#this was before rich people giving their kids weird names was a thing

[dallasgallant]

Soc! Curtis brothers aren’t real they can’t hurt you!

Darrel, Patrick and Michael:

[powdermelonkeg]

You're big on Zelda, so I'm curious. How would you rewrite TOTK, if given the writer's room?

Fun question! *cracks knuckles* Let's answer it.

I've answered about the disconnect between BotW and TotK before, so I'm going to take some of those ideas and run with them here.

I'm taking the intended route, for the sake of keeping coherence rather than just making up an entirely new Hyrule from scratch. Link and Zelda are the same as they are in BotW.

To start off, I like the Zonai.

I like that they're an entirely new race of people in Hyrule. I love how weird-looking they are. I love that they're not human race #87.

I also love their bastard not-Zonai lovechild thing. If we saw more examples of Zonai, I would love for this funky lil dude to be part of them, kind of like how the Zora have a ton of variation between them.

So why don't we do that? Why don't we give them a kingdom?

And why don't we put some meat on the bones of what was already built?

There are Zonai-esque ruins all over the Depths, mostly in mines for Zonaite.

Their color palette matches. Rauru's braids and Sonia's earrings match brightblooms.

And the three dragons, who have Zonai features (segmented, color-edged hair, long ears, blunt muzzles, scale beard mouths), could have been a catalyst.

A catalyst for what, though?

It starts with the Depths themselves, and the dragons breaking free.

See, in TotK, the three elemental dragons all dive in and out of the Depths chasms. There's no explanation as to why, and the only explanation we have for the chasms forming is that it was like...geysers of Gloom.

However, the dragons in BotW are confirmed to have carved these canyons:

So let's go back in time a little.

The Zonai live in the Depths. They're underground, away from all the chaos that Hyrule has ever had to endure. They worship the bargainer statues as gods, they collect the souls of those above that drip down into the world below.

They have a rich mining industry, and coliseums for their greatest warriors to test their mettle against captured monsters.

They have their Secret Stones, and the one who's allowed to hang onto those is their leader.

That'd be young Prince Rauru.

The elemental dragons, Dinraal, Naydra, and Farosh, are testaments to why no one can be allowed to have the Secret Stones. They were consumed by their power, literally.

One day, they break free, as if summoned by an unknown force. They tunnel through the ground and into the sky, connecting the world below to the one above.

The Hylians cautiously venture below, or the Zonai above. Prince Rauru, keeper of the Secret Stones, and Sonia, High Priestess of Hylia, meet.

They fall in love.

They marry.

Their marriage marks a unity between the Surface and the Depths.

(Maybe throw in a lil Skyward Sword continuity, mention that while Hylia sent the humans to the sky, the Zonai fled underground to avoid Demise, to keep the Secret Stones out of his grasp. You don't even have to name drop him, just say they went down to avoid destruction.)

Suddenly, Hyrule (the center part of the map, based around the Great Plateau, not the whole sub-kingdom conglomerate it exists as in BotW) undergoes a technological boom. Ganondorf, neighboring leader of the Gerudo, is interested. He talks trade with now-king Rauru, but there's the sub-plot of trying to get his secrets, which he steadily grows obsessed with.

Meanwhile, the Gerudo make their own expedition into the Depths.

There. The stage is set.

Now Zelda falls into the past.

She's found by Rauru and Sonia. Adopted as their daughter, more or less.

Also, the two of them have a small child. Nintendo, you CAN'T set them up as "they're her ancestors" and then kill them childless, descendants don't work like that. Zelda's immediately endeared to the kid, who reminds her of Link. Lil half-Zonai girl with a wooden sword who swings it at anything that moves. There are memories, it's cute.

In the past, Zelda witnesses, real time, Ganondorf going mad with power. They get along well at first, he's cordial, polite, a model diplomat. But she finds his troops in places they shouldn't be, confronts him about it and gets brushed off.

She tells Rauru, he's unwilling to throw suspicion onto Ganondorf. They're semi-friends and diplomacy is important! He's got to run this kingdom right. He can't fail, this is the biggest thing he's ever done!

(Sprinkle in a parallel to BotW Zel's fear of failure)

Some of the memories fill in gaps about Rauru's power, also. He's got what Link can do, minus Recall. Ultrahand and Fuse mainly, but Rauru's been experimenting with Ascend, excited because it'll make passage between the Depths and the Surface so much easier, and we see where Zel gets her scientific excitement from. Regardless of how different they look, they ARE family.

Ganondorf and Rauru get into a fight one day. A BAD fight. Maybe because Zelda tipped Rauru off, and despite telling her no, Rauru looked into it anyways. Regardless, they march out in opposite directions, and Zelda overheard it in the hallway. As Ganondorf leaves, he gives her the most SCATHING glare.

He then declares war on Hyrule.

Rauru makes a bid for allies, trying to get enough manpower to fight Ganondorf's impressive military. It's a struggle at first, but Zelda steps in, being the leader she's skilled at being and telling the others how crucial it is that they help. Ganondorf, meanwhile, turns to forbidden arts in his rage against Rauru, gets infected by Gloom/Malice, becomes scarily powerful. First Blood Moon. The Gerudo are kind of unnerved by him.

We see Zelda and Sonia helping with the war. Sonia's got light powers, Zelda's are stronger, together they can destroy entire ARMIES of monsters, saving their warriors on the battlefield. A few instances of Little Princess trying to be involved like the grown-ups are, getting huffy when she's told no.

In the aftermath of each fight, Rauru runs around, sealing away the monsters' latent energy with green spirals. That's where the Shrines come from, though in the past, they're Luminous Stones—it's all faded by present day, the light bled out of them.

Sonia is on the battlefield against Ganondorf one fateful night, Little Princess wanders onto the field, both the girls panic about it, and Sonia tries to run away with her while Zelda affords them cover. THAT'S when Ganondorf strikes her—he's fast like a ninja, rushes past Zelda, strikes Sonia.

She falls. Little Princess tumbles.

Zelda races to Little Princess's side, picks her up to run away with her as Ganondorf gets Sonia's stone, and he transforms into the Demon King. He raises his army. Little Princess screams, and we see an uncontrolled blast of Hylia's power, like an erratic attempt at what Zelda did at the end of BotW.

It fritzes, Zelda hugs her tight and ducks down to shield her, and the power cascades across the battlefield, affecting monsters AND people alike. The war is in shambles. Ganondorf stares at the child and her guardian, and retreats in a hurry.

Cue Rauru running to their side.

He grieves his wife. Little Princess is kept safe by Zelda. The Gerudo shun Ganondorf and join Rauru's side, and everyone involved in the war dedicates everything to one final assault against Ganondorf, one trap to finally END him, to force him into the Depths and fight him on the Zonai's own turf. The Secret Stones are distributed. Rauru knows what he has to do, and at the climax of the final battle, he uses his Secret Stone to amplify his sealing magic, knowing it'll kill him in the process and locking Ganondorf away in the Depths.

Except, it's not that simple.

Gloom bursts out of the newly trapped Ganondorf's chest, flooding the Depths, eliminating everyone in its path. That includes the Sages, the assaulting army, and the VAST majority of the Zonai. Its sole purpose is to gather enough strength over time for Ganondorf to break his shackles, because the Gloom wants OUT.

(Subtly implied that the Gloom is the first iteration of Demise's curse of hatred, maybe.)

And Zelda is alone. Trapped in the past, stuck with Little Princess, her Secret Stone, and the last of Mineru's notes.

Gloom continues to fume out of the Depths, so they're sealed off. The Blood Moon keeps spawning new monsters, so Little Princess and the remainders of the construct caretakers are sent up to the sky, for her protection. Zelda's the one that orchestrates it. Her people once hailed from the sky, and it's always been known as a place of safety for them.

Is this self-referential to the history she's building, or a Skyward Sword reference? Who knows.

They go skyward.

Then the Master Sword appears, and Zelda knows what she has to do. It's compounded, of course, by crushing guilt over the fact that Sonia's death happened on her watch. She tells Little Princess to look out for the world ahead, tells her to be strong, and brave, and everything she wishes her dad had told her. Then ends it with a final message.

"I'm leaving you something very important. Take good care of it."

Then she goes off alone to become a dragon.

Present day.

Link's not guided by Rauru, he's guided by a strange, beautiful woman who looks kind of like Zelda (albeit with Zonai hair, eyes, and long claws), who has a deep regret for the world below and who knows the lonely world above like the back of her hand. She teaches him the basics of his powers as he visits the shrines.

The Great Sky Island is otherwise normal.

You go to Hyrule. The Light Dragon's the one that breaks the cloud barrier, and as she does so, she sheds a single tear. By the time you get to the tear's location, it's spread a mural of the memory it contains around it.

Whenever you Recall a tear, the Light Dragon sheds a new one somewhere else, and it's up to you to follow.

You're chasing Zelda, twice over.

Besides that, Hyrule's Surface is...largely unchanged. I'm still upset that the pirates assaulting Lurelin weren't ACTUAL pirates, so guess what, they are now. Splinter faction of Yiga. Also, River Zora take over Lake Hylia, there's a spat between them and the Sea Zora, and Yona is the princess of the Rivers.

Then you've got the Depths.

That's where you find the ruins of the Zonai civilization, and you start piecing together the world it contains on your own. You aren't told, you're SHOWN.

Rauru's ghost finds and guides you here. He has a moment of "hey, isn't that MY arm?", upgrades your abilities or shows you how to use them more efficiently (ups your build limit, shows you how to un-Fuse, teaches you DEscend, gives you Autobuild, things like that), then DIES-dies. You escort his poe soul to a Bargainer statue.

The biggest change to the Depths, though, is that under the Gerudo Desert, you find PEOPLE.

So remember how the Gerudo launched their own expedition into the Depths in the past? How the Gloom killed almost everyone and the world below was sealed off?

There were a sparse few survivors of the Zonai, and some unfortunate Gerudo researchers that also got trapped. The people down there now are descendants of both. They're not Zonai anymore, though.

They're Lomei. They evolved like how the Rito evolved from the Zora in Wind Waker. Their tribe name comes from the Zonai word for "loneliness."

Regardless, they're initially inhospitable to Surfacers, because Surfacers are how they ended up how they did. If you sneak into their city, you're captured, like a few unfortunate Zonai Survey Team members that have wandered in, only YOU can escape via Ascend. OoT Gerudo parallel.

You can earn the Lomei's trust by doing things for them (maybe beating all three labyrinths as a rite of passage?), and then they let you into their cities. They've got their own brand of tech based off of old Zonai designs. One of the Lomei scientists is working on a mechsuit—that'll be the sage that Mineru passes her stone down to. And it fits doubly, both because the Lomei ARE the descendants of the Zonai and because the Lomei technician and Mineru are both scientists.

The Lomei people give you more pieces to the complicated Zonai-Hylian puzzle, and they're the ones that first tell you the legend of the dragons-from-Secret-Stones. So you can either learn it from them OR get it revealed in Zel's later memories.

Besides that, the present plot is pretty much as normal. Still the same bosses. Still the same sages-help-with-everything, though each sage you rescue gives you another piece of what really happened at the final fight (rather than the same cutscene over and over), telling you about how Rauru sacrificed himself and the effect it had on the rest of the Depths.

I will change where the Ganondorf's Army fight takes place, though. It's ACTUALLY very hidden, like the game was trying to imply it to be when you chase around Kohga. You do still have to do that, but he accidentally directs you to a place that's hidden in the tiniest crevice near Hyrule Castle, one that's very easy to miss and sitting in a veritable sea of Gloom. Once you finish the Kohga quest, a poe hovers outside of the crevice, which leads into an even deeper chasm that leads to the Underdepths.

The poe's your help to get through the maze there, and wherever it goes, Sundelions bloom at the corners. If you go early, before getting everything done, you have to navigate that place yourself, and it's a nightmare.

But you do it. You get to where everything started, and you beat the army, then Ganondorf, then he shoves his fist down his throat and goes dragon.

As he breaks through the ground and curls around Hyrule Castle, he SHATTERS it. The building crumbles to smithereens, crashing into the Depths below.

You beat Demon Dragon, Zelda catches you on her nose, it's over. You're in the spirit realm over sleeping Zelda.

The poe appears over your shoulder, drifts away from you, then materializes into Sonia. She says nothing, just activates Recall, turns Zelda back to normal, then cradles her in her arms. She gives her a kiss on the forehead, looks at you, then says the same line Zelda said to Little Princess ages ago, with the single change of one word.

"I'm leaving you something very important. Take good care of her."

She fades, as does the Spirit World.

You're falling.

Zelda's falling.

You catch her.

She wakes up, sees you, then hugs you and sobs into your shoulder.

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom.

Roll credits.

Bonus for the memory completionists, the True Ending has Zelda meeting the grown Little Princess up at the Great Sky Island, reconciling with her, both of them saying how proud they are of each other. Then Little Princess turns into a poe, and Zelda promises to take her to the Depths so she can be with her parents again. As they walk away, Sonia's poe tails after them.

And THAT is a way longer post than I expected to write. Whew.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Danny ran away.

The classic reveal didn’t go right/ the GIW is hunting to him/ everyone is dead. You pick.

He’s alone. In Gotham. With nothing.

Staying in the city makes sense, right? Except for the crazy rogues he doesn’t want to get involved in or the straight up normal humans dressing up to fight them. Danny wasn’t touching that with a 10 foot pole. So he travelled further to the outskirts where he hoped to find a cabin some rich family only stays in for the summer.

Instead he finds rich mansions hidden back in the trees with big tall gates keeping everyone out. Most had people living there (he checked), all except for this one.

He’s only seen a kid, maybe ten, go in and out for school and sneaking out late at night.

Danny thinks he’s smart, sneaking in to snag some food and rest a bit when he knows the kid is gone. He doesn’t account for if the boy comes back earlier than normal.

Wide, surprised eyes meet wide, panicked eyes. Danny doesn’t even shove the next bite of Mac and Cheese in his mouth before he’s booking it to the nearest window.

“Wait!” Danny doesn’t wait. “You don’t have to go!”

Danny slows to a stop. Um, what?

He turns to give the boy a look but he doesn’t cringe back. The kid steps forward, almost impulsively.

“You’re the one who’s been stealing food and sleeping in the guest bedroom in the west wing, right?”

How the heck did he know where Danny was taking a nap? He always made sure to fix the bed when he left.

The boy continues without any answer.

“You don’t have to keep hiding. You can stay. I’ll provide you food and clothes and you can pick whatever room you want to stay in.”

Danny doesn’t know what’s gotten into the kid, but he suddenly feels flat footed and so off balanced.

“Why?” He asks incredulously. Why do all that for him? Why trust a strange teenager in his home? Why bother with him? He’s obviously homeless and has been stealing from him.

The boy’s lips thin slightly like he doesn’t want to say. Like he’s embarrassed.

Instead he says, “You had dozens of chances to steal any of the priceless artifacts in this house, but instead you only steal enough food for yourself and to rest.”

Okay. Yea, that was technically true and he could see the boy is thinking he figured out Danny’s personality by just that (it reminds him of Jazz how confident the kid is), but that doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy!

He goes to tell the kid off for thinking he knows anything about some random teen that keeps breaking into his house, but then notices the way the boy is holding himself.

“You’re hurt.”

The boy jolts like he wasn’t expecting Danny to notice at all. He looks down and adjusts his weight a bit.

“Uh…”

“Did you twist your ankle?” Danny guesses.

The boy mutely nods, looking at him with wide eyes with too much emotion to decipher.

“Well come sit down, don’t keep standing on it, dummy.”

The boy quickly makes his way over to sit delicately on the edge of the couch cushion. Danny goes to the freezer where he knows he saw an ice pack once when he was going through it.

Danny helps the kid turn and lay back until he can elevate the foot under a pillow and set the cold ice pack over the sock. The boy is still staring at him with those wide, intense eyes.

“Ice it for a while and after you take a shower I’ll wrap it for you. Where’s your first aid kit?”

“The first floor bathroom.”

“Which one? You have three.”

“Four actually. You missed the one in the laundry room.”

Danny gives him a look.

“Kid.”

“Tim,” the boy corrects happily. “My name is Tim. Timothy Drake.”

Danny just looks back for a few moments at what is undoubtedly a flicker of hope in those blue eyes. He sighs.

“I’m Danny.”

And a weird friendship was born. Or more of a sibling-ship? Brotherhood? They teeter over the line of friend and family daily.

Danny did stay and Tim was thrilled to have someone else in the house, someone that wasn’t cold or professional towards him. They played games together and joked and taught each other things.

Danny was good at fixing anything that was broken and was the one to do any errands while Tim was at school. He was also the one who had to teach Tim how to be a brother.

Tim on the other hand seemed to be good at everything but letting himself relax. He was a hyper and intelligent kid whose mind was always active, so Danny had to accommodate and come up with crazy games and tasks for the boy in the disguise of requests, but he also made the boy sit down with him to watch crappy movies and just relax together.

They had fun, but they also had bumps and misunderstands. Danny nearly blew his top when Tim snuck out to spy on Batman and Robin without telling him (and wasn’t that a conversation to remember when the Danny found out what he was really doing at night). And Tim had a problem with lying to try and make Danny not worry, which ended up doing the opposite.

They got through those hiccups together though because they were both too possessive to let the other go that easily.

Tim created a fake identity for Danny saying they were cousins. The same black hair and blue eyes kinda sold it with a backstory of Danny’s mother being disowned by Janet’s parents. Jack and Janet weren’t home enough (or invested enough) to confirm or deny.

It was funny though watching Tim stare after Jason Todd-Wayne longingly for a while, but enough was enough. If Tim secretly wanted to befriend his idol, then Danny would make it happen. And he did of course. He made friends with the butler after ‘losing’ a frisbee in their yard and asked if they could get together for dinner one night so Tim and Jason could hang out outside of school. Alfred obviously knew Danny was pushing for Tim’s sake, but he still agreed easily enough.

So became a normal for the Wayne’s and the Drake’s to eat dinner together at least once a month. And after many meetings Danny mentally checked them off as ‘okay enough for vigilantes’ and stayed behind while the two younger boys ran off to go play a game before they headed home next door.

“Mr. Wayne?”

“Come now, you know you can call me Bruce, Danny,” the man smiles. It’s a little too wide, but Danny understands he’s still trying to put on the Brucie mask. He really wish he wouldn’t.

“Right, Bruce.” He fidgets for a second with his hoodie strings and he can feel Bruce’s attention zero in on the motion. “I need to ask you a favor.”

The air turns tense with the silence after that.

“What’s wrong, Danny? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine! Promise. I just- I just need you to promise me something. Please.”

Danny felt so awkward. He has never relied on an adult before, always doing everything himself or with other kids, something Tim and him have in common. So to turn to Bruce Wayne was out of character, but he wasn’t really. He was asking Batman, and him Danny could trust a little more.

“Promise you what?”

Danny could hear the barely covered suspicion in his voice.

“If- If something happens and I’m not around anymore, I need you to take Tim in,” he states, looking at the man full on to show how serious a matter this was.

The man stares back equally serious.

“What would happen to you? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Bruce asks.

Danny shakes his head hard.

“I’m not into drugs, Bruce. Or a gang or gambling or anything like that okay? I don’t owe any debt someone’s coming after me for. I just need insurance, some piece of mind that if something did happen that meant I couldn’t take care of Tim, there would be someone to look after him.”

Bruce stares back, thinking, for several moments.

“Tim has parents, Danny, I don’t know what you expect me to do. And what do you mean you take care of him? Don’t you boys have a caretaker?”

“Of course we don’t. We look after each other, but I’m the oldest. His parents are never home. I’m not exaggerating, they were in Gotham for only fifty-four days last year. They missed Tim’s birthday, holidays, everything. He’s still a kid, he needs someone to be there for him and if I’m suddenly gone then he has no one. Promise me that won’t happen. Promise me you’ll take him in, that you’ll figure out a way to keep him with you so he at least has Jason and you and Alfred.”

Bruce is silent for a while and Danny knows what he’s struggling with. He didn’t really want to use his trump card, but desperate measures.

“We already know who you are. You don’t have to worry about him finding out your secret.”

All traces of the Brucie mask drops at that confession and Batman analyzes him.

“How?”

“Tim is a really smart kid,” he just says with a fond smile. “He’s known for a while too, so you know he won’t go blabbing to the media or whatever.”

“What about you?”

“If I wanted to blackmail you, don’t you think I would have led with that? I don’t care what you do in your free time, but it’s not my business to tell.”

Danny shrugs and tries not to squirm under being scrutinized.

“Since you know who I am, if you are in trouble or ever need help, you can come to me.”

Danny blinks.

“Yea, that’s what I’m doing. So do you promise?”

Bruce nods once, very controlled.

“Yes. I promise you that I will take care of Tim Drake if anything happens to you,” the man vows solemnly.

Danny smiles back, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Thank you.”

When Danny somehow saves Jason from dying, and two months later goes missing, Bruce has to honor that promise while also tracking down the teenager to bring home to a very distraught Tim.

[lexithwrites]

Please more sugardaddy moonwater hcs. Pls!!

this might get long sorry (but this is kinda what i wanna write next so pls give me feedback) xoxo

they met through a sugar daddy website that james showed to remus one night (he's on it and is absolutely not telling him that he's met a guy)

remus is so embarrassed at first, he was on tinder like twice and had bad dates because of it so he isn't exactly confident this will work but he does get a lot of attention

he gets messages from kinda old guys, and a few older women, that are either way too pushy with what they want in return for an 'allowance' or just kinda creepy and he almost deletes it

then he gets a message off of someone young, maybe his age, and he's gorgeous

remus is so sure its a scam, no one can look that good and be on an app like this but he messages them anyway when they say hi first, and he asks about them and the guy is regulus arcturus black (he gives his full name, he's a loser) and he's literally just looking for company and someone to spend money on, nothing in return, he doesn't need it

remus is kinda shook because like what?? how is this guy lonely he must have friends but turns out regulus just has rich friends that can buy their own things, he doesn't have anyone to spend time with other than when he goes to family events which he hates

and remus is like okay,,,,maybe drinks first and regulus sends him the location of probably the nicest bar in london and remus is close to passing out because he cannot afford this at all but he said he'd go

he wears his nicest outfit (its a brown jumper and some nice trousers and his converse, he cant afford anything else rn because his cat started a hunger strike against the food he's had for a year and remus had to upgrade, kids eh?)

regulus is already there because he is never a minute late, and checking his rolex thinking he's been stood up but remus runs in like 'hi im so sorry i missed the train hi' and regulus is in love already, just straight up his heart starts hammering in his chest because not only is remus gorgeous in a weird, dorky way but he's just...he's adorable

regulus is calm tho, think levi ackerman levels of expression, he just kinda sits there arms folded and asks remus questions about his life and what he would like as an allowance and remus is just,,,confused?

he asks why regulus wants to spend his money on him and regulus insists he's bored (he's so fucking lonely and wants someone around him to dote on) and just needs a date to events as his parents are giving him shit for being single at 26

remus is unsure but decides fuck it, james can probably throw hands if regulus tried anything, and they agree to attend some gala together for regulus' family and remus says he'll have to get new clothes and regulus then sets up a date the next day to buy him an outfit and its a lil montage of regulus giving remus clothes to try its very cute

and is remus confused and guilt ridden for this man spending money on him? yeah, duh, but also he doesn't have to pay his bills anymore, he has amazing clothes, his stress levels are so fucking low than before, and he likes regulus....he really really likes him

and regulus is getting what he wants, but also he has remus lupin as eye candy and that's an added bonus, and god remus is so adorable and nerdy and he wants to climb him like a tree

also yes remus sees james at the event and he's like what the fuck are you doing here and turns out james is with HIS sugar daddy, aka regulus' brother and its a whole ordeal

and maybe one night regulus invites remus to stay with him for the night because its too late to get the train and he doesn't really want to let remus go and maybe they drink wine and maybe they touch just to see what its like and maybe MAYBE they kiss and make out and fuck slow and deep and then AND THEN—

i might write more if people like this idk,,,,

[triple-7-heaven]

ONCE AGAIN

thank you for waiting for me, readers. i do hope you enjoy it ♡ my first aespa fic, awesome! i've been going through it, thus the lack of content, but things are looking up for me. take care of yourselves, until next time :-) pairing: male reader x winter; words: 6.5k ; categories: aespa, winter, reader insert, smut, slightly storyline heavy

Back in high school, there was a girl who shone above the rest, but wasn’t necessarily popular. A girl who was a member of the math club, the photography club, and the dance team, whose evenings were filled with activities, who made many friends, but wasn’t fawned over by the student body in the way the true popular kids were. 

One evening, you were at school pretty late, tutoring in the library. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice the time passing, until the janitor came in and told you he’d be needing to clean the library up, so you’d better scram. Backpack full of books, you rushed out of the library, and quickly made your way through the dark hallway. You turned the corner and nearly collided with a small girl, who grabbed onto your arm to steady herself. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” you said, and the girl looked up at you. Oh, perfect… “Minjeong, shit, I’m sorry…” 

“Hosang, what are you doing here so late?” Minjeong asked. 

“Uh, tutoring… You know my name?” you asked incredulously. She smoothed out your sleeve, folded the collar of your shirt down, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“You know mine, too,” she quipped and giggled before running to catch up with her dance team friends, leaving you without room to explain yourself. To explain that no, I promise it isn’t weird, everyone knows your name, Minjeong, I’m not a crazy stalker, and I’m not here to spy on you through the gym windows while you dance. But you never got to explain yourself. To be fair, you did admire her from a distance. In the halls, at lunch, you wouldn’t deny that you looked at her with heart-shaped eyes. As pretty as you thought she was, you didn’t ever talk to her, something you would eventually regret. 

Minjeong dropped out, and you didn’t run into her again. After graduation, you headed off to Seoul to learn how to fly, and soon, you realized someone else had come, too. Billboards, advertisements, you name it. For a solid month, wherever you looked, you saw her. 

The same Kim Minjeong who you nearly sacked in the hallway that night, who, instead of yelling or being upset, straightened your clothes and wished you a good night; who knew your name when you were nobody. She was Winter, now, styled with gorgeous long, blonde hair, imposed over ethereal backgrounds and colors. You had to give it to whatever company she was running with, they made that old crush of yours flare right back up again with the way they marketed that girl. Financially stable enough under an air charter company flying small private jets, you decided you’d buy a set of the group’s albums when they debuted. Sitting on the floor of your apartment, pulling the photocards and posters out of those albums, you felt the full force of the regret from your school days: if you’d only talked to her in high school, you could have her number in your phone right this minute… But you were resigned now to being a fan, and a strongly biased one. That’s all you could be. 

-

Charter piloting has benefits. Loads, surely. You’re essentially a glorified taxi driver, charging rich business people and celebrities $20k for a one hour flight from Incheon to Jeju. It’s morally wrong to allow a sucker to keep his money, right? As good as the pay, benefits, and overall experience are, the clientele… Well. Nothing you hate more than a stuck-up diva, and it’s even worse when you’re trapped in a flying metal tube with them. But you make do; the idol sightings you get on the job make all the asshole corporates worth it. From old school stars your parents might know, to drama actors and actresses, to the newest generation of idols, you welcomed a ton of each aboard, more than you could ever remember if you didn’t write it down. Unforgettable guests come along now and then; a trio of Twice members one weekend, some big-name producers behind insurmountably popular groups for a surfing trip, and the casts of award-winning shows on celebratory benders. Unforgettable loses its meaning when your secretary hands you today’s clipboard. 

“This is mine? Thought it was… Uh…” you trail off and your eyes widen. The secretary laughs behind the desk.

“I knew it! You’re her fan, right? You always talk about Aespa. And I know you have her photocard in your wallet,” she winks at you as your face fills with an embarrassingly deep blush. 

“It’s not just that, Jihye. I knew her in high school,” you say hesitantly. 

“Oh my God, it’s like a reunion!” the girl squeals. “Wait, were you cool in high school?” she laughs. 

“Uh… I don’t-” 

“Yup, I knew it,” she says matter-of-factly. “Let me guess, the lame, nerdy guy had a crush on the cool-chick future idol?”

“No! Well, I don’t know,” you say. Your mind is too busy racing to think properly. The young secretary giggles to herself as you walk to the hangar. Preflight routines are difficult to complete when your mind’s racing faster than a Blackbird. Would she recognize you? Should you say something? Nah… You’re kicking tires pretending to be busy and the door opens. The trail end of a conversation… 

“-ng is going to be your pilot. He’s a great aviator and an even better tour guide, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you around the island,” Jihye says. That damn secretary. 

“Hosang? I feel like I’ve known someone with- oh, hi,” Minjeong stops abruptly when Jihye walks her around the aircraft to meet you. Long, wavy, dark hair, with bangs curled and blown out to mathematical perfection. Fair, unlined skin of a small and cute face. A simple and comfortable black sweater, a modest manicure, and plain, natural eye makeup. You bow shyly and wave. 

“All good to go?” Jihye asks with the most annoying smile in the world. 

“Yep,” you answer. Jihye departs and you welcome Minjeong to get comfortable while you finish up. A strange look occupies those perfect features as you give her a quick safety brief, then turn to enter the cockpit. Before the door closes behind you, “if you need anything, let me know.” 

Why are you cold with her? Why are you nervous? You hardly smiled at her or asked what she was traveling for… Pure white clouds roll calmly underneath you. You resolve to be nice to her, even if she doesn’t recognize you, because let’s be real, it’s not her fault for not recognizing you. She meets tons of people. You’re just some not-cool kid from high school who had a crush on the cool-chick future idol. A pilot report over the radio snaps you out of it as you enter Jeju International’s airspace. Gusting winds and vertical movement, it’ll be a bumpy ride down. You reach for the intercom. 

“Hey Minjeong, forgive me if I startled you. Looking at some rough air on the way down, but we’re about 20 minutes out. I’d sit down and belt in if you aren’t already, okay? Call if there’s any issues, and think of what you’d like for dinner.” You toggle off the intercom and wonder where the hell that came from. What, Jihye said you’d be happy to show Minjeong around the island, right? So you’ll show her. Your inner autopilot (funny…) takes over and you idly nudge the yoke for your approach phases. Wheels on the ground, hangar door shut, you stand and exit the cockpit. Minjeong looks up at you sleepily, and you sit across from her on one of the bench-style seats. 

“So… dinner ideas?” you ask. Minjeong stands up and points at you groggily, shuffling towards you until her finger pokes the center of your chest. 

“You. You went to my school, didn’t you?” she says, tiredness dripping from her voice. You nod and meet her eyes. “How come you didn’t say anything?” 

“I didn’t think you’d recognize me…” you say softly, honestly. She moves her hand to your shoulder.

“Well you’re bigger, yeah, but… I recognize you. Bigger and taller. Same face,” she says. The smile can’t be kept off your face, unfortunately, and Minjeong smiles too. 

“You sound really tired. Let’s get going,” you say. After a quick post-flight and signing off with the hangar staff, you face her and say: “Gonna change really quick, then we’ll head to dinner.” You slip into the FBO restroom and drop your duffel, then slip out of your annoyingly stiff white uniform shirt. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, then pull on a plain black t-shirt before swapping your slacks for black jeans. One careful ruffle of the hair later, and you’re leaving the restroom to meet Minjeong in the hallway. 

“Alright, ready.” You carry Minjeong’s luggage and she trails behind you, much like a puppy, on the way to the parking lot. The modest rent car’s parked right where the staff told you, so you open the door for Minjeong and she shoots you a confused smirk. You smile back, and hop into the driver’s seat. 

“So what’s the occasion? Family in Jeju?” you ask. 

“Honestly, I… When I get time off, I run a secret travel blog… So I take vacations, and take pictures and stuff,” she says quietly. “I dunno, it’s kind of silly.” 

“How come it’s silly? Sounds fun to me. We’ll have to go to some really cool places so you can write a good post, huh?” you reply. “Now, dinner?” 

“Mm. I’m too tired to think,” she mumbles. Great, now the pressure’s on you to pick something perfect… 

“How about Black Pork Street? Could make for some good photos, and it’s really as good as people say it is,” you say and put the car in gear. 

“Sounds good…” she trails off. Really, really sleepy. But she makes an effort to talk to you. She makes an effort to keep the focus off of herself, and more on you; she asks you how graduation was, since she didn’t go, and you really had to reach deep into your memory for that one. She asks you about flying, about why you chose it, about your life in Seoul, and about how you never ran into each other in the city. You hold yourself back from saying ‘well no, Minjeong, we haven’t run into each other in a city of 10 million people, with about 9,999,999 of those people being more interesting than me.’ When you arrive, Minjeong is lively and excited, telling you about her camera and asking what’s next after dinner. You kick yourself when you start wishing for a specific sort of dessert. Quit being dirty-minded, idiot… 

“Let’s go! I’m hungry,” Minjeong says, dragging you out of your thoughts. She looks perfect taking photos on the street, pointing her camera at the sky, at signs, storefronts, plants, street cats. The way her eyes light up when she takes a good photo, runs over to show you, insists that you take a few of her; she’s not much different than she was back then, huh? A person with a good heart. A person whose heart you’d like to learn. 

“Is it our honeymoon? First date? Must be a first date, you look nervous,” the dorky waiter says, nodding to you. Minjeong laughs, and you blush; the difference between you. 

“Uh… J-just high school friends,” you manage to say. Minjeong jots notes and snaps photos throughout the meal, and as you’re serving up some pork belly for her, she takes a few photos.

“C’mon, make it look nice,” she whines. 

“You’re serious about this, huh?” you laugh. 

“It’s… It’s my baby. My project. My travel blog is like… I dunno, it’s a way for me to be creative, but not be Winter. It’s a way to just be Minjeong,” she slowly explains. “To have a space that’s all my own. Where I can talk about stuff I like, and not worry about press, or netizens, or fans, or anti-fans.”

“I get it. A space of your own. I should call you Minjeong then, right?” you say, nodding your head a bit too fast and a bit too much. She smiles and nods. But she nods like a regular person, not like you. 

Dinner passes without incident. If we can ignore the waiter thing. Do you look like a couple or something? Maybe you do compliment each other. Maybe you seem like high school sweethearts. Maybe you could be. 

“Hosang?” she says as she leans forward. “You in there? Let’s go to the hotel!” You snap out of it for the second time and hop up to lead the way to the rent car. The paperwork Jihye gave you had most of the information listed for Minjeong’s trip, and the hotel she’d be staying in was, of course, the Lotte City Hotel. No less grandeur for the princess. The GPS gets you there quickly, and you pull up to the front doors, leaving the car on as you grab Minjeong’s suitcase. Just as you’re rounding the front of the car and waving goodnight, she makes a confused face.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” she whines. Minjeong the kid… 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was gonna head to the motel near the airport, that’s where my room is. Did you need something else?” you say. 

God, why do I sound like a customer service bot? ‘Did you need something else?’ Seriously? 

“I… I dunno, I guess I just wanted someone to hang out with,” she replies.

Oh. To hang out? 

“Oh, of course, Minjeong. Let me park, I’ll meet you,” you say. And she’s waiting for you in the same spot once you return to the front door; she didn’t even go inside. Her long, dark hair’s ruffled by the wind. Cute. 

NO. Not cute. Not cute or pretty or hot. She’s my client, my customer, my responsibility; not my crush, my girlfriend, or my next body. Look at the ground or something, for the love of God, Hosang. 

But looking at the ground can’t keep her legs from your peripheral view. She walks through the sliding doors and you follow behind with her suitcase in your hand, and your duffel on your shoulder. Long, slender, perfect legs, and you’re looking right at them. You snap your gaze to the windows and pretend to be looking at the skyline through the windows while Minjeong checks in. After a moment, she turns to you and smiles. 

“Do you have a swimsuit?” she asks. You shake your head. “There’s shops on the bottom floors, go and find one, okay? Meet me on the sixth floor. There’s a pool! The pictures are gonna be perfect!” 

She shoves a room key into your hand and takes the bags from you. You’re left in the lobby, dumbfounded, wondering how you should navigate this. A bellhop whistles at you.

“First night with her? Sheesh,” the young man says. “Score!”

“Weird situation, man. Weird as hell,” you trail off as you walk away, still shaking your head, more so to yourself now. Okay, shops. Swimsuit. You begin to feel insecurity nagging at you. You’re lean, sure, but not perfect. Not as perfect as… Well, nevermind. Quickly, you make your way through the shops, and find a pair of rather plain, mid-length black trunks at a duty free shop, changing into them in the restroom and leaving your shirt on. The elevator ride lasts forever. And ever. And ever. Until the robotic voice announces,

Sixth floor. 

The doors open and you walk quietly out to the open area of the pool. You see one figure in the water already. She’s facing the city, hugging the edge of the pool and gazing at the skyline. The water laps at her back, just below her shoulder blades, and the silky smooth skin of her back is laid out for you, with only thin bikini straps to cover it. Her arms and shoulders are small, toned, but soft. Fancams and jacket shoots could never do justice to the sculpted angel right in front of your face. 

“How’s the temperature?” you say. She turns around. Her top is composed of white strings and back fabric; conservative, but form-fitting to her chest, that Goldilocks chest, the perfect balance of size and shape. Her collarbones are distinct, curved, beautiful. Hell, every curve you can see is perfect, from the angle of her jaw to the base of her neck to the gentle taper of her arms. 

“It’s heated,” she giggles. “Come on!” Insecurity. Nagging. Loudly. 

“Are you sure? I can just hang out and take pictures for you up here, it’s not-”

“Come onnn,” she pleads. You turn away from her and slowly drag your shirt off, then kick your shoes and socks off near where Minjeong left hers. The water is slightly warmer than room temperature, and a welcome change from the chilly air. You sit yourself down on a ledge in the pool, and Minjeong swims to your side, sitting right next to you. Not close enough to touch. 

“See? Isn’t it nice up here?” she says.

“It is. Ever been to Jeju before?” you ask.

“Nope. I think it’s even nicer with a good tour guide.” 

“Ah, come on. I’m not all that.” 

“You’re…” she trails off and sighs. Her hair tickles your shoulder when she leans into you. “I wish I’d talked to you more back then.”

“Hmm? Don’t worry about it, that’s way past us,” you mumble.

“So… If I said I wanted to make up for lost time… What would you say?” she says and you feel her fingertips smoothly run over your leg under the water. 

“I think I’d ask where that idea came from,” you say breathlessly. She moves her hand to your waist, arm around your front. 

“I always liked you. I just didn’t think you liked me, you were always so quiet,” she says. Your hand, now, meets her waist, and your eyes meet hers. 

“Is this okay? I mean… Can you do stuff like this? Now that you’re all famous and everything,” you say, struggling to form any words at all, overwhelmed by the electric sensations of skin on skin underwater. She cups your cheek with a wet hand and nods to the camera bag. 

“Can I get some pictures for the blog? Before… Before I forget,” she finishes cautiously.

Before you forget, huh… Gonna make me take an impromptu bikini shoot of one of the most beautiful women ever. No big deal. 

Minjeong disentangles from you; she tosses you a towel and you dry your hands, then power on the camera. Eyes fixed on the camera’s display screen, you start shooting. She moves through pose after pose, and you can feel yourself hardening. How could you not? A perfect, slim, pale Minjeong, body covered with water droplets, her skin shining in the flash of the camera. 

“Would you check and see if those ones are any good?” she calls to you. You begin scrolling through the photos, and sure, they’re great. It would be hard to take a bad photo of her. 

“Yeah, these are good,” you say. 

“Let’s take a few more, then we can relax a bit,” she says. The camera display switches back to photo mode, and you look through; this time, your heart stops. The screen shows you that Minjeong has shed her top, and now, the camera focuses on her bare breasts, nipples erect in the cold air, water streaming down her chest. Her hourglass shape is all the more prominent now, and you wonder how it would feel to run your hands all over her wet body. You begin to lower the camera, but she shakes her head. “These are just for me. Please?” 

“J-just for you?” you mumble, mostly to yourself. Her poses grow more erotic. She squeezes her breasts together with her arms, grabs them with her hands, and leans over for you to capture a shot of her from the side with her back arched. Now you’re definitely hard, no question about it, but at least now there’s no way she could be mad at you for it. It’s her fault. She moves towards you, and you set the camera on the ground next to the pool. 

“How’d they turn out?” she asks. Her arms reach around the back of your neck, and yours wrap around her waist. 

“You’re evil,” you say into her neck before planting a few kisses there. 

“Oh, how could you say that? It seems like you had a good time,” she says. Her hips grind forward against your cock; she wants you to know that she knows how hard she’s gotten you. “You know, to be really honest, Hosang, you’re the first guy I ever thought about while touching myself.” 

Really? 

“Why?” 

“You’re an idiot- Oh, God,” she’s interrupted by moans as you kiss further down her neck. “I just like you, okay? 

“Well I just like you, too. Always did,” you say. 

“I hope so. Otherwise this could be kind of awkward,” she giggles. You withdraw from her neck to place a kiss on her temple, and finally, on her lips. She tastes so sweet, lips so soft, tongue so aggressive. Her hand grabs onto your hair and she forces your head to turn so she can deepen the kiss. Minjeong seems hungry, desperate. You sit back on the ledge with your high school crush in your lap, her legs around your waist. She’s got both hands on your face, and she observes you like some sort of specimen. 

“What’s, uh, what’s up?” you say, eyebrows raised.

“Your face… As different as it is, it almost looks exactly the same as the face I fell for back then. And I think I’m falling for it again,” she says. You begin to speak, but she places a finger over your lips. “I know what you’re gonna say. Just don’t think about it right now. Don’t. Think. About anything.”

Between her words, she’s taking your hands in hers, and moving them to her bare chest. You swallow. Hard. She’s right. If only for tonight, for this weekend, for a week, you have to just let it go. Her breasts are soft, and she whimpers when you squeeze them. She giggles and moans through a toothy smile when you roll her nipples between your fingers. Minjeong is clay in your hands, melting under every single touch, and it’s your job to make this trip unforgettable for her, to mold her into shapes of pleasure she’s never felt before. 

“You know there’s a sauna,” she whispers through gasps.

“Good idea,” you reply. Water falls from both of your bodies when you stand up with her still wrapped around you, clinging to you like a koala bear to a tree. A quick jog from the pool to the sauna, but the wind still manages to chill you both to the bone. The sauna, though, is comfortably warm. Minjeong in your lap again, you sit on the wooden bench and she devours your neck. Her tongue and breath are hot against your skin and the steam begins to make you sweat already. She stands and takes hold of your hand, beckoning you to follow suit; you stand close to her and she looks up to meet your eyes. Small hands make their way to your waistband. 

“Can I?” she asks softly. You help her slide the trunks down your legs, and your cock springs out, painfully hard, smacking your stomach. Her hand wraps around it immediately, and she moves in to kiss you again. She moves her tongue slowly against yours and her hand works your length all the while; her delicate fingers find the precum dripping from your tip and spread it generously. Delicately, she kneels; cautiously, she licks your cock from the base to the tip before latching onto the head and giving gentle suction. She looks up at you with her deep brown eyes and you place your hands on her head. You’re gentle with her. Your fingers make their way through her hair, and you keep your hips as still as you can, so as not to overwhelm her. You feel the back of her throat suddenly, and a moan escapes your mouth briefly, before you slap your hand over it. Minjeong backs off and strokes you with her hand.

“Don’t… I want to hear you,” she says. You feel your cock twitch, and you let out a sigh. A soft moan when her strokes speed up. “Good…” 

“What if someone-”

“If someone hears? They’ll leave. Don’t worry,” she says. She gives you a few more seconds of suction, tongue massaging your head, then stands back up. You switch places with her, only now, she casually strips her bottoms off and sits on the wooden bench. Her toned thighs spread apart slowly while you stand back to take her all in. 

After all these years, there she is; imagine telling high school Hosang what’s happening right now. Forget moaning her name while I jerk off… She’s right there. 

Beads of sweat roll down your face and body. Minjeong, too; she’s covered in dewdrops of her own. Somehow you think they must look better on her than they do on you. A deep breath, and you step towards her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly under your hands when you give her pert breasts some more attention. You’re on your knees, now, watching her face contort and listening to her voice catch in her throat. If she never wore a bra again, you’d surely be happy. Kisses planted down her body, from her sternum down her stomach, halting at her hipline. You take a moment to stroke her thighs softly with your fingertips, and they shudder. More kisses for her legs, from her ankles up her calves to her inner thighs. Her sweat is salty and sweet. How will the rest of her taste? You look at her again.

"What do you like?" you ask. 

"I… I don't know."

"When you touch yourself, how do you do it?"

"That's embarrassing…"

"When you're using your hands, imagining they're mine, what do you do?"

"..." 

"Show me, so I can do it for you." Minjeong’s eyes are half-lidded, lust-laden. When you look down at her perfect, trimmed pussy, it’s dripping; your words got to her. She takes hold of your right wrist and places your hand on her stomach, thumb on her clit. 

“Slowly,” she whispers. You oblige, and slowly make circles on her clit, spreading her wetness over the sensitive nub. Her next move brings your left hand to her mouth. She sucks on your two middle fingers, taking them deeply into her mouth. Wet enough now, she moves your hand, palm up, near her pussy, and nods. “Inside.” The walls of her pussy are so hot, so scorching hot, inch after inch engulfing your fingers. One curl of your fingers and she’s cursing, moaning, bucking her hips. Poor girl must be starving. 

“Is that good for you, Minjeong?” you say. Your voice seems like it’s dropped an octave and slowed down about half a measure. It doesn’t matter; she can’t answer you, anyway. She’s busy stuttering out your name. Temptation gets the best of you and you move your thumb away. Minjeong whines, but it’s soon replaced by a near scream when your thumb is replaced by your tongue. As expected, she tastes incredible, some remnants of salt water from the pool, but overwhelmingly sweet underneath. She clenches around your fingers a bit.

“F- Oh my fucking-” Minjeong stutters. Her eyes roll back in her head. Her delicate fingers grip your hair, not so delicately. Rapid, shuddering breaths cause her toned stomach to rise and fall quickly, her arms and legs jerk, and the salty and sweet flavor floods your tongue. Unlatched from your hair, Minjeong’s hands grab your face and yank you up towards her face; as you stand, the tip of your cock grazes over her clit. 

“Whoops,” she whispers. Her lips are warm and smooth when they lock onto yours. And you feel her hand creep down your abdomen. Your attempt to break the kiss is foiled with Minjeong’s arm around the back of your head, and her other hand moves up and down your shaft. She’s devious, smiling into the kiss as you fill her mouth with moans, tightly gripping your cock and twisting her hand with her up and down motions. 

Kim Minjeong from high school is jerking me off. Kim Winter from Aespa is jerking me off. 

It’s a mindfuck. She kneads the back of your neck and sucks on your tongue. You can’t fuck her in a public sauna… Can you? 

“Minjeong…” you whisper against her cheek. She looks at you innocently. Like someone who isn’t driving you crazy. 

“What?” she giggles. 

“How about we go to your room? Could be bad if, you know, someone sees us,” you mumble. 

“How about once here, and a few more times there?” she says with a wink. “It’s late, baby… No one will come up.” 

‘Baby.’ 

Minjeong guides you towards her pussy with the hand that had never left your cock. Her legs rest on your shoulders, and you grip her pillowy soft thighs to brace yourself for impact, for entry. Her heat begins to swallow your length, quite easily due to how wet and aroused she is, and she makes the hottest noise she’s made the whole night. And now you’re hilted in Kim Minjeong in a hotel sauna with an unlocked door. Her nails scratch at your chest and shoulders frantically. 

“God, so full…” she moans. 

“You want me to fuck you now?” you put the sultry voice back on. She nods. “When you’re using your toys, imagining they’re me…” 

“Please, Hosang, just fuck me,” she pleads. “However you want. However you need.” It’s all you need to hear, certainly. You pull out nearly all the way, and watch your cock disappear inside of her with a grunt. Your thumbs nearly touch as you wrap your hands around her small waist to pull her down around your shaft with every thrust. All inhibitions are gone, any restraints have been lifted; you’re slamming into her hard, and the both of you moan loudly enough for the reception desk to hear. Minjeong’s tight abs contract and relax under your hands, you look at her face to see her drooling with her eyes rolled back. Like, actually, really drooling. 

“Fuck, babe… You’re really enjoying this, huh?” you say gruffly. You swipe your thumb over her chin and she leans down to suck on it instead. Lustful eyes meet your gaze and your thumb pops out of her lips. 

“I’ve been waiting so long,” she says. A quick sigh to punctuate her sentence. “So many years…” 

“Well-” you try to speak, but she clenches herself around you. “Fuck. I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have-”

“Pull out baby,” she sighs. “I want to swallow you.” 

Regretfully, you withdraw from Minjeong’s tight hole, but the steam keeps your cock rather warm while she kneels down. After a lick from the base to the tip, she takes you all the way into her throat. She takes your hands and places them on her head, looking up at you sinfully. With fistfuls of her dark hair, you pull back, and thrust in again. She gags and coughs, but she never gives up, and soon, you’re shooting rope after rope, nearly convulsing in pleasure. She strokes you into her open mouth, wringing every drop out of your spent cock. When she’s satisfied, she swallows and stands up to kiss your neck and chest. 

“How about… How about we go to the room?” she says. 

“You want me to stay with you tonight?” you ask. She laughs a bit. Her laugh is fluttering and adorable, a sharp contrast with the noises she was making moments earlier.

“Of course.” 

-

After getting dressed and gathering Minjeong’s things, you head upstairs. In the elevator, you stand behind her; she grinds back onto your groin and brings your hands to her chest. Floors fly by and the number on the small screen goes up as you massage her chest and her delicate moans get you painfully hard once again. She rushes in front of you to the room, giving you another view of those creamy, toned legs, and you do your best to catch up. Once inside, she sits on the bed in front of you and waits. Her hands travel slowly from her hips to her knees, and even slower she parts them with her hands to reveal the glistening skin peeking out from her bikini. Her breath hitches when you step forward and gaze down at her. 

“I showed you what to do last time,” Minjeong whispers. “I want to see what you’ll do on your own.” 

“No pressure, right?” you joke, and she smiles. Her thighs are soft and malleable in your hands, and her neck softer under your lips. You untie the bikini top and cast it to the side, then kiss further and further down her neck. Kisses travel down her neck, over her collarbones, down to her sternum. There’s still salt from the pool on her skin, and you lick towards her nipple before giving it a bite. Minjeong jumps slightly and closes her fists in your hair. Your mouth works on one nipple and your hand kneads the other breast, perfectly sized for your hand. After switching sides once or twice, you kiss her stomach. Her hands move to your shoulders as you kneel on the floor in front of her.

Minjeong’s legs are wide open. You slide your fingers into the waistband of the swimsuit and slowly drag the bottoms down. More kisses travel from her knees across her inner thighs and up to her hip bones. She’s still dripping for you and you drag your tongue upwards over her pussy slowly to savor her. You spit on your fingers and slip them inside of her easily. 

“Ohhh my God-” she whispers and bucks her hips. “Go faster…” 

“Mm, so impatient, Minjeong,” you reply. Your tongue returns to her clit and makes smooth circles. She tenses around your fingers when you curl them back towards you, her moans growing louder, grip on your hair growing stronger. Taking her by surprise, you withdraw your fingers and stand up. While her hands work automatically on pulling your swim trunks down, you take a moment to just gaze at her. Her ruffled, semi-wet hair, strands sticking to her forehead and swaying wildly as she kisses up your thighs. Her flushed, glistening skin, cheeks inflating and deflating with the waves of pleasure coursing up your torso as your length disappears into her mouth again. Her pretty shoulders and arms. Her nose buried in your stomach.

Fuck. 

“You’re really good at that,” you moan. With a yelp Minjeong is scooped up into your arms and tossed, more or less, onto the pristine hotel bed. She pats the bed beside her, and you get the message. You lie back and let her mount you. She guides your tip to her entrance, and once in line, she slams her hips down aggressively. You’re content to let her ride. Her body moves in mesmerizing ways as she grinds on you, seeking the best angle for your cock to rub against all the right places. Just as soon as you begin thrusting into her, your phone starts ringing. 

“Dammit, sorry, Minjeong,” you curse and remove the girl from your lap. Fucking spam call? Really? With the phone silenced, you turn around to see her lying back on the pillows. 

Like an animal, you crawl towards her; you feel like one at least, with the way your cock is throbbing. She pulls her legs up for you, and you guide your tip towards her dripping center. The warm feeling envelops you again and you sigh, eyes closed. Your hands find her waist and keep her torso still while you begin to drive into her. You almost can’t even hear her whines anymore, her voice punctuated by each thrust, curses and iterations of your name following every other sound.

“-nside me,” Minjeong’s voice fades in as your stupor breaks a bit. You lean forward and make a confused expression. “Cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me…” 

And something about the way she says it just obliterates any second thoughts you may or may not have had. Her high, airy voice, begging for such an impure action, intensifies the warm, wet pleasure surrounding your cock. It only gets warmer and wetter as your cum dumps into Minjeong, deeper and deeper inside of her, coating your shaft, dribbling out onto the sheets. Your thrusts slow down, but your dick stays inside; you’re tired. You wrap your arms around her waist, and lie down gently on top of her with your face in her neck. She administers gentle scratches to your scalp. 

“You came so much, Hosang,” she whispers. Her legs settle around your back. 

“Drained all my energy,” you laugh weakly. 

“You’re heavy. Can we switch?” she says. So you do; you roll onto your back. Your cock slips out in the meantime, and you both laugh about it. She fits in your arms like she was made for them.

For a long while you lie there. The cold air condition and the crisp sheets are a welcome contrast to your steaming hot skin and the panting, sweating furnace lying on top of you. Minjeong painstakingly brings her hand to your cheek and kisses the other with soft lips. A slow blink. A thought in your mind. 

Is this what it feels like?

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. She knows. 

“How do you feel about me?” you reply. Her expression is mixed.

“How do I feel… I feel like there’s a reason we ended up on this trip together,” she answers. Her body rises as you take a deep breath. “I mean I feel like something brought us together.” 

“What do you want to do about it?” you ask. 

“I want to find out why. There must be a reason this happened, you know?” she says. A small yawn. “Like… There must be something waiting at the end of a journey we can take together to find out. Or something.” 

Together? A journey? 

“Think it might be time for you to go to sleep,” you whisper. Her baby hairs stick to your face when you kiss her temple. The sheets are smooth and cool when you pull them up over Minjeong’s body and yours. She falls asleep quickly. You don’t. You’re thinking about IFR plans and what to say to her in the morning. Your fingers trace along the smooth skin of her hips and lower back for a while. The softness is comforting. And you fall asleep. 

Is this part gonna go in the blog post? 

[lotties-ashwagandha]

BEING STUCK IN A SNOWSTORM WITH THE YELLOWJACKETS (headcanons)

bc currently my town is being decimated by a winter storm and it gave me inspiration . also we aren’t talking about how half of yellowjackets is set in the snow it’s when they’re teens smh this is adult timeline

SHAUNA

gets grumpy bc one of you is going to have to shovel the driveway and it’ll probably end up being her

apart from that she loves the snow

she’ll take a bunch of pictures of it to post on facebook in an unhinged uncaptioned photo dump

she’ll make the two of you an unhealthy amount of coffee or hot chocolate or tea whatever you’re feeling , you’ll develop an addiction to it with the amount she’s giving you . but “you have to stay warm” in her opinion , and also it makes her feel all aesthetic pinterest girl

she’s one of those people that has a collection of heavy knitted blankets that are worth like $500 each and she puts them to use ‼️‼️‼️ you’ll be BURIED in comfort she will make sure of that . no one gets cold in this house

also when it starts to really hardcore snow she’ll just go outside and stand there and watch. you know that tiktok of the woman making fun of american southerners who get a tornado warning and go stand out to see the tornado? that’s shauna with the blizzard

LOTTIE

you have to literally beg her not to go fucking “give the wilderness blood” bc girl sees one snowflake and is like omg il veut du sang

that being said lottie matthews is at heart a rich girl with 10,000 pinterest followers and when it snows , sunshine honey wellness center becomes a place of AESTHETICS

im talking the two of you will be laying in bed with heavy blankets and a record will be playing and lottie will have 3 or 4 candles lit

the two of you reading classic novels in bed <3

she sees heavy winters as very spiritual. a time to recharge and reset and be calm. she’ll coerce you into doing a couple of guided meditations with her that are themed on spiritual guidance and recharge

when you lose power tho she has a complete meltdown. not that she uses electronics much but when she realizes the stove doesn’t work and that the blender for her smoothies won’t work things go downhill so fast. you have to hook up the generator just so she can make a smoothie for her anxiety that came because she couldn’t make smoothies. girl is a mess

TAISSA

you’ll be taking care of her all week because she gets sick every winter without fail

doesn’t matter if she got a flu shot, covid shot, you name it . first snowflake comes down and she’s off to the doctor

but it gives you an excuse to sort of hold her hostage at home and cuddle with her and watch movies you’ve been meaning to watch together but haven’t since she’s been busy with the campaign

she actually gets kind of excited in the snow storm if the power goes out because it feels like camping. she will get frustrated with no TV tho , but if sammy’s there with the two of you she’ll go all non deadbeat dad for once and the two of you will make a blanket fort with him and all the other shit kids like to do

will try to order you guys a pizza and then get confused when the pizza place doesn’t answer. you have to remind her there’s no power before she goes on a tangent about stores having weird hours and how everyone’s so lazy

VAN

will NOT go out to shovel snow. you’re going to be doing that thanks she’ll be re sorting her movie collection to find some good blizzard themed movies for the two of you to watch

she’ll also go all autistic about the history of snowstorms and you’ll come back in from shoveling and get a lecture about some random snowstorm in some country you’ve never heard of from fucking 500 BC.

her house has a shitty heating system so you spend most of the time under blankets together but that’s not such a bad thing <3

she makes you watch her favorite winter movies, and if the power goes out and you can’t then the two of you will spend the night playing drinking games or playing cards or something like that

she won’t outright tell you to wear her jackets but she loves when you get cold and grab one of her sweatshirts/jackets to wear. she also does that 2000s movie boyfriend thing where you get cold and she’s like oh here take my jacket and while it’s so cliche it’s cute when she does it

NATALIE

tbh girl probably learned abt the snow storm bc she woke up covered in snow somewhere and was like oh it’s snowing huh

but anyway

she’d probably spend the duration of the snowstorm at your place because can you imagine staying out a blizzard in a motel??? no thanks

she’ll raid your booze and you’ll get drunk together by the fire. she might have some weed on her too if you’re lucky

you’ll listen to music together, she has better taste but she will still listen to your music, you take turns playing each other different songs you think remind you of each other

she WILL throw balls of ice at any kids that walk by. you will be having a lot of angry parents at your door the next day.

MISTY

is lowkey a prepper so she doesn’t care that much if there’s a snow storm. if the power goes out she can think of 50 different ways to get it back on

she loves to watch it snow out the window and show caligula

she’s definitely the one you want to spend a blizzard with

she absolutely will not let you leave the house until you’re wearing 20 layers of clothes

she’ll try to write poetry about the snow storm but it just sounds like a daunting ancient prophecy. when she shows you tho you obviously say it’s amazing and you love it because she worked so hard on it

[ltbarnes]

‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

[coffins-and-marbles]

House MD Gift Exchange!!!

this is my gift for @househrt from @housemdanniversary 's gift exchange for the 20th anniversary, happy twenty years everybody!!!

THE UNSUBTLE ART OF CHANGING WHO YOU ARE : (Hilson, 5 times Wilson was shamed for stimming and one time House showed him that it was okay.)

ONE:

James Wilson is four years old when he learns that there’s something wrong with him.

Neither of them has words for it yet but Wilson is sitting across from a boy whose name will end up blending in with the mass of others who have noticed that something isn’t quite right, only he doesn’t know this yet so as he builds his block tower or sorts his shapes and does whatever it is that four-year-olds enjoy, he doesn’t think about much else.

This turns out to be his fatal flaw.

Because the other boy, maybe a Jack, looks up from his end of the table and says,

“You’re doing this,” and he sways his body back and forth.

It isn’t outright malicious, not in the way people will be as he grows older, at least, but something like shame creeps up his throat and swallows any response he might have tried to give.

Wilson only stacks another three blocks in the next hour because all he can think about is maybe-Jack rocking himself back and forth.

Had he really been doing that?

In his mind he’d been sitting stock still like everybody else and to find that all this time he had been moving so unnaturally…

He finds out that embarrassment feels hot all over and he suddenly envies the toy bear that he saw somebody else stuff underneath the bean bags earlier (it was hidden, safe).

The other kids didn’t see him sway, he knows this because everybody else was spelling their names with plastic letters or playing outside in the treehouse, but they still notice something; something other, that they all understand is bad which is why they call him names and walk away whenever he wants to play, but he isn’t sure what it is yet that’s making them go away so he can’t even try and fix it.

Instead, he imagines the array of animals painted along one of the long, long classroom walls coming to life, and when they climb out in pairs from the thick, brick walls, they don’t like the other kids, but they do like him, so really, he has hundreds of friends and he’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Later he’ll wonder where the adults had been all this time, and why nobody ever seemed to notice him walking up and down the length of that wall what must have been a hundred times a day, running his hands along the paint, memorising every single bump and dent, imagining running alongside his friends, or if they did notice then why hadn’t they spoken to him? Or asked whether or not he was okay?

Sometimes he made the animals talk to one another, in his head where nobody could’ve imagined that such a rich and colourful world was developing.

As he travelled back and forth, totally immersed in his wonderful little world, Wilson would flap his free hand up and down and up and down in time to whatever weird and wonderful story he’d been thinking up that day.

He wasn’t aware of this either. It was second nature, only normal. Just another way that his body moved, and he’d never been asked to stop before, he was still a little kid after all. Except, that boy had scared him, and now he was a little too aware.

Should he stop?

He tried, briefly, to get his limbs under control.

It was possible…

Wilson would practice sitting very still, with his hands by his sides and his legs crossed so it was less tempting to bounce them up and down. This was a start, only the tip of the iceberg in fact (he hadn’t started learning to smile properly in the mirror yet).

But it wasn’t fun. It was uncomfortable, like not being able to scratch an itch or having to hold your breath underwater. The easier thing to do was pretend that he didn’t want to play with anybody at all and walk along his wall instead.

There’d only been one other time he could remember trying to play with the other kids.

What was probably the same year, he had walked confidently up to a group of boys messing around by the quiet corner, they were playing knights and Wilson really liked knights, because they were always helping people and everybody loved them for it. He wanted to be needed like that too.

A blonde boy sat on a throne three beanbags tall, from here he knighted the other boys with his plastic sword from the dress up box; it was him that Wilson walked up to with his courage balled up tightly in the same fist that clung to a plush tiger he’d found in the toy bin (they weren’t allowed to bring teddies in from home anymore, they were too old now).

“What knight am I?”

All around him the other knights giggled as if he’d told a joke and only they had understood the punchline, but Wilson hadn’t been joking and he felt a sticky, unpleasant warmth rising up through his body from the very tips of his toes all the way up to the hairs on his head.

This didn’t stop him from waiting eagerly for his new name, bouncing excitedly on the tips of his toes -another mistake, as he would later learn.

He was surrounded by knights with names that practically cried out for those around them to ask after what were undoubtedly many stories of valiance, and he wanted to feel powerful like they did.

Strong Sam stood up to whisper something in the Kings ear as Wilsons stomach shifted and squirmed uncomfortably beneath the surface of his skin.

“You can be a knight, James.” Said the King, smirking, which Wilson took for a smile (he’d even smiled back, stupid).

Strong Sam had sat back down with the others now and although they clamoured to find out what he’d told the King, Sam would only giggle in response. They’d all find out soon enough.

The King had now lifted his sword and Wilson eagerly got down on one knee as he’d seen the other boys do from across the classroom,

“You can be the knight…” He tapped the sword on one shoulder, and then the other,

“Jerk James!”

Suddenly all of the boys erupted in fits of laughter, rolling around and clutching their sides but Wilson was hardly hearing them at all. If he had been asked to describe it, he might have said it felt a little bit like the floor had given out underneath him, and that the awful ‘hot-all-over’ feeling from before was back along with the churning in his stomach.

“You’d be a Jerk knight because you’re just a jerk!”

He somehow makes it back up but Wilson really, really, really doesn’t want to be in school anymore and he goes slowly back to his wall, cheeks still flushed pink with shame.

Pretending that the other boys aren’t still laughing and shouting behind him, he places his left hand against a zebra’s stripes and resumes the march up and down and up and down.

TWO:

This time Wilson’s just turned thirteen.

They’re all in the kitchen, eating breakfast before school and Wilson’s got the latest DC comic in his hands, mirroring his father from across the table where he fences himself off from his family using the morning paper.

It’s been a long time since he’s learnt that he doesn’t have what everybody else knows it takes to be a human. He’s decided to learn instead.

He spends far too much time poring over sociology textbooks and learning about the human body, he tells his parents it’s because he wants to become a Doctor since that sounds better than admitting that their son is really just broken and trying desperately to fix himself.

“Stop doing that.”

That was his father, predictably.

Some people would call him a Mummy’s Boy, but Wilson preferred to think she just understood him better, maybe she’d been a little bit broken too? He was always too scared to ask.

“What?” He instantly replied, strike one. That was too blunt. Rude (Wilson got called that a lot).

He focuses on making the correct amount of eye contact as he looks up, not enough and people would turn around wondering what was interesting about the wall they were stood against, too much and they looked at you funny, or asked if everything was quite alright -it never felt like it was.

“Acting like there’s something wrong with you. It’s like you’re ret-”

“I always thought it was creative,” His mum chimes in, smiling and glaring at his father, warning him not to cuss, Danny was in the room after all.

“It’s not fu-…” He let a breath out through his teeth, already reaching for a smoke, “Just stop it. Don’t need people saying anything, okay?”

He’s gone before Wilson can even reply, digging around in his pocket for a lighter as he walks out the door.

“What?”

His mum won’t get angry if he’s blunt.

“Oh, you know…” She flattens down a crease in her skirt, looking anywhere but at him as if it’s too humiliating to say out loud.

But his blank stare inclines her to try again, “That thing you do…You know, I personally never had any trouble with it. You know your grandma said it meant you were going to be creative! It’s…It’s just your father, he wants us to look good, don’t you?”

Only that’s only made him more confused, what was that ‘thing he always did’?

Luckily his mother rambled on, skirting very neatly around the point as she tended to do, “I guess it’s just because you’re older now and you know it’s just because he cares.”

It’s always his fault. His father’s blameless.

It’s easier to just nod this time, you weren’t allowed to ask for clarification more than twice because if you still didn’t understand by then it meant that you were stupid, his teacher from last year had taught him this when he failed to agree that he had understood the topic, and since he’d apparently given him attitude alongside his ineptitude, Wilson had been made to hold his arms upright in the air for ten minutes.

This didn’t seem like much, but until you’ve had to hold your hands in the air for ten minutes, then it never will.

There were dozens of lessons just like this one to learn as you grew, and Wilson could never seem learn them fast enough, always falling behind in one way or another.

At least not having friends left him time to catchup (he’d had a few ‘friends’ in looser terms, but eventually it became embarrassing to be seen with him, and then even they slowly stepped away, everybody wanted to be like after all).

People still saw that he wasn’t quite complete not matter what he did.

For now, he had gone back to reading his comic, which he thought was brilliant. The superheroes amazed him, always saving somebody. This always undoubtedly led to many thanks from everybody else in the city, maybe even kisses from the girls who were particularly thankful.

Jealously followed shame closely in terms of emotions that seemed inherent to his existence. Only envy felt easier to fix, remember, he could become a Doctor. They saved people too.

Everything was fine.

“You’re doing it again.” Danny this time.

“No.” But he was only saying that to disagree with his brother, because he still hadn’t the faintest clue where he’d gone wrong in the first place.

“James just stop it alright; your father has a big meeting at work today and you don’t need to upset him anymore.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insists, naturally. He really isn’t.

“You are too!” Danny reaches over to snatch the comic, “You’re reading it all weird like this.”

To Wilsons horror his brother begins to crease the pages between his fingers and move the book left and right, then up and down. He even lightly flaps the paper away from and towards himself again.

Wilson grabs it back, practically slamming it back down on the table, his cheeks turning shades of splotchy red as he glares down at his breakfast.

“Boys! Behave yourselves!” She warns, but she’s already clearing their plates away with her next breath, so she doesn’t notice Danny shaking his spoon and making his eyes roll round in a cruel imitation of James and his alleged weirdness.

“Stop that.”

“Don’t wind your brother up, go brush your teeth. Both of you.”

Where Danny sprints off, Wilson stands up slowly, staring at his arms in case they get away from him again and walks carefully upstairs, clutching his comic book firmly in his fist.

There has to be something very wrong with him if he can’t hide these ugly, broken parts of himself even now he’s older.

He should have learnt by now, only he hasn’t because he’s stupid and he never learns so he can’t get anything right.

He reckons that dad was right in trying to stop him. Nobody wants an embarrassment like him in the family.

Eventually he’s upstairs and as he scrubs his teeth, wincing around the violently minty flavour exploding throughout his mouth, Wilson tries to imagine what will happen at breakfast tomorrow in his head.

Obviously, a repeat of the comic book situation is off the table, the shame creeping up along his neck clings to him often enough at school, he doesn’t need it following him home as well.

No, tomorrow he will place his comic down flat on the table, one he’s read before so he can focus on where his arms and legs are instead, and he’ll be able to ignore the kettle boiling or their neighbours dog barking because if it doesn’t bother anybody else then it isn’t allowed upset him either.

Then, as his father reads the morning paper and his mother frets over how presentable his brother looks, he will sit still and eat his breakfast like a normal kid. Maybe it’ll get easier, maybe one day he can stop pretending.

THREE:

The cafeteria at his university made Wilson want to throw up from the first moment he set foot inside.

Fluorescent lights glared down, cutlery crashed against table-tops, chairs scraped the faux-wood floor as people stood and everything in the room seemed to be singing a song to a different tune.

The endless clatter and chatter were overlayed with the vile stench of people’s food mingling in the air and this unfortunately forced something uniquely disgusting up into Wilson’s nostrils.

For all of the rules he had learnt and written into the scripts he relied on to function as a real person, (which he was getting better at, he had a boyfriend now, not that his parents would ever know) there was still one thing he still always chose to avoid rather than overcome.

Rooms like this one.

This included coffee shops, restaurants, house parties, parties in general, particularly crowded lecture halls and anywhere else where the lights were too bright, or the sounds overlapped so badly that he could hardly make out what anybody was saying.

Unfortunately, a lot of places met this criterion, and since his attempt to be something other than a widely disliked social recluse -and more broadly to become a new man- he had accepted many invites to places he knew would make his teeth itch.

Almost worse, it had worked.

So what if he broke down every other night alone in his room? Being liked was more important, he had been taught this in a hundred and one way over the years, and some were a lot less pleasant than others.

On this particular weekday, during the precious gap between lectures, his boyfriend (whom everybody loved) had taken them both (along with three of his other friends) into the main cafeteria.

The cafeteria was a largely alien place to Wilson who wouldn’t have gone in there voluntarily if a million pounds was up for grabs (okay maybe only then); for all his practiced nonchalance meant that he had managed to sit down with the others and participate in their conversation somewhat normally, it had been fifteen minutes now and little things were slipping between the cracks.

Whilst he still hadn’t flapped another book (comic or not), nor had he rocked back and forth or fallen for a smirk as easily as he had in his younger and more vulnerable years, something inherent to his being continued to push people away.

Despite many hours practicing a perfect smile (not too many teeth, relaxed, or as close as he could get to relaxed anyways, had become his formula) today it had slipped, and he’d stared blankly back at a friend whose name he’d forgotten a month ago now but was too scared of to speak to, let alone ask.

That had been his first mistake.

It was relatively minor, excusable and swept quickly and efficiently under the rug using a joke to bring attention to him in a new self-deprecating way that hopefully overrode the previous moment in everybody’s memories.

Unfortunately, the second stumble ended in far worse a fall.

Years spent mastering stillness had led Wilson to feel in full control of himself, and usually he was.

But the assault of sounds, lights and noises pressing on him had been pulling him deeper into his subconscious, where it was safer in a way.

“Need to piss or something?” Asks Ethan, typically blunt but it’s funny, because it’s Ethan.

Only clearly Wilsons blank look (strike, always pretend that you understood) doesn’t satisfy his need of for response.

“You’re squirmin’ all over the place babe,” He adds, giving everybody else in the group a look that makes them laugh and Wilson feels four years old again.

What had it been this time? Bouncing his legs, tapping his fingers, flapping his hands? Perhaps swaying or rocking or nodding his head?

“Haha yeah, totally desperate!” He blurted, trying to ward of the fiery shame that was already threatening to paint his face pink and red.

Wrong answer.

You’re out.

Everybody stares back and he recognises the look to be distaste, disgust, disapproval.

He’s seen it on enough people to be familiar with it by now but that doesn’t make it hurt any less and he’s embarrassed all over again, feeling more and more like he might throw up his lunch by the minute because this time the stakes are higher.

An angry blush is coating his face before he’s even able to try and stop it (sometimes if he pinches himself hard enough, it’s almost possible).

Impressing a few boys before any of them had even learnt to count to twenty seemed so inconsequential now that he wanted to laugh at himself for caring so much at the time. Back then he hadn’t needed friends in the way he understood you did now.

That had been his last shot, if Ethan didn’t like him nobody else in his classes would, that boy was essentially in charge of the hierarchy he’d hoped so badly would be left behind following high school.

 Wilson had always hated that made up social food chain, mainly because he’d always been stuck helplessly at the very bottom.

He’d finally climbed up a few steps, practically fighting his way to the top, and now he was tumbling back down, ashamed of himself and jealous of everybody that this came easily to, as per usual.

They were still staring, and he understood this to mean he should leave now, so Wilson mumbled something about actually going to take a leak and walked stiffly away, keenly aware of their eyes burning into his back.

He walked funny.

Ethan had told him, because he always looked out for him like that.

As he walks or waddles or does whatever it is he’s doing wrong this time, laughter echoes in his ears and distantly he realises that one of them is imitating him, much to the joy of his other ‘friends’. He pretends that it isn’t Ethan.

Everything’s fine.

His fingers tap rhythmically against his trouser leg, and he tries to stop himself but his ears ache on the inside and he’s so, so tired that he suddenly finds he can hardly hold himself upright and he wishes he was hidden safely under his clean, white, hotel-room duvet that muffles the entirety of the outside world when he’s underneath it.

The moment he turns the corner he breaks into a sprint and Wilson runs so hard his calves ache by the time he’s back in his bedroom, where he sits against the door so it feels even more like nobody else can come in -with the blinds shut although it’s only midday- and cries silently until the knot stopping air from getting to his lungs loosens enough for him to get into bed and enjoy sleep until he has to deal with yet another day.

FOUR:

He’s back from work on time today, really, really trying to made Julie happy.

Nothing he does ever seems to make her happy anymore, and because things like this are always his fault, he assumes that whatever’s making her distant this time is on him too. Luckily, this means that he can fix it.

Wilson likes to think he’s gotten a lot better at acting like a person over the years.

He has a well-paying job, helping people and being needed just like he always wanted.

Maybe he still isn’t doing brilliantly on the ‘friend’s’ front, in terms of what’s expected for a man of his age anyway, but at least he has House, which will always be enough for him.

Julie is his first wife and every day he marvels at how such an amazing woman could choose a man like him (somebody so broken).

He’d never felt that flirting was his strong suit but somebody in a bar pointed it out to him once that knowing how-to could get a guy long way, and Wilson instantly became obsessed with learning everything about it.

That was a big part of upping his social game enough to start getting anything other than judgemental looks at job interviews – apart from avoiding shame, wanting to earn a living wage was a big incentive when it came to picking up social skills.

Unfortunately, sometimes he still isn’t able to give people what they want; over the past few months Julie has slowly become one of them. Insatiable. Unsatisfied. Disappointed.

This means that they argue now. A lot.

“Honey, I’m home!” He shouts but his voice only echoes back at him, she’s busy (again).

That’s okay, he deserves to be ignored a bit, put in his place.

His father was always keen to remind him and without that not so gentle chiding, Wilson might still be creasing his comics or bringing shame upon himself in a dozen other ways.

Everything’s fine.

He sets about cooking dinner pretty much as soon as his shoes are off, feeling more useful already and smiling to himself as he imagines Julie thanking him and falling instantaneously back in love at nothing more than the sight of this beautiful homecooked meal.

It’s something new, a recipe that he saw on a flyer somewhere and instantly imagined sharing with somebody -he decided that Julie was the correct choice, as his wife, although House probably would have liked it more, but that’s a bad thought, something he ought to be punished for later.

As he putters about their kitchen, the one place in their apartment where he feels truly relaxed, Wilson likes to flap whatever he grabs next, shaking potatoes up and down or making a teaspoon sway.

This little habit grew out of the world’s insistence that he stop flapping his hands.

After he’d been reprimanded and humiliated one too many times Wilson had thrown himself headfirst into reshaping himself.

Everything about him had to be different. The way he worked, moved, walked, lived and breathed.

None of it was good enough and after torturing himself into stillness at last, his unfaithful, wretched body only found other ways to move without his knowing. This started with flapping objects, as if it was less obvious or safer in some way.

Now he had to be careful of that too, minding anything he picked up very, very closely (God forbid he shook a tool mid-surgery or made a fool of himself in the office by flapping some paperwork during a shift).

However, for all his care and concern, sometimes it slipped out, catching him unawares every time he got a little bit too comfortable in his own skin.

Wilson had just grabbed a knife to dice up a few potatoes, feeling himself unwind after a long day, and without even realising it he was holding the handle looser than he normally would, flapping the end lightly up and down as he turned back to the counter with the cutting board on.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Wha-”

“Are you trying to fucking kill us both?”

His mouth felt dry and although Wilson scrambled to find something to say the words felt thick and heavy on his tongue, too sharp and awkward to pull up out of his throat.

It immediately clicked that he’d been moving wrong, acting badly.

His eyes narrowed down to the knife in his hand.

Oh god how close had Julie been…

“Sorr-”

“I’ve had a really long day, James, and I thought you were cooking dinner, not playing fucking Patrick Bateman in my kitchen! But no-o here you are waving a fucking knife around like you’re five fucking years old!”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Oh I’m sure you’re chock-full of pretty little excuses, but I think it’s House, rubbing off his-…His fucking craziness on you! Yeah, like a gas leak or a groomer or something…God…Look I’m gonna eat out yeah?” She’s already halfway to the door, did she have her shoes on this whole time?

“Bye.”

With that unceremonious goodbye Julie’s officially gone for the night, it won’t be long until he finds out where, and that will somehow hurt less.

She hadn’t even been close enough to-

And Wilson never would’ve-

But that’s not the point.

The point is he’s still broken after so many years of trying to cover it up and he’s hardly any better at pretending to be normal. Look where that got him.

He’s exhausting Julie, in the same way he upset his mother and father, or before that, it was whatever he had done to the other kids at school that made them so loathe to go near him.

Wilson feels tears prick at his eyes and his hands immediately begin to flap in short, stilted bursts, but this merely adds to the anger burning in his chest, threatening to make his heart explode, and instead he forces himself to grip the counter’s edge until his knuckles turn white and he sees spots start to dance in his vision.

Afterwards, he pretends to himself that he is normal.

He finishes dinner, eats a tiny bit (his stomach is now churning with guilt, and shame has almost wholly swallowed his appetite) and puts the rest in Tupperware boxes for the freezer.

It all feels like something out of a movie about a lonely bachelor, when really, he feels more like a single loser who can’t get anything right for shit.

FIVE:

It’s been well over thirty years since his first taste of shame at four years old and Wilson still carries its bitter aftertaste in his mouth wherever he goes, the nauseating envy following not far behind.

If he’s learnt anything in that time, it’s that nobody ever wants him as he is, and that tampering himself down is safer.

This rule is followed most ardently when he’s at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

Why?

Because it’s a professional setting, a place of work, and it’s taken years for him to decipher the intricate, but by society valued, differences between what’s expected of him at his family home versus with his wife versus in a place of work but he’s finally bleeding done it and now he clings to his rules like a lifeline (in a way that’s what they are).

So he moment he sets foot in that building Wilson puts on his best ‘I’m-a-real-boy’ impression, gritting his teeth against the urge to rock, flap or spin, and pushing everything about him that’s ever been judged or shamed as far down as it can possibly go.

This keeps him safe, makes people respect him and if he tries extra hard, they even grow to like or admire him (especially if he speaks to a nurse in just the right way, because knowing how to flirt really can get a guy a long way).

Hence why it’s even more distressing when the mask slips.

Today Wilson woke up late and essentially rolled right out of bed and into his car which is simply something that he does not do, so things are already off to a bad start -and he will later try to blame his unprofessionalism on this.

It doesn’t help that he’s rushing around for the entire first half of his shift, because it means that in addition to his idiotic blunder there’s now rather unflattering sweat patches accompanying his already fairly unkempt self (hopefully his lab coat camouflages them well enough).

He’s just handing some files over the counter for a frankly gorgeous young nurse to put away when he slips up.

“You alright there?” She asks him, half-teasingly.

“Huh?”

“Oh nothin’…You’re just kinda movin’ weird, ya know like ya might fall over or somethin’…”

His cheeks are almost certainly tinted red by the time he manages to throw together a response, which in that moment feels a little bit like trying to stick together hardened clay with nothing but your strength of will.

“Oh...”

Pathetic.

She sort of looks at him funny for a moment longer, as if she wants to ask whether he might be slightly soft, but quickly cuts the interaction short (normally she likes to stand against the counter at least an extra five minutes for a friendly flirt).

“I’ll just put these away now.” And she turns around a full hundred and eighty degrees to emphasise quite how much she doesn’t want to speak to him anymore.

Under any other circumstance, Wilson might have been the tiniest bit pleased that he had recognised what her body language was trying to tell him so quickly, but this time shame outweighed any smugness he might have otherwise felt.

He’d probably been bopping his head or swaying his body back and forth, perhaps rocking lightly on his heels. None of those options seemed more appealing than another.

“See you around…” He mumbled, although it was half-hearted, and he knew she wasn’t listening anyway.

It just felt more finished that way. You always had to say goodbye to people, not doing so was rude, his father had told him (he would never admit that it angered him slightly that what the old man had said to his teenage self still had so much power over him, it felt embarrassing in a whole new way to do so).

Wilson walked away with practiced ease; hands crammed deep into his pockets to hide that the fact that he was shaking, however slightly.

He spent the next twenty minutes washing his face with cold water and waiting until it felt like he’d scrubbed away at least the tiniest fragment of shame. Then he went back to work.

It had been such a small mistake, after all, people bounced their legs or clicked their pens all the time, this was just the way that Wilson moved.

Unnatural. Alien. Weird.

Words he had become so accustomed to associating with himself that it was second nature, they hardly had another meaning anymore. This is why he knew that she’d had a right to look at him that way. People have been doing it his whole life.

But it’s always worse when he fucks up somewhere that matters. It also seems that every time something does go wrong, he manages to do it somewhere that the stakes are high.

Another flaw in his nature, he supposes.

“Everything okay?”

Everything’s fine, he thinks, just brilliant thanks for asking. I acted like a great big freak in front of somebody who I’d convinced was normal, but yeah other than that I’m doing really fucking great.

Really, he just turns around with confusion written clearly across his face.

Suddenly, -now that he’s been surprised into stillness- Wilson realises that his hand had been patting away at his side (another one of the many ways that his body had tried to rebel against his new rules).

“Yeah, of course.” And just to be safe he quickly adds in, “How are you?” Because if you get people talking about themselves, they’ll quite often leave whatever they wanted from you alone, maybe even forget about it entirely, if you’re lucky.

The subtle art of deflecting. With everything he’s learnt he might as well write a book.

The nurse’s (a different one this time, but he’s pretty sure it’s a friend of the one from before) smirk as she tells him, “Good to hear.” Tells him enough.

The nurse from the reception probably told half the staff about his antics.

‘Hey everybody, our oncologists a massive freak!’, and he can’t stop himself from imagining everybody agreeing. ‘Yeah, total weirdo.’ And saying things like, ‘I knew there was something off about that guy.’

As his paranoia grows, so do the sticky patches under his arms and this only exacerbates the tingly shame that’s now spread across the entire surface of his skin.

To mess up twice in a day where he’s been so incredibly disciplined for years, is so jarring that he wants to cry and hit himself and scream at anybody who tries to come near. Oh right, he can’t do that anymore either (his father never approved).

“I’m doing good too.” She quite obviously holds back laughter here as Wilson continues to frantically attempt to regain control of his carefully crafted façade, before throwing a goodbye his way and walking down the corridor, saving him the stress of offering an actual response.

He swallows hard but his mouth is so dry that the feeling’s more akin to licking sandpaper.

With his face bright pink and his hands once again hidden deep in his pockets, Wilson spends the next hour on his lunch break, reminding himself how to act like a person in the safety of a bathroom cubicle (which almost upsets him even more because if there’s any surefire way to remind him of his worst experiences from high school, then locking him in a bathroom stall definitely tops the list).

Luckily, he manages to clean up almost well enough to feel almost good enough again, and by then there’s only a few hours of his shift left and he hides in his office for most of them, choosing guilt over further embarrassment as per usual.

PLUS ONE:

Everything in Wilson’s life has been one huge enigma.

From learning how to speak to people properly to being taught how to tie his shoelaces (which, embarrassingly, took him until he was twelve years old).

Nothing ever made sense and whatever came easily to his peers wouldn’t stick in his mind no matter how hard he tried to learn.

Apart from one thing.

House.

Meeting him had been like having whatever wacky brainwave he’d been functioning on finally find a match after so many years (his high school bullies might have preferred to compare it to Wilson finally finding another member of his ‘species’, but he felt that apart from being nicer, his metaphor was more apt).

This instant connection made all three of his marriages and consequently any relationship that House managed to hold onto long enough for it to matter, absolutely torturous.

For a long time, Wilson wished that House had been born a woman, so that he could have done his usual routine and wooed him easily into his bedroom. But for all he liked to think it would have been simpler, the two of them were never destined to have it easy, this intricate dance had been necessary to drive them even closer together than they would ever have imagined possible.

Their first drunken fling was years ago now and every day Wilson was fortunate enough to wake up beside the man whom he could unflinchingly say that he loved the most in the world, which made him want to jump and spin and squeal with joy.

He settled for softly kissing his collarbone, his neck, his cheek and then finally his lips.

No word could singlehandedly encapsulate just how lucky Wilson felt.

Sometimes, Wilson saw everything he’d hidden away about himself being expressed so freely in House that something disgusting like anger clouded his vision, he decided not to think about it too much.

House on the other hand, was obsessed with uncovering every carefully concealed part of the man he was proud to call his own.

As it often did, tonight it started with both of them watching an appallingly bad telenovela on the couch (their couch this time) and sipping ice-cool beers.

Or rather, House was sipping an ice-cool beer and Wilson pretended to be angry that he was stuck with a lukewarm pint that House had ‘forgotten’ to return to the fridge after setting it on the side a few hours ago (but he really didn’t mind, he would’ve drunk House’s bathwater).

It all felt so domestic and comfortable that, without realising it -because he never did, damn it- he was slowly slipping into a state so tranquil and relaxed that he began forgetting himself. Only, House would never have told him this, why? Because he loved it.

Seeing Wilson so blissful, dressed in something other than a shirt and tie that he knew bothered him (too itchy, or too tight), not to mention that god-awful over-starched lab coat, made House melt inside and if he wasn’t careful, he might even start giggling like a teenage girl.

As they got further into the episode, (something House had seen a hundred times before, so he didn’t need to watch the screen too closely) his gaze drifted over to none other than Wilson, as it always did.

He looked beautiful.

Tired eyes, sweater all bunched up around his waist with his legs sprawled out in front of him and the empty beer can half crushed in his laps.

The empty beer-can simply won’t do, so House pokes his ribs with a foot,

“Jimmy, grab another pint for a poor cripple, won’t you?”

He only sighs in response but House knows there’s a smile written across his features as he turns around, and sure enough he’s back with another for both of them.

This time he sits on the edge of the couch after throwing House his share, and his beautiful, gorgeous face is hidden from him. Outrageous.

House settles for observing Wilson from behind. He’s not going to pull him into his arms like some totally smitten weirdo…Yet. Who knows, he might do something interesting and it’s no secret that he loves a puzzle.

He gives up fairly quickly, it’s a Friday night after all, and turns his attention back to the screen within ten or so minutes, but then he notices something. From where he’s sat on the other side of the sofa, Wilson is swaying, rocking even, ever so gently back and forth.

It’s impossible not to stare. The movement seems like second nature to him, in fact, Wilson doesn’t even seem totally aware that he’s doing anything at all.

Then he stops.

Wilson always knows when House is watching him, but because there’s never been anything malicious in his eyes, there’s never been any reason to worry, so he lets him do as he pleases, even becoming blind to it after a while. They were dating, if they wanted to stare at one another, they were allowed.

This evening, he doesn’t even notice until House asks for the beer, and he tries to imagine what the other man was seeing. Probably laughing at his atrocious eye bags or getting ready to pounce on him and noting down anywhere sensitive that was exposed enough for him to do so.

That’s all fine, normal, actually. So he goes back to tuning him out pretty much the moment he sits down.

But suddenly, something feels different…

It’s no longer a harmless watching. This time the all too familiar feeling of eyes burning holes in his back is radiating from across the sofa and instinctively, Wilson tenses.

His mind starts working at a hundred miles a minute. What had he done wrong this time? Swaying, tapping, rocking, flapping? He mentally locates the muscles inside all of his limbs and tries to make them stand still.

He’s been doing so well. He always does in the beginning; the pattern can be seen in all of his marriages.

Wilson puts every last ounce of energy towards making himself a perfect partner, and then it dwindles, and dwindles, slowly but surely until he has nothing left to give and they see him for who he really is, then, they leave.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt as much as it really does.

“Sorry.”

It’s autonomic. Instinctive. The answer he knows he has to give.

“Huh?”

House also pretends, only he’s putting on a show, faking confusion to show Wilson how stupid his response was.

“Nothing.”

Maybe he can stop this conversation before he ruins everything. Maybe it still isn’t too late, and they can enjoy a few more wonderful years before he really fucks up and ruins everything all over again.

“Well given that you said ‘sorry’ means that it’s actually definitely not nothing.”

“Wait why’s Sofias sister crying?” Deflecting.

“Wilson I’m trying to have a conversation here,” He replies, raising the pitch of his voice to imitate a nagging housewife, or rather one of Wilsons ex-wives.

He tries to ignore him this time, which is a hopeless tactic when dealing with House, but he’s too tired to think of something new and no other options come to mind.

House is not having that.

“Why’d you stop.”

Not only did he stop, but Wilson seems tenser than a bow string at its full extension and House sits up, turning off the tv entirely, then he turns to stare at him.

“Oh I see, very mature. You don’t like something, and now no more TV time for me?” Wilson douses the words with sarcasm, as they both tend to.

But this time, when House speaks, he’s nothing but genuine, and Wilson knows this, because it’s House and the one thing that he can be sure of is that he knows House.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

And as he lies back down, he wraps both arms around Wilsons torso so that he can drag him down too.

Perfect, now Wilson’s head rests just above his heart, and after House puts the show back on he starts to gently run his fingers through his hair, carefully undoing an hour’s worth of styling and products from this morning.

Wilson doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t think that he could even if he tried.

Of course House, king of cynicism and snide remarks turned to him and softened his gaze, only to deliver the four most meaningful and devastating words he thinks he’s ever heard. This feels like an ‘I love you’ and it leaves Wilson reeling in the aftermath.

The feeling’s both pleasant and frightening but most noticeably devoid of shame. There isn’t any jealously either and that’s what makes him want to weep.

His whole miserable little life the feelings he’s been a prisoner too are finally, for one blissful moment, gone.

And it’s because of House.

Before he can even stop himself, he’s crying. It isn’t quiet this time and he doesn’t try to stop either.

The shows off again instantly because House wants to comfort him, and he knows if there’s too many sounds playing in the background Wilson finds it hard to concentrate, which only makes him cry harder because he doesn’t think he’s ever felt seen like this before.

In between his great, heaving sobs -ones that cover Houses t-shirt rather gratuitously with snot and tears, but he’s nice enough not to make a fuss about that either- Wilson manages to force out “P…Pr-omise?”

Houses heart grows three sizes or does whatever it is that the story books say.

All he knows is that the pure amount of pain in that one word is so tremendous that it pulls at his heartstrings, and it hurts him too, realising how much Wilson has been forced to hide himself, and how much it hurt him in return.

“I promise.”

And he means it, with every last inch of his being.

Although he never really stopped, Wilson somehow bursts into tears all over again, and it feels like being reborn, because House is seeing the ugliest parts of him and still fucking loving him like it’s breathing.

He cries for hours, sobbing and gasping and howling until his head aches so much it might just split in two, and House’s shirt is soaked through across the entire front panel.

Then he cries some more.

It’s not just tears, this is years of not being understood, years of being humiliated and taught to hate an intrinsic part of himself, years of staying so painfully still.

His hands pat and flap of their own accord and although somewhere in the background his brain is trying to stop him because he’s so used to getting told it’s wrong, he ignores it as best he can because House is still holding him and telling him that it’s okay.

Everything is not fine.

He’s weeping all over his boyfriend’s chest because he got told to stop being weird a few times, only it’s not that simple and they both know it.

They lie like that until Wilson’s too tired to take another breath, but the exhaustion runs deeper than the dark half-moons etched underneath his eyes, and he finds that he can barely stand up by himself.

In the end he leans heavily on House and somehow, they both stumble into their bedroom and fall down together onto the bed, rustling around under the covers so that Wilson falls asleep with his head just below Houses bare collar bone (he’d tossed the damp tee onto the floor somewhere along the way), feeling a relief so immense that it’s almost palpable.

That would only be the start.

Houses new obsession very quickly became separating shame from all of the weird and wonderful ways that Wilson liked to move.

It starts small, with showing him that there’s nothing wrong with rocking back and forth when they’re watching TV together, alone.

From there it only grows. House gets the absolute pleasure of buying Wilson a dozen fidget toys, as well as the pure joy of watching his lover grow more and more comfortable inhabiting his own skin.

Wilson loves it too, as it gets easier.

He finds that it’s like they’re slowly unravelling a knot that for Wilsons whole life has placed an unbelievable pressure on his chest.

He can finally breathe again.

It doesn’t fix everything immediately of course, undoing forty years of shame is no easy task but for now, when Wilson’s at home he feels free to flap his hands and spin in circles to his hearts content, and for now, that’s enough.

[yandere-paramour]

Hmmm… how’d they handle learning that their darling is also a Yandere? Like for Atalanta’s example maybe she has her darling’s old place looked into and finds a hidden cache of pictures of her locked in a box with different names being tried out on the back.

Vivien is overjoyed! Literally, he's so happy. He's over at your house and he asks to use the bathroom and accidentally-on-purpose heads to your bedroom (the place he definitely hasn't climbed the tree outside your apartment and watched you in with his binoculars). He's snooping around, sniffing your clothes, totally normal stuff, when he opens your closet and sees several pictures of... himself? There he is at work, watching anime at home, looking at flowers and biking in the park, sleeping. He can't even fathom any of this, except that he should definitely give you some more pictures of him to add to your shrine. This is great! He now knows he can be WAY weirder with you, perhaps even alluding to some of his skeevier activities to test the waters. Best thing is, if you're as enthralled with him as he is with you, you'll never ever ever leave him! You'll stay with him forever! You'll marry him and be his beloved spouse and you can have five kids and grow old together! It's perfect!

Atalanta does not like this. The thought of someone stalking and being obsessed unnerves her but for a weird reason. Basically, she is ambivalent but views it with distaste if people far away from her idolize her, but she doesn't like it at all if Darling does before they've even met. She sees it like... like you're idealizing the idea of her rather than the real her. She knows she's rich and beautiful/handsome and intelligent, but she's also a person who desperately wants to connect emotionally with another human being. If you only see her perfect outer shell, you won't like it if you see the real human being underneath that, the human who likes Earl Grey tea and roundhouse kicks and reading late into the night. She wants a partner, not a worshipper. However, if you are a yandere who doesn't know her, but you realize after your kidnapping that she loves you and wants to protect and spoil you forever, she would welcome you being a yandere then. Her Darling is beautiful, lovely, well-behaved, and receptive to her love? She didn't expect this but she's pleasantly surprised she can get her life with Darling on track this early.

[wol-fica]

-𝕎𝕠𝕖 𝕀𝕤 𝕄𝕖?- ℙ𝕋𝟜

pairings - wenclair x daughter!reader

summary - closer comes with apologies to your mothers, but will that peace last?

warnings - none

an - you can read this while you wait for the new smut fic

————————

Humans are creatures of prescribed non-perfection.

No matter how hard one tries, they will never be the best version of themselves. They will never fit the puzzle piece of a perfect society member, and they will always have at least one thing wrong with them. 

With you, your imperfections came at an alarming rate and were exceedingly wrong in most people’s eyes. Instead of playing with barbie’s as a kid, you played with knives and ouija boards. Instead of running around at the playground with Luka, you chose to snatch kids and drag them into the woods while they screamed and cried for their mommies. While every other “normal” child grew up to do normal things, you stuck with the abnormal side of the world.

In simple terms, you were just weird.

“I don’t understand.” Luka said, eyeing you carefully while you ate your salad, “You told mom and mama that you didn’t love them anymore?”

“Contrary, I just told them I wish they weren’t my parents.” You replied, chewing on a cucumber while you read your book.

“Basically the same thing.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Ehhh it sounds the same.”

“Luka.” You said, setting your fork down and turning to him, “Stop pestering me about it.”

“But-.” He started before trailing off when he saw the look you were giving him, “Okay.”

You nodded, reaching over to give his shoulder a gentle pat. He smiled at you, then turned back to his own lunch; raw cow thigh. It was still parents weekend, but the rest of your family wouldn’t be joining you until later for the carnival hangout.

You weren’t nervous, that’s not the word you would use, but you definitely were feeling uneasy about being around your parents. You knew how your mothers temper could get, especially if your mom was upset about something. You’ve never been in the line of fire with her temper, but you have witnessed the twins getting the heat on their necks from time to time. 

To say it’s scary is an understatement, the way she yelled at them was a terrifying sight to see. Your mother was one of the very few things you were afraid of, hence why you steered clear of getting into trouble with her when she was angry.

Unfortunately, now you were the center of her frustration due to your honest comments about how you felt neglected, which ultimately leads to her being salty with you all of the carnival day. At the moment, Luka was dragging you around to each and every game he could find, your brothers are your heels while your parents trailed behind.

“Oooh, Y/N look! You could totally beat that one!” Louis said, pushing you towards an archery game. 

You scowled, shrugging his hands off of you to turn to face the game clerk. He held his hand out for money to play, and Luka slapped five dollars into his hand with a smile.

“Our sister is gonna dominate this game.” Louis yelled, sneering at the game clerk.

“And she will make sure none beat her name.” Leo added on, a devious smile on his face.

“Ten for ten?” Luka asked from your right, watching as you picked up the cheap bow, “Should I bet on you?”

Your lips quirked into a small smirk, your eyes flickering to him, “If you do, you’ll definitely be rich.”

You drew back the first arrow, staring into your brother's icy blue eyes, and let go. The arrow flew forward, and pierced right through the center of the first target. Your brothers cheered, clearly happy with how your first shot went. To your left, you could just barely pick up on your mom lightly clapping, while your mother brooded next to her. 

“Yeah, you will be rich.” You mumbled to Luka before hitting the next nine shots perfectly. 

“That’s why you’re my favorite sister.” He chuckled, taking the large teddy bear from the now butthurt game clerk.

“I’m your only sister.”

“Exactly!”

You rolled your eyes, taking your bag from him and slinging it over your shoulder. Louis and Leo hurried past you and looped their arms into Luka’s, dragging him away towards an ongoing hotdog eating contest. You turned, just in time to see Wednesday hurry past you to follow them. Soon you were left alone with your mom, an awkward silence between the two of you. 

“Your archery has gotten better.” Enid said, walking closer until she stood beside you, “Have you been practicing with Xavier’s daughter?”

“Yes, Mika has been giving me tips.” You replied, eyes trained on Luka stuffing his face with four hotdogs. 

Another pregnant pause, one that made a bubbly feeling of anxiety rise in your throat. Your hands started to feel clammy, but before you could say anything, your mom beat you to it.

“I know you didn’t mean what you said.” She murmured, staring at you with warm eyes, “At least I hope you didn’t.”

You nodded, silently agreeing with her words. She smiled, and moved closer to bump her shoulder against yours in a playful way.

“Wednesday is upset,” She began, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, “But I’m positive she would be happy if you apologized.”

You nodded again, sniffling softly as tears made their way to your eyes. Your mom picked up on that, and was quick to pull you into a hug. Your arms immediately went around her body, nuzzling your face into her chest for comfort as you tried to suppress your sobs.

“It’s okay.” Enid said, her lips pressing to your temple, “You are always allowed to cry.” 

At her words you broke, letting the tears fall down your face and into her sweater as you hiccuped and cried into her chest. She rubbed your back, whispering words of comfort into your ear while she held you.

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered, tightening your hold on her, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know, I know.” Your mom cooed, softly cradling your head, “It’s okay, I forgive you baby.”

You cried quietly, your sobs soon shrinking down to sniffles against her colorful sweater. She held you close, gently swaying from side to side to help calm you down. You vaguely heard footsteps approaching, but your senses were overwhelmed with tears and your mom that you couldn’t comprehend who they belonged to.

“Hey Y/N/N.” Enid whispered, giving you a small squeeze, “Wednesday is here.”

You sucked in a breath, leaning back to look up to your mother, meeting her black eyes. Her gaze was softer than usual, yet still held its brooding demeanor. You gulped, choosing to stare at the ground instead of her.

“I’m sorry…for saying what I said.” You mumbled, playing with your hands, “I didn’t mean it, and I never will.”

Enid had her hand on your back, gently caressing up and down to help calm you. You stood in silence, expecting your mother to rain hellfire down on you, but nothing came. 

Instead, she moved forward and pulled you into her arms, giving you a tight hug. You stiffened, unsure of what to do since your mother almost NEVER gave hugs. She held you, pulling your body close to hers.

“I forgive you.” Wednesday said, pulling back to look at you, “Thank you for apologizing.”

You nodded, feeling a bit awkward just standing there. Enid came up next to you, leaning over to whisper something in your mothers ear. She smiled and nodded, but before you could even question anything, Luka comes barreling out of nowhere with a trophy in his hand and mustard all over his face.

“I WON!” He screamed, almost tackling you to the ground, “158 HOTDOGS!”

“Amazing.” You said sarcastically, pushing him off of you, “You smell like mustard, get away from me.”

He gave you a cheesy grin and turned to your mom, showing her the trophy in which she squealed to. The twins ran up with their own miniature trophies, and soon the four werewolves were jumping up and down in pure joy. You scowled at the sight, glancing at your mother who wore the same exact look, and let out a little laugh.

“What’s so funny.” She asked, turning to you.

“None of your business.” You shot back.

“It is my business if you’re laughing at me.”

“Who said I was laughing at you? Is everything about you?”

Wednesday snorted, pulling you into a side hug with a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed, leaning your head on her shoulder while your arm went around her. 

“Thank you for forgiving me.” You said, looking up at your mother.

“Of course, I’ll always forgive you.” She replied, a small smile at the sight of her family in front of her.

“I…I love you mama.” You mumbled, tucking yourself closer into her side.

Wednesday froze up, and looked down at you, taking in the fact you said that before smiling warmly.

“I love you too, bonita niña.”

———————————

taglist: @cartierdreamx@tundra1029@red1culous@vorsdany@andsoigotabutterfly@theafterofnevermore@yomomisgay@house-of-lovin@slvt4lanadelrey@thenextdawn@nepobaby08@dunohilly@somekindofpoet@alexkolax@cinffy23@pedrosprincess@amberfreemansburntface@myfturn

[toomanythoughts4myhead]

Been thinking about modern!Coriolanus Snow (again)

How he probably goes to some old fancy university, which his whole bloodline went to. All of the other posh children he grew up with end up there too, some exceptions (fuckups) didn't manage to do it, but that is less snobby people to have to deal with in Coriolanuses mind.

Coriolanuses great great grandfather started a sort of secret society (cult) in his youth and ever since it has been thriving in secret.

With time it's ways have grown a lot more ...socially acceptable. They do weird cultists shit like 20% of the time and the other is spent getting drunk in private gatherings and parties or blowing mommy and daddies credit cards.

Coriolanus was at the core of the secret societies this century, house of the roses, there is no official name but this one gets thrown around enough that it stuck eventually. Corio enjoyed having the control over the gatherings and all the planning, God knows he was the most capable one there except for Clementia, maybe.

He was also the best actor, best student, in the University. He walked a fine line between sucking up to lectors and any sort of authority figures without loosing his own authority and self-respect.

There was a new money kid, Sejanus Plinth, who his father had pushed into joining the secret society in order to fit in with the fellow rich kids. He wasn't exactly welcomed but his fathers findings of the gatherings sure sweetened the deal.

To Sejanuses horor he had to give a blood oath in a secret passage in the school, a place secretly built in a wall just for this.

What was the blood used for?

Well he had to drink it. Not just his own, though. Part of the acceptance ritual is that everyone gives a drop of blood into a ceremonial bowl, engraved with roses and thorns. The blood would get mixed in with warmed wine and spices and each member will get a sip, starting with the new commer. Most of the people here didn't have to go on the trial because they were accepted simply for their status, only people who had something to prove had gone through with it.

They had wanted to pull Sejanuses leg a bit too, and judging by his paling face and unmoving gaze from the red liquids, they had succeeded.

What they hadn't anticipated, however, is Sejanus running out of the room screaming that they were all animals as he stomped away. Good thing that there was no one in the University right now, right?

Wrong.

Right as Sejauns was turning a corner he almost stomped on you, a journalist major in search of a new headline for the Universities newspaper. And his wide eyes, read stained lips and the blood dripping from one of his hands from a weirdly shaped scar, was defiantly a step in the right direction.

You don't get time to ask him anything as he walks off faster than you can turn around, but the commotion from down the hall catches your attention and you hurry off.

Your footsteps echo off of the marble floor and as you actually get there all you see is a blurr of red robes and golden silverware. The only thing that sticks out before the door???wall shuts closed is a person with a white suit and blond hair.

You start to dig deeper and deeper about this secret society, asking around and looking through all the history of the school. A cultists secret society that was responsible for the murder of three from almost 60 years back catches your attention. You are dealing with something bigger than you thought.

Coriolanus is livid, he hadn't put on his robes for that evening, coming to the meeting fresh off of one of his late lectures. He didn't get to see whi was the mysterious onlooker but he was going to find out and keep their mouth shut.

Your questions about a secret society and search for knowledge are not hidden and eventually reach Coriolanus, who approaches you during one of your late night searches through the University's library.

He startles you as he looked down at where you are hunched iver a very old set of newspapers. His gaze is piercing and calm, his posture doesn't give anything. His bright red burgundy suit and pants seem to contrast nicely woth his pale skin and blond hair. Blond hair!

He smells like roses and so did the place of the meeting, even after it's closing it had left a strong fragrance of white roses and vanilla.

The recognition must be evident in your face as your facial muscles move from confuses to "hallelujah". All the warning you get is a slight crease in his brow as he presses a strongly smelling handkerchief to your nose and mouth and presses it tightly.

"Such a smart girl. Should have known not to poke your nose in places it doesnt belong."

And with that it all fades to black, his piercing blue eyes are the last thing you see.

You wake up in a room, red silk cloth binds you to a chair and you seem to be alone. You try to shake off the drowsiness but your muscles feels like lead and your mind is slow, movements sluggish. This could be the same room, but it could be somewhere else entirely, you have no clue. It's all so lavish and luxurious, in its deep reds complimented by golden chandeliers and golden engravings, there were some old paintings as well, none that you recognize.

The click-clacking of heels on the wooden floor shifts your attention back to the familiar blond figure, creeping towards you like a predator. He is in the same clothes as before, which hopefully meant that you hadn't been in this drugged out state for too long.

He looked as pristine and proper as he always did, but his gaze was unnerving intense, it made your mouth dry with nerves.

"It feels like a real waste to get rid of such a smart girl, a real loss for the academy."

He says calmly as he takes a center place infront of you, looking down at your tied form. The image pleases him.

"You will either keep your mouth shut about this or i will tell all your dirt to whatever authority figure i need to, to make sure you never manage to get into any other learning establishment."

"I dont have any dirt on me."

"Doesnt really matter what you have, it matters what i present you have. So be wise about this, little mouse. Wouldnt want to get caught in a trap by your own doing."

Fuck

He says it so clamly but he can't manage to hide the rising corners of his mouth. He was enjoying this, he liked playing with you and your life. Your whole world depended on his choices, you had no way to stop him or fight him off. Interesting.

You don't much of a choice but to agree, a bit sullen that all your research had gone to hell and that a murderous cult was going around unpunished, but you couldn't risk your education, nit right now at least.

Coriolanus looks like the cat who got the cream, smiling deviously at you. Something in the way he looked at you made alarms go off in your ears. The deranged glint in your eyes meant nothing good. For you, at least.

"I cant let the other members know that an outsider found out about us like this, it would look very bad for my image, as you understand. From now on you have been my girl for a while, but our relationship has been hidden. You will act like you are mine."

He stated simply like demanding a performance like this was simply his birth right. You look at him stunned and not even sure what to say to that. You aren't exactly in a position to argue, even if your tongue is itching to give him a piece of your mind. So you agree.

You will be this cult leaders play-pletend girlfriend so you will keep your education. On paper.

Well you found the drama you were looking for. Now all you had to do was survive.

(Wrote this at 1 am yall, the brainrot was rotting away. Hope ye like it, cuz its not proof read. Sending love and good vibes. Peace.)

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Sorry for being gone for so long, I haven't been feeling great both physically and mentally, so that was awesome...anyway:

Look, Eddie wasn't that picky when it came to companions. He wasn't much of a catch either - as a bard, it was already expected of him to cause chaos, but with his choice of songs, the result was less of a bardic inspiration and more of a "turn everyone against each other" or "make everyone extremely horny". Which...actually worked when they needed to avoid combat, but by ancient gods, he didn't need to see that group of orcs going at it.

Anyways. Eddie wasn't picky, but Steven Harrington was becoming a bit too much for him.

First: he was a rich kid. Eddie was a proud trash raised in a cottage that barely held together and he had no patience for people who never washed their own laundry (not that Eddie did, well, not too often, but still).

Second: he was effortlessly handsome. Annoyingly handsome. Bad hair day? Steven fucking Harrington didn't know those. His moles were placed in perfect places. Eddie had nearly invisible freckles and his only moles were - embarrassingly enough - near his groin and if you squinted hard enough, looked like a daisy petal. So uncool. But uncool was a word Steven Harrington apparently lacked in his vocabulary.

And third...this. Just...all of this.

Eddie didn't want to think of himself as a prejudiced person, he really didn't. But there were two things he didn't like in this world: lawyers and necromancers.

And Steven somehow managed to blend both of those into a horrible combination that just. Fucking. Worked.

Eddie was strumming on his lute and watched Steven open a bag full of old bones, yet another unlucky trader, adventurer or whoever had died in the woods before them. He placed them carefully on the ground, arranging them - admirable knowledge of anatomy, Eddie would give him that - and muttered an incantation. Green light, weird whooshing, some sparkles, yadda yadda and the skeleton reassembled itself. It sat in front of Steven and they started working in hushed tones over a pre-prepared contract. Eddie could only make out phrases as "a work opportunity," "being dead must be boring," "do you have any family that could use a percentage of the spoils from this quest" and the best of all, "no pressure, if you'd rather be left alone, just say the word." From what Eddie had seen in last few weeks, very few of them did say the word, and if they did, Steven would honor his word and bury their remains where they desired.

It was a really decent thing to do and Eddie hated himself for even admitting it.

One discussion about details ("do you want to be only reassembled when needed or would you like to accompany us the whole time?") and a bony signature later, Steven carefully stuffed the newest party helper (Arthur, Steven made sure to remember all of their names, another fucking decent thing!) in the bag and stretched himself next to the fire.

Eddie couldn't help but glare. That fucking guy. Built like a fighter from carrying half of a cemetery on his back, pretty, rich and for some reason also awfully nice and moral. Eddie wanted to barf.

"You know," smiled Steven and Eddie's traitorous stomach did a triple flip with a botched landing, "I love seeing you like this. Calm. Strumming those slow melodies. You look really pretty, too." He laughed to himself and turned onto his back, staring at the stars. "Well, you look really pretty all the time, especially when you're trying not to be bitchy, but these times you look the prettiest."

Eddie almost dropped the lute. Almost swallowed his own tongue as well. "Are you trying to kill me, Harrington?" he sputtered. "Don't you have enough to resurrect?"

Steven just shook his head, smirking. "That's a thought. But no. Breach of ethics - I'm pretty sure killing someone to resurrect them wouldn't make them want to join me. Plus, I was thinking less of a "fight for me" and more like "fuck me, possibly date me" - interested?"

Eddie stared at him with large eyes, moving his lips without any sound. "Uh...well, sounds good to me," he said, not very intelligently, but his brain was chanting kiss those moles pull that hair shut him up kiss him like right now maybe. "Do you...have a contract for that?"

Grinning, Steven - no, Steve, he asked to be called that several times and maybe this was the right time to give in to his wish - pulled Eddie to the ground with him. "For you? I'm sure I can draft something."

When Gareth, Robin and Chrissy arrived back from their supply run the next morning, they found Eddie and Steve curled against each other, fully clothed but very obviously satisfied. Robin just snickered and whispered to Steve that she wanted details, all the dirty, sticky and scandalous details, but Gareth just rolled his eyes. "And here I thought you disliked the guy when you said "Fuck him," he nudged Eddie as he unpacked healing potions.

Eddie closed his eyes and hummed a new melody that came to him with Steve's touches and gentle words. "It was open for interpretation," he laughed and reached for his lute.

[lovinqmils]

ꜰᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ┊ avatar x human!reader

Warnings: follows avatar twow plot (aka spoils the whole thing) , sfw (don't even try me w anything weird) , some ooc, use of y/n, female reader, argument?

can also be found on wattpad: @lovinqmils

THIS IS A STORY (NOT A ONESHOT) SO IT'LL HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS

I don't speak na'vi, so all the na'vi words are from google pls forgive me if they are wrong (┳◇┳)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

TW: ARGUMENT

PART 2: " DANCER " 1.9k words

you sat on your desk chair, curled up in a ball mumbling angry complaints about your current situation

“how could they do this to me..? why would I want to get closer to my potential killer!?”

you fell silent as you heard a knock on your bedroom door, reluctantly getting up you slowly opened the door and saw a young human boy, who you often saw in the lab, standing in the doorway.

‘wait! maybe I won’t have to face them after all!’ you thought, your eyes lighting up with the hope that you wouldn’t be spending a painfully awkward 2 hours with the blue creatures Jake’s sons as you had dreaded.

“…can we.. uhh come in?”

oh great..we

clearly, you weren’t as fortunate as you’d hoped

“..sure.” you said, a tinge of disappointment in your voice , “two of you will have to sit on my bed, I haven’t got enough desk space” you returned to your desk chair sitting snug up against the wall, awkwardly looking at the table.

there was only one spare seat, so naturally the human boy took a seat in front of you, while Neteyam and Lo’ak sat next to each other on your bed.

“..so let’s start with basic introductions first, im sure you’ve..uhh seen me around, but my name is Spider” the human boy awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, turning towards his two friends, silently begging them to introduce themselves.

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan,” he looked up noticing your confusion, “…Neteyam.”

letting out a tired sigh, “I’m Lo’ak”

“i’m y/n,” you said, your gaze never leaving sight of your desk in front of you

the first 45 minutes consisted of intense stares from Lo’ak and Neteyam while Spider was trying to teach you how to pronounce, “my name is y/n”, however, it was clear that you weren’t gonna get very far any time soon

“no, you have to make like an rrrr sound”

“…how am I supposed to make an r..r-rrr sound!?”

the conversation in the room grew quiet, spider rubbing his temples (trying to convince himself that he was not a bad teacher and that you were just slow)

“who really are you..?” Lo’ak spoke up, looking at you up and down . it was now clear that they had never really stopped suspecting you. you paused, taking a deep breath, you were starting to get annoyed with the number of times you'd been asked that question.

“…who do you think I am?”

this answer drew everyone’s attention, the atmosphere quickly became tense, however, you remained in complete eye contact with Lo’ak awaiting an answer.

“..a spy” he paused, “I think you're a spy, sent from whatever dumb planet you came from , helping with whatever the sky people here are trying to do.”

you let out a low chuckle; now you were annoyed, “you must think you’re really smart, sorry to break it to you but if your tiny blue brain still can’t process what I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not sure you’re fit to be asking all these questions”

you stood up from your seat, walking towards Lo’ak before Neteyam held out his arm protectively in front of his brother. Normally at the mere sight of Neteyam, you’d run away in fear, but the fact that the two of them couldn’t even last two hours without giving you dirty looks was extremely irritating.

“calm down, you sound quite rich considering you were flailing around in the forest a couple of days ago.” Neteyam scoffed, moving to take a step forward so he was now towering over you

“wait..are you kidding me!?” your eyebrows furrowed together and your mouth agape in shock, “what were you expecting me to do?” this time you take a step closer, now forcing Neteyam to shuffle back. “I appear in this random place, stripped away from everything I ever knew. piecing together whatever little survival info I had trying to find help, only to be attacked by..by wild ape things and you expect me to be calm?!”

“hey! you don’t get to insult my friends like that,” Spider was now standing, roughly pushing your shoulder to get you’re attention, “what did you want him to do? not protect his clan, his family? I understand you're stressed but-”

“you..understand..? being forgotten, as a baby, does not mean you can relate to me” all the stress and anxiety had finally caught up with you, you weren’t expecting an apology but they could at least be mindful of what they were saying

“if his family is so important, he should be able to feel even the slightest bit of sympathy” you turned to Neteyam, “try to imagine..being kidnapped, taken by force, and waking up in an unknown land, your family nowhere to be seen. you’re not familiar with anyone so ‘naturally’ you get attacked, then you get bombarded by thousands of questions, being examined hundreds of times. After all that, you overhear that you may not be able to see your family again.” you scoffed, “so, forgive me if I am being dramatic, I hope my ability to be calm won’t affect you too much.”

everyone looked at you in shock, sure they could see you were stressed but they did not expect you to burst out in anger like that. you walked over to your wardrobe and took out a black box from the top cupboard, walking towards the door you said,

“we have around 30 minutes left, if you need me I’ll be behind the lab. once the time is up, get out.” your voice was laced with venom, you were blinded by intense rage and stress that you refused to spend any longer around them.

you walked out of your bedroom and told the working scientists you were going for a walk, leaving before they could question you any further.

the three boys were frozen, they didn’t know what to say. Neteyam felt a small pain in his heart when he heard you say that you might not be able to see your family ever again, as he knows that without his family, he has no purpose. Lo’ak was also confused, he didn’t know how to feel. he wasn’t in the wrong for suspecting you, but he started to regret giving you nothing but judgmental stares for the past hour and a half.

“uhm.. do we just sit here and wait for 30 minutes…?” Spider awkwardly turned to look at his friends, this was the first time they’d been in such a…unique situation.

“no, let's just leave now. I’ll tell dad she wanted to end it early.” Neteyam dusted himself off and walked out the bedroom, Lo’ak and Spider following suit. they waved goodbye to the scientists, and quickly walked out of the lab.

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

you stormed out of the lab, your nails digging into the sides of the black box. once you had found a nice clear area behind the lab, you knelt down on the grass and opened the box. inside were 3 things, all of which you had stolen borrowed from other scientists. the first thing was a walkman, you were confused as to why somebody had something that old in their possession but you needed some form of music so you took it anyway. the last two things were dance equipment; pointe shoes & toe pads, you were a dance student back on earth so taking them was a no-brainer.

after tying the ribbons on your pointe shoes, you adjust your sweatpants and slip on the walkman pressing a button to play whatever music tape was left inside.

as the music flooded your ears you allowed your body to melt into the rhythm of the music, your feelings drifting away as you moved. you smiled and pretended as if you were performing on stage, acting out the very story you were dancing to. as the song reached its climax you softly hummed the melody, turning faster yet obtaining your elegance. this was a routine you had done thousands of times before yet it was still the one that you enjoyed the most.

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

Lo'ak's ears twitched as he came to an abrupt stop.

"what?" Neteyam stopped walking and turned to look at his younger brother

"listen," Lo'ak whispered turning towards a certain direction of the forest. Giving nobody a chance to respond, he started to walk closer to where he heard the sound coming from.

"look," Spider pointed in your direction

"what's she doing?" Lo'ak asked, looking directly at your pointe shoes

"I think she's..dancing?" Spider replied. he and Lo'ak were now crouching behind a bush, trying to get a better look at you without making it obvious that they're watching you. Neteyam on the other hand, stood next to a tree, mesmerised at the way you moved. how effortlessly you turned, while humming a soft tune.

"is she balancing on her toes..!? is that a human thing?" Lo'ak turned to Spider n nudged his side repeatedly, trying to make sure he wasn't seeing things

"how would I know!!? I don't know everything about earth!" Spider groaned, attempting to stop his friend from bruising his ribs

after hearing a loud noise, you immediately stopped dancing and took off the walkman, turning in the direction of the sound. you spotted two blue figures; one in a bush and one shamelessly standing by a tree. you moved your gaze slightly to the right and saw small a head of blonde dreadlocks.

you chuckled, "so much for a spy, huh?" you sat down on the grass and started to untie your pointe shoes, while Spider and Lo'ak stood up from their 'hiding' spot

"what were you doing?" Spider asked, looking at your pointe shoes

"aren't you a human?" you picked up your pointe shoes and walked towards him, "I was dancing, the style is called ballet. these are pointe shoes , I wear them to...make my dancing look more graceful?" you passed Spider one of your pointe shoes and gave Lo'ak the other, before turning around to put the walkman back into the black box.

"uhh...I'm gonna need those back" you coughed awkwardly, pushing forward the black box and gesturing for them to put your pointe shoes in the box. after closing the lid on the box, you slowly looked at the three of them your mind tracing back to the heated conversation earlier.

"sorry-"

"about earlier..-" you started,.

Lo'ak looked up in embarrassment and pointed toward you, signalling for you to speak first

"I didn't mean to blow up at you guys earlier," you turned to Neteyam, "I was wrong to blame you like that... I guess I just don't know what to do anymore" you took a step back and cleared your throat, trying to remember a short Na'vi phrases you had been taught,

"Oe..tsap'..palute s..see?"

you looked up, a deep blush immediately rushing up your cheeks as you saw the confusion on their faces

"do you mean..Oe tsap'alute si?" Neteyam looked at you in amusement, while Lo'ak and Spider burst out into laughter

"you...you know what I meant!" you held the box closer to your face, trying to hide your humiliated face, "look..I'm sorry okay!"

"sorry for being...rude," Lo'ak sheepishly said, still chuckling from your poor attempt at speaking the Na'vi language

you smiled and waved goodbye to the trio, "see you guys next week!" they waved goodbye and headed deeper into the forest

maybe...just maybe they weren't as bad as you thought

* . • ☆ . ° .• °: . *₊ ° . ☆ .* . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. * . • ₊ °

thank you so much for reading ! please make sure to comment who you'd like for the love interest <33

[speedforce-zoomies]

Y’all know what I think would make an interesting AU?

If everyone in the 90’s Young Justice was a clone or a “clone”

Canonically we’ve already got two out of the main ten

Conner Kent/Superboy being a “clone” of Superman & Lex Luthor

& Slobo being a clone of Lobo

Two things to note 1) I think it’s kinda boring if all of them have the same backstory so I’ll still try to give them all a reason that they’ve left Cadmus early in life

And 2) If we’re looking at all the various DC works 1 to 1 clones usually have some major issues

For example the other attempts at cloning Superman didn’t work, the DNA was too unstable

And in the DCAU, the Supergirl 1 on 1 clone had the side effect of being mentally connected to Supergirl which made her mentally unstable and Waller purposely avoided going the 1 to 1 route with Terry implying that it was still not a smart route to go down decades later

Therefore every “clone” will still have two “parents”

Let’s start with the other members of the core four

Tim - obviously a clone of Bruce, could add in Selena’s DNA if the scientists want some extra kick or he could still be the son of Janet so that he’s raised in a similar manner (rich kid upbringing) to Bruce

Janet and Jack could be having fertility issues and are given an opportunity to have a child through Cadmus and they just ignore all the weird stuff like rich people tend to do. Maybe they know Tim is Bruce’s clone, maybe they don’t. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Cassie - Diana Prince & Steve Trevor - not only would this give them access to the Amazons/Themyscira but also to a member of military personnel who knows a lot of stuff he probably shouldn’t

If this pairing Helena Sandsmark could be chosen to adopt her specifically so that she has a higher chance of interacting with the Greek gods which activates her powers (I mean Helena is already canonically interacting with them - might not be hard for Cadmus to realize that)

Could also do Diana & Helena Sandsmark, she could be in the same boat as Janet in the earlier scenario and just rolls with all the weird stuff.

Bart - Barry and Iris. Could still have the aging problem and still raised in Virtual Reality just some centuries behind the usual route. Imagine him thinking up the twins names himself - I mean Dawn and Don as twin names SOUND like they came from a kid raised in VR lol. When Barry and Iris later have the twins, they just roll with the names because Bart said them so matter of fact and Cadmus acts like they aren’t surprised that Bart got it right about Iris’s pregnancy.

Maybe they send him to go find Wally through suggestions from the VR so that he can better learn his powers/can become the next Flash and then Wally sends him to Max like in canon.

Now for the others…

Cissie - super easy Bonnie & Ollie. Bonnie as an Olympic-level archer wants her daughter to be the best archer and a hero and so she seeks out Cadmus and asks just straight up asks them for a clone.

Greta - I’m sorry to say is a mystery. She was a failed clone but no one seems to know who her original DNA came from.

Anita - could be a clone of her mother Oshi if Agua killed Oshi before she had Anita. Cadmus could reach out and be like hey Donald Fite it’s not the same as having your wife back but um, we could clone her? Give you a kid? Maybe Agua pushes for it idk

La'gaan - I couldn’t find much about his history prior to him becoming an Atlantis citizen so I imagine Cadmus might have captured his “parents” or maybe it’s someone who works with Orm and wants to send in a spy and though a child would be easier to get in than an adult. When Aquaman makes him a citizen he decides not to betray his confidence.

Ray - cloned from the original Ray and his wife or another golden age hero. Again pretty simple. Cadmus just thought he was neat. They are obsessed with Sun based superheroes after all. Ray is one I could see being locked up in Cadmus until the formation of the team since he was already locked away from the Sun in his origin story.

So at some point I imagine Tim would probably start to unravel things which would lead to similar events to canon (regarding the formation of the team I mean) but I just think it would be interesting since cloning is so prevalent in the DC universe to have an entire team of clones or “clones”

Maybe after distributing the other clones Luthor gets the idea to actually raise Conner himself which is always a fun AU

Plus with all this cloning going on they could potentially have the tools to prevent Slobo’s body from degrading which is a nice bonus

What do y’all think?

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ao3 (includes additional notes)

Chapter 6:

"Did the police find any razors in the rest of the candy, Mrs. Wallace?" Dean listens to his brother interview the victim's wife as he searches for anything ‘weird.’ 

"No, I mean, I don’t think so… I just – I can’t believe it. You hear urban legends about this stuff, but it actually happens?"

"More than you might imagine."

Dean finds it, the hex bag stuffed between the fridge and the counter. He holds it up behind the widow's back so Sam can see. 

Sam sighs, "Mrs. Wallace, did Luke have any enemies? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?"

"No, and if someone wanted to kill my husband, don’t you think they’d find a better way than  razors in a single piece of candy when there's an entire bag?"

And the lady would have a point, if they weren't dealing with a witch.

---

Dean bit into the chocolate, it was the cheap stuff that people didn't mind giving out for free, even when it he was and adult man two days before the holiday. It was too sweet and had a weird after taste. Not great but worth it when Sam made a face.

"Really?"

"It's Halloween, man."

There's a rustling sound, Danny pulls another candy from its wrapper. He pops it into his mouth.

"You too? After the the razor blades?"

"I don't mind a few metal bits, adds crunch."

"Seriously?" Dean turns to the kid, who's watching them innocently, "You chowing down on sheet metal when we're not looking?"

"I might be, you'll neeever know."

"Uh-huh." Dean was pretty sure he was messing with them. Pretty sure. "Find anything interesting Sammy?"

"Hexbag has some serious stuff. This plant has been extinct for 200 years, this coin looks real, 600 years old real... and this," Sam lifts the little burned thing. "Is the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby."

"Gross. Witches man, I hate'm."

"Well, we're dealing with a powerful one. Getting stuff like this, wouldn't be easy."

"That or they're super rich." Danny offers. 

"What would a super rich guy get out killing a soccer dad?"

"Wants revenge on the guy who married his college sweetheart who got away?"

"Uh... sure? Do you have a name?" Sam asks.

"No, I was just throwing out possibilities."

"So we have nothing."

---

Then there was the second hex bag in a random high-schooler's party, a girl boiled alive in room temperature water. 

"Maybe this witch isn’t working the grudge, maybe they’re working a spell..." Sam skims over an old creepy book. "Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st."

"That's an incredibly inefficient way to summon Frighty." Danny mumbles. 

"Frighty?"

"Fright Knight, Spirit of Halloween."

"The demon the witch is trying to summon, Samhain? You know him." Sam clarified, Dean watched the kid carefully.

"Not by that name.” He flopped back on the unclaimed bed that would probably Dean's but was currently serving as a couch. “Names are important. And he's not a Demon he's a spirit."

"Samhain, the origin of Halloween, the Samhain the Celts believed in.  October 31st was the night of the year when the veil was the thinnest between the living and the dead, Samhain’s night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

"And in those centuries Halloween changed, became trick-or-treating, pranks, parties, candy and horror movies. The idea of Halloween itself, the spirit of Halloween. Fright Knight shed his old name and became something to reflect that. He won't like you dredging up past identity."

"You're sure you don't just know a different guy?" Dean asked. He wouldn't believe this if he hadn't still had the Autumn Dance's song echoing in his dreams.

"Yeah, Frighty's sensitive about it."

"So this witch is summoning what? More Halloween fun?"

"No, he'll be mad. Probably send her to a nightmare realm, but it won't go past that."

"Well... good."

"And you're sure?" Sam asks, "According to this once he's raised he can do raising of his own."

"Frighty wouldn't."

"Alright... still we should find this witch before she kills anyone else."

"Of course."

---

A whole day of stakeout to find out that the cheerleader had lied to their faces, she'd had access to both houses, claiming to never have heard of the Wallace's. Then they find her history of violence, the fact that she's emancipated and very well could be living fake ID to fake ID.

Finding her on the other hand... was proving more difficult. 

Danny had even walked them through a couple of front doors, like straight through the front door, like they were the ghosts. It was weird, and cold, and super useful even though it didn't amount to much. 

They needed a gameplan. And a gameplan seemed much more likely to drop into their lap when Danny opens the motel door and says, "Oh, hi Castiel! 

"Danny," Castiel greets, "Dean. Sam."

"Oh my God!– er– uh– I didn’t mean to– sorry. It’s an honor, really, I– I’ve heard a lot about you." Sam expertly fumbles as he moves out of the entryway. 

"And I, you. Sam Winchester... The boy with the demon blood... Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities." Wow... awkward. 

"Let’s keep it that way." Adds a guy staring ominously out the window.

"Yeah, okay, chuckles." Dean turns to Castiel. "Who’s your friend?"

"The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

"Not yet, what's it to you?"

"Have you found the witch?"

"We know who she is."

"Is she dead?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer."

"Lucifer is no friend of ours." Says nameless angel #2.

"It’s just an expression."

"Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs. And the witch knows who you are." Castiel lifts a Hexbag.

"This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

"I would've found it. I only just got back." Danny defends and both angels' attention snap to him. 

Danny has offended #2 "You cannot be certain of—" 

"It's a pretty strong energy, I doubt some drywall would stifle it much." 

"Regardless. You need to leave this town immediately." 

"Why?"

"Because we’re about to destroy it." Castiel informs them. And Dean expects it when the air goes cold. The angel's shift uneasily, but they don't pin Danny as the source.

"Your plan is to smite the whole friggin’ town?"

"We’re out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here." Sam argues

"One thousand two hundred fourteen." #2 corrects.

"And you’re willing to kill them all?" Dean can hear Sam's faith shattering, and he hates these guys even more.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city." #2 tells them

"It is regrettable." Castiel sympathizes.

"Regrettable?"

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already."

"And we're just supposed to let you?" Danny asks. "Because of your apocalypse's prophesied precursors?"

"It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here."

"And ten years ago they said Phantom was inevitable. They said only one half'a life, against six billion. But guess what? We're all still here."

"The abomination." #2 recognizes, from whatever this story Danny is telling is. Frost snakes up the windows. Their breaths fog in the air, but #2 is undeterred. "This is not the same."

And the Angel's do notice the change, but instead of Danny, they turn to glare at Sam .

"No," Dean lies, because he doesn't want to know if Danny is being stupidly arrogant or if he actually can take these guys. Part of him knows the collateral of either outcome... he doesn't want to know. And he's ticked off, and the angels are looking at Sam like they're going to smite him for something he's not even doing. So, he bluffs, if it backfires then Danny can do whatever he planned to do. "if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself." #2 tells him, and just him, Dean realizes. They aren't offering to save anyone else. He's even more sure this is the right thing.

"Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something." He turns to Castiel who, oddly, is more sympathetic than his friend. "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning."

"Castiel! I will not let these peop–"

"Uriel, that's enough." Castiel holds up his hand, silencing #2 whose name is Uriel, apparently. Castiel watches Dean for a long moment. "I suggest you move quickly."

---

"Do you guys have this? I think I should spy on them." Danny says when, presumably, they're out of the angel's earshot.

"You trust this Halloween guy?"

"With the jewels behind the throne." At some point Dean will stop being thrown by the things the kid says. At some point.

"Right... Then they're the bigger threat. We'll figure it out, call us if they're planning a double cross."

Danny vanishes from the back seat. 

"You okay?" He asks Sam, who still looks miserable. They do say to never meet your heroes.

---

"The decision's been made." Castiel tells Uriel. Unfortunately, he does not elaborate on what decision, or what outcome has been decided on.

"By a mud monkey." Uriel laughs bitterly.

"You shouldn’t call them that."

"Ah, it’s what they are, savages, just plumbing on two legs."

Danny flips himself over the bench the angel's share, so he sits between them, upside-down so his feet hang over the backrest and his head dangles off the edge of the seat. It's not a defensible position... for someone worried about silly things like corporeal objects. "That's mean for a guy who's currently wearing a human person. At least show some respect for him."

The angels don't jump, and he didn’t really expect them too, but it's always fun when they do.

"And it's close to blasphemy." Castiel warns Uriel, but Danny heeds the warning as well. Castiel seems to be on team let-the-town-live instead of team nuclear bomb, and Danny would like it to stay that way, so he's not going to try to narrow down where in the realms these guys are from. (At least today.)

Uriel sighs, "Very well. But I do not take orders from this one, regardless of his involvement in the Abomination's unmaking."

Huh? 

"Of course not. Why are you here, Danny."

Huh? Okay normally when beings like this start throwing around words like abomination, they're talking about him.

"I'm keeping an eye on you guys. Obviously."

"We are not planning to break the seal. Your priority should be the witch."

"Yeah well, Frighty hasn't expressed desire to end an entire town."

"We are trying to prevent the end of your world." 

Danny doesn't say 'I am the end of this world.' Because he's not, because he refuses to be and they probably won’t get that he's joking. He doesn't say 'I could've been the end of this world' because... they don't seem to know that?

"Like the Observants failed to do?" He says instead and he wish- no he was disappointed he hadn't sat so he could see the angel's faces. He wonders if they have members in that group.

"The Observants succeeded." Uriel corrects. And isn't that interesting. Did the Eyeballs lie to angels? Danny wouldn't put it past them.

"No, no they didn't. They handed it off to the Timekeeper, who disobeyed. The "Abomination" just didn't feel like much destruction."

"It lives?" Uriel demanded. 

"Nothing dead lives." Danny lied. 

"It still exists, and you know where it is." Castiel guesses.

Danny stands, like a normal person would stand because apparently angels can't tell what they're talking too. Maybe it's the anti-Vladco-tracking-device device in his shoe? But yeah, standing like that means he has to awkwardly unhook his legs and climb off the bench. "Obviously."

"Where?"

"Ah, no. I thought we established that I don't trust you."

Uriel stands, fast, so fast a human might not track it. "You will tell us."

"Will you try to make me if I'm under his protection?"

Uriel stops, doesn't quite get in his face.

"The world isn't going to end." Danny tells them, it's almost a promise.

Castiel stands. "So you'll ignore what Samhain will do? Because you don't believe the seals hold power?" 

Danny sighs, “ Fright Knight , his name is Fright Knight.”

“Does his summoner know that?” Uriel asks, with the smugness of someone who knows old magic. 

“What do you know?”

---

Dean feels a little uneasy when Fright Knight rises in the dying man's body. He feels doubt when he calls the witch beautiful, hopeful, when he kills the witch, and doubt again when he calls her a whore. Like sure, but it doesn't feel like something Danny's friends would say, you know? Then again, he's Danny’s friend and he's not really above it? Maybe he's just reading into it because of Ruby, and Lilith, and every other demon who's shown utter disdain for their followers. Still, he thinks the kid would at least give the guy a disappointed look.

But Fright Knight didn't seem bothered by them playing dead on the ground, faces covered in blood because of Sam's quick thinking.

He didn't seem delighted by the trick-or-treating or the decorations like Danny said he would be. They follow him to the cemetery and arrive just in time to hear the screaming start.

They split up, Dean frees the kids and starts in on the zombies. It's easier to let the rage flow as he hacks at the hungry undead. It's easier than confronting the thought circling the back of his mind.

Danny lied. Danny lied. Danny lied.

The kid shows up around the time things start to get tight. He drives someone into one zombie's eye socket and blasts another away with some kind of green fire. It gives Dean the moment he needs to lock the rest inside their vault. 

Then Dean punches him in the face. His fist connects. Danny staggers back, clutching at his nose, but then his eyes go wide.

"The witch didn't summon those, did she?"

"Ya think?!" Dean swings with the weapon. This time the kid dodges cleanly and is running. Dean gives chase.

"Where's Sam?! If I was wrong about this, then—" he cuts himself off, deciding which path to take as it forks. Dean swings again, this time Danny blocks and disarms. Intangibility, Dean realizes, Danny simply just pulled the weapon from his hands. Then he tosses it away. "Dean, where's Sam!?"

The panic looks real. Feels real, Dean can taste it on the air. Can Danny fake that? What would be the point of pretending after he's won?

Dean shakes himself, and points in the direction Sam went. They both run in that direction.

They arrive to see Samhain throw Sam across the room.

"Fright!? What are you doing?" 

Samhain sees them, and Dean is flying backwards. He hits the wall hard.

"Fright! It's me!" Dean blinks and Danny is floating off the ground.

"You should know better," Samhain tells him, "than to use a name unclaimed by one such as me, Phantom."

"That is the name you gave to use!" Danny flies back, joining Dean in a hard impact against the wall.

"No longer!" Samhain shouts.

"No!"

"I am far more than you can ever—" Samhain chokes. Sam stands on the other end of the room, his arm outstretched. His face twisted in struggle. 

Then demonic smoke pours from the man's mouth. It crackles on the ground, Dean sees a glimpse of hellfire before it vanishes. The body Samhain inhabited, crumples to the ground.

---

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean demanded. Danny stands with the motel door half open. 

"There's something I need to do."

"After that? You think you're just walking away?!"

Danny holds the door open for him. Dean looks to Sammy.

"Want me to come too?"

"We'll talk later." Dean decides, because he doesn't want to be sidetracked by a fight with his brother. (And it will probably be a fight.) He walks out, and follows the kid down the street.

Danny pays a trick-or-treater twenty dollars for a plastic costume sword. He steals a jack-o-lantern off someone's porch, and finds a place where they're not likely to be distributed for a while.

"Are you helping, or just waiting to see if you need to shoot me?" Danny asks, there's no threat or demand in it, just weariness.

"What would I do if I was helping?" Dean asked. Danny turned the plastic blade in his hands and started carving into it with his knife. 

"I need a devil's trap." 

"You're summoning a demon?!"

"...Not if this works..."

"Explain."

"They're the same person, Fright Knight and Samhain. But the witch summoned Samhain, pulled his past self to the forefront, and Samhain rejected the new name... maybe, if I summon Fright Knight by his way... maybe it will bring him back?"

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then even if I'm making the trap, you're checking it beforehand."

Dean sighed. If the kid had been his usual joking self, he'd tell him off. But he was solemn, sad, and was etching symbols into cheap plastic like it was a gravestone.  "Can I stop you?"

"No." 

Dean sighed and started drawing. He was always careful with devil's traps. But he paid extra attention to this, he made it as detailed as he was certain of without going back to consult Bobby's books. He checked and rechecked. As Danny made his own circle in mystery sigils around the pentagram. 

"It's ready." He told the kid, who checked his own work. Then he plunged the plastic blade into the pumpkin. He said some words in a language that wasn't Latin, and slowly pulled the blade free.

The blade that emerged was not made of plastic. Dean didn't know what it was made of, but the embedded sigils matched the ones Danny had carved, and its blade looked deadly sharp. Once the entirety of the sword was pulled free, a storm began inside the pentagram.

Samhain had been exorcised from the body he'd possessed earlier. Now trapped without a vessel, he amassed into a roiling black cloud that thrashed against the invisible walls of its binding.

The storm spoke with thunder and static. Danny replied with the cracking of lake ice and the silence of an infinite nothing. 

And Dean understood. 

Rage. 

Betrayal.

Mocking. 

Demand: Return. Return. Return.

Mocking. Destruction's intent. 

Dean sees it. In a year's time, what was Fright Knight's will, will no longer be in transition. People will do as they always do, preparing in joyful tradition for a night celebrating youth and horrors that they do not have to fear. Factories will churn, parents will spend precious dollars or days crafting or both, people will carve into pumpkins and hang cobwebs and plastic imitation corpses— and they will all do so, not with the intent of warding away Halloween's Patron, but with the intent to welcome him. Such power will be Samhain's. There will be ruin unlike any humanity has seen before.

 Fury. Betrayal. 

Plea: Return.

Mocking. 

Acceptance.

"Dean, can I borrow your knife?"

The English words pull him back from... whatever that was, but not quite pulling him free. If he gives him the knife, Danny will have both it, and the sword of unknown power.

He responds with a ground scuff of readying feet,  the fabric rustle of a repositioned gun.

Danny nods, replies with a turn of the sword. He holds it by its blade, holding it out to Dean handle first.

Dean takes it. 

Danny doesn't let go for a moment. "Careful," he warns, "Soulshreader is bound. She will try to return to her master."

Dean tightens his grip on the handle and Danny releases her. Dean pulls the demon killing blade from his belt and hands it over in the same manner.

Danny steps into the circle with Samhain and Dean watches a demon die. 

Danny steps back out of the circle and chokes on his sobs.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Carter and Lovecraft, by Jonathan L. Howard (2015)

I really wanted to like this book.

I've read a few Lovecraft novels and stories, and I liked them. So when I saw this on my friend's bookshelf, I borrowed it, and read it.

Tried to.

The first real fly in the ointment? NYPD protag sees his partner take a 9mm retirement in front of him on a creepy case, and becomes a private detective. Mysterious lawyer shows up at his office one day and says there was a bookstore owner in Providence, Rhode Island, who has been missing and just declared dead.

The protag gets the bookshop. He's not sure why.

Protag goes to the bookshop. Owner's niece, Emily, is there. She's been running the shop alone since the owner vanished, and she co-ran it when he was alive. Also, she's biracial. Would be played by Zoe Kravitz in the movie, he thinks.

Her name is Lovecraft.

As in, she's a descendant of ol' Howard Philips.

She notes the irony; a black-ish "mulatto" descendant of an anti-black racist.

"Okay," I think, as I checked the publication date. "You've gotten that token bit out of the way. Now, can we move on?"

Apparently not.

As protag starts looking into the disappearance and other weird stuff, he decides he needs to get his eye in. So he goes to a gun range, where he needs to sign up for the NRA first

and ends the session by "re-engaging the safety" on his Glock.

Fun fact: stock Glocks don't have manual safeties, AFAIK.

In the next chapter, protag thinks about how he used the gun. He hates the NRA and the whole "gun fetish" thing, but he needs the iron, just in case.

Two strikes. Three if you count the safety thing.

Yes, I know an NYPD cop might be a bit bigoted about the issue, especially considering how his partner died. But it really feels like the writer's opinion.

In fact, let me just-

Yep. The writer is British. This sounds awfully familiar.

It was about this time that I realized something. The protagonist has no traits that aren't directly related to being a cop or detective. Absolutely none.

I don't think we know what he does in his off hours. No friends. Nothing but the job.

Heck, Miss Lovecraft has more personality than him, and she takes up a lot less screen time.

Protag decides to give Lovecraft half the business, so he can become a silent partner. People start dying in physically impossible ways - like the dude who drowned in his dry car in a parking lot - our hero looks into it.

He also ends up learning about a local family, the Waites. Rich, keep to themselves on their own land, been around since before the area was officially settled, apparently.

The local who tells him about all this says the younger ones are oddly attractive. The family has distinctive big eyes.

Anyone remotely familiar with HP Lovecraft just went "Oh, right, they're fishmen. Got it." I've seen this trope done better before, like in the comic Shadowgirls.

Hero looks into the archives, finds records of a racist Town Council rant by an early Waite, back when they were still into trading. Including slaves. Specifically, patriarch Newton Waite went to a council meeting and said black people should serve others, and shouldn't have self-determination.

The archivist intern says it's was "a different time", and that's just how people were back then.

Of course, he adds "People who talk like that now - no pass for them."

End scene.

Like this extremely mainstream, boring opinion is some kind of

In the next scene, protag chats about the fit he had near the Waite place. Learns about another mysterious death. When he chats about it with Emily, he suddenly realizes she's hot.

Then the narration tells us that he was a racist bigot in his teens, though he thought he was being sensible at the time. He now knows he was wrong, but he still feels sparks of it when he reads about some black kid doing some stereotypically black thing, which gives certain white people "a hard-on of righteousness".

And, of course, his time spent walking away from "instinctive racism" means his dating pool opened up. Like Emily Lovecraft, for example.

The most stereotypically black thing would probably be crime. Or being a single mom or deadbeat dad.

 Sadly, I know of plenty of black people - from my black majority home country - who fall into one of those categories. Or two. Three if you include "poverty", but we're Developing, so that barely even counts.

Also, this basically came out of nowhere. Not Emily being hot - I mean, look at Zoe Kravitz - but his unsolicited thoughts on racism.

All of these issues have also been issues for many concerned black people. For decades. The 'stereotypically black things' might be bad themselves, not because they make racist white people feel smug.

This is precisely where I closed the book for good. I would've put away the bookmarks, but I needed the page so I could write this rant.

Honestly, writing all this made me realize that I should've given up long before I made it halfway through the book. But I just kept hoping it would get better.

Doing the same well-worn cliches in a modern setting doesn't really make them interesting. Neither do the little 'racism is bad, mmmkay?' bits.