#weird to live life feeling like you body-snatched somebody else

[hoofpeet]

Post ego-death life I guess

[sundaysundaes]

Before Our Story Began

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 7.4k | College AU Summary: The popular new kid at your campus has this habit of raising his eyebrows when he flirts and you just realized that maybe you have a kink for it.

It has the same setting as my previous Mark Lee X Reader’s stories (Our First Time and Drunk Antics) but if you’re not into Mark (I’m not judging but what is wrong with you) you can just skip those two because this story can be read separately. 

Before dating the socially-awkward, yet utterly adorable Mark Lee, you have had your fair share of relationships that are now reduced into the form of awkward friendships. Your last boyfriend was Lee Donghyuck—who also publicly known as Haechan—and that fact does not sit well with Mark, because well, they were the best of friends. They still are, but it feels like they’re walking on thin ice whenever you’re in the picture so you try your best to stay away from your ex just to make sure everything is all right with the three of you.

Which is quite weird, knowing how close you were with Haechan before.

It was weird in the beginning, but fate really did play a major role in your relationship. You were in your second year of college and you’d managed to pull yourself together by that time, though you hadn’t really made any real friends yet. You weren’t aware of Mark’s existence either at that point, though he probably had with him being your long-time secret admirer after all. You were too busy trying to adapt to the new college and dormitory life, as well as trying to keep your grades up, that you could barely spend some time socializing with people. Project partners and study buddies were really as far as you could go with the term of friendship during your first year.

Your relationship didn’t exactly start as friends with Lee Donghyuck. Even though he had made tons of friends since his orientation days in college, you were certainly not one of them. You didn’t even know he existed in your world, and neither did he. Younger than both you and Mark, Haechan shone like the sun almost in every aspect of his life and unlike you, people had surely noticed that because he was academically smart, physically good-looking, very social and adventurously funny. It didn’t take long before he became popular at your campus. So popular, in fact, that you heard chatters of his name when you walked down the campus’ hallway with your textbooks in your arms. You had only known his name but not his face, so you didn’t really feel nervous or overly excited like any other girls would’ve probably had when you accidentally sat next to him during public speaking class and saw that he had a silly note stuck on his back, pressed against his black hoodie.

“Hey,” you called, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough so the people around you wouldn’t notice. “You’ve got something on your back.”

The boy was young, and he had the smoothest golden skin you’d ever seen on a boy. You would probably kill to have his perfect sun-kissed skin. He had slightly chubby cheeks and a mop of dark brown hair with bangs falling over his eyes. He was slouching forward in his seat with his arms draped over his table, staring lifelessly at the board. His lower lip was jutting out in boredom and slight annoyance, reminding you of a five-year-old boy missing his favorite cartoon. He threw a glance to the side, looking at you with big, chocolate brown eyes, and his eyebrows raised in question.

“What?” He asked and you pointed to the back of his hoodie with your pen.

“I won’t judge if it’s the kind of thing you’re into,” you said, “but I don’t think placing a note behind your back with the words Spank Me, Mama, written on it is the best way to actually, you know, get it.”

He blushed and he blushed so hard that it made you think huh, he’s kinda cute, but you buried the thought right away. You had promised yourself to focus better that year. Falling head over heels for a fellow student on the first day of your new term was not the right way to do it.

“Right, thanks.” He struggled with the note, reaching behind his back as if his skin was on fire. You were about to help when he finally snatched the paper and read the words under his breath, eyes widening in shock.

“I assume that’s not your handwriting?” You were amused but tried your best not to tease him so much.

He did this pout that actually kind of fit his face, probably because he still had that baby face going on. Most of the guys you knew would look immensely disgusting if they pulled that kind of pout. Take your brother, Johnny, for example. Even the thought of him doing that already made you feel like punching your fist against a wall.

“I would weep myself to sleep if my handwriting was this bad,” he grumbled and you smiled secretly to yourself. He turned to you, an awkward grin painting his face. “Sorry, my friends are assholes. Do you happen to know a swamp nearby where I can dump dead bodies without being found out?”

You nod. “I know a place but it’s no longer free, though. They charge you, like, ten thousand won per body. Which is why I’m broke.”

His timid grin grew into a bright smile, probably feeling quite elated that somebody shared the same type of dumb humor as him. “I’m Lee Donghyuck.” He sneaked a hand under a table and you took it for a handshake, answering him with your name. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“Most welcome. You can save me back later when I have the words spank me, daddy, glued to my back.”

“So your friends are assholes too?”

“It’s what people have in common these days, I suppose.”

But when your professor spoke louder to make sure he didn’t any other noise in the room except his own, you had to cut your conversation short and only threw small grins at him every now and then.

When the class ended, you both parted ways with nothing more than a small wave of a hand and a casual, “Well, I guess, I’ll see you later.” You thought it would be too weird to get even friendlier than that, and he probably did too. You admitted that he was cute, but not cute enough for you to ditch your next class and make out with him in the nearest parking lot. You thought you were going to see him again soon anyway, probably the next week when the same class started.

And you were right, but you wished you weren’t because Donghyuck came back to your class the following week looking like a full-course meal.

Donghyuck probably had his hair cut short somewhere on the weekend and it looked absolutely fucking perfect on his head. His bangs were no longer hiding his eyes, and it was clear to you then that Donghyuck with his forehead seen, combined with those thick beautiful eyebrows and mesmerizing round eyes, were really something to behold.

He didn’t notice you were already in the class when he walked in, with his bag slinging on one shoulder. Some rowdy boys were shouting at the back of the room, “Haechan-ah, over here! Saved you a seat!” And Donghyuck grinned at them, waving his hand before he walked toward their seats and you thought Lee Donghyuck is Haechan?! That Haechan?! And mentally slapped yourself on the face when the flashback hit you. You had the chance to talk to one of the most popular boys in school and you talked about swamp and dead bodies.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

After you managed to collect yourself, you couldn’t hold back this urge to sneak a few glances to the back of the class, trying to catch a glimpse of that beautiful forehead of his—which you realized by then that you had some kind of a kink for it—without having him notice you.

But he did. He did notice every time you tried to secretly stare and he reciprocated each time with a smile, raising one of his eyebrows almost dangerously seductive at you and you thought goddamn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my twenty years of living I don’t know what is.

You offered your best effort to stay fucking calm despite everything that had been going on in your head, waving one hand at him with a small—hopefully not creepy—smile on your face. You immediately turned around right after, swallowing your breath, and tried not to vomit because your stomach felt like it was about to lurch out of your mouth. It wasn’t really an unpleasant feeling; it was just kind of new to you and you loathed the way your heart was slamming against your ribcages.

Okay, you mentally calmed yourself, get a hold of yourself. No need to panic. He’s just another cute boy, with a cute haircut, and a cute smirk, and a cute forehead and—

You really didn’t like where it was going.

When the class ended—and you didn’t learn a thing about it—you shoved your iPad back into your bag and let out the loudest sigh you had ever made in your sorry life.

“Bad day?”

Haechan’s voice was next to your ear and though you only jerked slightly on the outside, most of your soul had actually gone to heaven—or hell, from all those dirty thoughts you had about him during the last two hours of that lecture.

“Yeah,” you cooly replied. Thank God, your voice didn’t betray you. “My swamp is full again. I have to start looking for a new place.”

AM I SERIOUSLY TALKING ABOUT ANOTHER FUCKING SWAMP—

But Haechan was laughing about it, not too much but the amusement on his face was genuine. “It’s cute that you remember our previous conversation.”

“It’s cute that you do too.”

“Well, actually, that’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last week,” he told you with a smirk on his face. You dared to bet on your life that he was flirting with you and you were about to scream out of joy but you reminded yourself to play it cool.

“I don’t think it’s a conversation worth remembering,” you commented nonchalantly.

“Not if I had it with anyone else.”

You almost fell from your seat. “On second thought, it was a pretty interesting conversation, what with the—”

“Noona.” He suddenly leaned close, laying one hand on your desk to prop his weight. There was that smirk again—the one with his eyebrow raised. “I’m trying to flirt with you and ask you out on a date, if you haven’t noticed.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears at that point. You had thought about it—about him asking you out—but your imagination did not do justice on how smooth and confident or how goddamn attractive he looked in real life. “Oh.”

“Oh.” He imitated, smirking a bit wider and you were dazed with how bright he shone. “So, can I take you out for lunch? Not anywhere close to swamps full of dead bodies, I swear.” Then after a small pause, he added, “Unless, that’s what you’re into.”

“Shut up,” you retorted, standing up and gathering all your belongings into your arms. “You’re paying.”

He laughed softly to himself, trailing after you with a cheeky grin on his face. “This swamp thing could be our thing, though.”

“Shut up.”

***

Haechan was not one to take it slow, you remember, which is way different from how Mark does things with you.

It wasn’t like Haechan was overly aggressive—as far as boys go, he was pretty normal about the whole dating and sex thing—but he really just head straight to the point whenever he had something in mind, whether it was by a sudden change of topic in your conversation, or acting it out directly with his body.

While Mark tends to plan things, Haechan just did everything out on a whim. You could be talking about science fiction movies at a cafe at one point, and ended up with having your clothes soaked with water by the next few hours because he suddenly felt like the day was too hot and jumping into the campus pool fully clothed was a good idea. You weren’t sure why you’d said yes to all of that when you just barely knew him but Haechan could be very persuasive. So dangerously so, that you would probably say yes to anything.

It was on your third date when he suddenly bent his head down and cut you in the middle of your sentence with a kiss. It was only a small peck, a quick pressing of his plump lips against yours, but it still managed to literally stop you from breathing for a good couple of seconds.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling away with his eyes still staring at your lips. “I was… distracted.”

You knew it was lust in his eyes and you were familiar with yourself enough to know that you usually preferred to have your first kiss after you knew the guy for a certain amount of time. But Haechan—the way he sometimes stared at your lips for a millisecond while you were talking, or hugged you for a few seconds too long before you parted ways—really made you feel special. Made you feel… wanted. And it had been a long time since someone made you feel that way.

So it really didn’t come too much of a surprise that when he dipped his head down to kiss you again, you responded with as much passion as he emitted. You didn’t care that both of you were still standing in the middle of your co-ed dorm’s hallway, though it was empty from how late it was. You had your fingers tangled in his hair as you tiptoed and leaned your entire weight to his body, making him inhale sharply and curl his fingers around the fabric of your dress.

“Again,” he breathed when you pulled away for a split second and immediately brought you back to him again. Haechan had one arm around your waist and another one holding your face, angling your head to the side so he could kiss you deeper.

Haechan was a good kisser—so frighteningly so that it made you feel conscious of how inexperienced you were compared to him. And with the way his hands were moving around your body, you could tell that things were going a bit too fast.

“Haechan—”

The hand that you laid on his chest to give you both some space, was brought over your head as he pressed your body against the door of your room. He kissed you harder, almost knocking your head against the wooden surface, and you could taste the flavor of the lollipop he had on his way back to your dorm. His scent was intoxicating in the best way possible, numbing your mind from thinking how this could probably end up in a bad decision.

“Haechan-ah, wait,” you gasped against his mouth, and when he did, pulling away from you for a few inches to catch his own breath, you noticed that even if you managed to stop him, you probably wouldn’t sound very convincing.

It was really fortunate that although Haechan was a man of passion, he still had the patience to make your consent his priority. “Too fast?” He asked, warm breath fanning against your lips and you really wanted to just close those few inches between you and be smothered with his kisses again.

So you did, and you could feel him smirking into the kiss. The way he slipped his tongue between your mouth made your knees buckle underneath your weight so you clutched onto him as if you were hanging to dear life. Haechan formed this low grunt at the back of his throat that made your skin tingle in delight, knowing that you had that kind of effect on him.

But really, something still didn’t feel right.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, noticing how you fidgeted uncomfortably under his touch. He looked like stopping at this point would be the last thing he wanted to do but he still gave you the space you needed.

You nodded your head slowly at his question. Haechan looked like he had to put his best effort to gain control of his body and move away from you, and you could totally relate at that point, actually. You weren’t really sure why did you even stop him before. It just felt like the right thing to do but at the same time, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Haechannie—"

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step away from you and releasing you from his hold. You were surprised by the fact that you almost fell down to the floor when he wasn’t holding you.

“No, don’t be—it was, umm,” You cleared your throat. The collar of your knitted sweater suddenly felt too tight. “It was good.”

“Good?” Haechan asked, smirking as he raised an eyebrow and you thought fuck there’s that look again and you cursed inwardly a few more times for feeling so whipped for his little, seductive eyebrow raise. “I thought that was more than good, Noona.”

“Probably for you,” you wanted to tease but you could hear your voice crack at the end.

“Oh, really?”

And he kissed you again because he never wanted to lose his game. He knew he already had you wrapped under his fingers; he just wanted to make you succumb to him. To have you say how amazing his touches really felt on your skin because he was just that kind of a guy.

And he was winning. Your reaction was exactly the way he wanted you to be, arching your back under his touch, pressing your chest against his, tongue darting out to taste the inside of his mouth better and longer.

“No, wait, timeout.” You pushed him away again and you noticed that his hair was a mess from the work of your fingers and weirdly enough, it only made him ten thousand times hotter.

“Noona, you’re torturing me.” He whined against your shoulder, playfully biting the skin over your clothes. “Do you want me to stop or not?”

Haechan had the habit of whining when things didn’t go his way. It was immature and it would probably look childishly annoying on someone else, but it only made him  that much more adorable. Still annoying most of the time, but always adorable.

“I’m sorry.” You were torn between feeling bad or laughing about it because my God, look at that pout. “Maybe a five-minute break? I could make you some coffee. My roommate is away for the weekend.”

He sighed, the pout on his lips grew even more apparent. “You’re inviting me to your room? At this hour? After this?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you tonight, Lee Donghyuck, just to be clear.”

“Which is the more reason why you shouldn’t be inviting me over then!”

You laughed because his voice was becoming quite high-pitched. “Are you so incapable of using your brain instead of your dick?”

“Noonaaaaa~” He threw his head back in exasperation, which gave you the chance to ogle at the column of his throat. “Seriously, is torturing guys at the end of a date your sick hobby or something?”

“Look, if you stay over, we can still make-out.” You throw a smirk at him, unlocked your door and pushed it wide open. “And I make the most amazing coffee, trust me.”

“Fine,” he exhaled, walking into your room with a suppressed smile on his face. “And I’m only here for coffee, nothing more. Making-out with you is just a bonus.” And you found yourself giggling like a child as he cradled you into his arms and pushed you down to your bed because you both knew, it was the other way around.

***

About a month later, a similar situation happened again and there was no getting out of it.

It started with Haechan coming over to your room on a Sunday afternoon. Your roommate was staying over at her boyfriend’s place again for the weekend, so you had the room to yourself for the entire day. Haechan came unplanned and he’d brought his MacBook with him because, “I know myself well enough that I’d end up playing Overwatch instead of working on my assignment, so could you please be a responsible adult and force me to do my work even if I start crying at your feet?”

Haechan was always the dramatic one in your relationship but you nodded your head and let him in. You brought over some snacks and made him coffee like usual—which he always replied with, “Noona, I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful boyfriend but this coffee tastes like shi—” but was always finished with a pillow smacked to his face, a form of your courtesy.

You were working on your own papers too, sitting on the carpeted floor with your back pressed against the foot of your bed and a MacBook resting on your lap. Your textbooks were sprawled all over the place, and Haechan was lying down on your bed, head falling over the edge. He was looking at his phone, his thumb running up and down the screen.

“Noona?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m bored.”

“Aren’t you supposed to work on your assignment?”

“Finished it already.”

You threw a look over your shoulder, glancing to see him lounging on your bed as if it was his own. Haechan already had his MacBook closed, and was looking at you upside down with a completely bored look on his face. You knew he was smart, but you didn’t know he was that smart when he really put his mind to it.

“Well, that was fast,” you commented.

“No, you’re just doing it painfully slow.”

“Well, sorry for not being as smart as you,” you mumbled, even though you weren’t really annoyed about it. Haechan  huffed and walked closer, sitting closely right behind you, and trapping you between his legs.

“You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, though,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist. “What are you working on exactly?”

“I don’t even know, honestly,” you sighed, leaning against his chest, dropping your head on his shoulder. “You wanna order some take-out?”

“Can I eat you for dinner instead?”

“Was that a sex joke, Lee Donghyuck?”

“Could be, if you’re interested.” You could see him wiggling his eyebrows from his reflection on your standing mirror. Both of you looked adorable, if you could say so yourself, wearing a matching white shirt (though not on purpose) and enjoying each other’s warmth with Haechan’s arms wrapped protectively around your figure. You sighed as you admired the sight of Haechan’s features in the mirror.

“Have I told you how sexy you look with your hair pushed back like this?” You asked, reaching out to touch some of his strands and he followed your gaze, looking at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Huh.” He seemed surprised. “It’s the first time you said that actually. What else do you think is sexy about me?”

“Promise you won’t get cocky about it if I tell you?”

“Can’t. You know how I am.”

You sighed but you succumbed to his wish. He praised you from time to time, it was only fair for you to do the same. “The way you dance.”

“You saw me dance?”

“Hm-hmm.”

“When?”

“That time when we went to Jaemin’s party. You were dancing to Billy Jean.”

“You saw that?!” He was flustered, scarlet painting his cheeks and ears. “That was—I thought you were in the bathroom!”

“Well, I was going to but then I saw you and kinda had to stop and stare for a little. You dance more with your hips than with your hands, do you know that? It was kinda hot.”

And just like that, the flabbergasted look on his face was immediately replaced with that Godforsaken cocky smirk again. “Were you turned on back then because of me?”

“A little. Or maybe I just really had to pee.”

“You should’ve said something, you know.”

“And then what? Have sex with you in Jaemin’s room? No freaking way.”

“We could’ve used my car. My hips could do so much more than just dancing, you know.”

“You’re disgusting.” You elbowed him slightly on the stomach to stop him from giggling, before you focused back on your MacBook. “Now, shoo, my boy. Mommy’s gotta work.”

Haechan had his chin on one of your shoulders. “But Noona~”

“I’m studying.”

“I’m bored~” He whined like the baby that he was, nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck and you flinched slightly when his breath tickled your skin. “Can we make-out? Please pretty pleaseeeee~”

“Give me half an hour to finish this real quick—”

“Noonaaaaaaa~”

“What?” You were trapped between laughing and acting annoyed about it. “I seriously need to study. Didn’t you tell me to be a responsible adult for today?”

“You could also be a responsible adult by making-out with me though.” He chuckled to himself. “We could do adult things if you—”

“No,” you firmly stated though your smile kept on appearing on your face. You pushed a palm against his cheek, playfully shoving him away. “Now, go away, Dongsookie, I really have to study.”

“Fine,” he exhaled loudly against your shoulder and you could practically feel his pout growing on his face. He didn’t let you go, though. He kind of just sat there behind you, still circling his arms around your waist as he lazily stared at the words you were typing on the keyboard. You had trouble concentrating with the way you could feel every time he took in a breath from how close his chest was pressed against your spine but eventually you got the hang of it.

You were already working on your third page when Haechan suddenly had his lips on the side of your neck, lazily suckling on the skin until you could no longer ignore him.

“Haechannie.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m playing a game,” he murmured against your skin, licking at the soft skin before he nibbled at it with his teeth. “It’s called how fast can I distract my girlfriend from working over a stupid assignment instead of spending time with me.”

“But I am spending time with you, though.”

“You know what I mean.”

And you had to bite your lip because he had a certain kind of pressure on his words that made your skin tingle in anticipation. His lips were soft but scorching hot as he drew bruises on your skin and it felt so good and dangerous at the same time. It was like standing on a bridge made of glass, both exciting and terrifying.

“You know what I think is sexy about you?” He quietly asked, one hand running down your body, slipping under your shirt and hovering dangerously close to your bra. “The way you say my name when we kiss,” he continued, adding a soft moan when he latched his lips around your earlobe.

You shivered, feeling heat growing on your cheeks. “Haechannie—”

“Yes, like that,” he chuckled, his voice suddenly became deeper. “You’re so sexy, you’re driving me insane.”

You tried your best to ignore him, you really did. But the second he had his warm mouth against your lips, his fingers grabbing your face almost forcefully to turn towards him, you just lost it and you found yourself crawling into his lap, tangling your legs around his waist and moaning against his mouth as he was against yours.

“Noona,” he sighed when you kissed down his neck, as if your every touch was a gift that he craved more and more. He shuddered slightly when you had your hand under his shirt and as if you just pushed the wrong button, he suddenly picked you up by the waist, shoved your textbooks away with one swipe of the back of his hand, and laid you down on the carpeted floor in one swift motion.

“If you keep doing that,” he breathed out heavily, eyes glazed as he stared at your kiss swollen lips. “I won’t be able to stop, even if you beg me to.”

You weren’t sure what came over you but you found yourself hooking your fingers around his necklace and brought his face down, whispering, “Then don’t stop,” directly against his lips.

It was all rush and passion and Haechan was not wasting even a second away before he began to undress you, removing each clothing very easily and you secretly wondered just how many times had he done this before from how smooth he unclasped your bra with one flick of his finger.

He pulled his shirt over his head, his silver necklace hanging loosely around his neck. “Tell me if I’m being too fast,” he said, before he climbed on top of you, throwing the piece of clothing away without a care. Your heart jumped at the sight of him, knowing how this could lead to something more but couldn’t really stop him. Not with the way he had his hands reaching down from the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach, his fingers brushing above the hem of your jeans.

His kiss was always breathtaking, to say the least, but it was a bit different this time because it felt like he was losing control of himself. His kiss was almost forceful, his teeth roughly nibbling at your lower lip before he moved down your chin and found his place in the crook of your neck again. His hand was on your chest, cupping you fully with his palm and let out this sexy groan when he felt you gasping his name against his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re just doing that on purpose now, aren’t you?” He hissed, eyes clouded with lust. He peppered kisses down your chest, lips hovering above your nipple when he said, “You’re being cruel, Noona.” You were tugging at his dark locks when he placed it between his lips, sucking at the sensitive spot, and you tried to hold back your moan but failing every time.

Haechan was giggling to himself, his tongue flicking around the bud. “The way you’re reacting to me is so cute. I didn’t know you were this sensitive.” He ran his tongue across his lower lip, staring at you like he wanted to ravish every part of you, which he probably did. “You’re so goddamn cute.”

“Haechannie.”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t be needing that kind of commentary ever again in the future, thanks,” you uttered, trying your best to focus on his touch and not his words because Haechan could be annoyingly talkative sometimes.

He chuckled again, moving along to land a few kisses on your stomach. “If you’re that sensitive here, how sensitive will you be if I touch you right over…” He trailed a finger down from your belly button to the edge of your underwear. His eyes twinkled gleefully before he rubbed your clit over your underwear. “…here?”

You gave your best strength to stay sane but Haechan’s giggle over your reaction only tortured you even further. “Stop playing around,” you hissed under your breath, pretty sure that you were blushing from ear to ear.

“Playing?” Haechan grinned tauntingly, “I’m being pretty serious, though.” He spread your legs, kissing the inner part of your trembling thigh before he hovered dangerously close to the point you could feel his breath down there. You couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation and Haechan knew that. He knew how much you wanted him to take off your underwear and eat you out like it’s his last meal.

But of course, being the little fucking devil that he was, Haechan only threw you his usual smirk and said, “You know I’d do anything for you, right, Noona? You just gotta beg for it.”

“No way.”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t know.” He faked a pout. “I’m younger than you, you know. I need you to teach me these things.”

You reciprocated by kicking him right on his abs because as desperate as you were, there was no way in hell you were going to grovel at his feet, begging for him to please you. “All right, all right, I’m sorry, geez!” Haechan said, laughing as he successfully dodged two of your first kicks. Soon after, he grabbed your moving legs, carefully placed them on his sides and ran his hands slowly from your legs to your thighs. He took a long glance at your body, sighing like it was some kind of beautiful torture for him to take. “You don’t even realize how hot you are, do you?” He leaned closer and grabbed you by your chin, locking both of your gazes together. “Do you even know how hard I am right now because of you?”

It was a rhetorical question, clearly, because you could definitely tell how hard and hot he was pressing against you, even if his jeans and your underwear were still on the way.

“God, just—” you gasped when he slipped a knee between your legs, pressing it against your core. “Just stop being a fucking tease and fuck me already, Donghyuck.”

And he grinned against your skin. “Fucking finally.” You heard him say under his breath, before he carried you in his arms and moved you to the bed. It felt somewhat scary, how fast he was being, because you had only experienced sex once and it was the painfully awkward kind of sex with your high school boyfriend and you didn’t really have the chance to practice it with anyone else while it seemed to you, at this point, was clearly not the case for him.

Haechan had his eyes on you, all half-lidded with lust and passion, as he unbuckled the belt of his jeans and you had to gulp at the sight. He didn’t really have six-pack abs like Jaehyun—considering your boyfriend was quite an athlete during his senior days—but his shoulders were broad, his chest was toned, his stomach was lean and his skin, as it glistened slightly with sweat, was just absolutely breathtaking.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked, and you knew how he’d always been cocky in his entire life, but he’d never been this cocky. “You’re practically drooling.”

“I am not,” you retorted but you lacked confidence. Haechan grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans before he climbed back into the bed with his jeans unbuttoned.

“Why do you already have a condom with you?”

“Because I came prepared.”

“I thought you said you wanted to study.”

“Among other things,” he grinned against your lips and shushed down your next protest. “I will be studying your body, if you give me the chance.”

“That was so lame.” But even your insult couldn’t mask how nervous you sounded, especially when Haechan was settling himself between your legs again, fingers hooking around your underwear.

“Final chance if you want me to stop, Noona,” he said though it felt like it was almost impossible for him to stop. “I’m serious. After this, I won’t stop even if you cry.”

You swallowed your breath, heart thrumming loud against your chest. “Just do whatever you want,” you answered, almost too quiet for even your ears to hear but Haechan’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.

“That’s my girl,” he said, grabbing your thighs and spreading your legs apart before he leaned in to taste your mouth again. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”

You realized you were holding your breath when Haechan wrapped the condom around his length and he had his eyes on you before he pushed in, asking with an unexpected low voice of his, “Ready?”

But he did not wait for an answer and you found yourself hissing when he pushed in, slowly at first and suddenly all at once. You twisted your fingers against the bed sheet, biting your lower lip because it hurt trying to adjust to his size and Haechan was a little bit lost in his own thoughts, muttering, “Fuck, you’re so tight,” under his breath, slightly throwing his head back out of pleasure. “Noona, you’re so fucking tight. Do you know that?”

He leaned closer to you, chest pressing against your breasts as he mouthed against the skin of your shoulder and slowly began to move his hips. “You all right?” He asked, making eye contact after a while and you shakily nodded your head, though the pain was still there. “Then I’ll move faster.”

You almost hit your head against your headboard when he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting into you hard and deep; it knocked the breath out of your lungs. “Haecha—” you could barely speak at that point, arms clutching tight to his back, nails raking against his spine.

“Fuck,” he uttered between heavy breaths as he sat on his knees, holding both of your legs in the air, almost splitting your body in half and pushed deeper. “How the fuck do you feel this good, I—” he ended his sentence short, kissing your ankle instead, his eyes never leaving yours. “I wanna keep you—you’re so pretty like this, Noona—so fucking pretty—”

Haechan was always good with his words but at that time, he was making incoherent noises at the back of his throat, jumping from one sentence to another as if he was thinking about several things at once and he was running out of time.

“Haechan, wait—s-slow down—” You placed a hand on his shoulder, tears forming in your eyes. “You’re moving too fast—It hurts—”

Haechan was unfocused, but the last two words that slipped from your mouth brought him back to reality. He stopped almost immediately, looking at you with eyes searching your face. “Does it hurt?” He asked and you nodded, your body shaking a little bit. His gaze softened, cupping your cheek in his hand before he slowly pulled out of you. “I’m sorry, come here.” He cradled you into his arms, sitting down on the bed and helped you climb into his lap. “Maybe if we do it this way,” he said, wiping a tear from your eye with his thumb, “You’ll feel better?”

You could feel him twitching below you, the tip of his cock pressing against your folds. Haechan stayed true to his promise, he wasn’t going to stop even if you cried and that’s fine because you didn’t want him to.

“Take your time,” Haechan said, smiling gently in a way that was so not him that it made you feel weird. You could tell that he was trying to keep himself calm and composed even when all he wanted to do was to fuck you senselessly.

He pushed inside again, but let you take control of the pace this time. You slid down slowly, wincing slightly at the friction but it no longer hurt as much. Haechan was staring at you the entire time, unconsciously licking his lower lip when you slowly began to bounce on his lap.

“Kiss me,” he demanded and you did, sharing his breath and his moans, and tangling your hands in his hair. When he felt your body relaxing against him, he grabbed you by the waist and suddenly thrust forward, making you gasp and clenched your legs together.

“Fuck,” he moaned under his breath, hissing at how perfect you felt around him. “Noona, you can be mad at me as much as you want after this but for now let me just—” he groaned, furrowing his eyebrows at the feeling of him sliding in and out of you. “Just let me fuck you the way I want.”

And you found yourself thrown back to the bed with him thrusting into you deep and raw, faster and much more forceful than before. His nails were sinking into your skin from how hard he was holding you by your hips, keeping you still as he rocked his hips forward as hard and as fast as he liked. Expletives were falling from his lips between his low grunts and breathy moans and you couldn’t help but sob a little at how strong he was going. It felt painfully amazing, and you knew your body wasn’t making any sense, and it surprised you when your orgasm hit you like a wave, just a few seconds before he reached his. You honestly never thought that something so painful could also bring this much pleasure and you wanted to be mad at him but you couldn’t even find the energy to keep yourself up.

You fell down to the bed with Haechan toppling on top of you almost immediately, chest heaving fast as he tried to bring back some air into his lungs.

“Holy fucking hell,” he said, breathing heavily at the juncture of your neck. “That was so good. This is probably the first time I—”

“Haechannie.”

“Oh right, shit!” He immediately jumped away, giving you some space and gently placed his palm on the side of your face, checking your condition. “Are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere? Noona, I’m so sor—Yah!“

You pinched him by the nose, glowering at him with the little strength you have left and you didn’t let go even if he was tapping frantically against the back of your hand, asking for time-outs before you broke his bones.

Well, he said you could be mad at him all you want. It was time for him to face your wrath and it was not going to be pretty.

***

It wasn’t long until your name became a famous topic to discuss around the hallway too and it felt weird yet exciting at the same time, because it was true. You were dating Lee Haechan. And no matter how many times you had to convince yourself that it wasn’t solely your imagination, it still felt unreal.

Because Haechan was shining like the sun, and you couldn’t really shine as bright.

It suddenly felt like high school all over again when you’d once dated the Prom King, Jung Jaehyun, where people always talked behind your back, making comments about your face, or your body, or your attitude and how every aspect of your life did not fit the legendary high school prince that was Jung Jaehyun. It had gotten so much into your head that you had to break up with him, and hating yourself for over a year on how weak you’d become.

Dating Haechan was similar but different in the way he treated you. Jaehyun was too kind, not really saying anything back to anyone who said awful things about you and instead, just told you to not pay any mind about it. Haechan was much braver in saying the things that came to mind, so whenever he heard people talking trash about you, he would come up to them with words laced with venom. It was kind of childish, the way he got worked up rather easily, and even more childish when he continued to pout and fume about it even after a whole day had passed.

“Seriously, I said I’m fine,” you once said to him, entering his Hyundai after he opened the door for you.

“Well, I’m pissed off,” he said, unconsciously closing the door a bit too hard, making you flinch slightly. He walked to the other side of the car, sinking to his seat behind the wheel and exhaled loudly.

“Haechannie.”

“What?” His tone was still a bit harsh, but you knew he didn’t mean to shout at you.

“Thank you for defending me,” you softly said, reaching out for his hand. “But at this point, you’re gonna be mad with literally everyone and anger does not look pretty on you.”

“But aren’t you pissed, though? They literally have no business whatsoever to—”

“I know.” You squeezed his hand. “Look if it gets worse, we can always plan out something. There’s this perfect swamp I know outside of town.”

And Haechan couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he was right, that swamp thing could really be your thing. “You and your stupid swamp,” he muttered, shaking his head in amusement as he grabbed your face for a kiss. “Can we have sex at your place today?”

You sighed. It was always like this when it came to him.  “Sure, why not.”

Because certainly, you weren’t complaining.

***

[zuffer-weird-girl]

May i request for overhaul just being vulnerable because of the first time he felt "threatened" by somebody trying to steal angel away? And he feels really terrible about it? (Even if he took care of the issue...the person- already?) You may decline! Thankyou

He wasn't the best to be involved with.

Heck, he would be a hypocrite if he deny such a thing. He is arrogant, cold and capable of kill someone if they accidentaly bumo onto him. Not even mentioning the sociopath part of his persona.

Resume. He is a mess of a man. Sometimes he even question it if you were actually sane to still be with him. Say you loved him for who he is and stay by his side even on his worsts moments where he knows he is an absolute asshole if it let him.

He knew you deserved better. He knew it.... yet his selfishness was way bigger than his common sense; he didn't wanted to lose one of the only good things on his fucked up life.

He was too possesive.

Yet seing you there... smilling and actually laughing at that man's words and gestures made his stomach turn into a knot as he gripped on his glass a little bit tighter as he stared at the scene with nonchalant expression.

"Such a beautiful person like yourself involved with us? A bunch of yakusas? Pardon but I mistook you with actual royalty." The brunette haired man spoke as you giggled and waved him off.

"Please, this is beyond exaggerating sir!"

"I beg your kindness to call me Harishima. It would be a blessing to hear my name be spoken by such a sweet angel's voice."

Angel? Angel... that was his nickname for you. How dare he-

"Shit! You're okay Overhaul?" He heard Chrono's blvoice and he only let out a confused noise before looking at his own hand... despite the gloves on, that was sign of his blood dropping on the floor along with the remains of what used to be a glass.

He didn't even used his quirk to do that... impressive. His subconscious spoke louder this time.

He merely grabbed a napkin and started to wipe it off until he heard your voice. He stared down and found you with wide worried eyes directioners at his injury as his chest somehow fluttered in relief.

Your attention was on him. You carried about him.

"What happened?!" You took the napkin out of his hand and sweetly wipe while holding his hand on yours... many were shock that Overhaul didn't killed you right there for touching him without permission.

No. The man was staring down at you like it was not a big deal. Letting you treat his wound as you asked for anyone for some bandages.

The worry in your eyes were genuine... you didn't had the same look towards that filth.

"Kai I think we should go to-"

"Oh my." The man you were speaking to appeared and dares to put a hand on your shoulder "Mister we should get to the hospital. I can take both you and this lovely friend of yours there by my car."

"Would you really do that?" You asked in astonishement and relief as the man nodded with a smile.

His eye twitched at the sign. Snatching his hand back he took off his gloves and let it fall to the ground as he used hsi quirk on his own hand. Poker face present with a tinge of hate and wish to kill as he stared Harishima on the eyes.

"As you can see-" his hand returned back to normal "I dont need this stupid charity of yours. And I command you to stop this disgusting flirting on my partner. Unless of course you dont treasure your life this much." He narrowed his eyes at the quivering man before telling you to follow him since he was done of this reunion.

You looked at Hari whose shrugged before quickly apologizing to Harishima and going after your fuming boyfriend.

He could hear your footsteps after him but he didn't even dared to look behind his shoulder or to even spoke one single word. On the car it held such a tension atmosphere that could be snapped by a freacking needle.

Now, back to the safety of you guys shared room, you looked at your boyfriend changing out of his clothes before gulping and have thhe courage to speak.

"I thought we were suppose to get out of there at 10? Is still barely 9 p.m Kai..."

He stop mid track on folding his shirt. Golden eyes looking slowly at your figurine before they retreated, as well as his actions of searching something to wear at night after taking a shower.

"If you wished to pass time with that filth then you should had at least said on my face."

The time your ears got his sentence you widened your eyes and stared at him for solid minutes in shock as he refused to lock gazes once again.

"What are you... talking about?" You giggled "Wait... no. Kai you were-! Oh!!!" your giggles got into a point you were laughing, back on the bed as Chisaki arched one eyebrow up as one of his eye also twitched in anger.

Making fun of him after what happened. You were lucky enough he treasured you or else you would be around on all room and being cleaned out of it by Chronostasis.

"Quiet." He commanded and you only laughed harder, giggling when he grabbed on your shoulder and forced you to look at the murderous glare he had on his face as you smirked up at him.

"You were jealous of Harishim-"

"Spoke his entire name. Go on." He narrowed his eyes down at you and clenched his grip on warning "I dare you to do it."

Smilling up at him you giggled one last time.

"I lost count of how many times you got jealous hun." You giggled more before you stopped when he let your shoulder go, turning his back to you "Kai..?"

"... you know dearest. That... you're free to go. There's no need to remain here against your own will." That was the last thing he said before getting inside the shower, leaving you at the point of your heart to burst out of your chest.

What was he talking about?

After some torturing minutes he got out of the shower and widened his eyes at seing you, boucing your leg still waiting for him but soon they got back to normal.

"I thought you would be gone by now." He spoke nonchantly as you hesitantly looked up at him.

"Do you want me to?" His heart did a weird thing, but it seemed like it had contracted at seing your worry and how afraid you seemed to be.

"If it is against your own will and you're lying then yes." He said in the most cold tone of voice possible until you got up to look up at him, inches apart from his body.

"Why would I pretend something like that? We both know I cant even hide you that I ate a candy bar without you looking!"

"... what I am saying is..." he sighed, his pride not even allowing him to look at your eyes "I don't think I am the most suitable person to you. After all you're just so... pure."

You blinked up at him in surprise and shock... he wasn't only jealous this time, but insecure. Heavens, when was the time you ever saw your Chisaki Kai, OVERHAUL, insecure?!

"This is new..." you mumbled, finally catching his attention enough for him to look at you "Kai, you treat me well enough. Jesus you spoil me rootless since I almost beg you to not do it!"

"Is not a matter of money. Is a matter of treatment. I should at least... give enough of affection for you to not go to other males seeking for such things." He looked away, scratching the back of his neck until he let out a gasp at you hugging him tightly.

"You idiot." He narrowed his gaze at you who had your head on his chest "I couldn't ever seek attention from other guys since I have you. Germophobic and all of your package." You looked up at him as he stood with his arms out awkwardly.

"Yet you seemed quite fond of that sick-"

"Is a matter of good education. I dont even know if you noticed but everytime he tried touching me I brushed off. Just at that time when he was suggesting to take you on a hospital!"

His gaze slowly softened.

"You are the only one for my eyes dammit! I love you for you Chisaki! Sure, our affectionate touches might be rare but that's what make it so special... and you're getting better on your mysophobia! Geez last time there was a dirt on the floor instead of wanting to kill someone you went there and clean it yourself!"

"That was simply because no one else can clean something properly." He brushed it off as you again rested your head on his chest with a sigh.

"Trust me at least once Kai..." you mumbled until you gasped when you felt him hugging you back slowly with one arm as the other was occupied on petting your head.

"I dont trust on others... thinking they can take what is mine away. The wish of killing them is huge, yet I cant deny that some of them could treat you at least better."

"That's not true idiot!" You gasped when he flipped your head and pouting up at him as he looked down at you with a soft look yet lips pressed onto a thin line as always.

"You are insufferable sometimes you know that." He sighed with closed yes, detaching his arms away from you.

"And you were jealous of me some hours ago." You smiled at him "tsking" at your words and then you peeked his cheek, making him gag and press his hand on the area where your lips met his skin.

"... go to sleep already will you." He said before muttering some excuse to leave as you giggled at his attitude.

He gave only a few minutes, enough for you to sleep as he come back to the bedroom and saw you on the bed... his mind told him something and his heart another.

He decided to be bold this time. Getting behind your back and slowly putting his arms at your waist and pulling you to his chest as he breathed in the scent of you and your hair had let out a quiet exhale.

"How did I of all people deserved someone so understanding as you..? My angel."

He would only do this when you werent conscious. This way you couldn't saw how much effect you had on the most fearful and dangerous villains of Japan. A gangster. A killer.

Yet you were there... as always.

Hee could only promise he would try to be a better man, give a world cured off the diseaces for you to live.... After all, that was the minimun he could do after what you did and still do for him.

Poor man doesn't even know you were awake the whole time. He was about to live hell tommorow.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

wings & the way down - part 3

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan 

Word Count: 2190 this chapter

Warnings: None, really!

A/N: This fills the “jealousy” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Series masterlist is here. 

Sunday, January 5 - Spencer

Spencer doesn’t want to stay inside a minute longer than he has to. He can’t stay. He feels like his skin is a few sizes too small, and he’s itching with the discomfort of existing in his own body, and everything that’s rattling around inside his head is fizzing dangerously like bubbles in a shaken bottle of champagne. 

So he walks. 

This is what he’s done for over a decade now. In the last decade, Spencer has walked every street in this neighborhood more times than he wants to count. 

Spencer used to make up stories as he walked. When he was young, they were about the families who lived inside, the snatches of other people’s lives he saw as he passed. Later, he used to picture himself in those houses. He tried to imagine being someone else; who would he be, if he’d grown up in a different home, with a different family? Who would he be, if he was normal? 

He tries not to think about that any more. There’s no point being jealous of someone who doesn’t exist. 

He turns onto Lake Road, and then he almost turns around. 

This is creepy. Isn’t it? It’s creepy as hell. More importantly, why should he care whether Derek wants to see him? For all he knows, Derek didn’t show up at the park either. They’re never going to see each other again. There’s no reason for Spencer to care. 

He does care, though. 

The flip side of it is: they’re never going to see each other again. What does he have to lose? 

There’s something liberating about that thought. Derek doesn’t know him, and better yet, he never saw Spencer get shut in a locker. Derek wasn’t there when Charlie Hankel stole all Spencer’s clothes while he showered after gym class. Derek doesn’t remember any of the things Spencer would like to forget. 

Aside from Emily, everyone in Spencer’s class has known him for almost four years now. They all know him a little too well. 

Still, his heart is pounding uncomfortably as he passes #8 (big, sturdy mailbox, "the Hotchners”) and #10 (cheerful yellow mailbox, no name) and finally stops at #12 (small, tidy dark green mailbox, with “MORGAN” on the front). He almost turns around there, and then again (three more times) as he walks up the concrete path to the front door. 

This feels reckless. Spencer’s not sure what got into him today; he’s never reckless. 

He rings the doorbell and bounces on the balls of his feet. It’s one of those doorbells that actually chimes out a little tune, and he can hear it, muffled, inside the house. 

Nobody’s home, and that’s fine. It’s fine. Spencer’s just gonna go — well, he’s not going home, but he’s leaving. It’s fine. 

But he hears footsteps, and someone is shouting, “Coming, sorry, I thought you said two!”

Then the door is flung open, and Derek is standing there, and his smile drops when he sees who it is. Spencer’s stomach feels like he’s falling from the top of a very tall building. 

“Um. Hi?” His voice cracks. He raises one hand in an awkward wave, cheeks burning, and realizes he has no idea what to say. “I just — I figured — um. I wanted to say sorry? Assuming… you even showed up on Friday, which, for all I know you didn’t, but. Believe me, I really really wanted to show up on Friday. And… I don’t know what to say.” His voice trails off and then he admits, “I didn’t plan this far ahead.” 

“Yeah, I showed up on Friday,” Derek says quietly. He looks… unsteady, almost. Not sure what he feels. 

Spencer looks down at his ratty Chucks and repeats, “I’m sorry.” There’s a long pause, and he can’t bring himself to look up again. “I’ll just— I’ll just go, sorry, this was—”

He’s already turning around when Derek laughs and asks, “Really? You gonna ditch me again?” 

“Oh.” Spencer’s so startled he almost loses his balance pivoting to face him again. 

Derek’s smiling. It’s a different smile than the one he had on when he answered the door, and it’s tugging at his mouth slowly like he’s not sure why it’s there, but he’s smiling. “You wanna come in?”

“Oh.” Spencer blinks. “Sure.” 

There’s music playing from upstairs, hip-hop with a heavy bass beat, and Derek tells him, “Hang on, let me grab that.” He takes the stairs two at a time, and Spencer looks around bemusedly. 

The house is so… normal. It’s clean without being overwhelmingly so, and it’s full of light, and all the furniture looks like it was bought new, from a catalog. It’s so painfully normal that Spencer’s stomach twists up in knots. This is exactly the sort of life he used to imagine for himself. 

What is he doing here? 

“Hey, you okay?” Derek asks, as he comes back down the stairs. 

Spencer forces a smile. “Fine, just — having a weird day.” 

“My auntie and uncle are at church, so I figured I’d crank up the volume while I could,” Derek says sheepishly, holding a little Bluetooth speaker that was — presumably — the source of the music. “What sort of stuff do you like?” 

Spencer shrugs. Most of the music he knows comes from his mom, and he can’t really think about her right now without that cold clenching feeling around his ribcage. 

Maybe Derek can see how out of place Spencer feels here, because he leads the way out the back door, over to a big rope hammock strung up between two slim trees in the back of the neat lawn, and he falls back on it almost carelessly, sprawling out while still scrolling through something on the phone. 

“What were you listening to before?” Spencer asks. 

“Nas. You know him?” He grins up at Spencer, that bright-white dazzling grin, and Spencer perches next to him on the hammock. 

“Not at all, but… we can listen to that, if you want.” 

Derek sets the speaker on the ground, loud enough to hear but not too loud to talk over, and Spencer listens curiously as he lays back, hands folded on his stomach, looking up at the clear blue sky through the leaves. 

“When I stand somebody up, I don’t usually come to their house after to apologize,” Derek says tentatively. “Which… makes me think you might actually have a good excuse.”  

Spencer turns his head, and Derek is mirroring his position, looking right back at him. Their arms are just a couple inches apart, and Spencer feels acutely aware of his body. 

“I sorta had a… family crisis,” Spencer tells him. “My mom — we had to go out of town, and we didn’t get back until this morning.” 

He braces himself for questions, but Derek just half-smiles and nods slightly, looking back up at the sky. “Listen to this bit right here.” He kicks his foot idly, and the hammock rocks back and forth, lazy and gentle. 

“That’s a remarkably complex internal rhyme,” Spencer says, and Derek laughs out loud. 

“A+ literary analysis.” 

Spencer blushes. He’s dealt with a lot of teasing in his life, but this is so, so different. Derek’s elbow nudges against his, and when Spencer turns his head, he sees a broad smile that gives him butterflies. 

“I like it,” he says shyly. 

They’re quiet for a moment, listening. All that strange restlessness has faded, and Spencer likes it here; he likes the fence that surrounds most of the yard, hiding them from view, and he likes the pressure of the rope digging into his back, and he likes the way Derek looks at him. 

They listen in silence until the end of the song, and then Derek asks, “What’s your favorite book?” 

“I don’t know if I can choose a favorite. What’s yours?” 

He says it almost sheepishly: “Mother Night. Vonnegut.” 

“That’s an interesting choice,” Spencer says, thinking it over. 

“How do you mean?” 

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be,” Spencer quotes. 

Derek makes a face and looks up at the sky. “What, you gonna psychoanalyze me now?” 

“Why? What do you think it says about you?” Spencer counters, before he can think better of it. 

Derek laughs and says, begrudgingly, “That maybe I can identify with that. Pretending for the sake of self-preservation.” 

“I don’t know you all that well, but you don’t seem — I don’t know. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would need to pretend.” He wonders if it’s too much, if he’s being presumptuous. Derek looks self-conscious now. 

“But doesn’t everybody do that, to some extent? I mean… trying to fit in. Everybody pretends a little bit.”  

“I don’t, really,” Spencer tells him. “I wish I could, but… I don’t really know how to be anybody else.” There’s a note of bitterness in it that he can’t quite hide. 

“Is it weird that I’m jealous?”  

“You really shouldn’t be,” Spencer tells him. He mulls that over for a second and adds, “I do pretend when it comes to… how I feel. I don’t like showing when I’m upset. It doesn’t work the same way, though, because pretending I’m fine really doesn’t ever make me fine.” 

Derek snorts. “Yeah, I feel you.” 

“I imagine who I could be. I imagine what my life could be like somewhere else, or as someone else,” Spencer admits, which isn’t something he’d usually just say like that, but talking to Derek doesn’t seem to have the same rules as talking to most people. “It’s not the same as pretending, but... “ 

“Huh.” 

Spencer feels strange — oddly vulnerable and raw — and maybe Derek does too, because he’s got a soft, wistful expression on his face when he turns his head. They look at each other for a moment. Spencer knows he must be blushing. 

Then Derek’s phone rings, loud and startling through the speaker, and Derek seems to shake himself before fumbling with the buttons. 

“Hey,” he says, and pauses. “Oh — no, that’s fine. Cool. See you soon.” 

Which sounds like Spencer’s cue to go. He doesn’t really want to. 

He sits up, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I should —” 

“My friend,” Derek says, and he actually sounds disappointed. “A friend is coming over, sorry, I didn’t — you could stay, if you want?” 

Derek’s been here for how long now? And he already has more friends in the area than Spencer’s made in years? 

“Nah, it’s fine, I should get back to  —” To my life. Because this isn’t mine, as much as I’d like it to be. “— home.” 

“Can we hang out again sometime?” Derek asks. The hammock is sagging in the middle, where their weight is pulling it down, and when Derek sits up they slide closer, the sides of their legs press together, warm and distracting. 

“You’re staying here?” Spencer asks, more breathless than he’d like. 

Derek smiles. “Yeah, for a while.” 

Before Spencer can ask questions, Derek’s passing him the phone, and he taps his number in carefully. 

“That’s me.” He clears his throat. 

“I’ll text you,” Derek says, typing, and a second later, Spencer feels his own phone vibrate in his pocket. 

Maybe it’s all the talk about pretending — maybe if Spencer pretends to be confident, he will be, someday — maybe it’s the recklessness that brought him here in the first place — something possesses Spencer, and in a moment of courage (or stupidity) he leans over and kisses Derek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth, right where his smile curves up. 

Spencer’s so shocked at his own daring that he can’t really take it in; he gets the briefest impression of soft, and then he’s pulling back, ice-cold with the adrenaline rush. 

They both freeze for a second, blinking at each other. Just as Derek shifts, opening his mouth to say something, Spencer jumps to his feet. 

“Bye,” he chokes out, and turns, fighting the urge to run. 

“See you soon, pretty boy,” Derek calls after him. 

Spencer’s hands are shaking as he walks quickly around the side of the house. He stares intently down at his shoes, because he’s not going to do something like a little Snoopy dance of joy until he’s sure he’s on the next block and fully out of view. 

He almost collides with someone on the sidewalk; he gets an impression of blonde hair and pink shoes as she squeaks with alarm and jumps out of his way. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says breathlessly, without stopping. 

She chirps out a cheerful, “No biggie!” 

When Spencer looks back, she’s ringing the Morgans’ doorbell, and there’s this awful bitter thing in the back of his throat as he realizes that that’s Derek’s “friend.”

It makes perfect sense, though. What did he expect? 

Spencer swallows his envy and keeps walking. 

.

.

.

[evilluciferisevil]

The world is ending and I’m the wrong place 1

Pairing : (evetual) Wilhemina Venable x reader

Prompt : Wrong person, wrong place, wrong time. The world is ending, and you took someone’s place to survive, and it wasn’t even your fault. You didn’t want to, you would’ve happily died, but that didn’t happen. Is outpost 3 worth living? Is there someone to live for?

Chapter 1 (this one) - You arrive to the outpost, only to find out, you weren’t supposed to be there. You also meet everyone, and 

Warnings - Angst, mentions of self-harm, mentions of anorexia, suicidal thoughts, sexual content, mentions of past abuse, possible phobias, traumas

Words : 1484 

A/N : In this the reader enjoys dresses, makeup (How much, isn’t specified), etc. She’s also orphan (though adult now). But hair, eyes, skin etc isn’t defined, so it’s a free read for anybody. 

Part 1, 

You knew there wasn’t anything out there. It didn’t make sense. If there were other outposts, why hadn’t you heard anything from them? You knew it was all some cheap hoax. So what was the point in keeping going on?

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Three months ago you arrived into the outpost. All you knew, somebody mistook you for somebody more important, so you were accepted as a purple. It shook you to your core to know, you could’ve died out there, and yet somehow your life continued, simply because of a mistake. It was all like a big joke to you. One casual Thursday you were sitting in your apartment cross-legged on your bed, slender fingers running along the length of the keyboard of your laptop, trying to write yet another job application when your door flung open. You slowly tilted your head up to see what had happened, but that was when someone snatched up the computer from your lap and threw it at the wall, only to return his rough hand to pull you up. Another set of hands, gentler, were also around you as you were forced on your feet and out of your crappy apartment. For some reason you didn’t resist. It wouldn’t matter anyways. Once again, you repeated to yourself that there was nothing and nobody you were leaving behind, so this new place couldn’t be much worse. Oh, how you were wrong. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

You had been put to sleep with gas and you couldn’t remember much. You had awoken in a small, tidy room. A very small coffee brown bookcase was in the right wall of your room, alongside the same colored table. On the table was a feather pencil and an ink bottle. A rather long scroll was rolled open before the neatly placed items. Lifting yourself up from the bed, you were taking steps over to the chair in front of the table. However, before you did that, you caught a glimpse of a stand alone mirror in the other corner of the room, so you changed your direction of steps and stood before of the mirror, with a puzzled expression. On you weren’t the cozy clothing from before, no. You were dressed in what looked to be Victorian style clothing. So that caused the pressure in your chest. Ruffling through all the petticoats, the corset and the drawers you hummed. The purple dress was lovely. Perhaps, not the one you’d go for, but still, lovely. You nodded at yourself and opened the huge wardrobe doors. Going through the coffee colored cabinet, which matched everything in the room, you found all you would need to survive. By now, you had figured out that there would be no electronics and you were fine. I mean, who would pick up if you called? Previously you barely had three contacts, and even they were for necessities. 

After going through the small room, even the little bathroom attached to it, you were ready to read the scroll.

“Welcome to Outpost 3, Maryann Howells...”

Something wasn’t right. Your name wasn’t Maryann Howells. That was your landlord’s daughter. How’d they mix you with her? You two were complete opposite. First off, her she was rich, and most certainly didn’t live in the smallest apartment whole Los Angeles had to offer. Well, the mix-up had happened, you could still change, right? The second thing you started to wonder, what that why were you in an outpost. You didn’t want to be here, Maryann could come and fetch her place, you’d happily give it to her. 

“...As you should be aware, the world has ended. Well, most of it. Your father, however, bought you a place here. You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish, as long as you follow my rules...”

And so began the long list of rules, which mind you, were ridiculous for some part. But, what caught your attention, was the loopy signature. “Ms. Venable”. What a curious name. She must be rather rich, or fancy or - 

Knock at the door. You dropped he parchment to the table and turned around to see a short black-haired woman in the doorway. 

“Miss Mead, my name. Follow me.” The woman spat, and started walking. You picked up the parchment and followed after her. After the long, dimly candle lit hallway, she knocked on a wooden door and waited for some permission to open it. A hollow “enter” could be heard and ms. Mead opened the door and lifted her hand to signal for you to go inside. That you did. You nodded at her on the way, but she just glared at you. 

Eyeing around the room you scanned everything quickly, before a cough caught your attention. Swiftly you turned your body to face the stranger in the room. Standing in front of a wooden desk was the most beautiful creature you’ve seen. Fiery red hair was neatly pulled in a sleek hairdo. Black lacy dress covered her whole body, hitting the floor, not by an inch, but perfectly. Her hands were covered by black gloves that looked to be a part of the dress. Those same hands, that had the perfect black manicure, were resting atop a raven skull cane. You could also tell she was wearing a corset and heels, no way she was that tall with great posture without. And you were right. Another cough to pull you out of the daydream. 

“I am ms. Venable, and you are not ms. Howells.” She stated the obvious, and her voice was like of a siren’s. You needed to hear more of it. 

“That I am not. I am ms Y/L/N, Y/N to be exact. And to answer the obvious,no, I have no idea why I am here.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

It was obvious ms. Venable liked you. Three months had passed since she and you were introduced. Those three months that had felt the best for her, had felt the worst for you. Of course, Venable had had her battles within her head, but even she couldn’t ignore feeling love. Love for you. It was weird. Usually, she’d hate people like you. You were basically a nobody. None of the purples, even less the grays, had found out anything about you. You seemed, and were, closed off, wary and perhaps even shy. It bothered her. And the fact that whenever she seemed to speak to you, you didn’t seem scared, or even intimidated. And somehow you found the audacity to speak against her, if she was being ruthless, mean or otherwise... Venable. But then again, perhaps she didn’t love you. Perhaps, she just needed you to crack your shell. You hadn’t realized Venable acting a bit tougher around you, or the way she tried to steal long gazes from you. The way she looked at you when you were reading a book, thinking you were alone. Th way she always spared you from every punishment, others already had been through multiple times. All you had realized, was the feeling of being trapped, like a rat. You couldn’t leave the outpost without someone noticing, and most likely getting executed on the spot. The feeling of being paranoid of all the people surrounding you. Everyone... Except Venable. Something about her fascinated you. But you had come to the conclusion, she would not open up about anything, unless you did. So you didn’t. You let her be just like everyone else. Nobody mattered, nothing mattered. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Even before learning the world was ending, you had felt empty. You had nobody. You grew up in the system, all alone. Your parents had abandoned you, nobody adopted you due to your mental illnesses, no matter how well hidden you tried to keep them. The scars and your bony figure never let you forget about everything. Yet, something kept you from ending it all. There you were, sitting on your bathroom floor, looking at the very old fashioned blade filled with blood, thinking how smoothly it would cut your arm open. It would take no time. and your body would be discovered in the morning. It would probably take only a few more cuts around your body to pass out. There were plenty bleeding cuts on your legs, your arms, your stomach, name it. Just as you were about to press the blade on your wrist, you heard a gasp and receding steps. Perhaps it was a grey, and now they were on their way to tell Venable. You thought about running after them, but to your disappointment, you realized all the blood and still bleeding cuts. Plan B, clean up and pretend as if nothing ever happened. 

And that’s what you did, pretend like nothing happened. It was the next day, right after lunch, half a cube of that horrid jello, that ms. Mead came to the library. 

“Ms. Venable demands your presence in her office, now.”

[advisortotheadvisor]

@nojohi hey, I was your holiday exchange person! I made some puckabrina fluff for you!

The first time it kind of happened was when Sabrina is thirteen.

She had been up since 5 AM because Daphne had woken everyone up banging on a pot and screaming that it was Christmas like it was new information the rest of the family hadn't been privy to until now. It was nearly 1 PM now and most of the adults were getting Christmas lunch ready, meaning that Sabrina (and Puck, kind of) was in charge of making sure none of the younger kids did anything hospital visit worthy.

Red was coloring quietly while Pinocchio talked her ear off about the new books he'd received; Basil chewed contently on the ear of his well-loved stuffed rabbit: Daphne had received a Nerf gun from ‘Santa’ and was currently doing her best to make it everyone else’s problem. Satisfied with the fact that nobody was in the process of burning the house down, Sabrina settled against the arm of the couch to watch whatever cheesy Christmas movie was playing and eat as much candy as she could until she inevitably lost her appetite trying to eat whatever food Granny Relda was whipping up. Unfortunately, a grubby hand stole both her peace and her candy cane.

“Your face is gonna freeze if you keep looking at me like that,” Puck responded cheerfully to her heated glare. There was a loud crunch as he bit the end of his ill-gotten treat. “You know, you humans like to pat yourselves on the back for all that lame stuff like going to the moon, but really your best achievement are these right here.” He waved the candy cane for emphasis. “Delicious and easy to sharpen into a weapon to use against your enemies? Genius!”

“Glad you're impressed,” Sabrina grumbled. “Now give it back.” She made a grab for it, but he simply leaned out of her reach. When she tried again, he fluttered away and hovered in the middle of the room. He shot her a smug smile and she saw red.

Oh, it was on.

She chased him around the room, nearly knocking over several stacks of books in the process. He would occasionally slow down, allowing her to almost catch him before picking up his speed again and leaving her in the dust with a high-pitched giggle. He finally stopped and hovered a couple inches above her, but before she could snatch the damn candy cane out of his hand (and maybe punch him a couple times for good measure), a loud, giddy voice interrupted them.

“Ooh, Puck and Sabrina are under the mistletoe!” Daphne cried, momentarily  distracted from shooting Nerf bullets at the empty soda can perched precariously on a stack of books. Sabrina looked up and, sure enough, there was a sprig of mistletoe strung up above their heads.

“Mistletoe?” Puck flew higher for a better look. “What’s it for? Does it give you some kind of horrible rash or something?” He asked, looking at Sabrina like hundreds of new prank ideas were already streaming through his mind.

“No, it-" Sabrina started to say, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Nope!” Daphne bounced over to them. “It's just a regular plant, but if you stand under it with somebody, you have to kiss them.”

“Kiss them? But that means…” Puck trailed off, eyes locking onto Sabrina's, and she could feel his blush mirrored on her own face.

“Whatever. It's just a dumb tradition,” Sabrina muttered, furiously shutting down any thoughts of her and Puck's decidedly less platonic interactions and the weird, warm feelings they conjured up.

Daphne looked like she wanted to protest, but, thankfully Granny Relda called them in for lunch before the conversation could get any more awkward.

(Her and Puck still avoid making eye contact for the rest if the day.)

--

The second time it almost happened, Sabrina was fourteen.

The wind bit into her nose and whipped at the exposed bit of wrist between the end of her sleeves and the start of her gloves. Snow had made its way into her shoes and was slowly soaking into her socks. Her fingers felt like icicles masquerading as a part of her body. But, despite the miserable weather, Sabrina was having the time of her life.

Why? Because she was in the middle of a free-for-all snowball fight death match.

It was almost 10 AM and despite the inviting warmth inside the house, nothing could beat the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Snowball fights might be relatively tame for other families, but add in a couple everafters and Grimms, and it became a dog-eat-dog world.

Sabrina panted as she hid behind a tree, fingers curled as tightly as they could around a snowball without crushing it. From her vantage point, she had a clear shot at Red and Daphne's hastily constructed snow fort. But, before she could make a move, a twig snapped behind her, immediately putting her on the defensive.

It was Puck, hiding behind his own tree only a couple feet away. She raised her weapon, but he shook his head frantically at her and pointed at Red and Daphne's fort with a raised eyebrow. Two years of battle strategies and living together meant that Sabrina could read the look on his place like it was a book; he was proposing a sneak attack. She nodded, and then held up three fingers. On the count of three.

Three.

Two.

Before she could lower her last finger, Puck transformed into a polar bear and charged. He roared and the little girls shrieked in response. They tried to fight back, but it was in vain considering that Puck was literally a fucking bear. He knocked the their fort down and then swiped at the snow with his paw, sending it showering over the girls. It was then that Sabrina attacked from the left flank, pelting them mercilessly.

But, just when it looked like victory would be theirs, Daphne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small ring. Sabrina's world was upended as the snow she was standing on rose up and then dropped back down on her and Puck.

“Using magic is cheating,” Sabrina said as she wiped the snow off her face.

“You never said that,” Daphne chirped.

“She's got a point,” Puck pointed out. “Good one, Marshmallow.” He shot her a finger gun and she shot one back

“Don't take her side!” Sabrina said, shoving his shoulder. “She's the reason we lost!”

“Aww, did the wittle baby wose the snowball fwight?” Puck cooed, his baby voice dripping with sugary sweet condescension as he shoved her back

“You lost too, dummy!” She cried, nearly sending him sprawling with her next push. It continued like that for a little bit, playful and pointless fighting without any heat behind it. But, despite the lack of heat in their argument, there was still a warmth settling into Sabrina's gut because this, this was easy as breathing. It sparked something deep inside that she didn't want to name.

But, when Puck tripped over a buried tree root and fell onto her, the spark erupted into a raging inferno because suddenly with him on top of her, their faces hovering only a couple inches apart, Sabrina couldn't feel the cold around her through the abrupt heat pooling in her cheeks. Puck stared down at and for a eternity of milliseconds, the only things that seemed to exist were the two of them and soft sounds of their breathing.

The moment stretched out long, too long, and if it stretched any longer it felt like everything they weren't talking about was going to bubble to the surface and spill over so Sabrina found herself pushing Puck away from her with a shout of, “Get off me, you gasbag!”

That moment was quietly added to the pile of Things They Don't Talk About and Sabrina swore to herself that the redness of her cheeks was a result of the cold.

--

Sabrina was fifteen when it finally happened for real.

Her and Puck were outside sword fighting with the swords Charming had gifted her. They were dull and blunted training swords, but still a definite upgrade from Puck's old wooden swords. Veronica supervised from the porch as their blades clashed.

Puck thrust forward with his sword and she blocked it, quickly twisting her own weapon into a disarming maneuver. Puck's sword fell to the snow with little fanfare and she snatched it up before he could even move to pick it up. Puck seethed, but couldn't do anything; they'd agreed before the match that all forms of shapeshifting and other magic were prohibited. She smiled smugly about her victory and held out his sword for him to take back and his hand closed around the hilt before she could move hers off. A warmth that juxtaposed the cold air around them filled Sabrina's body.

She didn't know who started it. Maybe he stepped forward first, maybe she did. All that mattered was that they were much closer than before and the only things between them were their hovering, visible breaths and all the things they refuse to talk about.

This next part though, this was all Sabrina.

She kissed him.

She decided that she was sick of this, sick of all these what-ifs and should-haves and almosts. She was sick of this game they were playing where they flirted and teased but never made any real progress. She was sick of saying nothing when she wanted to say everything they both already knew.

So she kissed him.

It made it sound simpler than it was. If she had to describe it in clichés, she would say it was all of them. Fireworks and butterflies and the sun going supernova all at once in her stomach. In that moment, she didn't care about the cold seeping into her fingers or the layer of sweat covering both of them or the fact that her mom was still outside with them. The world could have exploded for all she cared.

The kiss lasted five seconds and an eternity at the same time. Their lips broke apart, but instead of pulling away completely, Puck simply rested his forehead against her own.

“I always knew you had a crush on me,” Puck teased softly.

“Shut up,” she said, struggling to keep a grin off her face and out of her voice.

It might have taken two almost-kisses to get here, but hey, third time's the charm, right?

[lokidiabolus]

The Deal - Chapter 2

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (web series)

Pairing: Alastor / Angel Dust

Warnings: human!Angel Dust (Anthony), Deal with a devil AU

Summary: Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

or

The time when Anthony thought if he can’t get anybody to love him properly, he can just make a deal with a devil and find out what affection feels like. Alastor thinks this mortal is pitiful beyond belief and concede. Cuddles happen.

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think Cajun Alastor is wonderful but for the love of god I can't write that shit, so I apologize in advance. Please pretend it's readable. 

Unbetad!

2020, January 16th

“Mamaaa, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead~.”

Alastor raised his head from a book he snatched from Anthony’s poor excuse of a collection and narrowed his eyes. Anthony could see him in the corner of his eye, even though the demon excused himself to the living room because Anthony insisted on playing his music and not Alastor’s radio, and he couldn’t help it was Nicki Minaj for the first three songs. He even put it on shuffle too!

I’ve already died once, don’t need to repeat the experience, Alastor rudely scoffed at Anthony’s phone and left the room, even though he was bragging just night before he’d totally help with cooking. He didn’t even touch the knife before storming out rather than listen to anything modern.

“Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away. Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry~,” Anthony singsonged with the melody while grating cheese and could literally feel Alastor’s eyes stabbing the back of his head. Probably not a fan of Queen either.

“If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters~,” he twirled around the counter to get plates out of cupboard, “Too late, my time has come, sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time. Goodbye everybody, I've got to go, gotta leave you all behind and face the truth~.”

He made a pirouette and his voice skipped an octave when he almost crashed into Alastor suddenly standing in front of him, right in Anthony’s personal bubble, just looming (which was strange he could, since he was half a head shorter than Anthony, yet it couldn’t be described otherwise). He didn’t say anything, just watched Anthony handle the plates clumsily until the human finally managed to put them on the counter without incident.

“See something you like?” Anthony batted his eyelashes while making a pose with pursed lips and Alastor looked him up and down and smirked:

“Not really.”

“Ouch.”

“What is this song about?” the demon ignored him and nodded towards the phone in the middle of Bohemian Rhapsody, surprisingly sounding curious instead of displeased like before (but alright, it was fair of him to be put off when Anaconda was the first thing he heard, Anthony didn’t blame him).

“Don’t have Freddie in hell?” Anthony chuckled and returned back to filling the plates with Carbonara. It wasn’t like he wanted to fall into an Italian household stereotype but Alastor seemed to like Italian cuisine and it was something Anthony was confident in anyway. Also the praise was always a pretty nice bonus and Anthony might have been fishing for it a little bit.

“Not that I know of,” Alastor hummed. “So what is it about? Murder?”

“I mean… I guess? Sorta?” Anthony shrugged and pushed a plate of steaming food into Alastor’s hands, then gestured towards the table. “Should be about a man who accidentally killed somebody and then sold his soul to the devil.”

“How intriguing!” Of course Alastor would like that topic, grinning like a loon. “You knew the lyrics by heart.”

“It’s a famous song,” Anthony stuck out his tongue. “Everybody knows the lyrics. It’s like an anthem, ya know. Great song.”

“Likeable,” the demon admitted and sat at the table while Anthony handed him a fork and a spoon. “Thank you, dear. Looks splendid as always.”

“I try,” Anthony beamed while sitting down as well. “Oh. Actually, what if I killed somebody too, like, in the future-,”

“Now that would be an adventure, would it not?” Alastor interrupted him with even a wider smile, while the invisible audience cheered, like the idea of murder appealed to him. Why wouldn’t it, as a demon of course he wouldn’t go ew, don’t.

“I’m too pretty for jail, ya know,” Anthony gave him an unamused glare. Alastor hummed in agreement and started eating, his eyes lighting up happily. For a hell person he sure was such a foodie.

“Aww, so you think I’m pretty?” Anthony cooed at him and Alastor glared. It was a thing with this guy – he handled flirtations very badly. Either he got angry or super frustrated, and the latter was honestly so adorable Anthony risked the wrath too often for his own good. “So, what do you like about me?”

“When you don’t talk.” Came a curt reply and Anthony snorted and let him get off the hook.

“What I meant was – what if I killed somebody but didn’t want to go to jail. And wanted to make a deal with you about keeping me safe from them? Would it work?”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Alastor glanced at him from the food. “Safety is nothing difficult to achieve.”

“I mean,” Anthony leaned against his palm. “We already made a deal. Can you make two deals with the same person?”

“I can make as many deals as I want with the same person,” Alastor answered while twirling his fork in spaghetti. “Why would you think I could not?”

“Not that ya couldn’t but… more like it’s not worth it for ya anymore, right?” Anthony suggested and it seemed like he made an interesting point, since Alastor stopped eating to fully concentrate on the problem. “As in, ya already have my soul-,”

“Heart.”

“And undying love, of course,” Anthony winked at him, earning an eyeroll. Fair. “But another deal would not give ya anything else. Ya already have what ya wanted.”

“Oh, indeed,” the demon nodded thoughtfully. “Obviously true. It depends on the individual. Some demons can take years off the remaining life of the mortal, or actually only state the remaining years for their service, then come collect the life once the time is up.”

“Like they give ya an amazing painting skill, but you have… ten years to live and enjoy the fame?” Anthony prompted and Alastor nodded in agreement. “That sounds… pretty rough. Why would anybody take that?”

“Why would anybody do anything? Mortals are greedy. They want to be acknowledged. Or they fight sheer, absolute boredom and want to elevate it by any means necessary,” the demon tapped his claws against the table in quick staccato. “You think it is not worth it?”

“I mean maybe when I’m fifty, sure, ten years sounds fine,” Anthony shrugged. “But ten years from now? I guess I’d be bummed.”

“Maybe you are not thinking big enough,” Alastor gave him a wide smile. “Not all demons take remaining life force though. Everybody has different methods if necessary. Though the heart is usually a priority.”

“Not for everybody though?”

“Some don’t want underlings,” the demon opposed. “Some only work for Hell itself and don’t take anything, only assure the soul will belong to Hell once the mortal die. Some actually feed on the life force of humans. Hell is having all kind of horrors you can think of, you see.”

“At least yer a daydream,” Anthony winked and Alastor’s smile twitched. Easy. “Building your own harem down there, ya kinky bastard.”

“And here I thought we’re having a meaningful conversation,” the demon sighed and returned to the food, which made Anthony snicker.

“I mean… what do I know, it could be,” he teased him. “What else would ya need some poor bastard’s hearts to do your bidding?”

“To tell them when they need to close their pretty mouths shut if they want to keep them,” Alastor smiled at him sweetly, his crimson eyes shining, and alright, okay, threats on Thursday evening were a thing now. Anthony imitated a zipper on his mouth and quieted down, but still, it was kind of hilarious. Maybe a week ago he’d still be afraid of Alastor pouncing at over the table and slashing his throat but now it was more like no talk, I’m angy sort of meme.

The silence didn’t last very long when Alastor set the fork down and looked at Anthony with curiosity.

“You are full of vigour today,” he observed. “Something good happened? You seem to be in jolly mood.”

“Just glad ya could make it,” Anthony grinned. Alastor became very reliable when it came to the dinner dates and weekend plans after the New Year’s fiasco, never missed one when he promised to come. They found a certain rhythm in the cohabitation and Anthony got used to his presence maybe a little too fast. The man was an enigma with the way he behaved – they slept huddled together no problem, Alastor could be super clingy when he wanted to (rarely though, usually more like only when somehow too tired), but once they were out of the bedroom, any contact was met with stiffness or a five foot rule. The latter became a thing about a week after New Year’s thanks to Anthony’s inability to keep his hands to himself when it came to Alastor’s fluffiness. The hair, the ears and the tail that wagged when he liked something enough, which obviously couldn’t leave Anthony calm, right? A damn cute fluffy wagging tail just… there, for touching.

Well, Alastor wasn’t amused, not by a long shot. The moment Anthony gathered enough courage and touched the thing, the edge of Alastor’s microphone was pushing against his chest to keep him away, and he would have sworn there were creepy symbols flying all around the demon’s head like he was ready to let Anthony get swallowed by some Eldritch monster. Therefore five foot rule became a thing unless it was Alastor who initiated the touch – which was another weird thing about the man. He had no respect for personal space whatsoever, like at all, when he wanted to point out something, make a statement or just felt like it, but once somebody else breached his personal bubble, he bristled like a cat with murderous intent. So Anthony kept his hands to himself but started flirting. Honestly kind of expected a five words rule to happen at some point, but until then he just wanted to have his fun.  

“I see,” Alastor watched him carefully and then picked the fork again. “And here I thought you won a lottery or maybe fell in love.”

“Yer the only love of my life, don’t ya worry,” Anthony winked because he could and Alastor let out a sigh that honestly didn’t even sound that fed up, more like just out of habit. “But like. It’s kinda convenient. If somebody confessed to me, that is.”

“Oh?” Alastor’s eyes were sharp.

“My heart belongs to another!” Anthony stated dramatically and then let out a small laugh. “Not even lying? Like. My heart is taken, literally, by the deal we made, it would be like an ultimate move.”

The demon seemed to ponder it, then said nothing. Probably didn’t want to rain on Anthony’s parade on shutting him down needlessly. Naturally, Anthony didn’t think any romance was possible, or even vaguely interesting for the demon, so all his jabs were good-natured but without seriousness.

Or almost all of them. He would be lying if he didn’t admit at least to himself he liked Alastor as a person, not only as a convenient body pillow with Bambi tail he didn’t even let him touch. But such thoughts were private, and he kept them hidden and locked inside of his mind. He learned well enough not to hope to protect himself, and the only relationship there could be was a master and an underling – eventually. Once Anthony die.

Though… who knew when he was going to die. Was Alastor willing to do this his whole life? What if he was going to live to 80? Was he going to cuddle with him and eat dinners every three days in a week for 49 years?

But then again… what is time for a demon? He didn’t even know how old Alastor was. By appearance he’d say maybe around Anthony’s age, but then again, he was never half deer so… could be different. Did deer age count the same as dogs?

“If you ever needed an excuse for that kind of thing,” Alastor suddenly spoke, his voice staticky as always, a weirdly comforting noise lately. “I would recommend saying your husband has a wide collection of knives. It usually scares people away.”

“Pfff.” Husband. “Would need a ring for that, ya know.”

“Mhm,” the demon hummed, not adding anything else. Seriously. He just kept leaving so many openings, there was no way Anthony would not use those when he had a chance.

“So how many knives you have, husband?” he sent him a bright smile and Alastor carefully twirled carbonara on his fork before putting it to his mouth primly, chewed and then gulped down, as a show of how not amusing the jab was, Anthony thought.

Then, after another moment: “About twelve.”

Anthony made a croaking noise and completely missed a smile Alastor hid with another bite of food.

***

“Anthony.”

“Mmmm?”

The clock showed 1 in the morning and Anthony couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard he cuddled Alastor under the blanket. He tossed and turned and Alastor had to pull him back to him about ten times, but sleep eluded them both, even with the white noise of Alastor’s static floating around that usually lulled Anthony well enough.

“Can you play the murder song again,” Alastor requested from under Anthony’s weight, sprawled around the middle of the bed.

“Hah, sure,” the human reached for his phone resting on the nightstand and almost blinded himself when the display lit up. He clicked few times until Bohemian Rhapsody broke the silence of the otherwise quiet flat before returning back to lie on top of his demon.

“Sing with it too?” another request and Anthony prompted his chin on Alastor’s chest.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“You keep tossing and turning,” Alastor said simply. “Not me. Sing?”

Anthony raised an eyebrow, but there was no reasoning for the request, so he just softly sang along with the music, looking at Alastor with half lidded eyes until he couldn’t hold them open anymore. The song eventually ended, and Anthony finally felt sleep tugging on his consciousness like he just performed a lullaby that worked a bit too well.

“You asked about more deals for one person before,” he distantly felt a hand going through his hair and only hummed. “For you, my dear, I would close more deals if you ever asked me.”

“Aww,” he chuckled sleepily, his arms circling Alastor’s torso with possessiveness.

“The happier you are,” he heard, “the better your psyche becomes. The stronger the demon you’d be down there.”

“Boo, how cold,” Anthony pouted. “And here I thought ya actually liked me, at least a little.”

“You are… tolerable.” Anthony missed the small smile playing on Alastor’s lips, his face buried in the man’s red shirt. “But I am a professional, you see.”

“A professional dealmaker,” he yawned.

“Quite so.”

“Ya have that in your resume too?” Anthony couldn’t stop the tease. “Ya know, next to professional cuddler?”

“Probably as much as you have an immense tease in yours,” the demon uttered and his voice was thundering in his chest, which was weird, because it sounded like a completely different person without the static echo. Anthony liked it though.

“Sure, but also a good cook,” the human chuckled, “and a quality wife, ya see.”

A hum, then silence. Anthony considered the conversation closed, until Alastor spoke again softly: “There are always ways to get something in return for another deal, beside the servitude or life force.”

“Mmmlikewhat.”

“Why don’t you find out yourself?”

And with that Anthony fell asleep before any kind of dirty joke could come out.

***

2020, January 17th

It stayed in his head the whole next day. He kept thinking about it at home when getting ready to go out, then at work when taking orders and wondered, if a favourite dish made for dinner would be a possible kind of payment for the deal in Alastor’s book. What a demon like him could possibly want beside the heart he already got? He knew Alastor enjoyed good food, but was that actually something that could be exchanged for a supernatural request?

Or was it something kinky, like that in hell the only title Anthony would be able to use when talking to him would be Master? Or My Lord? Anthony could see himself do that, sure, though only in a joke to rile him up a little.

Funny how any fear of the guy went down the drain after the Bambi revelation, no matter how scary Alastor tried to be sometimes.

“Love, this is the third time you messed up an order, are you okay?” his colleague patted his shoulder and he blinked at her in confusion.

“Oh shit, did I?” he realized, after a long loading screen in his brain completed, what she just said and snapped back to reality where the demon in red didn’t bat his eyelashes at him. Not that he ever did. But he could dream. “I’m so sorry, my mind is in a gutter.”

“Yeah, can see that,” the girl patted his arm this time. He wasn’t sure why she was so touchy-feely all of sudden, but didn’t comment on it. “Something on your mind?”

“Weekend plans,” he shrugged and well, he wasn’t even lying, really. This was their weekend together and since Alastor didn’t mention any kind of obstacle in attending, it was Anthony’s turn to think of something to do. The forecast looked glum though, so going outside was probably not the best choice of outing, unless it would be short, so indoors activity sounded a little more satisfying. Maybe they could order some good food home, rather than cook this time. Or drink. Oooh, they could actually drink! He wondered if Alastor even liked alcohol.

“Man, Tony, are you in love or something?” the girl sighed, snapping her fingers in front of him. “You keep spacing out!”

“Well,” he glanced at her with a grin. “My heart has definitely been taken-,”

“In which gangbang this time?” another colleague cut in, smiling at him with fake sweetness while putting empty glasses in the sink with a loud thud. He didn’t even see her coming. “Did they pay you enough to buy you completely? Or just a quickie outside like always?”

Ouch.

“Don’t be salty just because nobody would fuck you even for free,” he cocked his hips. “Heard duster is good for cobwebs though.”

“Whatever you say, slut,” she made a face at him. “I’m not being the one spreading STD.”

“Good at spreading bullshit though,” he shot back, making her give him an uptight smile and a smack of her ponytail when she dramatically turned away and left for the kitchen. He decided not to comment on that and was kind of glad the other girl kept her mouth shut too.

Obviously, everybody at work knew about the New Year’s and his fall from grace – though that would indicate there was grace to begin with, which honestly was not. Maybe he should start looking for another job with how bleak things looked in this pub. The whole week after New Year’s random guys kept making pass at him even in his regular waiter clothes, like somebody just decided to advertise the pub as fuck-to-go eatery and it made his skin itch, especially when some of them were more handsy than others and didn’t understand no sent their way. A slap on his butt there, a grope here, hey cutie called from another table, and the girls he worked with either glared at him or had nasty remarks he should have already been able to deflect, but sometimes he just could not. He wasn’t made of sugar, some bad words and pointed fingers didn’t make him cry, but they didn’t add to good mood either.

He was always relieved if that evening Al showed up and took his worries away with the well-known staticky voice and invisible audience cheering at some of his bad dad jokes. Honestly, he had lots of bad dad jokes it was almost unreal, and the saddest thing was he unironically liked them while Anthony groaned every time he told some. He was just glad so far Alastor didn’t use those cringe worthy abominations against the flirting, because that would definitely shut Anthony down fast.

There were still four hours to his shift and for the first time since he knew Alastor he regretted the demon didn’t have a phone, so he could hear his voice while he locked himself in the bathroom stall with knees under his chin and quivering lip.

***

Anthony still didn’t know what to do over the weekend. It felt like he should have a plan, like there should be a diary or something, with post-it notes and differently coloured entries, but all he could do when he got back home was to sag down in the living room like a bag of potatoes on the couch and open a bottle of tequila. No limes, no salt, just the bottle and big gulps of it. He chugged it several times until the annoying tightness in his chest slowly eased off, until he could breathe normally and the bitter words he heard every time he turned his back towards the bar dissolved in burning taste of alcohol.

Who cared. People were mean and greedy, and he was broken and rotten to the core. Those things usually never combined well together, and he was a living proof. When was the last time he even had a friend? When did somebody expressed concern for him? Damn, when even was the last time somebody held his hair when he threw up?

Self-centred bitch. Show-off. Attention seeker. Dirty slut. A whore.

All fun and smiles and oh, I will do your make up, sweetie, oh, let me do your hair, honey, oh, this costume looks so cute on you, and oh, was it just a quickie outside or you fucked the whole train station? Did he just give you a ride home or you sucked his dick for it? Oh, new shoes? Which sugar daddy’s money was it today?

“Nobody’s fuckin’ money!” he yelled at nothing, swinging the almost empty bottle of tequila around. “None of yer fuckin’ business!”

Maybe we should do next costume event BDSM themed, our little darling angel Tony would love to lick somebody’s boots again.

“Fuck off!” A loud shattering noise when the bottle hit the wall felt like his sanity was breaking to pieces. “Just leave me the fuck alone…”

His brain was so hazed he barely registered arms circling around him, pulling him into a hug. He was swayed from side to side with a soft, crooning noise above him, and thought damn, how bad is it I even hallucinate? Up until he finally focused enough to realize he was engulfed with blackness without any real warmth, just suddenly there, holding him.

“Oh…” he chuckled pathetically. “It’s you.”

The Shadow nuzzled his face but didn’t say anything, just continued to hold him. Frankly, Anthony had no idea what day it was, even what time or where exactly he ended up, if he moved at all, if Alastor was supposed to come but couldn’t make it, so he sent Junior instead, or if this was some kind of weird, alcohol induced vision of much needed comfort.

“Whacha do’n her’, big boy?” The words were slurring together, the alcohol was doing its magic. “Al’s busy busy busy?”

Another nuzzle. Was that a touch therapy? Nobody touched him so readily before. Not even Al who cuddled him at night, but usually touched him only in two prime locations – his waist and around neck and head for pats, but otherwise kept his hands to himself. The Shadow on the other hand just pawed at him pretty much like a big dog wanting to rub all over and Anthony blearily wondered how a man and his shadow could be so different.

“Th’re, t’re,” he patted the Shadow’s head, a strange ghost-like tingling going through his hand. “Ar’ ya sad too?”

The hold remained and the dark tendrils from the shade were covering half of the couch like an expensive Persian rug. That mental image made Anthony bark out a drunken laugh. Could somebody’s shadow be sad? It was clinging to him like a lifeline and Anthony felt the tequila churning in his belly as if it were trying to burn its way through.

“Ah,” he finally realized what the shadow was doing. “Yer tryin’ t’ comf’rt me.”

A hum, clearly agreeing. It made Anthony relax into the hold, feeling a little like floating and not sitting on his tequila-stained couch, and yeah, it was relaxing, it was nice, it was… different.

“Wond’r how Al’s hugs ar’,” he sighed then giggled stupidly. “Prob’ly warm an’ nice. D’es he ev’n hug pe’ple?”

Maybe he did hug people. Just different people. Not Anthony, at least. Touching only when necessary. Maybe he could make a deal about hugging, Al said more deals are possible. Maybe he could ask for one hug a week or something, like one full body hug and then wait for seven days for Al to get his barriers back… or whatever he had. Human contact aversion, probably. He just wasn’t sure what to give in return. Being a personal cook? Not flirting at any point ever again?

Would Al even want shit like that? Or would he want some of his life force? Years off his back? He would give them… for Alastor. If he wanted his life force, Anthony wouldn’t mind if it was him. His life was not worth much anyway.

Would Alastor want something as rotten as his life energy though? Sure, he wanted his heart at least, but it just meant to have a servant later on, nothing he would feed himself with.

Unless he ate his servants. That would kinda suck.

“I k’nda like ‘im, y’kno,” he confessed quietly, slowly slipping lower in the hold. The anger he felt was already gone, now the tequila tried to pull at melancholy, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t need to be sad over the fact the only person at least vaguely resembling affectionate concern was a demon from hell that got paid with his soul and heart for acting out of his character three times a week. “Path’tic me, huh.”

Nuzzling ensued. He liked Al’s shadow. He was like a big animal soaking up bad vibes and making Anthony calmer.

“Wish I c’n talk to ‘im when I feel sad,” he mumbled to himself and barely registered the shadow pulled them both down to the cushions. “’s he French? He sounded French ‘nce…”

“Cajun,” rang through the room and Anthony attempted to focus, but his vision kept on blurring. Maybe he drank too much after all. “Louisiana.”

“Bayou boy?” he giggled anyway. “That’s cute.”

“You drank too much, cher,” rang through the room again and then another sigh came, and radio static buzzed to life. “And you. I was wondering where you slithered to.”

There was a rumble from under Anthony and he felt the force supporting him up to now disappearing until he only felt the couch around him and nothing else. He blinked in confusion before his vision cleared enough to realize all the darkness around him was gone, but legs clothed in red were standing next to him instead. They definitely weren’t there prior to his meltdown, he remembered as much.

He rubbed his eyes and attempted to look up before it finally dawned on him that this was Alastor standing here, flesh and bone and he didn’t even need to get all the way up to his face.

“Look at you,” the voice sounded a little exasperated and human. There was no static whatsoever. “Dat’s da second time you did somethin’ like dis.”

“Hi, Al,” Anthony tried sheepishly, and a clawed hand pushed him back into the cushions when he tried to sit down. Maybe for the best, the floor seemed to wobble more than usual.

“Hi yo’self,” the human voice was so warm. Or maybe he was drunk enough to imagine it that way. “How’s dat you make my shadow to just go and disappear from ‘ell just fo’ you?”

“I guess he likes me,” Anthony slid down the armrest and finally took in the whole Alastor’s height, gazing at his face he couldn’t read even if he tried to. He watched the demon look around until he stopped at the corner where the bottle landed and fell apart and his eyebrows knitted together.

“Hey Al,” Anthony raised a hand and tried to grab at something of the mans’ but missed. He tried few more times but couldn’t decide which of the three Alastors were the right one, so he just fumbled around until Alastor took a pity on him and grabbed his hand in his, stilling him. Also, warm. So, so warm. “Do you ever hug people?”

“No,” the demon answered back simply. “Do you?”

Anthony took a breath with sure answer, then stopped and thought about it.

“…I guess not,” he conceded momentarily. “Nobody t’ hug, really.”

“D’you wanna hug?” came a question and Anthony looked at their joined hands and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Ya,” he croaked out. “I wanna hug. I dun even rememb’r who or when I hugged someb’dy last.”

“I think I hugged ma mum last,” Alastor slowly lowered himself on the couch, sitting at Anthony’s feet, his hand still gripping his prey tightly. “Long time ago.”

“Was she nice?” the human whispered softly.

“Very nice.”

“Do ya miss her?”

“Ev’ry day,” Alastor had the softest expression Anthony ever saw on him. It was almost painful to see and yet somehow beautiful it would be a waste not to look. He wondered if Alastor was ever in love with somebody other than his mum.

“She in heaven?” he asked gently and only got a nod as a response. He felt his head clearing a little and hoped he would remember this tomorrow as clearly as he saw it now. He tried to scramble up, though it probably was the least dignified climb he ever did and then shuffled close to the demon, sitting down with his knees almost touching Alastor’s thigh. Almost.

“Tell me ‘bout her,” he nudged him gently.

The demon tilted his head, the buzz of the static coming to life all of sudden it almost startled him. Probably not the best topic to breach, he realized and looked down at the clawed hand that was still holding his with surprising gentleness.

“Your shadow is pretty independent, huh,” he changed the topic for peace of mind of both of them, and the buzzing intensified. Fuck, not that either.

“My shadow has no filter,” the static voice rang out, the tenseness of Alastor’s smile indicating the situation bothered him more than he let on at first. “He does what feels right.”

So, it felt right for it to come here and comfort Anthony when he felt like shit and wanted to drink himself into stupor?

“It’s nice sometimes,” Anthony tried carefully. “To do what feels right instead of worryin’ ‘bout consequences.”

The static picked up in obvious disagreement and Alastor was glaring at him, his eyes redder than ever.

“Like you do all your miserable life?” the demon uttered venomously, and Anthony felt his heart drop into his stomach and dissolve. When Alastor let go of his hand and abruptly stood up, it felt so far away it could have been considered out of body experience for how cold it suddenly became.

“Well,” his mouth moved by some miracle, though he felt his lower lip quiver. “Some days are hard and lonely. And then I get called a slut at work and groped by random guys because they think they’re allowed, and I feel like I need a hug and safety, but nobody can give me what I want, so I cling to somethin’ that feels right at least a little, even though it’s not good… or healthy… or… “

Sincere and not a lie.

“Or I just wanna forget all that shit by doin’ more dumb shit, because… why not. At least it makes me free for a while, other than just… surviving,” he tried to take a breath but it came in wet and hiccup-y and he realized he was already crying like a pathetic fool thinking a demon could give a shit about anything more than the end of the deal and one more chess piece on his black and white board.

Fucking, stupid idiot, like always. Even though he knew. He knew.

The static was so loud now it made Anthony cover his ears and shut his eyes and he felt sick in the stomach and the fucking tequila wanted to fuck him up now, because why not now, at this exact moment, when everything else was falling apart.

Just go away, go the fuck away, leave me alone.

Then everything stopped. When Anthony opened his eyes, he was alone.

***

2020, January 18th

Anthony woke up on the couch with a crick in his neck and stomach unstable like nitro-glycerine ready to explode. The room smelled of tequila shots and vomit and heartbreak and his whole body was in weird, gut wrenching spasm.

He stared into the ceiling with a splitting headache and wished he’d draw a blank about last night, because nothing about this situation gave a merciful vibe, only bad, bad consequences.

Like Alastor leaving, angry and staticky and cruel.

“FUUUUCK!” he yelled into silence and then grabbed a pillow so he could shout in it again as loud as he could. Regret immediately followed, but he probably deserved to suffer a bit more than usual after a vicious hangover and a dealmaker break up.

Obviously Alastor thought Anthony’s life was miserable. Even Anthony knew it was miserable, he was living it, and he got it. He even made a deal with a devil to make himself less miserable which only added to the pathetic part of the diagnose, so in the end there was nothing much left of him but a huge, pitiful mess.

And Alastor got dragged right into it – a failure after failure, just picking him up with all those fake smiles to keep the deal going because at the end the reward was guaranteed, but it was pretty apparent the equation was not adding up and the result could never be good enough for the demon’s standards.

He just wondered if there was a way to break the deal anyhow, from the demon’s side. There was no way Alastor was coming back after all that, and if he was by some miracle, then only to deliver a killing blow, collecting the soul at least and then leaving him to get eradicated in hell like any other lesser shade.

He managed to drag himself to the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid for 27 minutes before deciding to make himself throw up rather than wait if it would come by itself. It didn’t make him feel any better, sadly, so he just took a shower to get rid of all the sweat and guilt (sadly didn’t work for that one) under streams of water and remained there with head pressed against tiles in hope he would melt through the drain.

Would be honestly quite helpful.

“Anthony?”

He blinked. Did he just hear his name or…?

“Anthony, my good fellow, are you still alive?” Again.

That was Alastor‘s voice. Anthony stared at the door of the shower stand, afraid to even make a sound until he heard his name called once more and that couldn’t be his imagination anymore, right?

“…yeah?” he made himself talk but refused to step out.

“Good! You are still here,” Alastor’s voice was closer now, probably in the hallway. “I am taking your kitchen for now, but please do join me at your convenience!”

Happy, loud voice. The fake cheeriness he heard few times and learned how to recognize – he usually acted like that when he was mad at Anthony for needless flirting but refused to show it.

It made no sense. Why was he here?

The water started to run cold and Anthony gritted his teeth and turned it off, just to carefully step out, bundle up in a towel and added a fluffy bathrobe before cautiously leaving the bathroom. Jazz was playing through the radio in the kitchen and Alastor was humming along while the sound of cutting and simmering added to the ambience.

Was he cooking?

The human stopped near the entrance to the living room and took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to face him just yet, he still felt like a raw bundle of nerves on two wobbly feet. It was ridiculous – Alastor didn’t exactly do anything wrong. He just stated how things were, Anthony hadn’t been told for the first or last time in his life for sure. He had no right to be mad about the truth.

It was just… such a bad timing. After having a bad day, after going through a depressive episode where the self-loathing starred in the main role, then get this thrown in his face like a hot potato just hurt. Rightfully. But still hurt.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” the staticky voice interrupted his thoughts and the tone was much less cheery now. It made his stomach drop and he unconsciously took a step back. There was a clink sound of a knife being put down and then steps leading towards him, which immediately made him panic and he shut the door to the living room with a loud slam.

The steps halted.

“Should I leave?” Came a question from the other side of the door, loud and clear and scary.

“I don’t know,” Anthony answered back, his hands shaking. It sucked. He should not be this way; he didn’t make a deal for feeling worse than on his normal bad days. He made a deal to be lied to, to be coddled, and then to die and suffer for being a coward, and that was it.

“I will if you want me to,” Alastor said quietly. “I am not here to torture you. Or make you feel bad.”

Too late, bucko.

“I crossed a line yesterday.” It sounded suspiciously like an apology, Anthony thought. “I apologize for saying what I said.”

“What, the truth?” Anthony snorted and leaned against the closed door, eyebrows knitted together unhappily. “Ya don’t need to worry about that one.”

“It upset you.”

“That’s what the truth does.”

“Yes, agreed,” there was a hint of guilt in Alastor’s voice, no matter how he tried to hide it with his radio nonsense. “I was upset too. But still… I should not have lashed out like that.”

Upset?

Anthony turned his head, partly facing the door. What was even Alastor upset about? He just suddenly got all staticky in there, just because Anthony asked… about his mum?

“Because I asked about your mum?” he tried and Alastor on the other side sighed.

“I am going to open the door now,” he stated instead, and Anthony immediately caught the handle in refusal with an immediate no. “Anthony.”

“I don’t get ya,” the human groaned, holding the door closed like it was a lifeline. “I just don’t get ya, why are ya even here? Why were ye so mad yesterday? For a while ya were the nicest person in the whole fuckin’ world and then ya kicked me when I was already on the fuckin’ ground, so why now? Why pretend yer a nice guy when ye don’t care?”

Silence.

“Just because I asked ‘bout her? Ya think it’s somethin’ I can hold against ya in hell or what?” He had no idea if Alastor was still even there. It was deadly silent on the other side, he probably just poofed out of thin air again rather than listen to this.

“No,” sounded behind him all of sudden and it made him curse loudly when he suddenly faced Alastor in his red shirt, with coat nowhere to be seen, his sleeves rolled up and his face not smiling at all. If anything, he actually looked quite hurt.

Fucking filthy lying bastard, that one. Actor worthy of a Golden Globe.

“That’s cheatin’,” Anthony scoffed but Alastor didn’t seem to mind it. He wasn’t immediately in his personal bubble, but he wasn’t far either and it made Anthony unable to collect his thoughts properly. All he wanted was to shout and maybe smack him a bit too. But the demon could bite his arms off, so he refrained from doing anything but glare.

“You seem to like my shadow much better,” Alastor said evenly.

Anthony didn’t get how that was relevant to anything.

“He likes to hug,” he said lamely.

“You like him because he hugs you?” Alastor’s expression morphed into a surprise and Anthony really didn’t get why was he asking about his shadow now of all times.

“Wha… who cares?” he stared at the demon, hating he felt cornered like an animal. “How’s yer shadow even relevant to this conversation?”

“I thought you were asking why I was upset,” Alastor looked away for a while, a strangely nervous gesture. “Therefore, I’m telling you.”

“Because I seem to like yer shadow better?” Anthony almost lost his jaw for how low it dropped and holy fucking shit, was Alastor fidgeting? Was he for real? Was it some refined plan for Anthony to drop his defences again? To act cute as fuck?

His fucking ears were droopy too, Anthony realized, his eyes glued to the top of the demon’s head. No. no no no. This couldn’t be real.

“Are you fuckin’ with me?”

“Since I made a deal with you,” Alastor ignored the question, but still avoided his eyes. “I felt like I lack complete control for some reason. It makes me uneasy when things do not work the way they are supposed to. The way I want them to.”

At that moment it finally hit him.

“You didn’t order yer shadow to come here even once,” Anthony stated, and the static crackled again until Alastor shook his head to get rid of it. Oh. He really didn’t like when things were out of his reach. And his shadow just fucking off to visit the human must have been one of them, especially yesterday.

“But… but you can’t blame me for that?” the human insisted, his eyes wide. “It’s not like I called him here or…”

“Of course not,” Alastor let out a sigh. “He just acts on his feelings.”

“Your shadow likes me?”

“You keep referring to him like he is a completely different person,” the demon crossed his arms on his chest. His forearms were scarred and for some reason showing that bit of skin now seemed like a big step for the man, though Anthony wouldn’t really call him vulnerable. Still scary as fuck.

Silence. Alastor tilted his head to the side, then pursed his lips and looked away again.

“He is not,” he added for good measure. “We are the same being.”

Anthony gaped.

“He has no filter,” he repeated, the conversation yesterday so clear even despite his drunken state, and the more he was staring at Alastor in front of him, the more the demon in red seemed to fluster.

“I, for one,” the demon finally spoke, “have tons of filters. We seem to disagree when it comes to you. On how to… handle you.”

Full body hug versus five foot rule is a pretty wide gap, Anthony mused, still gaping.

“I was unfair yesterday,” Alastor cleared his throat. “You are not… well, of course you are pretty miserable, honestly,” he looked him over, and yeah, okay, fair. He must have looked like complete shit with the hangover, now bundled up in fluffiness of the bathrobe. “There’s no denying it, and you are at least aware of it. But that was not supposed to make you feel bad. It is why we are going to fix this. Eventually.”

“Fix…?” Anthony repeated, not being able to get his expression under control.

“Yes. And then you will die and that would be it, but that is not important right now,” Alastor shook his head again, his voice softer. “Now… you are alive. And you need me.”

“Cocky, aren’t ya,” Anthony sniffed a little. “Mr. Control Freak.”

“At least I don drink tequila like a savage,” Alastor scoffed, the static dropping from his voice like a curtain. “No class at all, cher.”

“Bite me,” Anthony flipped him off and finally opened the door to the living room. Somehow it felt like a gateway where his insecurity had no way to pass and when he walked through, his chest was not so tight anymore.

Then he realized there was a dead deer in the living room, and he hurled out the rest of his stomach contents.

“Tu as fait un gâchis,” Alastor said and went back to the kitchen.

No. No nice things. Alastor was a fucking freak.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Too Sober, Enough Sass (John Wick x Unamed OFC)

Summary:  you meet a tall, dark and handsome stranger who saves your life

Author’s Notes: So this was supposed to be a drabble based on two prompts I got from @beyond-antares #4 and #83 from drabble challenge, but it ended up developing an actual plot and it might become a series? This would be John before Helen (nothing against her. I think she deserved better) and in my mind’s eye he looks like Keanu circa 2009. Anyway, Nina, I hope you enjoy it.

Wordcount: 2268

Warnings: mild violence, but nothing major.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.

You were supposed to drown your sorrows with your friend Emma by your side to comfort you. She wasn’t supposed to ditch you the second a cute guy winked her way. You weren’t supposed to be left alone at the bar while Emma made out in a corner.

You glanced the couple’s way, noticing they were way past pg-13 and about to be kicked off. With a grimace, you turned back to the bar, signaling for the bartender to bring you another drink

“I’m too sober for this,” you said a little louder than intended and the handsome man perched on the stool next to you snorted and glanced your way.

You've been eyeing him as discreetly as you could since he arrived because he was probably one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. The way his dark suit hugged his well-built frame and the short dark hair and neatly trimmed beard were doing something to your sanity.

The bartender appeared with your ginger ale and you nodded your thanks, taking a sip and sighing. It was as unsatisfying as expected.

“That won’t really help your case,” he said startling you.

You looked over at him and he gestured to your drink with his own glass of whiskey.

“Oh. I have babysitter duties,” you replied with a snort, glancing over your shoulder at your friend. He followed your gaze, before giving you a sympathetic smile.

“That’s bad luck,” he commented and offered you a hand. “I’m John.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, noticing it was huge around yours.

“So, what brings you here to drink alone, John?”

You turned your body completely to face him. If you couldn’t drink and commiserate with your friend, you might as well flirt with the hot guy in front of you

“Sometimes we are our best company,” John said with a small shrug.

“Wow, that’s...” you paused for a second trying to think on a polite way to phrase it. “really sad and dark.”

John snorted, ducking his head and it was sort of cute, which was something weren’t expecting from a guy like him.

“I guess you have a point,” he said with a smile. “So, you know what that means right? You should have a drink with me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, feeling your cheeks a little warmer. That had been quite a smooth pick up line. But before you could say anything else, Emma appeared by your side, flashing John a smile, before hooking her arm with yours.

“Hi. I have to borrow this lady for a sec,” she said already dragging you to the restroom. “Please, please tell me you have condoms with you.”

You rolled your eyes at Emma. Of course, that was what she wanted. You dug through your purse, finding a solitary foil package at the bottom.

“Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?” you asked and Emma rolled her eyes as she stood on one foot and touched her own nose with her index finger.

“Happy?” she asked, snatching the condom from your hands.

“You do know you’re a terrible friend, right?”

“Oh please!” Emma snorted as she pocketed the condom. “Like you actually mad when a guy like that was chatting you up.”

You rolled your eyes again, more out of habit than anything because Emma was right. Any resentment you had over her actions disappeared the second John started talking to you, but you weren’t gonna give her the satisfaction of being right.

“I’m gonna go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said with a wink moving to the door.

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do,” you pointed out and Emma smirked.

“Exactly.”

With a snort, you turned your focus back to the mirror, fixing your hair and refreshing your lipstick, your heart speeding up at the thought of going back to John.

With one last deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out of the restroom, running straight into John’s strong chest. You stumbled back startled and looked at him, catching a strange, dark expression on his face that terrified you a little, but at the same time sent shivers down your spine.

“You need to come with me.”

His voice was low and deep, almost growly and you were reminded of a predator threatening a prey. You took a step back.

“Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you,” you protested, trying to keep your voice leveled as you looked around in panic.

There wasn’t anyone around, but you could hear steps coming closer. John must have heard too because his head turned towards the noise, his eyes narrowed, one hand dropping to his waist, the other grabbing your arm.

You struggled as he pulled you towards the back exit, but his hand felt like a steel cuff around your wrist and no matter how much you dug your heels, John continued to tow you like you weighted nothing.

“HELP!” you shouted, listening to the steps rushing towards you. “SOMEBODY, PLEASE!”

You saw a man turn the corner of the hallway as you and John reached the door. You breathed a sigh of relief, but it caught in your throat when the other man raised a gun at you, and you screamed again.

 Faster than you could process it, John spun on his heels, covering you with his body just as you heard the shots echoing in the narrow hallway. You felt him pushing you forward, to the door and this time you went willingly because if a guy took bullets for you, he was definitely on your side.

“Don’t stop, don’t look back. Just come with me if you wanna live,” he said, herding you towards the street, one hand on your lower back, the other on his hip and you could see now that he was armed.

You were both walking fast, not quite running. John was grunting low with each step he took, and you glanced at him with a worried look.

“How are you not dead?”

Instead of answering you, John thumped his own chest with such force, you sucked in a sympathetic breath as a metallic clinking sound reached your ears. You looked back to see several round disks on the sidewalk. You looked back at John with wide eyes.

“Shit! Are those bullets? Oh my God, is this a terminator thing? Am I Sara Connor? I’m not badass enough to be Sara Connor!” You spluttered, panic making you weird and incoherent.

John just ignored you in favor of yanking the passenger door of a slick, muscle car open and all but shoved you inside, taking the driver’s seat before speeding down the street. Good thing it was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic.

“Do you know who wants you dead?” John asked, glancing at you and you let out a burst of hysterical laughter.

“Sure. Let me just check my list of nemeses.” You made a show of patting yourself, before glaring at John. “Oh shoot! Must have left it in my other pants!”

“Enough with the sass!” John hissed and scowled at you.

And maybe he might have seen something in your face, the terror and panic because his expression softened along with his grip on the steering wheel.

“Just think, alright?” His voice was still deep, but a lot less growly. “People don’t just wake up with a contract on their heads. Not regular people anyway.”

“I don’t know, alright?” you replied after thinking for a moment.

You were just an accountant at Wolfram & Hart. The most dangerous thing you’ve ever been involved in was reading spy books and ordering Chinese from the cheap and suspicious restaurant a couple of blocks away from your apartment. And you told John just that.

“Wolfram & Hart as in the investment firm accused of embezzlement last week?” John asked, glancing at you and you nodded.

You were the one that caught the strange proceedings and reported it… oh.  

“Shit! My bosses are trying to kill me? When did my life turn into a Tom Clancy novel?”

You looked at him with wide eyes and John took your hand, squeezing slightly.

“You’ll be ok. I promise.”

There was such certainty in his tone and in his intense, brown eyes that you couldn’t dream on doubting him. So, you just nodded, feeling your heart finally slowing down, breathing returning to normal as John pulled up in front of a hotel.

He led you inside and towards the front desk, greeting the concierge with a short nod.

“Mr. Wick,” the concierge greeted with a quick glance your way before his focus turned back to John. “A room for the night?”

John looked at you for a second with a thoughtful frown, before he nodded, and slid a gold coin across the counter.

“That should be enough, but I’ll call in case I need to extend it, Charon.”

The concierge nodded and handed John a keycard. With one last nod towards Charon, John led you first to the elevators, then to a fancy suite on the eighth floor, overlooking Manhattan. If you weren’t so terrified, you’d appreciate the view a lot more.

“What kind of hotel takes gold coins as payment?” You asked as the two of you stepped inside. “What kind of person pays for a room with gold coins?”

“It’s a long story,” John replied. “The only thing that matters is that you’ll be safe here while I take care of this.”

“Why are you helping me?” you asked as the two of you stood in front of one another.

How come you didn’t notice how huge John was? Not only tall but also had broad shoulders and strong arms. His big hands were so big they covered the entire side of your face as he cupped your cheek gently, his palm rough and warm against your skin.

“I don’t know,” he said in a low voice, staring into your eyes, stealing your breath. “Just felt right.”

You were half-expecting him to kiss you and you wanted him to. Instead, John cleared his throat and stepped away from and you immediately felt the loss.

“I have to go now,” he said, glancing at you. “Don’t leave this room until I come back for you.”

There was something in his tone that didn’t leave you any room to question it. So, you just nodded and watched John leave.

As you waited for John, you walked around, exploring every inch of the room until you were bored. You tried to watch TV, but your anxiety didn’t allow you to sit still long enough to enjoy it, intrusive thoughts distracting you all the time.

What if John didn’t come back? What if something bad happened to him? What would she do then? He only paid for the night. It wasn’t like you had any gold coin lying around and you had a pretty good feeling that the hotel wouldn’t take your Visa. What if you went home and they were waiting there to kill you?

With those thoughts swimming through your brain, you were not sure how you managed to fall asleep. But you jumped awake and terrified when John called your name softly. It took you a second to register that yes, it was him. He was alive and well and you’re throwing yourself in his arms without even thinking it through.

“Oh, thank God!”

“It’s alright,” he reassured, hugging you close, petting your hair. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

For a moment, you just let yourself be held by John, letting all the overwhelming feelings of the night bleed out from you as he comforted you until you finally felt like you could pull back and look at him.

Gone was the intense and focused expression, replaced by a soft look that seemed almost full of wonder and confusion as he watched you and traced the shape of your face with his fingers.

Before you could chicken out of it, you pressed your lips to his and felt him sigh against your mouth before he kissed you back, tongue sliding against yours. You tasted coffee and cigarettes, his beard tickling the skin of your upper lip.

“Come on, let me take you home,” he said as the two of you broke apart and you nodded.

The ride to your apartment was made in comfortable silence. You kept sneaking glances at him, wondering if this was finally the moment you would tell you what the hell happened, who he was and how he took care of your problem.

“Come inside?” you asked once he walked you to your door.

“I shouldn’t.”

You smile fell as John avoided your eyes, taking a few steps away from you.

“John…” you started, but he shook his head, making you trail off.

“It’s for the best,” John sighed and looked up to meet your eyes. “You don’t belong in my world.”

You knew he had a point of course, even if you didn’t understand enough of what had happened, of what he had done for you. But you understood that there was a considerable amount of danger envolved

“Thank you,” you managed, voice breaking as you fought tears. And why were even crying? You barely knew this man. John nodded too, pressed one final kiss to her cheek, before walking away.

You stayed by the door, fingers pressed to the spot on your cheek his lips had just touched until the elevator’s doors finally closed, taking John away from your sight and your life.

xxx

[msftbts]

Personal stylist!Reader x OT7

(eventual) smut, fluff, slight angst & a bit of comedy here and there

Summary: You travel to Korea to start your new life as a personal stylist, expecting nothing more than to gain some job experience for the future, but seven sulky men make it difficult for you to stay in your lane and follow the rules. Will you stay faithful to your boss, or fall into the charms of another?

Notes: Thank you so much for the great feedback and response to the first chapter, hopefully this story continues to meet your expectations. Are you ready for your first day at work?

Warnings: mild cursing

Taglist: @milk-mochi @ephemeral-mindset @the-wild-ego @kwitzee @in-overrmyhead @valensoup @chocoflagcutii

Don’t be shy to message/question/request me if you want to be added to the taglist to get notified whenever I post a new chapter! I update this au at least once a week. 

(masterlist)

Chapter 2

At your first meeting you only got a glimpse of the idols and the other staff that would be soon working with you, regardless you left the meeting with a good feeling. You don’t know if it’s too early to say, but it felt like you were somewhere where you belong to. Like all this time life has been leading you this way. Anyways, you were excited for your first day at work that was going to be in two days. The rest of the day you spent at your hotel, too jet lagged and tired from all the stress the day had caused you. You were actually more than fine to just stay inside these four walls for today.

The next day you woke up early. When you got the job as a stylist you made a promise to yourself to take care of yourself while on tour, by taking on a healthy lifestyle. That means you had to wake up early, workout and eat healthy. It’s safe to say that you weren’t too familiar with that, since your previous lifestyle was a mess. But all of this newness was enough to motivate you to change. You put your gym gear on and went downstairs to go to the hotel’s gym. Luckily enough there wasn’t anyone else there this early in the morning. You got to run in peace. When you tried to connect your phone to your airpods, you noticed there was an option in the bluetooth section for you to connect to the gym’s speakers. Since there was nobody else at the gym, you decided to blast your music through them. The beats got your blood pumping and gave you a boost of extra energy, so much that you actually wanted to dance. And you did. You stepped off the treadmill and went in front of the mirrored wall and started busting those moves out. You do have a little bit of a dancers background, when you were in highschool you used to dance and perform. You went over one of the old choreographies that you still remembered. You were so in your element you didn’t even notice that somebody else had entered the gym. You were in the midst of rolling your body against your hand, when you noticed a familiar face looking at you from further away with his eyes wide open with an amused looking smile on his lips. You froze and your whole face turned red. You snatched your phone and water bottle and ran out of the gym as fast as you could. Once you finally got into the elevator, you leaned against the wall, feeling like your legs were going to give up. Your breathing was out of control. You slapped your hands against your face. This felt so humiliating, why did you let yourself loose like that? It wouldn’t have been that bad, if the person who walked in on you was somebody else, other than Jimin. The one person, actually the only person you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of. Once you entered your hotel room, you made a promise to yourself to not leave it anymore. How was it even possible that Jimin was in the same hotel as you? You thought he lived further away with the other boys from the band.

After getting to calm down in the safe space of your hotel room, the next day you felt ready to leave it behind when you finally signed out out of the hotel and travelled to the first concert destination. It was a huge stadium in Seoul, and the backstage of the venue was even bigger than you could’ve imagined. Once you arrived, one of the bands manager was guiding the new staff to their first tasks. You approached her. “What’s your name?” she asked you. “Y/N L/N”, you told her. “Okay, you’re the stylist right?” You nodded. “You can work with Melissa, she is one of the makeup artists, she will show you where you will work today, you can take all your belongings there. Come back to me once you’ve settled down”, she advised. You looked to your left, where a friendly looking girl was waving at you. “You must be Melissa, hi! I’m the new stylist Y/N”, you introduced yourself to her. “Nice to meet you Y/N! Let me show you your room”, she said walking ahead of you. You walked through a long corridor, with loads of rooms with their doors open. You could see how some of the rooms were makeup rooms, some of them were for the camera crew, some of them were just for lounging and some of them were for the artists. You finally arrived into your room, a small room with clothing racks and full body mirrors. “There, you should leave all your stuff here in case you’ll need them during today’s workday”, Melissa said. “Workday”, you repeated and hummed to yourself. “What?” Melissa said with a confused look. “Oh nothing, it just sounds weird to call this a workday. My first workday”, you smiled to yourself. “It’s my first workday too and to be honest with you I’m super excited! I couldn’t really sleep last night”, she told you and she looked visibly thrilled. You smiled, because she looked adorably enthusiastic. You put down your stuff and went back outside to get your next task.

Melissa got her task first and she went back inside. “Y/N you’ll need to carry all these outfits into your room before the artists get here. Make sure those are in perfect shape before they arrive and wear them. Also those bags are full of accessories for them to pair with their performance outfits, unpack all of those”, the manager commanded and pointed into a small van filled with boxes of clothing and dress bags. You started carrying as many as you could to your room at once.

When you finally had them all in the room, you started taking the suits and outfits out of the dress bags and hanged them up on the racks. You sighed when you noticed some wrinkles and dust stuck on them, knowing you’d need to take care of them. You used all these professional machines to freshen the clothes up, and soon they looked flawless. You’ve never seen clothes that expensive. All the details were sewed in by hand. After admiring them for a while, you realized how much work you had left to do before the boys arrive. You started unpacking the boxes of shoes. You had to polish them and make sure they’re stainless. You arranged them under the racks in order with the members outfits. You took out your little box of supplies and took tape and a pen out of there. You wrote out the members names and stuck the tapes on the ground next to each members shoes, so it was easier for you to tell apart whose outfit was who’s. After that you started going through the bag full of accessories. There was everything from hats to socks and all sorts of shiny jewelry. You laid them out on the table in front of the mirror. Finally there was only one more bag left to unpack. It was filled with bottles of cologne and deodorants. You put them out on the table as well. You finally stood up with your arms on your sides, feeling proud of getting that task down. You got to sit down for two minutes, before the manager barged in to the room. The easy part was over, now comes the actual challenges.

All the staff was gathered to the space behind the stage. The manager was giving a speech to everyone about today’s show, telling how big it was going to be and how everyone needed to stay alert and active during the whole day. She also told how hectic it was going to be during the concert, because of the fast pace we were going to be moving in. She also reminded how everyone’s work affected others, and how everything needed to be perfect. The cameras and eyes in the audience can catch anything, so that’s why especially your job was going to be important, since it was your outcome of how the boys will represent themselves out there. “No pressure, though”, you thought to yourself. You found Melissa in the middle of all the staff and squeezed through the people to stand next to her. She smiled at you and turned back to listen to the manager. “I have just been informed that the artists have arrived, and it’s important they get to know you guys and your duty in here, so we’ll do some quick introductions” the manager yelled. You felt Melissa’s hand grab yours and she softly squeezed it: ”Oh my god, we will finally meet the boys!” You laughed at her excitement, kind of wanting to join her celebration, because you knew deep down that you were excited to meet them too. Until they actually walked in front of you, and you realized who you’ll meet again. The exact smile you were so scared of now stood right in front of you. Your heart was pounding when all of the new staff workers started to introduce themselves one by one, realizing you’d have to do it soon too. When Melissa finished introducing herself with a very exhilarated tone of voice, you felt like your heart stopped and throat grew dry. You looked at the boys in horror, not getting any words out while they stood there in silence waiting for you to say something. Melissa poked your side with her elbow and you woke up from your momental trans. “H-hi, my name is Y/N, I’m your new personal stylist”, you finally gagged out while looking down at your feet, too scared to face them. The usual redness caused by their presence was back again. “Hi Y/N, nice to meet you”, they all said in unison. Once that awful round was over, and you got to go back to your working places, you heard someone run after you while you were walking to your room. “Y/N what happened out there?”, a familiar voice asked in concern. Melissa walked by your side and looked at your face of flushed cheeks. “I don’t know, I guess I just got nervous by them”. “Don’t worry, I was really nervous too, they’re even more handsome in real life. Can you believe they’re practically our friends now?” Melissa said. “They’re not our friends!” you said, and realized how harshly it came out. “Whoa there, I know we aren’t going to be like friends who hang out together - kind of friends, but work friends! What are you so agitated for?” She asked. You pull her to the side and lower your voice. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” She realized the sudden seriousness of the situation and nodded. “I’ve been having some odd coincidences with one of the boys, Jimin. He kind of ran on me at the gym” you confessed to her. “Well, that’s not so odd, since he works out alot. Besides you should get used to it, we are going to be in the same tour with them after all”, Melissa responded. You wanted to tell her more, but decided to brush it off, since she obviously wasn’t really reaching your point. “Anyways, will you eat lunch with me today? Meet me in the cafeteria in 15 minutes”, she suggested. You parted your ways when you hopped back to work in your room for a little bit.

The cafeteria wasn’t really anything like a cafeteria. It was just a space with tables and seats, and buffet style of servings. You didn’t mind that though, since you were starving already. You noticed someone waving from the other side of the room and sat beside her on the table. “They’re in there getting their hair done now”, Melissa starts. “Who?” “The boys, duh!” Melissa playfully pushed you. “Oh”, you let out, knowing there was only one of them on your mind. It was stupid really. To keep thinking about him even if nothing major happened between you two. Maybe Melissa was right, maybe it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He was probably just being nice, but your delusional mind makes you think there was something in his stare. You took a bite of your sandwich. “I don’t have much time to eat with you today, after the hair team is done, it’ll be my turn. Whoa, I’m really gonna get to touch their soft skin”. You made a disgusted face at her, causing her to laugh. After eating and discussing your days with her for awhile, she looks at the time on her phone and gets up. “I need to go now, the hair team should be about ready now, wish me luck!” “Good luck, don’t fuck up their pretty faces, please!” You threw at her and she pointed her middle finger at you, quickly covering it up when she noticed the manager walking in. You chuckled by yourself when the manager gasped and looked visibly offended. You noticed the other staff giving you looks when you were chuckling alone. You cleared your throat and finished eating your sandwich.

You were watching videos from your phone in your room, when a sudden knock on the door caused you to jump. The door opened slightly. It was the manager. “Y/N, Jungkook just got his hair and makeup done, it’s your turn to take care of him”, you dropped your phone quickly on the table and got up from the chair, taking a quick glance at the mirror. A tall, doe eyed, kind boy walked in. He just walked straight past you and jumped on to the sofa. “So what was my first outfit tonight again?” he went straight to the point, and before you even moved a muscle he continued: “I’m Jungkook by the way, and your name was..?” “Y/N”, you filled him in. “Y/N”, he repeated your name to himself and looked back up to you smiling. Your nervousness quickly faded away, and you felt at ease with him. You showed him all of his outfits in order and he kept doing different over the top reactions at them, making you giggle more than you had wanted to. “Okay so let’s get you dressed then”, you cut the laughing. “Do you happen to have any snacks in here?”, Jungkooks asked you out of the blue. “Snacks?”, you asked him. “Snacks! Chips, candy, chocolate..anything! I need something to get my sugar levels up, the manager isn’t letting me eat anything unhealthy before the concert”, he said looking hopelessly into your eyes. You had in fact stacked some chips for yourself to eat later today, but how could you let him down when he was looking at you like that? You smirked when you pulled the chips out of your bag and tossed it over to him. “Thank you, my saviour!” He said, throwing his hand dramatically to his heart. A smile spread across your face. “Be quick, we need to get you dressed before the next one comes in”, you told him off. He stuffed his mouth as fast as he could, getting up from the sofa and rubbing his hands together to get all the crumbs off. “Let’s get it then”, he said. A sudden feeling of anxiousness hit you, once you realized he would soon have to take his clothes off right in front of you.

Chapter 3 

[sansy-fresh]

Handlebars

a oneshot commission for one @silverdragonms <3

tags: GlitchedDeath (Error/Reaper), Geno-Turned-Error, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Soulmates AU, Roommates AU, Permanent Injury, Happy Ending

ao3 link

Somehow, this was even more awkward and uncomfortable than Reaper had thought it would be when he sent the ad out. Sure, living with another person you barely knew was going to be weird from the get go, he knew that coming into it, but… this crossed the threshold of weird and into supremely uncomfortable status.

See, he knew his roommate. Or, at least, the person his roommate used to be. Geno, good old Geno, with gnarly ass scars on his eye and always wearing the scarf his dead brother used to wear. He was a pretty metal guy, something Reaper could respect. He and Reaper had been going steady for a few months when it happened.

A car accident, that’s what he’d been told. Somebody hit Geno’s squat little smart car with a pickup and sent it flying. Reaper might have laughed if he wasn’t sitting in a hospital room chair, holding Geno’s hand and waiting for him to wake up.

Geno’s bones had been blackened by the fire that erupted from the burning car, his eyelights blurred and damaged from the smoke. He was almost unrecognizable, if Reaper hadn’t known every part of Geno intimately. And yet… when Geno woke up, he didn’t know who he was.

It’d been hard, watching his significant other devolve into tears and snatch his hand away, screaming for someone to come save him. Reaper had left, sneaking out with a shortcut back to the house he’d shared with his brother. The last he’d heard about Geno, when he finally let go of the hurt and asked, was that he was now going by Error and didn’t remember a bit of his old life.

Reaper had requested they not tell Error about him, and moved away. Anubis helped him move to a city that was hours away, far from the hurt and temptation that was trying to get his Geno back.

Of course, when he was still on his brother’s dime for paying the rent, things were fine. But Anubis had moved to an even farther away city, and while the two of them stayed in contact, Reaper understood completely when his brother stopped paying his rent. He made enough money with his side gigs that he’d have probably been fine, but it was always better to be safe than sorry, in his opinion.

He’d left the Want Ad for a roommate up for a few months, and in the end received only a single application. The handwritten letter for approval had been chickenscratch to read, but he’d gotten the gist. Rent was coming up, groceries were running low and his last job had been two weeks prior, so Reaper had picked up his phone, texted a quick “You’ve been picked to be my roommate.” to the number listed on the application, and waited for them to show up.

When Error showed up to his front door the next day, Reaper had been… very confused. He’d stuttered through his greeting, Error giving him a weird look as he explained that he’d been the one to send in the application.

Well. Since he didn’t really want to let Error know that they had a… history , together, Reaper’d had little choice but to accept. So Error moved in, and they’d studiously avoided each other ever since.

If Error remembered seeing him (being afraid of him) in the hospital, he never showed it, instead keeping to himself and always leaving his portion of the rent in an envelope on the kitchen counter when it came time to pay. Which, that suited Reaper just fine, since seeing what used to be his lover still ached deep in some untouchable part of his soul.

But of course, there were always pitfalls in the road. Such as, the weird moments where Error decided he wanted to be a part of Reaper’s life, whether Reaper wanted it or not.

Such as now.

“But no one else said they could go, right?” Error asked, a bit of a whine to his voice. Or at least to Reaper it sounded like a whine, but he could have been biased, after listening to Error try to harass him into letting him come with him to a death metal concert for the past hour and a half.

“You’re right. They did. So I figured I’d just go by myself, make a night of it.” Reaper said through slightly clenched teeth, packing his to go bag with a little more vehemence than the activity really called for.

There was a huff, Reaper’s eyelights headed for the ceiling as Error crossed his arms.

“I won’t be a bother! And you shouldn’t go alone, who knows what kind of people might be there!”

Reaper felt his entire body tense up, before he made himself relax. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just let him come along?

In the end he agreed to let Error come, if only so he’d stop looking at him like a kicked puppy. Error had happily, or as happily as he got, packed his own bag and a bottle of water and the two of them had taken off.

Of course, he’d known the entire time it was a bad idea. There was no way Error would enjoy the loud, intense music and vocals, or the push and pull of the crowd that surrounded them. Error was an introvert at best, and a social shut in at worst. There was no way he’d be able to handle all those people screaming lyrics all at once.

He was proven right, unfortunately, when Error turned pale about an hour in and hurried for the nearest bathroom. Reaper dutifully followed him, an “I told you so” on the tip of his teeth before he saw that Error was squatted down, head between his legs. Damn fool was having a panic attack, and it was the old, nearly forgotten love he had for him that had Reaper moving forward, placing one hand on Error’s chest and pressing him up against his own.

Error was so out of it he complied, Reaper exaggerating his breaths to get Error to breathe in deeper, breathe out calmer. It’d worked with Geno, and it seemed to work with Error equally, until the blackened skeleton finally breathed easily on his own.

They sat there, in the cold bathroom for a while, the music making the walls tremble around them as they sat in silence.

“How did I know you?”

Reaper’s eyes blinked open, previously on the edge of dozing off. He certainly wasn’t now, Error blinking back at him with a near innocence in his gaze. Reaper knew better, and answered accordingly.

“When, exactly, are you talking about? Cause I’m almost positive I never met you before you moved in, y’know, and-”

Error slapped his arm, turning to get up in his face with uncharacteristic anger. “You know exactly what I’m talking about asshole. You knew exactly how to calm me down, so you knew me before, now tell me how I knew you!”

Reaper sat, mouth open, before he gently pushed Error away and off of him. “I’m not dealing with your bullshit. Find your way back home yourself.” And with that he took a shortcut to the nearest bar, fully intent on getting wasted.

~.~

Shortcutting back to the apartment, Reaper was ready for a long sleep and a hard morning, shuffling into the dark living room and hissing when the light was suddenly flipped on. He glanced up from under his fingers, only to find a near furious Error waiting for him, pajamas on and arms crossed.

“You are going to fucking explain to me what our relationship was, or I swear to the stars I’ll leave and never fucking look back.”

Reaper wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out, wanted to hurt the person that had, albeit unintentionally, hurt him. But he was so tired, so exhausted, he just wanted to sleep and forget this night had ever happened.

So he waved Error off, hiccuping as he jerked a thumb back to the door. “No one’s stoppin’ ya. Go ‘head.” It would hurt, his Geno leaving again, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t survived it the first time. It’d hurt like a motherfucker but he’d survive.

Error stared at him, gobsmacked, before the tears began to fall, his eyes scrunching shut as he wailed, “JUST TELL ME!”

“WE WERE SOULMATES, OKAY??” Reaper huffed, all the air knocked out of him as he stared down a shocked Error. “We were soulmates. Ya didn’ remember me. Tha’s all.”

Error’s mouth hung open, gaping as he tried to make sense of what Reaper said. Then, without another word, he turned and sped back down the hall to his room, the door slamming shut. Reaper winced at the loud sound, hand coming up to cradle his skull as he switched the light off and headed for the kitchen.

Ginger ale was a balm to his soul, easing the nausea enough that if he laid down, he’d likely not have to get back up again. Sipping at his little cup of the stuff, he shuffled down to his room, pausing outside of Error’s door just long enough to catch the sound of muffled sobs before he moved along, wincing.

He settled on the edge of his bed, sockets stinging as he sipped at his ginger ale until it was gone, setting the cup on the bedside table before laying down. He didn’t know how to fix things, doubted Error would want to live here any longer knowing what they were. If he were in the same situation, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay, that was for certain. Even if Error did stay after this, things would be even more awkward and uncomfortable than they’d already been.

Reaper turned on his side, hiccuping as he blinked away the tears. It didn’t matter how he felt. Not when his soulmate was in the other room sobbing because he didn’t remember him. Of course, since when had his own feelings mattered?

Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, barely covered with a ratty sheet as he finally let the tears fall.

~.~

It was the light that woke him up first, the pressure on his chest second. Reaper blinked at the light coming through his curtains, cursing his own laziness in not just buying black out curtains like Anubis had suggested. He only noticed the pressure after it shifted, a puff of displaced air hitting his chest as whatever it was moved.

He glanced over, and was shocked to find Error laying next to him, a large pillow and a thick blanket between them, blocking any actual physical contact. It was so familiarly Error that for a moment, Reaper was unsure what was wrong about the situation.

At least, until Error’s sockets suddenly popped open, his blurred eyelight constricting as he looked up at Reaper. He looked scared, shocked, and most of all guilty. Reaper wasn’t really sure what it was he had to feel guilty about, except maybe pushing him the night before, but...

After a long moment of awkward silence, Reaper opened his mouth to say something, some sort of deflection, but Error beat him to it.

“I just… I felt safer in here…” His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he gripped the blanket that covered him from chin to toe. It was one of the blankets Reaper remembered Geno favored.

Reaper’s eyes widened, Error blushing as he glanced away, before turning his back to him, clearly intent on hiding away even if he didn’t get out of bed.

Reaper studied him for a moment, taking in the tense shoulders and trembling hands, and gave a mental shrug. “Okay. Just wake me up when you want breakfast.”

With that he turned over himself, closing his eyes and giving Error plenty of room in case he wanted to get out of the bed. There was a brief movement, then what felt like Error settling in behind him once more, sighing.

Reaper shook his head, but couldn’t help the tiny smile on his face.

[deepintoforestwego]

Is there anything behind my face?

She is born knowing three things.

First is that her skin is as white as snow, her lips as red as blood, her hair as black as ebony.

Second is that seven times seven men had died so that she should live.

Third is, she shouldn't exist.

( Harsh thing for child to know, much less from moment of her birth. And harsher yet, she is right.

Were we willing to waste time in such way, we could debate about morality,  about whether sins of parents transfer to children, about personal responsibility and knowledge men shouldn't wield, about whether you can blame her for what her beauty drives men to anymore then you can blame fire for burning those who get close- but that isn't kind of right we are talking about here.

It is a simple truth, written in bones of world, in lifeblood of universe, in skin of night and face of day- the snow shouldn't become person, because it is impossible.

But magic never cared about such things.)

She has feared her mother from very start, you see, and perhaps that is where trouble started, or mayhaps that saved her life. She knew she shouldn't be, you see, but very little else, as she was still just a newborn, and had never seen human before, though parts of her belonged to them, of course.

And queen may  have not slept in while, and was rather cold and hungry and scared, and quite dainty woman to be honest, but she had this way of holding herself that made people defer to her, and she was all wrapped up in ermine and gold velvet and pearls, and she oozed magic like an old fish oozed stench, and child could see bargain wrapping  up around two of them, and well she knew nothing of sorcery and it's limitations, so she must be forgiven for assuming this woman was deity who created her.

(Like I said, it was bad idea all from the start.)

'' My goddess. You who made me.'' Said the girl, for her mother could be clever and careful when she put her mind to it,  and had requested for girl to have knowledge befitting her age and station, because everything else would have been rather awkward for her, and more importantly bad for her mother's plans.

''Not exactly, my dear. I am a human, I am afraid.'' The queen answered, after some consideration, because  she did like being called goddess, even though she associated it more with her young lovers and her poor mother, but it would be quite strange for princess to go around talking like that, and even queen, as hungry for flattery as she was, was made uncomfortable by thought of girl meant to be her daughter worshipping her.

''My mistress. You who own me.'' Girl stated, slowly, drawing out words, her throat feeling quite funny, speaking for first time, as languages and social norms and concepts and table manners filled her head as flood fills empty house, for girl had no memories and experiences to trouble incoming information.

''Well! That was nicely put, though accent could use some work, but not befitting somebody of your station. Try again, dear.'' Said the queen, as her face settled down in an expression more befitting on a cat who just snatched a canary, and closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttering as she imagined her servants speaking in that delightfully obedient tone, so sure of their place, below her, defined by her.

‘My mother. You who gave me life.’‘ She says, still kneeling, and years later she will forget, or try to, bury it down, of how the queen's s smile grew when she heard those words, how she sat down and embraced still kneeling girl, and flinched when her warm hands touched cold, hard skin. It bruised her arms a bit, as if she had tried to hug a statue left out too long in winter's winds.

''Yes, my dear.'' Queen said, clutching her dark hair in her fingers, embracing her so hard that she almost had trouble breathing, and breathed in her daughter's smell,  harsh and sweet aroma of pitch, the comforting  freshness of newly fallen snow, the sharp smell of iron and salt.

The princess, who still didn't know what perfumes were, smelled her mother, the scent of flowers and herbs permeating her clothing, and underneath it something gross and hot (she had not yet known what sweat and soft human skin were like) and wondered why they were so different, and decided that didn't matter.

**

They arrive to place that girl nameless supposes is to be her home in quarter of hour, faster than the queen had ever journeyed before, for  magic is ever fed by passion and from the heart, and queen had been almost drunk on pride of her success, joy from what would that mean for her, from terror and euphoria girl's beauty awoke in her, and as she hadn't slept and eaten in some time, and had almost died, her emotions running high and mad, so it wouldn't be hard for her to jump over to another country.

''This is my castle.'' The mother tells her, showing her wooden ring fortress, as they stand before wooden doors of main hall, and great noise is coming from it. Were somebody to watch, they would probably think girl emotionless, the hollow heartless thing, for she shows neither fear nor wonder (well, if she wasn't so beautiful, that is, and they were able to focus on something else other than it). But truth is, she is still far too young to know about wealth and royal power, and has seen nothing but blizzard and woman she believes to be greatest sorceress in world. There is nothing yet ingrained in her to respond.

''Inside is your father, the king.'' Now this word sparks something in her, for the queen has judged it the knowledge very important, that she must learn as soon as possible. The girl knows now, that king is the most important man in world, and that if she is to be good she will be his heir and continue to make her mother proud and powerful.

She isn't sure she wants to be powerful. But mother is, and mother wants more, and mother made her so that is probably good.

She also knows what a father is. A male parent, who names you, one whom you have to respect, obey, love... but not as much as mother.

Doors open, and noise hurts but she doesn't yet know how to react. She follows mother's lead, and steps inside.

And rest of world stops for everybody else.

***

''My weregild.'' The mother coos, almost mews  as she watches seven little bodies swing on rope, their faces that awful, strange purple people call blue for some reason though it's more of grey and lilac with pinch of black and scarlet, and smile doesn't leave her face, though at one point it grows stale and uncertain.

The princess learns what brothers are only later, when she has learnt enough to recognize guilt for what it is.

She doesn't yet have name for feelings that possess her, the way her stomach churns and turns  at sight of those small, rotting bodies (she has never learnt what death was, it had been built in her from before she was an inkling of thought), swaying on wind as ravens come to feast.

Were she just a spell- child, body built and operated by magic, she would have felt nothing. She would have danced and spoke as her maker demanded. Were she a changeling, or just a creature snow and blood and ebony in truth, she would have looked with curiosity, or apathy, and noted how it was unjust, and how petty and strange humans are. And were she truly her mother's daughter, she would have said it was just, for as she had no childhood, so they should be denied to grow old.

But she was neither of those, so she learnt regret.

***

She doesn't like to think about her name. Much less discuss it. If you try to ask her about it, today, well good luck. Hope you will make it out with some teeth intact at least.

She has one name, and hundreds.  It is same name, but always so different, like light reflecting off from one snowflake, viewed from different angles.   Run away to so many countries, run for so long, and of course it is changed so many times, of course it is translated when she has such dumb name. She hates the original too, but she hates variations even more- what right do they have to change her name, to change anything about her and her damned story? And change it they do, oh yes, cutting off parts and rearranging them, calling her Snowdrop and Snow White and Snežana and Blanche-Neige and Branca de Neve and Albanix and Sneewittchen and Schneewittchen and she can't number them all, snow and whiteness everywhere...

She is well aware that her name is literal and obvious and dumb, and if you ever point it out it won't go well for you. Only once did one person ( a beautiful princess who belongs to death and dreams like her, and almost as much to flowers and briars as she belongs to snow and blood, those daughters of woods and curses), with accidental addition of too much drink, get her to talk about that, and this is what she said.

''Don't know who called me that first. I think it came from some poor bard who burst in songs about me until he died from  lack of food and sleep. Detracted from glorifying me, see. Or wait, not a bard, bard's apprentice, about twelve. Might have had some Sight within him. Or it was my father, doesn't matter.

People picked it up because it was only fitting name, see. I couldn't be saddled with normal name, I was above it- and anybody else with that name would forever think of me, and it would never feel right for them. Except that now in some countries they do use my name, or version of it as a normal name so what waste of time, right?

Anyway point is they wanted to call me by something that could properly describe me and Beautiful was far too tacky and Ebony Black weird and Blood Red is just creepy so, here we are! Cheers!

The bitch never called me anything. Just my princess, my dear, my daughter. My, my, my. Always the same shit.'' And of course, this is the lie, though one she prefers to believe.

Truth is, she forgot  it. She forgot all names, and only roles remained.

***

The queen did one true kindness to her, because anything else would have been incredibly harmful for her goals, and because she wasn't wholly bereft of morals and reason, and still it hurt.

She had made it, when she cast her spell, when she screamed her wish in reality, when she bargained, that her daughter would have mind befitting her seeming age. Because stupid daughter was useless, and better no child than one that had that kind of problems (queen was biggest supporter of leaving people who were anything less than perfect, or at least acceptable, to die in woods, whether they were loving father gone senile or caring brother whose arm had to be amputated), and because she hated associating with such people- and in her mind, whoever had limping leg or trembling hands, or who had problems with reading or remembering faces was worse than animal, for animals could be useful, and toothless dogs were to be put down.

The girl had barely settled in her new form, though she walked with grace unparalleled and strode with pride and strength only queen herself could outshine, when she began changing and growing. She didn't know how to feel about that, as she wasn't normal girl, and already half way past through puberty, and nobody would ever tease her, or think her anything less but most beautiful creature they had ever seen.

(Creature. A step up from thing.)

Still, it felt strange, and uncomfortable, and very wicked to have her change and grow before she had truly had chance to enjoy her girlhood. The queen, who was very clever, and knew how to nurse man from brink of death as well as she knew how to craft a drink to paralyze an ox for six hours, explained her how everything about her body worked, and how those changes were completely natural, and how she would soon grow taller and how her face would get slimmer and more mature. In fact, she was growing up at same pace as most girls did, and that delighted queen greatly, for woman grown was an enemy, and eternally young girl was useless, and not to mention  a great annoyance.

(That was part of why she waited so long, until she was ready to cast her spell. It took time to find information, and to convince everybody she had lost her reason, but she wanted to put it off as far as possible, because raising child was such dull and taxing affair, and she really didn't need additional source of wrinkles.)

The princess had never woken up her parents and nurses in middle of night with her incessant crying. She had never fallen and scraped her knee and broken in hysterics. She had never climbed tree. She had never played ball. She had never been carried in her father's arms. She had never been told bedtime stories. She had never learned to read, or been tutored in counting. Her mother had never explained to her how to comb her hair. She had never had it explained to her how children are born, nor what marriage was. She had never muddied her dress. She had never played with kittens.

(She had never needed to  have dying explained to her.)

She wasn't naive (spell-girls built by men often were, inexperience and weakness and dependence of child in an adult body, but her mother had grander, more arrogant fantasies, though no less sick), she wasn't stupid, she wasn't lost. She had grown, and adapted to her world, and soon all things she missed, all knowledge and experience she wasn't born with, granted by magic, became part of her.

But lacuna where her childhood should have been remained, raw and gaping, as if somebody had pulled out all her teeth before she had chance to bite a crust of bread.

***

She learns at her mother's knee.

She learns from her father, of course, because she is made the heir, and she learns history and geography  and riding and politics and swordfighting and wielding axe, but it doesn't matter that much. Her father is a pale figure in her life, and ordinary man trembling before her, dead when she is three, and her mother walks through world as if she is above it, and hemlock and lily-of-the-valley grow behind her.

There was much to learn at the queen's feet, even things no child should learn, even things queen never intended to teach her. Part of it was that such were times- in those days castles were small and wooden, and courts less formal and complicated, and queens themselves worked, mending clothes and pulling their weight. It could have lessened them, made them normal women in eyes of their subjects, but her mother knew how to wrap dignity and mystery around herself. She knew how to make people kneel.

Her mother taught her domestic arts, of course. She was good, dutiful wife, and more over not sort of woman who shrank away from her duty and hard work. But more important, she taught her daughter, though girl could never be sure whether by accident or intent, how to look beautiful when doing it, how to look powerful as she spun thread, exalted as she made her own bed. When queen mended her husband's head, he lowered his head and reverently expressed his gratitude.

She taught her spellcraft, by observance at least.  It was power that queen couldn't truly have shared with her even if she wanted (and she would have rather sheared her own hair than given up one of her secrets). Her mother was skilled, learned mage, if not particularly powerful by talent alone. She drew her power from gems, herbs, potions, from rings that turned you invisible, cloaks that allowed you to fly, seven mile boots.

Snow White had leanings of witch, it seemed. Hers was power of rituals and motions, of rites and ceremonies, of dances under harvest moon that changed fate of kings, of hair ribbons cut by seven grandmothers over mountain river on which mill was built to make friendship sour...  or she would have, had she ever been taught. But she had been made heir, and there was much to learn, and being witch or priestess wouldn't have been good for her (pity, she would have made a good völva, she was pretty sure). She did pick up few things, though, but it was unavoidable.

Blood and mirrors, all she learnt.

***

She wondered what it was that made her beautiful.

Her skin? Her skin, so white that it blinded, white as snow that covered ground swiftly after the last harvests, like snow in which travellers  met their demise, like snow that stopped wars. Her skin, which was always smooth and tight and hard, like marble, whose touch was always cool, which didn't grow blue even when she stood wet on roof during whole winter night, which always carried chill of a dead man in itself, even during midsummer.

Her lips? Her lips, with their perfect shape, and their full colour, which never paled or chapped, as if they were painted on, colour of blood seeping from fresh venison,  colour of blood gushing from child's cut arteries, lips that tasted of iron and salt and minced flesh, that left bruises on cheeks they kissed, which could withstand warmth of broth just pulled from hearth (though she despised heat to such amount that she felt uneasy to spend more than few hours in room in which fireplace was lit).

Her hair?  Her hair, so long and wild,  spreading out like crown of ancient tree, slipping down below her waist, and yet somehow it  never got tangled up in world around it, slipping like snake through all obstacles, black as ebony, as handles of spears that pierced children, as frames of windows that kept out wind and rain.  Left and right it reached, like shadow of branches, like hands of bogeys, and never it got tangled, never did it get torn or weak.

Some said that when she had been growing up, that she had never had to suffer zits, or growth spurts, or ungainly limbs, that she had simply slipped in perfect ladylike adulthood. Others yet said that she suffered all indignities of childhood, of being teenager, and yet she was most beautiful of them all.

She wondered what it was that made people beautiful. There was woman with most stunning purple eyes, like lilac blossoms, like dusk sky, and people agreed she was very beautiful, but were disgusted by sight of her shoulders, filled with  short, fat, coarse black hairs. There was tall man, very strong and muscled, in way that would have drawn him much attention, were it not for his crooked yellow teeth, dull chin and broken nose.  There were children who had cutest, sweetest faces, with shining eyes and soft lips, who walked with bent backs and reedy fingers. It seemed all very much strange and whimsical and cruel to her, and very much useless and foolish.

She was beautiful.  No, she was fair. Were she malnourished and her face slashed and mutilated, were she turned in beast, in worm or featherless bird (those two were equally dreary things, in her mother's opinion) still she would have been the best of them.  When she came to doors, though they were closed, inside men waited and stopped breathing, awaiting her. They trailed after her, excited to earn her favour. Still she was a girl, and magic inside her was settling, so she wasn't fairest in the world, but one day wars would be waged for her, because of her, in her name. One day, when she had grown bitter and harsh and so much angrier, at gaze of her people would prostate themselves, and shake from being in same room with her, and they would not sleep, memories muddled and drunk, and in dreams they would swear to her again and again, for fear and love would mingle in one.

Her mother was beautiful, and sorceress, and she had killed and fucked and loved,  and she had much gold, and she could make fields prosper and cows miscarry with her spells, and men dreaded her, and respected her, and loved her. Her grandmother called her Freyja made human, and paid for it.

Snow White had been called goddess, and valkyrie, and many more things. And she may have possessed spark of that true, primordial beauty, but she was mortal still. Gods were born and could die but not like men. Snow White breathed, and slept, and she could cut herself, and she could get lost, and she had thrown tantrums before, and were you to cut her throat she would die. She was not a goddess, to rule over skies and dead, at best she was an image, a shadow, a mask,  shallow surface layer of divine beauty, not enough to charm stars in kneeling before her, but heavy enough that it crushed her.

(When she was young, she saw her mother's mirror once. It's frame was twisted and strained thing, contorted in ways that were hard to look at, like a  dying snake experiencing a seizure. The glass was colour of frozen mercury, and reflection in it wasn't opposite of reality, and sometimes it churned and twisted, making little waves, and always it whispered.

Most people stayed away from it, and even the queen couldn't bear to be too long in room with it, but the princess was drawn to it, like iron to magnet.

''Oh. You are like me.'' Whispered the mirror, in toneless voice that echoed in her head, and it pulsed like heart, and writhed  like worms in waves, and sighed as she put her cold fingers over it's surface, neither chill nor warm.)

***

It was easy to become a king, she learnt. You had to be born a prince, or earn king's favour, or lie to enough people so they would bow to you, or kill enough of them, preferably previous king too. All in all, it seemed very stupid and unfair to Snow White, who didn't really get why people needed kings, but said nothing because she knew what was appropriate, and because she was raised to inherit kingdom and didn't really think of how unjust it was outside of random musings.

It wasn't easy to become a queen, no matter what some thought and said. Any woman could be married to king, depending on how picky he was, and how much politics demanded from him, and how much he disrespected her rights. But only few became queens, true rulers, because they were taught not to seek respect and power, because they were beaten back, because game was set against them, because they were declawed and defanged and chained since earliest age, because they were taught to find pride and comfort in being silenced and starved. It took certain rare amount of cleverness and stubbornness and dedication, and, perhaps, ruthlessness, to become queen.

But Snow White didn't have to worry about that. Her mother loved her, and worked hard to ensure that her daughter would never have to go through all the trouble and misery she had to dredge through, and still she would get so much more. It was so hard for her poor mother, after all, to stand and suggest her idea to the king as he was busy being enraptured by his daughter.

How could he refuse her? How could he name anybody else but his most incredible daughter as his heir (the queen gritted her teeth), how could he dishonour her by not offering her everything he had? And would not people rebel if anybody else ruled them, would not enemies beg to be stricken down by her? So he thought, and declared, and people were outraged and shocked until they had seen her, and then ambassadors returned to their kings weeping, telling them they have been become traitors, for never could their hearts belong to anybody but queen Snow White.

Thus, thought it was expected that she would be married, for that is what normal people did, and beauty didn't prevent people from grumbling when they weren't near her, there was never  much pressure for that, and everybody understood that no man would be worthy of her, and all would be blessed to have her as bride, and they would only be consorts, never kings.

It was taken for granted that there would be no problem finding suitors for her, aside from possibly having to deal with wars that rejected suitors would bring to their footsteps ( something that would easily be dealt with, not only because the king was good warrior, and the queen  even better sorceress, but because any invader would have to carve their path through whole nation of berserkers ready to die for their princess, and even more ready to tear apart any who would dare to try to steal her away). It was also taken for granted that king would have to pay no dowry, and that indeed princes would be ones  bleeding their people dry in hopes of winning her over.

As was only proper, the queen had been one to choose her son-in-law, for the princess had asked her so, for her mother had assured her countless times of how much she cared, how smart she was, and how much more experienced, and she would be able to choose only the best for her dear daughter, a man whose kingdom would always provide for her, a man who would be her age and always kind to her, for those were hefty favours to ask in marriage, her mother told her. Kind husband was something you had to earn, as the queen did, but since she was such kind mother and her daughter so special, she would get all the spoils without any work.

And truly, the queen chose well. Prince was the same (apparent) age as Snow White, and he was sole heir of nearby kingdom, richer and greater than one  her father ruled (so greater that only thing that kept it from swallowing up their home, aside from their king's courtesy, was the queen, who knew all plans and desires of their neighbours, and could hold off the harvest and spring for years). He was said to be canny but honest, and rather good with sword and bow but pleasant, never one to seek out bloodshed. He was honourable and fair, and though well liked by ladies, hadn't dishonoured even one.

It sounded like bullshit to her, to be honest. Even her father, who was fair and wise, had his moments- he loved brawl, especially when he broke somebody's bones. And Snow White, well, she kept herself away from people, and never harmed anybody (but never helped out either), and still she had cruelty built in down to smallest piece of herself. Still, there were no whispers, no juicy gossip, and mirror found nothing unsatisfying and dangerous about him (for her mother would never lend her greatest treasure to somebody who would damage it), and so it was that Snow White was to be engaged.

The princess had met his parents, once or twice, for they sometimes rode out near borders of her country, and she had scried them, once she learnt where she was to be wed, in bronze mirror she had and rarely used for anything else. The king was thin, wiry man, with wild graying beard and wry voice, covered in pale old scars, and missing few teeth, and otherwise utterly unremarkable. His wife, a merchant's daughter they said he married for love, was short and warm woman, as sweet  and well beloved as fat, greased meal in late autumn, with face as round as apple and eyes like chestnuts, or so flatterers said.

The prince was very handsome, they said. He was of fine face and figure, strong and healthy, with teeth that were nearly white, and warm eyes like amber, with flickers of gold inside it. His skin was of warm, ruddy tone, and he moved with energetic, dangerous strength and grace, as if he had fire inside himself. With his auburn hair, like wood in fall, and his clothes, all gold and russet, he was said to be as beautiful as sunrise.

He wasn't, and she envied him for that. She envied them all, him for his ordinary beauty, his mother for her soft, sweet features, his father for being unremarkable and gray.

( Snow White was a human girl, and so she was often prey to all misfortunes that plagued them, even teen woes. But as wrapped up in magic and mystery as she was, even that had to be unusual.

Truth is, Snow White is envious of everybody. There isn't a single face, single body she doesn't desire more than hers. She desires form that some would find boring, nothing special, perhaps even funny or repulsive.  She envies her mother's fallen rival, her father's former lady, her brother's mother, for she is famous for her eyes as blue as sea, but princess finds neither salt nor waves nor fishes nor thousand shades and forms of water in them. She envies the cook's apprentice, for though she is known as very attractive woman, and it brings her trouble occasionally, she can talk to her brothers without them shaking with glee as they look at her. She envies her prince's mother, who is loved and respected for reasons that have nothing to do with beauty.

She has had her fair share of crushes, never acted on because they weren't appropriate for somebody of her status, because her mother wouldn't be satisfied with her choice, because they couldn't stop drooling when she passed. And so they all died, candle flames extinguished before they were anything more than a spark, leaving her to choke on guilt and longing and bitterness, to suffocate in impossible, petty desires.

She had never desired anybody because of their looks. She couldn't, because she had never been able to perceive beauty in people, because she had herself to rate them against. She looked at finest examples of human beauty and found thousand flaws, looked at them and saw how artificial it was, how dependent on right time and place and taste. Snow White could be skinned alive and have her bones broken and her head split open  and covered in dirt and yet anywhere in world they would proclaim her the most beautiful.

But she couldn't be loved or desired. She was too stark and sharp and terrible for that. She wasn't a girl whose hand you could hold, woman who you could lay against, a person to hug and kiss and laugh with. Everything in her was hard and cold, like ice sculpture. She was there to be looked at, not loved. Because even as humans adored beautiful people, they didn't love ones who had truly been beautiful.

Human beauty was shallow, false and thin. All humans were equally beautiful, and they just had to work more or less on convincing others to find them attractive. But Snow White bore true beauty, heavy as mountain, truer than her father's blade. Primordial, essential, actual, her beauty was a true, divine thing, real and defined in mutable, shapeless world of human misconceptions. She was a marble statue trapped among embroidered caricatures, and she envied them so much.)

So she held no hopes, and received a grand surprise. For though her prince's eyes seemed ready to fall out of his skull, and bliss sparkled in them as tears gathered on edges, after some time he composed himself and gave her warm, cocky smile, and bowed and kissed her hand and talked with her.

They talked. They rode on horses. He laughed at her embroidery. She rolled eyes at his jokes. They showed each other their favourite hiding places. They sparred with hands and swords. He lost to her in race and she in archery. They walked in woods and put their knowledge of animals and herbs to trial. She learnt that he was truly as good and honest as he was rumoured to be, but easily bored, and he could get lost daydreaming, and loved to go sight seeing, and fussed too much about his clothes. He learnt that she liked to forage berries, and kept falcons, and hated jewellery, and was horrible dancer. They had even argued few times!

She fell in love with him, a little. Enough that they kept contact when she ran away. Enough that he wanted to expose queen's crimes. Enough that he wanted to give her honour of burial. Enough that when he died, she walked away.

Enough that he said nothing, when she commissioned shoes for her mother.

('' I wish he'd at least pretend to treat me like person.'' She had whispered, standing alone in his father's corridors, and when she met him she believed he was somehow immune to her beauty , that he saw person underneath.

''Stop with that!'' She shouted, when men offered her their hearts, and they did, and only later she noticed that some people adored her in quiet, steadfast way, no less terrible but much subtler, because they didn't want to die for her, they wanted to serve her.

''I love you.'' She told him, and of course he said yes, of course he loved her, he had to, even as he laid dying, and years later she kept wondering whether she imagined something russet and golden running at end of corridors.)

***

When she is queen, she will keep her chambers  bare.

Everything about her will be bare, and simple, and cold. They will say, her husband’s people, when they are far away from her, that it is because she comes from colder, humbler, more barbarian kingdom that she is unused to fine luxury (she likes simple things because she spent so much time in the woods, they say, not understanding how rich, how elaborate, how beautiful everything was there, roots  mingling and binding each other in knotwork, impossible shapes in bark, flowers worth more than jewels everywhere around her.)

There will be no excess, no luxury in her sanctuary. No tapestries, no costly furniture, no mirrors. Only bare, chill stone and bed to uphold a minor illusion of normalcy ( a girl of ice and death born, she has slept on Forest floor, and dreamed in mines, and slumbered in coffin of glass and gold). No satin, no velvet, no silk, no gowns or embroidery or crown, for she has no need of them.

No jewellry. Nobody will again tell her she is as precious as gems at her throat.

***

She doesn't dream. She remembers. She remembers memories that are not hers, lodged in between her flesh and bones.

She remembers winter. Always, always it is with her, more crucial than breath, than her name, almost as important as her beauty.  She remembers cold of Niflheimr and of coming of first spring. She remembers snowflakes forming in clouds and melting on human faces, the mountain tips lined with white, the ice covering pines, the frost on abandoned blades, the  rime that gathers at hem of lost shawls, the chill creeping over river's stones, the snowdrops rising from forming poodles, the  crunch of frozen ground as her mother goes to border of Forest.

She remembers having bark, which protected her from rain, and wind, from cold and bugs. She remembers having roots, digging through soil, pulling water and minerals from ground, reaching out to taste sunlight. She remembers how it felt when sap coursed through her, her branches swaying on wind, her leaves remaining green even in winter as those of her neighbours turned brown and red and fell, remembers feeding on rotting flowers and grass caressing her trunk, the seeds falling and spreading, birds making nest in her crown, the queen's knife cutting branches off, off, off.

She remembers being warm, and flowing, being inside the veins. She remembers being child crying for parents lost to plague, the leper cast out of town, the old woman begging for scraps. She remembers warm, concerned voices of mothers who aren't hers, remembers being father, and having gray hair, and being hungry, and told she is ugly (in waking world she cannot imagine that feeling bad, but in dream it is, remembers childhoods that  aren't hers. She remembers being scared of bleeding, being cold, and queen  saving her/him/them, of being servants and obeying all her wishes, being trusted, and she remembers the blade, the curse, flowing over figure made out of snow until it turns pink, staining  and clotting upon ebony talismans.

She dreams of hands upon her throat, and dying, and melting, losing everything, going to no hall, rejoining earth and water and coldness, and it is so peaceful that she almost regrets when she wakes up...

These are terrors that follow her in her dreams. In waking world, she cannot escape seven boys, running after her like most loyal dogs, begging to serve her.

***

At edge of every kingdom there is Forest.

There is difference between  a forest and the Forest, just as there is difference between beautiful person and Snow White. The first is just bunch of trees and animals, which, perhaps bit scary at night, can be cut down and cleared away. But the Forests, are so much more, existing outside of civilized world, thinking and feeling and hungering, holding darkness and treasures and monsters within. Place where secrets are born, where miracles go to die, where Quests are done.

The Forests don't like people. They say that Forests were forged from Ymir's dying curse, and therefore there is terrible, chaotic power in them. Thousands of years ago, they marched against them, marched against whole world, and in three days humanity was crushed. For the Forests were grown before intelligent life came to be, and they despised men and their accomplishments. And so no weapon, no spell, no thing made by mortal hands held power within Forests.  The strongest sorcerers were rendered powerless, and sharpest blade failed to cut.

It waits for her. Castle where she grew was far away from Forests, so far away that you couldn't even see it on horizon, even as a dark line, but Snow White felt it every day. Being a human girl, somewhat, she didn't know how to feel about it, and sometimes she could ignore it so well that she forgot it's existence, and sometimes it occupied all her thoughts.

(Were she only a spell-child, she would have noticed nothing. Were she a changeling, each day she would have felt same, and knew exact reason why. But mortal she was, and thus she was plagued with uncertain heart.)

Whether she wants or not, someday she will go to the Forest. Things like her must, just as snow must fall. She is too strange and cursed, even for a world full only of witches. She is meant for legends, and some tale will dig it's claws in her, and every tale has it's beginnings in Forest, even ones who have nothing to do with them.  And she dreads when that day comes, because in Forest no spell can last, and what shall happen to her then?

(They are at her mother's hidden halls, as they are at every of her birthdays. She is seven, but to rest of the world she is twenty. She rides out, and huntsman accompanies her.

She is always accompanied by somebody, of course, because she must be protected, because always there is danger she would be kidnapped, for who wouldn't want to possess her? The huntsman is young, and good looking, or so she supposes. To her he looks like washed out, boring bunch of bones and flesh, but other girls say he is handsome, and to his misfortune queen agrees. But he is young, and he wants to live, and he is smart, but he has got conscience and she is so beautiful, that he breaks down and confesses everything.

A mother willing to kill her own daughter, and eat her intestines. Sounds horrible, but once they spend some time with princess people understand, even if they believe she was born like them. To live alongside somebody so beautiful, to be outshined while you grew older, weaker, as death came closer, that was horrible enough, but knowledge that nothing you ever do will help you come even closer to impossible ideal that is Snow white is horrible enough. Nobody could live with her, no more than they could gaze in Sun for years.

And besides, beauty like that, it doesn't belong to this world, doesn't come from it, and as such isn't meant to exist there.  Beauty like that, it is meant for higher, greater places, not this dreary, low world. It is meant to be a tragedy, a warning, something to mourn for forever even if we never had it. Girls like that, they exist to be beautiful corpses, because no matter what they say, it doesn't matter because nobody will care for anything else but their faces, so this way they do favour to everybody. You can't blame the queen, they say, and after all, makes sense for one who created her to be one to get rid of her.

For first time in her measly seven years of life, Snow White understands how her mother thinks. And she knows what will happen were she to face her.

She turns, and runs in heart of the Forest, in darkness, because it's monsters are at least honest.)

***

She is five hundred and sixty three years old when she sacrifices first child to escape.

Oh, not in usual sense, not yet anyway (it will be little bit longer before she drags children to crossroads at midnight and spills their blood and cooks their hearts to buy escape). Of course, she has killed young people, and somebody's children before, some of them her own descendants, but she has never sacrificed any child. She hasn't taken something innocent and powerless and blameless and cut it's life short to buy few more seconds, because that isn't how story goes. people tell it, and they believe, and souls are dragged from death to relieve it. And hers is simplest story. The queen is powerful, and she desires her death, and Snow White runs until she is caught and put in glass coffin, and then everything begins anew.

She has lived near village for some seven years by then, wrapped up in shawls and masks, because even though it doesn't stop people from gazing in awe it stops them from kneeling, because they only feel her beauty, don't see true miracle of her face. She has kept out of troubles, and even worked in mines so help the village, and she has scried lost children and horses in ice and coins, and brought them home from deep dark woods. And yet, man whose broken leg she healed heard rumours, and connected dots, and went in wide world to tell the queen.  And what could she do, but take off her shawls and masks and go down, as they parted before her, as they knelt, and drag his only daughter from her home with but a smile.

''You did a cruel, horrible thing. You were hurting, and you wanted to settle accounts, so you decided to be unfair as well.  it didn't help you in the end, but you decided destroying something small and blameless will make you feel better.'' The old, ugly woman with burned face and shadowed hood, dressed in grey and russet  tells her, as they hide in cave, as she tends Snow White's wounds and ignores her beauty, as she holds her even as death tries to drag her down. Snow White ignores it- the world had walked over, broken and spat out Cinderella, letting her be nothing but slave, nothing but ceaseless, unpaid servant, nothing but role assigned by her story. She doesn't understand revenge because she has no hope, no happiness, no way out from her life, but Snow White won't be broken like that. Snow White will be strong for them both.

''Do you love me? Do you dare think you are worthy of  sight of me? Prove it to me!'' She roars, cackles, smirks as traitor cries, as lighting races from her mother's shining rings, and girl cries and nods, laughs and bows and jumps in front of blazing magic to protect the fairest thing in the world.

For @slavicwitchling​ ‘s birthday, hope you like it my dear. Sequel to this drabble.

[lillaxtrigger]

Young Hope: Chapter 28

“Motherfucker!” The spice queen’s angry roar echoing beyond the Spicer abode, Cayenne takes her seething frustration out on Kingsley’s broken bedroom wall; punching yet another hole that gives a wider view of the twilight sky outside. “Why couldn’t get to him in time!” Behind the furious spice queen, Kingsley sits completely unconscious at his desk; his head nestled above dozens of documents and reports. Lying at his side weeps the orange haired demon, Alex’s wailing echoing outside as he sobs for his crush with: “No! My beloved Kingsley, taken from this mortal coil against his will! Why do the good always die young!?” Passing by the sad display, the blue angel strolls over to the massive hole that was recently Kingsley’s bedroom wall; kneeling along the edge to gauge a closer inspection. Tore runs his hand along the jagged cracked edges of the hole, his fingertips scrapping against the burnt wood. He fancies a look down outside to see any evidence of any tools or parts left behind by the potential culprit; finding almost nothing of the sort outside of a few pieces of wall and glass along the walkway. “I’ve seen and caused a fair share of blast all through my life. One’s that I shoot out leave holes scarily similar to this one. This was definitely somebody shooting their way inside.” “Looks like the doors seen better days too.” they hear the orange skater claims. Glancing towards the boy genius’s bedroom door, all of them find Mally taking a careful look at the side of the wooden door; running her finger through the burnt remains of the doorknob. “Whoever did this sure wanted Kingsley outta the picture badly.” the orange skater reviews. “You think that the perp we’re looking for might be onto us?” her blue brother questions. “I’d say so.”

“It’s unforgivable...” they hear Alex whisper. All of them turn back towards the orange demon lying beside the comatose genius’s side; watching as he slowly rises from the desks side. “Uh, Alex?” Mally worries. “So long as my fiery red blood courses through my demonic being, I will hunt down whoever harvested my beloved’s precious soul and rip their flesh to nothing bloody chunky pieces!” the demon swears, growing more monstrous and demonic the further he rants. “Definitely loving the enthusiasm there, pal, but we still don’t got us any reliable culprit to speak of.” the blue angel reminds him. “Yeah, we only got a few minor clues to work off. Nothing really case breaking here.” Mally adds. “Not until now.” they hear Cayenne correct.

Upon hearing such, everyone in the room glances back to the spice queen along the side of the broken bedroom wall, Mally wondering: “You found some evidence?” “Un- Yeah. Paid some of my little cousins a visit and one of them was just all over this damn case; cooking up weird conspiracies and made up bullshit about the government being involve. Just the usual.” “And?” Alex asks. “Short version is that Ty wound up snagging a good pic of the culprit leaving the crime scene.” “Could you tell who it was?” Tore asks. The spice queen hesitates to answer the blue angels question, too afraid to give the answer as she looks away with a mix of disappointment and shame on her face. Her silence is all that both Tore and Mally need to process who their friend has in mind, the orange skaters pupils shrinking as her blue brother questions: “So it really is Chloe then?” “But...why? I know we had are suspicions, but...God, why would she be going around doing all this now; especially to her own family!?” the skater frets aloud. “She wouldn’t be doing this?” they hear the spice queen add. “What sort of brain damage induced nonsense are you on about? You said you saw photographic proof yourself.” Alex rudely counter. “I mean not by herself, asshole! Don’t you think its kind of an ass pull how she suddenly has the power to take souls from people in just one night? I guarantee you that whatever she’s doing in all this, she ain’t working alone.” “You think that she might have a partner?” Tore wonders. “More like a kidnapper. Someone has to be forcing her to nab souls in the dead of night.”

Before any of them could attempt to process their Spicy partners theory, all of them soon hear a familiar voice sounding off from the other side of the bedroom door; claiming to all of them that: “You got the right idea there.” All of them glance back towards the door to witness a lone arm breach through its mahogany wood; the entire door soon being ripped out of its frame by the purple merc himself as he finishes his statement with: “But that’s only half the picture.” “So who else you might think be the player 2 in this soul reapin game?” his blue brother asks; their sister wandering over to the desk where Kingsley lies. Pushing the unconscious boy genius aside, Mally riffles through the dozens of witness reports littered on the desk; her eyes shifting between the two she grasps in her hands. “Whoever they are, they might’ve been doing this long before Chloe came in their picture. Reports here talk about someone with a rainbow trail leaving the scenes of the crime a couple nights back.” “So were lookin for somebody who has a rainbow aura, eh. Wonder who that could be?” the blue boy wonders. Upon questioning such does everyone’s eyes stare right at the blue boy himself; Tore flustered by the sudden stare down as he defends with: “What...I just had that a couple times. What would I even want with a bunch of souls anyway?” “For Hera’s sake, it ain’t him. Not even closer.” Roy corrects. “How the hell can your sorry violet asshole be so sure?” Cayenne questions. “Doesn’t all this feel a little familiar to you? The rainbows, all the magic ass bullshit, the kidnappings; or guess soulnappings if you wanna be a nitpicky asshole? Plus, who else would have enough foresight or petty anger to go after Chloe and Kingsley like this?” “So it’s somebody who definitely knew we would be onto them and is trying to cover their tracks.” Mally reviews. “But who do we know that’s still alive that know which people to go after?” Tore further asks. “Hears a little hint. Which witchy bitch did we wind up screwing over a couple months back?” The merc’s apt description makes almost everyone in the room freeze up in but an instant; a strong, dreaded silence crashing throughout the entire room. The blue angel is the first to break through the horror inducing quiet, uttering the name of who his purple brother suggest be their culprit. “Circe.”

“Wait, which bitch may we be referring to here exactly? I normally don’t humble myself to mingle with any of you peons willingly at least, so most of your personal lives are a bit foreign to me.” the orange haired demon questions. “You seriously don’t fuckin remember that witch who you and the rest of our friends and family and almost killed you guys for their powers?” Cayenne wonders. “Hmm...the events you refer to do strike me as rather familiar...Though the rest of it seems rather as a blur.” “It was literally a month ago.” “Why the hell would Chloe of all people be so willing to help her with all this!? She was scared stiff the last time we went up against her.” Mally questions. “Your cherry coke crush might not be as willing as you think.” his purple brother corrects. “You suggesting that Kingsley’s sister might be under the influence of mind control?” Alex claims. “A+ on the upkeep here, my shape shifting student. That self absorbed, “Goddess” got some strange ass magic up her tight, rainbow spewing coochie; mind control would probably be a pretty standard spell for her. And who better to take advantage of for that kind of mental fuckery then an emotionally insecure teenage girl?” “Phrasing dammit!” the orange skater warns. “Mal, you said something a while back about her tryin to nab the red heads little pink trinket off her neck?” her purple brother mentions. “Uh, yeah. As soon as that witch grabbed hold of it, sparks of pink lightning just went flying out from her necklace; almost like some kind of defense mechanism. She mentioned something about it being sealed onto Chloe.” “So if that mystic cunt can’t use that trinkets for herself, why not use it through its owner instead? Swear to fuckin god, I’m gonna slug that witch bitch’s jaw clean off her damn skull! Beat her head in to a bloody pile of pulsating brains and bone!” the spice queen swears.

“So, we have our culprit. But we still don’t got a place in mind. Somewhere she could stash and conceal her horde of gathered souls from the feverish public eye while manipulating the body of her newfound pink puppet.” Tore describes, all the while Alex glances back to the desk that Kingsley lays upon. The demon gently pushes his crush aside to reach for his closed laptop, soon opening the computer and informing the rest of them that: “It seems my beloved Kingsley might’ve been onto that very fact moments before he was tragically robbed of his own soul.” This baiting the entire rooms attention, all of them look to the boy genius’s laptop to discover an entire map of Townsville laid out on screen; several lines and markers tracing themselves along a certain point of the east side of town. “So, if we ask around for where Chloe’s been constantly flying to last night, we’ll find where she’s been packing everyone’s souls. Maybe even the which bitch herself.” Mally claims. “Sounds like a plan to me.” her brother adds. After each of them take a quick pic of the marked part of the map on their phones, they quickly race out through the hole in the bedroom wall. The last of them to take off, the purple merc stops moments before he could glide off alongside his comrades when hearing a phone go off behind him. Glancing back, he notices Kingsley’s cell vibrating along the side of his desk; snatching the comatose boys phone and checking the message that he had received. “Tracking potion is ready. Bring something of Chloe’s to put in it.”

Once reaching the part of Townsville marked on Kingsley’s map, the rest of the gang descend down from the dark city skyline; landing within the bad part of the eastern side. Just from taking a simple glance ahead could all of them tell of the neighborhoods less than grandiose upkeep, reflected by the cracked asphalt roads and unkempt homes and buildings nestled along the side. “Dear hell almighty. Just look at this horrid dumpster fire of city block, it’s absolutely disgusting. What sort of depressing life wasting urchins could possibly spawn from such a filth ridden hole like this?” the orange demon repulses. After giving the demonic brat a swift smack to the back of his head, the spice queen moves in front of the entire team and relays to them: “Alright, bitches. We got us a missing red head to search for and some souls to set free. We don’t got a lot of time on our hands, so I need you all to get the dry shit outta yer ears and listen. Since the witch bitch we’re lookin is using Chloe to harvest a shit ton of souls, the people around here might’ve seen her going back and forth through here last night. I’d imagine a bright pink flyin teenage girl would be pretty eye catching to people around here, so they might’ve seen which way our little red head was going. The plan were cookin up here involves all of us split up and ask around the neighborhood; maybe figure out which direction Chloe’s been gliding back and forth from. Any of you dig up anything worthwhile outta anyone, give everyone a quick text and we’ll rendezvous to where that mystic cunt is cowering at. Everyone clear?” “Yep.” Mally confirms. “Of course.” Alex adds. “So were gonna bother people in the middle of the night to ask them straight faced if they’ve seen a pink little girl flying around?” Tore restates. “That’s the plan.” Cayenne reinforces. “Does it also involve them asking if they’re on any expired meds?” “Right then, lets fuckin move people!” Upon the spice queen’s orders, all four of them split off towards different directions of the district; Tore and Cayenne taking towards the north while Alex and Mally head out south. While skating off alongside her demonic partner, the orange roller blader pulls out her phone; aiming to text her brother to question him if: “You know where Roy wound up taking off to?” A few moments later, the blue boy had responded back with: “No. I didn’t notice he was gone until we landed.” Its in with her blue brothers lack of an answer does she decide to text her purple sibling herself with: “We’ve landed in the neighborhood. Where the hell are you?”

“Can’t join you right now. Little busy with the other half of our mission here.” After texting his little sister such, the violet merc puts his phone away as he stands in Serena’s basement potion brewery; turning back to the potion witch herself. The merc witnesses the young brewer carefully place a small glass veil on the desk set before him; its violet glow illuminating the entire brewery in a shade of deep purple. “And here we go. One veil full of Extra strength tracking potion. Took almost all day to make a single an ounce of this magical concoction.” As the potion witch slides the brew to her purple guest, she further state how: “I’m guessing I don’t need to warn you not to ingest any of this, do I?” “Eh he he. Nope. And I’m guessing I don’t need to ask you if we could make some steamy magic of our own later, do I?” the merc responds with a devious grin. “I’d gouge our eyes out with my spoon if you tried. Now you’re going to need to be absolutely careful with this particular batch of tracking brew, the ingredients I used to mix it are a lot stronger than the standard; so I need you to-” “Yeah, I know. I read the text. Gimme a sec.” Saying such does the purple angel pulls out from the depths his pants pocket a lone diamond earring; tossing the accessory in the brew as he review how he should: “Just plunk something with Chloe’s aura on in the mix and it’ll show the way to red head herself.” “No!” Upon the witch’s exclamation, Serena attempts to catch the small diamond earring before it could be dunked into the mix; her grip failing to grasp the accessory in time before it falls into the brew. “What!? What’s the problem!?” Roy wonders. “You were supposed to wait until we got outside to drop it in!” “Geez. Scared the shit outta me. You’re acting like its gonna violently explode and turn out faces into thick chunky meat soup.” Claiming such, both of them soon discover the potion sitting on the table starting to tremble and bubble before them; the brewing witch reinforcing that: “That’s because it is.”

“Duck.” “What?” “Duck now!” the merc demands, charging a beam in the palm of his only hand. Once Serena ducks underneath the table, Roy fires down onto the basement window behind her; blasting open a sizable hole leading out into the nightly neighborhood. Almost immediately does the purple angel grab hold of the rumbling brew shaking along the table; swiftly chucking the potion through the freshly blasted open hole. Once tossing the mixture outside; both of them soon then hear a booming explosion of shattering glass and metal sound off through the entire block. After the young witch lets out a relieved breath, her and her violet guest scuttle to the blasted side of her basement to take a peek outside. From looking out into the darkened neighborhood, the two find a bright pink aura trailing our from underneath the cracks of the scorched wreckage of someones car; the automobile left reduced to nothing smoking scrap. Beyond the destroyed ride, the purple angel watches the pink trail gliding out towards downtown; its bright pink glow contrasting with the jet blue night sky. “Might be biased here, but you really should warn about shit like this before you hand your potions over to them. Thanks for the help, Serena the teenage witch!” Once thanking the brewer for her aid, the violet merc takes off to follow the fleeting pink trail out towards downtown Townsville; leaving the witch doctors totaled basement behind. Seeing her guest glide away, a frustrated sigh leaves the young witch’s lips; wondering aloud how: “How am I going to explain this to my parents? No really, some purple asshole just waltzed in and blasted a huge hole through our basement.”

Knocking his black coated hand upon the one of the run down neighborhood residence, the orange demon is soon greeted by the site of a man who’s condition reflects his estate; disgusting, poorly dressed, not looking like he’s had a decent shower in literal months. Hell’s sake man, a stained tank top and unkempt facial hair is all that really anybody needs to tell how low your life has sunk. Best just get this over with then. “Greetings, my less than hygienic host. For once in your seemingly miserable life, you’ve been graciously lucky to be visited by such a powerful and distinguished demon such as I; humbly gracing you with my immeasurable superiority and intelligence. Its in arriving in your worthless hovel that you so unfortunately call a home that I may harbor from you a couple of needed questions from the drugged and alcohol ridden body part that you so unfortunately call a brain. May you be as so polite as to invite me in?”

Hearing the demons less than welcoming greeting, the less then fortunate man slams the door right in Alex’s face; turning away from the door and hobbling over towards his stain littered couch. A painful groan escapes from his mouth before he falls face first onto its cushions; the filthy dweller attempting to drift off to sleep on his couch. The man is jolted out from his drifting slumber when the sharp sound of breaking wood reaches his ears; jumping out from his makeshift bed and taking another glance to the door. He discovers a pitch black blade piercing through his front door, the sword roughly sawing through the aged wood until its splits right in half; the demon he shut out turning his arms back to normal as he lets himself in. The orange demon creeping ever closer, the junkie grovels right in the corner of his living room; small incoherent whimpers leaking from his lungs as cowers in fear. “I was really hoping that maybe the residence of this rat infested hole would be at the very least nice enough to cooperate; but I guess we’re all proven wrong from time to time. No matter.” The cowering man peeks out from his covering arms as the young demons shadow consumes his figure; Alex transforming his arm into a whip as he finishes his statement with: “I promise to make you talk one way or another.”

Descending towards the front of another home, Cayenne approaches the door and prepares to knock; her hand reeling back from the front when she catches the sound of insanely loud screaming and crying coming from inside. When finally deciding to knock, she punches the door as loud as she can in hopes of grabbing the attention of those living inside; her pounding soon drawing out a lone woman that looks just so fed up with life's shit. And who could really blame her, the woman’s got 5 to 6 screaming kids just racing around and jumping all over the place like fucking animals; just breaking shit constantly. “Eh, sooo...I was hoping that-” Despite the spice queens best efforts to talk, her words are ultimately drowned by the horrid chaos going on inside. “Maybe I could ask y-” Her words still fail to reach beyond her lips, the constant cries of rowdy children swallowing her voice. “A couple of questions about last night-” Even when shouting at the top of her lungs, her words are unable to reach the mothers ears; the spice queen soon met with the door. A small scoff is all that comes out from Cayenne in that brief interaction, the Spice queen walking from the home as she claims aloud how: “Hot damn there. Fuckin brats are worse then my little cousins.”

On the opposite end of the block, the blue angel gently knocks on the door of another abode; one of which sadly displays far more degradation and decay than the rest. Smells something hella bad in there too. Like somebody’s having a plastic bonfire from inside. Almost a little too much to handle. Even with the horrendous nasty ass stank coming from inside, the blue boy fails to hear anything coming from inside; no footsteps, no voices, nothing. Maybe they just didn’t hear the door. Attempting to bait the attention of those inside, Tore once again knocks on the wood of the door; this time being far harder enough for the pounding to echo across the street. Once done beating on the door, the blue angel’s ears catch the noise of panicked footsteps and shifting metal echoing from within; glancing to the window and taking a peek inside only to find not a soul in site. Rather than moving on to the next home, Tore attempts to investigate further; grasping the door knob and slowly letting himself in. “Hello...Anyone in here?...Don’t worry, I’m not some kind of crazed hobo; I’m just wanting to ask a couple questions here” Looking through the worn torn living room, the blue boy then runs face first into the wrong end of a shotgun barrel; the firearms blasting the boy right in the face.

The surprise headshot causes Tore to fall right on the coffee table, his body breaking the table straight in half upon impact. With the young man lying on the remains of the shoddy piece of tableware, a handful of shaggy, suspicious people come crawling out from dark corners of the run down home; all of them gather to gaze upon their intruders body. “Aw, dammit! It’s just some kid.” one of them curses out. “Guess we got worried about the fuzz for nothing.” “Fuckin dumbass! They’ll probably be snoopin around here more tryin to look for this blue dipshit.” “How bout we hide the body somewhere they won’t find it. Got a landfill a couple blocks back we could dump the kid in.”

Just as all of them approach the thought to be finished intruder in hopes of hiding him somewhere, the blue boy arises from the splintered remains of their coffee table; much to their shock and dismay. All of them swiftly back away as the young man stands before then; Tore rubbing the parts of his face that got shot and exclaims that: “Ah jeez! The hell is wrong with you people? Just sneaking up and shooting me right in the face. You know how painful a point blank shotgun blast is?” Just from the site of the unharmed blue boy, everyone else scrambles to the back of the room; pulling out their various firearms as one of the orders them all to: “Everyone, open fire!” Hearing those demands does the entire room unload everything they have onto their blue intruder, firing out a hailstorm of led bullets upon the young man. Tore himself is left absolutely unfazed by the barrage of bullets battering his entire body; so much so in fact that the blue angel opts to pull out his phone while waiting for all of them to run out of ammo; protecting his device with nothing but his bare hand. Soon enough though, the entire squad finally run out of ammunition; all of them horrified when realizing their assault having done fuck all to their intruder. Discovering this horrible realization, the only course of action left for them all left is to retreat, the entire room scrambling throughout to run down abode while one of them screams out: “Grab the stash! Grab the fuckin stash, man!” “I’m going! God, why did we get busted so fast!?” Figuring how he ain’t gonna be getting any answers of these loons anytime soon, the blue boy decides to simply take his leave; wandering out through the front door as the panicked chaos behind him continues. “Maybe I should ask around in another block.”

Skating away from block on the other side of the district, Mally rolls through the crumbling neighborhood as she ponders on where to look for answers next. That witch could be hiding out anywhere in this mess of a neighborhood; gleefully watching all of us wander around for answers to no avail as she sits on her harvested batch of stolen souls. The chance of finding somebody willing to take the time in this hour of the night to help out some random kids knockin on their doors are pretty much slim already; add the fact of asking them about a pink flying girl gliding back and forth through these parts of town and you’ll be hopeful at best laugh and mocked at. Hell, some people might even take a step further and shoot yo sorry ass for wastin their time too; god knows that people have been probably gunned down here for way, way less than that. Its getting kind of worrying if there’s any answers that could be gathered from this cracked asshole of the city. In pondering all this does a particular site grab the young skaters attention, a glimmer of light coming from a tower standing a little further in the district; though far too high above to gauge whatever could be shining out such a colorful glow. Could it be…

Hoping to garter a better view, the young lass takes off towards the tower in question; taking out her trusty grapple yo and casting it up to the brick wall of an upcoming building. As soon as the yoyo attaches itself to the buildings surface, its string retracts and pulls Mally up from the cracked concrete roads; flinging herself up to the upcoming buildings rooftop. Landing on top of an apartment complex, the orange skater speeds across the rooftop as she races towards the tower; soon finding a massive gap in between the complex and the next rooftop before her. Closing in towards the gap ahead, the skater gathers as much speed as she could muster; picturing the gap between as the crevice back at in the woods. Reaching the very end of the rooftop, Mally takes one giant leap out towards the building across the street; gliding above the poorly kept road above. Her jump this time proves to be a success as she lands right on the edge of the rooftop, letting out a loud cheer as she skates across the top of the buildings. “I did it! I actually did it! That whole gap just jumped over on the first try! Yeah!” In her premature celebration, she winds up tripping on the opposite end of the roof; tumbling down towards the alleyway below. Moments before she could hit the hard asphalt, the falling skater throws her grapple yo up towards the roof of the neighboring building; her gadget sticking itself to the very edge of the rooftop and stopping herself before crashing down. After dodging that nasty fall, the skater climbs up the hard brick wall of the alley, pulling herself up towards the edge of the rooftop.

Once standing safely on the rooftop, Mally manages to finds herself closer to the tower in question; gazing up to its top where she found the glimmering light. Despite the distance she had travels, the orange skater could not tell what shines such a rainbow glow; the windows making up its crown boarded up with countless planks of wood, leaving only a few glints of light to creep through. Yet despite failing to see what lies within, light coming from within proves all too well what may lies beyond its walls; no doubt the perfect hiding spot to horde a mountain of harvested souls.

Dwelling within the dark insides of the tower itself, a slim, feminine figure glares down to the buildings below her; her eyes locked upon the little teenage girl standing atop one of their roof’s. A sinister snicker passing through her devious smile, the figure raises her finger out towards the streets below; the tip of her fingernail illuminating a bright rainbow glow.

Gliding along the other side of Townsville, the purple angel speeds through the night skyline while tracking the youngest of the Spicers through her own bright pink aura trail; all the while the goddess echoing in his head: “So, might I wonder what you plan is once you find her?” “Don’t know. Trying to figure out the same thing. I still ain’t 100% sure if our little red head here is being mind jacked by the witch bitch or if she’s doing all this shit on her own.” “I certainly hope that she isn’t. If that’s the case, then we might have to try and talk her down. Poor baby.” Hera’s last comment throws the purple merc off a tad, her words stirring a hint of curiosity within his head. “Hey, Hera. Mind if I ask ya somethin?” “If its about how much people worship, in your own perverted words “My poppin lockin sweet bouncy bootay”, I will smite you where you stand.” “Nah, nah. Something else.” “Oh.” Just before the angel could ask the goddess his question, the trail he follows baits back his attention; discovering the neon pink aura he follows growing ever brighter. Gazing out ahead of himself, the merc soon catches a faint pink light glimmering in the distance; no doubt it being the red head herself.

Rather than rushing off towards the fleeing teenage girl head on, Roy instead decides to intercept her from the front; ascending up to the rooftops and continue his pursuit from above. While concealing himself from those below, the merc glides over the rooftops neighboring the fleeting pink glow; Roy speeding across the tops and towards the edge to attempt and get a peek of his pink pursuit. Just moments before he could however, the pink light takes a sharp turn away from the purple angel; the merc coming to a skidding halt before making an aerial u turn. Leaping out to the neighboring buildings, Roy lands atop the roof and flies out to the other side; gazing ahead for any sign of neon pink; the trail glowing bright despite not seeing a single glint of the girl herself. “Th-...The fuck...The fuck did she go?” In the midst of wondering such, an illuminating pink light begins to shine from the merc’s backside; Roy himself noticing the glow from the light on his hands alongside the sound of charging power. “Shit!” Seeing the readying attack behind him, the purple angel swiftly turns back and blocks his front with his only arm; such defense nowhere near enough to soften the blast. Facing the full front of the assault, the neon pink beam sends Roy careening across the darkened city block; the neon ray lighting up the night as both it and the merc streak across the skyline.

The purple angel’s trip across the nightly neighborhood ends with him smashing right in the face of a tall office building; the slam down leaving him lodged to the surface as crumbling stone and glass rain above him. Recovering from the crashing pink blast, Roy opens his eyes to come face to face with the one who shot him halfway across the street; beholding Kingsley’s younger sister staring the merc down with her bright pink eyes. Trapped within a translucent pink bubble behind Chloe be a myriad of colorful souls, moaning and wailing like frightened apparitions; all of it confirming the young red head to be the soul harvesting reaper dressed in glowing pink. “Oh Chloe...How could you?” the goddess questions in horrible shock. “I doubt its really Kingsley’s sister behind all that bright pink flare.” Hearing the purple angel’s accusation makes the red head raise a single eyebrow to her foe, a small smile forming between his cheeks as Roy presses further with: “That’s right, bitch. You really think I’m that stupid enough to not figure it all out? All the little things that were going on were more than enough to piece it all together. Getting a shit ton of power in just one night and not having my senses be enough to trace all of it right to the red head. It typically wouldn’t be hard for me to keep a good track on power that intense, but you very well knew that, didn’t you? You had the foresight and magic to mask the red head from my life sense so that you could prolong us finding the poor girl; and that is exactly what gave you away. Who else would have that kind of magic at their disposal and know to cast it ahead of time to throw us all off, but the witch bitch whose rainbowlicious asshole we kicked in a month ago. So quit the bullshit and show yourself Circe!”

Taking in the violet angels accusation in full, the red head can’t help but let a sinister smile gradually crack between her cheeks; a small giggle leaking out from her smirk. The young girls giggle eventually transforms into full blown cackling; her snide laughter ringing across the entire darkened block. Once the teenage red head laughter dies down, her bright pink eyes gaze back to the lodged merc; her voice resembling that of a full grown woman as she admits how: “I was honestly beginning to wonder which of you mortals would catch on next. I was starting to think that all of you worthless fools were basically braindead; well, except for that damn Spicer boy. Oh how he was so close to busting up my little soul harvesting operation and ruining everything; but I’ve learn from my mistakes from last time. I anticipated him be a potential thorn in my side and swiftly plucked him out of the picture before he could squeal. The rest of your pathetic group might be onto what part of this horrid city I’m hiding in; but by the time they figure out where, it’ll be far too late. Once that tank of souls I’ve been harvesting fills with the lives of this bustling metropolis, I shall devour them all and move on to the next town; and then to next, and the next after that. All the while I keep this cute little rose by my side, using her to harvest the souls of countless others; up until I garter enough of them to finally break that accursed seal put under placed on her Amazon crystal. With the crystal in my rightful possession and my magic at its peak, I’ll have attained enough power to trump anybody who dares stand in my away. Even against you...Hera.” Hearing the possessed teenager call to the goddess in his head takes both Roy and Hera herself completely off guard, the witch letting out a prideful snicker from the merc’s astonished gaze and continuing with: “That’s right, my goddess. I can hear you speaking inside that purple pricks head. I may never come to understand what drove you to take someone so undignified and crass as your messenger; but it really doesn’t even take a simple minded peon to understand how mine has the clear advantage.”

“You wanna bet?” Roy growls aloud. Its in asking this does the merc pull himself out of the mess of crumbled and cracked stone and glass; lunging out towards the hovering pink girl before her as he reaches his only hand out for the pink trinket tied around the young girls neck. Mere moments before the violet angel could grasp the possessed red heads smooth pink stone, a wall of translucent pink suddenly forms between him and Chloe; a smug smile cracking upon the girls face the witch asks: “Tell me something, mortal...What part of just rushing at me did you think was going to be effective?” Its in that moment that the shield blocking the merc’s grasp begin to expand around his entire body; the translucent energy quickly trapping the angel within a bubble of solid pink. Held captive within the bubble, Roy does whatever he can to attempt and escape from the prison of bright pink; punching and shooting the inner layer of bubble with as much strength as he can muster. Even when hitting his prison with all that he’s got, the inside of the bubble proves to hold not a single scratch; the self proclaimed goddess letting out a mocking laughter as she rises right above her caught purple pest. With but a single stomp, the possessed red head sends her violet foe rapidly plunging down to the nightly streets below; all while charging up a bright pink blast in the palm of her hands. Tossing the bright ball of pink down with the falling angel, the manipulative witch watches as both her foe and her blast slam down upon the concrete roads in a mess of smoke; the explosion ringing across the entire block. Gazing down upon the erupting cloud of smoke underneath, the goddess calls out to her unfortunate violet adversary; advising him with: “If I may humbly share a smidgen of godly wisdom, its that I suggest you take your losses and quit while your still breathing. Lest you desire for me to relieve you of your other arm.”

Out from the bottom of the smoke cloud, the purple angel flies out from behind the peering self proclaimed goddess; tossing out a ball of darkness out to the possessed red heads backside. As the sphere of shadows closes in towards the bewitched Chloe, a bright pink light shines in front of the young girl; turning back to the approaching blast with a huge pink hammer. With only a single swing, the mind controlled red head bats the ball of shadows aside; the sphere of shadows exploding upon the buildings beside her. After deflecting the purple angels darkness, the possessed red head uses the momentum of her swing to spin in place, quickly picking up breakneck speeds while keeping a tight grip on her pink hammer. Once gaining enough velocity, the bewitched teenager flings her bright pink hammer down the darkened streets; speeding towards the purple merc like a descending meteor. The streaking mallet proving far too fast to reliably dodge in time, Roy reaches his only arm out to the approaching pink weapon; hoping to stop the hammer with his only hand. Though he indeed manages to catch the head of the massive mallet with just the palm of his hand, the intense force behind it sends the purple angel skidding across the neighborhood; the asphalt breaking beneath his feet as he slides. His skidding trip comes to a very hard stop when crashing straight into a hard stone wall; the blow causing the entire building to collapse onto the violet angel.

The possessed teenage girl slowly descends down towards what remained of the destroyed buildings, her bright pink glare watching as her purple prick of a foe digs himself out of the resulting rubble. “What...the...fuck...is happening right now!?” Roy wonders aloud as he stands up from the crumbled stone. Hearing a devious cackle echo from above, the purple merc glances up witnesses the glowing pink young girl floating overhead; the self proclaimed goddess answering him by declaring that: “Tis divine justice, you barbaric darkling; Retribution for the heretics that have wronged me in the past. I dare say there may never be a more satisfying and sweet feeling than personally hand out rightful punishment; especially when using one of the guilty’s own companions to deliver it. Perhaps once I’m done toying with you, I’ll indulge in serving my holy wrath on the rest of your friends; reveling in the looks as my young puppets very site spurs betrayal, confusion, anger and hopelessness on their faces once ending each of their very pathetic lives. Oh, I can’t wait to see them all suffer in sorrow.”

Taking in the goddess’s condescending threats to kill his loved ones, a raw, intense rage stirs within the purple angel’s being; Circe’s maniacal laughter further fueling his unbridled fury. Focused by his anger, the merc charges out towards the cackling bewitched red head; a coat of black and violet darkness enveloping his armless side as he dashes forth. Distracted by her self indulgent glee, the bright pink teenager is caught off guard when Roy rams straight into her; the unholy assault sending the self proclaimed goddess towards the tall building down the road. Hurtling towards the buildings brick face, the enchanted red head starts slowing her flight down; decelerating herself the closer she reaches the wall. The manipulated Chloe manages to land on her feet when reaching the brickwork; her hands illuminating a bright pink glow as she rises from the buildings face. Soon after recovering from the unholy tackle, the possessed red head leaps back towards the angel who dares strike her; casting from the tips of her fingers a barrage of bright pink. The bewitched teens swarm of pink swiftly forms into a whole bouquet of blooming sharp roses, their razor thorn stems aimed at the approaching purple merc.

Seeing the barrage of razor roses incoming, the violet flies out to the side to evade their throny cuts; gliding inches above the stone face of the building. Witnessing more of them closing in fast, the merc kicks off from the buildings surface to dodge them in time; diving down to the dimly lit streets below. Once landing on the asphalt, the merc leaps back towards the possessed red head in front of him; all while the puppet herself stands without so much as flinching from his approach. As the purple angel charges towards the red head, he fail to notice the roses that he had evaded turning back towards him, their pointed stems darting towards his backside. Just moments before Roy could ram the self proclaimed goddess out, the roses dig their stems in the purple angels back; the surprise flowery backstabs throwing the merc off his charge. While easily evading her stunned foes unholy tackle, a bright glimmering glow shines out from the palms of Chloe’s hands; the light soon constructing itself into a sharp neon pink sword. Her newly made blade in hand, the brainwashed young girl swings her sword towards the merc; aiming the sharp end right at his exposed neck. Moments before the blade could swipe at his tendons, the lethal edge is caught just in time by the merc’s only hand; his palm bleeding on the sharp end as he halts the sword. Despite stopping the bewitched girls assault, the grin on her face fails to waver; the possessed Chloe gliding her glowing hand right to the merc’s stomach. In a flash of bright pink, the young red head shoots the purple angel square in the stomach with a powerful blast; the blow strong enough to send Roy rocketing through the sky in a trail of pink. Watching as the black angel careen through the darkened sky, the magical goddess can’t help but indulge in having warded her purple pest away; letting out a menacing cackle as the witch flies off into the distance.

Wiping off the stains of ruby red crimson from the black of his hands, Alex ventures further through the nightly backwater streets; the streetlamps he passes under reflecting off the bits of blood the orange demon wipes off. “Well, that was a rather unfortunate waste of time. Barely got any answers from that urchins frightened mumbling and wailing. Ugh, the absolute audacity of that man. A higher demon such as I took the time to stop at his worthless, dirt ridden abode in this run down, rat infested street hole, and he doesn’t even have the basic courtesy to even greet me, much less kneel at my very presence. I honestly wonder what this world has come to sometimes.”

On the cusp of this rant does the orange demon hear a faint sound of footsteps echoing nearby; the combined noise of kicking gravel urging Alex to transform his arms into lethal blades as warns whoever may be near that: “I dare warn you. My blades are sharp enough to slice through the very air you breathe. Think carefully before you rush into your doom.” Despite his brave words, the orange demon can’t stop his legs from trembling beneath him; his eyes constantly darting across the surrounding nightly streets in hopes of finding who may be stalking him. While the frightened demon gazes out to the streets ahead, a single tap to his backside causes him to jump; swiftly turning back and slashing out at whoever may be behind him. His arms lethal edge is blocked by the neck of a hockey stick, the demon calming himself when he hears a familiar voice urging him to: “Chill out here, Alex. It’s just me.” The reassuring tone makes the young demon open his eyes, finding Roy’s younger sister blocking his blade swing; Alex transforming into a girl as she turns her arms back to normal. “You!? D-don’t sneak up on me like that again! I could have sliced your head off your shoulders for satans sake!” “Aw, guessin you do care?” “Perish the thought. Killing an ally by accident would be seen as rather foolish in any case. And didn’t my brash older cousin split us all off to gather information on finding the witch that captured my Kingsley soul? If you have nothing significant to report, then I suggest you stop wasting our precious time and get back to your duty.” “And if I in fact do got something important to say?” “Well then, the night is fleeting. Spit it out already.”

“I got a pretty good idea where all the souls might be stowed away at. Saw some rainbow lights shining from the top of that tower over there.” the skater explains, her finger pointing out towards the towering building set to the north. “Hmph, your certain?” “As absolute as your horns be black.” “...Right. If that is the case, then there’s no time to lose. We best head out at once.” Hearing her demonic partners eager determination, the orange skater pulls out her phone and states how she’s: “Right there with ya, my black horned bud; just gimme a minute to text the others.” Just before Mally could get to her texts messages, Alex lowers the phone down from her face and claims how: “Oh please, we don’t need those brutes. I’d wager that the two of us are perfectly capable of freeing all those souls ourselves.” “Might I remind your sweet demon girl ass of the insanely powerful witch that’s probably lurking inside; ya know, the one that nearly killed us all. It’d be better for all four of us to go in at once to even the odds.” the skater informs. “Well then, if you insist on indulging in the notion, they you could at least come up with a halfway decent plan while your at it.” “Oh, and like you can come up with one on the spot?” “I in fact can. Clearly, the best strategy going in this is to coordinate a pinching assault; with your moronic brother and my brutish cousin coming in at the top while the both of us sneak in through the bottom. Even if that horrid witch dares to attempt and escape, she would have to handle wasting time dealing with us. Once we corner and finish her off, we free all the souls trapped within.” “Hmm...Since it sound like your coming up with all the idea’s, you got a way for us to sneak inside?” The young skaters question causes a sinister smile to form upon the demons face, a devious snicker escaping from Alex’s mouth.

Out along the green pasture of the Townsville park, a lone couple stands upon the stone bridge above the small river; both the girls staring upon to the darkened sky as one of the complains on how: “Aw, I can’t see even a single star out tonight. Wish this cloudy weather would just let up.” The other girl of the two glances back up at the sky as her lover eyes drift down, reassuring her partner on how: “Hey, I’m sure it’ll clear up soon. I bet we’ll even see something magical tonight.” Her eyes glued to the sky, the woman discovers a bright pink light high among the clouds; its glow urging her to grab the attention of her love and mention how: “Babe look! A shooting star!” The other girl pulls her gaze back up above to witness the trailing light drift across the sky, amazed by the site as she awes: “Whoa, I’ve never seen one so...pink before.” “It looks beautiful.” Its in admiring the star do they realize the bright pink glow growing in size; it’s luminescence beginning to blanket their bodies. “It look’s like its getting closer.” “Uh, yeah…How bout we take this date somewhere else?” Stating this do both ladies race off as the comet closes in; the couple running off as the bright neon pink light crashes straight into the stone bridge.

The resulting dust eventually settles, unveiling the park bridge reduced to nothing but crumbled and cracked stone; the water from the river leaking our from the cracks of the rubble. Out from the mess of rubble, a lone arm punches itself out from the pile of stone bridge pieces; the arms purple owner soon pulling the rest of himself out of the rock. “What...the...fuck...” Once taking in the biggest breath his lungs could possibly hold; Roy screams aloud: “What the fuck was that Sailor moon hentai bullshit about!?” “Roy, calm down.” the goddess in his head insists. “How in the...Why...What the hell was all that about!? I could barely land a hit on her! Nothing I threw at her worked! How the hell is she doing all this?” “Circe has been utilizing the full potential of the Amazon crystal through Chloe’s body; she  obviously knows how to bring out its full power.” “Even so, nothing I did even slowed her down. She just scoffed it all off like it was nothing.” “Well that’s not much a surprise. The crystals were designed to counter and combat against the forces of darkness. I’m afraid your shadowy powers can do little against her.” “Agh, fuckin plot armor. Hate that shit. Wonder how it would stand against a slice to the jugular.” “Roy, your honestly not thinking about killing the young girl, are you?” “Hate the thought of it. Almost makes me shiver thinking about it. But if things get that bad, I might just have to.”

The purple angel’s regretful response draws out a surge of pink energy to course through the merc’s entire body; the flowing power causing the merc to let out a painful cry. “You will do no such thing!” Hera forcefully demands. “Dozens of lives are riding on all this. Kingsley and his parents, Tore and Mally’s mom. What other choice do I have?” Asking such causes another wave of pink to painfully course through the merc’s entire body; the shock proving intense enough to make Roy kneel on ground. “If you think of so much as hurting her, Roy. I swear that I will send forth a powerful shock straight to your brains.” “Why the hell do you care so much about that red head? You barely batted an eye when I wound up snuffing out a dozen others; what makes her so special to you?” “I...I can’t tell you. You’ll just have to trust me.” “Don’t you fuckin gimme that “blind faith” bullshit to be, dammit. I ain’t the kind of complacent dipshit that just believe whatever people say to me. Either you tell me why, or just shut the hell up.” “I can’t. If I did, it would potentially open old wounds that are just too painful to bear.” “And you think that’s any worse than what’s happening now?” the merc questions, arising from the wet dirt. The purple angel hears not a single answer from the goddess; not even a single word could be heard ringing in Roy’s head. “What urges you to prioritize one mortal over a dozen others!? Why demand me to spar one over the hundred other’s I’ve taken. Hypocrisy? Faith? Goals and end? Prophecy? Blood? Answer me, Hera!” “Because Chloe is my granddaughter!” Having finally drawn out an answer from the goddess, her words cause the merc’s pupils to gradually shrink; the only response that could escape from him being: “What?”

Strolling through the cracked, dirty sidewalk of the run down neighborhood, the blue angel can’t help but ponder upon where his purple brother might be. Mally did text something about him saying that he was taking care of the other half of the mission; meaning that he’s probably trying to find Chloe in all this chaos. If what he might have been talking about her being possessed is true, then we might be in some trouble if she winds up coming here.

In the midst of thinking of the potential consequences of going against their red headed friend, the faint sound of growling catches the blue boy’s hears; Tore stopping dead in his tracks and glancing around to try and find where he might’ve heard it. Was that a bear? Seriously, that sounded like a bear growling back there. Why is there one out this far in the city? Despite these questions, the boy finds next to no sign of any ursa in site; eventually shrugging off the bizarre occurrence. Eh, might’ve just been someone’s TV cranked up way too loud.

Once the blue boy turns his back away, a massive shadow emerges from around the corner; the shadow letting out soft, heavy breaths from its drooling maw. Once close enough to the boy’s backside, the shadow stands as tall as it can; towering over the blue angel as it begins to descend its claws towards his head. Moments before the beasts claws could dig into his flesh, Tore turns right around and catches its giant maws with his bare hands. The blue boy is caught off guard on discovering what stands against him, gazing upon the fuzzy underside of a huge ass bear; the ursa letting out a maddening roar as it attempts to push the boy down. In the midst of its roar, the blue angel headbutts the bear right in its muzzle; the blow sending the fuzzy beast reeling back. Tore takes the moment to follow up his head butt by charges straight towards the stunned ursa, driving his fist straight into the beast stomach and sending him flying into a brick wall. The unexpected ursa collapsing onto the sidewalk, the blue boy starts to carefully approach the downed bear; poking at its fuzzy hide while it remains unconscious. Just what the hell is a giant ass bear like this doing roaming the streets at night? The zoo’s on the other side of town. In the middle of inspecting the beast, the blue boys ears catch the sounds of a dozen animals worth of enraged growls; turning back to discover himself surrounded by an entire cavalcade of predatory animals; all ranging from tigers, buffalo, hyena, lion, eagles, bears, and pumas. As all of them encroach closer towards the indigo teenager, only a single thought rings in his head. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Seriously, how the hell did this happen?” Cayenne wonders as well, holding back a screaming wild baboon inches from her face. Before the simian could have the chance to tear into its foe’s face, the spice queen socks the ape right off her; sending the animal slamming right into a set of garbage cans that topple over on impact. After smacking the ravenous baboon off her, her ears catch the growl of a predator approaching from behind; turning back to discover a huge lion on the verge of pouncing right on her. With only just a single kick, the Spice queen plants her boot right in the lethal felines face; the blow causing the oversized cat to careen straight into the side of a buildings. Checking her side, Cayenne witnesses a speeding hyena lunging towards her; its bared fangs aiming at the side of her stomach. Right when the dog was ready to bite down upon the girls side, the spice queen grasps its neck moments before it could sink its teeth into her stomach; soon tossing the hyena down the neighborhood.

As she watches the wild dog scamper off into the darkness of the streets, her ears catch the sound of panicked children screaming from nearby; glancing behind her to witness a set of familiar looking kids racing across the street. “Help!” “Mommy! Mommy!” “Somebody, help!” “Ah, no, stop!” All of them cry out for somebody to come to their aid as they race away from the roaring wrath of a fearsome leopard; the feline claws coming out as it closes in on its feverish pursuit. Cayenne acts fasts and zips out towards the fearsome leapord, tackling the beast away from the children and pinning it to a nearby brick wall; the spice queen evading its constant claw swipes as she holds the feline down. “All of you get somewhere safe and hide, now!” she demands from the kids. “Mommy, no!” one of the cries. “Don’t worry, I’ll find your mom...Just beat it already!” “Stop it please, your hurting her!” another of them pleads. Hearing one of the kids mention such at first confuses the Spice queen, wondering what the hell they mean by it; glancing towards them all to find them staring upon her with pleading eyes.

As she looks away, one of the leopards back legs slashes its claws onto its captors stomach; the unexpected and sudden swipe causing Cayenne’s grip to loosen. This gives the wild beast the chance to turn the tables on its foe, shaking out of Cayenne hold and falling right onto her; the beast attempting to tear into her as the spice queen holds the feline back. “Mommy, please! Stop hurting her!” one of the children beg out loud. Its in hearing this that Cayenne finally realizes why these kids all look familiar, its the kids of that mom she could barely get a damn word out to; the pieces all quickly connecting for the spice queen. This giant fucking cat is their mom! “How...how the hell did this happen!? She just have enough of yer shit and thought you’d be better of as sirloins than kids?” Cayenne questions the children while holding their transformed mother off her. “We were all just having fun running around and playing tag, when she saw a bright rainbow light surrounding our mom and turn her into a giant cat. After that, she started chasing us all through the streets. We begged her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen.” Rainbow light?...Circe. That witch bitch has to be onto us, tryin to slow us down with this shit. The feline beast swiping its claws inches from her face, the spice queen finally tosses the transformed mother off her; Cayenne kicking the ravenous leopard crashing straight into a set of trash cans. While the feral feline starts to pick itself up, Cayenne takes the opportunity to lunge forth towards the predator; grabbing one of the trash cans in her rush. The spice queen scoops the transformed mom into the garbage can and shuts it in, trapping the beast in the can as she holds the lid down; Cayenne struggling to keep her grip as the can jerks and shakes under her. Having caught the feral leopard, she turns her gaze over towards the set of children; demanding that they: “Don’t you little ankle biters just fuckin stand there; help me find something to tie this can down!”

“What the fuck do you mean she’s your granddaughter!? You really sittin here expecting me to buy that Kingsley and Chloe are from line of demigods!” Roy exclaims. “Well, no. My daughter was born far before I became a goddess. I had perished in battle making sure that she and my grandchildren would have a future to live for, but left my little princess all alone in this world. I can’t imagine what any of them may think of me.” “And this has something to do with our situation because-” “Believe me when I say I can’t bear seeing my granddaughter reduced to a puppet for Circe’s plot, but I will not let that be an excuse to have her executed.” Hera proclaims. “Alright, alright, fine; I won’t touch your precious baby girl. But we still need to do something. If taking her head on and stealth killing is out; what the hell else you expect me to do?” the purple angel wonders.

“Hmm...there may be perhaps be one thing that we could try, but I’m afraid you may not live through the process.” “What do ya got in mind?” “Its rather in your mind, really. There is a tiny smidgen of the crystals power dwelling within you; specifically trapped inside your brain. It’s how I’ve been communicating with you all this time. That tiny bit of power might be enough to undo the seal placed on the Amazon crystal; effectively rendering Chloe completely harmless.” “Fan fuckin tastic. Mind telling me how I can use this power trapped in me head?” “I afraid that you can’t. Such raw goddess energy can only be wielded by those with the body and or mind of a woman.” “Why exactly is this called a plan again?” “Its because I can remotely control that power without you. I can essentially use it to project myself through you and lend you a fighting chance.” “I guessing this is where the “but” comes in.” Roy claims. “If we’re wanting it to be that effective, then we’ll need that energy coursing through your entire body.” “Sounds simple enough. Just get it outta my head and run it through.” “I’m afraid its anything but. Not only do I have to carefully navigate the energy out of your delicate brain; but also to make some adjustments to your insides so that there won’t be any complications afterwards. All of which will no doubt be incredibly suffering. I’m not sure you’ll make it through such a painful process.” “Bitch, have you seen how much shit I took this past few months? Beaten, blasted, frozen, set on fire, and stabbed through multiple vital organs. I got enough in me to take years worth of torturous abuse and come out of it sticking the middle finger outta my torturers asshole.” “I can’t exactly stop once we start. Are you sure your ready to endure such constant agony?” “I ain’t like we got a lot of choices or time on our hands. So we best get this shit show on the road.” “Well, if you insist. I suppose I should get started.” the goddess mentions. “Right...So just a heads up here, how painful is this going to be exactly? Will it just be a small numbing sensation or will it be a frothing agony so insanly torturous that’ll be like shoving an entire bramble branch entwined with barbed wire so far up yer ass that the thorns’ll be pokin out yer mouth. Or maybe could be that-” Interrupting his wondrous rantings, the purple angel’s entire body starts to glow a brilliant shading pink; Roy convulsing as he screams in utter pain that: “Aaaggghh! It’s worse! I didn’t think it was possible, but its so much worse than I thought!”

Set along the bottom of the dilapidated tower, a large grate stands dislodged right next to an open air vent; the midnight air blowing through its steel insides. Alongside the cold night winds, the sound of foot steps could be heard ringing through the tunnel; the breeze reaching the vertical tunnels and climbing up the shaft. Spreading itself through the tunnels, a bit of the wind reach out to both the orange haired demon and skater crawling through the sheet steel vents; Mally slightly shivering from the breeze as she checks her phone. While they traverse through the dust ridden vents, Alex swats away the dozens of cobwebs littering the path ahead of him; letting out a disturbed shiver as she glances back to her human partner to question: “Have either Cayenne or your blue dumbass of a brother called back yet?” “I’ve been sending both of them dozens of texts and voice mails, but I haven’t heard back from any of them yet.” Mally explains. “And what of your purple prick of your other brother?” “Busy.” “Gah, If none of them have even bothered to review my strategy, then I’m afraid the two of us will need to switch tactics. What else could I have expected from those incompetent fools; their lack of proper attention spans will surly spell our demise.” “Oh, don’t gimme that. Neither of us know what’s even going on out there. Maybe if you’d stop constantly putting other people down; you’d see that they aren’t as terrible as your constantly making them out to be.”

“Well, I’m so sorry that I’ve grown to have such low expectations of everyone; as if the occasional mockery and social exclusion hasn’t already painted a good picture for me already.” “I’m guessing having black horns and hands haven’t exactly given you that great of a social start; hasn’t it?” “I’m beginning to wonder what your first guess might’ve been. All the way back in kindergarten and stretching to this very day, everyone can’t help but give suspicious glares and wondering stares; as if questioning whether I’m nothing but a freak under these horns. Each and every one of steer clear of me whenever I walk by, not even bothering to talk to me when they bump by.” “...Not everyone does.” “Well of course. I’m certain that my family members have a sort of obligation to stand by me. But they’re no different in the end, glaring at me all the same.” the orange demon explains while gazing ahead. “While I’d argue otherwise, they’re not who I meant.” “Ah. Kingsley, of course. The only diamond in this hellish rough. Out of all of the people that I have encountered in my 13 year old life, he was the only one to have actually bothered to care; even stand up for me while I was being hounded by my older cousin. Quite the notable exception to this world filled with judgmental cowards.”

“What about Roy?” Hearing the purple angels name causes the demon to stop crawling in his tracks, Alex glancing back to the young girl behind him and questions: “What about him?” “He didn’t see some kind of loud mouth, pompous demon like everyone else. He saw somebody who wanted to be as amazing as they say. He could have just scoffed at you and continued with his life like every other arrogant asshat; but instead, he took the time and patients to try and change you into something better. Roy harnessed your spite, anger, and hatred to try and turn you from just another bragging and whining brat, into the demon that proves to be everything they say they are.” Hearing this sentiment coming from her masters own sister draws out nothing but silence from the demon; Alex’s eyes drifting to the sheet metal both her and her partner crawl upon. “So, now that your not bragging anymore. Can ya think of what else the two of us can do to free all the souls?”

Beyond the towers foreboding streets, the sound of screeching and roaring animals ring throughout the neighborhood; the blue angels wings lighting up the darkened streets as he glides across the skyline. In his flight through the run down neighborhood, Tore glances back to find himself being pursued by a flock of deadly birds; their talons aimed right at the boy as they close in. “Come on. Leave me alone already!” he pleads while casting forth ball after ball of light towards the chasing flock. The birds of prey evades the blue boys barrage of pale light energy, the flock dispersing in all directions while evading their pursuits shots; one of the hawks ascends high above the skyline to soon dive bomb straight down towards its target. Once close to the unsuspecting blue angel, the hawk draws forth its sharp talons as it prepares to strike; gliding across its pursuits side and slashing through his clothes. Upon the hawks sudden swipe, Tore hisses out in pain as he grasps the side of his stomach; the warm wet crimson of his blood staining his white blazer. Before the blue boy could heal the new wound, an eagle flies in from below; feeling its sharp talons swipe through his face and clip his eye. The two back to back assault cause the angel to plummet back down towards the darkened streets below; crashing straight into the asphalt road. After taking the hard fall onto the concrete roads, the indigo teenager rises from the pavement as the palms of his hands emit a bright glow upon the side of his stomach and face; uncovering them as the light fades to reveal both completely. “Agh! A slash to the stomach I can take, but the eyes...god, I never knew how much that hurts.” In that moment do his ears catch the sound of a cry for help sounding off alongside loud squealing; the blue angel gazing in the noise to discover an elderly lady being chased down the street by a charging wild boar.

“Help! Somebody please!” the old woman pleads aloud while fleeing from the mad pig behind her; the tusks of the pursuing boar closing in on her backside. Just when it was ready to ram right into her back, a pair of hands grabs hold of its tusks and stops the charging boar right in its track; the woman hearing the pig scream and gazes back to discover a blue haired angel holding the wild pig back. “Don’t worry, lady! I got this!” the boy reassures the lady; holding the boar in place as it struggles to escape from his grasp. Trapping the animal in his grasp, Tore heaves the boar off its four hooves; lifting it overhead to toss its hairy pigskin right into a brick wall. Watching the boar slam hard into the wall causes the old lady to let out a horrified gasp; her eyes gazing back to the young blue boy when she notices a bright light beside her. “I wonder if I can make bacon like this?” he ponders, charging a powerful energy the palm of his hand. “No!” the old lady shouts.

Just when the blue angel was about to fire out towards the stunned, Tore soon feels something tackle him straight to the concrete ground; his beam misfiring and speeding through the night sky. Tackled to the pavement below, the blue boy soon discovers the spice queen right on top of him; Tore questioning her with: “Cayenne!? What’s the matter with you!? I was just about to make egg sandwiches with a side of bacon bits outta one of them.” “Quit trying to blast the brain outta the animals around here, you blue dumbass! We can’t afford to kill any of them!” “Why!? They could seriously hurt people!” “Because they are people, Dammit!” Her Spicy comrades answer throws the angel back a bit; the boy proving confused as all hell as he letting out a preplex: “...Huh?” “It’s true.” he hears somebody confirm.

Glancing to their side, both of them find the old woman that the angel had just saved look down upon them, continuing to support Cayenne’s claim by recalling that: “That wild boar you just threw over there happens to be my husband.” “How...how’s that even possible?” “I don’t know. All I saw was a bright rainbow light that woke me up beside my husband; looked over and saw him transform before my very eyes. Once he turned into a pig, he chased me outta the house and across the streets. No matter how much I beg him to stop, he just wouldn’t listen.” After hearing the old woman’s story, Cayanne lets the blue boy stand back up from the cold concrete; Tore asking the spice queen: “So what’s our next move, captain? It’s not like we can just stuff them all in one building somewhere; all of them would just tear each other apart either trying to get out or just natural instinct telling them to go fuck them all up.”

To the blue angels question, the spice queen takes a moment to ponder what exactly they could do to combat this unorthodox situation; soon coming up with something and ordering the angel before her that: “What you’re gonna do is round up any people you see on the streets that haven’t turned and take them somewhere safe. While your taken care of all that, I’ll go around and keep the entire zoo’s worth of rabid animal people from getting further out into the city. God knows that if all of them start stampeding through town, all of Townsville would turn into a massive shitshow. That clear, bitch?” “Aye aye, captain!” Hearing the blue angel confirm her orders, the spice queen glides over to the wild hog and heaves it onto her shoulders; soon flying off into the night sky with the pig. Tore meanwhile sweeps the old woman off her feet; the elderly lady lets out a worrying yelp as she’s carried off, all while the blue angel warns her to: “Hold on tight.” As the blue angel flies off with the old woman in her arms, he takes a quick birds eye view of the rest of the district; discovering hundreds of wild, untamed predators roaming the entire neighborhood. This realizing site makes Tore let out a worrying breath; the blue boy can’t help but wonder how both Cayenne and him can sort out this giant mess on their own.

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Sorry about this. This finale is taking a little longer to develop then I had hoped. But I swear the next chapter will be the last this season. I want to thank you all so much for stick by this long and hope that you've been enjoying the stories that I've been writing.

[aweirdkindofyellow]

Here I Am, There You Are

Jack Barakat x OC 'Rachel has been best friends with Alex, Jack, Rian, and Zack since high school. What happens when one of them gets married?'

Part 1

I woke up the next morning with somebody else’s arms wrapped around me. Often when I woke up in new strange places, I needed some time to remind myself where the hell I was and what I was doing. This time, I didn’t need anything to remind me what had happened. Everything was as clear as day. I could still remember Jack acting all civil in the Uber, confusing the hell out of me again. It was like he was playing with my emotions for his own entertainment. But, back in the hotel, things flipped around yet again. We went up to his hotel room, which he had already been in the night before, making sure to bring all my belongings with us this time, and the rest was history. Shifting a little to get more comfortable, I managed to wake up Jack. At first, he just stirred a little, but then his breathing became louder, and eventually he let out a loud groan. As expected, he was probably experiencing a horrible hangover. That mixed in with being woken up by another person was the worst combination. “Huh?” Jack grumbled, seemingly needing those extra minutes to remember that he wasn’t in his own bed at home. “Morning.” “Morning,” I whispered back, turning around to face him. He did indeed look like he needed a couple more minutes to wake up, if not hours. So, I decided to let him take his time without me around to make him dizzy. “I’m going to take a shower, okay?” He gave me a thumbs up and I got out of bed. Taking my bag with my change of clothes, I slipped into the bathroom, blowing off the fact that I was fully naked. My reflection was horrifying. Not only was my (classified by agencies as) honey blonde hair, which had been full of product, sticking up weirdly as a reminder of the night before, but my makeup was smudged completely. I quickly closed the bathroom door before Jack could see, making sure to leave it ajar so he could run in if he suddenly felt nauseous. I worked through my hair with a brush first, knowing it would be a lost cause if I wettened it without detangling it. It was more work than when I actually did it in the first place. Next was trying to get off all that smudged eyeliner and mascara, which I was more prepared for and had makeup wipes for in my bag. As soon as I knew taking a shower would only help my situation, I moved to the shower and inspected the dials and handles. Once I finally figured it out and turned it on, there was a knock on the door. Not a knock on the door to the bathroom, a knock on the door to the hotel room. I froze in place, wondering who it was, and decided to listen in before I hopped in the inviting water. Jack groaned once again, but got up anyway. After a bit of fumbling and another knock at the door, he grumbled out an “I’m coming!” Although I couldn’t see the faces, I could recognize the other voices as well. “Hey, Jack,” Lisa greeted, concern coating her words. “Have you seen Rachel? I barely got to see her yesterday and apparently she didn’t check in either.” My eyes went wide. Did I have to make an appearance and announce that I was okay? But I looked horrible and was completely naked. There was no way I could just casually walk out and act like it was all normal. Even if I quickly wrapped a towel around myself or put on some clothes, the conversation would have already moved on. “No, sorry,” Jack replied, his voice rough and hoarse. “If I see her, I’ll tell her you were looking for her.” “Okay, thanks,” she sighed, both with relief and even more unease, “I just want to see her before we leave on our honeymoon, which is in like an hour.” “Is that your shower running?” Alex’s deep chuckle came from the same direction, making me take a few steps away from the bathroom door. “Yeah,” Jack simply said, the croak of the door telling me he opened it a bit more, but not enough to invite the guests in. “Woah, what happened in here?” Lisa wondered, sounding shocked. “Well, let’s see…” Jack clapped his hand together, making him flinch at the sound he had created himself. “The bed sheets are all crumpled up, my suit is spread across the room, there’s a dress on the floor that most definitely isn’t mine, and there’s a condom wrapper on the bedside table. I’m not really sure, actually.” “Dude,” Alex laughed yet again. “And you don’t even remember?” “I am so fucking hungover right now,” Jack answered, making my heart drop. His prior statement still made it sound like he was making a sarcastic joke, but this said otherwise. “Man, well, good luck with that.” I didn’t listen to the rest of their conversation. Instead, I did what I came here for, and that was to take a shower. All the negativity and bad feelings had to be washed away. I ignored the fact that Jack was in the room next to me as soon as I got out of the shower and dried myself off. It was difficult to do with him shuffling around, but he didn’t enter the bathroom once. I just changed and dried my hair, praying he would leave the room temporarily so I wouldn’t have to see him anymore. But that was too much to ask for. I came out of the bathroom holding my suitcase to find Jack sitting on the bed facing me while cradling his head. While I had enjoyed his presence a few minutes before, I sure as hell didn’t anymore. I now knew what he thought about last night, and I didn’t want to deal with that. Despite knowing how drunk and horny he was, I still managed to fall under his spell. And I had literally told him I wasn’t a girl that did one night stands that evening. “You can go, now,” I muttered, refusing to look at him although I could feel his gaze boring right through me. I could only imagine his surprise to find out he had slept with me. He nodded and silently got up before going into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, I threw my suitcase on the bed and opened it as quickly as possible. Since I was wearing the clothes and shoes I had brought along in it, I now had enough space to stuff my dress and heels in. I didn’t even bother to fold it nicely so it wouldn’t end up wrinkling. Even the underwear I couldn’t find from last night didn’t matter. I didn’t need those filthy things anyway. With the water still running in the bathroom, I sneaked out of the hotel room. I didn’t need to look back. I just had to go downstairs, get breakfast, maybe run into Lisa, and get back home. Just like that, I had managed to ruin my friendship with one of my best friends; all because I was so damn stupid. When I exited the elevator in the lobby, I saw Alex at the front desk with all of his large suitcases for his honeymoon. They needed to leave soon, and it was obvious they were all ready and excited to go. I didn’t know exactly where they were going, but I knew it was one of their favorite vacation spots. Lisa, however, was nowhere near, I walked past, ready to go into the food hall, only to be spotted by Alex. “Rachel!” he called out and speed walked up to me, leaving all of his bags at the front desk without close supervision. “Hey.” “Hey,” I smiled back, trying to push away all the things that had happened the day before, “I didn’t get to congratulate you yesterday. So, congratulations!” “Thanks.” He hugged me quickly, his eyes glancing in the direction of his belongings just to check. “Anyway, Lisa was worried about you. Apparently, you didn’t check in.” “Yeah…” I exhaled, knowing I couldn’t act like nothing had happened at all. “I sorta had a one night stand. Not really my thing, though. I’m never going to be doing that again.” “What? No way,” he shook his head in disbelief, but I shrugged to show him I wasn’t lying. “With who?” “Eh, I’m not sure. Kinda left before he woke up and didn’t really look back.” It was a lie, of course I knew it had been Jack. I remembered every little detail, even how he accidentally closed the door on my foot while we were making out. “Oh my god,” Alex laughed. “Stone cold, Rachel, stone cold!” If only he knew why I left so quickly, then he’d be saying that to somebody else. Jack would be in so much shit. Alex knew me way too well and knew I’d never willingly have a one night stand with anybody, stranger or friend. I nearly wanted to tell him just because Jack would be so dead. But I didn’t need to ruin Alex’s bliss. As soon as their honeymoon was over, I could mention it to him. “Anyway, I’m going to get some breakfast, okay? Tell Lisa I’m in there if she still wants to see me,” I brushed off his comment and dragged my suitcase behind me as I started to walk away. “Will do.” Alex gave me one single nod before returning to the front desk. Somehow, I managed to sneak into the buffet without having to tell the people my room number. Not checking in the night before could have seriously screwed me over this morning. Of course, I could have gotten back at Jack by telling them his room number, making sure he couldn’t get in anymore. But I wasn’t that petty, and there wasn’t even a reason to do so. Plus, the number wasn’t exactly something I knew. I got myself a bowl of yogurt and added some of the mixed fruit in it, picking up a banana and a spoon in the process. There was more than enough space for me to sit. All I really wanted was to sit by myself in a corner and regret all my life decisions. But then I made eye contact with one of my other best friends who had been in the wedding party. Rian flashed his teeth and beckoned for me to come over. He was sharing a large table with Zack, the plates at the empty spaces telling me they had had more company before. But I knew I couldn’t just ignore them now. So, I went up to them, struggling to hold my breakfast in one hand and drag my suitcase in the other hand over the carpeted floor. “Hey, guys,” I tried my best to give yet another believable smile as I put down my bowl and collapsed the handle. Before I could sit down, Rian rushed up to me and gave me a big hug, also not having seen me at the wedding reception. I hugged him back, still marveled at how much he had grown up. When I first met him, he was this chubby kid that wore shirts that were way too large for him. Now, he had gotten rid of that extra weight, replacing some of it with muscle, and his weird curly locks were gone. “How are you?” He asked me cheerfully as he broke the hug and pulled out the chair for me to sit on. Always the gentleman. “Yeah, pretty good...” I shrugged as he sat opposite of me and Zack. “No headache?” Zack poked with a wink. “Or did you cradle that glass of water for hours as well?” I punched him lightly, picking up my spoon so I could start eating. “I’ll have you know I had six more drinks after that water!” Were they also glasses of water? Yes, they were. Did Zack need to know? What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. This way, if anybody found out about my little mishap with Jack, I could still say I had six drinks after the guys tried to get some life in me. “Going hard, aren’t ya?” He laughed, letting me eat my bowl of yogurt. What I wasn’t prepared for, though, was that Jack was also going to get some breakfast. Of course it was stupid of me to think that he would just stay up in his room forever and I would never have to see him again. Lucky for me, though, I spotted him at the buffet beforehand, so I could at least shield myself mentally. Somehow, he joined our table just as Lisa came bouncing in to talk to me. There was still a permanent grin plastered on her face, the weight of her ring on her finger making her feel beautiful and important. And she was. Who wouldn’t feel that way after their wedding? She was still the one person everybody admired. Jack sat down across from Zack, the furthest away from me as possible. While it was the only seat left for him without him being excluded from the group, I still was more than grateful that he decided to sit so far away from me. I didn’t need his menacing glare to be worse than it already was. I really was trying to look anywhere but at him, but it was very difficult knowing that he was staring right at me with disgust. “Holy fuck, Jack,” Rian burst out, remembering something and leaning forward, hitting his hand against the table to get everybody’s attention. “I don’t know who you were with last night, but you were being fucking loud!” I continued to look down at my yogurt, hoping a blush wouldn’t spread across my cheeks. None of the guys really seemed to take any mind, they were more interested in whatever Jack had been doing. Jack just stared back at them, his eyes flickering between his friends. At least it meant his attention was no longer on me. “You know,” Lisa interjected, standing at my end of the table, “Rachel had a one night stand as well.” My silence was short lived. Everybody’s eyes fell on me now, shock stiffening their entire bodies. They all knew that I wasn’t the one to just sleep with a person and never look back. I had always been in some sort of relationship. Jack, however, didn’t flinch. He just continued to stuff a piece of waffle in his mouth, not even bothering to look in my direction. “Okay, stop judging me.” I raised my hands up in defense, in turn dropping my spoon in the yogurt and swallowing what was in my mouth. “I’m never going to do it again. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done. Literally, it sucked so bad. I was lucky I could sneak out of there; didn’t want to give him a fright since he couldn’t remember a thing. But, hey, I can take it off my bucket list now and hope I’m never faced with it again.” “Now, why would you say that?” Jack frowned, cocking his head to the side. Of course he had to get all defensive without giving away that both our sexcapedes happened to be the same one. I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. “Maybe you enjoy them, but I don’t. Not really my problem, just a preference.” “Okay, well, I’ve got to get going,” Lisa once again interrupted, luckily before this rivalry between me and Jack could blow up to something that didn’t just seem like him feeling I offended his ways. “But I’m glad to know you’re okay.” “Yeah, I’m so sorry I kind of disappeared on you,” I told her and got up from the chair. I hugged her tightly, swaying the both of us slightly, making this my most heartfelt hug the entire morning. I still couldn’t believe I had let myself be such a party pooper, and I really was sorry for it all. “Have fun on your honeymoon.” With that, Lisa said goodbye to everybody else, giving us all one last wave, her fingers closing up and down while the palm and thumb stayed in place. At least I still got to congratulate the bride and groom and didn’t have to feel guilty for the rest of my life. They probably didn’t even realize that I didn’t come up to them during the reception because of my own selfish reasons, not because they were so busy and having fun. I sighed, taking my last bite of watermelon and pushing my bowl forward a couple of inches. “I’ve also gotta get going. But it was really nice to see you guys again.” “Awe,” Rian pouted while Jack looked at me with wide eyes, “can’t you hang out with us a little longer? We haven’t even been able to catch up yet.” “I’m sorry, guys, but I’ve got a flight to catch.” I twitched my lips to give a sorry smile and started shuffling my chair back again. “But if you ever pass through LA, whether it be on tour or for personal reasons, contact me.” I did manage to get them to let me leave. Zack and Rian both gave me very nice goodbyes while Jack just looked around in panic. I really had to hold back my eye roll until I walked away. It wouldn’t be Jack if he hadn’t forgotten that we both lived in LA, actually quite close to each other. There was quite a large chance that we could run in. And now he suddenly realized his plan of fucking me and leaving me alone wasn’t going to work. I waited around in the lobby, feeling weird that I could just walk away without checking out and paying. All I needed to do was order an Uber, wait a little longer, and then I’d be off. Soon, the whole memory of last night would be very distant and it wouldn’t matter anymore. “Rach, wait!” Jack came jogging up to me from the food hall, his own phone in his hands. There was no way he had already finished his breakfast at the rate he had been picking at that waffle. He must have ran out after me. “What?” I exhaled, waiting for my phone to connect since it had died but had received a second life from my power-bank. “I, umm…” he breathed heavily, scanning my face with his eyes. “You, umm, you never gave me any Advil.” “Excuse me?” I scoffed. Did he really think I now owed him more than just my body? He was a fucking asshole. “No, no,” he shook his head, going to grab my arms but deciding better of it, “you promised to have Advil and sparkling water for me, remember?” I frowned. Yes, I could remember joking that I’d have it ready for him in the morning after our first kiss. But what did it matter now? It was an empty promise, just like that kiss had been. Was he trying to prove that he could actually remember last night? But then why would he tell everybody he couldn’t even remember coming back to his hotel room? There was something really screwed up about him. “Seems like things don’t always go as planned,” I shrugged, pleased to see my phone had service again and I could get that Uber to save me from this situation. “Rach, no, please,” he begged, his pleading eyes looking at the screen of my phone as I went to the app. “What do you want from me?” I asked, fed up with him, as I turned off my phone so we could finish this conversation. It wasn’t like I wanted to talk to him, but the rage in me was only going to ruin my day even further, I had to let it out. “Are you now trying to tell me that you can remember last night but are an asshole who acts like nothing happened? I told you I was not up for a one night stand, not ever, but you manipulated me. You saw that thong and just went for it.” “No, that wasn’t-- I-- Rach… You were saying how insecure you were. I couldn’t just--” “So you took advantage of me?” I gasped, shaking my head at him and unlocking my phone once again. “You knew I wasn’t in the right mind to say no to anything. Getting with insecure girls is easy, isn’t it?” “No!” he continued to deny, taking my phone out of my hands and stuffing it in his back pocket, knowing I wouldn’t reach in to grab it. “When I told you I had a crush on you in high school, I wasn’t kidding. I just never had the guts to pursue it because I thought you were way out of my league. You dated all the jocks and Alex, apparently. I didn’t have any chance. I forgot about it. But I felt horrible knowing you were so insecure about relationships. It made me wonder if I could maybe fix that and be that guy who didn’t just want to use you as a one night stand. But I panicked and Zack was the first person I saw. So, yeah, I may have been a bit over my head. Actually, I’m sure of it. I would have never kissed you if I didn’t have a little liquid courage. So, I don’t know where I went wrong, but I really didn’t intend for it to come over like this.” As moving as his speech was, pulling at my heartstrings, I still couldn’t just forgive him like that. “You just acted like you didn’t know what happened. You spoke about it like some routine. And now you’re trying to tell me it meant more to you? Do you hear how hard that sounds to believe?” I crossed my arms and held my hand out to get my phone back. “But, Rach, you’re the one that disappeared. You walked out on me. How do you think that made me feel?” He shook his head, refusing to give my phone back. “Because you told Alex and Lisa that you hadn’t seen me and described the events like it was just another morning for you!” I wailed, just wanting to get my phone back so I could leave. How people around us weren’t looking at us strangely, I don’t know. But I was done with it. “What, did you want me to tell them that we slept together?” He finally gave my phone back, harshly pushing it in my hand, causing me to immediately order that Uber without hesitation this time. “Cause I wasn’t just going to do that without knowing how you felt about it. What if you didn’t want anybody to know? What if I acted all happy about what happened just to find out you couldn’t care less? I didn’t need them to know I got my heart broken on their wedding night.” “Then why are you coming with this now? Why not earlier?” I sighed. I was starting to feel for him. I also wouldn’t have wanted to boast about it, just to find out Jack couldn’t remember a thing. But still, it wasn’t okay. “We’ve been friends for over ten years, nearly fifteen, and you never thought to say anything? Hell, if you said something this morning when we woke up, it would have been enough for me.” “Then what are we fighting about? Miscommunication? Cause that is a shitty thing to fight about if we both want the same thing out of this.” I froze. There was no good come back to that. Jack was right. Here we were, fighting with each other because we were both upset about the same thing. We both thought the other didn’t care, but wanted them to. We wanted it so bad that we were blaming each other instead of noticing that we also didn’t do anything ourselves. Jack could have told me all of this years ago, and it wouldn’t have done anything. Maybe it would have compromised our friendship, because I hadn’t ever thought about him like this. Last night, though, I couldn’t help but see him in a new light. Jack unearthed his feelings that he had managed to hide in high school, and I didn’t need to look for a stranger that would understand me and treat me right, I already had that person in front of me. It was a lot more simple that we made it out to seem. Jack must have noticed my silence. Just like the night before, he sneaked his right hand up to cup my left cheek. He lightly stroked my skin with his thumb, waiting for me to push him away. But I couldn’t. I was awaiting him, looking right into his eyes and hoping it was enough of an apology. He tried to send the same message back to me, eventually causing our lips to be pressed up against each other again. His scruff felt the same way as the night before, but he smelled way better. There was no overabundance of cologne and sweat, it was just soap and deodorant. It calmed my nerves. This time, we were broken apart by my phone buzzing. Jack sighed as I pulled away and took out my phone, disappointed to see that it was my Uber driver telling me he was right outside. I had hoped it would have been my savior, but now it was just the end before we reached the happy ending. “Text me when you’re back in LA, alright?” I asked him after texting the driver that I’d be out in a minute. “Okay,” he nodded, glancing out the window and at the black car that was waiting for me, before giving me a sad look. I grabbed his chin with one hand, my thumb on the left side of his face and my fingers on the other side. I carefully tilted his head down and kissed him briefly before taking hold of my suitcase’s handle and walking out of the hotel to go back home.

[elenastinga]

happy birthday

”How weird for October in this city”. I wanted to say it out loud for a split second, without realising I was in class, but something stopped me, an imaginary force, not strong enough though to snatch me aut of my self induced trance. The weather, I meant, weirdly warm for late October. The sun was slowly going down into the port peacefully. It was silent. I wasnt paying attention to the teacher, nobody was, I bet he didnt really care about what he was saying either. The classroom  was almost empty as everyone had skipped last class. I didnt. I wanted a higher grade in that class. I was awakened by the sharp sound of the bell announcing we were free. I thought about calling my friends at first, to see what theyre up to, but I knew where they were. Where we always were. Our place. I got aut and realised it was colder than I previously thought, so I put on my jean jacket. I still remember exactly what I was wearing that day. I think I always will. I entered the pub and the smell of french fries and draft beer hit me, like always. I'd still recognise that smell in a heartbeat. We used to go there every single friday, no exception, so I entered just like usually, saying hi to everybody, but this particular night, something felt different, because it was... it was You. I recognised all my friends, everbody there, except from... You. You told me your name and said hello, but I didn't really pay attention to you, cause i was there to see my boyfriend, I forgot your name, so when you messaged me I didn't know you, that made you mad. And that was it... the beggining. I'm not going there anymore, I can't, I get chills when I smell french fries or draft beer now anywhere I go. 

Happy birthday. I had always thoght i'd be with you on this day. You told me. You promised. You lied. It's been seven months now since you've been gone. There hasn't been a day when I haven't thought about you at least once, I wanted to message you many times, you have no idea, i wanted to tell you i hate you, and you have ruined me, and i love you and please come back and i wish i never met you, and you're everything i have, and i had so many questions. I even did it once. I will never again. 

Happy birthday. I hate you. I know that now, I have accepted it. I now see that it was the thing driving me insane, the fact that I hated you, but I didnt want to accept it. I thought that, by hating you, I also accept putting beside me everything, forgetting every memory, every feeling, everything, and so... I told myself it was temporary, and that it will pass. I now know and can say that... I hate you, I hate what you did to me, I hate what you made me do, I hate who you made me become, I hate the time i wasted... I hate you, and this... it is a hatered that will never go away, it is a part of me now, a part of how I feel about you, of how I remember you. I hate that I now have to walk past you in the street like a stranger, when so little ago you were everything I had, the only one I wanted to talk to.

Happy birthday, I wish I could say it to your face, but you left, and I hate that, you left like nothing ever happened, I hate that sometime I knew everything that was happening in your life, I knew who you were, and what you wanted, and what you felt, but now i dont, and i never will again. I hate that we are just too lines that crossed only once and didn't have the energy to bend and go further together, next to one another. I hate that I now have to sit alone in places i once sat with you, and walk alone in places I have walked holding your hand, and kissed you, I hate that you might be walking there holding somebody else's hand now, and kissing them. They don't know you, they never will like I did. I hate the idea. The concept. I hate You...

Happy birthday. I dont want you anymore. But it haunts me everyday, that I may never know, If I ever cross your mind at least as much as you cross mine. I hate that you're becoming just a distant memory, faded, more and more faded, and i now know you as somebody you WERE, and not who you really are anymore. I hate that everything I touch now, you've touched before... my mind, my body, my soul, and there is nothing I can now give somebody to touch for the first time, or to leave untouched, I hate that you will always walk around with a piece of me within you, and you wont even aknowledge it, will you? I hate that you will haunt every corner of my mind now for a very long time, and everything i do, your memory will watch over it. And I hate that you're doing well without me... 

Happy birthday. I will settle with my unanswered questions and live with them. You left like a flat tire when there were still so many places i wanted to go to. I now have to walk, and I'm angry. You left like an elevator stuck for so long on the second floor when I'm already late to my meeting, and I am mad. You left like a broken compas when i was too deep into the woods to know where to go by myself, and no matter how many other fingers point me to directions, or how many maps they show me, I can't see... You left and I'm lost....

Happy birthday. I will not tell you to be loved or that I hope you're happy. Because you will be, with or without my wish or approval. It is the last time i am writing to you, or about you, I wanted you to know that I hate you, but I am ok with that. Happy birthday.

[bopeepwritingsheep]

So uhhh, I’ve been sitting on this for literal months and I’ll probably sit on it for More Months but here are scraps from my Big Magnulia Fic. If you keep up with my magnulia stuff on AO3 it’s essentially an au sequel fix-fic to canon BUT all of those fics are the background Magnulia stuff for this fic.

It’s literally just scraps of the scenes I have written most of them are incomplete but I Crave Validation and it’ll probably be LITERAL MONTHS till i post any of this ANYWAY because I actually want to have a longfic DONE before posting for once in my GODDAMN LIFE

So uhhhh, here y’all go?

----

Taako’s pretty damn certain that as the only one of these chucklefucks who practically grew up on caravans, it absolutely makes him the person with the authority to say that road trips fucking suck. There’s never enough room in the wagon for everyone to sit comfortably, no one can ever decide what music to listen to, somebody always wants to play eye spy or some other toddler distraction bullshit.

So the fact that this particular road trip is a murder road trip only makes it marginally better--Because at least when it’s all over he can take all the pent-up annoyance and frustration and just go ham on the dumb fuck who decided it was a good idea to hurt his family.

Governor Kalen is, as it turns out, not as hard to find as Merle and Taako expected but it’s only because he sent Magnus a goddamn cryptic taunt letter. Like some fantasy Bond villain, a letter that probably would have been more effective if Magnus could remember who Kalen even was. It’s good for them, because Magnus just squinted at the thing and asked if maybe whoever sent it had the wrong address, the thinly veiled death threats either sailing over his head or blocked out by weird lich magic.

So of course it meant that Taako and Merle had to snatch the letter away and look at all of the obvious baiting that Magnus should have recognized--So this clearly was gross lich memory juju, if Magnus couldn’t make heads or tales of the clear goading taunts. Taako would wager money that forgetting Kalen must also have meant the inability to figure out who Kalen was, because it would have made a pretty shitty sacrifice if he could just figure it out again later.

So that’s how he and Merle end up in the entirely shitty situation of fighting off villain minions who had been thoroughly prepared for them. Some sort of anti-magic field and a goddamn rope snare that has Merle hanging upside down fifteen feet up calling out every curse in dwarven, common, and a few in celestial he must have picked up from Pan.

It’s not like Taako is completely helpless without magic, he’s a fucking flip wizard extraordinaire but it’s annoying as fuck to find himself suddenly magicless with about ten creepy mercenary dudes coming at him from all directions. He’s lucky he’s dexterous as shit or else dodging away from them would be trickier, he can see the edge of the ward and knows that if he can just wizard flip his way across it these losers wouldn’t know what hit them.

And as one of the mercenaries goes flying past Taako almost too fast for him to dodge, he certainly doesn’t know what hit them.

His head snaps to attention just in time to see a towering half-orc woman launch two more minions into the air. Taako takes the distraction for the opportunity it is and vaults himself forward, ducking under grabs and tripping one fucker as he cartwheels out of the anti-magic ring. He’s halfway through the incantation for Thunderwave when the woman wretches a stray branch from a nearby tree and just wallops three more soldiers in one swing. Taako pivots and goes to pull Merle out of the snare trap the dumbass had gotten caught up in.

Clearly the Competent Mystery Woman’s got this situation covered.

He keeps one eye on her fight as he snaps the rope holding Merle with a magic missile, just in case she decides that Dos Horny Boys need the same ass kicking as minion crew. However, she seems more than happy to just wail on Kalen’s little brute squad only stopping when she has the last conscious member held up by the throat.

The growl she releases is utterly spine chilling, rumbling and guttural like she gargles with hot glass every morning. She holds the man aloft, just inches from her face and demands, “Did Kalen send you?!”

Oh yeah, Taako’s real grateful big lady’s on their side.

As casually as he’s able Taako saunters closer, resting the krebstar against his shoulder, he isn’t flexing or anything but he’s ready. Just in case this whole deal went south and he needs to get moving.

“Uhhhh, hey there Xena warrior princess, thanks for the assist. Totes appreciate it, but who the fuck are you?”

-----

There’s something entirely fucked up about the whole gods awful situation they’re stuck in, one that the fuckwonder lich twins to blame for this entire murder road trip would appreciate. That Magnus has forgotten Kalen but Julia has forgotten Magnus.

Of course he’s the one that figure it out first, because it isn’t hard to figure out but Merle can be so fucking oblivious to this sort of thing. A woman covered in burn scars named Jewel just happens to be on the same trail of trashed towns they are? That’s one hundo percent suspicious as hell but weirder things have happened in their century and some change of existence so Taako takes it in stride. He has to be certain this is the right woman, he can’t get his hopes up just to get them slammed dunked directly into the trash if this really is some crazy happenstance.

So he takes a chance, Taako leaves a duck on her bedroll.

It’s just a hunch, he’s not actually certain that Magnus ever gave Julia a duck but it’s Magnus, he’d give a perfect stranger a beautifully carved duck and be on his way--So the chances he hadn’t ever given Julia a duck seems astronomically small. So Taako sets his trap and waits, tries to be casual about the fact that he’s clearly lingering closer than he needs to by digging a firepit with mage hand. He might as well get dinner started for these chucklefucks anyway, no one else here can cook worth a shit.

He’s watched these shitty telenovela’s where the tragically dead wife appears out of the goddamn ether healthy and hale and sometimes wearing a sweet eyepatch. Jewel doesn't have an eyepatch but she's got burn scars that travel up her entire left side. On her ring finger is a particularly gnarly scar, and he’s damn surprised she didn’t lose it entirely. Granted, it’s not like she seems to be much of a finesse fighter. He’s watched her practically decapitate a man with the blunt edge of her shield, she could lose a finger or two and do just fine.

Her face is--well, he’s pretty sure even if he’d known what Julia had looked like he wouldn’t have recognized her. She’s missing the distinctive tusks of orckind, the way her lips look like they were sewn back together once makes him inclined to think she didn’t lose them willingly. He’s heard of that, half-orcs filing them down but Taako wagers a glance at her when she’s in deep conversation with Merle he sees the gaps.

When he listens to her speak he can hear the smallest lisp that she’s learned to talk around--She’s had them out for a few years then.

----

Jewel isn’t quite sure what exactly hits her, one moment she heaving string of rabbits off her broad shoulders, ready to pull out her skinning knife from her pack when she spots it. Something small and wooden out of the corner of her eye, sat right in the center of her bedroll

Without thinking she drops the rabbits, forgotten behind her as she makes a beeline for the wooden carving--The scent of cherry wood and varnish hits her nose the moment she picks it up and her mind seems to disengage from the world around her. A duck, small and unassuming but artfully carved and the look of it, the feel of the neat grooves beneath her fingers, it snaps something in her heart.

She’s crying--She’s sobbing and she doesn’t know why all she knows is that this little duck, this small insignificant little object means the entire world to her and she just doesn’t know why. Her legs give out beneath her and she stumbles onto her bedroll. She curls onto her side, her entire body curled tight around the duck so nothing can hurt it--Nothing can take it from her ever again.

She had a duck like this once, she can't remember when or where but she can see it in her mind's eye. An echo of the little duck in her hands, passed from smaller hands into her larger ones with the most delicate care. A duck nestled under her arm, a ring on her finger, someone warm hand resting on her hip.

The wood smells like home. Jewel can't breathe.

----

“Woah there, mountain lady--You--Shit--You okay there? You need like--A snack? Fuck--Merle?! Stop flirting with that pine tree and get your ass over here we have a situation!”

Bad plan, well not bad perse because Taako certainly got a reaction out of Jewel but he’d been hoping for a more eureka moment and less fantasy mental breakdown.

----

“Hey Jewel, you feelin’ better?”

“I--Yeah, I’m sorry, I don’t really know what came over me?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, happens to the best of us, ya know?”

“I’m not really sure I do...I’m not really sure I know anything.”

“Well, that’s alright, Taako’s never known anything a day in his life and he’s doing just fine.”

A bark of a laugh made it’s way out of the woman’s throat and Merle felt momentarily satisfied, even as Taako squawked in indignation on the other side of the campfire, “When this is all over, if you’re not completely sick of us yet, I think I’ve gotta friend who might be able to help you out with all that not knowing.”

“Is he another cleric?”

“Oh, hell no, pretty much opposite actually. Real punchy kinda guy, sorta like you actually. A lot like you, he’s from Ravensroost too.”

“Ravensroost...I--I lived there with...my family? I’ve spent as long as I can remember trying to avenge it but--but I can’t even remember why, I just remember the smoke, wreckage, the bodies, and Kalen.”

“Doesn’t seem like a good guy to remember.”

“Understatement of the goddamn century, old man.” Taako snarked as he used mage hand to fiddle with their potatoes roasting in the coals.

“Sometimes I remember things I know how to do, when the innkeeper’s wife took me in when I was healing I helped her make bread, I can’t remember learning it but all the motions are there anyway. One day I was picking up new pans from the blacksmith and I watched him for just a minute and knew he wasn’t quenching his tools right, I think I might have been a blacksmith.”

“Well, then that’s another thing you do know and it’s not anything to do with Kalen!”

“That duck. I remember that duck.”

“Yeah, you sure felt some kind of way about it.”

“It felt like--It felt like home. I didn’t know I remembered home.”

----

Kalen paces across the room, occasionally deigning to glance over at the bound elf. It had been terribly difficult containing him, but Kalen’s been planning this since The Day of Story and Song when he’d learned Magnus was still alive. That had been the moment he’d decided to put an end to the games with His General.

He plans to collect his Lieutenant and they will either play their games again or he will put an end to them once and for all. His chances are so much slimmer, with the revelation as to why his Lieutenant had been so special. An interplanar being, of course, Kalen had been drawn to him--He’s always had such a taste for the exotic.

“Hey, Fuckface. You gonna give me your fantasy Bond speech or do I have to entertain myself?”

Slowly Kalen turns his gaze towards the elf, he’s beautiful enough but so terribly delicate. Like all elves really, all air and no substance--He could place his boot on the thing’s neck and just the lightest weight would snap it. Well, he can’t do that, of course, or else he loses his bait but he puts the thought away for later. After all, he’d obtained quite the interesting polearm from the elf and it will need an accompanying story to tell His General when she’s back to crafting and sharpening his weapons.

“You’re Magnus’ elf. One of them, I suppose.”

“First up, I’m Taako, ya know, from saving the fucking world. Which I know you know because everyone knows. Second, speed up to the monologue," The elf stretches as much as his chains will allow, lounging as if he were a cat in a ray of sun instead of a prisoner in a magic suppressing cell, "I'm getting bored, Governor Fuckboi.”

A slow grin slides onto Kalen’s face as he moves closer and leans against the bars, “Well, what dreadful etiquette to leave a guest without entertainment. Perhaps we can play a game?”

“What about Fantasy Go Fuck Yourself?”

“That’s not very cooperative now is it? I thought you wanted entertainment.”

“Your idea of a game is stalking an amnesiac who you failed to murder. Forgive me if I’m not falling over myself to join you in your fuckboi stalker corner.”

“It should have killed them both.”

“What?”

“I meant to kill them both but they survived. All three of us survived, doesn't that feel like fate?”

“It feels like you’re a goddamn sociopath trying to justify his fucked up murder the hypotenuse plot where he fucking murdered every other member of his delusional love triangle.”

“I’ll admit I jumped the cart a bit, I could have been more patient. If I’d starved the town a little longer or gone after the father they would have handed themselves over. The Burnsides have always been martyrs.”

“With you missing sooner or later Magnus will come, the rest of your little family is a minor inconvenience but with you here as collateral I think that takes care of both fronts nicely.”

“Yeah, lure him here so you can kill Maggie and steal his wife, you’re just a regular fairytale villain.”

“What makes you think I want to kill Magnus? She might be more capable but Waxman is nowhere near so stable without Burnsides to temper her orcish nature.”

“You-You absolute fucking creep! You can't just treat them like a fucking--Some fucking matched set collectible dolls or some bullshit!”

“Of course they're a matched set, The General and Her Lieutenant. I made them what they are, made them heroes, they'd be nothing without me.”

"Magnus has been fifty times the man you'll ever ben for longer than you've been *alive*."

"Perhaps this Magnus isn't the one I knew, but neither is, ah what did you call her? 'Jewel' isn't Julia Waxman, now is she? It's a fresh start, you see sometimes a forest just needs a little *brushfire* to get life growing again. That's what I did for the rebels Raven's Roost, aren't they thriving?"

“I swear to every fucking plane in existence, if I don’t utterly trash your entire fucking face then you can be goddamn guaranteed someone else will do it for me. Your shit has gone on for way too fucking long. Maggie’s got a goddamn army of folks willing to wreck your shit and karma is gonna bite you like a bitch, you despicable troglodyte.”

Kalen licks the blood from his split lip, smearing it against his teeth, and smiles.

"I'll send Magnus your regards when he arrives."

[glassbangtan]

Cooking Teacher {Kim Seokjin}.

   Words: 4291

   Notes: Jin Jin Jin.

  Summary: All you wanted to do was learn how to cook, but with a teacher like Kim Seokjin, cooking becomes something else.

   Warnings: Fluff.

  Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader.

   Living on your own was a bitch when you didn't know how to cook.

   That was it. That was all there was to it – it quite simply was one big, massive bitch. And you hated it. Hated everything about it. You hated the panic that settled in your empty stomach everyday as you decided on what to eat, eventually deciding to just boil some ramen, just like you always did. You were positive it wasn't healthy – it was ramen every day and every night, a breakfast, lunch and dinner type of deal – but you had no other choice bar starvation, which you weren't exceptionally keen on.

   It had taken you three months of continuous ramen to finally do something about it. You were the worst in the kitchen, always managing to burn yourself. Your best friend, Namjoon, often commented on how clumsy you were, and coming from him, that meant a lot more than it should have.

   And so cooking classes came into stride. Using the scraps of money you got from your monthly wages, you were finally able to afford at least four lessons in the towns activity centre. You didn't particularly want to go. The classes were nothing but a burden, with you having to rearrange your shifts so you can at least still have money to come home to when you were done with them all, but they were needed.

   Very, very much needed.

   The first lesson happened only a week after you had signed up in the first place. You made yourself look at least half presentable, rolling up the sleeves to your white button-up shirt with stains on it that you were currently trying to hide with a plastic yellow apron that had multiple holes dotted in it. Everyone around you seemed to know each other, laughing and grinning and jostling each other around the kitchen, whilst you just stood at your work station and worked on tying your apron around your waist.

   This wasn't your thing. It wasn't your forte, your atmosphere. The sight of all of the knives around you, the preheating ovens and the overall dangerous and sharp equipment had you cuddling further into the corner than you thought possible. It was as if you just knew your feet would fuck you over and completely send you toppling into a pile of knives.

   With a heaved sigh, you pull your phone from your pocket and send Namjoon a quick text: Today is my last day on earth. Thanks for being my friend x

   Namjoon replies within seconds: It's a cooking class. Just stay upright.

  If only he knew how difficult that was for somebody with two left feet. You roll your eyes at his reply, getting ready to text him back, but before you can, your phone is plucked from between your fingers, making a strangled gasp escape you at the suddenty of the action.

   Your eyes dart up, a snarky comment already bouncing on the end of your tongue that immediately gets washed away when your eyes meet the culprits.

   Because holy shit mother of god.

   Dark brown eyes, brown hair which has been parted down the middle to reveal just the right amount of forehead, a small pout on his lips as he looks down at the iPhone he had just blatantly snatched from your fingers. You don't even care at this point – holy shit.

   The man looks at you when your silence fills the gap between you. He most likely expected you to burst into hysterics, throw yourself on the floor a little bit, completely ruin the day, but you're rooted to the ground with your jaw hanging open just a little bit.

   “No phones allowed in the kitchen,” he says. Simple. A warning with so much kindness to it that you nearly forget you're getting scolded for breaking the rules. “How about I keep this till the end of class?”

   You narrow your eyes. “What? I'm 25 years old-”

  “I'll keep this till the end of class.” He leaves it at that, turning on his heel and walking back up to the front of the classroom, where you watch him place your phone in his desk drawer. It is only then that you realise just who he is – the teacher of this god forsaken class.

   You can barely concentrate now. Your eyes dart back and forth from the drawer to him on a constant loop until there's barely any room left in your brain to concentrate on the recipe he is basically hand-feeding you right now. People get to work, the idea of making beef stirfry apparently the best thing that had happened to them all week. Noodles are being ripped open, rice is being boiled, beef is being cut up as chatter erupts amongst the friends of the class.

   But you barely know where to begin.

  “What cooks quicker?” you find yourself asking the person beside you – a young, brown haired man who hadn't stopped smiling that rectangular smile the entire class. “Rice or noodles?”

  “You put the beef on first,” the man explains. You sense no judgement in his voice, but that doesn't stop you from flushing red as you nod and get to work on cutting up the strips of beef you had been given.

   It's weird. You can basically feel the teachers eyes gazing into the back of your neck as you work, him slowly making his way through the isles to look over what everyone is doing. You try your hardest to hide the beef blocks you had cut up, human blood dabbing a few of the pieces due to how many times you had nicked your fingers whilst cutting them up. You had learned how to hide pain well enough that nobody but Taehyung from next door saw the injuries.

   But hiding wasn't always going to work, and the teacher makes that very clear when he parks himself right beside your desk. His eyes aren't judging you – in fact, he seems to have a small smile on his face as he overlooks what you're doing – and yet you still get uncomfortable and embarrassed.

   “A beginner, yes?” the teacher questions, and his voice is low enough to make you think that he doesn't want anybody else to hear you two speaking. Perhaps he didn't want to embarrass you – perhaps he was just trying to hold back a laugh.

   You give him a sideways glance, half wanting to tell him to fuck off, the other half wanting to drag him into your spot and make him do all the work.

   “I've been cooking my whole life,” you reply. “As you can see.”

   The teacher laughs, a simple noise that takes you by surprise due to how nice it sounds. Squeaky, as if he really is enjoying himself.

   “Let me help,” he says, at last. You can't hide the sigh of relief that goes through you as you drop your knife and move to the side, allowing the unnamed teacher to take your place and cut up the rest of the beef strips. Everybody else had already put their rice to boil and were currently working on adding the vegetables to their cooking beef blocks – you hadn't even opened your bag of noodles yet.

   “Do you eat stirfry often?” the teacher asks you as he works on the beef strips.

   You shake your head, nearly scoffing at the mere suggestion. “I have a part-time job at Primark. I'm not exactly rolling in cash.”

   “Enough to pay for this class.” He gives you a sideways glance, and you can't help but notice the way his eyes trail down your aproned body. “And by the looks of things, you don't eat much any way. Fast metabolism?”

   “Empty bank account and no skills.”

   “Ah. A common pair.”

   “One I plan to split,” you say. The teacher raises a brow.

   “Oh? How are you gonna do that?”

   You fold your arms over your chest, looking around at the cooking equipment which surrounds you. “I'm gonna learn how to cook. So I can go home and make gormet meals and invite people over and make them impressed by my skills.”

   “Who do you plan on inviting over?”

   It was an odd question, but you're too caught up in your sudden fantasy to really notice that at the time. “My friend Namjoon. He can't cook either, so the two of us just sit and eat ramen all day.”

   “There's nothing wrong with ramen.”

   “There is when it's all you eat. The flavour just gets lost eventually.”

   The teacher nods, and it's only then do you realise he's holding the knife out to you, the beef completely cut up into perfect little cubes and set in a nice pile on the corner of the chopping board.

    The teacher grins. “Well, after this, you can go home and cook some beef stirfry. Don't forget to invite me – the names Kim Seokjin.”

   He doesn't give you a chance to reply before he's tapped your shoulder and is leaving to go and work with Taehyung. You gape at the knife in your hand for a moment – Kim Seokjin. What a nice name. A nice name for a person who seems to be like a nice guy.

   Two weeks in and you're already making lasagne.

   “The sauce for this is extremely difficult. Not many people get it right first time, so don't fret if it doesn't come out perfect. That's what I'm here for,” Seokjin explains as he marches up and down the front of the class. It takes a while for you to hide your discomfort – of course. He just had to decide to make something that not even professional chefs have mastered yet.

   “I'll be going around and inspecting what you're doing, making sure everything is alright, but you can always call me if you need any extra help.”

   Just call me out by name next time.

   The class starts, and immediately you get to work on the mince. Meat first. That was what Taehyung had taught you, though the more you inspected his work in class, the more you were beginning to doubt his advice.

   It didn't matter, though. You had a starting point, and if it was right or wrong didn't matter. It was somewhere, and it would make you look like you knew what you were doing, so fuck it.

   You danced around your work station, almost certain you were doing everything wrong, but that didn't stop you. You placed mince in pans and watched them sizzle with a grin on your face. You broke up sheets of pasta, put water to boil and suddenly you were almost positive you were a gourmet chef.

   But then the sauce came, and you were lost again.

   You stood over the pan, milk and flour in your hand with absolutely no idea what to do or who to ask for help. You look over at Taehyung's counter to see him nearly ripping his hair out, unknown as to what to do also.

   “Fuck,” you curse to nobody other than yourself, but somebody else seems to bask in the harshness of the words.

   You jump when a hand lands on your upper arm, moving you just a little so Seokjin can see over your shoulder. Your cheeks flush red at the contact, but you hide it by pretending to read the back of the flour packet.

   “Are you lost?” he asks, finally. You pretend you hadn't even noticed him standing there, turning to look at him with a happy smile on your face as if everything is peachy keen and you know exactly how much of each ingredient gets placed in the pan which is currently burning due to lack of use on a very, very warm hob.

   “Lost? No! Never! Me?”

   Seokjin raises a brow, a smile forming on his face at your harsh and over-the-top reaction.

  You frown, sigh. “Fine. I don't know what to do.”

    “You know, you're never gonna learn if you don't try,” Seokjin comments, taking the milk out of your hands.

   “I am trying!” you insist.

   “This is the second week in a row where I've had to help you.”

   “Well, sorry I'm an actual safety hazard. If anything, you're a damn hero for helping me. Taehyung would surely be set on fire if you hadn't come to help me.”

   Taehyung squeaks from the corner and you give him a warm smile before turning back to Seokjin with a grimace on your face again.

   “Cooking is difficult. How could you ever get into it?”

   Seokjin barely looks up from his place on the counter. He's leaned over it, eye level with a measuring jug as he places little dabs of milk into it, measuring out the perfect amount. “I just like food.”

   “I like food.”

   “I like the art of food,” Seokjin corrects. “Not just eating it. I like watching it cook, and I like to know the in's-and-out's of what I'm putting in my body. You can only ever do that if you get hands-on with the food.”

   You purse your lips, folding your arms back over your chest. “And what made you decide to teach it? You have to deal with people like me, who can barely preheat an oven. It has to get annoying sometimes.”

   Seokjin shrugs his broad shoulders and pours the milk into the pan. “I don't find it annoying. I was just like you at one point.”

   “I highly doubt that.”

   “Well, don't doubt it. It's the truth. We're all beginners at the things we love at some point in life.”

   You smile lightly, the words sending a wave of comfort to smother your body for only a moment. It's short lived, as all of a sudden the pan decides to spit over, boiled milk settling into the back of your hand.

   You yelp, pulling your hand back with a flurry of panic. Seokjin's eyes widen, and before youcan react, he's grabbed your hand and is inspecting the skin, uttering to himself.

   “Son of a bitch,” you find yourself hissing. Seokjin shakes his head, looking up at you through his eye lids.

   “I think you're gonna need a little extra work.”

   You scowl. “Thanks for the newsflash.”

    Cooking was becoming a chore. An exhausting, overexasperating chore that you no longer wanted to indulge in.

   You had tried, time and time again, to talk yourself into walking into that next class, but it was getting to the point where you genuinely felt sick upon even thinking of going back. You missed Seokjin, missed Taehyung and the overexcited dancer, Hoseok, who had knocked a pan over due to him flailing his arms around that one day. You missed the atmosphere and the feeling of doing something right, but then came the feelings of doubt which most definitely overshadowed any positivity you felt within that kitchen.

   So when the day for your third class came around, you purposefully skipped it, instead insisting on going out and treating yourself to some food court food to make up for it. You had learned to enjoy the fancier foods, the ones you had made, because not all of them turned out bad – but there was nothing like classic food court food. Food made by people who knew what they were doing – your favourite.

    The winter days are making the sun go down a lot earlier than usual, so by the time you finally leave your apartment with your scarf dressed neatly around your throat and your oversized coat bulking up your body parts, it's already pitch black. The only light you have is the street lights and the little flicker of light the cars give off as they pass by you.

    The food court is open, barely populated with anybody. You can hear your footsteps clicking off of the tiles as you walk through it, it echoing off of the empty walls. The only people on are Namjoon and Jimin, who sit behind the counter of the Chinese take-out stall, completely lost in a conversation about Mario Kart.

   You hollow out your cheeks when you approach them, Namjoon immediately catching your eye and laughing. He knew you wouldn't last long.

   “Did I not tell you?” he exclaims, jumping up and pointing to Jimin. “You owe me five-”

   “Shut up,” Jimin groans, swatting the taller man on the shoulder before he turns to look at you, a sad look on his face. “Does somebody want me to break the rules and give her food after closing?”

   You nod your head sadly. Jimin nods back, immediately getting to work with setting up your favourite dish that you always order. You settle down on the seat in front of the counter, resting your chin in your palm.

    “It got the better of you, didn't it?” Namjoon questions, leaning over the counter to speak to you.

   “I'm literally gonna have to live off of ramen for my entire life,” you comment. “I'm gonna die of heart failure.”

   “You're being overdramatic,” Namjoon insists. “You're just – not a chef. We can always try easier recipes. I heard pizza was easy enough.”

   “I've found out I'm not good with ovens.”

   “Vegetables?”

   “I can't steam for shit.”

   “Chicken?”

   “Scissors and me do not mix.”

   Namjoon sighs, running a hand through his loose, freshly dyed pink hair. “Well shit. Ramen it is, then.”

   You groan, burying your head in your hands. You had thought that dropping out was a good idea, something to take at least a little bit of stress off of your shoulders, but it does the opposite. You can't help but imagine Seokjin's face right now, looking for you and realising that you hadn't come back for the third lesson.

   He's most likely not even surprised. None of them would be. You had been the weakest in that kitchen from the moment you stepped foot inside of it, so why would they be? It sends a tipsy feeling through your stomach, thinking of all the “I told you so's” being passed around that kitchen at the moment.

   Jimin arrives shortly after with your food and you immediately dive in, losing yourself in the first taste of decent food you had had in three weeks. You had been trying to cook your own, fancy meals everyday, and had so far never missed a day. Breaking the trend was bound to ruin you for a while, but you couldn't care less.  

   “So tell me about the teacher,” Jimin says when he sits down in front of you. “Did you like them? They clearly weren't helpful enough if you're still shit-”

   “Shit is a strong word,” Namjoon warns, sending Jimin a sideways glare. “She prefers the word 'inexperienced.'”

   “He was helpful,” you say, ignoring their back and forth. “Beyond helpful. I'm just a lost cause.”

   “Everyone can learn, Y/N. There's nothing you need to be panicked about just yet. You're 25-”

   “Living on my own, part time job, barely knows how to cook a cup of ramen,” you finish for Jimin, who immediately lets his mouth snap shut at your outburst.

   You sigh and rub your temples. “I'm gonna take this to-go. I think I have some work stuff to finish up back at the apartment.”

   Jimin and Namjoon don't argue as you stand up and leave the food court without another word. The night is engulfing you in seconds, the busy streets of Seoul a good distraction from the heavy feeling in your chest.

   You had never known just how much giving up hurt. Giving up anything. Whether it be cooking, swimming, cycling. Walking into something with such high hopes and expectations, and walking out of it before you've even finished the main course – it's weird. It hurts. It makes you feel like a failure.

    You look down at the food in your hand and casually take a bite out of a piece of chicken. Lovely, flavourful, most likely not even chicken, but you savour the taste so much that you don't even care about what it will do to your body in the long-run.

   “I know for a fact you didn't make that yourself.”

   You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand as you whirl around to face the person who had just leaned in every-so close to your ear and whispered such a thing. Your heart falls into your stomach, your eyes widening and your cheeks glistening red when you see him standing in front of you, tall and built with a coat draped over his broad shoulders.

   “Seokjin,” you say, flat. “I thought you had class today?”

   “It's my day off,” he replies, but his eyes are still firm on the food in your hand. “I thought you had class today?”

   You falter, finally swallowing the piece of chicken you had been working at for a while. “It's . . . My day off?”

   Seokjin raises a brow and you know there's no point in pretending any more. You shrug your shoulders limply, losing all feeling of caring as you turn on your heel and start to walk, taking a bite of another piece of chicken.

   Seokjin follows you, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “What changed your mind, then? The price?”

   “The effort.”

   “Everything takes effort.”

   “And I'll put effort into things I enjoy. Cooking just isn't my thing.”

   He tilts his head to the side, letting out an exasperated sigh as if he wasn't sure just what to do with you. You could be so complicated sometimes – that was no secret. You were stubborn and not confident with yourself to the point where you let yourself get stressed about the simplest of things.

    “You never did invite me over for stirfry,” Seokjin is saying before he knows why. You turn to him in the night, the street lights illuminating the slight blush creeping on his cheeks and the way he smiles a little bit at his own comment.

  “I never invited anyone over.”

   Seokjin raises a brow. “Oh, so I'm the first? What an honour.”

   “What are you talking about?”

   Seokjin barely replies with a plausible answer. His hand has slipped into yours in seconds and he is dragging you away from the busy streets, asking you to lead him to your house. You falter over your words, but eventually manage to turn the corner into your apartment complex and get yourself upstairs.

   “Is this appropriate? I haven't even cleaned,” you comment. Seokjin looks at you as he enters your small apartment, barely giving it a second glance as he takes his coat off and rolls his sleeves up over his elbows.

   “That doesn't matter. Wash your hands and we'll get cooking.”

   “I don't want to cook.”

   “And I don't want you eating this shit.” He plucks the box of Chinese food out of your hand and before you can object, he's dropped it in the bin. “I'll pay you back, I promise. Not, wash your hands! We haven't got all night.”

   And you do. Weirdly, you do. You get to work with everything he tells you, dancing around each other in the tight space of your kitchen which is very rarely used for anything more than boiling water. It's strange to see it suddenly so messy, beef strips cut up and vegetables littering the counter, noodles splayed across chopping boards and knives laid out professionally.

   By the end of it, you're sitting down to a meal which steams and smells like the most glorious thing in the world. Your stomach growls as you dig into it, suddenly forgetting about the Chinese that was stolen from you only moments before. Seokjin watches you from across the table, and it never occurred to you that you had never even seen him eat one of his own creations.

   He eats it like you expect – letting out groans of appreciation at his own work every now and then and nodding to you with a smile when you look up at him questioningly. He never has his mouth empty during this time, always stuffing it full with something else as if he's afraid he'll stomach won't hold any more if he doesn't shovel it in fast enough.

   You finish in ten minutes, leaning back in your seat with your hand sprawled across your stomach. “I'm full.”

   “Those are sinful words,” Seokjin says, immediately. “We haven't even had dessert yet. And we still have to master the lasagne.”

   You groan, flicking your head back though you can't suppress the laugh that escapes your throat. “You're too much. Let's just nap.”

   “I'd love to,” Seokjin says. “But I haven't even taken you out on a real date first. Sharing a bed can be stage two.”

   You look up, eyes wide and cheeks brushed with a thin layer of red. Seokjin places another piece of beef into his mouth, gazing at you with those wide, brown eyes that have never once judged you like how you expected them to.

    “Did you just ask me out on a date, Kim Seokjin?” you question.

  Seokjin shrugs, mouth still full as he says, “Did you just accept my request to take you on a date?”

    “Only if you're cooking.”

   He nods. “I wouldn't dream of anything else. And you have to help me.”