn’t followed hockey since you had left D.C. behind. It hadn’t really been something you’d been interested in before you fell in love with André, and it had been remarkably easy to leave hockey in the dust with the remnants of your relationship.

André locked eyes with you while you were plotting a way to get to the kitchen where the alcohol was without having to interact with him at all– which would be difficult considering he was blocking the doorway. Something complicated flashed over his face before he smiled tentatively at you, but you weren’t sure it reached his eyes. 

Now you were just wondering if it was acceptable to leave a New Year’s Eve party less than ten minutes after you arrived to avoid any sort of confrontation with an ex-boyfriend. Blondie followed André’s gaze and waved at you, just as your best friend, who was the whole reason you were at this party, barreled into you. 

“Oh, thank God you made it!” she said, grabbing your arm and tearing your attention away from André. You were only half-listening as she went on about how one of her friends had invited a couple of their friends, and suddenly there were several hockey players at her party. Which, you probably could’ve figured that part out yourself, you thought, glancing over at André again. 

“I need a drink,” you muttered.

You had to pass André to get to the alcohol, but he was distracted, already deep in a conversation with Blondie, who you now assumed was a teammate. You hadn’t realized the Caps were in town. 

The kitchen was quieter, and you took a long gulp of your drink, steeling yourself. Your peace didn’t last long, though, because you had to slip past André again on your way back to the rest of the party. He reached out and grabbed your wrist as you went, his fingers warm against your pulse. You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was beating. 

“Hey,” he said softly. You could barely hear him over the din of the party, still standing frozen in the doorway.

“Hi,” you breathed. You didn’t know what else to say. Someone called your name from across the room, and you turned your head. André’s grip tightened on your wrist. “Sorry,” you said, pulling your hand free and turning away. 

You thought you heard André call your name as you walked away. 

You successfully avoided him and Blondie for a while, talking to friends and downing a couple drinks, but you were only delaying the inevitable. You bumped into him again in the kitchen when you escaped to refill your drink.

“Hey,” he said again. You forced a smile and reached for a bottle; it didn’t really matter which at the moment. 

“I didn’t know the Caps were in town,” you said, aiming for casual and trying to keep your hand steady.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Blondie’s head shoot up. When you glanced up, André looked confused.

“You know, I got traded, right?” André said slowly. “To the Avalanche.”

Clearly, you had not known that, though it did make more sense now that André and Blondie were at this random New Year’s Eve party. You should probably figure out his teammate’s name, instead of calling him Blondie all night.

“I kinda stopped watching hockey after...everything,” you admitted.

Blondie laughed. “I’m Nate, by the way,” he said, reaching to clap André on the shoulder. “And as much as I want to see this go down, I’m gonna leave you two alone.” 

André muttered something in Swedish at Nate as he passed, and it had been a while since you had heard those words, but you were pretty sure he was cussing him out. “Wait, do you know we won the Cup in 2018?” 

“You what?” you asked. Your relationship had fallen apart in February of 2018, and by June, you had already been transferred to Denver and were starting over. It was supposed to be far enough away from André. 

Nate laughed louder as he left the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you were in Denver now,” André said. He hadn’t moved any closer to you, still separated by the kitchen island.

“That makes two of us,” you said, taking a drink.

André grinned, but it was short-lived. “Do you think we should talk?” he asked.

“What’s there to talk about, André?” This wasn’t the place or the time, and you certainly didn’t have the energy for this conversation right now. Weren’t sure if you would ever be ready. 

André’s face fell. When you’d been together, it’d always been Burky, Bura, Burk, babe. Even now a part of you wanted to reach out to him, to call him Burky like you always used to, to run your fingers through his hair and ruffle his curls. But that time had passed. 

“I guess you’re right,” André said, grabbing his drink and leaving you alone in the kitchen. You were feeling like you were missing something, like you were two steps behind, and not for the first time.

You had met André when you were both young, when he was a fresh face in the league, and you were just trying to make it through college. You’d fallen in love like that, young and a little dumb, and sometimes when you were feeling a bit foolish and naïve, you’d imagine a future with him.

That had never happened though. Was never meant to happen. You’d fallen apart slowly but surely, long summers spent apart after disappointing seasons, days or weeks gone by without speaking to each other. André had come back for the beginning of the season in 2017, and you should’ve realized then that the end was coming, that there wouldn’t be a light at the end of the tunnel.

It still took you by surprise. André told you he’d loved you, once upon a time, but he wasn’t sure he did still, not anymore. There was no wrecking ball, no scandal or fury. Just you alone in your apartment, crying tears that no one else cared to see, wondering where exactly you went wrong. André had given you all your stuff back, had dropped it off on the way to the airport for another road trip, years of memories stuffed in boxes and bags. You didn’t keep anything of his. 

You put in for a transfer at work, ended up in the mountains halfway across the country, and you learned to be happy again. 

André asked you that exact question a few hours later, when you ended up in the same circle of people chatting. “Are you happy?” murmured in your ear, a question no one else needed to hear. 

“Yeah,” you said, and you meant it. But when you met André’s eyes, you remembered that you were happy once before, had thought of a different future where you would’ve been happy, too. “Are you happy?” you asked.

André looked over at Nate, who was entertaining everyone with some story. He smiled, and it was real. “Yeah, I am,” he told you. 

It was almost midnight, and your drink had been replaced with champagne. You stood alone as couples paired off and friends grouped together. The countdown started, and everyone was chanting along.

There was a hand on your arm. Suddenly André– Burky– was there, and he was smiling at you. You couldn’t explain what happened next. The chanting got louder as they approached “one,” and Burky’s hand slid down to grasp your fingers. He pulled you closer, and you went. 

“Yeah?” he asked, which didn’t make sense, except it did. Because the clock struck midnight, and, like magic, André was kissing you. It wasn’t D.C., but maybe it was where you were meant to be after all. It was a short kiss, nothing and everything, before André was pulling away, but you clutched his hand tighter. 

“I think we need to talk,” you murmured. You just had to lean forward a little to close the distance between you two again, so you did, letting yourself get lost in the familiarity. 

“Happy New Year,” André whispered. Everyone else around you was yelling those same words, but these were meant just for you. 

Maybe this would turn out to be nothing. But maybe, just maybe, it had been the right person at the wrong time, and you could be happy. 

[00def]

feel / ch. 4 (m)

- producer!jaebeom x f reader

- romance/angst/smut

warning: daddy kink

- 2k words

-  summary: you are a hopeless romantic looking to forget your highschool  crush, jaebeom, until you match his fwb only tinder account

- this is the final chapter

ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 (m) / ch. 4 (m)

The following day you get a message around lunch time from Jaebeom. To be completely honest, it’s surprising to see him initiate and message you so soon. Would it be too rash to think he is changing? That maybe you’ve judged him too quickly and he’s not the fuckboy you think he is? You click on the notification and it brings you to Kakao.

 Jaebeom: Good morning baby

He’s calling. you. baby.

Jaebeom: [picture]

It’s a somewhat blurry picture of his face stuffed in the pillow, staring into the camera, and he looks absolutely dashing.

You: Good morning, handsome

How did work go?

Jaebeom: Really well, finished a song

I’m feeling a little sad tho

You: Why is that?

Jaebeom: Because you’re not in bed with me

A moment perfect for a keyboard smash. However, he would not get it. What the fuck are you even supposed to say? “Of course I would love to be in bed with you, Lim Jaebeom,” but you can’t really say that, now, can you? You can’t seem too eager. He’s gonna judge.

You: An empty bed isn’t nice

Jaebeom: Why don’t you join me ;)

Was he possessed by a demon?

You: Now?

You have stuff to do. You can’t just run to his apartment or studio or wherever he is.

Jaebeom: Later. You don’t live far. I know how to drive up to a lookout spot in the Namsan mountain. It’s secluded, quiet, and you can see all the city lights from afar.

When are you free?

You: Is 7 good for you?

Jaebeom: It’s a date babe

 It’s kinda hard to concentrate on work when you have Jaebeom in the back of your head. Even worse, you’re going to meet him. You’re going to officially meet (as high school didn’t count). You want to look good and impress him. You want him to like you. You want him to look at you like you’re the only girl in the world.

He picks you up on time. He pulls his car in front of your apartment building, and gets out to pull you into a hug. ‘It’s nice to see you, baby,’ says Jaebeom. ‘Are you ready to go?’ You nod.

Jaebeom closes the door for you. He gets inside, and puts your seatbelt on. You feel like you’re about to explode. He’s so close.

On your way to Namsan he makes small talk, asks about your job and hobbies. He throws a line here and there. His gestures are warm, but he seems so cold on the inside. He doesn’t seem nervous either, like he’d done this a million times before.

When your reach your destination, you can see what he’d meant about the view. It’s actually a view you’d seen before on his Instagram. He leans against the hood of his car, and motions for you to join him. He puts his arm around your shoulders.

‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ he asks.

‘Yeah.’

Jaebeom turns to you. ‘Not as pretty as you,’ he says, and places a kiss against your temple. ‘You’re so pretty,’ he whispers.

‘Thank you.’

‘Would you mind if I kissed you?’ asks Jaebeom.

‘Not at all.’

That’s all it takes for Jaebeom to grab your face and kiss you. It’s slow and soft at first. He gives you a couple of small kisses, then he bites your lip. You open your mouth, and his tongue enters. This goes on for a while. His hands leave your face, and find themselves on your lower back. He slowly moves one hand on your ass. His other hand goes on your neck; he tilts your head to the side, and kisses your neck. He bites you, and grabs your butt. Hard. You moan.

‘You like that, baby?’ he murmurs.

‘Yeah.’

‘Wait until we get home.’

 You get back in his car. Getting in new people’s cars is always anxiety inducing; not because they might kill you (that is always a possibility) but because you don’t want to get their car dirty, especially Jaebeom’s. His car is expensive. You knew that, he often posts it on his Instagram. And it’s clearly not rented. It smells nice as well.

Jaebeom driving is very sexy. When he concentrates he furrows his eyebrows. Every once in a while he licks his lips. There’s not much traffic on the way back, you’ll get to his place in no time. He’s resting his hand on your thigh. You reach a red light and he gives you a squeeze; you bite your lip. It’s driving you insane.

 ‘Are you ok?’ he asks

‘Yeah,’ you whisper. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You seem a little tense.’ He smirks, and squeezes your thigh again.

‘I’m great.’

He doesn’t remove his hand the entire ride. Every once in a while he’ll lightly brush his fingers or rub circles in your thigh. He was right though, you were and still are tense. Whenever he touches you, you get goose bumps.

When you finally reach his building, he opens the door for you. You call him a gentleman, and he smiles.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asks, and takes your hand.

The trip from the lift and to his apartment is a short one. Any self-control he had disappears after he enters the code to his door and you’re inside. He closes the door behind you, and pushes you against it. His whole body is glued to yours. He grabs your face with his hands and kisses you. This kiss is different from his first one; it’s rough and fast. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, then leaves a peck. He takes a breath. He picks you up, with your legs around his waist.

‘I can’t wait anymore.’ he says. He takes you to his bedroom. ‘I want you to feel every inch of me.’ He places you on his bed, and places himself on top of you. He kisses you again. ‘I want to feel your body wanting me. Do you want me?’

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then surrender yourself to me.’

Jaebeom gets off of you, and places himself between your legs. He throws your legs over his shoulders. He pushes your dress up. He grabs your left thigh, and leaves small kisses. The kisses get bigger, hungrier. He bites your other thigh. You put your hand in his hair, and pull him closer. He’s moving up, and it’s driving you insane.

‘Are you trying to kill me?’ you ask.

‘You’re allowing it.’ He’s so close. ‘I want to taste you.’

Jaebeom pushes your dress further, and takes off your underwear. You can feel his breath against your skin. Next thing you know, his tongue is against your folds. He licks up and down a few times. His fingers are digging in your legs. He licks your clitoris, and it feels so good. He starts to suck on it. He starts alternating with more licks. You pull on his hair, and hear a low groan. It feels amazing, and you feel close to your orgasm. What a sight, to see Jaebeom between your legs.

‘Keep going,’ you whisper. Jaebeom stops.

‘I think you’re forgetting something.’

‘What?’

‘It’s “Keep going, daddy.”’ Was anyone going to tell you he had a daddy kink?

‘Please, daddy,’ you say quickly.

Jaebeom smiles to himself, and goes back to work. He finds a pattern that feels good. You don’t want him to stop. You’re so so close. You moan. Pleasure spreads over your body. Your legs shake a little. Jaebeom is still sucking. It’s too much, you push his head aside. You’re lucky he’s holding your legs, because you can’t even move them.

‘Did you like that, baby?’ he smirks.

‘Yes,’ you can barely speak. ‘I think I need a moment.’ Jaebeom takes his t-shirt off. You can tell when you look at his trousers he’s a little excited. He’s still in front of you, undoing his jeans. You get up and unzip him. You push him on his back.

‘I want to taste you too,’ you say.

‘I want you to feel how hard I am.’ says Jaebeom.

His jeans are now off, and you trace his erection over his boxers.

‘Are you going to tease me?’ he asks.

‘Just a bit.’ You say, and pull his underwear down. You lick your lips. You want him in your mouth. The thought of it makes you wet. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You slowly lick the tip. Again, and again. Jaebeom moans. You barely take him in. You give it a small kiss, and suck on the tip again. You leave a trail of kisses down to shaft. Then you lick him all the way up. He moans again.

‘Stop teasing me,’ he says, and grabs your hair.

You take him in your mouth. You start sucking up and down. Jaebeom moans, and you move faster. He wants to stretch it out, but he can’t.

‘I want to cum in your mouth.’ he growls. You moan in approval. He doesn’t last much longer. He removes his hand from your hair. ‘God, that was such a trip,’ he says.

Jaebeom pulls you into a hug. He’s got his right arm over your torso, and is playing with your hair with his left. He burrows his head in your shoulder, and leaves soft kisses. He tells you that you smell nice. ‘Your perfume drives me insane,’ he whispers. Jaebeom pulls you closer, and wraps a leg around you. You put your hands on his arm. It feels cozy, and it makes you feel wanted. And you want to feel some kind of love.

He’s leaving kisses on your shoulder blades. ‘I think we need to get you out of this dress,’ he says. He untangles his body from yours and rolls you on your front. He unzips your dress. He’s fast. He unhooks your bra. ‘I really need to be inside you,’ says Jaebeom. He flips your body again, and starts kissing your neck. He’s biting and sucking. You dig your nails in his back. He finds your sweet spot, and you moan. Jaebeom looks up at you and smiles. He moves to your chest, and starts kissing your left breast. His right hand is grabbing your ass. He trades one breast for the other, and starts licking. He’s now got both hands squeezing your butt. ‘You make me so hard, baby.’ He starts sucking on your breast. ‘Are you ready for it?’ You are. You’re so wet. You need him too. You nod in reply. He quickly puts a condom on.

Jaebeom spreads your legs apart. His dick is in front of your entrance. He goes in slowly; he’s so hard. He fills you up, you can feel him in his entirety. He waits for a moment, so you can get used to it. His hands are on your hips, and your legs are around his waist. He’s moving in and out. The pace is slow.

‘Can you go faster?’ you ask.

‘Beg me for it,’ says Jaebeom.

‘Please go harder, daddy.’

‘You’re such a good girl.’ With that, he slams into you. You got what you asked for. Jaebeom fucks you faster. He’s breathing hard, and doing his best to not cum. You’re close too. He keeps going. His body tenses, and he groans. He gives it a final shove, and moans. You both cum. Your legs are shaking. Jaebeom kisses you, it’s sloppy. He’s no longer inside of you. He gets up to throw the condom. You go to the bathroom, and when you return, you find Jaebeom with his underwear back on.

‘Come here,’ he says, and motions you to his bed. He wraps you in his arms, and falls asleep.

 ---

 You wake up to an empty apartment, and a note saying he had to be at work. “Thank you for last night, baby,” is written at the bottom. You call yourself an Uber and go home. When you get there, you take a long shower. You need to talk to Sooah about this; she’s going to judge you so hard. You sit down in front of your balcony, and call her. You tell her what happened. At one point, you tell her to wait, because Jaebeom had just updated his Instagram. It’s a story of him playing ‘Heartless’ by the Weeknd. You share this with Sooah.

 ‘I’m not even going to say “I told you so.”’ says Sooah.

‘I don’t even think he recognised me.’ You sigh.

[abraxos-the-phantom]

Scum Disciple: Alpha Stage

Alpha, described by google as "...an exploratory phase. Beta means the features have been locked down and are under development (no other features will be added). More commonly: Alpha: Usually the first normally interact-able thing out (private or public use is irrelevant)."

And here are some of the highlights that I liked from the first few versions lol.

Fun Times in Gusu

Lan Xichen walked to quite a strange sight.

While normally he would have greeted the younger Nie with a smile, the image of the famous Wei Wuxian pouting as YunmengJiang’s young master and QingheNie’s second master grinned was a little too ridiculous for him to process without chuckling.

“We both know you aren’t actually going to tell Ming-shixiong,” Nie Huaisang chuckled at the shifted to pat the other.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’m worried though.”

Jiang Wanyin had raised his eyebrow, making quite the image as he looked over his crossed arms, “You’re worried about your brother? QingheNie Sect’s Monster Head disciple? The Youngest Rogue Cultivator in the Generations? The Peerless Prodigy? I think you’re a little delusioned Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian’s nose crumbled at that, “They really call Gēge that? Such lame names.”

“I think brother called him the Crane Dragon once,” Nie Huaisang added. “When you and Ming-shixiong went on a Night Hunt.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Forget it, that’s not what I’m worried about- it’s just. Gēge has never let me on my own like this before. He gets antsy.”

Nie Huaisang pursed his lips, “I can understand but- A-Xian, you’re one of his best students.”

“He just- he gets this look sometimes,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it but sometimes he looks at me and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing something else. I never asked because he always looks sad after.”

“Didn’t you grow up together?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ming-shixiong with anyone else besides the three of us but the other disciples.”

“He’s never talked to anyone except father, mother, myself, sister, and some of the disciples at our sect,” Jiang Wanyin said in agreement. “You guys didn’t meet anyone when your Brother was still Rogue?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head in Jiang Wanyin’s direction, expression slightly pinched still, “I wouldn't remember, and I know we’re close- but there’s some stuff I know he hasn’t told me. You guys realize that my brother is nineteen?”

Jiang Wanyin blinked, as well as several other disciples who were not so covertly listening into the conversation about the mysterious prodigal Cultivator of the QingheNie Sect. “He seems much older, I didn’t think anyone knew his actual age.”

Because that was the curiosity wasn’t it, for all that he was well-known, there was never truly anyone who knew Wei Ming, because he would never actually say anything about his past save for vague hints. One could ask Wei Wuxian of course, but the latter had the same result because of the mere fact that Wei Wuxian didn’t know much about his older brother either beyond his personality, likes and dislikes. Any years before Wei Ming had lived with his brother was knowledge he couldn’t even forget because he never knew in the first place. Nie Mingjue never asked, and neither did Nie Huaisang. It took Wei Ying meeting other children to realize that nine-year-olds never talked the way Wei Ming did. They didn’t know facts about monsters, and they certainly never talked about demons. Yet Wei Ming had extensive knowledge since who knows how long, and no one ever questioned it.

Whether that was because Wei Ming knew how to subvert the conversation or because they simply never asked, that was a question no one could really answer. Not even Wei Wuxian, for all that he loved his Gēge, knew where to start.

Sensing the sudden dip in Wei Wuxian’s mood, Nie Huaisang brightened as much as he could, “Well it doesn’t even matter does it? He’s your brother, he’s my teacher- and he scares my brother to boot.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, if a little weakly, “He told me he actually enjoys it a little.”

Jiang Wanyin winced, “Isn’t your brother known to your Sect as the Punisher?”

With an enthusiastic nod from both Nie Sect members, they proceeded to scare everyone else by saying, “300 copies of Consequence, 200 paces across the hills and back in three days and patrolls in three of the Qinghe protected lands by the end of two weeks!”

They silently cackled as the other Sect disciples paled at the prospect.

<page break heyho>

After gently teasing Wangji of his interaction with Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen bid his brother a good night as he suddenly remembered what he had sought the older Wei out for. The technique he used was quite unique and not among any technique he had some knowledge of, though granted it could purely be because he himself was not well learned in any but the Lan Sect style. Regardless, he was hoping to have a discussion about it and to possibly inquire if the older Wei would use his expertise to critique his own swordsmanship.

He was just about to do just that before he heard an audible thunk and grunt of pain from within the room Wei Ming had been assigned for his stay here.

Lan Xichen abruptly opened the door out of instinct, blinking in surprise to find Wei Ming wielding a brush in his hand and a paper in the other, dark eyes roving the entire wooden table with apprehension.

“Mn?” Wei Ming looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Zewu-jun. I was under the impression you had retired for the night.”

“I had initially been hoping to discuss swordsmanship with you before,” Lan Xichen looked at the papers, elegant calligraphy lining each and every one save for the large stack of paper at the corner of the table. “I admit, however, that this seems to take my interest far more at the moment.”

“Ah, well.” Wei Ming gestured to the papers. “These are lesson plans, notes if you will- but plans all the same.”

“...Lesson plans?”

Wei Ming nodded seriously, “It’s important for a teacher to understand what they are teaching every day, so as not to leave anything important out.”

“Ah…apologies, considering the subject you are teaching I thought-”

“To be fair, the material I’m teaching does require less theory than practical. Had I been teaching something akin to a bestiary subject or perhaps even medicinal practices, I wouldn’t be as extensive as this,” Wei Ming once again gestured to the large stacks. “This is not the case however, as I am teaching fighting techniques. I also have to come up with tests and exams, sort the students into pairs for sparing purposes, note everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, formulate proper lectures concerning the techniques I am teaching- that sort of thing. Besides the fact that I’m considering adding other techniques so that my students are well informed.”

Though granted the stuff he was doing was easier than when he had been Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple, the paperwork for that Sect was monstrous because of the additional lessons for music and the tactitionary course. Both were a requirement as a disciple of Qing Jing, as they were the main jack of trades within Cang Qiong as their roles were both in support and primary fighters when it came to battles. This was especially true during the pseudo war between Lou Binghe’s forces and during the battle with Tianlang-jun. Shizun would normally do most of the work but with the absence of Lou Binghe, a lot of it arrived to Ming Fan and he didn’t have the heart to inquire about it.

After Binghe’s return Ming Fan just never thought to question it anymore, Shizun was happy and he got used to the workload. It wasn’t as if he never had help either, he took charge of the male disciples while Ning Yingying took charge of the females. After Lou Binghe soon took up some work every now and then; it’s just the way things were after...After.

Wei Ming blinked after returning from his thoughts, “Hundreds of apologies, may Zewu-jun repeat himself?”

Lan Xichen smiled, “Of course, I only wished to ask if you would be open to giving me advice on my swordsmanship? Nie Mingjue mentioned before that your advice had helped him improve his saber technique and I would very much like to also improve myself now that the opportunity is open to me.”

“Or perhaps Xichen-ge would not like to be left behind by his dîdi?” Wei Ming said with an amused smile.

At this Lan Xichen’s ears colored slightly even as he smiled neutrally, “That is also a motivation, but I believe no brother would want their younger brother to leave them behind.”

“Very well, when Zewu-jun is free; we shall spar.” Wei Ming’s lips quirked. “I would also like to know if my observations are correct.”

“Let us have this spar soon Teacher Wei, thank you for your time.” Lan Xichen stood and dipped his head slightly before exiting with a final ‘good night’.

<page break hey-ho>

“Gege what are you doing?”

Wei Ming was currently in the Lan Sect library, pouring over old books that amused him and greatly reminded him of some of the brighter moments in his past life. Namely: The Resentment of Chunshan. The book itself was poor in terms of accuracy, but amusing nonetheless. He and the other disciples found themselves horrified and amused by the story described within. Even more so when the Song of BingQiu became popular among the locals.

He was also starring an old map of the land, clearly looked into by someone considering the small hand-written notes in black ink. The penmanship was oddly familiar but Wei Ming couldn’t exactly remember where.

There was also an area circled, the name Cang Qiong Sect written in careful script.

“What do you think?” He asked absentmindedly, fingers brushing over the circled area. It was far from the other Sects, inaccessible due to the mountain ranges that circled it. If one tried, they’d have to do so by climb rather than sword. The air would be thinner; challenging even for a Cultivator.

He vaguely wondered if the land had changed so much as to the sudden growth of mountains around the Cang Qiong Sect area.

“Looks like someone was trying to look for the mythical Cang Qiong Sect,” Wei Ying peered over his brother’s shoulder. Tilting his head at the map. “Weird.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Eh,” Wei Ying shrugged as he sat next to him. “Cause it’s just a legend, no one actually knows if the Cang Qiong Sect is still around. If it ever was around. I mean- demons, the War- it’s described in pretty poetry and details, but other than that- most people write it off as a fantasy since no one’s ever seen it.”

Wei Ming considered the next question carefully, “What do you believe?”

“I think there’s some truth to it,” To himself, Wei Ying vaguely wondered why the sudden inquiry. His brother had no interest in the stories that were normally told to children, he had been busy at the time and Wei Ying only knew of it because the Nie Brothers held a rather large collection of the stories of the illustrious Cang Qiong Sect and one of their most famous Lords: Shen Qingqiu. Nie Huaisang had admitted that most of these were his brother’s, and he himself was promptly amused. Now he was starting to wonder. The stories of the Cang Qiong Sect were often used for the children of Cultivators as lessons, Lan Sect used it too if what was in the library was any indication- it was an impressive collection.

Though it did have nothing on Sect Leader Nie’s secret collection of nearly all the tales of the General from Qing Jing Peak: Huázháo-jun.

“Hm, perhaps,” Wei Ming noted non-committedly, shaking his head. “Let’s talk about what to do for tomorrow.”

“Mn! You should teach-“

[Fun fact about this one up here! In this version of the story, MF brings WWX's body up through the mountains to Cang Qiong Sect in the hopes that he could get help in reviving his brother, thereby re-meeting with his fellow disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect]

[beatles-slash-fiction]

OT5 Part 4...

*****

Brian spends most of the next day chain-smoking.

He’s just a tad stressed.

He’s trying to deal with some urgent insurance issues that need resolving before they all travel abroad next week, so he has to leave the boys to rehearse alone for the day.

The combination of the events of the last few days and the mountain of paintwork gives Brian nothing but a giant headache, and by the time he finishes his work, he’s bloody exhausted.

Brian heads to the theatre just before five to check on the boys, and he’s surprised to find them packing up already when he arrives, having clearly finished for the day.

“It was a bit of a long one today,” Paul says by way of explanation as he packs up his bass. “We’re all shattered.”

“Me too,” Brian says, massaging his temples. “Glad to see you haven’t burnt the place to the ground in my absence.”

“We would never,” Paul replies, sticking his tongue out.

George is being rather quiet as he fiddles with his guitar case; there’s a nervous energy radiating from him. He must be thinking about the task ahead of him tonight.

It’s then that Brian notices Ringo sat on top of the piano, with John standing between his legs.

It’s a very intimate pose; Brian can just about see that they’re holding hands, and they’re talking quietly with each other as the crew work around them checking lights and equipment.

John says something that makes Ringo laugh, and the smaller man leans forward to press their lips together.

Brian doesn’t mind the odd public display of affection between the boys, but he can’t help but raise an eyebrow when the kiss becomes more heated. He makes his way over to them as they continue to trade kisses, which attracts a few whistles from the crew.

“That’s enough of that, lads,” Brian says sternly but fondly. “You shouldn’t be carrying on like that here.”

“Sorry, Eppy,” Ringo says with a shy smile.

They look like a pair of lovestruck teenagers.

“C’mon, boys, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

Ringo puts his hands on John’s shoulders and John grabs the smaller man’s waist to help him down.

“Got a kiss for you too, love,” John says with a wink as Paul walks by.

“Shove off,” Paul says with a playful roll of his eyes.

*****

That night the mood does seem a little lighter when the boys arrive in Brian’s hotel room.

George is still noticeably quiet, but the rest of the boys are laughing and chatting quietly among themselves as they undress. They seem more at ease tonight. A little more relaxed.

“We’re gonna try a different strategy tonight,” Paul says to Brian with a tired smile.

He looks exhausted.

It doesn’t exactly surprise Brian that Paul attempts to take charge again.

“Think of the time in Paris, chaps,” Paul says to them as they all start stroking each other. “Remember that? Remember how naughty we were.”

The four of them all have slightly shy smiles on their faces, and Brian is suddenly very intrigued about Paris.

“It was John’s birthday,” Paul continues, stroking John’s cock faster. “And we all blew him together.”

“Yeah.” John grins and lets out a sigh. “That was a good birthday.”

“And then you fucked us all one by one,” Paul continues.

Brian has to admit he’s getting a little hard himself as Paul recounts the details of that night. Paul is very good at storytelling, and even better at dirty talk it would seem. Brian would expect nothing less from someone who writes such beautiful lyrics.

Paul’s words seem to work though- the boys are all hard in record time, and even George is looking a lot more relaxed.

“I’m close,” John says, his eyes fluttering closed.

Paul slows his stroking while he waits for Ringo and George to catch up. John strokes Ringo’s cock faster, and Ringo speeds up with George too.

“Not too fast,” Paul tells George. “I’m nearly there.”

Brian sits forward in his seat.

Maybe this could be the night. Third time lucky, and all that.

“Close,” Ringo sighs breathlessly.

“Me too,” George adds quickly. “Christ, I think I can get there-“

“Let’s go, lads,” Paul says eagerly. “C’mon, we can do this.”

And with that, the boys all start furiously stroking each other.

The room is filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and breathless sighs and moans. Brian watches their faces carefully, studying the pleasure on their beautiful features. He’s willing them to succeed.

John is the first to come.

He lets out a cry, his whole body going rigid as he finishes in Paul’s fist. Remarkably, John only takes a couple of seconds to recover, before he starts vigorously pumping Ringo again.

“Ten,” Brian says, counting down as per the original agreement. “Nine. Eight.”

Ringo orgasms, arching his back with a sigh.

“Seven. Six.”

The expressions on Paul and George’s faces start to morph from pleasure to panic as they realise the clock is ticking.

Fuck.

“Five,” Brian says softly. “Nearly there, lads, you can do this. Four. Three.”

George lets out a little frustrated cry, and Paul’s erection is definitely flagging.

They’re not going to make it.

“Two. One.”

Paul looks utterly exhausted. He doesn’t wait for Brian to tell them they’ve failed again; instead he stands and heads to the bathroom in silence to wash his hands.

The other three watch him with worried looks on their faces, before turning to Brian.

“Not quite there yet, lads,” Brian says softly. “But a really good attempt tonight. Keep that energy going and you’ll get there. I’m really pleased with the progress you’ve made.”

George still has disappointment etched all over his features, but John and Ringo look a little more hopeful at least. They glance at the bathroom worriedly though.

Brian sighs and loosens his tie. It’s a good thing it’s Paul’s night with him tonight.

*****

“Don’t laugh,” Paul says quietly when he returns to Brian’s room with his things for the night.

Along with his pyjamas and toiletries, he’s clutching a tiny stuffed teddy bear to his chest.

He suddenly looks so very young, and Brian desperately wants to hold him close and tell him everything’s okay.

“I wouldn’t ever laugh at you,” Brian says softly.

“He always comes on tour with me,” Paul says as he starts pulling off his clothes. He pauses as he reaches for his pyjamas. “We’re not having sex, right?”

“No,” Brian chuckles. “Not tonight. Does he have a name?”

“Colin.” Paul smiles shyly, holding the bear close. “I’ve had him since I was a kid. I know it’s babyish but...I dunno. He always helps me when I feel stressed.”

Brian feels a wave of affection wash over him for Paul. It’s almost nice to see the vulnerable side of him.

“Have you been stressed lately?” Brian kisses the top of Paul’s head and wraps his arms around him.

“I always get stressed on tour. And I worry about other rubbish too, y’know? Like did I lock the front door to the flat before we left? Did I leave the stove on? Is our creepy neighbour gonna be waiting for us when we get home?”

“And Colin makes you feel better?”

Paul nods. “I know it’s stupid. George suggested it, actually. Whenever I’m getting worried about stuff I just squeeze Colin and tell him what I’m worried about. But I’m only allowed to do it at a certain time of the day, and then I’m not allowed to think about that stuff.”

“It’s not stupid at all. You boys have a similar effect on me when I cuddle you.”

Paul laughs at that, and Brian kisses him slowly.

“You’re part of a team, Paul. You don’t have to let everything rest on you all of the time. I know you’re a natural leader and you do a wonderful job of getting things done, but it doesn’t all have to be down to you. You can take a step back. Lean on the others a bit more.”

“Mm. I have been thinking about that. Your little task has made me realise how controlling I am.” Paul blinks at Brian with wide eyes. “Don’t tell the others I admitted that to you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They drift off to sleep in each other’s arms with Colin nestled tightly between them.

TO BE CONTINUED

[tejaswrites]

Wildflowers

For @14daysdalovers!

Pairing: Persephone Hawke x Knight-Captain Rylen Summary: It’s spring in the Frostbacks. One of the hold’s young men asks Rylen for romantic advice. As he gives it, he reminisces on loving Persephone. Rating: Gen / Word count: 1416 Also available on AO3

---

It was one of those days in early spring when the earth had a last become more alive than dead, when Rylen laid back in the grass and tilted his head toward the late morning sun. The earth was still damp with the last of the melting snow disappearing no more than a few days before, but he enjoyed it anyway, as he did the first outing every spring.

Winters were harsh in the mountains and he relished the coming of summer, even if it was far from the ones he’d grown up with on the shores on the Minanter. The streams of the Frostbacks never ran warm enough to take a dip in, for him at least. The cold never kept the youth of the clan away though. Maybe they were made of sterner stuff, or maybe he was just getting too old to be playing in rivers like he did when he was young.

A shout from across the field drew his attention to where a group of teenage boys wrestled in an effort to impress a few of the young women braiding wildflowers into crowns nearby. The girls whispered behind their hands; giggles, laughter, and gasps slipping out every so often when the boys knocked each other into the dirt at their feet. Younger children frolicked: some cartwheeled down the hillside while others played tag, darting between the older youths and adults. Everyone celebrated the return of spring in their own way.

He tilted his face back toward the sun and couldn’t help but smile at the way his life had turned out.

A shadow interrupted his sunlight and he popped an eye open.

Angus stood next to him. One of the older teens, he’d known Angus since they’d arrived at the hold nearly a decade ago, though he was just a boy then. He was proud of the man he was becoming. One who cared for his family and looked out for others. From what Rylen had learned about the Avvar, he might even be thane some day.

“Something wrong?”

Angus shook his head as he squatted down. “Can I ask something?”

“I’m always glad to. You know that.”

“I know, but…” he hesitated as he sat down with crossed legs. He scratched at the back of his neck and his eyes flickered toward the group of young women crafting flower crowns.

Rylen followed his gaze. No longer just young women, he realized as he caught sight of Persephone settled among them. Wrapped in the heavy winter skins she’d wear until the height of summer, she focused on a basket of greens, tying the collected herbs into bundles for drying. She laughed at something, and Rylen’s heart lightened at the smile that spread wide across her face.

Even after all these years and all his travels, her smile was still one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

At Angus’s continued silence, Rylen prompted him, “But what?”

Angus snapped his eyes back to Rylen, away from the group of women. “You and Augur Hawke, you are not married.”

“That’s right, we’re not.”

“You never untied knots from her rope?”

Rylen shook his head, wondering what the young man was getting at. “Nay.”

“Why not?”

Rylen shrugged. Their arrangement might be unusual, even for the Avvar and their marriage traditions, but it worked for them and that was all that mattered. Years ago, when they’d first arrived in the mountains, some thought it meant they were available to marry others, but after so long most had come to understand they were committed to each other, marriage rope or not. “I love her, and she loves me. We don’t need a ceremony to tell us that.”

Angus picked at the grass in front of him as Rylen glanced back over at Persephone, still bundling herbs as she chatted with the group of young women. Fifteen years since he’d first laid on her and fifteen years since he’d wanted anyone else. She’d been made from the same piece of the Fade as he, that much he knew. Even during their darkest days he’d never doubted that.

“How did you know?” Angus finally asked, intent on shredding the blades of grass he now held between his fingers.

“Know what?”

“That you loved her...and that she loved you back.”

Rylen laughed. “I’m not the one to give you that advice. I loved her far before she knew she felt the same.”

“But how did you know?” he pressed.

Settling back on the grass, Rylen stared up at the sky. “It was intense, at first. The world was brighter and every breath sweeter because of her. Every moment of every day, she was all I thought about. All I wanted.”

Kirkwall was a world away now, as though it had been a dream. It wasn’t. He had been there, in the aftermath of the explosion, and so had she. They were different people now. How could they not be after all they’d been through?

“Yeah?” Angus breathed next to him.

Rylen pushed himself onto his elbows and his glance confirmed the young man was hanging on his every word. “It was like now: the first warmth of spring after a long, dark winter. As though I finally lived for the first time.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you now?”

Angus sucked in a deep breath, as though he were about to share something important. “I feel that way about Jorunn.”

“Jorunn Asdisdottir?” Rylen wouldn’t have that she would catch Angus’s attention, but then, who would have thought he’d catch Persephone’s? Love worked like that.

“Quiet!” Angus dipped his head and a flush appeared. “She’ll hear you.”

“I dinna think so.” The group of young women surrounding Persephone were now singing and braiding each other’s hair, the young men showing off for them all but forgotten. The particular woman in question was situating a flower crown on her younger sister’s head.

“I want to marry her,” Angus confessed, following Rylen’s gaze.

It would be a good match. Jorunn was known to be as equally kind and generous as Angus was. If their marriage lasted, it would be good for the future of the hold. “And what does she think about that?”

Angus shook his head. “I haven’t told her. What if she says no?”

“She may, and if she does the gods will see that you find another good match.”

“But I don’t want a good match. I want her,” the young man lamented.

“I know, Angus, I know.” Persephone had begun to gather her herb bundles, returning them to her basket. Rylen pushed himself to his feet, offering a hand to Angus to help him off the ground. “You dinna have to tell her today, but start letting her know how you feel about her.”

“How?”

“Talk to her. Pay attention. Learn. Some will tell you to give her gifts or sing her songs, but none of that matters until you know her. Let’s go help.” He gestured toward the group of women now gathering their belongings.

He held Persephone’s gaze as he crossed the meadow directly for her. “I’ll carry that,” he told her as he took the basket laden with spring herbs, slipping it onto his forearm.

“My savior,” she teased as she lifted her heels to give herself more height to give him a chaste peck on the cheek.

Rylen wasn’t letting get away that easily. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her properly. The herbs went flying out of the basket when he dipped her and her arms flew to wrap around his shoulders with a shriek, “Rylen!”

He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “I got them.”

And he did, picking up every last bundle and returning them to the basket on his arm, before he reached for her hand. “Back to the hold then?”

“Were you matchmaking?” Persephone lifted an eyebrow and nodded in front of them. Angus walked alongside Jorunn and her sister, intently listening to whatever it was the former was talking about.

“Not so much that as encouraging,” he chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips and spreading kisses along her knuckles.

“You are hopeless.”

“Aye,” he smiled as he intertwined their fingers. “Hopelessly in love with you.”

Persephone shook her head at him but returned his smile all the same. Hand in hand, they followed the group back to the hold, back to the life he wouldn’t trade for anything.

[drsenkustone]

Helloo, it is I, the anonymous person, who you may call/recognise by the nickname Onion! I wondered if you could write something for a wandering merchant s/o with Senku? They had woken up a while before him and been wandering around, collecting stuff etc. Of course, if you don't want to write this it's perfectly fine! I love your work, it's amazing, 6/5

You carefully climbed back down the steep mountain side, until you felt safe enough to jump to the ground from a height that wouldn’t hurt your limbs. In your side pouch you had collected a bunch of shiny black and grey rocks, some tiny crystals were noticeable in there too. You emptied your findings into your make-shift carriage. To be honest, it was really small, could only hold so much. But in the time you have been awake, you made yourself a tiny home off a large tree, gathered your food and found others here and there. It was super awkward because some acted pretty normal, while others dressed quite differently. You noticed first how odd their shoes were, compared to yours at least.

You started to get a reputation between the few people you stumbled upon to having some sort of supplies they might be interested in, in return them trading you with another useful object. A guy named Tsukasa sent his men out to your shack as a regular customer. He offered you safety in his group, wonderfully cooked food and a progressive new world, but you preferred to be a free bird while you could. Maybe one day though, and he wasn’t forgetting that anytime soon.

As you dragged your cart down a dirt pathway, you heard a call from behind, noticing a blonde boy with a spear and a spiky haired boy walking up to you. You recognized the blonde as Ginro, he found you and came to you on and off for some specialty fish. The taller man was new, but no customer un-welcomed. You stopped your cart and brushed off the dirt from your clothes to be presentable, greeting them with a large, friendly smile and wave.

“Hey Ginro, been a while!”’ you chirped.

“See Senku, this is the girl I was talking about! (Y/n) is really good with finding stuff, she might have more of those magnet things!” You let the fact that he didn’t greet you slide, he was still a kid but it wasn’t your place to teach him basic mannerism. Besides, he was selling your business for you.

“You’re looking for magnets?”

Senku looked up from your cart and met your eyes. “You know what magnets are?” he asked, a little shock in his voice. In a moment, you both made the connection that you guys were from the same time period, like how you connected that with Tsukasa. You proudly nodded, your smile soft.

“Yeah, before the world became to stone. I was majoring in geology but never would’ve figured this is how I’d use my knowledge,” you laughed, opening your cart and pulling out some of the small black sparkly rocks. Senku’s face lit up and he stepped closer to observe them.

“Hehe, they’re the real deal. You do know your stuff (Y/n),” he grinned and your cheeks got a hint of pink. He’s known you for all of five minutes and felt comfortable to call you by your first name, not to mention the small compliment. “From what Ginro’s said, you do trades, since money isn’t much of an object here yet.” You nodded to confirm, glancing at Ginro to see he looked incredibly confused at your conversation with Senku. He was one of those guys in the weird shoes, but a good guy. “How much of what can I trade you for all you have?”

You put a hand to your chin in thought. What you could really use right now was a better weapon, all your rock knifes were pretty dull and your hands had scars from bleeding in the process of making them. Ginro’s staff looked pretty sturdy and it’d be easier to fish with, but you weren’t about to take his personal weapon. “Whomever can make a copy of Ginro’s staff, a sturdy one, that’ll be enough. I’ll give you two magnets as a deposit and the rest will come when the staff is handed over.”

“Sounds fair to me, give us a day. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow,” Senku agreed, taking the magnets from you, a smile gracing his lips. The boys left on their way and you smiled shly to yourself. Senku…he sure was a handsome guy. But now’s not the time to get love on the brain (y/n). Time to head home.

---TIME SKIP---

You didn’t really keep track of how many days or weeks or months have gone by, it was kind of nice just living life like that, you lived more in-the-moment. But the best moments have been when Senku comes by for a trade. He regularly stopped at your shack, seeing what you’ve collected, talking with you for a while, and sometimes sharing a meal you cooked too. You both reminisced on when the world was pre-stone age, remembering all the technological advances versus how simplistic it was now. Senku even shared how the Kingdom of Science was about to create cell phones, which left you speechless. It was getting late, and another day of Senku’s company was coming to an end. It left you feeling bittersweet.

“Are you coming with me yet?” he grinned, which looked a little bit evil to be honest.

“What do you mean?...” You hesitantly asked.

“To the Kingdom of Science. I can’t imagine a modern day girl like you would want to continue living like this forever, even if you are a geologist.” You stared into the fire, a bit of somberness in your eyes, that didn’t go unnoticed by Senku.

“You’re not wrong…but..ugh I don’t know,” You sighed. You knew you had feelings for Senku. It would make your world so much brighter to help him and wake up to see him every day instead of once a week. But he was at war with Tsukasa’s army and had some insane ideas he was putting on an old village. Was it really possible?

“I thought you might be a little apprehensive, so I brought insurance,” he chuckled and pulled out what looked like a flashlight from his side pouch. With one flick, he turned it on and directed it towards the darkening woods, proving how powerful it was. You were surprised he already created a flashlight in such a short period of time. “This only took us a day to complete, thankfully you had all the materials we needed. We’ve created a generator already, amped up our cooking skills like ramen and cotton candy and have a professional craftsman who’s mastered the art of glass making. We can have the world back to normal sooner with your help (y/n).”

Your surprised face slowly turned to a smile, followed by laughter which had the scientist questioning you. You waved a hand down, meaning it was okay. “I’m not laughing at that Senku-kun, it’s just surprising after all of this we can have our normal lives one day soon. Plus, I also get a hint of selfishness that somebody misses his laboratory too.~” You teased, poking the tip of his nose. His cheeks tinted pink and he looked away, rubbing lightly where you poked him. He was cute.

“Of course I do,” he softly hummed. “But right now my top priority is saving humanity. And your help would be very useful (y/n).”

“Don’t worry, I’ll follow you Senku-kun!” You smiled, he returned the grin with his own, rubbing your head and fluffing up your hair while you protested.

BONUS HEADCANONS:

While you were still a wandering merchant, Senku would make it a goal to visit you once a week. He was intrigued by you overall, but still felt without company, loneness would consume you.

He liked to see you alone, but he never stopped his other friends from coming. It helped encourage you to follow his Kingdom of Science as well.

After joining the team, you were the supplier for many items. Though you didn’t need any trades now, Senku still gave you high fives or other trinkets you may like. (Seashells, shiny new weapons, take your pick.) Once your relationship with him got more intimate and he was comfortable, he’d give you little kisses on the cheeks or back of your neck in private.

Senku eventually calculated the day you woke up. It added to the investigation how you woke up earlier then and if the revival fluid had played a role.

Senku would ask for your help in the lab most often. Between you and Gen of the modern world, he liked to get second opinions for how things looked or worked, but it was an excuse for him to have more time with you. (And Gen knew it and encouraged it. He was so proud of the leak-haired scientist to be unconsciously falling for you!)

[foxtophat]

hello hello hello

i got thrown off my groove for a month there doing irl shit but i finally sat down and posted this piece of mercy fic that i’ve been sitting on for like a month. it’s all about john and kim hanging out and bonding so that’s fun!!!

i have a couple of ideas for stories but i’m not QUITE SURE how many of them are going to actually get posted. i might do like a yearly synopsis and put it in the series, writing out what happens between stories and stuff so when i reference shit it isn’t out of the blue, BUT ALSO i am lazy and it’s a miracle mercyverse has gotten this much from me, so lets not try to rock the boat huh???

anyway this is a story about john and kim falling into a cave. it’s like a bottle episode except the bottle is like a large intestine.  i hope you like it!!! if you do, consider reblogging this post, or sharing the link, or kudosing or commenting or liking or subscribing or SMASHING THAT BELL

as usual, the story is under the cut for those of you who want to stay on tumblr for some godforsaken reason

Kim had thought that she was doing Nick and John a favor when she first offered to go cache-hunting with them. After all, Grace and Carmina had their hands full working on the yard's shooting range, and there hadn't been anything better to do than dig a couple of holes out in the woods. She'd figured, why not? An extra set of hands could speed things up, and she could keep them focused on digging instead of bickering.

Of course, now that she's out here with them, she regrets ever having offered. As it turns out, their method of cache-hunting involves incessantly goading one another into a fight, trading places between aggressive pessimism and irritatingly fake optimism whenever it might serve to piss the other off more. She's given up on trying to stop it; after all, it's not too much worse than what they say while mending fences and hauling scrap. It's just that the distance between them means that they're arguing at a headache-inducing level.

At the very least, Kim had hoped for some kind of method they could fall back on, but at three hours in, they've all but given up. She supposes the first two caches had been pretty easy to find, being in areas where the terrain hasn't changed much — but this neck of the woods has definitely seen some shifting. Between the rock slides and massive knots of collapsed trees, the steep hillside looks more like a beaver dam than the picturesque hiking trail it probably used to be.

"I'm starting to think that Jacob was full of shit," Nick says, as if he hasn't been reiterating the sentiment for the last thirty minutes. "There's no way we're gonna find anything out here."

Nick might be right, but Kim isn't about to gang up on John right now. She's been mostly staying out of it as the two of them argue about Jacob's map coordinates; why get involved now?

She ignores them and instead picks her way up the hillside towards one of the many uprooted trees nearby. Just like the last dozen trees she's checked, this one doesn't hold a barrel in its roots, nor do any of them have any damn sign indicating where they should be looking. Whatever marker Jacob might've left, paranoid bastard that he was, it's definitely been destroyed by the apocalypse.

"I told you that this wasn't going to be easy," John says. "There's half a mile of trail to search, and there's only three of us. This isn't some pasture outside town —"

"When I asked you if we should bring Grace and Carmina along, you said they would just get in the way! Now here you are, telling me we need more people!"

"If they were here, who do you think Grace would blame if Carmina got a goddamn splinter or scraped her knee? How do you still not get that she is actively looking for a reason to shoot me?"

"At this point, I'm looking for a reason, so I don't know what you're expecting!"

Kim has to admit, they're both making pretty good points. She just wishes they wouldn't make it sound like the start of a fistfight.

John's sigh is especially theatrical, and Kim hears the leaves crunch underfoot as he begins to stalk up the hill after her. He's probably going to try passing her, just to get space from Nick, but he really shouldn't bother. They should at least stop for something to eat and some water, and then they can figure out whether or not expanding the search zone is a good idea. They should probably reconsider their current "poke around and hope" method, too.

Setting her sights on a stout, dead tree with its roots partially torn up, Kim decides to make that the last straw. If she's got any luck at all, the cache will be tangled up in the tree's roots, and she'll be able to gloat about finding it for the rest of forever.

"Don't get too excited," John says, catching up to her as he runs away from Nick.

"Too late for that," Kim teases. "My hopes are at an all-time high. I'm about to be crushed by the disappointment."

"Fantastic," John grunts, rolling his eyes.

He lets her take the first approach on the tree, which juts awkwardly out of the ground at an acute angle. Its scraggly branches are covered in dry needles, and the partially exposed root system seems to have rotted from rain. There are no other trees for a good couple of yards in any direction, so this tree must've gotten the brunt of the worst nuclear weather.

"We should take a break," Nick shouts from halfway down the hill. "I need a goddamn drink!"

"I told him this would be a waste of time," John grumbles. "We could have taken any other location, even the one at the goddamn compound, and had better luck than out here."

"Well, we're here now," Kim replies. "Come on, maybe the cache is tangled up in the roots or something."

John reluctantly follows Kim as she tests the spongier, damp soil around the rotting tree's base. It's clear he's already given up, but that only makes Kim more determined to find something worth the trip out here — at the very least, so that she can rub it in John's pessimistic face. He can't be a sour bastard forever.

No barrel in the root system, of course. All Kim finds is molding wood and the flash of exposed rock. It's just muddy enough that Kim's going to have to scrub her boots when they get back. From here, she can see the slope of the hillside, and the trees that slump with their tops pointed in her direction. It's like they're telling her, go back!

"Please talk Nick into giving this up," John insists, lingering right behind her and scowling at the roots that have betrayed both of them.

"I mean, we've only been out here for two hours. There's plenty of time to find something." Kim crouches down to check the rocky substrate for anything interesting. "Look on the bright side, at least we don't have to dig."

"I think you two are blinded by that bright side of yours." John sighs, leaning against the tree and glaring down in Nick's direction. "You know that the interstate is only a half-day hike from here, right? This is the exact sort of place Jacob would've stashed passports, money — bug-out kits to abandon the county, that kind of thing. It's not like he buried more coffee and rice out here."

"So is that your new theory? Jacob was planning escape routes for you guys?"

John frowns. "It's one of them."

Kim stands and comes around to join him by the trunk. She debates on invoking Jacob's memory any more than she already has; he seems to have a habit of upsetting John even from the grave. She gives the tree trunk a little kick as she considers pressing him, knocking some mud from her boot tread.

Her curiosity takes a backseat as the world lurches uncomfortably beneath them. She catches herself against the trunk and looks towards Nick, who's picking his way up towards them. Only now does she notice that the trees in this direction also lean inwards, towards the lone tree they're currently beside.

John catches on at the same time, hissing under his breath before hollering a warning. "It's a goddamn sinkhole, Nick, watch out!"

The inconvenience turns into real fear as Kim considers the terrain. With all the caves littering the mountains around here, there's no telling how deep the void beneath their feet might be — five feet, twenty? Or, God help them, more?

Kim struggles not to panic as Nick makes no effort to hide his own. "Come on, you guys," Nick calls from between two jutting evergreens, "Just cut across before the whole damn thing gives out!"

There's not a second to spare, but even as Kim starts to move she knows it's too late. She gets one last look at Nick's horrified expression before she, John, and the dead tree crash down into the empty space below.

Kim lands hard on her side, her arm taking the brunt of the blow and blossoming in radiant, white-hot pain. The world around her, suddenly dark and unfamiliar, tunnels alarmingly out of her vision, her blood rushing into her ears until she can only vaguely hear her own pained crying. Trying to move only causes daggers of pain to shoot right up her arm and into her brain, but she only finds that out as she rolls off of her definitely broken arm. At least, Kim's pretty sure it's broken. She's terrified of looking over and seeing her bone poking out, or something even worse — she knows that she won't be able to stand it, that she'll pass out, and she can't do that down here in this goddamn cavern!

Vague, warped voices vibrate through her as John appears abruptly by her side. The left side of his face is covered in a smear of blood from a deep wound scored over his brow. His mouth moves like he's trying to speak to her. God, her fucking arm!

"Take a deep breath," John commands once again, and this time Kim hears him and abides. The pain doesn't subside, but at least the panic that comes with it is softened as she struggles to calm down. As she does, the background noises begin to come into focus; the crumbling rubble settling, the sharp, birdless silence of the air, and most importantly, Nick hysterically shouting her name from above.

John puts a hand on the shoulder not currently delivering mountains of pain. "Another one," he says, and Kim obeys. It's while she's trying to catch her breath that John steps away, cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting up, "Kim's broken her arm!"

"God damn it, what happened — never mind, just —! Stay put! I'll go get help!" Nick's voice cracks as he realizes aloud, "Shit, there's nobody to get help from!"

Kim sucks in a deep breath. There's no way that John is going to be able to handle Nick's mounting panic by himself, and so she steels herself and tries to steady her voice. "It's gonna be okay!" she shouts. "I'm fine!"

"Bullshit you're fine, that looks like a two-story drop from here!"

John swears under his breath. "I don't have time for this."

"He's going to try and jump down if we don't talk him out of it," Kim hisses, closing her eyes as a wave of painful pins and needles washes up her arm. She keeps accidentally moving it, and the feeling of the bone scraping is enough to make her want to vomit.

John clearly decides she's right, changing tactics as Kim desperately tries not to start sobbing again. "It isn't bad, Nick!" he shouts, "But I need rope if I'm going to splint it! Get the cord from the glove box!"

Nick is quiet for a moment. "Y-Yeah," he calls down shakily, "I... I guess you got plenty to work with — hold on!"

Kim lets out a breath she hadn't meant to hold, then bites back the scream that threatens to rip from her throat. "Please tell me you can do this," she moans as John crouches down beside her broken arm. "I can't look — is there bone?"

"There's no bone," John replies. His voice is tight and unhappy, but at least he isn't lacking in confidence when he tells her, "I know what I'm doing. Try to stay conscious, and don't move. The last thing I need is to be stuck alone with Nick."

"Excuse him for worrying," she groans, staring up at the sky through the fifteen-foot-wide hole above her. She counts down the seconds until Nick gets back, if only to focus on something other than the pain.

John leaves her to it, making his way over to the tree that's joined them here in the cavern. There isn't much else down here besides them and the vegetation that came down with them; the sinkhole must have joined with a cavern somewhere along the way. The rock here probably hasn't seen daylight before — when she glances around, she spots a dark crack in the wall that implies there might be more, unlit caves to explore beyond.

Boy, she really does not want to go into that creepy tunnel, and she especially doesn't want to do it with a broken arm. Thankfully, Nick returns before that worry turns to panic.

"Everything okay? Actually, never mind — look, I got the rope, and the first-aid kit!"

Anything Nick decides to throw down is going to stay down here, and so Kim quickly stops him. "You keep that, Nick! If you get hurt up there, you'll need it!"

"We need it more," John points out, returning to her with a few branches that he clearly intends to use as a splint. He's not wrong about the medkit; the cut over his eye is a nasty one, and Kim could use all of those expired painkillers about now. Not to mention, there might be more injuries they've missed.

Still. "I'm not leaving Nick without supplies," she says.

John doesn't reply, but his scowl speaks volumes.

After a minute or so, Nick is ready to throw the cord down. They coordinate the hand-off just fine without her, which is great, because Kim needs to reserve all of her strength for what's to come.

Nick's bundled a few of the medical supplies into his worn-out flannel, along with the crank flashlight and one of the ultra-dry military rations, all tied off with the paracord. Kim is both touched at the thought and horrified at the idea that they might be here long enough to get hungry.

"This is good, Nick," John calls. "We're in a cave — there's got to be another way out nearby!"

"I'll go look for a way in!"

"No," Kim shouts, her voice cracking, "You might get hurt, Nick!"

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, Kim! I'm not gonna leave you down there!"

Kim has never in her life imagined that she would say her next words, but that doesn't mean she doesn't mean it. "I'm going to be okay! John's down here with me, I'll be fine!"

John doesn't seem to have expected her to say that, either, boggling at her with open confusion. But... well, come on! If John can trust her enough to gun down Peggies trying to kidnap him, then she can at least trust him to help her limp out of one of Hope County's many caves. Sure, it's not an ideal situation by any means, but Kim's just happy not to be stuck looking for a way out by herself.

"Are you sure you can even walk?" Nick calls uneasily.

"I can handle it, Nick," John replies for her. "We'll look for a way out — if we don't find anything in an hour, we'll come back here and try something else!"

"What the hell do you want me to do!"

John pauses long enough to look at Kim, but since he seems to have more ideas than she does, she defers to his judgment. "Circle west around the hill and look for any entrances to call from! There's going to be a cave opening somewhere nearby!"

"I don't like any of this, Kim!"

John pinches the bridge of his nose, leaving Kim to answer, "It's the only plan we've got!"

The silence from above stretches out. "We don't have time for this," John mutters, abandoning his attempts to reassure Nick. "There's no telling where a way out might be, and I'm not wasting more time because Nick can't trust me."

"It's not about trust," Kim snipes in return. "He's trying not to panic."

John only grunts in return, settling on his knees next to her as he prepares to do the hard part for her. That leaves it up to Kim to encourage Nick to get a move on; she really doesn't want him sticking around for the painful part. "Nick, be careful, I don't want you to fall in another sinkhole! We'll be okay!"

Nick is frustratingly silent for another moment, but eventually, he relents. "Okay, fine! Remember to mark your path! And don't trust any ropes or ladders you see! And stay outta any water you find, you don't know how deep it is!"

"Jesus Christ," John mutters.

"Oh, shut up," Kim tells him, lifting her strained voice to call back. "Alright, Nick! We'll be careful! We'll see you soon!"

Kim makes John wait another minute after Nick leaves before she lets him at her arm. Despite his sour expression, John manages to be nothing more than stern, and surprisingly gentle. "Careful," he tells her, as if she needs a warning as he adjusts her broken arm. She's unable to decide if the burning sensation or the stabbing sensation is worse, but they're both vying for the spot as John examines the fracture. God, she hopes he knows what he's doing. She hopes it heals clean. She doesn't know what she'll do if she loses the thing.

John jostles her a little too abruptly, and a gasp of pain tears her from her downward spiral of worst possible outcomes. If John notices, he doesn't comment.

"It's not so bad," he says, although Kim's still not sure if she trusts his judgment on the matter. "It seems like a single fracture. I'll splint it, and... Well, there's somebody in town with medical experience, isn't there?"

"I don't know," Kim gasps, head reeling, "Maybe?"

John sighs. "Well, at least you'll survive."

"You better hope so," Kim jokes, or tries to anyway.

John rolls his eyes, but thankfully he's not in a vindictive mood as he prepares to set her arm. "You'll want to scream," he tells her. "Try breathing through your nose instead."

He sure isn't wrong. Kim can't think straight for a minute after he's finished, her face wet as the pain forces her to tears, but John is utterly detached and methodical as he binds her arm to one of the branches. It's reassuring at first, but Kim can't help but wonder just how many people suffered broken bones and serious trauma at his hands, only to see the same dispassionate bedside manner afterward? God, assuming they even survived what he put them through.

"Catch your breath," John tells her once he's done, standing and turning back to further investigate the tree. "The cave systems go on for miles down here, but there are dozens of openings in the hills. As long as we stick to the larger tunnels, we should be able to find one of them."

Kim watches him pick through the tree, sizing out larger branches and dismissing them one by one.

"I'm surprised you're not more freaked out," she says as he picks out a four-foot branch. "You know, being underground and everything."

John furiously breaks the branch from the trunk, then roughly cleans it of dead sprigs and foliage. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Sorry, I just meant —"

"I know what you meant," he says. "It's fine. I'm not... Like I said, these tunnels are hardly inescapable." He strikes the branch against the ground and seems satisfied by the sound. "I spent a lot of time studying the cave systems out here. We considered using them for passage between the gates, but that plan never went anywhere. It left me with enough useless knowledge that I'm not prone to panic down here."

"Useless until now," Kim points out. "Now help me up and let's get the hell out of here."

John helps her to her feet with her good arm, careful not to jostle the splint as she tests her balance. The world heaves for an uncomfortable second or two before righting itself, although it's mostly shock and adrenaline keeping her moving. She's not sure how long that's going to last, but she sure hopes it's long enough to reunite with Nick.

"I should probably lead," John says, looking unhappy about her tentatively upright position.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm in the position to trail-blaze."

"You're barely in the position to walk," he replies. Casting one last look around the sunlit cavern, John turns towards the dark crack in the wall that leads further into the system. "Try not to pass out."

"No promises," she says, staggering her way to their only exit.

She can feel the cool, musty air from here, oddly relieving against her sweaty face. She wishes she hadn't watched The Descent so many times before the apocalypse, because that is really coloring her perception of this situation. Of course, they're more likely to run into a wolverine or bear den than they are to be hunted by a pack of cave-dwelling mutants, but that doesn't stop her from considering it.

John starts forward. Kim, anxious and trembling in pain, tries to joke. "Just avoid stepping on any weird symbols carved into the ground, okay?"

"Christ," John groans, the same way he does every time somebody tries to rope him in with a pop-culture reference. He winds the flashlight up and the beam of light cuts a sharp swath across the dark tunnel "Will you two please let that Hollywood bullshit die already?"

"Oh, relax," she replies. "Tropes are older than L.A. and you know it. They aren't going to disappear just because civilization got nuked."

"One can dream," John snipes dryly in return.

Of course, even with the attitude, John keeps close to Kim, sticking to her uninjured side. Kim imagines her slow pace must be irritating the crap out of him, but he impressively manages not to sigh or stomp like a passive-aggressive toddler. He's been getting a lot better about letting his exasperation get to him, although she bets it's got a lot to do with exhaustion and survival instinct right now.

The silence stretches for a time between them. Kim imagines John is lost in his thoughts, but she's been hyper-aware of every distant sound of rubble shifting or oddly-shaped rock formations that are easy to mistake for humanoid shapes in the dark. The tunnel is only about eight feet across and somewhat taller than that, but that's plenty of room for Kim's imagination to play tricks on her.

"I always thought your anti-Hollywood thing was some kind of shtick," she admits. "Maybe you got scorned on a screenplay or something, I dunno. But you really believe that all of the entertainment industry deserved to get firebombed out of existence?"

"It deserved a reckoning," John replies.

"You mean something like nuclear annihilation?"

John's frown deepens. "Maybe," he says stiffly.

Normally, Kim would try to dig into that more, but she's not in a position to make much sense of it right now. Honestly, the conversation is irrelevant — she just needs something to keep her from fantasizing about monsters in the dark. Or, you know, passing out. Whichever would be worse.

"So I guess you don't have a desert island five, then."

John huffs loudly at that. "I wouldn't be able to remember it."

That just tells Kim that he does have one. She bets American Psycho or Fight Club was on it. Maybe Fear and Loathing?

"Okay, well... say you had to pick a movie to watch as soon as we got home. What would it be?"

Even without looking, Kim knows he's rolling his eyes. "Seriously? Is this really the time?"

"Humor me."

He groans in annoyance, but Kim doesn't miss the short stretch of silence that follows as he thinks it over.

"I don't know," he finally grumbles.

"Come on, you've got to have something."

"I only ever saw a handful of movies growing up, and I lost interest in the medium in college."

"God, you must have been a pretentious bastard."

Despite himself, John chuckles at the jab. "Oh, you have no idea," he replies.

The conversation dies, just like John had probably hoped it would. Kim tries to find something else to distract her, but there's really not much to look at. They've only found one offshoot that John had been able to fit in, but it had ended only a few yards in. They've been exploring for maybe fifteen minutes, though; there's still time for a miracle. Until then, she's got moss to look at, and the distant trickle of water from somewhere far away. With the way the land's shifted, there may be a new river forming somewhere up on the surface. In a few decades, it could swallow these caverns entirely.

"How does your arm feel?" John asks, his voice bouncing off the walls and breaking the silence.

"Not... great," she admits, still trying not to focus on the numb agony of her arm. "I wouldn't mind lying down and sleeping for a few weeks right about now, but I think I can keep it together until we find a way out."

She hopes, anyway.

"Good." John takes a moment to crank the flashlight before it can go out, then picks up the conversation as though Kim weren't even there. "There's nobody in town that I know of that has serious medical experience. With the gates destroyed, there's no telling where the experts we'd vetted for the Project wound up. Dead, probably. Or worse, still involved with Joseph. Hell, even a vet would be better than nothing."

He's definitely more anxious than he wants to let on. Kim doesn't believe for a second that being in this endless, dark tunnel is any better than being trapped in a bunker, save for maybe the space. At least in a bunker, you know which way is out, and you know what's going to kill you.

Now Kim is the one who starts to ramble. "I mean, there's got to be an eagle scout out there somewhere. And there were a couple of doctors still working when I had Carmina — one of them might've survived, right? Somebody out there will know enough to check your handiwork. For the record, though, I think you did a pretty good job for a guy stuck in a pit."

John shakes his head. "I've set plenty of broken limbs." There's a weird sort of challenge in his voice as he says, "Of course, I was the one who broke most of them."

"And I think you feel pretty shitty about it, so I don't know why you sound so smug."

"I'm just reminding you of who you're trying to compliment."

Kim rolls her eyes, her exasperation carrying over in her voice. "I know exactly who you are, John. Quit trying to rile me up like you do with Nick, it isn't going to work."

He huffs. "Sure," he says, then promptly shuts up. Of course he does. No wonder he only ever wants to talk to Nick — it's like he doesn't know how to hold a conversation without trying to start a fight.

Well, Kim needs something to distract her, so she'll carry on with it herself. "I've sprained my ankle a couple of times, but the only time I've ever broken a bone was in soccer camp when I was... thirteen, I think? It was my big toe, and the humiliation was way worse than the pain."

"I can't imagine," John drawls, distinctly unenthusiastic.

Kim opens her mouth to ask the obvious question, then catches herself. Asking about John's past is essentially opening Pandora's box; every time Kim has gone digging, she comes away with something new she wishes she could forget about. The breadcrumbs of information he's given her over the past year or so have honestly kept her up some nights. She probably doesn't want to know anything about the number of broken bones John's had. She definitely doesn't want to know how.

John looks over at her, daring her to ask. It's only when Kim manages to contain her curiosity that he parts with a few terse details. "The first time was when I was eleven. It was a powerful learning experience. One I... try not to revisit."

"Sure," she says. It sounds reasonable enough, anyway.

The flashlight's beam cuts across the wall further ahead, revealing the first major fork that they've come across. They're forced to take an impromptu break as John tries to determine their best way forward. John scowls at the darkness in either direction, but it doesn't seem to help make a decision. Meanwhile, Kim takes the opportunity to rest against the cold stone, swallowing down the nausea that's starting to build. It's a miracle that she's made it this far without fainting, but she doesn't think John's in the mood to hear that.

Frowning, John turns the flashlight back the way they came, sweeping the light down the forking path. "Strange," he mutters.

"What?"

"It's nothing," he says, sweeping the light down the way they came. "Except... see this?"

He steps closer to highlight a uniformly rectangular notch in the wall, just about hip-level. Moving the light reveals more, equally spaced notches, continuing along the wall of the newest fork in their road.

"There were guide ropes installed at one point or another. It doesn't seem to be an active mine, though — it must've been for dumb tourists, just in case of lawsuits."

"I hate to tell you, John, but right now, we're the dumb tourists."

"Unfortunately so. I guess that means we should take the left."

It's smaller, and it looks just as untouched as the rest of the cave has so far, but John's made a compelling point about the seemingly man-made notches.

"You're the expert," Kim says, "I'll take your word for it."

"Alright," he says, not as enthusiastic as Kim would have hoped for. He eyes her somewhat critically, then asks, "How are you doing?"

It's probably the pain making her delirious, but she's surprised at John's concern for her wellbeing. She really shouldn't be. Of course he cares; even if he weren't actively trying to be less awful, he's too smart to leave Kim down here and risk Nick finding out. But still. She's pain-addled enough to be touched by the sentiment.

That doesn't mean she's in the mood to sugarcoat the truth. "I'm surprised I'm still standing," she says. "Let's just hope we find Nick before I pass out."

"I'm sure he'd enjoy seeing me carrying your limp body out of the abandoned mine."

Kim laughs, regretting it as it sends an ache jolting through her body. "Oh, I bet. Just don't be surprised if I tap out at some point."

"You're stronger than that," John remarks. "Follow me."

Now, following John Seed through a dark cave tunnel with a broken arm seems like it would be a bad time. If this were ten, eleven years ago, Kim's sure she would be hunting for a weapon or looking for her own escape route. That is, of course, assuming he hadn't left her to die down here. No doubt that her survival would've banked on how much he would have needed her.

She's glad that's not the case now. John is a reliable navigator, slow-going and cautious as he leads the way, testing suspect rock formations and ducking into narrow crags that don't go anywhere. Honestly, he's probably being more cautious than they need to be. It's already been a half-hour or so, and they're going to need to turn back before much longer.

John has other concerns to bother him, though. "I wonder what happened to the anchors," he says at one point. "You'd think we would have found one by now."

"Maybe they took the rope down before the Collapse," Kim points out. "Lots of tourist traps weren't exactly up to code. Earl probably got here way before we did, back when he was trying to crack down on these kinds of things."

John frowns thoughtfully. "Maybe."

"It's not like people are down here renovating for the next season."

"We don't know that," he points out grimly. "Survivors might've hidden from the radiation down here. Or maybe some angels got lost after Faith was killed."

"Come on, John," she groans.

"Nick's always wondering where the mutants are. Maybe we'll be the ones to find them."

Kim side-eyes John just in time to catch the remnants of a smirk on his face, and she can't help but elbow him with her good arm. She tries to admonish him, telling him, "Knock it off," but she can't help laughing as she does.

"You're probably right about the code violations," John chuckles at last, lifting the light to check the ceiling ahead as it dips low enough for them to need to duck. "Not a lot of these cave systems were what I'd call safe. It's one of the reasons we decided against using them as tunnels. The work involved was too expensive, and the chance of cave-ins was too high. And, as we've found out, they weren't guaranteed to stay underground."

"So, what was going to happen instead? Were you guys going to rely on radios, or what?"

"It doesn't matter what we decided," John points out, more weary of the conversation than irritated. "The gates were barely finished before the Deputy destroyed them, and we never got to find out what might've happened."

They follow the notches through two more forks, and Kim starts to worry that they're only going deeper into the old attraction. Well, at least they're taking the easy way. With a smooth floor and a ceiling that rarely drops lower than eight feet, Kim gets the impression that they're in a manufactured mine, and not an organic one. For all they know, some crazy prepper dug this tunnel out to make a quick buck for his bunker-building hobby. Of course, if that's the case, it's a miracle that nothing's caved in yet.

They pass underneath a lower segment of the ceiling, and the tunnel abruptly opens up into a massive cavern. Defunct light rigs are scattered amongst the stalagmites, with several hanging stalactites covered in chipped fluorescent paint. The rest of the rock outcroppings are covered in lichen, which disappointingly fails to glow in the dark. As John sweeps the flashlight across the large, empty space, Kim gets a good idea of the cheap edu-tainment that was offered on short hikes through the mines. Somewhere in here, there's probably a storage closet full of Halloween decor waiting to liven up the otherwise boring cavern.

"Well, this wasn't worth the twenty dollars it cost to get in," John grouses.

"Don't forget the thirty-dollar iron-on tee-shirts they print off at home," Kim reminds him with a laugh. It's enough to make her lightheaded, and she doesn't quite regain her balance, even after she braces herself against the wall.

"We can only rest a minute," he warns her, sweeping the light in the direction they need to go. Any more huffing and puffing on his part is diminished as the light glints off the rounded edge of something metallic. When John refocuses the light on the object, neither of them really know what to say.

Lying amongst the rocks, battered and dirty, is one of the dark green bliss containers they've been looking for. Kim looks up, but the ceiling is rooted in darkness, and she can't see any sign of another cave-in or sinkhole. The idea that Jacob might've come this far himself crosses her mind, but if that were the case, why is it sitting out in the open like that?

"John, wait," Kim calls as John steps off the path. Suddenly, all her jokes about booby traps seem tasteless, especially with John charging into the unknown like he is.

Of course, this isn't Indiana Jones, and there's no pit of spikes or tripwire to trigger. John doesn't wind up with a face-full of poison darts as he picks up the dented canister; the only thing he's forced to sacrifice is a good grip on the flashlight, which shines at an awkward angle and only illuminates a useless part of the floor. His slow pace and the bad lighting leave Kim to imagine what he's found inside — remnants of supplies, or a dead animal? Indications that something chewed through the rubber sealant, maybe?

John drops the barrel between them, the clanging metal causing Kim to jump. John doesn't notice as he reorients the light, leaning over to illuminate the barrel's contents. The interior is flaked with rust, and whatever sealant had been used is all but completely worn away. The only thing left inside is an empty, smashed bottle of liquor and a few wrapped, moldy packages of cigarettes.

"I don't know if I'm disappointed or not," Kim says.

"I know I am," John replies, grimly reaching into the empty barrel to check for a false bottom. The screech of metal rises up into the cavern, bouncing off the far ceiling and turning into an ugly birdsong. Kim leans back against the wall; if she keeps looking down, she's going to end up toppling over like a broken Weeble-Wobble. John glances her way after a moment, before lifting a clump of wet paper out from the depths of the barrel.

"Of course he buried documents here," John mutters. Kim can't quite pin down whether he's upset or resigned to the bad luck at this point.

"Anything salvageable?" she asks.

"Doubtful. I'll... bring these along, I guess." He checks again, digging out what he can. Other than the loose papers, there's a water-logged manila envelope and an equally soaked box of ammunition. John tucks the box away in his front pocket, holding the papers uncomfortably in his hand. "We'll worry about what these are once we're out of here."

Despite the pain in her arm giving her full-body tremors and John's dismal mood, Kim is nearly upbeat as they exit the cavern. They're still in civilization, after all, even if it's a defunct tourist trap, and the knowledge that they're clearly on their way out is the main thing keeping her moving. If they're lucky, they aren't too far from the truck — if they're really lucky, Nick will have found the entrance before them.

They eventually find a few anchors that are still moored to the walls, a knotted bit of rope still attached, and Kim breathes a sigh of relief. The sigh quickly turns to a groan of pain as she rattles her arm, but at least it isn't enough to knock her off her feet.

John hesitates in front of her, slowing just enough so that he can offer his arm to her. "We can't stop now," he tells her.

"I know," she pants, wiping sweat from her forehead that she hadn't realized was gathering. "Okay. We're nearly there."

She gives up on pretending entirely, leaning heavily against John as they continue forward. Lying down and resting for, oh, a hundred years or so sounds great right now, but first, she needs to make sure Nick hasn't had a heart attack waiting for them. He's probably convinced himself that they've gotten killed somehow, and John isn't going to be able to talk him down on his own.

They approach what will hopefully be the last fork in the tunnel, only to find that both directions have anchors. The newest offshoot seems to curve pretty severely downwards, though; it's clear even as they stop that they should stick to the path they've been on.

"I don't like this," John says, looking first behind them and then ahead, down the new path.

"Fine," Kim groans, "You can choose the next tourist trap we get stuck in."

"I'm serious, Kim." John turns the flashlight down the new path. The air coming from that direction is thick and stagnate — Kim's imagination unhelpfully supplies a few images of killer clowns and deformed mutants to lurk down in the dark that way. God, why did she have to like horror movies so much? Why couldn't she have enjoyed normal, safe entertainment that wouldn't have filled her imagination with monsters and a deep-rooted fear of the unexplored dark?

It certainly doesn't help as John says, "I keep getting the feeling that we're being watched."

"Okay, that's it," Kim snaps, desperately trying to bury the surge of fear the suggestion fills her with. "I'm done being creeped out."

"I'm not trying to scare you —"

"Well, you're naturally gifted, okay? Look, let's just — we know that's the way out," she says, nodding towards the safer route. "Let's just go that way. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Agreed," John grunts.

John adopts a brisk walk that Kim has some trouble keeping up with, but she's not interested in slowing down for anything. She feels vindicated by their choice of exit as they pass a faded safety sign lying on the ground, as well as the decidedly fresher air coming in from what Kim expects to be the exit. There are a few moments where John has to resist breaking out into a jog; Kim can't exactly blame him, but his jitters are amping up her own anxiety, and now she's trying desperately to listen for chasing footsteps behind them. It's hard to hear much of anything over the blood pounding in her ears.

It's a massive relief when John finally slows down. "It must have been an animal," he says at last, casting one last look behind them. "God, I fucking hate being underground."

"Well, let's hope we aren't leading the mutants to the surface world," Kim jokes. It probably would land better if she didn't sound completely wiped.

John frowns at her, but the dark makes it hard to pin down his expression. "We're almost there," he says, which sounds alarming like a reassurance.

Her spirits lift as they pass an overturned rail barricade, but the wind is immediately taken out of her sails as they find the path blocked by a chained and padlocked gate. The thick gauge chain-link fence has been welded to brackets on the wall; the bottom has been bent outwards, likely from some angry animal forcing its way through. Unfortunately, it's too small for either of them to get through.

"For fuck's sake," John hisses between gritted teeth.

They're not going anywhere, and Kim's nausea forces her to find something more solid than John for support. She manages to stagger to the nearest wall before falling against it, but it's enough to make her regret moving at all.

At least she manages a weak thumbs up when John anxiously asks, "Are you alright?"

"Just — giving you room to work," she gurgles, staggering a few feet back down the path before throwing up.

John swears under his breath as Kim tries to coax her headache back to something more manageable. She can hear him tearing at the gate behind her; if she weren't feeling so miserable, she'd probably be flipping out on it, too. As it is, she takes her sweet time to turn around and start back for the fence, watching as John tries to widen the gap left behind by some tenacious wolverine. It's going to wreck her arm to try and weasel through the hole, but Kim is willing to try anything at this point.

"How far are we from the truck?" Kim rasps. "Maybe Nick can hear us?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" John snaps, well past the end of his rope. Kim has to admit, she's surprised he made it this far. "God damn it, I don't know where we are any better than you!"

"Okay, point taken," Kim says — after all, she's in no position to argue with him. As it is, it's taking most of her focus to keep from sinking to the ground. As soon as she's sitting, she's going to pass out, and she's not in any position to be doing that yet.

Thankfully, Nick's voice reaches them before she can give up. A tidal wave of relief floods Kim at the sound of him calling her name; she staggers forward, gripping the chain-link with her good arm.

"Nick!" she shouts. The sound of her own voice bouncing off the walls only amplifies her pounding headache, but it doesn't stop her from shouting his name a few more times in desperation.

John grabs her good shoulder. "Careful," he says, "Take it easy."

"You take it easy," Kim snaps as Nick's voice bounces off the far-away cave entrance. Trying to glare at John is a mistake, as vertigo nearly sends her to the floor. The only thing that keeps her upright is John's grip on her arm, easing her back until she finds the wall for support.

"Let me handle it," he says.

Kim has no choice but to follow his orders, reeling against the wall as he picks up the impromptu game of Marco Polo. She's not sure how much time passes between her slow, long blinks, but all that matters is the moment that she sees Nick appear with the lantern held high. It's enough to bring her to tears — well, that and the dizzying pain — and from Nick's tearful shout, it's having the same effect on him.

"Oh, thank Christ," he gasps as he reaches the gate, rattling it with his free hand as if he could just pry it back. "Kim, you're alive! Are you okay?" He turns the full force of his relief on John, concern furrowing his brow. "Jesus, John, are you okay? We needa get that cut looked at."

"It's fine," John says. "You didn't see any keys anywhere, did you?"

"Let me go check the ticket booth," Nick replies. "Don't worry, you guys — I'm not about to let a goddamn padlock stop me."

Nick jogs back down the tunnel and Kim finally sags, sliding to the ground with a tired groan.

"Okay, John," she sighs, "Mission accomplished. Wake me up when we get home."

"Kim, hold on," John replies, but frankly there's no stopping her now. This was as far as she'd hoped to get on her own two feet, and honestly, she's surprised that she made it that far.

She does rouse briefly as Nick begins wailing on the padlock with a steel pipe, but that's something the boys can handle without her. Here and there, she registers hands on her, and dappled light flashes over her face as they finally escape the caves. The fresh air brings her back long enough to help Nick get her settled in the truck, but she's already dozing off by the time John and Nick start arguing again. The rest of the trip, for better or worse, is completely lost on her.

————

When Kim finally comes to, she's immediately met by the familiar sight of her room at home. She can't tell what time it is, only that it's late enough for the lamp to be lit. Judging by the voices downstairs, everyone is still awake — and going by the sling and bandages, they've had some company since she was last conscious. She allows herself to imagine the whole thing was all a horrible nightmare, just for a second, but the throbbing in her arm is already reminding her of the unfortunate truth. At least she can check "escape mutants in a tunnel" off of her bucket list.

She doesn't have long to focus on the slowly returning pain; it's not even a minute later that she hears boots on the stairs, and Nick pokes his head in not long after.

"Hey," is about all she can muster up before she has to clear her throat, but it's enough.

"Christ, Kim!" he exclaims, throwing open the door as he rushes to her side. The worry breaks on his face as he crouches beside her, careful not to jostle her broken arm. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"Uh... not awesome," she admits, shifting in an attempt to sit up. Nick hurries to help her, and she can't help but smile at him as he piles the pillows behind her. "Better now, though."

"That's what I'm here for," Nick laughs, "That and making everybody else uncomfortable. They kept tellin' me not to worry, but you know how hard that is."

"They?"

"Well, John mostly, until Jerome and Grace showed up. Then I had to keep it together for Carmina, so that helped. Uh. How much do you remember about gettin' back here?"

"Not much," Kim says. Now that she's more conscious, she's able to discern the late evening light for what it is; it's been hours since she was last aware of where she was. "I... remember getting into the truck, I think? And then... Nothing. Why? What did I miss?"

Nick shakes his head, smiling fondly at her. "Nothing much, honest. Most of the ride back was me and John arguing about what to do. He radioed Jerome for help while I got you up here and settled in, then I called up Grace so she could keep Carmina busy until Jerome showed up with some help. I guess Winona, y'know, down at the Eagle? She was getting her nursing degree, or license, or whatever, so Jerome brought her over here to help out. She said it looked like a clean enough break, and John did a good job setting it, so we just had to make sure you wouldn't be accidentally moving in your sleep." He chuckles. "You know, real exciting stuff."

"Oh, boy," Kim groans, "I bet I scared the crap out of Carmina. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Worried about you, obviously, but Grace gave her a pep talk and we kept her busy downstairs. Figured you oughta be awake before she came to see you."

"Good call." Kim briefly debates whether or not getting out of bed is worth it, but she quickly decides against it. Even if she weren't wiped out, Nick looks like he'd fall apart with worry if she tried to exert herself. "You might have to go get her, because I don't think I could move if I wanted to."

"Don't even think about it," Nick says, pointing at her as he gets back to his feet. "You're on bed rest until tomorrow at least. I'll be right back."

Kim dozes for the few minutes that stretch between Nick leaving and Carmina coming up the stairs. It's impossible to fall back asleep, but the rest is good enough on its own. She makes sure to perk up when she hears Carmina coming up the stairs, smiling wide as her daughter enters the doorway.

"Hey, honey," she says, her voice rougher than she'd expected it to be.

"Mom!" Carmina exclaims, careful to avoid jostling Kim as she climbs into the bed on her good side. "I was so worried!"

Kim folds her arm around Carmina's shoulders and gives her a squeeze. "I know, sweetheart. I didn't mean to spook you."

"What happened? Dad said you and John fell into a cave!"

"That's pretty much it," Kim laughs. "We fell through a sinkhole into an old cave system. It used to be a place people could visit, though, so it wasn't hard to find our way out."

Carmina frowns, picking at a loose thread in the comforter. "But it was probably really dark. And your arm was broken, and John busted his head open, and..."

"First of all, his head wasn't busted open," Kim says, reaching up to ruffle Carmina's hair. "He probably needed a few stitches, sure, but he knew what he was doing, and we both made it out okay. And your dad got the flashlight to us, so we had plenty of light to see by."

Obviously, Kim never wants to go back to that awful place, but she needs her daughter to learn not to panic now, in case she ever has to go into those tunnels herself. There's no summer camp to enroll her in that will teach her how to be mindful of caves, so Kim's going to have to do it herself... She just wishes she'd gotten to it before she'd had her own scary experience.

Carmina huffs, frowning briefly at the door. "You were lucky John was there," she says.

Kim bites back on her knee-jerk reaction to scoff at the idea. "You're right," she admits, a little more reluctant to do so than she really should be.

"Nobody else thinks so," Carmina grumbles. "Grace got mad dad left you two down there and then Jerome got mad at John for getting you hurt and Winona was really mad that she had to give John stitches. I wanted to say something but dad wouldn't let me."

"That's because they have good reasons not to trust him," Kim points out, although that excuse is starting to wear a little thin, even with her. "They just need time."

Carmina groans. "I guess. I'm... just really glad you're okay."

Kim squeezes Carmina's shoulder. "Me too."

Carmina sighs. "So... what was it like?" she asks, unable to resist her curiosity any longer.

That's okay by Kim — she could use the distraction. "Well... it was dark, and chilly. It was really quiet — the only thing we could hear was water dripping on the walls and our footsteps. The tunnel wasn't very interesting... but there was a big cavern in the middle where we found the cache, covered in stalactites and stalagmites. You could see where they used to have lights rigged up, and they'd painted some of the rocks to glow in the dark."

"You didn't see any animals?" Carmina frowns. "I always thought animals would hide in the caves."

Kim absolutely will not be telling her daughter about John's creepy sense of danger, thanks. "You know, we didn't. There isn't a lot of food for rabbits or cougars in there, though. I think they usually prefer little caves, not big ones."

There are plenty more questions for Carmina to ask that Kim only barely knows the answers to. Thankfully, geography and natural history are easy to teach hands-on; while she's not about to go back to the cave they just escaped, there are a couple of old attractions she remembers visiting that might do the trick. Places with good gift shops and little museums and educational plaques everywhere to help Kim explain how basic geology works.

"If you want, we can do some cave exploring of our own one day," Kim offers. "I'll need some time to get better, first. And I'll have to find the right place. But when we have some free time..."

"That sounds fun," Carmina says. "Just don't fall into another one first?"

"I'll do my best. We'll, uh, teach you what to look for so you don't make the same mistake."

They talk for a little while longer about the cave systems that litter Hope County, but it's not exactly Kim's favorite topic right now. It's a relief when Carmina declares that she needs water; even more so when she offers to bring some up to Kim. She considers asking Carmina to relay her thanks to John, but it can honestly wait until morning. Hopefully by then, she'll have adjusted to the makeshift cast, although she suspects she'll have plenty of time to get used to it. How long does it take a broken bone to heal, she wonders? Probably a few months, at least. She's really going to have to take it easy, and hope that nothing catastrophic happens while she's down one working arm.

[yodawgiherd]

The Preliminary Round

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Updating after such a long time feels kinda strange, but I did say that I want to continue, didn't I? Let's get to it then.

Eren did not spend many of his Friday evenings with a cheap beer in his hand in a packed stadium, staring at the metal cage in the middle. Then again, he never missed Mikasa’s fights, if he could help it, and today was one of the blessed days when he was free to enjoy it to the fullest. And it wasn’t a normal fight either, as the Colosseum tournament had officially begun.

It was immensely popular. With a big prize pool backed by several large sponsors, among other the company that Willy Tybur owned, every fighter wanted a piece of that pie. Because of the massive number of entries the organizers had to run preliminaries first. Meaning that fighters from same regions were pitted against each other, dueling for the opportunity to attend the finals in Vegas. The tournament was also special in the way that it had no restrictions. One didn’t have to be a pro to enter. There were no restrictions when it came to gender or weight, a thing that was not very balanced, but that’s how it was. There would be one winner, one champion of the Colosseum. No classes, no divisions. Which meant that Mikasa’s opponent today was a man, a high ranked MMA fighter, just like herself.

Mikasa had limited experience when it came to real fights with the opposite gender, apart from sparing with Levi or Eren, because the professional male fighters weren’t very keen to face off against her. Those who didn’t know her were afraid that she would get injured, those who knew her were afraid that she might injure them.

Taking a sip of that swill they called beer in here, Eren looked on as the fighters walked in the arena, being greeted by a roar of the crowd. The tournament officials were already there, pacing around with the Colosseum logo on the backs of their shirts. They were present just for a quick checkup of the fighters because while there were next to no rules, some still applied. The completely basic stuff, like no weapons or metal in the cage, no groin punches and so on. The raven-haired beauty he knew so well climbed into the cage first, warming up with air-punches. The man followed soon after, stretching. He was a beast, and seeing him now, locked in the cage with Mikasa, towering over her, it made Eren’s heart beat just a little bit faster with worry. But it was Mikasa, this was what she loved doing, and Eren would never even try to stop her from doing it. Taking a seat, he took another sip and did the only thing he could right now. He watched.

Almost all of the advantages were in her opponent’s court. As a male, his upper body was stronger by default, but that was far from all. Mikasa was tall, but he was taller than her and far heavier, his body was massively muscled as opposed to Mikasa’s leaner form. Worst of all, he was a pro, just like she was, meaning that he wouldn’t waste his strength or do mistakes one could try to abuse in an untrained fighter. Just from his stance, Mikasa could say that he was aware of his strength. Tight, with both hands raised to protect his head, he had a basic yet effective boxing one, and this guy was undoubtedly a heavyweight. Any straight punch from those fists would hurt like hell, possibly throwing her off her balance long enough for the guy to follow up with a K.O.

She knew herself, intimately, she knew her own strength. Mikasa had honed her body to its utmost limits and beyond, stretching both her physical ability and the control she had over it far beyond what normal people achieved. Yet to put it short, she was still incredibly outmatched. Even with all that training, this was a David versus Goliath match, and she was the David here. To make matters worse, she forgot her slingshot at home and had to take Goliath in close combat. With her fists. Oh yea.

Most fighters would get overwhelmed by these facts. To fight not only the physically stronger gender but also a specimen that was this far out of one’s weight class was insane, crazy, no one of their right mind would try that. Too bad Mikasa Ackerman was not most fighters. She could hardly hide her excited grin. This matchup was amazing, as she would have to push her limits to win, to overcome obstacles and climb that impossible mountain. Taking her stance, Mikasa readied herself as much as she could, already plotting a strategy inside her head. Strength was not the answer here, there was no way she would prevail in a contest of brute might. Mikasa was aware of her limits - she was strong, stronger than most people, but this man before her was not an ordinary human. Speed and technique, those were the paths she needed to take. Mikasa’s whole body was yearning for this, the sound of the crowd disappearing beneath the rush of blood in her ears, the icy calm that Levi taught her taking over. Yet there was still a sound that broke through, ringing inside her brain.

The bell.

Her opponent moved almost immediately, rushing over the distance between them and firing off a dangerous straight right-handed punch. Mikasa danced to the left, dodging, only to be met with an uppercut from his left hand. Instincts kicking in, she stepped closer, shortening the distance his fist traveled and thus greatly lowering the strength of the hit. It still forced a grunt from her when it connected with her midriff, clenching her abdominals against the pain. But there was a trade-off for this, as she was now right in his face with both of his hands occupied, meaning she could rain righteous punishment down on the heathen. Two quick jabs and a right hook made him stagger back in retreat. Mikasa might have been smaller and weaker than this beast, but she was still unnaturally strong when compared to normal human standards and when her fists found their mark, it hurt like a bitch. Pursuing her target, she landed another good straight punch before being forced to jump back from the defensive spinning back fist. That one would probably knock her out if he landed it.

Taking advantage of this tiny break this created between them, she sized up her opponent once more, seeing a new light of respect in his eyes. It's one thing to hear about a prodigy female fighter, its another to face her in the ring and feel just how good she was on his own skin. They circled each other again, slower now, trying to find gaps in the armor. Mikasa didn’t try to match his jabs, knowing that hers would not be useful even if they landed. She needed full punches, and for that, she needed to be closer. Kicks could also work, as her legs were definitely strong enough, but those required more wind-up and could be countered, so she would need a bigger opening to do one. Creating those and getting closer meant getting into his range, and if she would ever get grabbed, the match was over. Now if she could bait it….

It took the perfect footwork, step-in followed by almost immediate duck backwards, but she did it, made him reach out and grab the air where she was standing just a fraction of a second ago. Hands uselessly stretched forward, he couldn’t block the devastating kick Mikasa planted right into his ribs. Pursuing her advantage, she pressed on, feinting a straight punch that made him raise his hands, hoping to block her. But the real attack was the powerful overhead that Mikasa threw her whole body into, punching hard into her opponent’s upper thigh, completely running his balance. It wasn’t enough to plant him in the ground, as she hoped, but it gave her several good hits in before he recovered, wearing her opponent out. That combined with the way she dodged his counter hit, which was both exhausting and frustrating, finally started wearing her opponent’s patience thin. Here, in the heat of the duel, she made her mistake. Underestimating the speed at which he could move, despite all the muscles, she pushed for one more punch in a created opening, just one more than the safe number was, and got hard punished for it. Rushing forward, he shot one, two, three lightning-fast jabs, and even with Mikasa dodging them all he backed her into a corner. The straight punch was incredibly well-placed and with tremendous strength behind it, flying true. Mikasa blocked it, of course she did, but that almost didn’t matter. The force of it alone lifted her off her feet, throwing her back against the bars of the cage. Ears ringing, the air pushed out of her lungs, she gasped, trying to get her body back into control. It was only the years of training that saved her then, as she unconsciously ducked underneath the follow-up punch, dropping down on the ground and rolling away. Just in time too, as he viciously stomped the ground where she was, looking to finish the match as soon as possible.

Coming back to her feet, Mikasa shook her head, clearing the fog that shadowed her brain from that punch. A single hit and it was almost enough to end her, the man before her was truly a beast. Her constant attacks from before did bear fruit, however, as he was also breathing hard, his steps slower and favoring his left leg, the one she didn’t hit with that overhead just a short time ago. The cogs inside her brain were working hard, looking for a way to turn this into her advantage. He was tired, obviously, looking to end this as fast as he could, one last attack that would put her on the ground. Which meant, he was more open to some subtle manipulation. It was a gamble, of course, but Mikasa saw a chance and decided to seize it. Dropping her hands just a tiny bit, feinting a tired stumble, she opened herself up to an attack, presenting her opponent with an exquisite bait. And he took it.

Rush forward, hands ready to grab her, to put her in a hold she would never break free of. One last attack to end this whole bout, which would have worked if used on anyone else but Mikasa. He was fast, but she was faster. Like a blur, she dropped low, very low, sliding into her enemy and planting her feet firmly on the ground, wide apart. The move itself reached such a speed that the only part of her Eren’s eyes could track was the red streak in her hair. As expected, the massive man practically tripped over her, doubling over when her shoulder smacked into his lower abdomen, and for a fraction of a moment his upper body was practically resting on her back while continuing its original trajectory. Which was just the perfect time to strike. Like a steel coil, her body straightened, adding its strength to the considerable kinetic energy he generated while rushing forward, and with their power combined Mikasa practically smashed her opponent into the cage behind her, the steel creaking loudly when the massive mass crash-landed into it.

This perfectly executed strike that used his own strength and weight against him would be enough to knock out almost anyone, yet the man still stirred, trying to find his footing. Not like Mikasa would ever let him do that. Jumping her fallen target, she wrapped her legs around his neck, taking hold of one of his arms and leaning back, she put him into an improvised hold she designed herself, one that was a strange combination of an armbar and a choke. It was far from perfect and could only be done because her whole body was so strong, all her muscles worked in perfect unison to accomplish the task. He still fought back, the massive body beneath her bulging with all its strength when he tried to throw her off, but she held on like a vice. Increasing the pressure on his neck, squeezing hard, Mikasa knew that his air supply was decreasing, she had to hold on just a little longer, a second, then two, three.

The look on her face was one of perfect concentration, Eren saw, teeth clenched, eyes focused on her thrashing enemy, it was obvious she was giving this duel her all. And it was necessary, as the man kept fighting, trying, again and again, to get up, to throw off the snake that was choking him out. He punched her with his free hand, but it didn’t reach any vital parts and the pain was nothing. Finally, after what felt impossibly long considering that his breathing was restricted the whole time, he raised his hand not to hit her, but to tap the ground in the official gesture of surrender. It was over.

Eren didn’t even realize that he was standing the whole time, but his voice was one of the first that began cheering, screaming in wild abandon. Soon he was joined by many others, the arena celebrating Mikasa’s victory in the most primal way – chanting her name. The raven-haired fighter herself was lying down in the cage, chest heaving, spent and exhausted. It took her several tries to get up, but she managed in the end, raising her hands towards the crowd that was giving her the loud support. Even among all the people, her eyes found Eren’s and she gave him a slight wink. Her opponent also stood up, cracking his neck before approaching Mikasa from behind. For a terrible moment, Eren was scared that he was going to attack her, that he would not stand for the fact of being defeated by her, that she knocked him out of the tournament in the first round. One of his monstrous hands reached out and Eren’s heart practically stopped. But he did nothing of the sorts. Instead, he lightly tapped on Mikasa’s shoulder, getting her attention and then hunching down to say something to her. Understandably, with the distance and the screaming crowd, Eren had no idea what he said, but it made Mikasa’s eyes widen as she blinked a few times, shocked. Patiently, the man repeated the question, and this time got an answer, as Mikasa shook her head and said something back, making him grimace lightly. Not pushing the issue, the fighter nodded in respect before turning around and leaving the cage, letting the victor bask in the adoration of the masses. Hell, it was well deserved.

When she disappeared towards the backstage, Eren made his way down from the seating area, waiting for her to emerge. Levi was there too, he noticed, talking with the manager of the defeated fighter. Just as Eren drew closer, the two apparently came to some conclusion and shook hands, parting after. Maybe he could make some small talk with Mikasa’s brother then while waiting.

“Hey.”, he got Levi’s attention, “How did you like the match?”

The dark eyes, so similar to his fiancé’s swung to him. After a short while, Levi nodded in greeting.

“It was fine.”, he answered with the usual cool in his voice.

“Just fine? Come on, Mikasa was amazing.”

There was a short period of silence from the shorter man, before he, to Eren’s surprise, agreed.

“You are correct. She was exquisite.”

“Did you expect her to win like this?”, Eren went on.

“I’ll admit, I had my doubts.”, Levi’s eyes dropped back towards the cage, most likely replaying the fight in his head, “The man is high ranked in UFC, and the physical differences between him and Mikasa are…. staggering. Yet she pulled through.”

“It felt close though.”

“Surely was. If he got out of the choke at the end it would be over. Same for a good grab at any part of the match. Mikasa could never match him in grappling.”

“Do you think that he underestimated her because she is a girl?”

Levi shook his head resolutely.

“No, definitely not. His manager knew exactly what kind of threat Mikasa is so I can’t imagine he wouldn’t tell his fighter that.”

“A threat huh?”

The dark eyes were back, measuring him.

“A severe one.”

And there that dangerous individual was, walking out of the backstage. When she spotted them, a tired smile spread across her lips and she came closer, accepting the hug Eren immediately offered her. It was the doctor in him that spoke out first, still a little bit worried for her after such a beatdown.

“You okay?”, he whispered gently, hands doing small circles on her back.

She answered with a nod.

“I’m fine, but the adrenaline in me died down, so I’m super worn out.”, a giggle, “ I almost fell in the shower.”

He would probably keep holding her forever if Levi didn’t clear his throat next to them, almost decently, letting them know that there is another person in hearing distance. And of course, to prevent them from doing something disgusting like kissing. Bleh.

“Hey brat.”, he said, looking for the right words, “You…. Ehm... You did well.”

Mikasa blinked a few times, unsure if she wasn’t hearing things.

“Err… Thanks…”

Levi took the liberty of breaking the awkward silence that followed.

“Right then. Get rested, and we go back to training as usual. The preliminaries are far from over.”

And he was gone, ducking away into the crowd that still lingered in the arena.

“Did he just congratulate me?”, she asked, still a bit in shock.

“It’s not such a novelty anymore.”, Eren noted, “He’s growing soft in his old age.”

“Still feels nice to hear it.”

“Well, you deserve it for sure.”

Returning to the matter at hand, which was taking care of his exhausted warrior girlfriend, Eren went on.

“You want to go to eat somewhere or….”

There was a tiny scrunch of her nose, an easily missable thing, but Eren had a PhD.  in the art of knowing the subtle Ackerman ticks.

“Or we could just order take-out…”

The scrunch was still there.

“Or I could cook something up when we get home?”

The scrunch was gone, replaced by a tiny smile.

“I’d like that.”

It became apparent just how exhaust she is when while walking to a car, Mikasa stumbled and Eren had to catch her, a thing that was incredibly rare for a person that could control her body in a way she did.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?”, he asked again, but she nodded vehemently.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just had to utilize literally every muscle of my body, so I’m getting some negative feedback there.”

Just to be sure, Eren kept a hand around her shoulders before they reached the car. Once they were seated, he turned the ignition on, heading home.

“That guy was a monster.”, he commented once they joined the highway.

“Can’t agree more.”, she nodded, slumping bonelessly in the shotgun seat, “I might have won, but I feel like a train had run over me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you home. Safe and sound.”

She made a satisfied noise at that, too tired to speak. But there was still one thing that kept bouncing around in Eren’s skull, so clearing his throat, he continued the conversation.

“What did he say to you?”

She looked up, eyebrow arched.

“Huh?”

“After the match, he said something to you. What was it?”

“Oh right.”, she smiled, leaning her head back into the soft hug of the passenger’s seat. “He congratulated me and wished me luck in the tournament. He was actually a really nice guy, I did not see it coming. Oh, and he also asked me out.”

Now it was Eren’s eyes that widened.

“He did what?”

“Asked me out on a date. He said that when he first heard around me, he had certain doubts, but now that we fought he regrets ever not believing the rumors. And would like to get to know me better.”

“And uuh..”, Eren had a bit of a hard time focusing on the road now, throwing a quick look sideways at her, “What did you say?”

Her smile was one of a satisfied cat.

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

“N-No…”

She laughed, filling the car with that pretty sound.

“Aw Eren, you don’t have to worry. I told him that I’m sort of engaged. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

Mikasa grinned even wider, not continuing in that train of thought, her goal accomplished. It felt good to win a difficult fight. It felt good to poke fun at her fiancé. Damn, today was one fine day.

All this training. All those days and nights spent at the gym, pushing herself past her limits. All the things she lost just so she could pursue this dream of victory. And this is what she gets to fight. A damn roleplayer. She was glad that the tournament finally started, because hell, it was about time, but at least It could provide her with a challenge. Wasn’t it supposed to be the best of the best? Oh well, it was time to thin out the weeds first.

“Look,”, the man whispered under his breath, most likely trying to avoid the referee hearing, “you can give up if you want, they won’t hold it against ya.”

Annie didn’t respond, this guy wasn’t worth her breath. Her first round of preliminaries matched her up against an amateur wrestler, which meant that the guy was cocky as shit. That was just her luck, getting set with someone who will underestimate her because of what she was. Reiner got a good match, trading blows with a heavy-weight boxer until he got too tired and her gym buddy knocked him on his ass. Bert also had fun, going head to head with a judo grappler. But her? She got a stupid wrestler, all flashy with a short cape and a mask on his face. Costumes were allowed in the Colosseum, even encouraged, as long as they did not hide any weapons in them. They added to the hype of the matches, and that was what the whole tournament was about. But Annie wasn’t here to wear a costume, she was here to do one thing. Win.

Seeing that he was ignored, the wrestler shrugged and stepped back to his original position. Apparently, he was done showing mercy and Annie could not be more grateful. His voice was giving her headaches. Now that they were both ready, all that remained was the bell, which rung in.

3..2…1….

As soon as it rang, the guy moved in for a kill, his pride still hurting from that rude ignore Annie gave him. Reaching out, he tried to grab her and in a classic wrestling move and… She planted him into the ground in about two seconds, turning and walking away even before the referee called the match. This was boringly easy.

“Damn, you had it for him, huh?”, Reiner said as he joined her from the right, “Poor guy.”

“The training is paying off.”, Berthold added, closing in from the left, “I do hope that we won't meet in the next round.”

“If we do, you will at least be a challenge.”, Annie pointed out, getting a chuckle from both her sides.

“You don’t lack confidence, do you An?”

“Nope. I will win this thing and nobody will stop me. Not even you guys.”

Reiner exchanged a look with Bert. They both trained hard for this, but Annie was practically a religious zealot right now, all of her being was aimed at the single goal.

“Guess we’ll see about that.”

Annie nodded to that, once. In her mind, she was already preparing for the next fight, because there will be no rest until she is standing at the very top.

[kendrixtermina]

Assorted House of Feanor Thoughts

I wrote this as a reply to someone, but then realized that this should be a post of its own. 

Line between extrapolation, interpretation & headcanon is going to be fluid here

Long post under cut

The seven sons in general:

all moody, fierce, intense and brilliant, each in various different ways

none of them can really stand to be cooped up in one place for long

F R E C K L E S you will not convince me otherwise

Apart from the ones explicitly described as pretty (ie, Maedhros and Celegorm) they’re actually relatively plain by elf standards, or at least sort of rugged-looking, especially compared to their part-Vanyar cousins - I mean, figures that some would turn out more like Miriel or Nerdanel both of which were supposedly more average.

all are very resourceful having spent most of their lives helping out with their parent’s projects, exploring the wilderness, or (save for Celegorm) hanging out in Aule’s halls. Most can probably whip up a steampunk or magitech solution to basic war-related problems

Because of this they’re a very tight-knit group

growing up, they did not know many children their age; Ironically the most contact they had was with their cousins because Feanor paid semi-regular visits to Finwe. Apart from Turgon (and Orodreth if you place him in the second rather than the third post-journey generation) the cousins really dug the adventure stories. (Galadriel pretended not to be interested and offered plenty of critiques, but listened anyways)

more survival skills and just a lot more casual than your average princes

They’d all been adults for a good while by the time of the rebellion; the twins are a tad older than Aredhel, Galadriel and Argon; Caranthir and Angrod are about the same age. Curufin is younger than Aegnor.

They all look back at that trip to the lightless shore of the outer sea as a cherished family memory

Also I don’t think Feanor disciplined his sons very much after all his own father let him get away with everything. In his eyes the brats can do no wrong especially not Curufin and to a lesser extent Amrod Nerdanel tried her best to counterbalance this and it kind of worked on some of them, but the three middle ones were a lost cause

I think a lot of the weight behind the oath comes from how Feanor made them promise him to see it through on his deathbed. It was his literal last wish.

Maedhros:

The Leader™, the most strong-willed and the deadliest fighter by a huge margin. What the orc under your bed has nightmares about.

Obviously a very competent diplomat, strategist, and the sort to put constructive results over personal glory; resilient, formidable, unpretentious and tough as leather

but not at all overconfident, and the type who is not blind to the flaws of the people he loves. He knows very well that Feanor wasn’t perfect and does many things that his father would not have agreed with - at the same time he has a strong sense of obligation, honor and loyalty which turns out to be his fatal flaw in the end when being loyal and keeping his word  increasingly requires him to do dishonorable things

if there was a definite breaking point it was the fiasco with Dior’s sons

Stoic but courteous and eloquent; From Finwe’s death onwards increasingly grim, grizzled and not very hopeful, though he’s the sort to give his all and try to be noble even when there’s no reward or even thanks or respect.

Despite this, he has as a dry sense of humor and at times uses it to defuse tense situations or disarm people he’s negotiating with (see the scene with Thingol’s message) - does have a streak of gallows humor to him especially after the Thangorodrim incident

As the heir Feanor actually let him in on trade secrets and scientific speculation; Their relationship is probably the most equal; I do think Feanor was capable of actually appreciating that Maedhros got a mind of his own and isn’t afraid to stand up for himself. Feanor values independent thought, even if he’s not always good at really living that value with his tendency to take things personally and see others as taking sides for or against him.  

Can’t really craft stuff to the same degree without his right hand. He then focussed on more abstract/mental pursuits which were perhaps his forte, to begin with but it still bothers him more than he lets on, especially since he still retains, or swiftly regained, his skill at making things dead. 

He may or may not qualify as a cinnamon roll but he definitely looks like could kill you

Maglor:

Maedhros might have been the token responsible sibling, but Maglor was the understanding, comforting one and always had a nurturing streak - hence why he was the one to take in the kids.

Sensitive Artistic Type™ - goes from quirky and passionate back in Valinor to melancholy & tormented as the war drags on

one of those people who despair over & get self-critical over their work even when it’s regarded as masterpieces

Like Feanor and Miriel before him, he tends to get super absorbed in his work/art and just plain disappears for days

Now some ppl hold that he didn’t start having second thoughts until near the end, but judging from how he comes along to Fingolfin’s party or to hang out with Finrod, I’d hold that he was always ‘the nice/gentle one’, but not solely in a positive way; Unlike Maedhros he did not stand up to Feanor about the thing with the ships and indeed lets Maedhros talk him out of turning himself in at the very end, so he’s probably somewhat lacking in assertiveness

Even so, he’s probably one of the better fighters, given the difficult territory he gets, that he’s the one to kill Ulfang, and how long he survives. He probably feels ambivalent about this. 

I imagine him having an agility-based fighting style

Probably codified the heroic epos as a specifically Noldorin art form

Celegorm:

A lot of ppl focus on the barbarian aspect, but I’d say he actually has some degree of ‘subverted prince charming’ going on, with how he sweet-talks Luthien at first before throwing her in the dungeon, and how he seems to have been one of the more accomplished ones, joining a respected order and all

He’s actually pretty elegant and perhaps playfully gallant, but it’s a facade; He’s an animal underneath; though his instincts are probably somewhat nobler than what ends up happening when he gets roped into Curufin’s schemes

usually, the first to react and leap into action when something happens.

Herculean strength, daunting presence

also a fairly efficient general, if a bit of a glory hound and pretty fearless in the pursuit of victory

very much has an ego and doesn’t like being humbled at all

Strikes me as the sort of person who would take badly to the realization that they can no longer return to the glory of the past or being judged unworthy, not that he’d respond with anything but defiance

Wrestles giant monsters barehanded

Always low-key wished to fight creatures of darkness before the rebellion to test his might against them; Orome and the Maiar members of the hunt would have told stories of them

though he gets his pretty face from Daddy, his strong build comes from Nerdanel, possibly somewhat accentuated by his being a dude

Caranthir:

grumpy, moody, no filter, likes his alone time, shows his feelings mostly through actions, also somewhat pragmatic

the quartermaster; Actually one of the smarter ones, if not outright the second smartest after Curufin, though he has more a logistic/administrative sort of intelligence

generally one of the more prosaic, practical family members, or maybe he’s just more subtle about his dramatic side or has a harder time expressing it. Definitely has Hidden Dephts™

I mean, putting your hideout on the slope of a mountain near a deep, dark lake circled by mountains? Goth AF. A+ aesthetic there.

Hosts the family get-togethers at his fortress. Has most certainly shoved Celegorm and Curufin in the lake at some point

has a certain respect for strength, valor and skill even in ppl he doesn’t necessarily like; Not at all diplomatic or polite, but also not finicky or fastidious, so actually forged a whole lot of alliances on a “everyone’s money/swords are equally good and we don’t have to set conditions” basis and seems to have been pretty successful at this

started out haughty but definitely learned to be more open-minded/ broaden his horizon over his time in Beleriand - but as no good deed goes unpunished, Ulfang happens

Whereas Curufin and Celegorm can put up a noble veneer but will totally stab you in the back if provoked, Caranthir’s sort of the opposite, in that he’s rude and quarrelsome on first contact but has a good heart deep down (see the Haladin incident) and doesn’t keep grudges long term once he’s done grumbling where Celegorm is sore loser and Curufin a spiteful twerp.

though personally, I don’t see Caranthir as trying to reign himself in. He wouldn’t really be known as “the harshest” in that case. Who was gonna teach him to behave himself, Feanor maybe? kek. 

Curufin:

We have a lot of actual dialogue & description for him - he has this characteristic little defiant smile, is often coldly contemptuous in tone, some level of ruthless pragmatism

has mild/vague foresight - nothing as impressive as what Finrod and Galadriel have, but he has it more or less to the degree that Feanor did.

actually pretty insightful, thought-through and political-minded in some ways, too bad he shares Feanor’s tendency for unwarranted suspicion and factionalism, as well as a tendency to just act on his own without checking with anyone

always either filthy from work or fully blinged-out and impeccably groomed, no in-between

more calculated and subtle than Feanor - not that Feanor ever needed calculation or subtlety since he could get by on sheer awe or intimidation. Celegorm and Maedhros have that same quality in spades and Curufin’s a little bit jealous

Not actually that much older than the twins, but always acted older than his age, especially once he heard that Feanor was the same

collects weapons, loves fancy horses, the most traditionally aristocratic of the seven

Got married relatively young; saw it as a matter of honor to further his family’s line

continued his scholarly pursuits in Beleriand; this is part of why he elected to share a territory with Celegorm

The last Celebrimbor ever heard of him was a magically sealed box filled with research notes he sent out in case he didn’t make it out alive

Did not take his parents’ estrangement well and is stubbornly salty toward Nerdanel (though deep down he misses her as much as his brothers if not more)

Frequently the Bad Influence/ Shoulder Devil to his brothers.

But when he gets excited about his research/craft he’s got this “exited cocky little boy” side to him that’s surprisingly pure. 

Only Nerdanel and possibly Celebrimbor’s mom are allowed to call him ‘Atarinke.’ His brothers might still use it when they’re teasing or scolding him. 

The Twins:

Every time a fic does something else with them than “generic prankster redheads” I cry with joy

We don’t have that many data points on them, but most of them suggest they’re every bit as fierce as their brothers

they’re somewhat aloof & mostly do their own thing;

As kids they’d mostly sit in a corner and play with each other. Possibly deliberately played up their identicalness as a kind of emo fashion statement / to fuck with people (”Should we do this Ambarussa?” - ”I don’t know, what do you think, Ambarussa?”)

never really gave up their semi-nomadic ways

Compared to Celegorm they probably more on stealth and precision than strength and bravado. They suddenly appear in front of you, and bam! You’ve got an arrow poking out of your face. Probably the ones scouting the perimeter of the camp.

Amras is a bit sassier, but it’s actually Amrod who’s a little bit braver.

Hardly ever argued until their parents’ estrangement; That led to quite a few quarrels between them.

For all his faults, Feanor made a point of doing things with each of them individually.

quietly nursing some level of pent-up despair and frustration until they push for the assault on Sirion

In the version where one of them dies, and then no one ever talks about it, - I imagine that the remaining one ended up cynical in a “let’s just get it ever with we’re already doomed after all’ kind of way

Bonus:

Celebrimbor

“Curiosity killed the cat but the second mouse gets the cheese” incarnate. He’s a sweet, excitable,  deeply good guy, but Curiosity is the strongest force within him, besides maybe “think of the potential”

very bold in his thinking, not held back by any conventional boundaries. This is partially why he ended up more independent than his father and uncles but ironically that might in a sense make him more similar to grandpa than any of them

Really looks like Feanor. Like, Arwen and Luthien level of resemblance. It takes ppl a bit to notice because of how different his general demeanor and surface-level personality is. 

Very scattered and absent-minded, prone to sudden flashes of inspiration, often shows up in some form of disarray

spent his adolescence at Formenos. Retained a certain affinity for wintery places ever since

He sensed something fishy about Sauron before long, but between wanting to avoid the family propensity for unwarranted suspicion and being tempted by all the possibilities of what he could do with that power/knowledge even if it did come from a fishy source, he didn’t act before it was too late - he can't have been fully clueless since he hid the three; There was definitely just a bit of actual seduction/forbidden fruit appeal in place there, whether to use the word “hubris” probably depends on your philosophy. 

He drops the ‘th’ once he renounces Curufin, but slips right back into the old habit when excited or exasperating. At some point during his rule of Eregion, he stops bothering to hide it - A similar thing happens when he’s talking Sindarin with his northeast Beleriand accent. 

I know this is a very popular old hat headcanon, but... His other name is also “Curufinwe”. Everyone called him Telperinquar from the start, lest all three come running and grumble about being distracted from work, but after the Nargothrond debacle, he had other reasons for not using it. But really, Telperinquar/Celebrimbor is just another more metaphorical way to say “this baby shall be good at working with his hands” so yeah

My HC for where he was between the Finrod incident and the second age is as follows: He departed for war with Gwindor’s troupe (this is someone who tried to engineer a way around entropy - not a “do nothing” sort of guy) and fled the battlefield with Turgon. (hence some of the passages that place him in Gondolin can still be made to work. He totally made Earendil’s baby-sized mail coat) He fled with Idril’s party. Had she not tipped him off somehow he would probably have died with the rest of the smith’s guild. Or perhaps he grabbed all the valuable records he could find and ran for it because someone needed to preserve them. As living surrounded by the survivors of Doriath would have been awkward to say the least, he went to the isle of Balar to offer his skills and service to Gil-Galad. This is where he befriended/ reconnected with Galadriel and Celeborn. 

Finrod once told him the “faithful stone” legend from Brethil. It would be an inspiration to him much later. Generally credits Finrod with being a good influence on him. 

Judging by the stars on the doors of Durin his stance on his family probably softened over the years. He essentially attained their original new dream of exploring distant lands and building unparalleled new realms, at least for a while - also definitely has a similar “screw destiny!”/ “I defy you stars!” attitude. Perhaps he wanted to see their vision done right. 

But on some level, I think he also wanted to associate himself with their fame eventually especially once his own accomplishments grew. His feelings were probably always very ambiguous because he must have admired and envied their great works but also lived getting weird looks whenever he did what he’s best at and loves doing most in the world because it associates him with these very ambiguous people whom many hated... at one point in the past he must have really admired his father and grandfather, I mean, he came with them across the sea. 

Nerdanel

She got Feanor the apprenticeship / gave him the idea after they met on their travels. 

Were seen as something of an eccentric hippie/ hipster couple in the early days

She’s tough, confident and definitely quipped/ yelled back at times. Definitely described as ‘strong-willed’ and individual. Like this was a ‘kindred spirits’ thing before everything went to hell

it counts for something that even during the ugly bitter parting scene the worst Feanor could say was “someone must’ve turned you against me because you definitely cared once” rather than “you’re a traitor” for all that everything else in that scene made him very punchable

Their relationship dynamic, as I see it, is that she’s the one person who just sees and treats him like a normal dude. No apprehension, no fawning. He’s not “the greatest” or a tainted aberration to her, he’s simply a like-minded friend. So she’s pretty chill about his idiosyncrasies and doesn’t see them as a big deal, but on the other hand, she’s not overawed and will not take bullshit

Since she is good at understanding people she probably usually gets where he’s coming from even when he’s not being reasonable

possibly invented abstract art; was most certainly influential. 

the elves who serve Aule probably have their own little traditions. She might’ve imparted some of those on her descendants

Also ppl tend to forget that she also does metalwork. Again, it’s quite possible that she got him into it and that if they’d never met, he might have landed in a completely different discipline

I think it says a lot about Feanor that he chose her for being smart, creative and independent-minded. It shows that he actually values these things and that it’s not just a rhetorical device;  he’s not a hypocrite, he failed at what he was genuinely trying to aim for. 

She had Finwe won over the moment she mentioned that she likes children. To Feanor’s chagrin, she proclaimed that his then-tiny half-siblings were the cutest thing ever but since he was trying to impress Nerdanel, he actually kept his composure there. 

She was totally buds with Earwen and Anaire. 

I really like those fics where she played some part in the reconstruction efforts. She’s already renowned for her wisdom and has some familiarity with the court, so why wouldn’t Finarfin make her an advisor? 

Miriel

She was described as having “silver” hair like what the teleri sometimes have, but that was for lack of a better world. It’s actually pretty close to pure white. It was an unprecedented anomaly. Celegorm got it. Though overall Maglor might be the one who most looks like her. Or maybe Caranthir. 

Well, her tendency to refuse to eat her words no matter what has certainly proven highly heritable

Canonically one of those ppl who talks very fast 

Feanor doesn’t look very much like her at all, but he talks like her and is similar in his body language etc. The shape of her hands, however, has made it all the way to Celebrimbor in an unbroken line. Maglor’s got em too. 

She was the only one of her family to make the great journey. That’s why “the names of her kin are not recorded”. You see, they tried to convince her not to go, and that only made her more determined. 

Miriel and Indis used to have this thing where Miriel would sing while Indis plays the instrument. First time Indis caught Maedhros and Fingon doing something similar she got very emotional about it. She told them how she and Miriel also used to have a sort of odd friendship despite their opposite looks and personalities. Maedhros had at this point never even heard that they used to be friends. She proceeded to tell him some fun stories from Miriel’s youth and encouraged the two to spend time together. 

We’re told that Miriel and Finwe only got together in Valinor; Since Indis had a thing for him since before the Vanyar moved out of Tirion it’s fully possible that Indis actually liked him first. Maybe she actually introduced them to each other, like she wasn't confident enough to ask him on a date so she brought her friend, only for the two to be immediately smitten with each other. Poor Indis decided that she had no chance and moved out of town when Ingwe did. 

Miriel definitely expresses her love/admiration in the way of “You! You’re perf! I must make art of you!”

Since his arrival in the halls of Mandos, Feanor has made several of Vaire’s Maiar cry with his critique of their tapestries, but he holds that his mom’s are best. 

Feanor himself

In general, I hold that while he said many things that were not right, there’s a lot of what he prophecied that was not quite wrong and does come true in a kind of way, even if not necessarily for himself and his family. They sort of pave the way as Promethean figures. The second mouse gets the cheese (it’s usually some Nolofinwean)

Though he’s also the ultimate example of “you are not immune to propaganda”. Literally the smartest man in the world; Still touchy enough to be an easy mark for emotional manipulation. 

I think a lot of ff undersells what a polymath he must’ve been and that part where he worked on many different topics and was “the most learned”. 

You know the type of author who has a bazillion unfinished wips going and jumps wildly from topic to topic? Feanor’s research notes are exactly like that, especially the tendency to disintegrate into cryptic jottings and notes right before the most interesting part.  Just like the unfinished texts from HoMe Just like Gauss or Euler, having invented everything a hundred years ahead and 40% more discoveries buried that he never felt ready to publish. (I can also definitely see the sons – especially Maedhros and Curufin – spending the better part of the siege of Angband compiling some of it into a presentable format. Celebrimbor would then be the one to stumble upon implications /corollaries that had somehow been missed for thousands of years. 

For all that I enjoy fics where they’re all smoll and adorable as much as the next person, canonically we’re given every indication that he was an adolescent or young adult by the time the remarriage occurred. The published silm has him “well-nigh full-grown” by the time Indis started having kids; In the HoME passage detailing the romantic meeting on the mountain it’s said that he was “wandering in the mountains” (ie, old enough to do so on his own) at the time. He moved out as soon as he could, so he and his half-siblings never actually spent any significant time in the same household

I mean, he reacted like a teenager would, and IMHO neither his character nor Finwe’s make any sense if this wasn’t a single parent situation early on. 

Personally, I really don’t like that headcanon that he was nicer to the sisters for no reason. I don’t think his relationship with Fingolfin was ever much better than the sort of “awkwardly tolerating” we saw at the reconciliation scene; At the same time, I don’t think things would ever have escalated to that degree if Melkor hadn’t gone mucking things up. 

In the same vein, I don’t think he always had beef with the Valar. He used to hang out in Aule’s halls and let Celegorm study with Orome after all and studied their language. - he certainly seems to have had some romanticism for the Hither Lands evident in his speeches, he traveled far past the well-lit areas, made crystals that shine in starlight etc. so he was probably always somewhat independent-minded and he certainly knew, better than anyone, that the Valar are imperfect and can’t fix everything (they couldn’t heal Miriel after all) - but it’s a long way from healthy skepticism and understandable disappointment to asserting bad intentions where there are none. 

There’s a long way between not wanting a relationship with someone, and pointing stabby objects at them. Feanor was always difficult and never the type of person to be easily satisfied but at the same time, he clearly had his “delight” in his work and life as it was pre-Melkor. He could’ve gone on as an inventor and author of strongly worded opinion pieces; perhaps the elves were even “meant” to go back & come into contact with the Edain for a brief while, just without all the murder. 

The thing about Melkor’s lies is that they made a complicated situation conveniently easy in a way that he (and Fingolfin!) would want to believe. It’s not really either of their fault that they both exist, but if your rival is actually out to get you then suddenly all your negative feelings are justified 

Personally, I don’t think it the remarriage made that much of a difference - Miriel would still be dead. What Feanor’s really mad at is the inherent unfairness of the world. But he can’t fix or fight that, so in a misfire of his engineer’s mindset that thinks in terms of simple cause and effect and wants the world to be logical and controllable, he blamed something tangible (Indis.)

I think Melkor hates him so much because he’s kinda what Melkor wishes he was or likes to think he is. They’re both the mightiest of their respective kinds and don’t really fit in, but Feanor’s actually extremely creative. He goes and does his own thing, and maybe errs in overlooking that no man is an island and that all works are built on those of others, but, look at Melkor who wants all the scale of a group project but none of the “cooperation” part and basically can’t make anything of his own. “You’re like me, yet you’re successful? I cannot allow it!” 

In a sense you have classic Satan and Miltonian satan in the same setting, and they can’t stand each other

[icicleteeth]

So I wrote a tiny ESO AU with @your-holy-mountain​ ‘s Finn and my dunmer Servyn for the laffs and because I got emotional about Finn being a good friend because Tii is a good friend of mine enjoy the trash under the cut...

(Disclaimer though, this isn’t going to be super well written at all, as it’s just an off the cuff little ficlet alsjfdj)

The early morning rabble of Mournhold’s central trading plaza sings with the hustling and bustling of a city which never sleeps nor rests--men, mer, beast, automata, and sometimes tamed daedra fill the streets in a near shoulder to shoulder crowd, all of which with important work for important people to attend to, though none of which called themselves nor anyone else by their real names, as such work wasn’t so important as to interrupt the annual weekly celebration of the Jester’s Festival--an honored holiday amongst all of Tamriel where Khajiiti named Kitty Kitty Bang Bang and Bosmer named Big Meat Indulgence address eachother as such unabashedly, as if it were completely normal and expected to do so.

Servyn wished he could join in on such festivities. He quite hated his name and would usually revel in any excuse to change it (even if temporarily)...but there wasn’t much use in changing one’s name when said one is a street Dunmer. He never had any reason to give anyone his real name, let alone a silly made up one. Most just called him Beggar. He supposed “Beggar” was a better name than “Servyn”, but it would feel odd to share the same name as every other beggar in Mournhold (of which there were many). 

He lies curled up on the ground against the blacksmith’s plaza. Many filter in and out without noticing him much, though this particular spot gave a perfect view of the city’s wayshrine, where those coming in from all over Tamriel will inevitably see him, as the blacksmith’s is right across from the shrine’s entryway. Servyn looks to his tattered cap a few feet away, and makes a heartless effort to reach for it without having to get up (this being for a lack of motivation, he tells himself. Not because he doesn’t trust his legs to give out the moment he tries to use them). He’s able to brush the tip of it, but gives up trying to check it. Probably no coins in there anyway. At least watching the large guild stores haggle with passing knights and mages and trading goods he could never hope to behold in his life brought him some amusement. The aforementioned humorous names exchanged while doing so helped a bit, too.

Something was sniffing--a breathy heavy sniffing--at him. Servyn had managed to shift between laying on his side facing the streets to instead face the wall some time ago, which he’d done so when watching a trader present a whole roasted bantam guar became too much to handle. This seemed like a good idea at the time, though it meant he couldn’t see what was currently invading his personal space; not that this was too unusual. Street animals were just as numerous as street mer, and even they weren’t desperate enough to gobble up filthy urchins with hardly any meat on their bones. Just let it happen and it’ll go away. 

“What’s that you found, Dandelion?”

At the sound of a man’s voice close behind him, Servyn twitches and sweats. Okay, so it isn’t a nix hound. That’s fine. Right? He’ll take one look at me, reel back in repulsion for a few seconds, and let me go--

Before he’s able to finish that thought, he’s suddenly off the ground, for whatever was sniffing at him decided to pick him up and carry him by his shirt. The first thing he sees is the large bear paws--bear paws!--shuffling below him on the ground. The second thing he sees is an even larger Breton man in a black tunic and huge muscles adorned with intricate tattoos standing before him.

This is it, then! This is where I die, right here and right now! Be it by the hands of a strongman or in the belly of a bear...or both! All he could muster is quick desperate breathing, for it was useless to cry for a guard. They wouldn’t care to see a beggar go, anyway.

As expected, the Breton reels back with a look of surprise--though this surprise doesn’t seem like one of disgust.

“Wow! You found a baby grampa, Dandie! Amazing!”

Grampa? He was hardly past his early twenties! Not that he was offended by the mixup--his hair is naturally white, and the unkempt nature of his facial hair could certainly fool anyone into thinking he was an old man. The uncontrollable shaking in fear surely ought to tell the man he was far from a grizzled elder. Now you’re just giving him more reason to see you as easy prey!

“Oh, but will you please let him go, Dandie? Most people don’t like being held by a bear’s maw--I know, I don’t get it either. But it is what it is!”

Just as commanded, the bear releases Servyn, who falls to the ground like dead weight. Were it not for his still raspy and frantic breathing, one could easily assume he were already dead.

“Sorry about that, little elf! Dandie likes magical things, because she’s magical too! But that means you’re magical, right?” 

Not really. He may know a good deal more magic than the average street rat, but it was only simple magic he picked up from beginner’s spell books in the public library. He likely paled in comparison to the city’s many wizards and Telvanni mages. Surely this adventurous looking man has seen a good number of better mages to gawk at.

“Finnegan Stormborne, at your service!” he bows, and squeaks “and Dandelion, at yours as well!” in his best (and frankly impressive) falsetto. The bear still seemed uncomfortably interested in Servyn, but he was powerless to run away. He didn’t want to talk to the stranger, but decided maybe if he engaged in small talk with the man, then he may be generous enough to not let his bear tear him to shreds.

“Is...that your Jester’s name, sera?”

The Breton blinks, though is silent for only a moment before bursting into hearty laughter.

“Ha! I could never be a real jester, no. They’re funny on purpose, you see.”

“I...do?” The intentions of the Breton named Finnegan were lost on him. It didn’t seem like information--which was good, because Servyn wasn’t like the other beggars in that way. It didn’t seem like he simply wanted an easy target to bully, as he hasn’t done so--yet. It couldn’t be money, because surely the last place you’d look for extra gold is--

“Say, you dropped your hat!” 

Oh. Maybe it is money after all. Servyn doubted anything was in it anyway, but on the off chance there was...well. He supposed it wasn’t the first time he’d resigned himself to another night of sleeping hungry, though he didn’t have much time to lament about this, as he feels something placed on his head, and a handful of coins presented to him.

“These were inside it, too. Best hide ‘em, you never know when the gold-eating rats decide to come out...”

The what?

With great effort, Servyn sits up to better address Finnegan (though slightly wilting at the man’s towering height).

“There are no gold-eating rats here, sera. Or anywhere...at least, I don’t think so...” He cuts his own sentence off quickly, fearing the man would snap at him for talking back.

“Oh! That’s just what I call tax collectors. But eh, what does sera mean, by the by? Do you mean to say “serenade”? Cus I’m always in the mood for a song, and I don’t do so well, being tempted with a good time!”

Now it’s Servyn’s turn to blink. Finn, on other hand, seems jovial as a drunken Nord.

“Yeah, you know what? What do you say to a night in, Dandelion? I’ll get you a good roast, sing some songs...hey! Why don’t you join us, Dunmer? Dandie seems to really like you!”

Now the Breton must really be out of his mind. Him? In a tavern? With other people, who will probably sneer at the presence of a vagrant in their establishment? Alongside a stranger, no less!? The worst part was said stranger seemed genuine in his offer--but it didn’t matter. He shouldn’t go. He can’t go.

“Erm! I’d be happy to join you, Sir Finnegan, but my legs aren’t very strong, and I don’t think I will be able to stand...nor do I think tavern patrons would stand me, if you understand what I’m saying. You’d best be off on your own, the local tavern is that way--”

In an instant, Servyn, for the second time, is lifted off the ground; this time in the rock-hard muscular arms of Finnegan (a feat not difficult for him at all, as Servyn’s meager height of under five feet tall and malnourished frame required no more effort to lift than a sack of potatoes). This time he does yelp, though it comes out more akin to a frightened squeak.

“If that’s all that’s stopping you, then I can help with that! By the way, you can call me Finn. Now, where’d you say the nearest tavern was? That way? Come on, Dandelion!”

Servyn wasn’t sure which was worse: watching Finn dance the Lava Foot Shuffle directly on the Flaming Nix Inn’s hot coal stove, or watching Dandelion gnaw at roasted salmon. Neither one helped calm the frantic anxiety for his new friend‘s wellbeing...or the ravenous appetite of his long-unfed stomach. Finn notices this, and hops off the coals for a moment.

“Hey, are you alright? If you tell me your name, I can sing a song about you!”

In truth, Servyn wasn’t really paying attention to Finn. In an attempt to look somewhere else, his eyes ended up settling on the large cauldron of duck soup cooking behind the innkeeper’s counter. He didn’t notice the bit of drool escaping his mouth, but Finn does, with a sad “Oh.”

Before Servyn knew it, a bowl is presented to him, with Finn kneeling down a bit to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, friend. I should’ve known you must be famished, being on the streets and all. Do you like this stuff?”

Were Servyn in a different position, he’d beat himself up for such rudeness, as he didn’t wait to ask before taking the bowl from Finn’s hands without a single word and wolfing the soup down in a hunched up ball on the bench. Finn, however, is more than happy to let his friend be, and return to his dancing, only turning around to say: “I paid the chef for as many bowls as you want, so don’t be shy if you want more!”

Three bowls and an unceremonious belch later, Servyn lies sleepily against Dandelion, who situated herself behind the mer and quite enjoys acting as a large fluffy pillow while she dozes a bit herself. Finn, in his never-ending zeal, still happily dances amongst the coals whilst singing a new song about a Nordic king in a far-off kingdom. However, once noticing his ursine companion give a big toothy yawn, he stops singing.

“Ah, suppose you’re right, Dandie. It’s getting late. Hey innkeep! I’ll have two rooms for the night, put it on my tab, will you?” He makes to leap gracefully off the coals, but trips on a particularly odd-shaped stone and falls with a thud and a nonchalant “Ow.” Servyn perks up, immediately worried for Finn, and is not calmed down despite the Breton getting up easily and without distress.

“The second room I bought is for you, Dunmer. You don’t have to take it, but I thought it’d be better than going back to the streets. It’s no big expense on me, either way.”

There wasn’t time to worry about that right now. Struggling to get up, Servyn manages to stand, though with wobbly legs and a belly that felt much heavier than he was used to.

“Sir Finn, your arm..!” He points to a raw patch of skin which endured direct contact with the coals, and is now a large splotch of pink. Finn shrugs.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! I’ll take care of it later. But you look exhausted, friend. I can carry you to your room, if you’d like. Or the streets, I guess...if that’s what you want...”

Without thinking, Servyn trudges over to Finn, half of his energy focused on not collapsing, and the other half dedicated to channeling a healing spell. He all but collapses into Finn’s arms, but is able to cast the spell on the burned skin, and watches with relief as it mends right before his eyes--and Finn’s who stares in awe.

“Say, I knew you were magical! My arm feels good as new!” He hugs Servyn a bit tighter than he’d like, but thankfully the man has enough foresight to not put his usual effort into the embrace. He now cradles his friend, who looks to the floor sheepishly.

“It was just a simple spell, and was the least I could do, given the kindness you’ve shown me...” 

“Simple? I’d say that’s a real talent you have there! Have you tried joining the local Mages Guild? I bet they’d love to have you!”

Of course not. Someplace as prestigious as a guild would turn him away the moment they saw him, with his dirty untamed hair and filthy ragged tunic and patchwork pants. Finn was the weird one for not doing the same. Why didn’t he do the same?

Knowing he expects and answer, Servyn simply shakes his head. Finn makes his way up the stairs, still with the mer in tow, who doesn’t object or ask to be taken back to the streets.

“You should! I work for them sometimes. Sort of. I find these weird books all over the place that they’re interested in, but lots of mages are real stuck up. They complain and say things like “Finnegan, why is it covered in swamp stains?” Maybe because I found it in a swamp! You wouldn’t care if I gave you a book I found in a swamp, right?”

Servyn once again shakes his head, and mutters “a book is a book, sera. It’s not your fault it happened to end up in a swamp.”

“Right!? See, you understand, and I bet you would call me Finn instead of Finnegan. Mages do that to sound regal, but it’s too formal for me! Wish I had a friend in the guild who wasn’t so stuck up...like you!”

They reach a door. Finn pushes it open with his shoulders, and lays Servyn on the single bed. He blushes a bit--at the softness of the mattress and blankets so foreign and long forgotten after years of sleeping rough, and at the seemingly never-ending kindness of the Breton man.

“I’ve got to tuck Dandelion in now, but I’m in the room just across from yours. You can knock if you need me.”

Finn turns around, but before he’s able to leave the room, a soft voice interrupts him.

“S-Servyn! My name is Servyn. So you know who to...um, send the bill to. I don’t know when I can pay it back but--”

“Servyn, eh? I like it! Now I know exactly how to introduce you to the Magister! This is fantastic! Thanks for telling me, Servyn. But I’ll let you sleep now, okay? We’ll need all our strength for tomorrow, after all!”

The door clicks shut before Servyn is able to retort back. He isn’t sure whether he’s decided to give up on understanding Finn or understanding why he let the Breton sweep him up into a tavern room to begin with--all he knew was he was tired, much so that he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He could hear the man from the hallway baby-talking (presumedly to his bear) but didn’t feel at all annoyed by this break in silence. Finn’s voice truly exude a warmth so rarely heard, even from the kindest Temple priests. Servyn couldn’t bring himself to complain, and felt odly...okay with him knowing his true name, and he knowing Finn’s, and this sickeningly sweet okay-ness that he never thought he’d ever feel again lulls him into a gentle sleep. 

But if anyone else asks, my name is Captain Sujamma Guzzler.

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Chapter 5: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 3

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard​ – special thanks to @cssns​ for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART) // Chapter Four (ART)

Chapter Five on AO3

ART

// 

The ride from Nephilysis to Prince David’s cabin outside the Northern Mountains takes a day and a half, stopping only when necessary — and most of those hours are completely silent, Mary Margaret, Regina, and Belle with their noses in books and notebooks when they’re not driving, but Emma finds herself unable to concentrate on anything outside of her own mind. 

Emma spends the whole ride — the time it's not her turn to drive — still trying to wrap her mind around everything. By the end of the first day, the only thing she can do to keep herself grounded is text Ruby, filling her in on everything she’s learned at the Athenaeum. 

Or, almost everything; she doesn't know why, but she leaves out the part about Killian. Everything else almost seems believable compared to that, and she thought she would be fine just ignoring it. 

Ruby, of course, is unsurprised by the news of her being a Vis. Everyone around her is unsurprised by the news, apparently. 

You really never knew? she asks. I always just assumed you stayed quiet about it. 

She thought she could handle herself, stay composed when they get to the cabin, when she sees Killian, but she finds herself incorrect. 

Seeing him with this new knowledge, seeing the warm way he smiles at her when she walks into the cabin, is too much for her, and her stomach flips as she turns on her heel to walk back out. 

Mary Margaret says something to cover for her, but her voice is nothing more than buzzing in her ears, and she shuts the door behind her perhaps a little too loudly.

She doesn’t care. She has to get away.  

Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she calls Ruby. When she doesn’t pick up the first time, she tries again — not usual for her, but she’s in dire waters here. 

Ruby answers the phone on the fourth ring with a grumble, which Emma ignores. 

"He's my true love," she blurts out. 

"What?" 

"I thought I could — along with everything else, I thought I would just be able to ignore this and just try to save him, but this is different." The words come pouring out of her, trying to keep up with the million miles a minute that has become normal in her brain. 

"Emma, what the hell are you even talking about?" 

Finally, she takes a deep breath, though she can feel her heart pounding in her throat. She tries to make the words come out slower, but by the time she reaches the end of her thought, she’s sped up once more. "Belle told me I'm a Vis, left her duties as Magistra to help train me because we're in a time crunch, but that's not the only thing she told me. There's apparently some sort of prophecy about a Vis and a Fae who don't know how powerful they are until they come together and need to use their powers to save each other. Their powers, and the power of their true love." 

Ruby scoffs. "And they think it's about you? And Killian?" 

"Belle seems to think so. It's apparently from some collection of writing from this Neverland place, one of the only things they've ever been able to decipher completely. Apparently Neverland is one of those places where, once you get there, you don't leave. Or can't. And that's why no one knows anything about it." Her mind is so muddled by it all that she can’t remember what she’s already told Ruby, or what they learned together before she left the hospital, but Ruby seems to understand.  

"But Killian's been there before? And he left?"

"Well, he hasn't shared the whole story with us yet, but I don't think it was a very positive experience for him. David knows more about it than I do, but I think — I’m almost certain at least one person didn’t make it out alive."

"And you guys… have to go back? To cure him from the effects of this poison?" 

"Yeah." 

Ruby lets out a low whistle. "Damn." 

The line is silent, Emma giving Ruby a chance to wrap her head around everything, but it doesn’t take long for her to come up with one of the very questions that has been rattling around Emma’s mind: "So then, because of this true love nonsense, you really are his only hope?" 

Even though Ruby can’t see the way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, she somehow knows that Ruby knows she is doing it nonetheless. "Yes. What that's supposed to mean I have zero fucking clue, but… yes." 

Another low whistle. “You really have yourself in a predicament there, Swan. Though there could certainly be worse prospects for your True Love.”  

At this moment — of course — Killian steps out onto the porch, and she feels the embarrassment that crept up her cheeks deepen, though the stump she has taken a seat on is still a fair way away from him. 

She laughs, trying not to let the Ruby's right thought take up too much room in her mind as she tries to change the subject. "How is everything going at the hospital? Did you get the replacements?"

"He's there now, isn't he? Either that, or you agree with me."

Ruby always was able to read her like a book, even over the phone, and sees right through Emma's ploy. She smiles. "Yeah. Just answer the question." 

"Emma, come on! Which one!" 

"Both," she says quickly, surprising even herself, trying to hide her smile as she glances quickly at Killian on the back porch; and then, "Now, did you get the replacements?" 

Ruby laughs, and Emma can see the way she tosses back her head, letting it move through her whole body. "I'm almost upset you left me here." 

"I wouldn't trust the place in anyone else's hands, Rubes." She tries to stuff as much sincerity and appreciation in her voice as she can, only hoping Ruby picks up on it from hundreds of miles away. 

If she does, she says nothing, though finally answers the question Emma's been asking, a seriousness to her voice that wasn't there moments before. "Johanna's been here for a few days and Blue just got here this morning. Ashley finally delivered, no issues. We probably would have been okay with just Johanna, but I think Blue is glad to be away from the war for a while."

Emma feels a soft smile curve across her lips. "I understand that completely." 

"Any idea how long you'll be?" 

Out of instinct, Emma turns to the porch again, where Killian is sitting under one of the lit lamps, a few moths flying around over his head. He smiles at her, raising his hand with a wave, which Emma returns. "I don't even know where I'm going." The anxiety of it all washes over her: she really doesn't know where she is going, doesn't know what will be asked of her, between this prophecy and her new knowledge of being a Vis, not to mention this whole true love/saving Killian piece that has to fit in this adventure somehow. "There's a lot about this I'm not sure about, really," she mumbles, talking more to herself than her friend. 

But Ruby answers anyway. "If anyone is capable of succeeding at something like this, it's you, Emma Swan. I've never seen you take on more than you can handle." 

"I appreciate that you have faith in me, but what if this is finally it? What if I've finally gotten myself in too deep?" 

"Then you'll find a way to pull yourself out. You always have, and you always will." 

Emma smiles, trying to instill a little of Ruby's confidence in herself. 

Before she comes up with a response, though, Ruby says, "Now, I gotta go, and I'll let you get back to lover boy—"

"Ruby!" 

"Don't forget to update me from your far-off lands. And be careful."

"I always am."

Emma ends the call, though her eyes stay on her cell phone until after the screen goes dark, searching for the very confidence that Ruby just instilled in her, which seems to have already disappeared. Sliding her phone back into the pocket of her jeans, she wraps her arms around her torso, hugging herself. She forgot about the temperature change this close to the Northern Mountains after spending the last few years in all the same climate, and especially after the warmth of the city, and the chilliness of the dusk air quickly seeps into her as soon as she focuses on it, her skin already cold to the touch. She hopes she remembered to pack a jacket, at least for the next few days in the Northern Mountains — though who knows what the weather in Neverland could be like. 

Neverland. How the hell did she end up in this situation, traveling with a pack of soldiers, the Prince and his betrothed, a sprite council member, and the Magistra to a land they have never heard of? This is just the type of thing that she thought she left behind when she traded in her medic's bars to start her own maternity hospital, needing to live a life far from the death and destruction of the War. What brought her into this mess?

Killian, she reminds herself. Killian Jones, who fought and forced his way out of a prison camp and back to freedom, who lost his hand in the process — only to find his way to her hospital? A man who, against all odds, has a connection to her oldest friend, the Prince of the Gale, and found his way through the rain and the mud and the entire damn war just to end up in her hospital.

Killian. 

A violent shiver forces it's way through her body, shaking her shoulders and her knees. She's cold, much colder than she's been in a while, and knows she should go inside and find warmth, a blanket or a jacket and a nice cup of hot chocolate. 

But she knows what's waiting inside for her: questions and expectations and too many people needing too many things from her. 

When she looks up from her stump, she sees Killian slowly making his way across the yard to her, his leather jacket removed to reveal a dark blue sweater that clings to him in all the right places — no, stop, she tells herself. Don't go there. 

"My apologies if you're trying to have some alone time now, love, but I couldn't help but notice that you're without a jacket, which isn't opportune in this weather."

"Thank you," she says, taking the jacket from his hand and slipping it over her shoulders. The inside is still warm from his body heat, she realizes, remembering that he was wearing it when he stepped out onto the porch. "It's been a while since I've been in weather this cold, not since I used to travel around with David, and I've sort of forgotten that cold even exists." 

He sits beside her on the stump, far enough away that his arm only grazes hers every once in a while, not pressed up against her. "No need to worry, I have some sweaters and jackets here from when I was here last that you can surely borrow for the journey." 

She turns to him, trying her best to offer him a soft smile, though she does find it difficult. "Thanks," she mumbles, then lets out a small self-depreciating laugh. "You can just add that to the list of things I wasn't prepared for when I left home." 

"Yeah, Mary Margaret was saying that you discovered you're a Vis, I can't even imagine that." 

She nods, though her mind is instead on the prophecy. A Vis and a Fae. Though, as far as she's aware, Killian's not a Fae. 

"You don't have any abilities, do you?" she asks, trying to broach the subject gently, though she realizes immediately that she fails. 

He shakes his head. "Liam — my brother — was a dryad, hence the airships. We were never sure about our parents, though. Mum died when I was very little and our father disappeared one day not long after, but neither used any powers that Liam could ever remember." 

If he wants to know why she asked, he keeps it to himself, even as she offers him no response. The silence that settles between them is soft, not thickened by awkwardness or tension, and Emma is thankful for it. It's the first time in hours — days, at least — that her mind is not travelling at top speed, and she seizes the opportunity to take a deep breath, close her eyes for a moment, and focus on the soft sounds of the forest around them. 

"What about you?" he asks after a while, and when she turns to him, she finds him staring at her intently, almost as if he is trying to take in every detail of her. Normally, she would find advances like this overwhelming, almost creepy, but there is something in Killian's eyes — a softness, almost, more of an appreciation than anything else — that seems to calm her, even as he asks questions that bring up her past, something she tries to hide from and avoid as often as possible.

She doesn't feel that here. 

"I never knew my parents," she says calmly, as if it's not the biggest regret of her life. "They gave me away when I was just a few days old. I don't even know their names." 

"I'm sorry, Emma," he whispers, reaching his hand out to take hers. It's the simplest of gestures, his fingers wrapping tenderly around her hand, but it seems to light a spark within her, a warmth that has nothing to do with the jacket and a shiver unconnected to the crisp air. An air of confidence washes over her, bigger and more powerful than the one she felt while on the phone with Ruby, and she lets it wash over her and clean the dust and doubt that hide in her darkest corners. Suddenly, everything about this mission feels attainable: flying in a ship to an unknown land to retrieve the antidote needed to save Killian. It's as simple as that, really, and she feels like nothing can stop them. 

Them. 

Her and Killian. 

Together. 

Everything around him is dark. Dark rocks, dark fields, dark, dark jungle as far as the eye can see. But they’re not in the jungle; in fact, they’re up on a cliff, looking down over it all. It looks so small from up here, the path that’s taken them three days to get through. Up here, he feels like he can see the whole island, though he knows it’s much bigger, since he has actually seen it from above. 

A whole island that no one had ever heard of, that’s been missing from maps and history books simply because… why? Nothing about Neverland is simple, he’s learned. It’s — what word did Pan use? — alive. It’s alive, hidden from maps and books and knowledge because it wants to be. 

Killian turns around to where Liam and Pan are standing beside a large bush, their arguing voices covered by the rushing of the waterfall behind them, but Killian can still tell they are fighting by Liam’s use of his hands. The three of them were the only men to leave the Jewel of the Realm once it took anchor off the shore of the foreign land, so they are alone at the top of the cliff. 

Pan turns away from Liam to face Killian as he approaches them. "I can assure you, Captain, Dreamshade is a very valuable asset to King Gold because of its immense healing power. I don't know where you found these books your brother speaks of, but I grew up on the island, so I would certainly know." 

"See, Killian, I told you." 

"Yes, Killian, trust your brother,” the boy spits, accentuating his name much more than necessary, almost mocking. “Come help us gather some of these branches, but be careful of the thorns. We want to make sure as much of it gets back to the King as possible." 

There is still something about the boy — Pan — that Killian can't stand, and he watches as he carefully snips off the end of a branch and drops it in the nearby pouch. 

Killian narrows his eyes towards the boy. "If the plant really does have healing powers, then what would be the need of avoiding the thorns? What is it going to do, heal me too much?" 

Pan opens his mouth to respond, but Liam beats him to it, stepping back towards the bush, moving slowly away from Killian. “Come, now, brother, don’t be like that. The king would not have sent us on such a diplomatic mission if it weren’t for the good of everyone, and he certainly would have informed us if we were to collect a deadly poison instead of a plant with healing abilities.” 

Pan smiles, and the sense of fear that Killian has felt since the King gave them their mission suddenly becomes paralyzing because of it. 

Something is wrong. 

“Here, I’ll even prove it to you,” Liam continues, grabbing one of the branches from the bag, and before either of them can react, he slices the skin of his arm with one of the thorns. 

At first, nothing happens, but the way Pan stares at him wide-eyed makes Killian’s stomach turn.

After a few more seconds pass, all with no reaction from Liam’s arm save a scratch in his skin from the thorns, he shrugs.

“See, Killian, I told—” His words stop in an instant, his eyes going wide as he turns down to his arm.

Where moments before there was only a scratch, the cut has now turned black, the darkness webbing out along his arm and up under his rolled-up sleeve. He tries to say something, but his throat is quicky closing, and Killian is by his side just in time to catch him as he collapses.

“Brother—” he chokes, and the blackness appears from under the collar of his uniform, spreading up his neck.

Killian can’t believe it, and he whips around towards Pan, who is leaning casually against a tree, a sly smile across his adolescent cheeks.

“Why didn’t you stop him?!” Killian screams, clutching tight to Liam's body. “You knew this was going to happen! You could have stopped it!”

“Well, where’s the fun in that, Captain?”

“I have to get him back to the ship, back to the crew, show them exactly what the king sent us here for!”

As soon as Killian lets go of Liam, though, Pan flicks his wrist and whisks his body into the air. “I’m afraid not. Your brother is never going to leave Dead Man’s Peak, ironically enough.” Another flick, and Liam is propped against one of the rocks along the edge of the water — and with another, Killian’s hands are bound behind his back.

Rightfully, he’s furious, but no matter how hard he fights against his restraints, he somehow knows he’ll never get out. “What do you think you're doing?!”

“I’m just doing as Baelfire ordered.”

“The Prince ordered you to kill my brother? To take me hostage?”

“Oh, no, nothing quite so intricate. He simply ordered me to make sure the Dreamshade arrived back in Nephilysis by any means necessary. You and your dryad brother were simply pawns in a much bigger scheme.”

Suddenly instead of anger, Killian is overcome with a paralyzing sense of fear. “What are you going to do to me?” he asks, his voice much softer than even moments ago. Trembling.

“Well, see, now I’m going to make your crew believe you killed your brother for power so the prince can gain control of your whole fleet of ships.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Pan smiles, another flick of the wrist, and Killian finds himself unable to speak, all of his words coming out as mumbles. “Because no matter what you say, Baelfire is going to have you killed." 

 Killian is tied to the mast, his crew standing in a circle around him, every eye on him. He knows that many of these men — men that he has known for years, one that he’s known for most of his life — don’t believe the lies that Pan is spewing, but they’re all smart enough not to argue with him, backed always by Prince Baelfire. Not to mention the woman, the woman he loves, though he hasn’t had the nerve to tell her yet. The woman that’s not even supposed to be on the ship with them, that he begged Liam to let come. The woman whose eyes are brimming with tears, he just knows it, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. 

Milah. 

"The power the Admiral gained must have been too much for him," Pan says, his eyes filled with a fake sadness, but Killian knows (hopes) no one else sees it that way. "He saw how important the healing abilities of Dreamshade were going to be to the King and decided to kill the Admiral and take all the glory." 

That’s not true! his mind screams, but there is nothing he can do about it. Pan and Baelfire have worked their charm over the crew, and even if anyone did take his side, they would just be tossed overboard to their deaths with him. He knows at least some of his crew must be loyal to him, knows that they must know he would never usurp power from Liam. 

Right? 

Instead of focusing on Pan or the Prince, or even his love, he looks around the circle of men, searching for Merlin. Merlin, his oldest friend beside his brother — his oldest living friend, now — is the smartest man either of them ever met, and he must know this is all a rouse for the prince to gain more power. He must know that none of it is real. Finally, he finds him, and though he is weak from whatever charm Pan cast over him when they left Dead Man's Peak, he can focus on his friend enough to recognize his slight nod, the understanding in his eyes. If nothing else, he has Merlin on his side, and hopefully he is able to carry out the plan they discussed not long before about what they should do should the Jewel of the Realm ever fall into the wrong hands — as it is about to do. 

"Killian Jones," Prince Baelfire says, his voice loud, booming, demanding, and every eye on the ship is drawn to him — though Milah, he notices, is still looking only at him. "I find you guilty of treason and sentence you to death. Usually aboard a ship, the penalty would be walking the plank, and I do believe that would be equally efficient in these circumstances." 

Milah screams, but no one acknowledges her, which just makes Killian’s heart break more.

Killian gulps. Pan smiles, though no one seems to notice. 

"B-b-but your majest-t-ty," First Mate William Smee tries, his voice shuddering with fear. "We're th-thousands of feet in the — in the air!" 

The Prince whips around to face him, anger obvious on his features, and Smee practically cowers away. "That is precisely why it will be efficient, Smee," he growls between gritted teeth, then turns back to Killian, who has just a few more steps to reach the plank. 

He turns quickly, hoping to find Milah’s face one more time before falling to his death, but she is no longer looking at him. Instead, she has fallen to her knees on the deck, the winds whipping her wild, dark hair around her face, which she holds in her hands. 

“I love you,” he whispers, which uses all the strength he has left. 

"To your death, traitor," he says, and a whoosh of magic from Pan’s hand pushes him over the side of the ship, falling towards his death and towards the waters below.

 His eyes snap open moments before he hits the surface of the water, though every inch of his body remembers how it felt. But instead of the freezing cold that he expects, he feels… warm? Off-balance. Delirious. 

It takes him a moment to get his bearings, because everything around him is dark. There’s a light weight on his chest, a warmth emanating from it and through his whole body. 

“Hey, hey, no, you’re alright,” a voice whispers in his ear. 

Emma’s voice. 

She's comforting him, the soft light of her magic illuminating where her hands are pressed against his chest, relaxing him. A few more moments, deep breaths, and he has come to completely, so he relaxes, leaning back into her arms. There is something about her, something about the way she takes care of him and the care she has shown him since she first laid eyes on him in her office that he appreciates immensely, and he can't help the thoughts that come in his sleepy haze about how she has come to mean more to him than that. He hasn't opened his heart up to the idea of love his whole , but he can't help but think maybe, if they somehow succeed at their mission and save his life, he may be able to no longer hide from the feelings that he has been pushing deeper and deeper down. 

"You can't be comfortable like this, Swan," he whispers, realizing for the first time the position they are in on the back seat of the truck, but he is apparently wrong, since she's fallen asleep with her hands on his chest and her head resting back against the pillow pressed against the window.

He quickly drifts off. 

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