#this is not a bitter pick me moment I’m genuinely baffled

[mostlykind]

not to sound like a hater but why do all footballers have white/blonde girlfriends. a lot of them look copied and pasted even. I’m not being mean here I’m genuinely so astounded at how they could all have the same taste

[mrjelly]

Pirate Party

Mr Jelly x Reader

Warnings: swearing, sexual themes (nothing filthy…yet)

You are a teacher at a school Mr Jelly is hired to perform at. Despite having a bad day, the cantankerous clown is able to lighten your mood.

hope you enjoy the first part to this fic. More to come soon!

You slam the door of your bosses office behind you and march out to the front of the school. You hadn’t been working at Moloch Road Primary School long before your personality clashed with the headteacher. This time, however, the headteacher’s berating was understandable: one of the mothers overheard you calling a student in your class a nobhead to one of your colleagues. Your boss had brought you in to his office as soon as he was informed by the parent and you were swiftly scolded. It is true though, he is a nobhead, even if he is only ten.

The fresh air cooled your burning skin as you walked out towards the carpark. It was a bitter, grey afternoon but you couldn’t be in that building for a moment longer. You plunged your hands into your pockets for warmth and fell upon a packet of fags. Huffing out some pent up anger, you headed towards the back of the carpark and away from prying eyes. The children were all in lessons but you couldn’t be too careful, not knowing how many chances you had left with the headteacher.

Fishing the packet from your pocket and placing a cigarette between your lips, you scanned your eyes for one last check. All clear. Sparking your lighter, you held the flame to your face; feeling the heat on your nose.

Before you could light your cigarette, your eyes fell upon an unfamiliar sight.

A hearse? A hearse. In a primary school car park. You had seen it all. Lighting your fag and taking a long-needed drag, you chuckle at the thought. You walk towards the car slowly, hoping that there was nobody in the front (or back for that matter). Your eyebrows furrowed as you took another drag, noticing the back was full of boxes. “What the…” you trailed off, in total confusion. You slowly headed around the side of the car, unblinking between drags of your cigarette and your footsteps crunching in the gravel.

“Keeps… Kids... Quiet.” Your face turned to a baffled grimace. Is this some sick joke or are you actually about to discover some weirdo ready to pounce on kids at home time? You stared some time longer trying to understand what this is and peered through the back window to the boxes, again.

“Can I help you?” A passive aggressive voice barked, knocking you back in silence. Your eyes widened in shock, searching for the voice. You looked through the open car window to a man in terrible clown makeup. How could you have missed him in the front seat? He spoke again, noticing how startled you were.

“I’m not a nonce if thats what you are thinking.” His eyes were judgemental.

“Oh no i would never, i’m sorry.” you stumbled your words in an overcompensating kindness. What, so just because he says he isn’t a weirdo, you just let it slide? You offer a smile athough your eyes were still wide.

He hangs his arm out of the window and taps the car door, “Don’t worry,” he starts, staring directly at you, “I know how bad the writing looks, but I’ve actually been hired to perform for the kids, some treat for them or something the head said, I don’t know…” he rambled slightly, obviously trying to ease the tension.

“Oh right!” You offered still very wary. You raised your cigarette to your lips out of awkwardness only to discover it had gone out. Picking your lighter from your pocket your relit your cigarette, avoiding eye contact but you could feel his eyes watching your every move.

“What’s your deal, then?” he spat accusingly, “I saw you coming out the door all moody, now you’ve come over here pestering me!”

“Of course I had to come over, to see what a hearse is doing parked outside of a school.” You spat back, colour returning to your face. “And I was pissed off because i’ve just been shouted at by my boss.”

“What for?” He asked genuinely.

“Oh, just calling one of my students a nobhead.”

“Well they are aren’t they. Can’t stand kids.” He offered a half laugh.

“What? But you’re a clown, isn’t it part of the job?”

“Sewage workers exist, do you think they like sifting through shit all day? Anyway can I have a fag, i’m dying.” He asked before you could laugh, he had a strange, stinging sense of humour.

As you went to grab your packet, he began to step out of the car. You stood back to give him room and offered the cigarette his way. He took it in his mouth and lit it.

“Is it a pirate party?” you pointed to his hook.

“No, i’ve only got one hand.” He cut back monotonously. You laugh loud at his wit and take another drag.

“Its not funny, i’ve only got one hand.” he pulled up his sleeve slightly revealing a bandage beneath his hook.

“God I am so sorry. I thought you were joking.” You reached out slightly, hands up in defence and crimson flaring on your cheeks. Luckily, he didn’t linger on the conversation.

“Well, now you’re here, you can show me where i’m meant to be heading.” You dropped your cigarette and stamped it out.

“I’m Mr Jelly, by the way,”

You raised your head to see him smiling, “Im, Y/N.” You returned the smile and began leading him back to the school.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Oh great Miss L/N, you brought Mr Jolly.” The receptionist beamed.

“No! Miss L/N has brought Mr Jelly. Me and that Bas- Idiot are not the same! I’ve come here to do this show so even if you don’t want me to go on because im not Mr Jolly, you still have to pay me!” He spoke through grated teeth. You didnt realise how loud his voice had boomed until he had finished. There was a few moments of silence before she answered.

“Y/N, show him to the hall.” The receptionist’s face had turned to a stone glare, her voice now soured. She waved her hand at the clown in a dismissive manner and looked back down at her work.

You led the way giggling, turning back to Mr Jelly to take him in properly. There was something strangely attractive about this man, whether it be the mystery of him or the way he raised his voice to the receptionist. But something about him made you feel giddy.

“So this is me then, is it?”

“Yep, your grand stage awaits.” You shifted your feet and looked up at him. His eyes were a piercing blue and his lips, beneath the face paint, were full and. No I am not thinking that, you thought to yourself. You realised how close you were stood to Mr Jelly now and you moved backwards.

“I best be off, I have a lesson to cover. Good luck with the show.” You replied quickly and dashed off down the corridor.

“Well bye then!” He called shaking his head in confusion.

∗ ∗ ∗

You hadn’t been able to concentrate on the lesson you were teaching to the year 4’s. They were uncontrollable in their boredom when you were attempting to teach maths; knowing that the younger years were watching a clown show. Giving up, you had been letting them play a series of maths games on the whiteboard whilst your mind wandered.

You didn’t understand why you had been thinking about Mr Jelly so much, its not like you even knew what he looked like under that makeup. Or even what he was really like- you had only spoken to him for a few minutes and now you had been thinking about him non stop.

You kicked yourself whilst thinking over scenarios in your head: what you should have said, what he should have said… what the both of you should have done. Now you were never going to see him again and would never know if there was anything to come.

You brought your mind back to the present as the kids screamed and laughed at the game they were playing.

“Quieter please guys we don’t want Mr Lock coming in he will make you do real work!” you hushed in your teaching voice. The children erupting in boos and whines like a pantomime, continuing with the game quieter.

You put your head in your hands fed up and ready for the day to be over. Only half an hour, and it would drag along painfully.

In a moment of realisation you raised your head from your hands, a grin splitting across your face. He’s still in the building why don’t I go and watch his show and catch him after? Gaining your composure you looked at your computer and feigned surprise, explaining to the teaching assistant you had a meeting and that she would have to watch them for the rest of the lesson.

Grabbing your coat and bag, you headed to your usual classroom, unlocking it and placing your things inside. You opened the drawer of your desk, searching through stickers and stationary for your mirror and looked over your appearance.

Squeezing your eyes shut you threw your head back. What am I doing, you thought but as soon as the thought passed you began touching up your makeup and headed towards the hall.

Sneaking in through one of the doors, you lingered at the back. You looked at your feet to gain composure. Noticing a rogue carrot by your shoe, you kicked it aside. You guessed the cleaners didn’t care much for the act we were blessed with.

“What’s your favourite animal?” Mr Jelly spoke in a strained jovial tone. He was leaned over to one of the children, sat cross-legged on the food splattered floor.

“Elephant? No, its not an elephant. Don’t LIE. What about a fish?” Mr Jelly began twisting a long balloon into the most simple shape.

“No! Elephant! I want an elephant!” The year 1 screamed.

“You can’t have an elephant!” Mr Jelly replied in an angry singsong tone, “Cos its too hard!” As he sang the last word, leant into the child’s face, the balloon popped from the pressure of his hook. The children screamed, a few that were closest to the explosion burst into tears.

“Brilliant!” He shot his body back in dispair, arms and head hanging back, “See what you’ve done now? Ruined it for everyone one.” He pointed his hooked hand towards the child. One of the teachers shot up from her chair and took centre stage- well, centre dinner hall.

“I think thats all Mr Jolly’s got time for today! How great was that! Now if we all head back to our classrooms,for the last 10 minutes of today, your teachers will show you how to make your own balloon animals!”

“Noooo!” the kids cried at the mention of balloons, their teachers ushering them out.

After the children and teachers had dispersed, you headed over to Mr Jelly who was packing his things. You could hear him mumbling angrily under his breath.

“Probably not the best time to ask for a balloon animal is it?”

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, but replied as though he wasn’t phased.

“Unless its a dog or a snake or a fish; you can get to fuck.” He finally turned to face you, he appeared to be relieved to see you, his face was slightly drained from his obvious frustration but his eyes were now soft and kind.

“I could show you how to make one if you like,” he said gently, almost nervously. You couldn’t really believe that he had offered and replied almost too fast.

“Yes I would love that. I mean, the cleaners will be coming back in here soon to pretend to clean the floors, but you can show me in my classroom. Don’t worry- my students will have gone by the time we get there.”

He nods and you watch as he continues to pack up his things; when he is done, you lead the way to your classroom. Opening the door and turning the lights on, you let him through with his large bag that he drops on the floor. He slumps down in the chair at your desk. Arms rested on the sides comfortably and his legs apart. You push the dirty thoughts from your mind and walk to the other side of the desk.

∗ ∗ ∗

“No you are doing it all wrong! STOP STOP STOP” BANG another balloon popped between your fingers. You were now sat in your own chair and Mr Jelly was shifting from helping you twist the balloon to darting around the room in fury. You had been talking and laughing for the last twenty or so minutes, feeling totally relaxed with him, strangely, and becoming increasingly attracted to his wild character.

He laughed out maniacally, coming close to you. “Last try…” he stared deep into your eyes. stretching the balloon with his hand and hook, he blew it up and tied it with skill. He passed the balloon to you and instructed you the same he had done the last few times.

“Under…. yes, now twist there…No NO!” His hand grabbed yours before you could kill the balloon animal again. The touch, however innocent, sent shocks through your body and you could feel yourself begin to blush. Using his hand he guided yours to twist and pull the animal into a shape. Now sat on his knees, he watched his own hands as he created the animal slowly; trying to teach you but you watched him instead. His eyes were focussed and his tongue poked slightly out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. You could smell his aftershave (a cheap woody smell) mixed with cigarettes and a scent of lingering alcohol. You looked at how his hand worked so deftly in twisting the balloon: his fingers were wrapped around the back of your own hand, squeezing your skin as he moved it to where he wanted.

You exhaled and looked back to his face, noticing that he was no longer speaking. His own gaze had drifted to your face and your eyes met. You smile at him and his hand stops moving, but he does not remove his grip. He leans slightly in, in anticipation and you meet his lips in a timid kiss.

His lips are soft against your own, the kiss is broken after a few seconds and you both stare longingly between each other’s eyes and lips. Moving his hand from your own, he places it upon your cheek and pulls you in again.

What started off as a chaste kiss, quickly deepens as he slides his tongue in. Heat rises along your skin as your mouths move against each other in sync. Placing his hook under your elbow, Mr Jelly pulls you both up to your feet, walking you backwards until your back hit the wall; the disfigured balloon animal floating to the floor.

Your eyes shot open as you realise where you are. Shit, what if someone was to walk in? Your eyes fell upon the stranger you were intertwined with, his own eyes closed and his eyebrows knitted slightly in pleasure underneath the white face paint. You smiled into the kiss at the thought of the situation, placing your hands on his neck and pulling him in further. At this, his arms grabbed at your waist and brought your body flush to his. The sharpness of his metal hook tickled your back through your shirt, sending a tingling sensation straight to your core. A low moan erupts from the clown as you press your hips into his own, feeling a hardness through his trousers pressing into you.

An ear piercing pop between your feet breaks you from the rising intensity, allowing you both to catch your breath and assess the situation. Mr Jelly looks to the floor then back to you, chuckling.

“These fucking balloons won’t give me a break today.”

Laughing back you move yourself from the wall, needing physical distance to stop yourself from going any further in your place of work. Mr Jelly picks the balloon remains up from the floor, trying to think of what to say after what had just spiralled.

Before either of you can speak, the door opens and a cleaner walks in dragging a hoover.

“Saved by the balloon.” you mutter to Mr Jelly, shooting him a cheeky look. A worried look overtakes his face as he scans your own. His mouth opened as if to speak.

“Am I ok to get started in here?” The cleaner spoke and your turned back to face her.

“Yes of course, Sue, Mr Jelly was just showing me how to make Balloon animals!” You chirped back in the most professional manner you could muster.

“Showing you his makeup skills as well, was he?” She scoffed and plugged in the hoover.

Grabbing the mirror on your desk, you blinked hard in awe of your stupidity. White and red paint smudged all around your lips, you bit your lip to supress a chuckle.

“I guess he was.” You replied in amused defeat, there was no way of explaining that. Grabbing your things you began to exit, Mr Jelly following quickly suit.

As you reached the carpark you hung back for a moment.

“So…” You began, having no real plan of what to say.

“So…” he mimicked, “Well, if you ever… Fancy, you know.” He handed you a business card with his name and number on.

“Very professional,” You looked back up only to realise that he had walked over to his hearse and thrown himself in. You watched as he pulled away from the now sparse car park at a speed you had never seen a hearse go before.

Mr Jelly better be worth potentially losing your job over.

[middleearthpixie]

More Than Meets the Eye ~ Chapter Twelve

A/N: Home today with a bit of a sore back, so it is entirely possible there will be more than one chapter update today...

Summary: Belle enlists Dis’ help in trying to win over Thorin, while Thorin, after an initial bit of awkwardness, opens up to Arielle about how he hurt his shoulder.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Arielle (Elen) Farran (female OC)

Characters: Arielle, Thorin, Dis, Belle,

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,757

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here and on AO3

Dis frowned as she stared down at Belle. “What were you thinking?”

Belle didn’t even look the least bit ashamed as she shrugged and said, “Oh, don’t look at me that way, Dis. I was only hoping to… to hurry things along a little.”

“Hurry them along? You’ve been here only a few days, Belle. And I feel I should warn you, trying to force Thorin’s hand into anything will not end well for you.” She shook her head as they crossed the plains between Dale and Erebor. They’d spent the morning in Dale, wandering the amazing open-air market, when Belle finally confessed to Dis about her scheme to get Thorin to ask for her hand.

“I just… oh, it’s silly and I know it’s silly,” Belle replied, tucking a wayward curl behind her left ear. The breeze picked up to rattle the beads in her beard, making them clack softly. “But, he seems to be somewhere else whenever I’m with him.”

“Somewhere else where?”

“I don’t know and that’ s the frustrating part.” She looked over and Dis could see the genuine confusion in her friend’s eyes. She and Belle had known each other for several years now, and Dis had seen firsthand how dwarves practically fell at her feet for her attentions. It was easy to see how one could become spoiled that way, but Thorin was not a typical dwarf and that was something that escaped Belle.

“Belle, you have to take care where Thorin is concerned. He… he tends to keep everyone at arm’s length, no matter what. And for you to try to—to manipulate him that way? That is the worst approach to take because he will back away from you.”

“Is there someone else?” Belle stopped and faced her, catching that same wayward curl as the wind blew it across her eyes once more. “Does he fancy someone else?”

Dis laughed. “My brother? The brooding, grumpy, growly King Under the Mountain? I’d be surprised if he realized there were any available dwarrowdams within sight. He leaves skirt chasing to my sons, as they are quite skilled at it.”

Belle’s face fell and for a moment, Dis actually felt sorry for her. Belle was genuinely baffled as to why Thorin wasn’t falling at her feet, begging for her hand, and she did not know how to get him to do so.

Well, Dis could tell her it wouldn’t happen, but she didn’t think Belle would believe her. But, she couldn’t recall ever seeing Thorin beg for any woman’s hand, and he’d had enough of them seeking his attention, even before he became king. He and Frerin both had their pick of dwarrowdams, and yet both focused on their duties, on the battlefield, and marriage was the last thing on either one’s mind.

“Dis, I am serious. I just think he is so… beautiful…”

“Beautiful.” Dis made a gagging sound and shook her head. “Please remember he is my brother and there is nothing beautiful about that scruffy, grouchy walking ball of grump.”

“Oh, that isn’t fair at all and it certainly isn’t very nice.”

“You forget, I know him. You see his face, I know the man behind it and have for a very long time. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to death, but I am not so certain I’d wish him on anyone.”

“I will be more than happy to take my chances.” Belle slipped her arm through Dis’. “Could you talk to him for me? Maybe just find out if someone else is wandering through his mind?”

“I can, of course, but I cannot promise you anything. Although, I’ve already spoken to him about the fair this evening.”

“Oh, the fair! That’s right!” Belle brightened and gave her arm a squeeze. “I know. As long as I know I am the only one he thinks of, I will be happy.”

****

Try as he might, Thorin couldn’t get Arielle out of his mind. He was up and dressed well before the sun, to avoid any early-morning awkward conversation and then spent most of the day deep within Erebor, sitting down with Balin and several of the others as they went over inventory and the like. It wasn’t easy, as he had a deuce of a time trying to focus on anything other than her and their kiss. Why had he kissed her? She’d been in his company, in his employ for five days. And for four of those days, he thought she was a young man. How did that change so quickly when she finally told him the truth? By all rights, he should’ve been furious with her, should’ve ordered her out of Erebor, and told her to tell her brother to not bother with coming in her stead.

And yet, instead of doing that, he kissed her.

He wanted to smack himself in the forehead for his idiocy. What had he been thinking?

Aside from the fact that he just simply wanted to kiss her, that is.

He wanted to kiss her as he’d never wanted to kiss another woman.

And it was one of the best kisses he’d ever had, truth be told. Her lips were soft. Her breath sweet. And instead of being angry with her for her deception, he rather understood why she and her brother had thought they could get away with this. They weren’t hurting anyone. Weren’t swindling or conning anyone. She was merely stepping up to protect her brother, to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table and he understood that.

But, what troubled him was that she’d performed those intimate tasks for him. Tasks that only a wife should perform (or a valet who wasn’t a woman in disguise.) He didn’t necessarily mind that he’d been naked before her, although, it was a little disturbing, since he wouldn’t have done so had he known she was a woman out of respect for her sensibilities more than his own sense of modesty.

So, had she grabbed his butt by accident then? Or had that been deliberate?

Accident. He remembered how she reacted to doing so. Definitely an accident.

He sighed as he made his way back toward his apartments. It was late afternoon and he had to change for supper. Dis had mentioned something about a fair in Dale that evening and wouldn’t it be nice if he escorted Miss Caisys to it for her to enjoy a few games of chance and some different foods?

He didn’t feel much like it, but Dis left him no room to back out of it, so, he’d be going to Dale that night.

With Miss Caisys.

When he’d rather be going with Arielle.

He scowled as he rounded the corner to the corridor leading to his apartments and his gaze landed on Arielle as she emerged from her own flat. She looked up and her cheeks went pink as she said, “You were gone by the time I arrived this morning.”

The words seemed glued in his throat, so he cleared it and said, “I had an early start.”

“Trouble sleeping last eve?”

“A bit. You?”

The color along her cheeks deepened and her curls bounced as she bobbed her head. “I did, too, yes.”

“About last eve,” he said, moving to unlock the door, “I should apologize. I should not have pounced on you that way.”

“Pounced on me?” A hint of laughter wove through her words. “If that is what you think pouncing is, have I news for you.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, turning the key. “I beg your pardon?”

The door swung open and he gestured for her to pass by him and go in. She smiled up at him, her blush receding now. “I mean, that is not exactly what pouncing is. If you’d pinned me to the wall—“

“I did pin you to the wall.”

“Oh,” her smile dimmed, “that’s right. You did. Very well, if you’d thrown me down on the bed and pinned me there, that would have been pouncing. And, either way, I do wish you wouldn’t apologize. It was a nice kiss.”

The tension thinned then and he relaxed some. “It was a nice kiss.” He paused as she went to the wardrobe to pull open one door, then he added, “In fact, it was one of the nicer ones I’ve ever had.”

She bent to peer into the wardrobe’s depths. “Have you had many?”

That took him aback. “Some. I don’t know I’d say many.”

“Well, more than… say… fifty?”

He grinned, shaking his head although she couldn’t see it from the wardrobe’s depths. “I haven’t counted, but I don’t think it’s anywhere near fifty.”

“Really?” She backed out of the wardrobe, a head blue tunic in her hands. “Well, whoever taught you, taught you well.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes,” she turned to set the tunic on the bed. “It was my first kiss, but I had no complaints.”

He just stared at her for a moment. Her first kiss? “You’re joking.”

She shook her head. “Why would I joke about that?”

“But…” He never would have thought that to be her first kiss. Not with the way she kissed him back, the way she teased him with her lips, her tongue, the way she let her hands move over him. There was no hesitation in her touch, no uncertainty.

And if he thought about it much longer, he would pounce on her right then and there, for it had been on his mind ever since he tugged her hand from his trousers. He wanted to unwrap her bandages, wanted to see her for himself, wanted to slip off her leggings and lift her against him and—

Mahal, allowing her to stay is a terrible idea.

But making her leave was a worse one.

She smiled as she tugged trousers from his wardrobe. “Are you actually speechless?”

“It would appear so, wouldn’t it? I’m just a bit surprised.”

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a woman of loose morals?”

He arched one brow. “You are my valet, and you are pretending to be a man, so…”

“One has nothing to do with the other and you know why I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to lie about it, but let’s face it, you never would have let me stay if you knew I wasn’t actually Elen, and I really am sorry about grabbing your butt cheek the other morning, because I absolutely did not mean to and—”

“Arielle.”

“Oh.” She pressed her lips together briefly, then said, “I need to work on that.”

“Yes, you do. And you’re forgiven for grabbing my butt cheek.” He bit back a grin as she snorted. “What is so amusing?”

“You. Saying butt cheek.” She set out small clothes, then gestured to the door. “Call me when you’re decent.”

“Go.”

He waited until she left the room then shed his boots and stripped off his wrinkled, somewhat sweaty clothes (it was unbelievably hot in near the forges that afternoon) to give himself a quick wipe-down using the ewer of water and basin on the far side of the room. To his surprise, once that initial awkwardness between him and Arielle had been broken, he was quite comfortable with her around him. He didn’t think he would be, once he knew the truth, but he was wrong. And perhaps it would come back to bite him, but for now, he was glad he’d not let her go.

“Your Highness,” her voice floated through from the other room, “how are you faring?”

He stepped into the clean small clothes and trousers and was about to tell her he was fine, when he tried to draw on the tunic and the second his right hand rose about his shoulder, a fiery pain shot through it. He bit back an oath. “I think I need help.”

She came into the room, her brow furrowed. “I thought you were going to see Narnerra?”

He scowled. “I am.”

“In this lifetime?”

“Arielle.”

“I’ll not apologize for that, Your Highness. You need to see her before you bloody arm falls right off.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“When did this first happen? Your shoulder, I mean.” She gestured to the bite mark scar. “Did that cause it?”

He shook his head. “No. I think it happened when I faced off against Azog at Ravenhill.”

“If you’d rather not speak of it—”

“No, it’s fine, really. I thought I’d had him cornered up at Ravenhill. Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and I left the battle outside Erebor to hunt the Defiler down. I was tired of being hunted, it was his turn to be the prey.”

She moved closer and sank onto the edge of his bed. “You went after him?”

“I did.” A rueful laugh bubbled to his lips. “The height of arrogance on my part. Anyway, I had seen him run Fili through. I heard Kili scream, but couldn’t see him, so I assumed the worse. He slaughtered them up there, you know.”

Without thinking, he brought his left hand to his sore shoulder. A faint scar was already there, given to him in Moria, at the Battle of Azanulbizar, when he was much younger, inflicted by the Defiler as well. “My history with Azog was long and tangled and I was going to end it. Anyway, I brought my sword down, swung it about, and felt something pop. And it’s hurt ever since.”

“Go see Narnerra. I should hate to see you lose use of your arm.”

“As would I.” He sighed and held out the tunic. “If you would?”

“Of course.” She helped him tug it on, then added, “So, I heard the fair has returned to Dale.”

He peered at her. “You know of it?”

“I remember my mother’s stories about it. Apparently she brought me and Elen there when we were very small, but I don’t remember it. She said there was a wizard there who made the most excellent fireworks she’d ever seen, but Elen was afraid of them and cried the entire time.”

“Gandalf?”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded. “Yes, I think that was what she said his name was. Oh, I wish I could remember them because she made them sound amazing.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to come with them. He hesitated for a moment, then gave in. “If you would like to come with us, you’re more than welcome to,”

She smiled. “Is everyone going?”

“I’m taking Dis and Miss Caisys, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the others found their way there as well.”

Her smile faded and her eyes dimmed. “Oh, then I probably should remain here. I wouldn’t want to arouse any suspicions.”

She stood. “If you no longer need me, then.”

“Arielle, wait—”

“What?”

“I’d like it if you came with us. The only time you’ve been away from here is yesterday and that only for a few hours.” He stood, sweeping up his discarded clothes to toss into the basket.

“Won’t the others wonder?”

“I doubt it.”

For a moment, she seemed to be considering it. But the, she shook her head. “I’m certain I am the last person Miss Caisys wants to see. Remember, I spoiled her plans last evening.”

He grinned. “I have not forgotten. But, are you certain? As I said, I’ll think of some explanation, even if it’s simply that I am the king and entitled to take my valet with me if I bloody well want to.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll go see if Kusela has any more mending for me to do. You are rather hard on your clothes sometimes.”

“If you’re certain.”

“I am. But thank you.” She moved to the doorway. “Enjoy your evening.”

The front door opened and closed and the silence that followed was deafening. He hadn’t wanted to go into Dale at all earlier, but now he really didn’t feel up to it. But, since he would hear about it from Dis come the morning, he sat to tug on his boots, then left as well.

He paused outside Arielle’s apartments, his hand hovering above the door handle. He could order her to go with them, if he so desired, but that didn’t sit well with him. So, with a soft sigh, he turned away and went above to find his sister and Miss Caisys.

[fragranceman]

what makes the dsmp’s story stand out

Why the dsmp is so special and why it distinguishes itself amongst the insane amount of media that we could be consuming instead right now.

So basically, this is really obvious and simple and i think we all kinda know it without thinking about it but i still felt like writing it down because it’s super important to me.

The thing that makes this story stand out amongst so many others (apart from the fact that it’s a mc rp lmao) is that all the character’s are treated like people. What i mean by that is that they can’t be treated simply as ways to further the plot, they can’t just kill off characters in favor of contributing to some other character’s arc, they can’t have stuff like “manic pixie dream girls”. and that’s because each character IS a real person, if they tried that, if someone suggested that stuff someone in the discord call is gonna go “hey, what the fuck man, you can’t just kill me off like that”.

Each character is therefore special, none of them can be 2d because they are people, they all exist as people instead of being plot devices. There aren’t any extras (except arguably the guests like drista, lil nas x, etc) there aren’t really any side characters*, because it’s everyone’s story, all the characters have someone sitting there that actually care about them and are interested in making that character special, they won’t be neglected.

that’s also why, often the characters just… don’t fit in tropes. they don’t really exist the way normal character’s do, they don’t have this “purpose” that movie or books characters do, like hero, trainer, soft character that teaches the main character about love, comic-relief, or love-interests that’s only there for 3 chapters because they die for the mc to teach them about grief.

They’re only there as, themselves. They don’t fit in one trope because people don’t do that, there’s more to them then that, they’re complex. they’re closer, more similar to real people than anything that’s been made in a really long time, and that’s because they all have a person to take care of their little character. 

there was this really cool thinking written by @/mt-words which i’ll link here about techno not fitting in a trope and that possibly fucking with people’s expectation of his characters. i think the idea that we’re so used to getting the same tropes regurgitated back to us over and over again that we don’t know how to handle stuff that doesn’t fit in them is very funny (and also a bit sad). Like, has media really become THIS repetitive and unoriginal??? But i digress.

anyway, time for quick examples, i was watching the “healthy competition” stream from 07/26 and i noticed something cool. So basically c!wilbur asks c!ranboo to ”pick his brain” and then asks him a bunch of questions about his morals and they discuss his alignments and other similar stuff right? And we can see clearly that c!wilbur is completely baffled at the stuff c!ranboo is saying about him not disliking anyone and not really having any strong stances at all. he just genuinely doesn’t understand c!ranboo and can’t relate at all.

Yet 10 mins later, he’s pouring his heart out to him and more importantly he’s talking about how he feels like c!ranboo really gets him. Obviously they are super similar in lots of ways, like their paranoia and anxiety, how they’re both kinda people pleasers, etc.

the fact that they can be in complete agreement on a topic and be so similar in certain aspects while also being complete opposites and being genuinely confused at the stuff that’s coming out of the other’s mouth on other topics really shows how multifaceted the character’s are, how 3d and real they feel.

I’m going to be adding another example from a post i just read by @/shrugofmud here it is :). It’s basically about how c!jack and ghostbur are cool because they balance comedy and drama. I’m gonna talk more about c!jack here. basically he’s comedic relief and he leans into that role right? but he’s also so much more than that, the way he balances the jokes and the clear comedy of his plotline with the sadness and loneliest he clearly feels and let’s that seep through in his jokes. He’s more than one thing, he’s more than comedic-relief, he copes with humor and covers his desire for a sense of belonging and to be heard by a bitter hatred and desire for revenge on c!tommy.

They’re more than just one thing, they aren’t reduced to a trope or a key personality trait the way characters often are. there’s so much to them, different parts of their personality that work together to make a whole, like a person :)

I also believe this is why the fandom as so much character analysis material and just keeps going, but it’s also why there’s so much disagreement on the characters and their personalities, like “oh people are villanizing c!wilbur too much” or “people are reducing c!niki to her villain arc and turning it into a ‘girlboss moment’” or “people are making c!tubbo too soft”. the character’s are harder to write into fanfic properly or analyze because you have to take into account all the different subtleties of them.

some people chose to focus on certain aspects of the characters, aspects they find more interesting or aspects they relate to, while other’s chose to focus on other aspects, which causes a bit of confusion.

It’s what makes this story so original and cool to think about and make the character’s so fucking compelling. It’s what makes me sit down for 6 hours straight and watch VODs so i can better understand different characters, it’s what makes me excited for each lore stream. it’s how human they are, how real they feel.

And this is why i’m the biggest believer and will always push for STUFF CAN BE TWO THINGS!!

[morizoras-cave]

Substitute Dad (Request)

Jake Gyllenhaal x teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Request Description: Ok I ADORE your writing 💖💖💖 and was wondering if you could do a teen costar reader x jake where trader never had a father figure so jake is like. Ok I’m your new father drink water, eat your veg, get some rest, do your homework *kisses forehead* live you sweety. If you could that would be nice Please and thank you💖💖💖

Warnings: bad dad, references to and mentioning of bad childhood

(A/N): this is another one that wasn’t specified as a headcanon, yet i think it would work best as a headcanon, so i sincerely apologize of you didn’t want this to be a headcanon or you think it doesnt really work that well D: 

so your dad left you and your mom when you were young

it was a sad and bitter reality

but you’d come to accept it

though, your entire life you held this anger in you

you’d never have a dad

not that you wanted your dad

but you know

and it wasnt something you talked about

you and your mom didnt talk about it

you didnt talk to your friends about it because what could they do

and you certainly didnt plan to tell your coworkers

it just slipped out one night at a dinner

“are your parents coming to the premiere then?” 

“my mom is”

“your dad’s not coming?”

and those words touched that raging anger that was always rumbling somewhere deep inside you

and so you said

“i mean unless hes coming back from that trip to the store from 13 years ago then no”

and you regretted it immediately

all your coworkers were just staring at you, baffled

and then you left

because you didnt want their pity

thats where jake comes in

the lead for the movie you were filming

you two had grown close over the course of filming

and when you accidentally exposed your dad-issues about 3 months into filming, it all clicked

jake always wondered why you never talked about your family 

in fact, it was actually something he’d been worried about since he first picked up on it

and then he understood

when he did finally get it, he slowly but surely started doing things differently

he didn’t mean to

there was never a moment in his head where he thought

“all right im gonna be this kid’s dad now”

but the protective part of him, the responsible part of him, and the part of him that really, really cared about you had a whole ass plan

subconsciously he started saying things like 

“eat your damn salad, wimp” 

“eat your carrots!” 

“why are these peas untouched, huh?” 

and on long filming days he’d come up to you with a water bottle saying 

“stay hydrated, kid”

you didnt realize what was happening

and neither did he

he only realized when you started opening up to him???

and he thought it over and realized he was acting more and more like a parental figure

and that it might have made you feel more secure with him

which freaked him out at first

but then he saw you the next day and had to physically fight the urge to tell you to “man up and eat your veggies” 

and then he realized he shouldn’t fight it, because it genuinely made him happy to help you like that

so he just leaned into it

he came on stronger, coming into your hotel room to tell you to rest from your homework

but then, unintentionally, he started helping you with your homework

you realized all this was happening when you two had literally SET UP A SCHEDULE SO HE COULD COME HELP WITH YOUR HOMEWORK EVERY DAY

what a champ

anyway at first you were freaked out

because you thought you were basically forcing him to do this with your sob-story 

so you tried to give him the cold shoulder

but he was not having it

��y/n please tell me why you’re angry, is this a puberty thing??” - dad jake

“jake, please.. you’re basically acting like my dad.. im so sorry i made this awkward for you, you don’t have to do this stuff because you feel bad for me” 

jake was baffled because he’d never even considered doing it because he pitied you or anything

“im not- i- listen, i do this because i care about you, not because i pity you for having a trash father” 

“jake-”

“no, you listen, im telling you right now that i care about you and i want you to be happy and thats why im doing this, now are we gonna sit down and do homework or what?” 

and then you smiled

and started doing homework

you were just goofing around and occasionally solving a math problem

you didn’t even realize it got dark so quickly

“alright its time to rest” he’d say and you’d stumble to bed, exhausted

“goodnight, n/n” he said softly, helping you climb under the covers

and then, words that diluted the raging storm that you hadn’t gotten a single rest from since your dad left you

you whispered breathily

“goodnight, dad” 

then you fell asleep right then and there

but god damn it if you could have seen the smile on jakes face

it was so pure and happy

then he leaned down and kissed your forehead and said

“goodnight, kiddo”

and so your dad left 

but this time he would come back

you were sure of it

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun​ @deephideoutmilkshake

[cheesyficwriter]

“Oh no…he’s/she’s/they’re cute.” Please? 💓

Hi @theroomofreq 😊 thanks for the lovely request. Hope you enjoy this coffee shop meet-cute for Romione 💜

Our Usual

Hermione considered coffee to be the nectar of the Gods. The daily bitter fuel was an essential part of her mornings, a pre-ritual before a full day of classes at uni. 

Her favorite local coffee shop was just round the corner from her flat and she spent almost every morning cosying up in a secluded booth in the corner of the shop, sipping leisurely on her signature brew. However, this day was a tad bit different. She had finally managed to convince her best friend and roommate, Lavender, to grab coffee with her. Lavender was not a morning person, therefore, she was rather disgruntled when Hermione dragged her out of bed early on a Friday morning. 

The bell on the door chimed when they stepped inside. "Well, this place is just darling," Lavender remarked straight away. 

The appearance of the shop was aesthetically pleasing. The light was dim, set for ambience, with soft, smooth jazz music playing in the background. The aroma invaded their nostrils as soon as they walked into the cafe, the distinct smell of fresh pastries mixed with ground coffee beans. Hermione inhaled deeply; it was one of her favorite smells in the world. The room was relatively quiet, apart from the sounds of the milk steamer on the espresso machine. 

As they walked further into the room, Hermione could make out the rows of cakes and biscuits, all encased in a glass cabinet below the counter. Coffee beans, packed into little black baggies, lined the shelves behind the coffee bar. 

Several other university students were scattered about various tables; many were completing written assignments, some reading the newspaper, and others were seated with friendly companions. 

Hermione sighed happily. She noticed there was a short queue to place an order. "Lav, why don't you go find us a table and I'll get our drinks." 

"Perfect. I'll take a mocha."

Dave, Hermione's favorite barista, waved at her once she made it to the front counter. "Hi there, Hermione. Your usual today?" 

"You know what Dave, I think I'm actually going to try something different."

"Sorted, what can I get you?" 

"Two mochas please."

"Coming right up."

She paid quickly and retreated back to the table where Lavender was seated. Hermione was confused by the baffled expression on her friend's face as she walked over. 

"What?" 

"Hermione Granger…" Lavender murmured in a low tone, "there is a man at the bar counter that can't keep his eyes off of you." Dave? He was the person she last saw at the counter. Surely, it can't be him. He was friendly, but she had talked with him enough to know there were absolutely zero sparks between them. 

Hermione scoffed. "Don't be absurd."

"I am not joking, Hermione, and sweet Merlin, he is quite handsome. Can't say I'm not a little bit jealous."

"How do you know he's not looking at you?" Hermione retorted pointedly. 

Lavender rolled her eyes as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. "It's simple - the whole time you were putting in our orders, he was looking at you. And he had the biggest grin on his face. His eyes practically followed you back to our table. You should take a look." 

"No, definitely not."

"Look, Hermione!"

"No, cause then it will be obvious!"

Lavender gave her puppy dog eyes and Hermione relented. With a heavy sigh, she peeked surreptitiously over her shoulder. 

There he was. A man with bright auburn hair, swept to the side, and the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. And he was absolutely looking at her. He offered her a curvy grin and then quickly averted his eyes, as if he was embarrassed to be caught staring. 

Hermione whipped her head back around and bit her lip. "Oh no...he's cute." 

Lavender smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is! I can't afford any distractions right now."

"That's the worst bloody excuse I've ever heard" - Dave called Hermione's name to signal the drinks were ready - "Now go up there and get our coffee orders." Her friend certainly was stubborn. 

"Can't you please pick them up?" Hermione begged.

Lavender shook her head determinedly. "No way, sweetie. This is all you. Now go." 

Hermione's feet wobbled all the way back to the coffee counter. The mysterious man was now had his back to her, seemingly engrossed in the reading material in front of him. She smiled hesitantly at Dave as she grasped the edge of the counter. She was so close to this man in the same way she was just a few moments before, yet her heart certainly wasn't pounding then like it was now. She politely murmured a thank you as she retrieved the mugs. Her voice must have sounded shaky and her hands gripped the handles of her mugs nervously. She could feel the man's eyes on her.

When Hermione peered down into her mug, she noticed an unfamiliar heart design etched into the foam. "That's curious…"

"I'm impressed. That's Dave's best artwork, yet." 

Hermione turned her head before she could even remember that she was trying to avoid eye contact with the man who spoke. She was electrified by the intensity of his gaze and the way his piecing blue eyes lit up when she finally glanced his way. Oh, there are definitely sparks with this one. 

"Here's your warmed scone, Ron." Ron. 

"Brilliant, thank you Dave," Ron smiled graciously as he took the plate with the soft pastry. 

"He knows your name," Hermione observed.

Ron froze, as if he was baffled that she was speaking directly to him, but attempted to play it cool and shrugged, "Yeah, I'm here probably five days a week...in the mornings."

What? "There's no way...I'm in here five days a week."

"Yeah…" Ron blushed and looked down at his paper, "I know." 

He knows. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. "You've seen me before?" 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I see you most mornings, honestly. Although, I have a feeling today is the first day that you've seen me," he chuckled. 

Hermione felt incredibly guilty. How is it that this handsome specimen had been this close to her several times in the past and she hadn't even bothered to glance his way? She was certain she would have noticed him if she had. "I'm sorry, it's just that usually when I come in here, I'm alone, and zeroed in on my revisions. But today is a little different." She pointed to the two coffee mugs. 

His face fell slightly. "Oh, are you here with someone else today?"

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Does he look disappointed? "Yes, my roommate. She's not a big coffee person, so I haven't brought her here before." She could see the tension in his shoulders release. 

"Ah, I see." Ron smiled at her softly for a moment and then held out his hand. "I'm Ron - Ron Weasley."

Ron Weasley. She took his warm hand and jumped slightly at the prickling sensation that spread up and down her arm. She thought Ron had to have felt it too, given the way his body twitched. "Your hand…" He murmured softly, his eyes fixed on their still-joined hands, "it's quite chilly." 

Hermione pulled her hand back quickly, watching the disappointment stretch across his face, "Oh, sorry." She placed both hands around her porcelain mug and sighed happily, the warmth enveloping her icy fingers. 

"So, Hermione...I like your name," He commented genuinely. 

She wrinkled her nose slightly, surprised albeit pleased, as she took a sip of her coffee, "You do? I suppose it is rather unique."

Ron shrugged. "You're the first Hermione I know." He then pointed to her mug, "Straying away from your usual, eh?" 

Hermione lifted a curious eyebrow. "How do you know what my usual is?" 

Ron appeared slightly embarrassed again, his face turning red, as he looked at her sheepishly, "Well...uh...I usually get the same thing." 

It was then that Hermione recognised the double espresso next to his pastry plate...her usual drink. She often savored the earthy taste, indulging in the lingering bitterness of the liquid. 

"You...uh...you have excellent taste." 

"So did you...until you sweetened it up a bit too much," he scrunched up his face adorably at her mocha, but then his expression shifted into a cheeky grin. 

"Oi! I'm trying to branch out here." 

Ron held up his hands defensively, sending her a lop-sided grin that made butterflies flutter about her stomach. "Don't get me wrong, I love sweets! Just not in my coffee."

"I'll drink to that," Hermione laughed and took a sip from her mug. 

"Erm...you've got a little bit…" He pointed to a spot on his own upper lip and Hermione's eyes widened just before she hastily wiped the foam from her mouth with the back of her sleeve. 

Ron gazed up at the ceiling, as if he was debating an idea, and then called out to Dave, "Hey, you have any double cream back there?"

Dave smiled knowingly and deposited a dollop of cream into Ron's espresso cup. Ron picked up the cup and brought it to his lips, intentionally smearing the cream all around his upper lip and nose. 

Hermione giggled and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Oh my, she wasn't quite sure she had ever felt this relaxed around a man who wasn't her father before. 

"Smooth," she teased, "You've officially ruined our favorite drink."

"Oh, bugger." He didn't look the least bit upset about it. They eyes danced happily together once more, both unwilling to break the contact. 

The doorbell chimed, causing Hermione to pivot her attention towards the exit. In all that time, Hermione hadn't realised that Lavender had snuck behind her to request her coffee in a to-go cup, and was now waving at her from the front door. Lavender gave her a quick wink before exiting. 

Hermione sipped leisurely on her coffee at the counter with Ron for several minutes, both enjoying the simplicity of each other's company. 

"Hermione," Ron gazed hopefully into her eyes, having obviously worked up the courage over time, "I hope this isn't a long shot, but would you wanna have coffee together sometime?"

Hermione beamed from ear to ear, her eyes twinkling as she cleverly responded, "I thought we already were?" 

[lumilasi]

I wanted to draw today but Thor has been throwing a tantrum the whole day and it’s been thundering every fifteen minutes or so, meaning I haven’t been able to do that. I need my laptop to be plugged in for the power to last long enough for finishing the kind of drawing I had in mind bleh.

So, I’m sharing sneak-peeks for my writing WIPs instead:

STRINGMASTER: (note to those who don’t know: ’Tenka’ in this context refers to OFA. The name was given to him by Nana as he doesn’t remember his real one)

The gang was already gathering up whatever jewerly and valuables they could take from their captives, eventually reaching their table. The scroundel quickly notes his sibling clearly didn’t have anything considered valuable in his person, not even after he demands Tenka to remove the shawl draped around his shoulders.

”How the hell are you in here! You don’t look rich at all!”

”Not everybody cares to flaunt their wealth tastelessly.”

He comments casually, making the man look at him. He wasn’t surprised to see the little thief’s eyes drift to his cane, as it did have golden handle on it.

”Give me your cane!”

”Are you serious? Sire probably needs it for walking!”

One of the tied up crewmates nearby comments, gaining a snort and a laugh from the bandit. His voice was unpleasantly loud, and the man counts to ten in his head to not permanently silence him right then and there.

”As if! These rich bastards have those around just to show off, now give it!”

Tenka looks at him worried, but he just breathes out a sigh and let’s the man have it. He’d get it back soon enough.

”And the watch! I can tell you have one in your pocket!”

He glances at the said pocket, before lifting his gaze back up, leaning his head ahainst his palm with a calm, amused smile that clearly puzzled the little thief.

”I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

”Oi, give it now! You don’t seem to understand the situation you’re in!”

The man grabs his collar now to yank him off the chair, making Tenka call out for him concerned. Misplaced kind of concern, but it was understandable. He just smiles at the scroundel amused as he snatches the object, shoving him back into the chair.

”Brother, are you...?!”

Tenka gets cut off as the man suddenly let’s out a horrified yelp, dropping the watch to the ground. His hand was bleeding all over and misty smoke was coming out of the wounds. The little vermin backs away in horror, with everyone’s eyes on him now.

”W-what the?!”

He calmly gets up and picks up the watch, noting the glass had cracked slightly.

”I did warn you.”

”You bastard!”

Someone yells and there was a gunshot in the air. He could feel something hit his shoulder and he falls back, holding the bleeding injury with that same amused grin on his face. Tenka had gotten up now and rushed to him with wide, concerned expression, but he kept his eyes at the man who’d shot him, looking clearly baffled that he hadn’t even fallen down.

”How archaic. Your aim is awful.”

FAMILY MATTERS: (this is the beginning bit of the next chapter)

Izuku watches as the man gets delivered to the police, before looking back down at his brother who’d sat down on a bench nearby, holding his head with his face hidden behind his hands and hair. Not knowing what else to do, he rubs Tenko’s back awkwardly, hoping it reassured him at least a little bit.

”Why...why didn’t she tell me?”

Tenko mutters out under his breath, and admittedly Izuku was wondering the same. If his sister was indeed alive, surely Nana would’ve told Tenko? Then again their situation was weird, maybe she’d thought he was better off not knowing, or there would possibly be some awkward questions to deal with.

”Are you..?”

Tenko lifts his head up abruptly, red eyes blown wide. He was clearly still in shock, but Izuku was admittedly glad to see he wasn’t scratching himself. Given how traumatic his loss back then had been, it wouldn’t be out of question to see that trauma return, probably, even if his sibling had processed it a lot over the years.

”Why?”

Tenko sounded a bit angry now, which was making Izuku a bit worried. His attention soon shifts to Nana who walks there to check on them; Hana was currently talking with the police to give her account of what happened.

”Are you...?”

”Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tenko stands up abruptly, glaring the old woman angrily. Izuku subtly grasps his arm just in case, though he didn’t really expect his sibling to actually do anything. Nana looks at him for a long moment, before breathing out a sigh and crossing her arms over her chest.

”I genuinely didn’t even think of this. It’s been so...hectic lately. I only remembered when she called me.”

”Would you have told me even if you did remember?”

Tenko narrows his eyes at her, a bitter tone to his voice.

”I...”

Nana pauses and averts her gaze, seemingly thinking of something. Perhaps she was now mulling over the same thing Izuku had just now. This was bound to be difficult to explain to this Hana, and maybe they shouldn’t even get a civilian like her involved in this mess in the first place.

”You could’ve at least told me she was alive in this place! I get what you’re thinking, but at least...”

Izuku glances at his brother as he shuts up abruptly, starting to tear up with frustration. Perhaps he’d peeked into his grandma’s head to see what she was hesitant to say. The teen now turns to look towards Hana who was heading there as well, examining the two hesitantly.

”Grandma? Is this...”

Nana looks up at her with an uncertain expression; Izuku didn’t blame her, given Tenko had already identified his sister, it would be hard to explain that away

[toomuchponytail]

Please do a part 4 of the poisoned hero!!!!!!!

Your wish is my command, (I am so glad you’re liking it!!!) 

Continued from here (pt. 1, hero drugged at a club) here (pt. 2 The antagonist fights some guys in an alley while hero’s world warps) and here (pt. 3 where the antagonist takes some risks to save hero with the help of sidekick). 

I hope you have a day full of vast and unending potential, in other words I hope you have a day. 

Be great, be sweet, be you! :D 

At some point, hero could never say if it was hours or days, it felt like years passed with him locked inside with the panic,  the mind bending fear that had completely consumed the hero in the alley began to abate. 

It happened slowly at first, the stark white room filled with horrors from his own imagination started to look transparent, the smell, like rotting fish mixed nauseatingly with his father’s cologne seemed to be fading to the bitter but altogether wonderful smell of cold stale coffee. 

Hero didn’t remember falling asleep, all he could remember were the horrors and then the feeling of waking. 

Hero struggled to open his eyes, his entire body ached, tremors ran through his sore muscles, he felt like he’d  just gotten over a  bad fever, weak and trembly.

He was bone-tired, but that didn’t keep out the confusion, it dawned on him that he wasn’t in that place anymore, wherever it was, the stark white room full of nightmares was gone, he could have wept in relief. 

He had enough sense about them to realize that he was not at home, he was in a laboratory of some kind, laying on a long metal table, the metal felt refreshingly cool against his too warm skin. 

The antagonist was sitting across from them, it had taken hero a moment to blink the blurriness out of their eyes to see them there, they were mixing something in a small vial, swirling and noting the color change, hero shook his head, trying to clear out the confusion, it felt like his head was full of pond scum, all mucky and off. 

The antagonist didn’t see him, they were completely focused on their research, swirling the contents and frowning to themselves. 

“Hey there partner,” Sidekick was suddenly in focus, they took hero’s hand with some hesitation, but when hero didn’t snatch their hand back they sighed in relief, “We were worried about you.” 

“We?” Hero croaked, surprised at how weak and raspy their voice sounded. 

“Yeah,” Sidekick swallowed, “You were out of your mind, panicking, the Antagonist saved you.” 

At hearing his name the antagonist looked up, setting his oddly colored puzzle on the counter his frown of concentration being replaced by a good natured smirk, “Hero, I’m glad you’re awake, Your inability to hold your liquor has made quite the mess of your ‘time sensitive problem’ thank god I didn’t listen to you when you told me to get lost.” 

“You never listen…”The hero grumbled, grinning weakly “…Thank you.” 

Hero started to sit up, sidekick helped to keep them steady, “Now that we’ve dealt with pleasantries,” sidekick interjected, “Did you find out what was in hero’s drink?” 

A ghost of the frown returned to the antagonist’s face, he shrugged, “I actually didn’t find anything, other than the initial hallucinogenic compounds…” 

“…And?” Sidekick prompted, impatient as always. 

“And I don’t know what the other part of this drug is, it’s not anything I’ve seen before, and I’ve had my share of experience with many drugs and poisons,” they cleared their throat as if they were embarrassed, “um, at this point I can tell you it’s not crack cocaine, or, any other known substances, anything past that…” the antagonist made a useless sort of gesture with their hands, “I don’t know.” 

“Am I going to be alright? I mean if we don’t know what it was?” Hero leaned forward, scooting off of the table, he was unsteady for a moment, swaying on trembling legs that ached like he’d just run two separate marathons, sidekick wrapped an arm around his waist, to keep him from toppling to the floor, he helped hero to one of the chairs, hero toppled into the seat wincing. 

“You will most likely be fine, if you want to be certain I’m going to need a pure sample of whatever was slipped in your drink,” the antagonist handed hero a bottle of pain pills and a glass of water. 

“Shit!” Hero exclaimed suddenly, setting the water glass on the counter,  “The crime boss! I didn’t get his ring!” He turned to his partner, “Sidekick we’ve got to go, I need to stop him!” 

Sidekick didn’t get a chance to answer before the antagonist tossed the crime boss’s ring easily into the hero’s lap. 

Hero held it up, his shock and confusion were evident by the completely baffled expression on his face, “What’s this? How did you–” 

But the Antagonist cut him off, he was smiling almost condescendingly, “That, my friend is a flying pig,” His smile turned more genuine, he winked at hero, “And you’re welcome.” 

Sidekick rolled his eyes, “You’re the worst.” 

The Antagonist smirked, “Thank you, that means a lot to me, validation of my goals and all.” 

Hero snorted, “Where’s the van? We’ve still got to pick the crime boss up, his penchant for using poisons means that his brain is the most deadly weapon of all, ring or no ring.” 

“The van is by the wall you walk through, I’ll take you there,” The antagonist motioned for them to follow, hero shot a confused look to their sidekick, sidekick shrugged, he’d tell hero about it later. 

It was a short walk, hero managed with sidekick’s help to get to the vehicle. 

“Thanks,” hero said, already looking a little weaker from the movement, his body ached and what he needed now was to sleep for at least twenty four hours, “You’ll have to put some thought into how I can pay you back for this,” hero teased, “I don’t like owing my life to Villains.” 

“I’ll need your help when pigs fly,” The antagonist snorted, looking almost offended, “As you put so eloquently,” he grinned, “Maybe next time I run into you in a bar you won’t be so rude as to begin to die in front of me.” 

Hero shrugged, “No promises.”

“You’re a mess hero,” The antagonist teased, “Next time at least put a coaster over your drink so it doesn’t get spiked.” 

Hero and sidekick got into their surveillance van and drove off, hero was asleep before they ever made it all of the way home. 

They saw the antagonist again a week later, hero received a message on his phone from a number he didn’t recognize, he frowned in confusion, when he pressed the triangular play button text filled the screen. 

My ring or I give your sidekick something really nasty, the text read, hero made eye contact with his sidekick who was sitting next to him at the computer desk, “What in the?..” 

But before he could finish the screen changed from text to video, showing the antagonist in a dark room somewhere, red angry welts ran up and down his arms and seemed to pulse with yellow energy, when the pulse was brighter he writhed, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out in pain, only to collapse as soon as the light faded. He looked exhausted and defenseless, hero wondered in horror how long he’d been there suffering in the dark? 

The screen faded to text again, this time it was a date and time and another warning: Not all poisons work as quickly as the one I gave you hero, so be on time. 

The screen faded to black. 

Shit. 

“They’re going to be in for a rough surprise when they realize that he’s your enemy and not your sidekick,” sidekick noted already gathering their kit together as fast as they could. 

Hero was frantically buckling his knife to his belt, pocketing the ring and grabbing the keys, his face was grim, “It’s as good a day as any for pigs to fly I think, also, don’t tell him he’s not my sidekick, I think he’d get offended after the week we’ve had.” 

Now all they had to do was return a favor. 

[iwritethat]

Bruce Wayne: Ladies Man

A/N: A bit of Batman because I don’t have enough on here.

>>>>——————————>

It was simply a side job, in Gotham such honest living was difficult to come by so when an old friend of the family offered you a waitress position at their bar you couldn't refuse whilst getting through school at 16. Who wouldn't want to earn some cash right? Surprisingly they upheld a few laws, like not letting you serve alcohol but if you remained then it would be something you'd learn among other things.

After 2 years, one interesting thing about the job was the vast variety of customers the bar attracted. You intermingled with the likes of Gotham royalty, both of upper class and the underground depending on the day and being a long term employee meant they remembered your name whether you liked it or not. Unfortunately, due to your uncanny ability to charm just about anyone, you were the pub favourite often requested to serve and the owner adhered to the requests of the wealthy for obvious reason - plus they tipped you generously.

Among these was young bachelor Bruce Wayne, you were on a first name basis with how often his friends came in clubbing. They weren't 21 but money and fake IDs do the talking. Although you cared not for their names, it was Bruce who seemed more mysterious and calculating than he'd ever let on.

Tonight he sat at the bar in contemplation, a member of his group snogging the face off of some lass rather lazily in your opinion.

"I'm surprised you aren't indulging in the same luxuries." You casually addressed your friend, sliding your platter onto the bar and leaning on it beside him gesturing to the aforementioned pair.

"I'm not great at charming women yet. The status does it all for me right now."

"You can't rely on that! You're Bruce Wayne, I expect you to be smooth and have me falling at your feet. What if there's a girl you really like who won't care for your status hm?" He raised a brow at your playful tone, but you'd captured his interest as you usually did unintentionally.

"I don't know, I haven't met one yet."

"Alright then we're going to prepare for that day so she'll be wanting more. C’mon, show me." You patted the bar for emphasis, smirking at his suddenly confused expression.

"Right here, now?"

"Dazzle me." Came your simple yet upbeat response as you gestured him to bring it.

"Okay fine. So uh... you come here often?" Bruce attempted rather awkwardly, leaning against the bar in a way he thought to be seductive as you remained unreadably silent.

"Pfffttt that's the best you've got?" You couldn't hold your laughter for long, head falling into your arms on the bar to stifle them.

"No - no! (Y/n) it's not that funny..." He hummed, lightly nudging your arm to regain your full attention.

"You're right, I just - it was so bad. You're so crap at flirting it hurts!"

"Oh? How would you do it then?" For someone so young, he was challenging and you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it.

You ran your hands through your hair, fingers gently grazing his arm with a gentle bite of your lip.

"Now now, we can't have you falling for a mere waitress now can we?"

"You're not just a waitress (Y/n)..." His gaze followed you around the bar as you now learnt over it with a courteous smirk.

"Right there - you watched me walk away, I already have you hooked right?"

"Wait - that didn't - you didn't use a pick up line or anything! How does that even count?" Bruce looked back and forth, stammering once coming to the realisation that you'd charmed him so easily whilst you leaned back to clean a glass.

"Look, chances are that pickup lines are only going to be laughed about and to break the ice anyway, after that you've just gotta be yourself. The people who are worth it will stick around." You gave a haphazard shrug with a genuine smile on your lips and you nodded to the billionaire across from you. It always caught him off guard, the amount of wisdom you held for someone only his age.

"Like you?"

"There are better people in the world than me Bruce Wayne."

—

The air was bitter as you stood outside the usually welcome doors of your workplace, ones that remained closed due to recent occurrences. You held the keys and deed between your fingers, fiddling due to the unfamiliar weight of newfound responsibility - the owner was always a mysterious man, striking resemblance to a character from Kingsman adorned with a British accent and designer suits. Even so his death came as a shock, his Will stating that his bar and all its contents be passed on to you even more baffling.

"The only thing you'll catch out here is a cold." A calm but witty voice commented, the man now standing beside you expecting your signature snark.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard the news, and I thought you might like some company doing this. I know you could handle it but I'm here." Bruce casually answered, your friendship remained constant through the years even if surprising. It seemed you just couldn’t get rid of each other.

"Is it a nightclub? Pub? Restaurant? A combination of all that? Is that even legal? I can't run this place - I don't even know what the hell it is! And the customers - they’re... well, some of them are illegal..." You grimaced at your overwhelmed outburst, palm slipping from the door it once had the intention of opening.

"Hey, why don't you come over to the Manor? I've got the evening free and we can go through it all together, and I'll attempt to lighten you up as we go." You were carefully torn from the door, the millionaire holding your hands in his, the warmth a welcome comfort from the breeze of Gotham.

"The key word in there was 'attempt', wasn't it?" You met his concerned gaze now, tone holding expectant sarcasm despite remaining laced with defeat.

"It has been said that my brooding can get in the way." Bruce responded, hand rubbing the back of his neck out of what you assumed was embarrassment.

"Sounds fun, lead the way oh rich one." You released a half hearted chuckled as the male rolled his eyes, offering his arm to you. However, the foreign soft whisper that followed caught him off guard so much so that he almost made a spelling error on the email currently cancelling tonight’s scheduled meeting.

"And thanks Bruce... for everything."

You spent the night at the Manor, delving into your insecurities and Bruce aided in the business side of things where he could in aid of settling at least some of the worries you had. Afterwards you enjoyed one another’s company, catching up on the weeks events as well as the unfurling of his newest addition to the household over the fanciest champagne and 5* meal courtesy of Alfred who you’d convinced to dine with you also.

-

In a month or so with Bruce’s support you were able to apply your extensive knowledge of the business into running it as your predecessor had and since the regulars knew you already it made it much easier as profits rolled in rather substantially. Now you knew how the old manager could afford his luxury suits.

Tonight though, Bruce made an appearance looking rather despondent and almost exhausted which may not be so obvious to surrounding staff or those not close to him but of course, you were an exception.

Naturally, you leaned on the opposite side of the bar, promoting a weak smile after you’d asked what was bothering the man.

"A business deal didn't go quite how I expected, and it kept me up all night." Bruce summarised, strategically avoiding the details regarding Penguin.

"Then I believe you need some cheering up, I hope you don't have any plans because they are now cancelled~"

"The Manor is free, I can get some strawberrry champagne (Y/n) -"

"Nope, it's my turn. You're about to find out how us commoners spend our evenings."

Without another word you walked him to your spacious apartment which was only around the corner, the hefty bar profits kept it well furnished and your cupboards stocked - even so, you convinced the billionaire to lower his standards to order in which you paid for against his protest.

"I'm paying this time, you're the one whose had it rough recently so I'm treating you. That's what friends are for, besides this food is a little below your pay grade don't you think?" You laughed as you filtered through your movie collection before finding a perfect selection for the night.

"If you think that after adopting Dick that I haven't been subjected to takeout then you're sorely mistaken. I quite enjoy it actually." The billionaire replied rather smugly, slowly growing accustomed to the relaxing atmosphere you and your home radiated. Bruce, for once, felt oddly content.

The movie began and ended, the time filled with idle conversation of which grew deeper as the credits rolled and continued whilst you pottered in the kitchen. Moments later you emerged with a tray, Bruce opening his mouth and closing it being too taken aback to comment.

"I present to you, Chocolat de (L/n)." Came your dramatic voice, accent where necessary to add charm.

Bruce shot you an amused glance, carefully taking on of the two tall mugs from the tray you held - the hot chocolate topped with cream, marshmallows and a flake - very appealing to the eye and tastebuds. It was practically famous in your club.

"(Y/n)?! This is - incredible.”

“Why thank you, only the best for you right?”

He smiled at that, a genuine smile that he’d hoped expressed his immense gratitude right about now.

“That must be why I have you then.”

“Ah, now that is a smooth line. Being in my company has improved your skills huh?” You wittily countered, though Bruce only offered a hopeless yet content sigh.

Clearly they weren’t as effective as you believed.

-

Bruce seemed refreshed after leaving that night, he’d emphasised his regret of not being able to see you in person to thank you properly over the various texts you’d exchanged in the past week - although, as you were wiping down the counter after an early close you were not expecting the uncanny interruption.

An hallowing echo against the oak bar captured your attention, finding a sheepish bachelor at it’s origin.

"What's this?" You inquired as you picked up the item he’d placed down moments ago, inspecting it precariously.

"It's premium Raspberry Ripple White Hot Chocolate - I thought we could try it, together."

"How on Earth do you get as many women as you do with vague attempts like that hm?" An amused brow was raised in his direction, the action relaxing the millionaire more than he’d admit.

"I'm much smoother when I don't actually have genuine feelings for someone, as such I suppose you don't get the privilege of cliché pick up lines. So what do you say (Y/n)?” It was unorthodox yes, but judging by your quiet laugh he assumed it was the way you’d want it.

"You had me at 'Do you come here often?'"

-BONUS-

"You're saying that line worked." Bruce taunted from his place by the Manors kitchen island, you sipping your drink with a nonchalant argument.

"It did not. It was awful."

"I had this all semi planned from the beginning (Y/n)." He smugly replied, tone basking in the victory of the overly drawn out ‘plan’.

"Hah! I refuse to believe this is how you predicted things to go when we first became friends." It was possible but it had been years since you’d first met, he could not have suspected you’d ever end up together this far ahead.

"You're correct Miss (Y/n), Master Bruce spent the entire evening whining about how he'd embarrassed himself in front of you after your little competition and that it was near impossible to win your affections. A common occurrence whenever he visited your bar really..." The loyal butler unceremoniously intervened, pride radiating from his unwanted revelation as he entered the kitchen.

"Alfred." Bruce released a defeated groan as he had you wrapped around his finger for a second, something he’d wanted to relish in for a few seconds before Alfred had besotted you with the truth.

You however, were pleased with the information, winking at your partner with a gracious smirk befalling your lips.

"Knew it."

[sighmurderbot]

Irish Coffee Chapter Two

Title: Closing Time

Chapter Rating/Warnings: G, I don’t think there’s even any profanity in this one

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: They meet over coffee and Kierkegaard. There was a spark in his honey-brown eyes that drew her to him. There was a sadness behind her bright smile that drew him to her. Spencer Reid/Original Female Character. Slow burn coffee shop meet. Strangers to friends to lovers. This fic is also available on AO3, it’s ahead of tumblr currently!

previous chapter//next chapter

“Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer.” 

- Ed Cunningham

It had been a tiring Thursday, which is saying something. Thursdays were the one day a week I only worked at the coffee shop, just coming in for a few hours to close, meaning it was the closest thing I had to a day off. That being said, somehow the denizens of DC had decided this was the Thursday to descend on this coffee shop and just...be assholes. My head ached from the amount of focus and energy it took to process complaints and orders simultaneously while making drinks and keeping the cafe clean.

It might only be a three hour shift, but sometimes it’s a long three hours.

I finished wiping down the table in front of me and stood, arching my back to stretch it out. 

I’m not sure what caught my attention. A flicker of movement, perhaps, or maybe just the sense of someone else nearby.

I glanced towards the front of the store, scanning the city street on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows.

And there he was.

He looked a little worse for wear, his clothes wrinkled and hair mussed, as if he had only slept briefly and in uncomfortable places. Light spilled from the streetlamp above him, his high cheekbones casting harsh shadows across his skin.

His eyes widened a little as I spotted him.

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face upon seeing him. He intrigued me, and...I'll admit it, I thought he was cute. The door was still unlocked and I waved for him to come inside. 

Maybe my Thursday is starting to look up!

He seemed confused at my gesture, glancing over his shoulder and pointing a hesitant finger to his chest.

“Me?” he mouthed, eyebrows drawing together in a confused frown.

I rolled my eyes and grinned, quickly making my way to the door and holding it open with one arm. Cool air rolled in off the street, ruffling a few flyaways around my face.

“Come on in!” I exclaimed. “We don’t close properly for another ten minutes.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket, rocking back on his heels a little.

“Are you sure? You-you probably already cleaned everything and I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Don’t be silly,” I smiled. “Just come in, sugar.”

He ducked his head and stepped inside. I watched his shoulders relax slightly as he stopped a few feet into the store.

“What can I get ya?” I asked, crossing to behind the counter. His eyes flicked from the menu to me and he tilted his head a little, as if in confusion. I felt my lips twitch in a small smile.

I wonder what he’s thinking, he looks baffled…

“Sir?” I asked, thinking it was perhaps not a good idea to let on that I overheard and remembered his name.

“Why do you call me sugar?” He asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory or upset, simply curious. My cheeks reddened slightly.

“Well, that’s your order, right? Uh...large mocha with extra sugar?”

He nodded, a pretty frown still wrinkling his forehead.

“You remembered?”

I looked down, chuckling a little. 

“It’s not every day a nice man reading Danish philosophy comes in and is kind enough to talk to me like a person,” I said honestly.

More confusion from the man before me. I worried that I had said too much, scared him off. I serve hundreds of people a day, remembering one customer might come across as creepy or weird or-

He cut off my train of thought as he spoke.

“You think I’m nice?”

The question was genuine, he blinked a few times like he was having trouble processing what I said.

“...yeah,” I laughed a little. “I mean, I obviously don’t know you, but I get feelings about people. My feeling is that you’re nice.”

“Huh,” he said, eyes returning to the menu above me.

“So…” I gently prompted him. “What can I get you? Same thing?”

“Oh! Yeah, same thing please.”

“Have a seat anywhere!”

It only took me a minute to finish making the drink, and instead of calling it out at the counter I walked it to his table.

He looked up as I set the drink in front of him, giving me a closed-lip smile and wrapping long, delicate fingers around the warm cup.

“Reid,” he commented into his cup. I almost missed it. “Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s my name.”

Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s a nice name, I decided.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Reid,” I said with a smile. “Katie, but, you already knew that.” He nodded and looked back down at his coffee. 

“Let me know if I can get you anything else, Doctor,” I said, then turned to finish closing. He seemed like the quiet type who preferred to be alone, or maybe he’d just had a long day.

“Uh, Sp—” he said as I turned around, so quiet that I missed most of what he said.

“Sorry?” I turned around, pushing some hair back towards the ponytail it had slipped out of.

He looked up and his gaze swept over me, analytical and probing. I found myself nervously twisting my apron tie around my fingers.

What is he looking for? What does he see? 

“You wear a hearing aid,” he said matter-of-factly.

Oh.

I nodded silently, my face falling before I could catch it.

What’s he going to say? Berate me? Mock me? My thoughts were perhaps a tad more bitter than intended, and I tried to keep that out of my voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, cringing inwardly at how flat I sounded. “I can’t pick up certain frequencies.”

“You know,” he said, taking one hand off his coffee cup as he began to gesture with his words. “The use of hearing aids has actually been proven to reduce cognitive decline and lower the risk of developing dementia.”

What’s he doing? I thought, thrown off a little, but not upset by this turn of events. Is he...trying to make me feel better?

“There was a study conducted in Europe, two out of three people who used hearing aids wished they had gotten them sooner,” Spencer continued, both hands involved in his gestures now. I began to fear for his coffee. 

“They lead to a better social life, mental and physical health, and job performance. So...it’s a good thing. That you have them.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I accepted, watching him with a small smile. He seemed embarrassed after his small outburst.

I gestured to the chair across from him.

“May I?”

He nodded, taking a sip of his sugary drink.

“So,” I said, taking a seat. “You’re studying philosophy but you’re also a doctor. How’s that work?”

If I thought he looked embarrassed a moment ago, he was downright flustered now.

“I, uh…” he fiddled with the cardboard protector around his coffee cup. “I am a philosophy student,” he said. “But I already have my doctorates in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. And another bachelor’s in Psychology.”

He suddenly fell silent, eyes fixed on the steam coiling out of the slit in the cup’s lid. I couldn’t keep my impressed admiration off my face, smiling as I opened and closed my mouth, trying to process something to say.

After I hadn’t replied for a few seconds he looked up at me from beneath his lashes. He was almost wincing, as if bracing himself for ridicule, mockery, disgust.

Just like you, my mind prompted. 

I gave him a wide grin and set my folded hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

“Doctor R— Spencer. That’s amazing, you don’t look much older than me.”

“I’m 26,” he replied, almost automatically, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“That’s amazing,” I emphasized. “You’re amazing, that’s a huge accomplishment.”

I watched a light shade of pink spread up his cheeks.

“Oh, uh...thank you,” he said unsurely.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I mean it,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You must have worked incredibly hard for those.”

“Well, I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187 but...college isn’t friendly to 12-year-old high school graduates.”

I gave him an empathetic grimace.

“Sometimes it’s not the course load that’s the hard part of college.”

“You can say that again,” he agreed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I thought you weren’t a student though.”

I pressed my lips together, looking down at my hands.

“Not anymore,” I said shortly.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, but it sounded like he was reading out of a book. I didn’t really mind. People don’t understand, they can’t, not really. 

“I’m working to go back.” I don’t know why I said it, why I told him. It wasn’t any of his business, but for some reason I wanted Spencer to know I didn’t drop out because I screwed around, I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care.

“Everyone has their own pace,” Spencer said. “At least, that’s what my mom told me.”

I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I gave him a small smile that I hoped wasn’t as sad as I suddenly felt.

“My mom told me something similar,” I found myself admitting. “Run your own damn race, she told me.”

Spencer tilted his head, as if asking me to explain. His eyes were fixed on me, I felt almost shy about being the complete focus of his attention, but I also had a feeling that anything Spencer did was the absolute center of his focus.

“It means that everyone has a race they’re running,” I said. “And you should focus on yours, not anyone else’s. If you focus on someone else’s race you’ll probably trip while trying to run your own. If...if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Spencer assured with a small smile. 

“Heh, moms, right?”

I let out a slightly nervous laugh, but something in Spencer’s eyes, an understanding, calmed me.

“Moms,” he agreed with a small smile.

We shared a quiet moment, just looking at each other. His face was too harsh and angular for a man with liquid honey eyes and perfectly curved lips. I wondered where he worked, what stressful career painted dark circles like bruises under his eyes and stripped the softness from him.

“I should close up,” I said finally, regretfully. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Spencer hurried out of his seat, almost knocking over his coffee but deftly catching it before it could tip too far. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I replied, maybe too quickly, as I stood as well. Spencer arched an eyebrow.

“I just-” I started, then exhaled a laugh and looked down at my shoes. “I don’t get to have a conversation with...well, anyone, very often.” 

I twisted my apron tie around my finger three times, then unspireled it. 

“I don’t really talk with anyone outside of work,” Spencer admitted. He didn’t seem upset about it, it was simply a fact of his existence. 

“That’s kinda sad,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth right after. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, hand returning to harassing my apron ties. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer cut me off with a shrug.

He really doesn’t seem upset, I guess some people are happy that way.

“Well,” I smiled up at him. “If you ever want to talk to someone you don’t work with, you know where to find me.”

He nodded, returning my expression.

“Thanks.”

I noticed how he kept a respectful distance between us, and remembered how he hadn’t offered to shake hands when we swapped names. 

Touch avoidance.

He seemed to notice everything, and with an eidetic memory he’d remember it all, so I carefully filed this away. Even though I might not be able to compare to him on memory, I could still try and remember something important to someone who had gone out of his way to be nice to me.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked, glancing around the room to make sure I had finished closing.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Great.”

I gave him a bright smile.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the back room to grab my coat and bag. A few moments later I returned, and Spencer was still there. For some reason I had almost expected him to disappear, almost as if he wasn’t ever there.

But there he was, tugging on the sleeve of his cardigan and shuffling in place.

“Ready to go?” I asked, tugging my coat around me. It was old, and too big for me, and frayed at the bottom, and I had to patch the elbows last winter, but it was warm.

And it was hers.

Every time I pulled the old blue coat on it was like a memory of a hug from my mom.

Spencer nodded.

“Andiamo!” I exclaimed cheerfully. Spencer’s attention perked.

“You speak Italian?”

“A little, you?”

“I’m passable.”

I grinned. 

“I’ve only spoken with you a little, but something tells me you’re a sight more than passable.”

Spencer cracked a smile, ducking his head to hide his pleased expression.

“Maybe I’m closer to fluent, but I’m not there yet.”

I made my way to the door, hitting the lights on my way. The shop fell into darkness, the only illumination the emergency lights and the city ambience outside. 

“It was really nice to meet you, Spencer,” I said earnestly as he joined me on the sidewalk outside. I locked the door and gave it a rattle to make sure it was secure, then turned to him. He tipped the last of his coffee down.

“It was nice to meet you too, Katie.”

“I’ll see you around?” “Yeah, probably.”

He raised the now-empty cup.

“You’re the only one who puts enough sugar in,” he joked, and I laughed with him. 

Raising my hand in farewell, I set off to catch the bus and he began walking the other way. Once I reached the corner I glanced back at the tall figure, passing in and out of sight under streetlamps as he drew further away.

When was the last time I talked to someone who wasn’t a coworker? I wondered. No time was easily coming to mind and I grimaced. It wasn’t easy to maintain a social life while working three jobs.

It’ll be worth it, I assured myself, Friends can come later, I need to do this.

I was dedicated to my goal, and I’d stick to it, but deep down I was hoping to see the handsome Doctor Spencer Reid again. 

A friendly, casual acquaintance. It’ll be nice to see a friendly face every now and then.

And that’s truly all I hoped for, for now.

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Fated Comfort

 Silence hummed its melancholic melody. The stars above remained glinting, sparkling, baring as witnesses for the two teenagers that sat in still discomfort. One had her focus given to the bandaged wrist. One had his gaze torn away from such a pitiful, pitiful sight.  None had said a word for the past 17 minutes. The sounds of ticks and tocks echoed in their minds. Her hands, delicate as they looked, skilfully applied the bandage with such precision. Sometimes he flinched at the accidental pressure, but nothing more as the boy continued to tear his gaze from such a tender touch. Her lips would often mouth an apology, and she continued on until she was sure that the wound was sealed and closed.  He wondered if this was some sick fate. Some sick twisted joke from whatever deity that resided above. One minute, he was the proud child hand-picked by the chairman. He had it all. He was no longer the disgusting orphan that had to fight tooth and nail for his next meal, for his only shelter. He had everything in his grasp. And he was willing to do anything to hold on what was given even tighter.  The next minute, everything slipped far too fast, far too much from his fingers.

 It’s stupid, he thought. Just absolutely stupid that fate decided to toy with his life like it was a sack of nothing. He wasn’t a pious boy, per say, but he had enough sense to think that there truly was an otherworldly being that sometimes butt in and decide to ruin whoever’s life for their own sick enjoyment.  It seems that it’s his life’s turn to be fate’s sick, cruel play.  Once again he flinched at the sting of his bruise. Violet eyes, dead and dull from the moment he was disowned again, finally shot a few glares at the girl in front of him.  “Sorry…” Words finally shattered the heavy silence that loomed over them.  Deciding that whatever response she might get would only piss her off, she continued her actions. With the last finishing touches, Gloria carefully wrapped the end of the bandages. “There,” was all she said. Crimson eyes never brought up, never fixated on the pair of violets that wrung sorrow in her stomach. One hand tucked a short strand of dark hair behind her ears. Head and body turned to the side, now focused on putting away her first-aid kit—  “Why are you so nice to me?”  Hands ceased above the medical parcel.  Words once again lay heavy in her throat. She took a deep breath. Then released in slow, deep manners. One by one she placed the bottles and bandages inside the kit. The lid then closed with a single click, and even then, Gloria watched as she shoved the boxed item to the side.  “You’re not answering me.”  Arceus, why was he like this? Why was she like this? Willingly helping him without a moment’s hesitance. From the moment she saw that cold-hearted chairman disowning him like a piece of used clothing, Gloria couldn’t get the image of her rival out of her mind.  How baffled he looked. How heartbroken he felt. For once, Gloria finally saw life in the boy’s eyes, but the life that gleamed resembled nothing more than the sight of a heart plummeting down, down into the deepest pits of his stomach. A part of her knew he deserved it. But the young trainer quickly rid away such condescending thoughts when she realized, no matter how angry she was at Bede for breaking Hop’s hope, no child should ever feel the despair of losing their loved one’s love and shelter.  She felt bad. Even now.  One hand moved to the short strands of dark hair. Finally she looked at him, stared straight into the eyes that flickered maliciously.  The smile he gave was jeering. There was no joy, no sincerity. Not once ever since they met.  Her heart felt heavy.  “Can’t I be nice?” She simply reflected back with a question. The wind breezed calmly around them. Sometimes it caressed their prickled skin. Sometimes it whispered hushed lullabies into their burning ears. The girl stood her ground, back straightened and gaze targeted on the eyes that were cold and cruel.  Teeth gritted inside pursed lips. “I didn’t ask for this.” He lifted his left arm; regret bubbled inside when he felt the sting of the bruise. “I don’t need your pity.” He should’ve walked away when he had the chance. “If you think you could take advantage of me when you saw all that, you’re dead wrong—”  “You’re wrong!”  Shock shattered the cold gaze. His left arm draped down to his lap. Eyes widened, pupils shrunk just an inch when he saw the fiery glare.  “I’m not—!” Her voice snapped, then cut short as sharp breaths were forced inside her lungs. A loud exhale zipped past pink lips. “I’m not…pitying you.”  Well, the answer didn’t actually make him feel better.  “Then what?” Grim took hold of his tone as chuckles slurred past his tongue. “You’re making fun of me?” Anger boiled, hotter and hotter until breathing rasped through flaring nostrils. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” Bede wondered why his heart ached from the thought. “You look all normal, but turns out you’re just doing this because it satisfies your sick, twisted—”  “Bede!”  His name resonated within the trees and bushes. In all the moments that led them to each other, Bede realized this was the first time she had ever said his name.  It was filled with rage, void of such care and tenderness.  He hated it.  Red glasses slid slightly down her face. Pushing the lens up with a bit more force than usual, she shot another glare at him.  Ah, right. She was supposed to be angry at him.  “Let me finish.” Cold, calculative tone dripped from the tip of her tongue. “I don’t pity you like you’re some sad sack.” Palms slapped the green grass by her sides. “I mean, I do feel bad when…that happened.” Woe trickled inside of her to see him flinch at the memory. “But at the same time, I’m doing this because—” Because what, exactly? “Because…” Gloria didn’t know. She didn’t even want to know.  Ever since they met, Bede was nothing but cynical and sarcastic. Never in her life had Gloria met such a spiteful person at such a young age. She knew people can sometimes be cruel. She knew not everyone is perfect. But the moment her eyes glinted at a pair of violent violets, Gloria was washed with the realization in which she never thought would have experienced.  He was a bitter boy. And after their first battle together, Gloria relished on the wiping off the grim smirk that was plastered on his face before his tragic defeat.  She was supposed to hate him—be indifferent at best—but then came the day she met Chairman Rose.  She saw how…lively Bede was when he was talking to the chairman. His eyes finally sparked of life. His smile seemed genuine, yet a part of her could see that it looked…forced. He looked so sweet, so innocent, like a baby Deerling seeking the attention of its parent. Gloria couldn’t believe her eyes, actually. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had meet him beforehand, acting all high and mighty with an attitude that made her want to tear her skin off, the girl would have thought that Bede was the nicest, most proper trainer she had ever met.  The next few minutes startled her, however. Because instead of acknowledgement, the next words that came out of the chairman’s mouth was, “Oh, and you were…”  If the chairman was truly Bede’s sponsor, he would at least remember his name, no?  Time passed by quickly in their journey until came the fateful day of Bede’s undoing. She was furious at him at that time. She wanted to find him, to give the fluff-haired boy a piece of her mind of hurting her dear childhood friend. If words couldn’t reach him, then Gloria knew a good old Pokémon battle would set things straight until the trainer made sure that the cocky kid learned his lesson so that he could go and find Hop to apologize—  But alas, that never happened.  For Bede learned a far, far, crueller lesson that even she herself couldn’t imagine.  Her stomach churned at such a bitter memory. As an audience, Gloria felt nothing but pity and woe for the orphaned trainer. Her head felt heavy. Crimson eyes darted to the ground below. “Because…you’re my rival.”  The stars were witnesses of such humans who blundered so foolishly.  She said nothing more. One hand pressed the lens of her glasses again. The other gripped the bits of grass and dew next to her. Was that truly her answer, she belittled herself. Yes, he was one of her rivals that he so coldly declared after their first few battles. But not once have Gloria stated it out loud, let alone in front of him.  Suddenly, the silence was broken by a chuckle.  Then another.  And another.  It wasn’t until she heard a heaty laugh that she finally turned her attention back at him. “Wh—?” A pair of crimsons widened to see cruel bliss flashing before her. The laughter she heard seemed forced, yet real. Painful, yet laced with disgusting glee. “St—” Shock left her breathless. Mouth agape at the taunting shit. He kept laughing and laughing. Each cackle a pitch higher. Each sound a heart heavier.  “You’re my rival.”  Hilarious. Utterly hilarious.  Foolish. Idiotic. Completely ridiculous. What kind of bullshit excuse was that? When did she ever see him as a rival? Why would she even see him as a rival?  Ah, it all makes sense.  All this time, since they met, not once had Bede noticed that she acknowledged him as competition. Her stoic expression. Her calm voice. All of them indicated no malice nor intimidation that proved him worthy of such a title. Even with fire blazing in such crimson eyes in every battle, Bede found out that each sight she had given him afterwards were akin to…indifference.  He hated it.  He hated how happy he was to know that she felt…more about him.  He laughed and he laughed, good hand slapping his eyes until the grim cackle died down.  “Bede…”  This was the second time he heard her calling his name; it was softer.  He hated it.  Violet eyes stung at the memories of a few days back. He wanted to wallow in despair. He wanted to go to the chairman personally and beg him at his feet. His Hattrem be damned, at this point, Bede would rather have the Serene Pokémon beat him to a pulp it if meant being accepted by the chairman again.  But no. Even fate couldn’t give him a damn chance to be swallowed by grief.  After walking aimlessly in the wild area, he just had to bump into a raging Bewear. He just had to run away like the useless coward he was. He just had to trip and land on his left wrist in the most painful way possible. He just had to bump into Gloria so that she could save his sorry ass.  Now, here he was, sitting in front of her, cackling and losing it like a madman loss of all hopes and dreams.  “Bede…”  White teeth gritted heavily at the feel of warmth trickling down his cheeks.  Ego puppeteering his emotions, Bede quickly leaned forward at quick a surprising speed. Luckily, his aim was precise, for the boy now had his vision covered not by his right hand, but by the soft shape of her shoulder.  She felt warm.  The laughter died down, mellowed and mellowed until it slurred as silent, shocked sobs.  He hated this so much.  Gloria only sat in her place, stunned and stupefied. The glasses she wore had once again slid down the shape of her nose. But shock held her perfectly still. Both arms were stretched to the sides. Both knees dug lightly into the soft soil. Her back still slightly arched, and the trainer sucked in a deep when she heard – felt – him shiver on her shoulder.  Delicate whimpers peeped so close to her right ear. It took her only a second to realize where it came from. “I…” Both arms remained frozen in place. Should she hug him? Should she just place them down? Fingers clenched and straightened as confusion and bafflement enveloped her entire body.  She was at lost on whether to be grateful that she wasn’t wearing her favourite red jacket, for the next thing Gloria knew, she felt something wet soaking her black shirt.  Her howling heart ached. “Bede—”  “H-Huh…” His voice, weak and shaking, snapped any comfort that she wanted to give. “If you’re really my so-called rival…” He didn’t realize that he had scooted closer. None of them had. “I shouldn’t—” A sharp breath was forced into aching lungs. “—show you…s-uch a distasteful side…” Emotions controlled his body completely. As his face nuzzled her shoulder like a lost child, Bede mindlessly moved his arms around her waist.  His arms shivered just as badly as his body. White, puffy hair hid away every emotion from her to see, for her witness, to judge. Carefully, shakily Bede moved an inch upwards. Quivering lips pressed against her soaked shoulder. Violet eyes blurred from the reality that dropped right onto him.  She was warm. Soft. Gentle.  Everything he ever wished for from the chairman.  His breathing hitched at the arrow that pierced through his heart. The ache in his bandaged wrist screamed at him to ease on his muscles, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t. The trainer only tightened his hold on her. Both legs had trembled and spread apart, enabling this soft, warm body to be enclosed by him. Neither care nor shame inhabited his mind, for his heart had took over, for his heart only craved the very desire of being needed.  He flinched when he felt something gently patting his shoulder.  “I’m here…”  Ah, to be broken down completely by just hearing that simple, petty sentence.  Sobs turned into hiccups. Jaw ached at the terrible pressure once he felt her hand – so gentle and soft – caressing through the strands of curly white hair.  For once, just for tonight, as the stars bore witness at this heart-breaking sight, Bede let his emotions pour.  Just for tonight—Gloria…—he let fate win this cruel, twisted game. END

[bangtan-gal]

Torn Soul

Lee Minho x Fem!Reader

Gang!au powers!au post!apocalypse!au

A/N: the reader is in a psych ward—she doesn’t actually have any mental illnesses, but if that will still make you uncomfortable, I suggest not reading. But honestly if you’ve read the other fics in this series, you’ll probably be able to take it so yeah

Word count: 14.8k

Warnings: swearing, angst, graphic depictions of blood, abuse, mentions of past abuse, detailed sex scenes, fluff, unedited 

You woke up with a shout, cold sweat clinging to you.  The sheets were tossed on the floor and now the bitter air was burning into you. There was no clock in your room and you didn’t have a phone, but it didn’t matter what time it was: you weren’t going back to sleep. Images seemed to flicker across the walls around you, phantoms of nightmares creeping through the shadows. 

A click sounded through the room as the lamp on your bedside flickered to life. Of course, it didn’t help. If anything, it enhanced the creepiness of your windowless, cement-walled room. Orange was cast over the gray and it created even worse illusions. You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest and letting your chin fall on top of your knees. 

 “They’re just nightmares. Only nightmares, what you see in the real world are illusions.” That’s what they constantly told you, that what you saw in the real world was fake. At first, you believed them, but that’s because at first they were only nightmares.

 The tiger that stood on top of a mountain, roaring. The blonde boy with his white and gold embroidered mask. Snow blizzards, lightning storms, ghosts, and knives flying around plagued you every night. They shouldn’t have been real, but they were. You wouldn’t have ever believed it if you had never woken up that day,  giant claw marks torn into your stomach. Random injuries continued to appear whenever you woke up; fingertips blue with frostbite, an unexplainable bite in your calf, a burn mark on your bedroom floor and a hole in the roof. 

That was your first and biggest mistake: telling someone about it. You were stupid to think that anyone would believe you, especially when you yourself barely believed it. Your parents, who had always looked for an excuse to get rid of you, happily took the opportunity to send you to the psychiatric hospital and leave you there. 

You looked over your body, checking for any mysterious wounds and then around the room for any damage. This was the third room you’ve lived in the five months you’d been here. The first one had been normal, with a window, drawing desk, and it’s own bathroom. The second didn’t have the desk or the bathroom, but it had the window. After that room had been destroyed by a wind storm—the same one that you’d seen in your dream that night—they sent you to a room with no glass. 

There was for once, nothing. A sigh of relief escaped you as you relaxed into the bed, glad for just one night of peace. It was hard to explain to the doctors and nurses what happened every time you woke up with mysterious wounds. You couldn’t tell them the truth, they would just continue to brand you as crazy. 

“Y/N.”

You jumped so hard, your head smashed against the wall behind you. A groan unconsciously escaped you. You pressed your fingers to the back of your head, pulling them back to see specks of blood dotting your skin. 

You should’ve expected it, there was no way that you would have a peaceful night for once in your life, but it still scared you. Something or someone—you weren’t exactly sure—stood by your door. Correction: it hovered. It’s eyes were purple and there was no specific figure to it, but it seemed to be human. The creature didn’t move, it just sat by the door, watching you. 

It’s mouth opened and you almost threw up. 

Blood dripped from its mouth and fangs that weren’t attached to anything sat in its mouth.

“It’s Y/N, right?” The voice was familiar, but it was deep and raspy, an inhuman curl in its sound. You sat there silently, trying to place the voice to a person but you couldn’t. 

“Yes…” you whispered, pressing yourself further back against the wall. 

The creature made a sound that sounded like a sigh.

“I apologize for the appearance. I can’t always pick and choose what I possess,” it muttered, “but I’m here to talk about your ability.”

You couldn’t reply.

“Possess?” You squeaked out eventually.

If the creature was capable of facial expressions, it didn’t look very impressed.

“Look, I don’t have much time, I’m hundreds of miles away so the conne—”

It stopped talking to let out a hissing noise.

“—you’re in the V district, right? In a psych ward?”

You nodded wearily, unsure of where this was going exactly. The ghost—you decided it was a ghost—flickered for a few seconds and a few garbled sentences fell from its gruesome mouth. Then with a flash of light, it disappeared. You sat there, heart racing as you stared at the spot it had been. Blood sat in droplets around the floor where it had been. 

That voice, that voice… it had been from your dreams. You were sure of it, the tone and accent were the same as one of the boys you’d briefly seen in your sleep. Were… were they actually real or was that just an after effect of one of your nightmares?  

The overhead lights in your room and you sat up straight, eyes darting from the blood on the floor to the metal door. A face appeared in it: your doctor. Her red hair was in a bun and her glasses rested low on her nose. The door creaked open, an armed man standing beside her. She smiled at you as the guard surveyed the room, his eyes landing on the blood spots. He nudged her, nodding at it. When her gaze returned to yours, her face was full of disappointment. The gesture was completely comical of course, considering that the lady didn’t genuinely care about you. 

As usual, you were dragged out of the room as a cleaning team was sent in. You didn’t fight this time, your mind focused on the conversation you’d had with the ghost boy. He’d asked where you were, which made you wonder if those boys from your dreams were coming for you. If they were, was that a good thing or a bad thing? You wanted to get out of this hellhole desperately, but who knew if they were on their way to rescue you? They could be coming to painfully slaughter you and leave your guts splattered all along the depressing cement walls of your room. 

At least if that happened, you wouldn’t have to explain why there was blood everywhere.

“Y/N.” The doctor snapped her fingers in front of your face. You blinked and then sighed as you begrudgingly met her inquisitive stare. “I see you banged your head up.”

She unconsciously touched the same spot on her head as if injuries were contagious. You stared at her, keeping your face blank. You’d learned that remaining expressionless and talking as little as possible got you out of these rather quickly. She was your fifth doctor and she seemed more determined than the rest to “cure” you.

“Of course, there’s not much blood coming from that wound,” she muttered aloud, “so where did that blood on the floor come from?”

You shrugged and rolled your eyes.

A mandatory check was conducted on you. The doctor was baffled when she found no other wounds on you. She checked three times just to make sure and you had never seen anyone look so distraught. It was hard to tell what was going through her mind, but it probably wasn’t anything good.

“Are you sure you don’t know where the blood came from?” She asked slowly. 

You smiled.

“Want the truth?” 

She nodded.

“It was a ghost,” you deadpanned, leaning back in your seat. “He said that him and his pals are coming to save me from this hell. Nine of them actually. You won’t even know I’m gone until it’s too late.”

The lady obviously didn’t believe you as she raised an eyebrow and took notes. The notes were probably somewhere along the lines of ‘the psychopath thinks that nine ghosts are going to come and break her out. How cute.’ With that, she nodded at two guards, and they grabbed you, dragging you away. You let them willingly, your bare feet stumbling against the cold tile.

But then you stopped. A tiny little boy drifted along the hallway and his light blue eyes locked with yours. A shiver raced down your spine and you didn’t want to go in that direction, but they were forcing you to. He approached, clutching a teddy bear in his arms. One of the guards shouted at you and then you fell to your knees.

“Y/N,” he mumbled, standing right in front of you, “I’m almost there. Tonight. Be ready.”

The ghost disappeared and you stared at the spot in disbelief. Then a smile started to curl at your lips and you started laughing. You made eye contact with one of the guards and your laughs only grew louder.

“You”—you giggled—“you all are so screwed.” 

Neither of them seemed impressed by your threat as they furiously dragged you the rest of the way. They threw you in your room, the frigid ground scraping against your elbows. You didn’t care as you sat up, grinning at the tiny window in your door. Unless you were actually crazy, your ass was getting saved tonight.

The rest of the day passed quietly, a sloppy lunch getting tossed into your room. You chose not to eat it, staring at the mush in disgust. You kept yourself busy as you scratched words into the walls. You continued writing until the lights flickered off and guards shouted throughout the halls for everyone to get to bed. A smile was bright on your face as you stared at the little message you’d left on your wall.

‘Lol bye fuckers!’ 

It was impossible for you to fall asleep that night. You tried multiple times, but your heart was trying to escape your chest and your mind was racing. This was the moment where it really proved whether you were a psycho or not. Shadows danced along the side of the walls and guards paced back and forth in the hallway. 

You weren’t sure how you expected the boy to show up. Maybe he would blow up your room and march in through a hole in the wall. Or he would go guns blazing through the facility until he found you. What you didn’t expect was a boy appearing in your room. Silver and black specks floated around him and his eyes glowed silver in the dark room. 

“Y/N?” You couldn’t reply, your mouth flopping open and close.

“We need to hurry,” he rushed out as he ran towards your bed. You nodded in understanding, slipping out of bed. His fingers wrapped around your hand and he wrapped his other arm around your torso. His mouth was close to your ear and shivers raced through your body as his breath ruffled your hair.

“This is gonna feel weird,” he warned briefly.

And then everything around you twisted and turned. You became everything and nothing; you were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. A million different voices came for you, some loud and others soft. It felt like you were underwater, floating through murky water. The only thing you were sure of was the warm body pressed tight against you and the nervous, hushed breaths coming from the person.

When you blinked, everything changed. You stood in a different room, with wooden walls and red carpet. A plush queen bed was pressed against one wall and there was a window, with curtains framing it. It smelled of old cigarettes and laundry detergent. 

“Are you okay?” You jumped, having forgotten that the boy was still there. You nodded, stepping away from him only for the room to spin.  He caught you before you fell and carried you to the bed, setting you down.

“What was that?” You asked as he sat down on the bed. The boy titled his head at you, silver eyes glinting.

“That depends,” he murmured, leaning towards you, “what can you tell me?”

“Lee Minho, twenty years old. Abilities are teleportation and possession.”

You covered your mouth, eyes widening. It came from nowhere. Did you somehow manage to pick all that up from just your dreams? You didn’t remember any names or anything that specific being mentioned once.

“Correct.” Satisfaction spread over Minho’s face. He leaned back, watching you. You stared at him, hoping that maybe he would offer some explanation. He didn’t.

“Where are we?” You asked. 

“A hotel.”

“And… you teleported us here?” 

Minho paced across the floor and nodded. He kept brushing his hair out of his face, only for it to fall back into his eyes. He was lean with a tiny waist. His black hair contrasted his pale skin.

“Stay here and don’t answer the door,” he instructed, his hand landing on the handle. “I’m going to go get you some clothes… you can’t be seen in those or somebody might call people we don’t want to have a run-in with.” 

Minho left before you could answer. Once the door was shut, you sank deeper into the bed, letting your eyes close. You let out a loud sigh and pulled the covers up to your chin. It was 2 AM and exhaustion was starting to pull at you. You tried to fight the sleep, but it claimed you quickly. 

Your eyes opened to an empty parking lot. You sat up, looking around at your settings. A burnt down building sat at the head of the lot and debris was scattered throughout the place. Three boys stood in a circle, talking amongst themselves. They motioned with their hands and they looked to be arguing. 

They all wore masks and hoods. They dressed in elaborate, expensive clothes and skin-tight gloves clung to their hands. You recognized one immediately, with blonde hair and the white and gold mask. He seemed to be the only one not talking, as his gaze was focused on something on the horizon.

Nothing was happening, which was odd. Whenever you had these dreams, someone was going full-on Avengers on someone. You weren’t complaining, of course, maybe this meant no injuries for once. 

Curiosity got the best of you as you stood up and crept towards the boys. They didn’t notice you as usual. The two continued to argue between themselves while the blonde kept looking around for something. 

Finally, the blonde spoke up.

“You two need to stop arguing, it is not going to get us anywhere,” he huffed, “Minho’s gone right now, so we can’t rely on him to keep people out of the way. Seungmin, maybe try putting some wind barrier up or something. Most people will leave that alone.”

“Chan… it’s really not that big of a de—”

“Don’t tell me what’s a big deal and what’s not!” The blonde snapped, “I’m doing this to keep us all safe and all you people do is drag your feet.”—he turned to the other one—“tell Woojin to find Minho, I want him back here as soon as possible.”  

The two stood in silence while the other one hurried away. Chan let out a sigh before turning to Seungmin. 

“Why was it that Minho went off again?” “A girl. He thought he found another one.”

Someone smacked your shoulder, hard. You woke up groggily, pain flaring through your left temple. Minho hovered over you and once he saw that you were awake, he threw a pile of clothes at you. 

“Hurry and get dressed, we gotta go,” he explained. You sat up, glancing at the clock and whining when you saw that it was just barely five AM. 

“But it’s so early,” you muttered, sliding out of the warm bed reluctantly. 

“They’re here and unless you wanna go back to that hell hole, you better hurry,” Minho snapped. The boy turned his back to you as he threw off his shirt and pulled on a new one. You looked away with a blush and searched through the clothes he got you. There weren’t many options, but you grabbed a sweatshirt and shorts. You changed swiftly, not caring if he was staring. You hadn’t had any privacy for the past five months, always aware of the cameras in the corners of the room whenever you were alone.

Minho grabbed your hospital gown and stuffed it under the mattress. His hand wrapped around yours and he pulled you out of the hotel door. The two of you ran down the hallway and out the door. Your eyes strayed over the parking lot to where two cop cars and a white van sat with cops and nurses wandering about. You quickly saw the red hair and white coat. Your fingers curled and tightened around his hand, your pulse starting to race. She was here, looking for you: threatening your freedom.

“Why is she here?” You whispered, more to yourself than to Minho.

“She’s crazy,” he replied, stopping in front of a pickup. He quickly unlocked the car and motioned for you to go around. You listened, sliding into the passenger’s seat, your gaze still focused on the crowd of people. “Her job is to find people like you and experiment on them.”

You opened your mouth but found that you had no reply to that odd statement. Your mind replayed your dream, reminding you of what the brunette had said. “He thought he found another one.” What did that mean? Were you that one? 

“Is this your car?” You queried as Minho rapidly pulled the truck out. The boy shook his head, keeping his gaze focused on the road ahead of him. He pulled out of the parking lot on two wheels and his foot flattened on the gas pedal, aiming for the highway.

“Stole it from the desk clerk,” he stated, “and I know you have questions, but I can’t answer those right now. Help me look for anybody that could be tailing us or any cops. We don’t need to run into anyone right now.”

You pursed your lips but accepted it. You looked at the rearview mirror and saw that there was only an empty road behind you. Minho’s gaze swept from side to side, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The truck was going at least fifteen over the speed limit and the last thing you needed was to get a speeding ticket in a stolen car with a runaway psych patient.

“Slow down,” you demanded. For a second, nothing happened and he didn’t let up. Then he let out a slow breath and as he did, the car started to gradually slow down. You sighed, your head falling back against the headrest.  “Are you sure you can’t answer my questions now?”

The black-haired boy glanced at you and then back at the road.

“I can, but I don’t know how much I can really answer. I honestly think some of the people I know would be better at explaining,” he murmured, “but ask away.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘people like me’?” You went for the one that confused you the most. He sighed and rolled his neck.

“People like you and me,” he said, “people with abilities.”

You went silent.

Minho glanced at you.

“Did she ever experiment on you?”

You shook your head.

“That probably means she hadn’t figured out what your abilities were yet or maybe she wasn’t entirely sure if you had any,” he muttered, relief spilling out through his voice. “The only reason I could find you was because I started sensing you. It doesn’t make sense, considering how far away you are from where I originally am from, but I could. My possession ability gives me the chance to look for specific people. That’s where I sensed your abilities.”

You shifted in your seat, staring at him. 

“My dreams.” “What?” “I… I’ve always had these kinds of nightmares, that’s where I first saw you and the others,” you mumbled, “for a while, they were just nightmares… but then I started waking up with unexplained injuries and started having weird occurrences in my life. I think, I mean I’m not sure, but I think maybe I was actually there but you guys just couldn’t see me.”

Minho stared at you for a second, completely ignorant to the fact he was driving. The way his silver eyes burned into you sent nerves racing through your body. Finally, he looked away, focusing on the road in front of him. He bit his lip and his eyes were clouded over as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

You drove along in silence for another hour. You kept your gaze on the window, watching the street signs blur past and looking for any familiar landmarks. You had no idea where you were or where you were going. This was a part of District V that you didn’t recognize. 

“Where are we going?” You asked softly, staring at the large cottonwood trees that hung over the road.

“District 9,” Minho murmured, “we can keep you safe there until we know exactly who you are.” 

You stiffened. “And the doctor lady?” “She won’t stop until she finds you, but she won’t be able to.”

“Shit.”

You looked up and saw what Minho was worried about. You were nearing the border and cop cars lined the street. Fear raced through you; this was it, this was where you got caught and sent back to hell. Minho’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and his gaze grew steely. The car pulled to a stop beside one of the policeman. Minho rolled down the window.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” The man said with a smile. “Can I see your IDs?”

You watched in confusion as Minho shuddered and his whole body seemed to shut down. Suddenly the policeman stiffened up and was blinking. His eyes turned silver and then he turned around and pressed a button in the manning station. The toll lifted.

Minho sprung back to life and gunned it out of there. You looked over your shoulder, eyes wide as nobody chased after you. You leaned back in your seat, trying to catch your breath. When you looked over at Minho you saw that his eyes were drooping and his body was slumping.

“Minho?”

He groaned and slowly started to pull the truck over.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, his head falling back against the seat. His eyes were starting to flutter closed. “Don’t have enough energy and shit for th…”

He trailed off, his eyes closing completely. You sat there, your jaw on the floor. Had he just passed out? Slowly you unbuckled yourself and then did the same for the boy. You struggled for several minutes to get him out of the driver's seat and into the passenger’s seat. You had no idea where you were going, but you still started the car back up again and started down the road towards the Heart of District 9.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪ 

It was two hours later when you started to see lights and buildings. Skyscrapers and apartment buildings disappeared into the clouds. As you drove into the city, you watched as people milled about. It was noisy and crowded. 

You glanced over at Minho and sighed when you found him still asleep. You carefully pulled the car into a parking lot and then slid out of the car. Your bladder was begging to be relieved. You hurried into the convenience store. Country music played on the overhead and the desk clerk didn’t pay you any attention as you shuffled into the bathroom. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, shocked by the gaunt look in your face. A sigh fell from your lips and you left the bathroom warily. Hunger gnawed at you as you made your way through the store, rows of snacks staring at you. You had no money so you left quickly, making a beeline for the truck. 

Minho was gone.

Panic set in as you looked through the truck and then scanned the parking lot. Where was he? Did people take random sleeping dudes from cars here? 

A hand wrapped around your wrist and you were roughly pulled against someone. You looked up, meeting Minho’s furious gaze. A baseball cap was pulled down over his hair and the only reason you were certain it was him was because of the cat-like eyes that glittered under the brim. Warmth raced across your skin when you realized just how close the two of you were standing.  His lips were inches from yours and up close you could a tiny amount of freckles that dotted his skin.

“Where the hell were you?” He growled, his grip on your wrist tightening. 

You blinked.

“Where was I? You were the one who randomly disappeared from the car!” You retorted, trying to pull back from him. He was stronger than you and it didn’t help that he looked ready to beat your ass any second.

“I woke up to find you gone! I didn’t know what happened—you could’ve run off or someone could’ve taken you! You could’ve been dead Y/N and you’re mad at me for running off in a hurry to find you?” Minho’s voice grew louder as he went. The few people that walked by looked over in alarm but nobody interfered. Minho pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Y/N, I can protect myself, you can’t.”

You couldn’t stop the snort of indignation.

“You fucking passed out for two hours after using one of your abilities for a solid two seconds!” You snapped back. “You think you’re anymore protected right now?”

He grew silent, his eyes studying your face. Then he smirked and pushed you away, shaking his head. You tried to stay mad but somehow your focus went to how good he looked with the sun beaming off his skin. You pinched yourself and turned away, walking back towards the truck.

“How far away are we?” You asked once the two of you were back on the road. 

“Not far.”

That was the only thing you said for the rest of the ride. Thirty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a huge building. You were in a city, full of people and buildings all in a row. No one paid you any attention as you stepped into the building. You were blasted by AC and greeted by stairs. 

As you trailed behind Minho, all you could think about was how you’d never seen so many stairs in your life. You’d climbed up seven flights of stairs so far and from the looks of it, there were plenty more to come. How many stairs could one building need? Did these boys really like exercise or something? “Can’t you just invest in an elevator?” You gasped once you’d finally reached another set of doors. Relief swept through you when he opened them to reveal an expensive-looking home. 

“I normally just teleport up them,” he pointed out, “but right now I’m running low on fuel.”

It was quiet as you followed Minho deeper into the home. Exhaustion was starting to wear you down and the couch that you stood by looked rather welcoming. You sat on the arm of the couch, slouching down and letting your eyes close. 

“Minho!” You jumped and stood back up, fidgeting nervously behind Minho. A white-haired boy approached, eyes widening when he spotted you. You watched as the two made eye contact and seemed to have a silent conversation. After a few tense moments, a tentative smile broke out on his face.

“We’re having a meeting,” he murmured, “I’m sure Chan will be glad that you’re back.”

Minho nodded and reached behind him to make sure you were following. As you followed him through the living room and down a glass hallway, you committed everything to memory. The layout was much different than any homes you’d ever seen in District V. It was nicer too;  more modern and clean. 

You stepped into a room after the two boys and looked around. Two of the walls were glass and the other two were a shiny gray. A long table sat in the middle of the room and seven boys sat around it. As you looked around at all of them, you found yourself recognizing them from your dreams. Chan sat at the head of the table, blonde hair curly and swept to the side. They were all staring at you, but something in his gaze was different. 

He looked like a skeptical predator and you were the unworthy prey.

“Minho,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off you, “who is this?” “Y/N,” you replied, raising your eyebrow. “You’re Chan, right?”

The two of you stared at each other, sizing one another up.

His eyes momentarily darted to Minho and then back to you.

“Yeah…” he grumbled, “do you know why you’re here?”

“Minho says I have abilities.”

A soft murmur ran through the boys. Chan leaned forward on his elbows, his skepticism turning to intrigue. You steeled yourself, forcing yourself not to buckle under all the attention. Minho stepped closer to you and you were surprised by the small calm that washed over you.

“And what, exactly, are these abilities?” The blonde demanded. You grew silent at that question and bit your lip. 

“I’m not sure yet Chan,” Minho butt in, “I think she can wander in her dreams and has like… an information well or something.”

The sentence made no sense to you, but it seemed to make a little bit of sense to the others because there were nods all around.

“Well, I suppose we could have Changbin and Woojin check it out… but the two of you look tired,” Chan murmured, “get some rest and then we’ll talk about this.”

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪ 

You lay on the couch, your hands folded over your stomach as Woojin, Minho, Chan, and Changbin all hovered over you. It felt odd as they all stared at you like you were some unsolvable math problem. Finally, Woojin knelt down next to your head, his lavender eyes sweeping over your face.

“This might feel weird,” he warned. Your eyes fluttered close and you felt Woojin’s fingers press against your temple. There was a zing that ran through you, but other than that, nothing else happened. 

You tried to stay as still as possible and stay focused on the task at hand, but your mind started to wander. You started to think about your supposed abilities—could you really wander in your dreams? How did you do it? 

It felt like you blinked and then you woke up in a different place. You were still laying on a couch, but everything around you had changed. The boys were missing and you were surrounded by an overcast field of dead grass. You sat up, watching as images fluttered by like ripples of light. One of the images floated dangerously close to you and you reached out to touch it. 

You did more than touch it. Suddenly, the image was swimming around you. You were staring out a window, watching as rain poured down on two people arguing outside. Your instinct told you that these were your parents and a fabricated sadness fell over you. This wasn’t your memory; these weren’t your parents. Without your consent, your gaze shifted to focus on the blurry reflection in the. A young boy’s face appeared, black hair falling over his eyebrows, overshadowing familiar lavender-colored eyes.

This was Woojin’s memory.

You reeled back, feeling like you were intruding on something. A mix of panic and confusion started to fill you: what was happening? Was this what Woojin meant to do? Something told you it wasn’t; whatever was happening right now was your own doing. 

It almost felt like you were standing in a swimming pool full of panic. Your eyes widened as a storm started to brew above you and the grass withered away, turning into black piles of ash. The fear  seemed to go into overload and it caused your own heart to start thundering. You covered your ears, begging for it to stop and go away. Your eyes pinched shut and you bit your lip.

The air around you warmed up and the wind disappeared. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself back on the couch in the apartment. Woojin no longer knelt next to you, but instead he was sprawled on the ground several feet from you. His eyes swam with fear and his breathing was sporadic. The other three’s gazes we’re switching between you and the blue-haired boy. Finally, Chan clapped his hands together and let out a loud sigh.

“Come on, let's go take a breather,” he murmured, holding out a hand to Woojin. The boy took it and the two left.  Changbin looked at Minho and the two seemed to have a silent conversation. 

After that, it was just you and the teleporter. 

“What happened?” Your voice was shakier than you would’ve liked. Minho sat down beside you. 

“As you know, Woojin’s ability allows him to enter and read minds. At first, everything seemed fine and then he just stiffened up… and then he jumped away from you and started freaking out. He kept mumbling something about how you were in,” Minho explained. His voice became softer and had a calming effect on you. His hand landed on your wrist awkwardly and his eyes strayed to the place, a debate obvious in his stare. 

You cleared your throat. 

“I-er-I think I was in Woojin’s mind,” you whispered, “I don’t know how I did it and I’m really fucking sorry if I hurt him. It-it just happened, I really don’t k—“

“Y/N, it’s fine. Woojin isn’t injured, he’s just shocked. Don’t blame yourself,” he said, his hand dropping to yours this time. His fingers were warm between yours and it caused your face to heat up. 

Minho stood up, your hand slipping from his grasp. Changbin came back, his dark eyes watching the two of you carefully. He gave you the creeps, with his death stare and the weird aura that floated around him. 

“Chan said that we’ll see what happens tonight, but we’ve seemed to come to a conclusion on her abilities. We just want to be certain,” he stated, sitting down on the coffee table. “But now Chan wants to talk to you, while you’ve been gone, we’ve been in some desperate need of your ability.”

Minho nodded and sent a quick glance back at you before leaving. Changbin turned to watch him leave and once the silver-eyed boy was out of sight, he turned back to you. He brushed his black hair from his face, showing off a scar that ran through his eyebrow. His lips turned into a frown.

You expected him to say something, but instead, the boy just perched on the table. It felt like you were having some weird staring contest as the boy refused to look away from you. You looked away and sat up, running a hand through your hair. 

“So what’s the conclusion?” “You want to know?” 

You narrowed your eyes and turned to him. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my ability, isn’t it?” Changbin shrugged.

“Minho explained to us how you could randomly sprout information about him the second you met him. Chan and Woojin believe that it may be a side-ability to a bigger one. They… think that you can mock abilities,” Changbin said. He raised his eyebrows at you and tilted his head. “I told you one of my abilities… what’s my other one?”

You wanted to laugh in his face, but you couldn’t because the information rushed you so fast.

“Telekinesis,” you replied smoothly. 

He nodded. “What are Chan’s?”

“Gravitation and Phasing.”

A satisfied smile curled onto his lips and it was rather disconcerting. For some reason, you could imagine this boy smiling while stabbing you. You couldn’t remember anything about him from your dreams, so you weren’t sure where you were getting this persona from. Maybe it was just your paranoia.

You hoped it was paranoia. 

       His eyes roved over you, curiosity burning in their depths. You could see the questions brimming. Then he let out a sigh and leaned away. 

“You’re welcome to do whatever, we won’t be retrying until tonight,” he said. Changbin stood up and bid you goodbye and then disappeared to where the others had gone. 

       You sat in silence, looking around. You didn’t feel like you belong among the polished surfaces and clean carpets. This was the world for the rich and powerful. It was the opposite of what you had grown up in. 

You spent the rest of the day wandering around the place and trying to relax. Stress was coursing through you, making your thoughts race and your skin tingle. There were a million things going on that were causing it. You were no longer in District V and now you were living with some notorious gang. Apparently, you had “abilities” and these boys would go to any means to discover what they were.

Night approached too quickly. After eating a bowl of cereal by yourself in their extremely clean kitchen, Minho came to fetch you. It didn’t help that he also seemed to be nervous, with his fingers constantly tapping against his thigh. Nothing was even happening to him.

“Y/N,” Changbin greeted you as you stepped into the room. A large queen bed with a blood-red bedspread was pressed against the wall. The walls themselves were a deep brown and the dark atmosphere wasn’t helping with your nerves. “Just go to bed for right now, that’s really all you have to do.”

“And then you’re gonna step into my dreams?” You asked as he slid from the room. The boy nodded and then glanced at Minho.

“It won’t hurt, I swear. Most people don’t even notice I’m there… although, it might be different for you. Just… try not to do whatever you did last time,” he murmured. Part of you knew that you shouldn’t have been hurt by what he said, but a pang ran through you at his words. 

“Ok ok,” Minho spoke up, “let’s not stress her out now. Just sleep and do whatever you do. Let’s get you comfortable.”

He steered you towards the bed, his arm firm around your shoulders. You sat down nervously on the bed, watching as the boy shuffled away to search through the dresser across the room. Minho pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and brought them over to you. 

“Are these yours?” You asked, unable to meet his gaze. 

“This is my room,” he pointed out and then he turned around. You changed quickly, muttering an ‘okay’ when you were ready for him to turn around. It felt weird to be sitting in someone else’s closing, especially his.

The articles smelled of him and you hated to admit that it calmed you down slightly.  You slid into the bed and turned away from him, praying he wouldn’t see the red that was burning up your face. The lights turned off and your heart started to race as you heard his footsteps approach the bed. 

“Are you sleeping here?” You whispered into the dark. 

He didn’t reply for a moment.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

You didn’t give yourself time to think before you answered.

“No, I’d rather you stay… please,” you mumbled. The bed dipped as and the sheets were pulled down for a second. Your heart should’ve been racing but as you took deep breaths, it slowed down to a steady beat. Minho stayed a good distance away, but warmth crept through the few inches between you. 

And sleep claimed you quickly.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

You woke up the next morning peacefully. There hadn’t been any dreams last night and it was the best sleep you’d gotten in a while. Minho was still dead asleep beside you, his mouth parted and his breathing was light. His arm was now lazily slung over your waist and his nose was just inches from your cheeks. 

You sat up, staring at him for a second. His eyelashes were long enough to fall along the top of his cheekbones. His lips were a deep pink and they looked soft. Your mind ran on its own track as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. The boy stirred under your touch and you jumped away. 

The silver would never not shock you, especially watching them brighten as his eyelids fluttered open. He was still for a few seconds and after blinking a couple times, he looked up at you. A groan fell from his lips as he sat up and rapidly rubbed his eyes. The side of his face he’d been lying on was dusted red. 

“Sleep well?” His voice was raspy. He licked his lips and squinted his eyes at the wall in front of him.

“Yeah. What about you?” 

He laughed. “You’re really cuddly once you’re asleep. I have never been more terrified of being suffocated in my life.”

You stared at him, your mouth falling open. A grin split over Minho’s face and although he’d smiled before, there was something so different in his face, that it had you smiling just as brightly. It disappeared when his gaze dropped to your lips and sat focused there, his eyes glazing over. 

The door burst open and Chan marched in. 

“We have bad news,” he announced, his expression grim, “Doctor Lynn doesn’t plan to let Y/N get away that easily.”

You didn’t have time to throw on any different clothes as the two of you followed Chan to the meeting room. A TV flickered on the glass wall, paused on an image that had horror burning up through your system. It was your picture with the caption ‘Unstable Psych Patient on the Loose, Contact Police if Seen!’ 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Minho muttered, stepping closer to you. You stared at it, your eyes widening.

“How do you know it’s her?” You asked, looking around. 

“She did the same thing to me,” Changbin replied. He wasn’t looking at you as he stared at the screen, almost like he was reliving a bad memory. “The things that woman did to me were awful. The only reason I’m free and alive today is because of Chan.”

Despite the gratuitous statement, there was no gratitude in his voice. His voice sounded broken, dead. Your gaze moved from him and back to your own picture and you thought of the red-haired doctor.  Was she really out for you? “I’ve already sent Woojin, Hyunjin, and Jisung out. She knows that we’re in District 9 for sure and I’m hoping they’ll keep her away from the Deep City,” Chan explained, eyes filled with worry as he glanced at you. “Unfortunately, we can’t stop everything just because some bitch is out on the hunt. The rest of you need to get to your stations and continue your jobs.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a frown spread over Minho’s face. His eyebrows furrowed and his hand swayed until it brushed against yours. You entangled your own fingers with his and squeezed tightly.

“One of us needs to stay with Y/N, it’s not safe,” Minho mentioned, “and I’ve already finished my part.”

Chan didn’t look happy but he obliged. 

      After everyone had filed out, you and Minho sat alone in the living room. Your mind kept fluttering back to that almost kiss in his bed. Your body was burning with pent up energy. You bit your lip.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?” He was barely paying attention as he paced back and forth in the kitchen. His thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the problems at hand. You frowned and glanced down at your lap.

“Are you… are you—” you cut yourself off and then shook your head. “Nevermind.”

The boy stopped his pacing and made his way over to you. His eyes were full of concern as he leaned over the counter. You looked away and cleared your throat. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by alarms blaring through the house. You stiffened and Minho raced away, cursing loudly. You slid from the chair and followed after him, watching as he turned on the TV. It wasn’t a basic stream, instead, the stairwell popped into view.

“Oh fuck!” He hissed, staring at the several guards dressed in all black racing up the stairs. You recognized those outfits. 

“The psych ward,” you whispered, coming to stand beside him. “They’ve found us.”

Minho didn’t reply as he hurried towards the phone and quickly dialed it. Even from your place, you could hear the white noise crackle through the phone. He cussed again and then grabbed your hand. There was no warning as the same feeling as before washed over you; everything disappeared and new images raced past you. But when you came out of it you found yourself only two feet away.

A groan left the boy and he staggered against you. You caught him, struggling to keep him upright. His eyes were no longer silver, but a dark gray. You patted him and dragged him over to the couch, letting him collapse.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, running your hands over him in search of some form of injuries. 

“No, the job Chan had me do… it completely drained me,” he grumbled and sat up. “We’re gonna have to use the back entrance, come on.”

Minho didn’t sound good at all and you doubted he had enough energy to keep going, but you didn’t stop him. He led the way up the stairs and then into a bedroom. He yanked open the window and slid out first and then helped you through. You made the mistake of looking down and nearly threw up. You weren’t sure how high up you were exactly, but it was super fucking high. The ladder didn’t look steady either. 

“Hey,” you mumbled, staring down the ladder, “if we both die or something… I just wanna say that I really like you.”

You looked up and met his shocked stare. 

Then he blushed and looked away.

“Uh… I really like you too,” he replied. You smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and then started down the ladder. He followed you and the two of you struggled down in silence. The metal creaked beneath your shoes and the wind battered you. Your palms grew sweaty and your grip tightened as you continued down. 

You came to another landing and the two of you paused and looked up. Nobody was following you. For once, you were actually thankful for the millions of stairs this building had. The guards were probably in better shape, but it would still take them a while. Minho jumped onto the landing behind you, his face flushed white. Worry raced through you when you saw just how dim his eyes looked.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” You whispered.

He wasn’t able to answer your question. Something whizzed past the two of you and hit him. He crumbled against you and you struggled to keep upright against his weight. Your eyes drifted down his body and your eyes widened when you saw a needle sticking out of his waist. You plucked it out quickly and tossed it away, but the damage had already been done. His eyes were starting to close and he mumbled something and then passed out against you.

A helicopter that you had somehow missed slowly hovered down. Your gaze met the red-haired doctor’s and rage swept through you. The helicopter was level with you and the door opened, two guards staring at you with blank expressions. Tears started to prick the corners of your eyes; you were so fucking screwed. Minho was hurt and it was all your fault. They were after you, not him.

“Y/N,” he rasped. You glanced at him, shocked to find him still alive. “Run, I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t just leave you,” you said, shaking your head. 

You weren’t sure what happened next, it was like you blacked out, but you somehow saw everything that happened. You just couldn’t stop it. Your eyes blinked open to find yourself in a dirty bathroom, sitting on the counter. When you slid off the counter, you stumbled. Your legs felt like jelly and your head was pounding. 

You opened the door and slid out of the bathroom, finding yourself in an empty gas station. The open sign was turned off and the parking lot was empty. Your gaze dropped to your hands and then you bit your lip, realizing exactly what happened. Minho.

You spent several minutes crying on the floor in the chips aisle, head buried into your knees. He’d sacrificed himself for you and the two of you had only known one another for a couple days. After a while, you forced yourself to stand up and wiped your tears away.  Minho saved your life several times and now you needed to repay him and crying in a gas station wouldn’t help.

You grabbed a water bottle, draining it in a few seconds flat. The air was cold when you stepped outside. It was annoying, not knowing the place because you didn’t recognize any buildings or street signs. Either way, you started walking down the street, keeping your head down whenever a car zoomed past.

You were left alone for several miles down the street, but eventually a car rolled to a stop beside you. The window rolled down and a boy around your age grinned at you. His eyes ran along your body and he licked his lips. You grimaced.

“Need a ride somewhere doll?” You almost said no and then you smirked. The car smelled of smoke as you leaned in through the window, smiling at him. His eyes glittered and his smile gave you the creeps, but you forced yourself to stay in character.

“Uhm, actually I do,” you murmured. The door unlocked and you opened the door and stood outside it for a second. You balled your fists and then slid into the car. His eyes darted to the unclosed door and to you as you just stared at him. Then you smiled again and prayed that he had a soft face. You’d never punched anyone in your life, but the satisfying crunch that came when your fist connected with his nose sounded good. Your knuckles stung and you hissed, but kept moving. 

You left him on the side of the road, trying not to smile at the blood that dripped from his nose. Then you slid into the driver’s seat and raced off. In truth, you had no idea what you were doing or where you were going, but how easy is it to hide a butt-ton of guards. Eventually, you started seeing vaguely familiar things. You zoomed down the main street of the city, keeping an eye out for anybody dressed in black or suspicious helicopters. 

Nerves started to roil in your stomach because you didn’t really know what you were doing. What were you supposed to look for? You didn’t know how to contact Chan or anyone else and they wouldn’t be back the house for the rest of the day.

You were on your own. 

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

Days passed and soon the car ran out of gas and you still had no luck in finding any sign of the psychos or Minho. You walked along the edge of the street, dirt sticking to your shoes and everywhere else. You were tired and lost and hopeless. You were forcing yourself not to cry, having cried so many times in the past days. 

As you walked past an abandoned house, you froze. Your eyes zeroed in on the silver van that sat in the driveway. You’d seen that van plenty of times. It was the one the came to pick you up from your house and took you to the psych ward. You’d seen hundreds of them parked outside from your window.

“Minho,” you whispered.

You ran towards the side of the house, taking extra care to pay attention to the area around you. There was nobody in sight. A window was broken on the first floor and you poked your head in. Once again there was no one. It felt too easy to be just waltzing in there, but you had to take your chances.

Glass crunched under your shoes as you jumped onto the floor. That was when you saw the two guards. They leaned against the wall in the kitchen, talking and not even sparing you a glance. You scooted away from them and pressed yourself against the wall, out of view. You forced your breath to stay even and looked around. Minho had to be here. The place was so random and out of the way, that it made perfect sense for him to be here. 

You moved towards a closed-door, figuring the best way to find him was to start opening as many doors as possible. It was just a coat closet. You opened the one next to it and found a tiny bedroom. You looked around and then slowly snuck from the room. The third door you opened lead to a staircase going down. Your stomach tightened and you stepped down. The stair creaked loudly and you stiffened.

“Did you hear that?” One of the guards muttered.

“It’s probably that idiot rocking his chair again.”

“Should we tell him to stop?” “He’s sedated off his ass, where is he gonna go?” The second one retorted. You stared into the dim room at the bottom of the stairs and made your way down as carefully as possible. It was dark and dusty, but as your eyes adjusted, you saw the silhouette of someone sitting in a chair.

“Please don’t be some creepy old lady like in horror movies,” you mumbled.

It wasn’t.

It was Minho.

You rushed to him, a sigh of relief leaving you. He was completely out of it, mouth slightly hanging open and head leaned back. His breathing was shallow and he didn’t look very good. You looked up, stiffening when you heard footsteps stomp along. You had to get out of here.

“We think you can mock abilities.”

Minho had teleported with you twice. You’d experienced his ability twice and if you really could mock abilities, what was to stop you from getting out of there? You wrapped your hands around his and closed your eyes, trying to remember the sensation you’d felt before. You imagined that you were back in the city. When you opened your eyes, you were still in the dusty basement.

“I can do this,” you muttered and then forced more confidence into your voice, “I can do this.”

You remembered the smell of the city and the feel of the air around you. You remembered people storming past you and cars rushing by. Your hands tightened against Minho’s, forcing the world around you to disappear. Then you felt it, a pulling in your gut. It snapped and then the familiar sensations flooded you like a river. You were everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing. 

When you opened your eyes, you were in the middle of the Deep City. Your head pounded and your vision swam. You crumpled to your knees, gasping. Minho’s hand was still tightly clutched in yours. Everything was blurry, but you forced yourself to focus as you looked around. You recognized the Miroh building and you struggled to your feet, pulling Minho up with you. 

You fell again. 

“Shit,” you whispered. You felt like you were going to throw up.

A pair of shoes stepped in front of you. Arms wrapped around you and scooped you up. Seungmin’s face came into view. He looked worried, but there was a smile on his face nonetheless. Black spots fizzled in your vision.

When you came to, you woke up in Minho’s bed. He lay beside you, bandages wrapped around his biceps and face pale. Woojin sat in a chair several feet away, reading through a magazine. 

“He’s going to be okay,” he hummed without looking up, “considering you were worried?”

“Yeah.” Your voice cracked as you stared down at him. You wished that you had gotten there sooner. 

“You can’t blame yourself, Y/N. From the looks of it, you did some amazing things,” he sighed. Woojin stood up and made his way towards you. His eyes worriedly ran over Minho before darting to you. “Of course, you’ll still need to tell us what happened.”

You slid out of bed and paused beside Minho. Woojin waited for you at the door. A shaky sigh escaped you as you ran your thumb over a cut on his cheek. Then you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Woojin didn’t say anything as the two of you walked back to the meeting room. The seven other boys sat around the table, all of them seeming to have various injuries of their own. 

You sat down and cleared your throat, fingers drumming against your thigh. You took a few deep breaths before you started to recount what happened. They all listened intently, not asking any questions, and you finished the story, even more nervous than before.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you piped up, “I mean… I didn’t even have any altercations with them.”

“That’s because they’ve set their eyes past you and to us,” Changbin sighed, “they talked to somebody who knows something. All of us who ambushed. It was a stupid move to leave Minho that unattended, but maybe they were confident that they wouldn’t need to guard him.”

For a second he was silent, chewing on his lip.

He stared at Chan.

“I think I know who it is.”

Chan nodded. “I believe I do too, although the question is if we really want to do with him right now.”

Then he groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“But we need to,” he mumbled to himself. Then he looked around. “Normally this is something I’d have Minho do… Woojin, can you go?”

He didn’t seem too thrilled with whatever he had to do. You fiddled with the edges of your sweater, debating what to do. You wanted to help, well actually, you wanted to punch whoever snitched and then toss them into a meat grinder. Minho was hurt because of them; all these boys were in trouble and injured because of it. 

“I want to come as well,” the words tumbled out. Heads snapped in your direction, confusion evident in their eyes. You looked at Chan. “Please—this is my fight as much as it is yours. If anything, it’s more of my fight than yours but still... “

Chan looked ready to object, but Woojin interjected.

“Well then, let’s go get ready and then we’ll go.”

You walked back to Minho’s room and found him awake. He was lying there, staring at the ceiling and as you approached, you saw that his eyes were red. Your heart lurched and you swiftly walked over to the bed. Minho jumped when you came into view and then he smiled at you. You grabbed his head and knelt down beside him.

“Are you okay?” You whispered.

“I’m alive,” he croaked and then coughed. You wanted to know what they did to him, but you figured now wasn’t a good time. Minho’s gaze was sad as he watched you. His hand reached up and tipped your chin up, bringing you closer until you were inches apart. “This is really random, but I kind of want to kiss you.”

You nodded and let your eyes flutter closed. His lips were cold and chapped when they pressed against yours, but you didn’t mind. You pressed closer, hands gripping into the sheets beside him. His hand moved from your face to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He shifted and tugged you forwards so you spilled on top of him. You pulled back with a gasp, nervously laughing and unable to meet his stare.

“I have… I have to go,” you muttered, remembering Woojin. It was hard to focus as Minho’s thumbs massaged circles into your hips and with his face really close to yours. “I’m—”

You found that you didn’t want to tell Minho what you were doing.

“Chan wants to talk to me about my abilities.” You cringed as the lie came out. You didn’t want Minho to worry, but lying to him didn’t feel right. His eyes searched your face and you had a feeling he knew. “I’ll be back, I-I promise.”

A sigh filled the air between you, but he nodded. He pressed one last quick kiss to your lips. You slid from the bed and then grabbed a pile of clothes off the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom. Your gaze met your reflection’s after you’d pulled your new clothes on. Your hands curled into fists, nails biting crescents into your palm and you steeled your nerves.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

  The sun set several hours before you arrived at the place. Woojin hadn’t given you any hint of where you were going or what type of person this guy was. It was a club that you pulled into. LED lights flashed through the windows and when you opened the door you were attacked by the smell of alcohol and tobacco. Your nose wrinkled and you glanced over at Woojin in disbelief.

“Believe me, I don’t how this guy became our problem,” he huffed, slamming the door shut. “Just stay close to me… people here are weird.”

The bouncer didn’t spare you a single glance as you walked into the building. Immediately your senses went overload trying to pay attention to everything that was happening. The lights were changing color rapidly, people were shouting, and sparkly strippers swung on even shinier poles. Waitresses wandered about, smiles out and chests out. 

“Sora!” Woojin called as the two of you pushed past groups of drunken idiots. A girl dressed in green lingerie with blue hair and blue-colored skin turned to him. She smiled, not in a welcoming way, but the same way a predator would when an unknowing prey walks into their house. As she approached, you realized that her skin wasn’t actually blue, the high points of her skin just had blue highlight on them. 

“New girl?” She asked, her eyes darting towards you. You frowned at her, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. “You never have a girl with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like I’m a customer. We need to talk to Rio.”

Sora huffed.

“Kim Woojin!”

Another girl approached. She was dressed in a fiery red, tight skinned dress and just like Sora, the high points of her body and face were tinted a sparkly orange. Her green eyes sparkled under the lights and her smile was even more unnerving than the first girl’s. She didn’t spare you a single glance as she kept her stare leveled on Woojin.

“Here to see Rio?” She sounded like she was making fun of him. 

Woojin gritted his teeth. “Yes, Vienna.”

She laughed, flapping her hand and then motioning for him to follow. You went to follow him, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you. Sora held tight to you and when you met her gaze, it only tightened. Your eyebrows furrowed and a grimace spread over your face.

“Please let go,” you murmured, trying to pull away. 

“Rio only allows certain guests to see him,” she stated, “and you don’t seem to be one of them.”

It was like a natural reaction, an instinct that was buried deep inside. You grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she let go. The two of you stood nearly chest to chest and you sneered. She tried to pull back, but this time you were the one in control. 

“Oh believe me,” you snapped, “I am one of them.”

You let go of her wrist and pushed her away. You chased after Woojin and Vienna, sending the same vicious glare Vienna’s way when she sent you a look of disdain. The three of you stepped into a room. It smelled awful and a man sat with his back to you. When he turned around at Vienna’s call, he wasn’t a good sight. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale, and a patchy beard was growing along his chin and neck.

“You Miroh bitches never leave people alone, do you?”

The room grew cold and the smell of alcohol and body odor was overpowered by the smell of something dead. Figures started to dance in the dark corners of the room and pairs of eyes and sharp teeth flashed. Ice crept through you and it felt like you were back in the psych ward, your mind playing tricks on you as you sat in the dark room for hours on end. 

Rio stiffened at it and he muttered an apology. The creatures retreated and the cold lessened, but it was still there. Woojin walked around the couch until he stood in front of the disgusting man. You walked towards the back of the couch and your nose wrinkled as the stench grew stronger. The man’s blue eyes darted from you to Woojin and you saw a deep fear racing through his face.

“Who the hell did you tell?” Woojin asked. He didn’t move, his expression didn’t change, and the dead didn’t even shift. Yet Rio still flinched away, fingers drumming against his knees.

“Some lady,” he squeaked out, “red hair. Claimed she was working for the greater good or something.”

Woojin raised an eyebrow.

“And what did you tell her?”

Rio’s eyes cast downwards and he mumbled something. Woojin snorted and then backed up until he could lean against the wall behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the alcoholic in front of him. Rio paused for a second before looking back up at Woojin.

“She promised she’d get rid of you guys and I wouldn’t have to deal with you psychopaths anymore. You think I care how she does it? As long as you’re out of my hair, I couldn’t give two shits!” It felt like something snapped inside you. The whole statement peeved you off. Minho was hurt because this guy snitched. All nine of them were in danger because of her. She wouldn’t have known about their abilities or where they were stationed if he hadn’t said anything. 

Your body moved without your mind’s command. Your elbow rammed into the side of his head and warm satisfaction ran through you as he crumpled. He let out a cry, grasping his head where you’d hit him. You leaned over the back of the couch, forcing him to meet your stare. 

“You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to act like that while you fucking sit in here, drinking your life away, not doing anything but ruin others life. You’ve put these boys lives in danger because of your stupid mouth. They can’t really be that fucking bad can they? You used to live in a dump you pig and then they helped you out, even though they didn’t have to! The reason you’re so successful is because of them and this is how you repay them?” You snarled. Rio tried to  look away from you, but you weren’t done yet. Your fingers digged into his hair and you pulled, snapping his neck back so he had no choice but to look at you. 

“They’ve all been under extreme stress and they’ve been hurt because of your dumbass actions! If anything, you owe them, but you repay them by ratting their lives out to some random ass woman you don’t even know? A woman who hasn’t done a single thing for you? Minho could’ve fucking died because of your actions! He’s hurt and he doesn’t deserve it because he went out of his way to save my ass—a random girl he’d never met. He’s been nothing but nice and caring and you try to brush him under the rug like he’s not human?”—You didn’t even realize you were solely focused on Minho, you were seething and your mind was racing too fast for your mouth to keep up—“he doesn’t deserve it, you swine! You owe them your wealth and your life, and yet, you’d just let them die?”

You bared your teeth at him. 

“Some piece of disgusting scum you are.”

You let go of his hair and shoved his head forward. He cradled his head, sobbing loudly and muttering apologies under his breath. Woojin stared at you with no readable expressions. You couldn’t tell if he was surprised or impressed. His eyes darted from you to Rio and then he frowned.

“What was her plan, Rio?” He asked. The other man was silent for a moment, still sobbing. You fought the urge to give him a real beating and tell him to man up. Woojin probably didn’t want your help again.

“I don’t really know,” he whispered, “she just said she was going to find you guys and separate you. Sh-she said that all her guards weren’t here yet and once they were all there, that there was no winning for you. I… I don’t really know, please, I swear. Don’t hurt me again.”

His pale blue eyes darted to you, not Woojin, and you realized that he wasn’t scared of Woojin anymore. You shifted uncomfortably, looking away and staring at the shadows that rolled along the sides of the room. Woojin cursed under his breath.

“We gotta go,” he murmured to and then marched towards Rio. His fingers pressed against the man’s temple and Rio collapsed. The two of you left quickly, racing across the parking lot to the car.   

The car was silent for the first several minutes, both of you still struggling to catch your breath. You were suddenly really tired and you leaned your head against the window, watching as headlights zoomed by. Finally Woojin let out a soft sigh and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance at you. 

“You really like Minho, huh?” He hummed. You looked away from the window to stare at him. His eyes looked black in the dark atmosphere. Your mind kept skipping back to the ghosts he’d summoned and how much it had reminded you of the occasional hallucinations you used to have. 

“What do you mean by that?” You grumbled, scoffing afterwards.

“The majority of your speech was about him,” he pointed out, “I mean… at the end, you managed to wrap it up with us, but your main worry really seemed to be Minho.” Woojin paused as if trying to think of what to say next.

“The two times you really used your ability was because of him. You managed to teleport with someone else and go pretty far for the first time. You read Rio’s mind back there. Both times were motivated by him,” he commented, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He pulled into the garage and turned off the car. The two of you stared at one another.

“Yeah… so?” He smiled. “Just make sure he knows that Y/N.”

Woojin got out first, heading towards the door. You slid out of the car a few moments later. The walk up the stairs didn’t seem as long as usual. Your mind was wandering, lost in emotions that you couldn’t even explain to yourself. 

When you stepped into the house, you were greeted by Changbin and Chan. The two sat in the living room, playing a game of cards. Both of their expressions were grim and you figured that Woojin must’ve already told them what you found out. You didn’t stay to talk and instead made your way to your room. 

Minho was coming out of the bathroom as you entered. Most of his bandages were off and a lot of his cuts were already healed. He stood in only sweatpants, wet hair falling into his eyes. He spotted you and smiled and you found yourself smiling back. His eyes were back to their regular color and there was a healthy pink tint in his skin. You didn’t question how he’d managed to heal so fast and ran towards him. You threw your arms over his shoulders and kissed him deeply.

He was surprised for a moment, but then his arms snaked around your waist and he kissed you back. You smiled against his lips and then pulled back, staring up at him. Minho stared back at you, cheeks pinker than before. 

“I love you,” you blurted out. His eyes widened and so did yours.

He pouted.

“I wanted to say it first,” he mumbled and pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips.  Then he pulled back and wrinkled his nose. “You smell.”

You laughed. “Thanks. I should probably go shower.”

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

The two of you had laid quietly in bed for an hour. You had just stared at Minho, just barely able to see him in the dark room. But it didn’t seem to matter how dark it was because his eyes were still bright.

It was an hour of purely nothing but cuddles and soft breathing. Then it changed quickly when Minho pressed a soft kiss to your jawline. When you hummed, it only egged him on and his mouth continued along your jaw and down your neck. He shifted over top of you, knee slotted between your thighs, and mouth desperately marking up your shoulder and collarbone. Whimpers were falling from you and you were grinding against his leg, eyes pinched shut. His hands ran down your sides and then stopped at the hem of your shirt.

“Are you sure this is a good time?” He gasped. You groaned, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him.

“Is it ever a good time in this life?” It was a vague sentence, but it was all he needed. Your shirt flew over your head and his warm mouth fell on your breast. You gasped, your back arching into his touch. His fingers were playing with your pants, testing the fabric between him and you. He switched his mouth to your other breast, rolling your nipple under his tongue.

In one fluid movement, he pulled down your pants and panties down. His mouth made a slow trail down your stomach and along your hips. He skipped over your core, kissing and nipping at your thighs. You mewled, spreading your legs further. Minho hummed against your skin and then your clit was sucked into his mouth. You squealed, thighs closing around his head. 

It didn’t deter him. His tongue licked several quick stripes up your core, sending electricity bouncing along your skin. He sucked and nipped at your clit, distracting you from the movement of his hand. Two of his fingers entered you swiftly, pushing all the way up to the third knuckle. They curled against your tight hole, pressing right to the g-spot. 

“Minho,” you moaned, head falling back against the pillows. “D-don’t stop.”

He added a third finger and his pace picked up. Lewd noises filled the air as your wetness grew. It felt like the room was spinning and too much was happening as he continued to suck on your clit and thrust his fingers in and out of your pussy. You tightened around his digits, squirming on the sheets and letting out nervous gasps as the dam in your stomach broke. Minho lapped at you for a few seconds longer and then pulled back. 

“Damn,” he murmured, wiping his mouth. 

You panted silently as he crawled back up beside you. He laid down, arms wrapping around your waist. You licked your lips and then frowned.

“Are you done?” You asked, voice weak. 

Minho kissed your cheek.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he sighed. 

“What about you?”

“I’m fi—”

You grasped his hard-on through his sweatpants. He stopped his sentence, voice catching in his throat. You stroked him softly through the material, pulling a mewl from him. The two of you worked together to wriggle his pants down so you could grasp his cock with nothing between you. 

It was mostly quiet as you stroked him, only occasional grunts and whimpers escaping him. You could tell he was trying to be quiet from the close-mouthed gasps that came from him. His hips bucked into your touch and he started to curl up, face burying itself in your neck. You rolled your thumb over the tip and squeezed his length. 

“Y/N I-I—”

He cut himself off with a loud yelp. 

He panted for several minutes, struggling to regain his senses.

“We need to clean the sheets,” he grumbled. He didn’t move.

“That can wait till tomorrow,” you sighed and then curled into his side. He pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple, and then slowly the two of you fell asleep.

⧪⧪⧬⧪⧪

You were woken up late morning by the sunshine spraying across the room. Minho laid on his back, face turned towards you and one arm stretched across your torso. A smile fell on your face as you stared at him, blissfully unaware of how pretty he looked without trying. You wrapped your arm around his bare waist and rested your head on his shoulder. The world had melted away and for once, there was nothing wrong.

“Why the hell are you two sti—”

You shrieked just as Seungmin did. He had thrown the hairbrush that was in his hand and now covered his eyes. You scrambled to pull up the sheets, pink spreading over your face.  He kept his hand over his eyes and leaned against the doorway, trying to slow his breathing.

“That is…” he grumbled, starting to back away, “just get showered and come to the meeting room. Chan is trying to form a plan and he needs you two.”

Once he closed the door behind him, you sagged down in the bed, covering your face. Minho had woken up and was now laughing softly at you. 

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, sliding out of bed, “it builds character, he’ll be fine. Now, we should probably shower and hope that Seungmin isn’t screaming at the top of his lungs somewhere.”

He held out a hand and you grasped it, pulling yourself up. You took two quick, separate showers. Your nerves started to rebuild themselves when you realized that now was no time to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. She was still out there, trying to find you and tear you apart. 

You completely forgot about Seungmin by the time you sat down in the meeting room, fingers tapping on the arms of the chair. Chan sat at the head of the table, eyes reading over the several papers in front of him. It was silent between the ten of you for several minutes before Chan started to talk. 

“So… as I’m sure you all know, Lynn has reinforcements coming. We have no idea when she’s coming, although if I were her, it would make sense to strike soon. So for the next several days, I need everyone on top of it.

“Woojin and Hyunjin are going to do a mental barrier and Y/N…” he trailed off for a second, staring at you. Then he steeled his gaze. “If you could try to help Woojin, that would be great. Minho and I will work on trying to find them. The rest of you will just have to wait for the time to come.”

Chan reached under the table and grabbed a box, placing it on the surface. Minho looked uncomfortable as he stared at the box.  The rest of them didn’t seem too pleased to see it either. He opened it and threw several small packets with silver powder in front of all of you. 

“I know you guys don’t like it, but these exist for a reason. If you start feeling drained, take one,” he demanded, meeting everyone’s stare, “I don’t need one of you getting dragged off because you suddenly collapsed from exhaustion.”

Everyone took a packet, tucking it into their pockets and exchanging wary glances with the person sitting next to them. You frowned down at yours, wondering what it was. Minho’s hand fell on yours and you looked up at him, tightly smiling when you saw the worried expression on his face.

“It’s a… well, it refuels strength and energy. Using your abilities excessively take a lot out of you, so we have these for special cases,” he explained under his breath. “But only use it if you’re certain you can’t go any further.”

“Everyone know what they’re doing?” Chan asked. He didn’t give anyone time to respond as he stood up and dismissed everyone. You stood up, hurrying towards Woojin. Minho stood with you for a while and then grabbed your hand.

“Be careful please,” he whispered. You nodded and smiled when he kissed you quickly.

You followed Woojin and Hyunjin up to the roof. The two of them were looking around before they finally regrouped with you. It was a windy day and the building was so high up that there were clouds swirling around you. 

“What’s a mental barrier?” You asked.

“It’s probably not the right term, but it’s how we describe this weird force field we made once. Hyunjin makes a light forcefield and I kind of… fuse my abilities with it so that I can automatically read whoever walks through it,” he explained, “and I think Chan wants you to try to use my ability so I won’t be the only one.”

You opened and closed your mouth before realizing you had too many questions.

Woojin smiled.

“We’ll just let Hyunjin do his thing and then it’s our turn, alright?”

You and Woojin sat and watched as Hyunjin put all his focus into the forcefield. A full hour passed and by the time it was done, he looked ready to pass out. You wanted to point out that this was when he should take the shady drug Chan gave you all, but when you saw his dead expression, you decided against it. Woojin stood up and walked towards the corner of the building, where if you squinted really hard, you could see a faint purple glimmer. He held out a hand to touch it and you did too, flinching at the cold feeling that rushed through your hand. 

“It’s kind of weird, but imagine this thing has a mind,” he murmured, “and then try to read it.”

You closed your eyes, pretending as if the frigid, slimy thing was a human. Your head started to hurt as you tried to read its mind. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to concentrate. Then the cold feeling disappeared and your stomach did a somersault. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself somewhere completely different. 

The floor was soft under your fingers and the room around you was neat. There was a voice murmuring somewhere and you looking around the room, freezing when you saw who stood with their back to you. Red hair fell down her back and she was on the phone, quietly scolding the person. 

You cursed internally and started to scoot backwards, pinching your eyes shut and trying to go back. This was just your luck. Your back pressed against a wall and you opened your eyes, realizing you weren’t going anywhere. The doctor started to turn around and she looked around the room and then her cool gaze fell on you. She paused, an amused smile starting to curl at her lips.

“Don, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”

She set the phone down and then stared at you. 

“You came in rather quietly,” she purred, leaning against the wall. You stood up, pressing your hands against the drywall behind you. She lifted her shirt up and your eyes bugged out when you saw the pistol strapped to her hip. She pulled it out, the normally quiet click ten times louder as the safety was turned off.

“You’re not going to kill me,” you hissed, “you need me, don’t you?” She laughed and rolled her eyes.

“You? There’s nine boys with extraordinary, trained abilities and you think you’re still important? I only need one of them for experimentation, but I suppose I could keep the other eight as pets,” she mused, tilting her head, “I’d rather put your name on a plaque and call you the first casualty.”

She pointed the gun at you and your heart started to pound loudly in your head. Any thought of trying to teleport out of there left your head and panic started to set in. The bang was louder than you anticipated and you flinched back, holding your hands up as if they would stop the bullet. 

The hit never came. Your eyes fluttered open, staring at the milky white sphere that glittered around you. The bullet shell lay discarded on the floor in front of it. The doctor stared at the shield in front of you, curiosity flaring in her green eyes. Only for her to chuckle when it started to flicker and then completely disappear.

“Cute,” she snorted, “real cute.”

“You’re one to talk, considering you only have a gun,” you retorted. The statement sounded stupid after you said it. She snorted. 

“You know,” she started, “maybe I should let you live for a while longer. I can let you watch as your friends perish. Once I call my reinforcements, you’ll never see your friends again.”

She hadn’t called the rest of the guards.  That was the only thing you picked up from it. You steeled yourself and grabbed the cactus plant on the shelf beside you, throwing it at her. Lynn side-stepped, but you were already moving towards her. You jumped over the desk between you, sliding across the surface, and tackling her to the floor.

The doctor was stronger than you anticipated, easily throwing you off her and re-aiming her weapon at you. A bang ricocheted through the room, but for a moment you were in control of yourself. You appeared behind her, pulling hard on her hair and ramming your knee into her back. She shouted, arching away from you and you kicked her legs out from under her. Her grip on her gun was lost and it skittered across the floor. 

You reached for it, but were stopped as she kicked the chair at you. 

“You bitch!” She shrieked, “you’ll die knowing your friends will perish because of your failed attempt.”

She got to the gun before you and this time when the trigger was pulled, you had nothing to protect yourself. Pain flared through your shoulder and you gasped, clutching the wound. Blood seeped out around your fingers, staining the gray shirt dark red. 

She laughed. “I think I’ll let you bleed to death.”

You barely managed to dodge as she tried to knee your head. Your body was shaking and your vision was starting to swim. Heat was flaring from the wound, sending waves of panic throughout your anatomy. 

“Poor you,” she cooed, reaching towards your face. 

“Fuck you!” You didn’t realize what you were doing as the temperature in the room dropped. Frost started to curl at the edges of the desk and darkness started to swirl through the space. Shadowy figures crawled up from the ground and corners, groaning and shrieking. The redhead tried to back away from them, but they were coming from all angles. 

“Yo-you won’t win,” you gasped out, managing to stand up. You didn’t watch as the creatures amassed around her, dragging her down towards them. You struggled away, the room spinning around you. Somehow you managed to make it out of the house into the cold air. The main road was mere feet away from you, wind cutting at your face as cars raced past.

“Holy shit—”

You collapsed to the ground, wondering if Minho would be able to find you before you were gone.  Blood was dripping down your arm and side, staining the dirt you knelt on. You remembered his lips on yours and a small smile crawled across your face. 

“Y/N? Y/N!” 

Arms wrapped around you.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and darkness swarmed your vision

I love you.

So, i’ll just leave this open-ended for you to self-interpret

[wistfulcynic]

To Keep It All The Year (2 /4)

The second chapter of my Christmas gift for the brilliant @katie-dub​​ who noticed straight away, because she IS so brilliant, that the title is a quote from A Christmas Carol. This is deliberate, and not just because A Christmas Carol is one of my favourite books and one that my family used to (and still does, via Skype) read out loud together on the days leading up to every Christmas since I was about 9 or 10. It’s because this story is Killian’s Christmas carol, without the ghosts of past, present, or future, but certainly with some other forms of supernatural interference and intervention for good in his life. As you will soon see. 

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One

Tremendous and effusive love and gratitude as always to @thisonesatellite​ who, despite her insanely (and I do mean INSANELY) busy schedule still finds the time to read and encourage not just me but many other people, AND write her own brilliant fic ❤️❤️❤️

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4​​​​​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​​​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​​​​ @stahlop​​​​​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​​​ @jonirobinson64​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​​​​​​ @shardminds​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​

-

PART TWO: THE PRESENT

Killian awakes to the sound of shrieks, and it takes a minute of confusion and breathless panic for him to realise they are shrieks of laughter. 

He is alone in Henry’s bed, bright, early-morning sunlight slanting across him from the room’s lone window. The door is open a crack and he can hear Henry and Emma in the living room laughing and chattering, their voices light and happy.

Closing his eyes and forcing his muscles to relax, he breathes deliberately, evenly, until his heart rate slows and the tightness in his chest eases. He rises carefully from the bed, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his sore neck, arching his back and wincing at the way his joints audibly creak before slipping silently through the door. 

Henry and Emma are sitting together on the living room floor, bits of wrapping paper and ribbon strewn around them. They are playing with a new toy train, rolling it back and forth between them, laughing uproariously. They have the same laugh, Killian thinks, loud and boisterous and full of joy. He knows he should go, leave them to their Christmas revels, but instead he hovers in the bedroom doorway, arrested by the sight and sound of them. They are sweet and pure and beautiful, and he never expected to find any of those things in this place. 

He swallows over the lump that’s back in his throat and forces himself to move, tiptoeing forward and picking up his coat from where it is draped over a kitchen chair then heading towards the door. 

“You leaving so soon?” 

“Ah.” He turns a bit sheepishly to find Emma regarding him with raised eyebrows, one hand on her hip. “I shouldn’t have stayed this long. I apologise for trespassing on your hospitality.” 

“You didn’t. I could have woken you but you looked like you could use the rest.” 

“Indeed.” He rolls his shoulders again. “Aside from a crick in my neck I feel better rested than I have in some time. Thank you, love.” 

“No problem. Do you, um,” she shifts her weight, stuffs her hand into her back pocket “do you want some coffee before you go?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t trouble you.” 

“Please.” She shoots a glance at his face and then away. “I—I made extra for you.” 

The lump in his throat threatens to choke him. “All right, then,” he says hoarsely. “Thank you.” 

She smiles. “How do you take it?” 

“Black.” 

He returns his coat to the back of the chair and hovers awkwardly for a moment until Emma hands him a steaming mug and motions for him to sit down. He does and she takes the other chair, settling into it with a sigh and picking up her mug. Killian cradles his in both hands, inhales deeply then takes a long sip. The coffee is rich and smooth and he hums, savouring the flavour. “This is excellent,” he says with a smile. 

The smile comes much more easily this morning. 

Emma doesn’t reply and he looks over to find her watching him with a small smile of her own, just teasing the corners of her mouth. 

“What?” he asks her. “Have I got something on my nose?” 

“No.” She laughs. “I was just looking at you.” An enchanting rose-coloured flush creeps across her cheekbones. “I guess you’re used to that.” 

“Not at all.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Aye. I often feel quite invisible in this city. Why does that surprise you?”

“Well, because you’re— I mean, you’re so— you know.” She waves her hand in a vague gesture. The look on her face suggests she’s on to his game, but he is genuinely baffled. 

“On the contrary love, I’ve no idea what you mean,” he says. “I’m so what?” 

She gives a small and surprisingly elegant snort. “Come on, you must know how good looking you are.” She throws the statement down like a challenge, daring him to deny it. 

He feels a hot flush bloom on his own face. “Maybe once, perhaps, before I started to go grey.” He gestures at his temples. “But now…” 

“Now you’d just be called a silver fox,” she retorts. “And your face is still, you know, fine.” 

He laughs, a short, sharp sound that falls oddly on his ears, unexpected but but far from unwelcome. “I’m not too proud to admit that there was once a time when I used that face to my advantage,” he says. “But that was long ago.” He pauses, struggles against the familiar bile rising in his chest. “I look at myself now and all I see are the ravages of guilt and the wear of the life I’ve lived,” he says, staring into the black depths of the coffee. Bitterness drips from these words, this confession, and he hates it. It has no business being here, with Emma, on this day. His darkness has no right to touch her. 

Firmly he forces it down and drags back the smile, as near as he can feign it. “I’ve been through rather a lot these past few years,” he murmurs, risking a glance at her, dreading what he might see on her face. Her expression is soft, eyes brimming with empathy and not a drop of judgement, and he suddenly fears he might cry. 

A crash sounds from the living room and they both turn to see Henry, collapsed in a fit of giggles, his new train capsized from what was apparently a collision with the sofa leg. 

“Henry, please wait at least twenty-four hours before you destroy that thing,” says Emma, attempting and wholly failing to sound stern. 

Killian clears his throat. “What have you got there, lad?” he asks. 

“It’s a train!” cries Henry, holding up the toy for Killian to see. Killian downs the rest of his coffee in one burning, bracing gulp and goes to sit next to Henry on the living room floor. 

“Aye, and a splendid one it is too,” he says, taking it and subjecting it to solemn examination. “A steam train?” 

“Yeah! How did you know?” 

“When I was about your age, my father took me to see a real steam train,” says Killian. “It came through our village on a special run and I got to sit in the engineer’s seat and wear his striped cap.” 

“That’s what I’m gonna do!” Henry is all but vibrating with excitement. “For my other present! Mom says we can go to the museum and there’s a train there I can sit in!” 

Killian smiles at his enthusiasm. “It’s an experience you won’t forget,” he says. He puts the train on the floor and pushes it back towards Henry, then gets to his feet.  

“Well, lass,” he says, turning to Emma. “I’m grateful for the coffee but I should really—” 

“What are you doing later?” 

“Er—later?” 

“For Christmas dinner,” she clarifies. “Any plans?” 

“No.” Unless sitting at home with a bottle of rum counts as a plan, he thinks. 

“Would you like to have dinner with us?” she asks. “Me and Henry?”

“I—” Killian hesitates. He knows he should refuse. Already he’s overstayed his welcome to a shameful degree, but the prospect of spending more time in Emma and Henry’s company is painfully tempting. 

“Oh please, Killian!” says Henry. “We’re having ham and pie for dessert!” 

“Who can resist ham and pie?” teases Emma. 

Killian looks at their faces, both wearing the same hopeful, expectant look, and gives in to the yearning in his chest. “I’d love to,” he says. “Thank you.” 

A glorious smile spreads across Emma’s face. “Come back around two,” she says. 

—

Returning to his apartment Killian finds it far colder and darker than he recalls. Or perhaps he’s simply never noticed. He looks around with a small frown, thinking how very barren the place seems. There’s nothing of him in this space, no personal touches at all. He feels both glad and deeply saddened by this. He wants nothing of himself in this miserable hole, but also he wonders if enough of him remains to leave a mark on it. On anywhere. 

He takes a brief shower under the weak, lukewarm spray then quickly towels himself dry, in which process he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and pauses to examine it. He’d been rather vain about his appearance, once, taking the time each morning to style his hair into calculated dishevelment and keeping his body lean and firm. Now his stomach is soft and his arms undefined, the skin hanging loosely from his bones. The lines fanning out from his eyes have deepened, joined by new ones across his forehead and around his mouth. His hair has grey not just at the temples but scattered throughout, with a streak of silver rising up from his forehead that he supposes might be considered rather dashing. His complexion, always pale, has gone sallow, and there are dark smudges beneath his eyes. 

He cannot fathom how a woman like Emma could look at him and see an attractive man. He cannot fathom how it never occurred to him that she might find him attractive. It’s not so many years since he would have taken her interest very much for granted. How many years? Three? Four? 

He wonders how old Emma is. She can’t be much more than twenty-two or three. He’s more than ten years her senior. Far too old to be thinking of her as anything other than a lovely young woman who’s chosen to offer him kindness. 

With a start he realises he’s standing naked in his icy bathroom, goose pimples prickling his skin. He gives himself a final rubdown with the towel then hurries to dress, digging out a clean and ironed shirt from the back of his closet and a pair of jeans without holes. On a whim he pulls his suitcase down from the shelf and takes out one of his old waistcoats. It still fits, barely, and he feels a warm glow of pleasure as he runs his hands down the fine brocade. 

He scrubs a washcloth over his face and does his best to style his hair with his fingers and then he is, he supposes, as ready as he’ll ever be. 

It’s too early to go back to Emma’s but there’s nothing to do in his flat except drink so he decides to take a walk. The morning is bright and crisp, cold but in a cleaner way than the foggy damp of night before. It’s the cold of brittle icicles and sharp-edged snowflakes that collect into fluffy piles just right for forming into balls, the kind that nips at your nose and ears but leaves you warm within your coat. It’s bracing cold, and Killian finds himself walking at a brisk pace, enjoying the crunch of the frozen slush beneath his feet and the blinding blue of the sky. 

Another burst of whimsy—and if you can’t be whimsical on Christmas Day, when can you? he thinks, with a wry grin—has him turning a corner into a street he can’t recall ever noticing before. It’s a small street, narrow and lined with shops, each boasting brightly painted signs and engaging displays in their wide and frosty windows. The air seems different here, he thinks, and the light, and then his attention is caught by a magnificent train set in the window of one of the shops. 

He wishes he had something to bring today, some small token of his gratitude. A toy for Henry perhaps, and a trinket for Emma. Something to brighten up their little flat a bit more, something Henry can play with that will also help him learn. He’s such a bright lad, and Emma clearly has a taste for beautiful things. But it’s Christmas Day and all the lovely little stores are closed. 

All but one. One solitary pale blue door with a red-lettered sign hung upon it that reads “Come in we’re OPEN.” 

Tentatively he pushes open the door and slips through it. It’s a florist and gift shop, and he’s astonished by the variety of colours and scents that surround him. There must be every sort of flower here, plus shelf upon shelf of toys and knickknacks. It seems impossible that so much could fit into such a small space. 

“Hello?” he calls. 

A man appears from a door at the back of the shop. A tall man, lean but strong with broad shoulders and a friendly grin. He doesn’t strike Killian at all as the sort of man who would run a shop like this. 

“Can I help you?” says the man. 

“Erm, yes. I’m uh, looking for a gift. It’s rather last minute, but—” 

“Last minute is the reason we’re open on Christmas Day, mate,” says the man jovially. His blue eyes twinkle merrily as he regards Killian with a peculiar sort of fondness. “No need to explain. Who is it you’re buying for?” 

“Ah. It’s, well, not precisely a friend. A young woman and her son, the lad about four I imagine. I’m having dinner with them this afternoon and I feel rather a prat not bringing anything. Do you think… do you think she’d like some flowers?”

“Women always like flowers,” laughs the man. “You can’t go wrong.” He begins to move around the shop, selecting blossoms and buds and leaves and assembling them into a bouquet. “Tell me about this woman,” he says as he works.  

“Well, she’s… she’s rather remarkable. Warm and clever and tough and far too kind. I think perhaps she pities me a little.” Killian isn’t sure what’s loosened his tongue but the urge to unburden himself to this odd florist is one he finds he can’t resist. 

“What makes you say that? She’s invited you for dinner, hasn’t she?” 

“Out of pity.” 

“Surely not. Perhaps she simply likes you.” 

“She hardly knows me.” 

“Yet you like her.” 

“Aye. I suppose I do.” 

The florist shifts his flowers into the crook of one elbow and claps Killian on the shoulder in a way that makes his heart clench with the almost-memory of something, a feeling so achingly familiar and yet he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. “Mate, I will put together a bouquet for this remarkable woman that will dazzle her, and for her son perhaps he might enjoy a sailing ship?”

“A ship?” Killian blinks in surprise. A ship is in fact precisely what he had in mind for Henry, the perfect gift for a curious boy who loves both steam trains and sailor stories.

The florist reaches up to a high shelf and takes down a toy ship, handing it to Killian with a triumphant grin. It’s made of wood, in the full-rigged style of the old classic sailing vessels, minutely detailed and exquisitely rendered. “Can he… play with this?” asks Killian doubtfully.

“Of course! Fully functional in the bathtub, and more resilient than she looks. Now about that bouquet.” 

As the florist arranges his selections into an artful bouquet and secures them with tissue paper and ribbon, Killian wanders around the shop, browsing the flowers and gifts. There are soft toys and porcelain figurines, cards and puzzles and magnets, and in the corner a display of jolly little Christmas wreaths exactly like the one he saw on the door of Emma’s bar last night, with a small sign proclaiming them handmade with love. He smiles to himself. That wreath was what drew him to the bar, what led to his meeting Emma. And now the same person who made it was making a bouquet for him to give her. How peculiar life could be. 

He makes his way around to the back of the shop just as the florist is putting the finishing touches on the bouquet. It’s huge, and stunningly gorgeous, and as he hands it to Killian his cheery smile turns bittersweet. 

“You strike me as a man who’s seen some difficult times,” he says. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so. I hope you won’t allow the past to blind you to the possibilities of the present, or the future.” 

Killian feels as though he ought to object to this presumption and prying into his personal life. But the man’s smile is warm despite the ache behind it and so strangely caring, and there’s that familiarity that tickles again just at the corner of Killian’s consciousness and prompts him to return the smile along with thanks and a sincere promise that he’ll try. 

“Good,” says the florist, smiling even harder. “Good.” He swallows audibly and blinks misty eyes, and when he shakes Killian’s hand he grips it almost painfully, clasping it between both of his own. “Goodbye, br—mate,” he says. “Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas,” Killian replies, then blinks in astonishment at finding himself quite suddenly back on the familiar city streets, not far from the bar. Emma’s house is easily visible from where he’s standing. He has no recollection of leaving the shop or even of paying for the bouquet and the ship, both now gorgeously wrapped and in his arms. But he must have done. Mustn’t he? 

He pulls out his phone to see what time it is. Three minutes to two, though he could have sworn that it was no later than ten thirty when he left his own place. How much time did he spend in the shop? And who was it that florist reminded him of? He shakes his head as he slips his phone back into his pocket. More things in heaven and earth, Horatio, he thinks, and starts walking towards Emma’s house, where the pleasure of seeing her again, and her blushing delight at the flowers, and Henry’s shrieks of joy at the ship, all contrive to wipe the odd little street and the odder florist wholly from his mind.  

It’s quite a long time before he remembers them again.  

—

There’s no tub in Emma’s bathroom but she produces a large, wide plastic container big enough for the toy ship to sail in, and Killian spends and enjoyable and quite splashy hour playing with Henry while she finishes preparing the meal. 

She calls them when it’s nearly ready and Henry runs to set the table, something Killian gathers is his regular mealtime chore. They have only the two chairs so Emma drags in the one from the bedroom for Henry, reminding him to be careful and not to rock in it, and soon they are seated and waiting as Emma takes the ham from the oven. 

It’s not a large ham, but the way Henry’s eyes widen when she sets it on the table anyone would think it was the whole pig. 

“Wow,” he says, clapping his hands. “How much are we saving for leftovers?” 

“None,” says Emma. 

“None?” 

“Nope. It’s Christmas. Today we eat as much as we like.” 

“Ohhh,” Henry breathes, his eyes like saucers as Emma piles his plate with ham and mashed potatoes and roasted carrots and some garlicky greens Killian doesn’t recognise. 

She places a similarly laden plate in front of him and he finds to his surprise that his stomach rumbles in anticipation. He can’t recall the last time he had a full meal, or indeed the desire to eat one. 

Henry waits, quivering with impatience, until Emma has served Killian and herself and then she sits and gives him a nod and he dives in. 

“Mmmm,” he says through a mouthful of ham and potato, “so good, Mom.” 

“Chew it first before you speak,” says Emma, in a tone that suggests this is something she’s said before. 

Henry chews and swallows hugely. “It’s good,” he repeats. 

“It is good,” Killian agrees, and Emma flushes with pleasure. 

“I’m not much of a cook,” she says with a shrug. “But I got the recipe off the internet and I guess it turned out okay.” 

“More than okay.” Killian has to force himself not to talk with his mouth full. “It’s delicious, Emma.” 

Emma bites her lip and ducks her head, focuses on her own plate. “Thank you,” she whispers.  

Henry and Killian each have seconds of ham and potatoes, though Killian observes, with an amused exchange of glances with Emma, that the boy has a valiant struggle to finish off his last few mouthfuls. When both their plates are clean and neither could manage another bite they retreat to the living room to play a game of Candy Land, at which Henry sails to a triumphant victory, Killian never having played the game before, while Emma clears the table and gets the pie ready. 

“Are you sure I can’t help you, love?” Killian calls, as Henry hops his little plastic gingerbread man along the rainbow path. 

“Nope, it’s all under control,” she replies. “You’re actually most helpful keeping Henry occupied so I can get everything done.” 

The pie is pumpkin, an American innovation at which Killian has always looked rather askance, and has only tried once during his years in this country. It’s not an experience he would have chosen to repeat but he’s determined to choke down the whole slice and a second one besides if it will make Emma smile. 

To his surprise the pie is not just palatable but actually good, creamy and delicately spiced, nothing like the limp and watery concoction he tried before. The first piece goes down easily accompanied by another cup of her excellent coffee, and when she offers him a second he accepts gladly despite the protests of his stomach. 

“You know, you say you’re not much of a cook, but this is delightful,” he tells her. “Everything has been.” 

“I guess I can follow a recipe,” she says in a dismissive tone. Killian frowns. This shrugging off of praise seems so ingrained she’s not even aware she does it. 

“Mom’s a great cook,” says Henry, confirming his suspicions. “She just thinks she’s not.” 

Emma opens her mouth to argue but Killian beats her to it. “From the mouths of babes, love,” he says.

“I guess,” replies Emma, avoiding his eyes. She seems so embarrassed he lets the subject drop, polishing off his pie and coffee in silence. Emma moves to take his plate but he snatches it away and insists on clearing the table and washing the plates and cups while Emma and Henry play another round of Candy Land—a far more hotly contested one—and then it’s time for Henry to get ready for bed. He washes his face and hands and brushes his teeth and puts on his pyjamas, then returns to the living room to fling his arms around Killian and squeeze him tightly. 

“I’m glad you came today,” he says. “Thank you for the ship, I love it so much.”

“You’re welcome, Henry.” The lump is back in Killian’s throat and he has to force the words around it. “I had a wonderful time.”  

—

When Emma returns from putting Henry to bed Killian is standing in the living room with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. He turns when he hears her approach, with a smile that almost feels natural now, when she inspires it. 

“Do you want some more coffee?” she asks with a smile of her own and a nervous quaver in her voice. 

He doesn’t really, but he does want to sit with her for a while before he has to go back out into the cold of his flat and his life and so he accepts. They sit on the sofa with their knees inches apart and sip in silence for a moment. 

“You must be wondering what kind of horrible mother leaves her kid with a total stranger she found in a bar,” says Emma, startling him.  

“Of course not,” he replies.   

She gives him a skeptical look. 

“Well, speaking as the total stranger in question, I was just glad I could help,” he says. “I figured you must have had your reasons for needing me.” 

She nods. “I’ve had so many problems with childcare lately. They just never seem to end, no matter what I do. August is just about fed up with it, and I need this job, for a while longer at least. I—”

“Emma, you don’t have to explain. It’s plain to see what a happy and healthy lad Henry is, and how much he loves you. You’re a wonderful mother, and I’m sure you only do what’s best for him.” 

“I try,” she says. “I try so hard but it never seems like enough, and I can’t help worrying about him. He has has these nightmares...” 

“Surely all children do?” 

“His seem so bad though. I just—I want him out of this place,” she bursts out, suddenly angry. “If he has to grow up here I just don’t know what it’ll do to him. The schools in this district are terrible, there’s drugs everywhere and the kids are so rough. And when I think of sending him out into that, my sweet little boy...” She trails off, brushing tears angrily from her cheeks as Killian grips his coffee in a white-knuckled fist and feels thoroughly useless. Emma takes a deep breath and he swears he can see her pulling herself together. “Henry can’t stay here,” she continues, a hard edge of determination now in her voice. “But the only way I can get him out is to finish college and the only way I can do that is by keeping this job. If I have to find another one farther away it will just make things harder, and—”

“Love, you really don’t need to explain,” says Killian gently. “You’re doing the best you can and that’s all that can be asked of anyone.”

It occurs to him that he’s being kinder to Emma than he’s ever been to himself. She deserves it, though, whereas he has fully earned his tribulations. Emma has done nothing but fight to give her son the best life she can manage, holding down a job and apparently studying as well, raising Henry to be sweet and respectful and curious and happy. She doesn’t deserve to be trapped in this place, neither of them do. They don’t deserve to have their futures stolen from them by their circumstances or the harsh cruelties of the economic and societal structures they are forced to live in. They deserve far, far more than what they’ve got and it strikes Killian like the proverbial thunderbolt that it is within his power to change their lives greatly for the better. 

He sets his coffee cup down on the floor with a hand that has begun to tremble and looks at Emma.    

“Can I tell you a story, love?” he asks. 

“A sailor story?” she asks with small smile. 

“In a manner of speaking.” Something in his tone seems to catch her attention and she sets her own cup down and turns to look at him with solemn attention. 

He takes a deep breath. “Not long ago, though it seems a lifetime now, I was an officer in the British Royal Navy,” he begins. 

“Wow.” 

“Aye.” He can’t help smiling at her expression. “I was the commander of a destroyer, effectively the first mate under my brother Liam, who was the captain. We worked well together, he was an outstanding leader and I would have followed him anywhere. We were on that ship for about three years, side by side through quite a few adventures, and then—” he swallows hard, squeezes his eyes shut, “one night there was a storm… not an unusual thing on the sea, of course, and though this was a bad one it wasn’t so bad we couldn’t have managed to weather it.”

He pauses as the memories surge up and over him just as the waves did on that horrible night and he’s drowning in them again, fighting for air as the water flings him across the deck and fills his lungs and crushes him mercilessly beneath its weight, and he feels again the stark terror and helplessness in the face of forces he cannot hope to control. The terror presses down on him and all he can think of is getting out, getting away—and then Emma takes his hand. 

“Hey,” she says softly, lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Killian grips her hand, far too tightly he’s sure, but she feels like a lifeline. He focuses on breathing, in and out, slowly, letting the air fill his lungs and then expelling it until his heart rate slows and the panic ebbs away. 

He doesn’t release her hand, and she makes no attempt to extract it. 

Instead they sit, fingers entwined, as he haltingly tells her of the glitch in the steering controls he noticed and reported through the proper channels when their ship was in dock for routine maintenance. How investigation into his report revealed a serious fault that would be time consuming and expensive to repair, and how the Naval Command, wanting the ship back in service as soon as possible, dismissed it and instructed Liam to take her out again regardless. How Liam knew corners had been cut but believed his commanders when they claimed everything that was necessary to keep the ship and crew safe had been done. 

“He didn’t tell me,” Killian chokes. “Not until it was too late. When we were caught in the storm and the ship wouldn’t steer and we were at the mercy of the waves… Liam was killed. I couldn’t stop it, I tried but I couldn’t… the wave came… and I nearly went overboard… the ship was wrecked with only a handful of survivors… and then… the navy put the blame on Liam.” His lip curls as the old, bitter fury rises up in him. “They said he was negligent, putting the ship back in service without carrying out the proper maintenance. And they knew that was a lie, and what’s more they knew that I knew it. I wanted to take it to a court martial to clear Liam’s name but every attempt I made was blocked by some higher-up. I was informed that if I continued to press the issue I could face a court martial of my own for insubordination, and then they offered me a deal. An honourable discharge and a financial settlement. For my silence.” He spits the word. “And I took it.” 

“Oh, Killian.” 

“I thought, if I can’t exonerate Liam I can at least gouge the bloody navy for an obscene amount of money, enough to make them feel it. I thought it might be cathartic.” He snorts. “It wasn’t. That damned money has been a weight around my neck ever since. I haven’t touched a penny of it and I never will. I can’t bear to. It’s blood money, my brother’s blood, and as far as I’m concerned it can rot in the bank forever.” He pauses, draws a steadying breath. “As far as I was concerned.” 

He looks up at her, holding her gaze as his thumb moves gently across her knuckles. “I want to give it to you, Emma. You and Henry.” 

She gasps. “Oh, I couldn’t—” 

“Yes you could. I’m serious when I say I’ll never spend it. There’s nothing I could buy that would bring my brother back, and nothing I could use it for that wouldn’t remind me of him. Except this.” 

“But I—”

“I know it’s a huge thing to ask of you, but please, love. Please take it. I don’t deserve to have it and you don’t deserve the life you’re living. Let me make this right. Let me do something good, just one good thing in Liam’s memory.”

He has a thought, and smiles at his own whimsy. “Think of it as a Christmas miracle.”  

Emma shakes her head, looking shell-shocked. “It certainly is a Christmas something,” she replies. “I—I don’t really know what to think.” 

“That’s more than understandable.” 

“Killian when I—when I told you about myself and our situation I wasn’t—I didn’t expect—” 

“Of course you didn’t. How could you possibly have known that the strange man you invited to Christmas dinner was sitting on a pile of cash?” He attempts to tease her to lighten the mood and is gratified when she laughs, albeit with an edge of hysteria. 

“True,” she says. She looks down at their hands, palms pressed together and fingers tangled, and slowly brings her other one up to curl around the back of his. Her hands are soft and he tries not to notice the way their touch makes his skin tingle. 

“Please let me do this, Emma,” he pleads, adding his other hand to the pile to stop himself reaching up to caress her cheek. “For Henry, and for yourself. And for me. You’d be doing me a great favour.” She looks up, into his eyes and beyond them, into the very depths of him. He holds his breath for what feels like eternity and then she nods. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

—

They meet at the bank the following morning. The procedure is quick and surprisingly painless—papers signed and wire transfers made, business cards exchanged and financial management advice offered—and it’s not yet eleven o’clock when they find themselves back out on the snowy street staring awkwardly at each other. 

Killian almost offers her his number, almost begs her to stay in touch. But she’s a wealthy woman now, with a degree to finish and a child to care for. She has a whole new life before her, one with no place in it for a broken-down sailor with a drinking problem.  

The money is hers, completely. No strings are attached to it and he doesn’t want her feeling in any way obligated to him, or like she has to make any justifications for the way she spends it. He doesn’t want her wasting thoughts on him when she’ll have far better and happier things to think about. And despite the painful knot that tightens in his chest at the thought of never seeing her again he feels lighter than he has in years. He feels free, and he wants that same freedom for her. 

He doesn’t need to see her, he tells himself. Not so long as he knows she’s taken care of. That she’s happy.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “That’s that then.” 

“Yeah I guess it is. Killian, I—” 

“Please.” He cuts her off. “Please don’t say anything.” He lets his eyes caress her face, fixes it for forever in his memory. “Goodbye, Emma,” he says. “Have a wonderful life.” 

He turns and walks away, losing himself in the shifting crowd of people, never once looking back. 

-

[pomegranate-belle]

prompt if you wanna: someone starts hitting on foggy, go matt gets into a Mode™ and warns the person off, but they double down and start hitting on him harder just to spite our resident sadboy

I’m not sure if this is exaaaactly what you were looking for, but your prompt reminded me of the loose idea I had for introducing Elektra into the Gwenverse; that is, as Foggy’s college ex instead of Matt’s. And then when I was writing, this exploded into like 3000 words and became very upsetting, so I’m sorry.

—

Elektra Natchios made the hair on the back of Matt’s neck stand on end. He wasn’t scared of her — he wasn’t scared of anything — but he knew instinctively that she was more than the mean-spirited little debutante she pretended to be. Beneath her flowery, expensive perfumes, she smelled like blood and steel. Which made it all the more baffling and all the more irritating that she latched on to Foggy immediately after meeting him.

Thankfully, she made the mistake of calling him ‘Franklin’ and irrevocably soured her first impression. And although that slip was one Foggy might otherwise be willing to forgive, Matt was happy to see he also had enough sense to be wary of Elektra’s motives.

“She just reminds me of the kinds of girls who’d ask me out in high school on a dare from their friends,” he admitted to Matt one night, without bitterness or shame. “Although since she’s a diplomat’s kid I guess it’s probably more likely this is Rosalind’s doing.”

Rosalind. Foggy’s birth mother. A cutthroat attorney with her fingers in all sorts of pies. It was something Matt hadn’t considered — a reasonable explanation, he supposed, except that Elektra moved like a killer. Still, it would make a good excuse to keep Foggy out of Elektra’s claws while Matt figured out who she really worked for.

“Better not to risk it,” Matt said with a shrug. “Plenty of other fish in the sea. That’s a thing people say, right?”

The words coaxed a laugh from Foggy’s mouth.

“Maybe for you, buddy. I don’t exactly have prospects banging down my door. And she is extremely hot...” After a long pause, Foggy sighed, falling back onto his bed with a thump. “Ehh, I’m not gross enough to test if she’d sleep with me just to keep up the ruse, though. Come on, help me come up with something really mean to say to her to get her to back off, you’re scary good at stuff like that.”

It was nice, Matt thought to himself, to be appreciated for one’s talents, even the unimportant ones. He spent the next two hours concocting increasingly scathing brush-offs for Foggy to use on Elektra. Foggy sounded conflicted but impressed at every one.

—

“Foggy!” Elektra greeted brightly — then, less so. “Matthew.”

Foggy took a deep breath the way he always did when he needed to gather his courage. Matt shifted closer so their shoulders brushed; casual contact usually seemed to help, when it came to Foggy, and this time was no different.

“What do you want, Elektra?” Foggy asked sharply, and Matt was reminded with a little shiver of Foggy’s cold tone during mock debates.

“I thought we could go get a drink tonight,” Elektra replied, and Matt’s hands clenched into fists at the sound of her running her fingers up Foggy’s arm. “Maybe some dinner? I know this lovely little place with a view of the whole city. I’ll even be a gentleman and pay.”

It was the kind of joke Matt knew Foggy normally found funny. But he didn’t laugh, just shook Elektra off. The movement jostled Matt too but he hardly minded.

“Stop it!” Foggy snapped.

“Pardon?” asked Elektra, and her tone went a little icy.

“Look,” said Foggy, and he was practically shaking he was so upset, “I don’t know what you’re really after and I don’t care, but you’re a really shitty actress, ok? You’re clearly about as real as a three dollar bill and I’m not gonna date you. So buzz off.”

For once, Elektra didn’t have a smart remark to make. Her heartbeat even stumbled a little in surprise. She walked off without a word, and after he finished hyperventilating, Foggy spent the next fifteen minutes crowing about the dumbstruck look on her face. All in all it was a wonderful afternoon.

—

But Elektra didn’t give up. In fact, Foggy’s rejection only seemed to make her more determined. She appeared everywhere they went — parties, classes, study sessions. No matter how either of them told her off, she continued to crop up like a bad penny. And she... Adjusted. Slowly enough that it might seem natural to anyone who wasn’t as suspicious as Matt, she modulated her behavior around Foggy. Stopped with the horrible, saccharine attempts at seduction. Let herself be a little mean and rude, but with a softer, kinder layer underneath. Both were fake, in Matt’s expert opinion; a careful balancing act to make Elektra seem more genuine, more likable, and more like Matt. And the more he was around her, the more certain Matt became that he was the real target of her interest. She was working for the Hand, maybe, coming to check on him. Or their enemies. But either way, giving too much of a reaction would be dangerous — so Matt waited, and kept his thoughts to himself. Didn’t allow himself to respond to the way interest seeped into Foggy’s tone around Elektra, or the way she slowly and cautiously began to initiate physical contact. He tried to ignore the way Elektra subtly asked Foggy questions about him, or quietly egged him on whenever he mentioned Matt of his own accord — which was often. Matt let her gather information. She’d confront him on her own as soon as she thought she had what she needed.

—

And so she did. A month and a half after changing her strategy, once Foggy had absorbed her into their friend group against Matt’s advice, she followed Matt to Fogwell’s. He let her, because the sneaking around was frankly beginning to annoy him.

“At last,” he mused lightly, whirling around in time to catch her wrist before the blade in her hand could press against his throat, “your true colors are revealed.”

“Ooh. Very nice reflexes, Matthew.”

Matt squeezed her wrist until her weapon clattered to the floor.

“Why thank you. I think it’s time we talk, don’t you?”

Elektra lashed out with her leg, and Matt had to release her. She had the sense to keep her distance afterwards, instead of pressing the attack. Matt took the time to pick up his cane.

“Hmmm, and what should we talk about, I wonder? Me? Or is the anger in your voice about Franklin?”

Matt’s hands clenched tighter around his cane. He had about eleven different things he wanted to spit at her, but for the moment he kept his peace.

“You look like a wet cat, Matthew,” she continued to needle. “Have I struck a nerve?”

“I’m warning you,” Matt told her. “I don’t take kindly to people meddling in my affairs. I can appreciate subterfuge as much as the next person, but the jig is up, as they say. I might not know why, or who, but I know someone sent you here for me. You might as well come clean.”

Elektra just laughed her pretty, irritating little rich girl laugh.

“Oh my, you really are a piece of work, aren’t you? When they told me you were Stick’s apprentice once upon a time, I really didn’t expect... This.”

Hearing Stick’s name rankled Matt worse than her mocking about Foggy.

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

Elektra laughed.

“You couldn’t guess? The Chaste did. And it only took me a second to pick out your ridiculous little friend as the weak link. At first I thought I’d just use him to get access to you,” she mused, “but now? Now I’m having fun watching you squirm. I’m going to do everything I can to take your little boytoy away from you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Matt smiled in a way he knew frightened people, and flicked the blade in his cane up out of its sheath an inch or two.

“Au contraire, Miss Natchios,” he said. “I could kill you.”

“But you won’t, Matthew.”

She sounded very sure. More sure than Matt was.

“And why is that?” he asked her.

“Because right now a living Chaste agent is more useful to you than a dead one. You’re like me, Matthew. You get terribly bored by all this.” There was a swish of air as she waved her hand around as if to encompass the world. “Isn’t it nice to not have to pretend with someone? And besides... If you kill me here, you’ll have no way to figure out what my side is really up to.”

She had a point. Matt was still more curious than annoyed, if just barely so. And if the Chaste was going to attempt to increase their presence in the city it would behoove him to know about it as soon as possible. Damn.

“Just don’t push your luck,” Matt snapped.

When Elektra replied, he could all but hear the grin in her voice.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

And so, despite the modicum of sense that told Matt he should just slit Elektra’s throat and be done with it, their game of cat and mouse continued. They picked fights with one another more openly, more frequently. Matt could tell Elektra enjoyed it, and... Maybe he enjoyed it too. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, there was something new and interesting about living this mundane life alongside someone with the same dark secrets as him.

But that didn’t mean she let up on her determination to take Foggy from him. Every day, despite all the sense he spoke to his roommate when they were alone, Matt lost ground with Foggy to Elektra. But he knew the more emotion he let her see, the further she’d push the envelope. He had to stay placid. Detached. Cold and calculating and unfeeling.

—

Despite Matt’s intention to stay calm, he very nearly flew off the handle the afternoon he returned to the dorm and caught them kissing. Not his finest moment. Foggy, peacekeeper that he was, asked Elektra to give him and Matt some time to talk. She agreed, smacked a particularly loud peck against Foggy’s cheek for Matt’s benefit, and flounced off smugly. There were a few minutes of silence as Foggy gathered what he wanted to say, and Matt spent them seething.

“You’re still my best friend, you know,” Foggy said at last. “Me and Elektra, that doesn’t change this.”

“She’s not a good person, Foggy,” insisted Matt, and he couldn’t quite hold back the frustration bubbling through his veins that the one time he was telling the truth Foggy wouldn’t believe him.

“I know it seems like that, Matt, but Elektra and I talked and I think we were wrong about her. I... I think maybe she really does like me,” Foggy offered, and his voice went so hopeful and shy that Matt had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from grabbing the laptop off his desk and shattering it against the wall.

His patience had worn out. Something had to be done about Elektra, he vowed. Soon.

—

It was like she knew what he was planning. It took another month to corner her. By then, Foggy had fallen for her con hook, line, and sinker and Matt’s frayed nerves were beginning to take a slight but unacceptable toll on his schoolwork. Foggy had also dragged Matt out shopping to buy a silk scarf to gift to Elektra; crimson, Foggy had explained, because a flashy, beautiful color like that suited her. Never mind that she had enough money to buy anything her heart desired— Foggy was in love. Matt was torn between wanting to puke and wanting to shatter something.

This time, he was the one to follow her to Fogwell’s. It was past two in the morning, and she moved slow enough that he never lost her even though he deigned not to take to the rooftops for speed. Which made it feel like a trap, but Matt could tell they were alone, and Fogwell’s was his home turf so he had the advantage anyway.

She knew he had followed her, so he didn’t bother to sneak up on her or offer a greeting.

“Why now?” he asked instead, a little curious despite himself.

“I figured I really should work on my actual mission at some point,” Elektra said. “And you seemed like you were reaching a breaking point.”

“Ah,” Matt said. “So now we fight to the death, is that it?”

Elektra took two slow steps to the right, and Matt turned his body to follow the sound.

“We don’t have to, you know,” she told him, and sounded almost soft. “They asked me to bring you back to us if I could. You could be one of us, Matthew. Walk away from this ridiculous act. Walk away from the Hand.”

Which was senseless on its face. Matt had everything he needed. Power, control. A good life. The Chaste and the Hand were two sides of the same coin — Elektra’s people wouldn’t be able to give him anything new. Stick had been one of their best and the Hand had cut him down like an animal. No, Matt was satisfied where he was. On the winning side. Switching allegiances would buy him nothing but new masters to learn to accommodate.

“I’m happy where I’m at, thank you,” he said with as much amusement as he could muster when the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

“Liar,” Elektra retorted.

But Matt ignored her to slip off his shoes and socks. It was more pleasant to fight that way, when he could feel every vibration and movement running up through the soles of his feet. And it reminded him of the dojos in Japan, one of the few pleasant sensory memories in Matt’s life. He could almost smell the tatami if he tried. And taste the blood in his mouth. Those were the things on his mind when he and Elektra began to fight.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she told him as they traded blows, a breathless admission. “To see you really let loose. You could do this all the time if you joined us.”

She was still at it, still trying to get him to shift his allegiance. Well, two could play at that game.

“You think we’re so alike,” Matt said, grinning as he hit his stride, as the fight moved into something closer to a dance. “And we are. But that goes both ways, Elektra. There’s a darkness in you that all the Chaste’s sanctimonious brainwashing can’t stamp out. You’re not better than me. You’re not more righteous than me. We’re both just killers.”

And with those words, Matt was exactly where he wanted to be. By the switches whose placement he’d had memorized since a time when he could still see them. He hit the lights, and they flicked out with a crack of electricity. Then there was nothing but himself and Elektra, together in the darkness. No ambient buzz to cover the way Elektra’s heart began to pound, the way her breaths shortened, the silken swish of her hair as she tried in vain to spot him among the shadows.

It took just a little too long for her eyes to adjust, and Matt took ruthless advantage. To Elektra’s credit, she did manage a cut to his arm — with a thin blade, a sai, maybe, from the way she flipped it in her hand. But it wasn’t enough. It took Matt just minutes to knock her weapons away and pin her to the floor with his foot on her neck.

“I’ll make you a deal, Elektra Natchios,” he said, grinding his heel harder against her throat. “I’ll let you live — in fact, I’m such a swell guy I won’t even tell the Hand you were ever here. And in exchange, you’re going to take your talons out of Nelson.”

Point made, Matt removed his foot to let Elektra speak.

“How do you mean?” she rasped, and wisely didn’t try to attack him again.

Matt grinned.

“I’m glad you asked. You’re going to break things off with him. You’re going to make him hate you — so much that once you’re gone he won’t think of you again.”

Matt was going to keep Foggy around for the foreseeable future — and he didn’t want to hear about Elektra during any of it.

“Why do you want him so badly, Matthew?” she spat. “What’s so special about him? At least tell me that much.”

Matt shrugged, still smiling a shark’s smile.

“I have plans for him. That’s all you need to know. Now, do we have a deal?”

He held out a hand. Elektra shook it.

—

Matt listened, head tipped back against the wall of the dorm building, while two storeys above Elektra broke Foggy’s heart. It wasn’t as satisfying as he’d thought it would be. She was flat and cold and didn’t flinch, and Matt could hear every pathetic sniffle Foggy tried to hide. She finished with a particularly uncalled-for comment about Foggy’s weight, and slammed the door on her way out. Matt tilted his head to focus on the click of Elektra’s heels on the stairs, but kept getting distracted by the salt smell of Foggy’s tears. A single drop of something wet streaked down Matt’s face and he scrubbed it away with the heel of his palm, irritated. It hadn’t rained since morning, why the hell were the trees still dripping rainwater?

He set the thought aside as the door to the building opened and Elektra stepped out.

“Satisfied?” she asked over her shoulder, not even pausing as she strode away into the night.

“Immensely,” Matt replied. “But I’d be out of the city before sunrise, if I were you. Just to be safe.”

Elektra’s pace didn’t quicken, and neither did her heartbeat, but Matt thought they understood one another. It was only a few minutes until she was out of range of his perception. Once she was well and truly gone, Matt took a slow loop around the outside of the dorm building, whistling to himself, before he made his way back to his and Foggy’s room. He knocked lightly at the door before letting himself in.

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy greeted, trying and failing to sound cheerful. “Welcome home, buddy.”

He was sitting on his bed, rubbing fabric between his hands. Silk. The scarf he’d bought for Elektra, the gift he was going to give her. Matt wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved she hadn’t taken it.

“What...” Matt’s throat went suddenly and horribly tight; he had to swallow a few times before he could speak again. “Did something happen? What’s wrong?”

It was Foggy’s turn to clear his throat.

“Uh. Elektra—” His voice cracked. “Um. She broke up with me. I... I guess, um. She really was dating me because of Rosalind but... She, uh, got. Got sick of me.”

The smell of salt thickened in the air again, and there was a sudden, sharp pain in the area of Matt’s heart. He rubbed his chest idly.

“Foggy, I’m sorry.”

He received a bitter laugh in response.

“No, Matt, this isn’t... You tried to warn me. I should have trusted you.” Foggy sighed, letting the silk scarf slip through his fingers; it hit the floor with a near-silent swish. “You know, I just thought... I thought maybe somebody out there really did want me for me. Guess I won’t make that mistake again.”

Elektra had been entirely too much trouble, but in the end she’d broken first. And that had pushed Foggy further into Matt’s clutches. All was well that ended well. The more implicitly Foggy trusted Matt’s judgment, the easier he’d be to manipulate.

And yet, as Matt sat down next to Foggy and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, his stomach churned with nausea. It was the perfect moment to say something endearing and manipulative — you’ll always have me, Matt thought firmly, say you’ll always have me. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead he just sat there, uselessly, and let Foggy collect the pieces of his broken heart himself.

[rutilation]

This chapter mostly serves to transition into whatever’s coming next, which is lucky because I’m up to my eyeballs in finals this month.  As such, my thoughts on this chapter are a bit on the short side.

As others have pointed out, the leaf emerging from Phos’s neck is that of the bodhi tree.  Like the lotus, it is a plant of great symbolic importance in Buddhism, representing enlightenment.  Needless to say, it’s a bit of an odd symbol to use when Phos is currently the exact opposite of enlightened.  But, the thing that I find truly curious about its use isn’t the irony being deployed—that’s par for the course in this series, but rather the timing.  Take the use of the lotus as it applies to Phos, for example.  While it was also used somewhat ironically in that Phos’s change didn’t herald any sort of wisdom or serenity, it did clearly delineate a phase in Phos’s life, one where they sought that which the lotus symbolized.  But, Phos hasn’t changed at all from the last time their alloy decided to be symbolic a mere two chapters ago.  Why not just keep using the empty seedpod?  What is the impetus behind bringing up this new symbol?

One possibility that comes to my mind is that in the legend associated the bodhi tree, the Buddha had to sit under it for 49 days before he came to his revelation.  Perhaps then, the appearance of the bodhi leaf is foreshadowing a change to come, rather than embodying a change that has just happened.  Furthermore, if this illustration is indeed supposed to conjure the image of an umbilical cord, then that would also support the idea that Phos is in a state of limbo.

Cairn is being a total dick, but they are picking up on something here: Phos is repeating their actions from chapter 66, right down to forcing an unwilling party to come along on a hastily considered attack on earth—although I guess this time it’s Alex doing the forcing, but Phos would probably just heckle them about Nepti until they agreed to go along if Alex hadn’t done so first.  It’s like the story is stuck in a timeless hell wherein these tragedies repeat themselves, becoming more terrible with each consecutive revolution—no doubt a sentiment that Ichikawa is deliberately trying to evoke.

Of course, what Cairn either doesn’t realize or refuses to acknowledge is that Phos did make a sincere attempt follow their advice, and was harshly punished for it.  In addition, there’s also the fact that Cairngorm has also failed to change—it just hasn’t come crashing down on them quite yet.  It seems to me that the moment where Cairn almost blows Aechmea’s cover serves as a reminder that their own turn through the meat grinder is coming soon.

I don’t have much to say about Alex’s musings this chapter; I think it mostly exists in service of making the subtext of this past arc into explicit text.  Though it does also jive with an observation I had earlier, about how the gems don’t handle grief or nuanced emotions well.  It seemingly doesn’t occur to Alex that they can in any way honor Chrysoberyl’s memory while at the same time revising their opinion on the Lunarians.  In their eyes, either the Lunarians are evil, inhuman monsters and Chrysoberyl is a dear partner whose loss was a devastating tragedy, or the Lunarians are just normal people with understandable motivations and Chrysoberyl never mattered and their grief was a waste of time.  

I’m also not surprised that Dia is being a bit vicious.  They’ve been stewing in their bitterness without truly overcoming it since chapter 3, they were the first one to use that reoccurring phrase “If only (they) were never here,” and as I said in my essay for the last chapter, mere escapism was never going to solve their problems.  I’m eager to see how this pans out, as I’ve been waiting to see how Dia’s arc culminates for quite some time.

For all that I’m unsurprised by the details of this chapter, it’s disheartening that no one present can be bothered to try and derail the obvious and incoming tragedy train.  No one is trying to snap Phos out of it, and no one seems to care about what happens to the gems on earth.  84 is put off when Phos says they shouldn’t bother reviving the dusted gems, and Alex feels a little guilty about sitting on their thumbs while Phos suffered, but that’s about it.

I’m going to vent a little here: I have to wonder, what is the point of the story becoming so mean-spirited?  Why spend years painstakingly endearing the audience to this cast of characters, only to spend around twenty chapters destroying every ounce of that good will, to such an extent that (from what I’ve observed) a huge chunk of the remaining audience is cheering Phos on in their quest to kill everyone?

Is the cast ever going to reckon their complacency and casual cruelty, or are they only here to be punished for it with misery and death?  Have any of my thoughts on Cairngorm been accurate, or have I been spinning elaborate fanfiction to create space for sympathy that simply does not exist within the text?  And at the end of all this, will I find something meaningful in the unrelenting dirge the series has become?  I genuinely don’t know.  

To be clear, I don’t dislike tragedy.  In fact, I’d say I’m drawn to it more often than not.  But, if there’s one thing that consistently causes me to disengage emotionally with a work, it’s those times when I get the impression that the author holds their characters in contempt.  There’s plenty of good, important art that falls under that purview, but even when I find such works interesting or insightful, I don’t come to cherish them, and I don’t relish in spending time with them.  

So, what to do when encountering a work that spends sixty chapters as an exercise in quiet moments, in clumsy yet earnest attempts at empathy, and in dealing with grief, only to spend the most recent twenty as misery porn?  It’s a baffling experience, to say the least, but I guess my answer right now is to power through it, and hope to walk away from the ending with something valuable enough to be worth the trouble.  Certainly, none of Ichikawa’s other works wallowed in cruelty, even those that leaned towards horror or tragedy.  So, I’d like to have faith that the current tone of the story isn’t the note it will end on.

Thus, I’m still invested in seeing this through to the end.  This story is a complex and challenging beast that I want to understand, and god knows I don’t want to be the sort of philistine who pitches a fit every time they encounter a work of art that isn’t feel-good and life-affirming.  But it still grates on me a bit.

My little crisis of faith aside, I’m curious as to how this anti-mercury coating is going to work?  While it might protect the other three just fine, it doesn’t seem like a protective coating would be much use for Phos’s alloy, which is precisely the part of them that would be most vulnerable to Cinnabar’s mercury.  Can’t wait to see how that hashes out.  And by “can’t wait” I mean I’m dreading it.

[chuffyfan87]

It Started With A Kiss. Part 7a.

Trigger warning - discussion of rape and its after-effects.

-x-

After putting down the phone Duffy wandered back into the kitchen in a daze, her mind preoccupied by her conversation with Megan. She stood by the sink for a few moments before she began to scrub it clean, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Once that was done she slowly walked across the room and headed into the bathroom. She sighed as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She brushed her teeth and washed her face.

Leaving the bathroom she walked into her bedroom and sat on the bed. Picking up her hairbrush from the bedside table she ran it absentmindedly through her hair. After placing the brush back down she lent over and pulled a clean t-shirt from the pile on the floor, removed the top she had been wearing and changed into the new one. She was contemplating redoing her make up when she was interrupted by the sound of her doorbell ringing. She sighed before pushing herself up from the bed to go answer the door.

It felt like forever to Charlie before Duffy finally opened the door. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets in an attempt to appear calm and relaxed, when in reality he was neither of those things. He took in her appearance as she stood silently in the doorway. Her arms were wrapped around her body and her gaze didn't quite meet his. She'd obviously been crying and looked very pale and tired. He wondered if Megan had been able to speak to her yet, as she'd promised she would, and if she had what Duffy had told her.

"You said we needed to talk..." He reminded her softly, nervously breaking the silence that stretched out between them.

Duffy nodded and stepped aside, indicating that he should come inside. She then closed the door and turned to face him.

"You sent Megan to talk to me?" She accused though there was no anger present in her tone.

"I didn't know what else to do. You kept pushing me away and I couldn't understand why. Megan helped me see things in a different way. To consider things that I hadn't realised."

Duffy nodded, Megan was good at doing that, it was one of the things that made her such a wonderful nurse, someone Duffy looked up to and respected greatly. She sighed. "Would you like a cuppa? Then we can sit down and talk."

Charlie nodded and followed her into the kitchen. He then continued past her and sat down on the sofa. He watched as Duffy made the tea and brought it over. She handed him a cup before settling herself into the chair opposite.

Duffy picked nervously at a loose thread on her jeans as she attempted to compose her thoughts. Taking a deep breath she began to speak.

"Megan told me you think all of this is your fault. That you're to blame for how I've been reacting. I'm sorry, I really am. None of this is your fault. It's all me. I'm the problem."

Charlie ran his hand around the back of his neck nervously. "Megan told you that?"

Duffy nodded. "I think she wanted me to see things in a different way too." She explained. She looked down, rolling the thread between her fingers once more. "Did she, um, discuss her, er, suspicions with you?" She stuttered quietly.

"Well, I er, we mentioned certain things."

"I see." She paused. "Anything you care to share?"

"I want to, but, only if you do too." He told her gently.

"Not really but I've been told it's for the best that I do." Her voice choked slightly. "If I'm ever going to move on from what happened." She mumbled.

"Is it something you want to talk about? About that night?" He asked her tentatively.

"No!" She replied reflexively, then sighed.

"Ok, ok." He reassured her. He decided to change tact. "Um, do you have the nightmares every night?"

"Not every night but most." She admitted softly. "Keeping the lights on sometimes helps."

"Right, that explains it I suppose."

"Explains what?"

"Well, um, the last time you stayed with me."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was hoping you'd never see me like that. That I'd find a way to make them go away."

"That's why? I thought you didn't want anything to do with me."

"I didn't want you to look at me differently. To think badly of me." She explained.

"Duffy, I'd never think that."

"I didn't want you realising how weak I was." Her tone was bitter. "I should have fought back harder but I was too afraid that he'd really hurt me if I did."

"Duffy, don't blame yourself."

"I was scared he'd hurt the baby." Her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Oh Duffy, come here." Charlie got up from the sofa and crouched beside her as he opened his arms towards her. She allowed him to place his arms around her but the way she held herself was stiff and awkward.

Charlie sighed. "I, I want to help you through this Duffy. If you'll let me?"

"I want to but..." She couldn't find the words to explain how she felt.

Charlie took her hand in his and moved back slightly to catch her eye. "We can do this together Duffy. You don't have to be on your own."

"I'm used to being on my own though." She whispered.

"You don't have to be anymore Duffy. I'm here for you." Charlie smiled softly at her, and squeezed her hand.

"You promise?" She queried hesitantly.

"I promise I'll always be there for you Duffy." He replied sincerely.

She looked into his eyes, searching for the truth behind his words. She tried to speak but couldn't. Her lip wobbled slightly and a couple of tears slid down her cheeks.

"It's ok, shhh." Charlie reached up and rubbed away her tears.

She leant into his touch, she didn't want him to pull away from her but there was still a whisper of fear in her mind.

Charlie smiled softly at her, trying to let her see that she didn't need to worry.

She slowly reached out her free hand and softly, tentatively, touched his cheek with her fingertips.

"Duffy?" Charlie whispered, as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled at him. It was a small smile but it was genuine rather than the forced smile he'd mostly seen recently. They drew slowly closer together until their lips gently met.

As the kiss ended Duffy glanced down awkwardly. "Look, about the other day... I, erm, didn't mean to get so angry with you. I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I understand. I know it's too soon isn't it? It came out all wrong. We can take things at your pace Duffy, what ever you want I'll do." He quickly reassured her.

"I don't want you doing anything you might end up regretting, that's all."

"Believe me Duffy, there's a lot of things I regret. But, this, us, you, will never be one of them." He replied honestly.

"I don't want to end up like my mum." She whispered bleakly.

"Your Mum? How will you end up like your Mum?" He asked, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation.

"Alone, bitter and resenting my child." She replied darkly.

"You'll never be alone Duffy. I won't ever leave you, or our baby." He asserted, desperate for her to see that he meant everything he told her.

"I want to believe you, I really do."

"Then believe me Duffy."

"If only it was that simple."

"We can make it as simple as we want it to Duffy. Just trust me. Please." He begged.

"Its not exactly been simple so far has it?" She laughed bitterly.

Charlie sighed. "No, no it hasn't. But that's not your fault. That's mine."

"I'm capable of taking responsibility for my own misbehaviour Charlie." She retorted.

Charlie sighed. "Please just let me in too Duffy."

"If I do that and you let me down..." The unspoken threat hung in the air.

"How can I prove it to you that I won't?" He questioned desperately.

She shrugged. "I guess I just have to take the leap, keep my fingers crossed and find out what's at the bottom when I get there."

Charlie sighed and looked into her eyes, he gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, as he told her. "I will always protect you, I will always be there for you, for our baby. No matter what."

A dark look briefly flashed across her eyes. "You can't always protect me but it means a lot that you want to. I don't know what I did to deserve it though."

"I'm trying to Duffy, you just need to let me."

"You think you could have made a difference that night don't you? Nothing could have made a difference Charlie. Things happen for a reason." She replied in a tone that sounded like it wasn't just him she was trying to convince with her words.

Charlie sighed. "Sometimes I think if, if you'd passed your driving test. You'd had a car. It, it does make me think. In some small way I was responsible." He admitted, the pain he felt colouring his words.

"Its not your fault I failed the test." She assured him.

"No? I tried Duffy, I tried everything I could. I was certain you'd pass. I'd even been looking for a car for you."

A mixture of shock and guilt filled her features as it began to sink in how much Charlie blamed himself for her failure and what he perceived to be the consequences of that. "Um..." She began.

"Duffy?" Charlie noticed her reaction but didn't understand where it had come from.

"Erm... Well..." She continued with broken awkwardness.

"Duffy?" Charlie frowned at her hoping she would continue and things would become clearer.

"Don't look at me like that! It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"What was?" He probed.

"The bus stop..."

"The bus stop?" Now he was totally lost!

"Yeh..."

"What about the bus stop?"

"I did see it in time."

"What do you mean?"

"You're determined to make me say it aren't you?" Unable to meet his eyes, her gaze wandered around the room.

"I'm not following you?" He pointed out.

"I hit the bollard on purpose OK?" She confessed, her words almost tripping over themselves.

"You hit the...?" He repeated in shock.

"I even slowed down so I wouldn't hurt myself."

"You did it on purpose?!" His tone was more baffled than angry.

"Well, breaking the car headlight was an accident." She bit her bottom lip. "I didn't plan to damage the car."

"Duffy? For God's Sake! Why?" Charlie stood up and began to pace the floor.

"I was enjoying our lessons together." She blushed. "If I passed my test then you'd have no reason to spend time with me anymore." She paused. "I wasn't anticipating what happened between us not long after that."

"You mean, you, you failed on purpose? To spend more time with me?" He questioned, bewildered.

She nodded bashfully. "You're mad with me now aren't you?"

"Mad, mad?" Charlie continued to pace, his mind spinning as it tried to process her confession. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear her admitting when he'd arrived at her flat.

She got up and tried to block his pacing. "I am sorry. Really sorry. It was a stupid thing to do but I didn't want you getting all wrapped up in her again." The words were out her mouth before she could stop them.

"What?" Charlie turned to look at her.

"I saw my chance to keep your attention. Give myself longer to... Oh I don't know..!" She shrugged.

"You mean, you were jealous? Of me and Baz? I don't believe I'm hearing this!"

"Why do you think I let you..? I don't normally jump straight into bed with blokes I've only just kissed!"

"Duffy, for god's sake!" He exclaimed.

"I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of... Because I'm not! But, well, when you made a move..."

Charlie sighed and looked at her, "I didn't think you were, I, um..." He began to blush as his words faded.

"It really hurt when you went back to her." She explained. "Even though I understood why you had to."

"I had no choice Duffy. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"And then a few weeks later when I found myself in the same situation... I didn't know what to do."

"I wish you'd come to me Duffy."

"And say what exactly? 'Oh hi Charlie, remember how you cheated on your pregnant girlfriend by sleeping with me? Well, guess what..?'..." She retorted bitterly.

"Duffy."

"Well, what else would you call what we did?" She shot back.

Charlie paced again, and ran his hand around the back of his neck. "I didn't want you to think I was using you...oh Duffy, I've...you think I just..."

"I was so happy that day despite your insistence that we keep it a secret until you'd sorted everything out and then within a matter of hours you pulled the rug right out from under my feet. What did you expect me to think?" She bit her lip before adding quickly. "Part of me thought you might suggest we carry on, that I'd be your dirty little secret."

Charlie paced again, and turned to look at her. "If Baz hadn't..." he sighed again, "if she hadn't fallen pregnant Duffy I was going to break it off with her."

"But she did and you broke it off with me instead." She replied calmly despite her hurt at the rejection.

Charlie sighed once again. "I thought I was doing what was best." He sat down, with his head in his hands. "I never meant to hurt you."

"It was an impossible situation." She sighed as she moved to sit down next to him.

"You have to know Duffy, if, if Baz...I'd have been with you." He explained, looking up at her.

"Now do you understand why I worried that maybe you were only with me because of the baby? Because that's clearly why you were with Baz."

"Duffy, that's not..." he sighed again. "Is that what you think? Why I'm, why I want to be with you? Just for the baby?" The realisation of her true thoughts stung him greatly. He lowered his head again.

"The thought had crossed my mind several times in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. That's why I didn't want to tell you about... If you knew what he'd really done... Then you'd reject me for sure, baby or not."

"Is that what you, um, what you thought? Oh Duffy, I'd never think that. Oh God, I've made a right mess of all of this haven't I? You hate me don't you?"

"No, I..." She stopped herself mid-sentence.

Charlie turned to look at her, and frowned in confusion. "I knew it. All this is my fault. I'm sorry Duffy." Charlie hurriedly rose from the sofa, unable to look at her as he told her. "I care about you Duffy, you have no idea, no idea how much I..."