#well. guess i can send grace into the horrors instead

[capn-twitchery]

girl you better stay AWAY from twitch 🤺🤺

[janumun]

A Relentless Conquest (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 10.7k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: dueling (Sylus fighting), semi-public sex, oral and vaginal sex, Sylus’s brand of manhandling, dry humping, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, wander in wonder AU/historical AU, based in ancient Mongolia, creampie, size difference, mild rich/poor class power dynamics

Summary: What happens when you end up catching the unwanted attentions of a sleazy magistrate on a day out in town? A duel for your honor — or lifelong imprisonment — is what awaits you. That is, until Sylus, leader of the exceedingly notorious Onychinus gang, and a man you dub reluctantly, an old acquaintance, intervenes and offers the immoral magistrate a deal he cannot refuse.

[A fic where Sylus engages in a precarious duel in order to free you from the clutches of a corrupt high official; wins the duel AND the prize at stake, you.]  

Author’s Notes: The things the Wander in Wonder trailer did to me were unspeakable, I had to get started on this fic right away. Another long monstrosity so it took me quite a while to hammer it out smoothly. Some terms used within, to note: *tögrögs is an old Mongolian currency and *Lungtang is the Mongolian city used loosely within this fic’s setting, as per Sylus’s alleged outfit inspiration drawn from the Mongol’s hunting fit in the current event, “Wander in Wonder” . An amazing twitter thread for the rest of the inspirations drawn for the boys’ outfits can be found here. 

Link to Ao3

Perhaps you should’ve considered your course of action through before you’d tossed yourself voluntarily into the metaphorical den of lions. Caleb did always tease you for your often impudent ways, declaring you’d get yourself into hot water someday.   

You didn’t quite think past saving the small, unfortunate child in front, when he’d careened straight into the Magistrate, staining the sickly bone white of his gaudy robes with the treat he’d been brandishing in hand. An action of careless innocence that could’ve saddled the boy with a severe punishment of thrashings at best. And at worst —   

You didn’t even wish to entertain the horrifying notion.   

You whisper a quick note of warning to the trembling child in your arms before he’s nodding his assent, making a clean dash away from the Magistrate and his burly procession of hired cronies. They do not move to stop him; the official’s beady eyes sweeping cursory across his fleeing figure before he focuses upon you once more.   

“Well then, speak up, girl. How do you plan on making up for the crimes of the filthy criminal you just let escape?” He leers at you, sending a frisson of disgust through your veins. “I do not mind much, provided you are able to compensate me in full.” He holds up two thick, swollen fingers. “two thousand tögrögs.” Your stomach revolts in near horror at the exorbitant price he names.   

“Speak, lass, do you possess the means to compensate me?”  

“...Apologies, Sire, I do not.”  

The Magistrate clicks his tongue at you, as if that son of a cur had not already anticipated your answer; your garb alone giving away your status as a mere commoner while he stood, a tall, foolish braggart of a Magistrate, who’d been a constant source of worry amongst the townsfolk as of late. “What a pity. I guess we shall have to make you pay off with what you do have on person, shan’t we?”   

His eyes rove down the length of your body in a manner greasy enough, it has your fingers itching to claw them out of his skull. Thoughts of the consequences of your actions extending to your family after — your grandmother and Caleb — are what stay your hands, firm by your side. You try and maintain that demure grace firm within your body instead.  

“What else are we to do if she cannot pay for what she has cost me, yes?” The Magistrate flourishes his arms wide and turns, towards the crowd that has gathered to watch, setting the stage for his perverse demands. “An eye for an eye, an honor exchanged for honor; that is the Law of our Lungtang, is it not?”  

None of the commonfolk dare to speak against the tyrant’s words, lest they make of themselves a new target to harass. And you do not blame them either, the burden of your reckless actions, yours to bear alone.   

The man trundles forwards on heavy steps; the large, ugly stain left across his robes growing wider in your lowered line of sight before the expanse of his bloated, sweating hand fills your field of vision. The rings around his fingers, nearly engorging the base of them as he curls his hand about your jaw to heave your gaze up towards him.   

The ugly, toad-like sweep of his tongue against the top row of black and gold teeth has a chill skittering down your spine. “You’re rather lovely, you know that?” He croaks in a low, creeping voice.   

You bite harsh into your bottom lip to revolt against the bile that threatens to reflux past your throat and onto the bastard’s face. “What say you become my whore then, dearest? I’d treat you very...” A slimy slip of the hand down the expanse of your body, to settle at your hip. “ well . And if you please me, you could even climb the ranks and become first Mistress, you know?” You judder at the stench of his breath, nearly in your face now. Unable to help the revulsion he inspires in you and you know; the cur in front takes it for a show of abashed innocence, with the way his leer stretches wider across his face.   

“I am far too plain and discourteous for a man of your stature, my lord. If there is anything else I could do for you in recompense, I would be more than delighted to offer my services.” The words uttered, sit sickly sweet on your tongue. “I have a good arm on me and can do any physical labor you may require of me.”   

The rat makes a show of deliberating your words. “It’s a pity the only ‘physical labor’ I require of you lies within my bed, dear girl.”   

You visibly recoil from his revolting touch at your arm; perhaps you aren’t able to quite keep your emotions from surfacing upon your face this time round as the man grabs at your forearm tighter, gaze darkening in simmering displeasure.   

“You know the law, woman. If you wish to run scot-free without offering anything in return, you must put your life on the line and agree to a duel with the offended party.” He chucks a thick, swollen thumb back at his minions, voice seething into a threatening octave. “And I wouldn’t suggest that unless you want them to crush that pretty face of yours.”  

You consider ending it all; cutting the bastard open for him to choke in a pool of his own gurgling blood. You think you could do it too, before his bodyguards could get to you.  

And with the loss of their Master, they wouldn’t be able to hold you prisoner within the dungeons for too long: you hoped. The stray, wild thought is all you can see within your vision.   

Your hand twitches for the dagger fastened right beneath your satchel, one Caleb had lent you for protection. Fingers barely grazing against the polished hilt of the blade, cobbling together courage to see your mad plan through.   

Before large, thick digits are slipping against yours to halt — a fleeting touch of caution — from behind, fracturing your hasty plan entirely.  

You’re barely able to comprehend the sudden, unnoticed proximity of your interloper, before a great arm is coiling fast about the expanse of your waist, snatching you swift from the Magistrate’s claws and firm against a warm, broad chest.  

“Now, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” The well-known burr, welcome, in that moment stirs joy within your belly as you reach to crane your neck to meet eyes with that familiar scarlet.  

“Sylus.” You croak in near disbelief.   

He exhales, low, against the shell of your ear, before he slowly lets go of you. “I’m away from Lungtang for a mere fortnight, only to find you scrounging for trouble, upon return.”   

Your irritation might’ve flared at his words if not for the phlegmy clearing of the Magistrate’s throat in front.   

“And who do you think you are to touch my property so carelessly, insolent fool?”  

Your ire directed from the man behind to the bastard in front. You feel Sylus’ hand soothe a flex about your shoulder.   

“My bad, honoured Magistrate.” He sweeps an insouciant palm at him, the grin upon his face edged to a dagger’s point. “We did not think you would be gracing Lungtang so soon with your noble presence. Or we might’ve arranged for a far better reception, for your Grace.”  

Each word that slips past Sylus’ lips is a sarcasm heavy barb that turns the official’s face in front purple with each syllable uttered. “That woman owes me, you dog. I shall make her my mistress, as is only fair I extract proper recompense from her for her grave offense.”  

One of the Magistrate’s men behind scamper forward in that moment to whisper urgently into his ear. The official’s eyes nearly burst out of his sockets at whatever he’s learned, wide toady gaze skittering towards Sylus as if he is indeed a rabid beast that would bite if disturbed.   

He thrusts an accusatory finger at him. “You are the Onychinus’ leader.” He spits. “That gang of lawless hounds.”  

Sylus’s mouth quirk into a vicious smile at the allegation. “That I am.”   

“You— you,” The Magistrate seems to sputter for the space of several moments before the man at his side mutters something else into his ear.   

The official straightens at whatever he’s heard, clearing his throat, once. Twice. “I am willing to pardon your crimes.” He begins once more. “Provided you can prove yourself worthy in a duel against one of my men.” The crowd around you breaks into quiet murmurs. “But,” he continues. “if you lose, Onychinus dog, then along with your little woman, you shall give up your life to my service, your autonomous tyranny within these lands shall cease to exist and you shall follow my sole command.” He pauses for a moment’s breath, as if to let the weight of what he believes to have been a devastating challenge, sink in.   

But all he earns from Sylus is a raised brow. “Sounds like a deal. Let us raise the stakes, though, shall we?” He cocks his head at the procession of guards right behind the Magistrate. “I’ll take on all your men, not just your best. Give you a real crutch to get started with.”   

The crowd of onlookers erupts into gasps of surprise and gibbering discussion amidst the concerning blue coloring the Magistrate’s face at the taunt. You desperately clutch at Sylus’s arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”  

He meets your wide-eyed panicked gaze with a cool, gentle one of his own. “Calm yourself down, kitten. I’ll be fine.” A large hand, he places gentle at your head in reassurance but all it does instead is send your alarm flaring higher.   

What had you roped the man into? Infuriating though he was. Sylus was a confounding acquaintance of years; you could not help be lured into irritation any time he were around — a man whose companionship you’d come to cherish in begrudging gratitude over your time together — but this is not what you’d wanted.   

Your reeling thoughts fractured by the screeching Magistrate in front. “You think you’re all that, you shameless scoundrel? Oh, you’re just a man and I’ll make sure they break your limbs, bone by excruciating bone, before we drag you bloodied and defeated, to my estate.” He spits the time of the duel to be held tomorrow in that same fury before he’s turning on you both and trudging back off to where he came from, his procession of cronies falling along right in line.   

And you’re left behind, with the metallic poison of your regret within your mouth and bone deep worry within your body as you stare up at Sylus’s form.   

The next day arrives much too soon, even as sleep evades you through the entirety of your night, spent tossing onto much too warm sheets.   

Now, having dragged yourself to dress and prepare yourself for the dreaded day, you trudge out of your home, chancing a brief, longing look upon the humble place over your shoulder, in case it were truly your last.   

You hadn’t divulged the details of your itinerary for the day — which possibly entailed getting sold into slavery to a sleazy official, by the time noon rolled in — to Grandmother or Caleb and you preferred it remain that way for as long as possible. Your Grandmother was coming along in her years, with weakened nerves now and Caleb tended to be a frightful worrywart in matters concerning you.   

“Someone’s starting the day rather early. That eager to see me fight, are you, kitten?” The familiar voice beckons. You toss a raised brow over your shoulder at your previously truant neighbour, now returned — his house having settled long vacant in his absence, over the course of his journey to Gods knew where. And the root cause of all your fretting; Sylus moves to join you by your side in two easy strides.  

“Don’t you even dare try joke about it, you absolute madman,” you mutter darkly under your breath, reaching to knock a fist against the side of his torso.   

The same old routine you tumble into, with him; you aren’t able to tamp yourself back from biting into the man as soon as he’s in your sights; the only person capable of wrenching out your honest, most reflexive reactions. And you hate the ease with which this incendiary of a man manages to drag them out of you.   

“What took over you to throw that offer out at that bastard, when you all but had a nice, even playing field to yourself? Now you’re just—” Your mouth snaps shut against the rest of your words, bitterly swallowed.   

How did you even begin to disentangle your bunched feelings on the matter? You knew how all of Lungtang chanted the tales of the fearsome Onychinus head. A conundrum of a man with a reputation as daunting as his influential mien, one that never failed to instil the fear of God in lesser men; criminals and bandits, who sought to rob their small town on the rare luckless occasion — dubbed this obscure town’s own Warrior God.   

But to you, he was also just Sylus; the man you’d grown in close proximity to since your late teenage years and a person you’d grown to care for in the natural course of your odd tug-and-push relationship.   

And though you remained constantly wary of the type of people Sylus associated with, in his particular line of work — a job you did not wish for, to bring even a modicum of harm onto your family by association with him, you could not help the restless agitation that needled at you each time Sylus left home, sometimes for weeks on end, on any number of his covert expeditions.  

And each time he did, the very nagging, unwelcome thought intruded, that perhaps this time he might not make it home.   

“Are you worried for me right now, kitten?” Sylus’s airy query breaks through your reverie, your gaze leaping to find his, fixated firm on you. Those scarlet eyes seem to lose part of their mirth at the face you’re sure you’re pulling.   

You tear your gaze away first, choosing to watch the path you two trek on, instead. “Of course, I’m worried. What a silly thing to ask.” A muted wisp of words.   

Ones that spark an immediate stroke of mild discomfiture at the admission; you prattle on before he can speak. “I know you’re strong, I know that. But just you against what — 13 or 14 grown men? More if that bastard intends on killing you. Anyone with half a wit and eye can see it’s a self-slaughtering mission from yards away. I don’t understand—” your indignant voice breaks, to throttle in much needed air into breath parched lungs. “I just don’t understand why you’d do that. I don’t understand you.”    

Help me figure out what you’re thinking; are the words you wish to speak but your voice refuses to assist.  

Sylus hums a low, throaty sound; in admission that he’s heard you.   

And then he opens his mouth to speak. Divulging a ‘reason’ that makes no sense to your muddled mind, simple though his words are. “That cad disrespected you.” Garnet tips your way to meet your surprised gaze. “That’s reason enough, is it not?”   

“I—”  

“Don’t fret anymore.” he continues. “I won't lose, you have my word.” Long, tapered digits brush gentle at your temple, in reassurance of your worries. “And once I’m done with that weasel, he won’t ever be capable of crawling within a mile of you, let alone dare a finger your way again.”   

The confession, sudden and honest, spurts warmth within your chest that readily clambers up your cheeks and floods down into your belly. A knot pulled tight within seeming to relax just that bit, in comfort of his words. Truly, he confounds you; this odd, beautiful man.   

You capture his fingers against yours in an insistent hold, halting him in his tracks. “You better keep your promise to me, Sylus,” you speak, meeting his gaze, firm on yours. “Do not forget the prize that’s at stake here. You'll come out of there, victorious. I won’t afford you any other options, you hear me?”   

A pleased grin edges across that beautiful mouth, skewing it wider. He angles forward, so that garnet gaze is level against yours. Flexing the catch of his digits in between yours before he’s sweeping your hand towards his parted mouth in a fleeting brush of lips against your knuckles. “If it is my victory the Lady commands, so it shall be done.” He elaborates, a mild tickled inflection to his thick baritone.   

You disregard his little jibing use of the title for this one instance; his solemn promise you know he’s sealed to you; in the gentle grip of your fingers against his, garnet that refuses to stray until you see the resolve of his vow settle within that gaze too.   

By the time your deliberately protracted journey finds its end at the arena, edging the outskirts of Lungtang, the Magistrate along with his chosen warriors are already there, positioned and waiting by the great stone pillars of the vast grounds.   

The coming fight having attracted the townspeople to turn up in droves to watch the weaselly Magistrate take on their best warrior — hordes of curious eyes you feel boring into the two of you as you make your way towards where the Magistrate awaits.   

“Here you are. Any later and I might’ve started considering you’d fled with your tail in between your legs.” The Magistrate crows out loud. “After all, my men shall soon prove how Lungtang’s criminal they so falsely worship as a hero, is more bark than bite.” The swarm of brutes — big and terrifyingly bulky — he’s brought along, laugh at their Master’s goading.   

Sylus, however, remains unperturbed. “Is that so? I can’t wait to find out,” he responds, scrubbing an insouciant hand through his hair.   

His apathetic response seems to key the Magistrate’s ire even higher, sputtering his rage at him. “Y-You absolute— you imbecile. I will crush you.” Creeping a hand forward for you now, “I’ll hold the girl with me. We might as well quicken ourselves, in preparation for when you inevitably fall and watch me claim my rightful prize.”   

You steel yourself against the touch, palm rising to curb his approach with a polite denial but your companion is swifter; large hand darting forth to curl a harsh fist against the official’s greasy wrist.   

“No.” Sylus speaks, voice a low, lethal burr you haven’t ever heard from him before. “I don’t think you will, Sire.” Whatever it is the foolish Magistrate discerns within your companion’s steady gaze, has him flinching in visible fright at the sight, sweat beading wide across his pale, swollen face.  

He wrenches his wrist from Sylus’s grip, as if scathed just as you angle a curious look up at the Onychinus head; his face an impassive mask — hardly unusual — before it breaks into the tiny quirk of a self-assured grin when he catches you watching.  

The Magistrate yelps in frustration, turning in on a ferocious heel. “D-Do not waste my time any longer than you have.” Barking the rest of his words; he heads toward the makeshift dais he’s had set up for himself at the edge of the ring. “Come onto the fields now so we can commence the match.”  

“Sylus,” you place a hand at his arm to stall. “Duck down for a moment.”   

He raises a careful brow at you and you think he’s going to refuse for a moment but then he surprises you in the wordless, compliant drop of his head close to yours. Allowing your eyes to trace his features; those familiar scarlet eyes steady against yours, the slope of his broad nose, sweeping into the bow of full, slightly scraped lips.   

You realize you trust this man and what he’s offered you, whole-heartedly. And so, you wish to extend the same sentiment, reaching for the precious beads adorning your neck — an heirloom from your late parents, your most prized possession.   

Plucking it up and over your head in between cautious digits before you reach to place it about his neck instead. Leaving part of your most priceless gift with him, just as you’ve decided to entrust him with both your Fates. “A charm,” you clarify, “for good luck. It has been my most invaluable escort and has kept me safe all these years.”   

Sylus mutely treks delicate fingers across the worn beads of the chain, grasping it in between a loose fist, in acceptance of your faith.  

“Return it to me once you’ve won.” You tell him, rapping a firm fist against the leather guard at his chest.   

Large, warm digits move to curve about yours, gripping your fist against himself. “As if I could turn down such a heartfelt request, sweetheart.” A spirited grin tugs at his features.  “I’ll bring your little treasure back to you in one piece.”   

“Good, I’ll wait for it.” You respond. “Now, go out there and show them the might of our Warrior God.”  

The Magistrate flourishes open an official scrolled document, no doubt detailing the terms of their duel as soon as Sylus shifts to take position within the field, on opposing side of the assembly of his hired goons.   

You move to occupy a place up front, to stand among the vast gathered crowd, observing the proceedings as the Magistrate clutches the scroll up into the air and begins to drone out the conditions of the fight and the prize at stake — your belly stirs in nausea — you . “The duel shall be declared closed when all members of a party have been knocked unconscious; or killed, under the rare, unfortunate circumstance.” His beady eyes rove Sylus’s way. “Any objections?”  

Sylus shrugs the question off entirely in the flex of an arm against his chest, in preparation of the duel. “Let us not waste our time debating inanity now, as you said earlier. Commence the fight.”   

The Magistrate’s face colours a foul purple — you hope he may truly burst — but all he does is spew a cold, curt, “Begin.”  

The arena hurtles into instantaneous chaos, along with the crowd’s rousing cheers and gasps of terrified delight as the Magistrate’s cronies hound Sylus all at once. Your body hunching forward on reflex to watch as the first set of blows streak straight for Sylus’s face but he ducks down with an agility, unusual to a man of his stature.   

He catches two of the oncoming blows against his palms. Jamming his fists tight about their wrists before he contorts them sideways in a dull crackle of bone. The men immediately buckle to their knees in an agony of groans, their peers stepping over their fallen companions after, to grab for their opponent who springs out of their way, as if dancing the men around, with a noose placed about their grappling bodies.  

A sharp jab comes right for Sylus’s side after, the crony tries and lands a hit against his ribs; the latter’s grasp flexing about his arm to break his momentum, wrenching him close into his body. Before Sylus jostles his elbow harsh into the man’s back.   

Two men lunge for Sylus, aiming for his blind spot; your scraped call of warning lost amidst the thunderous din of the crowds as Sylus rounds upon his assailants. Grabbing the man he has on hand, fingers fisting tight into his garb before he hurls him onto the approaching minions, with a force violent enough, the three go bowling straight into the dirt.   

The crowd’s cheer is raucous; wild as the grin that splits wide across Sylus’s face as he stretches his body tall to full length. “Come now, that’s surely not all of what you’ve got for me.” Sweat barely beginning to make itself known across the firm muscled expanse of his arms, his torso. He's hardly out of breath while his opponents gawk at him as if cornered against a rabid beast.   

Your heart thrills in unexpected, startled pleasure to witness the strange, sensuous virility to his almost savage visage as he paces forward on swift, easy steps, within the ring.   

You’d always known Sylus to hold a rich charisma compacted within that strong personality; an ability to entice all he came into contact with. A brilliant, perceptive mind along with that tacit, undeterred will; he’d brought flourishing business booming within Lungtang over his period of unofficial rule of the place. The uncrowned Onychinus King and a fearsome warrior; the first time you’d truly stood witness to what he was capable of, outside of devious negotiations, professional and unalike.   

And to know, it was for you that he stood in that place now, socking down enemies with the streak of a great, terrifying beast that had your heart skittering within your chest and your blood thrumming within your ears, alongside the adrenaline roiling through your veins. He truly was an infuriatingly perfect man.   

You joined your voice to the shouts of encouragement rolling off the townspeople, in waves for their Warrior God just as Sylus brings an opponent down to his knees with a violent sweep of his knee to his torso.   

“Enough!” You hear the squeaked, enraged bellow of the Magistrate as he watches the proceedings with an increasingly incensed face. Whipping his reddening face towards the crowd to shake a threatening fist at them. “Quiet down before I have you all thrown into the dungeons!”   

But the townsfolk refuse to relent; their cheers rising to a deafening roar as the Magistrate nearly tumbles out of his seat to thrust a trembling finger at the ring as Sylus tosses another of his men over his shoulder to taste the ground at his feet . The attendants at his side scamper towards the arena at once. A quick, urgent rush of communication seems to pass in between the attendants and Sylus’s remaining opponents. Before the servants are tossing weapons into the ring, ones the cronies lunge for as soon as they hit the field. Rising slow once more as they brandish their newly obtained unfair advantage at an unarmed Sylus.  

A great wave of shock and indignance passes over the crowd just as you push past the row of onlookers to jostle yourself to the very front. “Hey! This was not among the rules!” You shout at the Magistrate. A sentiment the rest of the crowd joins you in mirroring but all it earns you is an insouciant shrug from the bastard, shedding any remaining responsibility of hosting a fair fight against Sylus. “And the rules didn’t indicate the participants were not allowed the use of tools at their disposal either. The opposing party’s principal should’ve brought his own if he wished for one, as well.”  

“That’s not—” Your voice breaks in agonised distress just as the Magistrate turns away from you entirely to press his rotund body back into the comfort of his seat to watch his laid-out massacre once more. Son of a cur.   

“Sylus!” You try and yell for his attention amongst the horrified cries of the crowd. “ Sylus, you don’t have to fight anymore! Get out of there, now! Sylus . ”  

His gaze sweeps over the mass of spectators for that one split moment, as if foraging for yours. Until it seems to find and fixate upon you, his mouth forming slow shape over words you cannot hear but understand on instinct, “Stay right there.”  

Your heart leaps and slams violent against the back of your breastbone with the crowd’s rising screams, just as a hefty brute lunges for Sylus; a battle axe heaved high above his head to strike a killing blow.   

The first cleave of the blade, Sylus avoids, to the tumbling pummel of your frenzied nerves. The man’s fervent swings, he dodges left and right. Avoiding another enemy’s assault with a dagger aimed straight for his gut; Sylus streaks the side of his palm flat onto his wrist in a hit vicious enough, the knife goes flying out of his grasp to stick, hilt-up, useless onto the ground. Before Sylus pummels a heavy fist into the assailant’s face, plastering him down onto the ground.   

The metallic chains of a flail come streaking for him, just as he side-steps past another heavy swing of the axe, catching the iron fetters of it harsh against his wrist. He ducks close into the enemy, manoeuvring the momentum of his attack into his own advantage, to wrench the man harsh into the fist he rams straight into his gut. Tumbling him sideways into the ground, unconscious.  

The bulldozing axe wielding maniac, now in close proximity, careens straight for Sylus on a fervent bellow, sweeping a blow straight for his head. Sylus seizes his last standing opponent’s assault against the strength of a muscled forearm. Catching the brunt of the axe’s hilt at it before he shoves back on a ferocious, inhuman show of force.   

Sylus, your heart hammers, lips forming shape over the syllables of his name in urgent prayer.   

The momentum of the wide, stone blade pushed back in such violence, sends the wielder staggering back with the weight of it; Sylus turning that precious moment of weakness to his benefit as he lunges straight for his neck, seizing it within a thick fist. The core muscles of his arm, rippling with the force with which Sylus hauls him off his feet entirely to drive the man down onto the ground with a vicious snarl.   

The combatant stops moving immediately, knocked out cold on the dirt; Sylus rising slow onto his feet as he stares at the man, chest heaving with the efforts of his strenuous exertion.   

A grave’s quietude slumps across the gathered crowd for several, tense moments.   

And then shatters into raucous chaos as the Conqueror of the duel is cheered to the high heavens; Sylus’s grin, wide and daunting, as he shifts off his fallen opponent, scrubbing a large hand back through sweat soaked locks as he starts ambling over toward the edge of your side of the arena.   

And your heart — your silly little heart — soars from its place within your chest and out for him, the high of his victory, as if it were your own, throbbing brutal within your blood.   

Before you know or comprehend it, your legs are moving; pushing past the crowds of onlookers, the wooden slates of your sandals skidding at dirt, as you fly across the ring toward Sylus. Your gaze entirely filled with your brilliant warrior’s expression shifting into surprise as you hurtle into him. And Sylus — that big, beautiful man understands — catches your careening body within his embrace; your momentum, he breaks against a half-swivel about his heel. Large, warm arms come tight about your body, wordless, without a question uttered, to seclude you further into that private space; just for you both in that moment.   

Your arms stretching about the thick expanse of his neck as you hold on hard to him; Sylus’s low exhale you feel warm gently, into the crescent of your neck as he sinks into you. The people, his duel; none of it matter when you embrace him this close against you, the adrenaline of your unbound joy, his impressive triumph settling into your thundering heart, you feel pressed against him.   

His soft, heavy laughter curls pleasant into your ears. “To the victor go the spoils, I guess.” He breathes. “Although this treasure seems particularly eager on jumping into my arms herself.”   

“Of course I am.” You press yourself away from him enough to afford yourself a proper survey of his face. “Gods, you were brilliant. Thank you, Sylus.”   

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye; a slow, testing touch. His gaze simmers in unusual, unexpected gentleness that siphons the breath from your lungs. “You need never thank me for anything, sweetheart, let alone this. I do not want it.”   

Your own relief blooming into a smile, but before you can respond; an unpleasant, harsh voice fractures through the air — the Magistrate seething and raging as he makes his way over to you both, an army of guards right behind. Clearly, the man could not stomach a sore loss; rabid fire and venom within his gaze as he trudges toward you, screaming obscenities.   

“Step back for a bit, kitten.” And you obey without further prompting, granting Sylus a wide berth for whatever he plans on doing.   

He doesn’t spare a moment longer before he’s striding forward, snatching one of the Magistrate’s unconscious minions off the ground. Hoisting him high up by the scruff of his neck. The Magistrate’s steps stagger just then at Sylus’s mad display, perhaps sensing the disaster he’s called upon him.   

But it’s far too late. “Here, have a present from all of Lungtang, Sire.” Sylus tows his arm back, wide, and aims — to the scurrying cries of the Magistrate — before he violently hurls the man in hand, right at the waddling official, bowling him and half his guards over like a stack of gambling plaques.   

“Sylus.” You gasp at his insane spectacle.  

Before the corrupt, toppled lot can even think to get their bearings back, Sylus is strolling back toward you; a quick flourish of a large hand thrown over his shoulder, in signal. “Take care of them,” he instructs out loud.   

A swarm of dark clad men melt away, on his sole command, from the crowds, to pack around the Magistrate and his men, blotting their figures entirely out of your sight. “Come on.” Sylus’s voice fractures through your reverie, his frame crowding your field of vision.   

“Whe— aah!” A hefty arm swoops beneath the back of your legs, sending frantic fingers scrabbling for purchase against the strength of Sylus’s shoulders as he hoists you up against his body. “What’re you doing?” 

He flashes a devious grin up at you, completely at odds against the bewildered shock you know is wide across your face. “Time to get out of here, sweetheart,” is all he offers in response before he’s sweeping you away from the pandemonium he’s wrought and the boisterous crowd; discarding all of that well-earned glory behind.   

The throng of on-goers tapers out the farther you get on to the road winding away from the arena; curious and awed looks alike garnered your way: at your position, and at the man — the infamous Onychinus head — who strolls easy through the streets of Lungtang, in possession of the strange woman he carries snug on the crook of an arm.  

A flush creeping hot up your face the longer this spectacle goes on until Sylus’s pace — thank the Gods above — dwindles to a halt. “This should be far enough.”   

“Yes, thank you. Put me down now.” Tapping fraught fingers against his shoulders in emphasis. Sylus raises a sculpted brow at you but relents, nonetheless. He steps past the mouth of the nearest back-street, well clear of people, before he helps you down onto your feet.   

You lean a hand across his arm, taking a moment to scramble your bearings back.   

“The brief walk back has you this out of breath, huh?” You turn a half-hearted frown at his mild ribbing; the man barely having broken a sweat himself, for having carried you all the way down here.   

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to lug me the entire way, you know,” you return.   

“What can I say, sweetheart? I’m rather protective of my treasures being made to rot too long among the grime.” He gently pinches your cheek in between thick, tapered digits; voice descending to a softer baritone. “And I won, as promised.” Long, tapered fingers skim heat across the angle of your cheekbone. “So, you’ll give me a pass this once, won’t you?”  

Vivid scarlet flitters in inscrutable emotion to witness you cup careful palms about his own, as he touches you.   

“You also pulled that insane stunt with that sleaze of a magistrate at the end there. I don’t know how you plan on getting out of that one,” you point out, but there is no actual heat to your accusation.  

He exhales a half-laugh. “That’s probably long taken care of.” Stroking the fall of your hair back against your ear. “No one will come after you now.”  

You step closer to him. “You do know I’m capable of worrying about you too, right? I’m not heartless.” His mouth quirks at your peeved admission. “...You’re important to me Sylus.”  

A streak of something akin to surprise fulgurates for a moment’s notice within that garnet gaze, at your confession.   

Your fingers trek a steady path against the painted beads of your necklace dangling at his chest. “Although I do hope you’ll never pull something like this on my behalf, ever again.” He'd brought it back to you, safe and unscathed, just as he’d said — a vow made, he had honoured.   

Relief was still warm within your chest, along with the turbulence of long nursed vexing emotions, brought forth to the surface — for a man you’d known for almost half your life — by the day’s sequence of events. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.” You huff out a soft laugh.   

An inscrutable emotion streaks across Sylus’s face, too quick to pick apart until it retreats entirely once more.   

“Unfortunately for you,” long, tapered digits sweep about yours at his chest, capturing your hand steady within his grip. “that’s not a pledge I can offer you.” His whisper is low, throaty as it settles against you and you realize the sudden proximity of your positions.   

His striking face is all that floods your vision. His gaze flickers from yours, down toward the bow of your parted lips — a remiss on his part, you can tell from how it rolls back swift to catch your eyes once more. If you did not know any better, you might’ve almost thought he meant to lean further and—  

But was it really the mad conjuring of your mind and a reluctantly hopeful heart that wished to see what it thought it did? Or had you been this obtuse on purpose all along?   

Your brow knits in consternation; this far removed from the persistent babbling of voices — your anxieties, the people, his duel, your uncertain fates at the time — and sequestered within the quiet alley; your roiling thoughts are loud and insistent.   

“And why’s that, Sylus?” You ask quietly.  

The skewed pull of his mouth is devastatingly beautiful even in its lack of mirth, this up close. “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart. Or are you going to pretend otherwise?” His thumb strokes its gentle path across your knuckles — lighting an incendiary course — your hand still placed firm at his chest. “Whatever your choice, however, know it has always been yours to make.”  

The muted, steady beats of his heart beneath your palm seem to thrum past the sensitive pads of your digits as they skim a line past his pectorals, and up your body, warming it from the inside out.   

You swallow against the surge of a nervous fever that takes you all at once; ploughing past that pluck of anxiety at your chest, to bet your entirety on the one gamble you’re about to make.   

“Come to think of it.” Pink tongue slinks past a mouth parched, to trek a slow path across your bottom lip, end to end; the intolerable burning intensity of Sylus’s scarlet gaze scouring each single motion, sending your light-headedness thrumming higher. “You haven’t truly won yet, have you, Sylus?”   

“What?” He exhales heavily. His breathing has quickened just a snick higher, you notice, underneath your feathering ministrations. You’re fascinated by how he sounds much short of breath in this one instant than he did throughout the entirety of that match. The fact sending a deluge of warm pride and desire threading through your heart.   

“A winner is only one when he has been crowned as such, and received his dues.” You clarify, shifting closer against him.   

Stretching up on the balls of your feet until you’re a mere hair’s breadth from his face. “You however, have yet to claim your prize.” Sweeping forward until your lips are skimming against his in a tentative, testing brush of kiss — your hammering thoughts of uncertainty, of whether he wants this too, swiped clean with the soft, guttural choke of sound that slips past Sylus’s lips at your brazen initiative. And before you can bask under the simmering warmth of what that sound does to you, Sylus is curving a large palm firm within the thread of your locks, wrenching your mouth back against his in a bruising, fervid kiss.  

Eager fingers skitter at the strength of his shoulders to ground yourself against the sudden, pleasurable onslaught just as he captures your waist within the ironed grip of an arm. Almost lifting you up entirely against him until you’re suspended barely at the tips of your toes.   

His grunts are warm against the inside of your mouth as his tongue skims past the easy access of your parted lips to taste you against himself. The wet muscle sliding against yours before he sucks it into his own mouth on an approving groan of desire.   

You're nearly nerveless by the time he parts from you on a wet stretch of sound, barely enough distance, his breath cascades hot against your damp lips with each guttural word, keying you higher. “This is getting a bit too dangerous, kitten. I suggest we stop here if you don’t wish to reach a point of no-return.”  

“No. No,” Your hands flit in fervent frenzy from the stretch of his shoulders to bunch into the thick silver weave of his hair. “We don’t ever need to stop. I want this, I want you, if you do too.” Your mouth descending back against his in the dizzy crush of lips and tongue, Sylus’s groans of pleasure you drink down against your own moan.  

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t desired you, sweetheart.” He whispers in harsh breaths into the pocket of space you allow him in between your kisses. “You’re the one who said it now. So, brace yourself.”   

A hand you skim down the thick length of his neck, grazing at the base of his hair to support yourself against the large arms that cage your waist to lift until he’s driving you both back against the wall of the narrow alleyway, shrouding you deeper into shadows.   

His kiss of gentle affection skids past the cut of your cheek, so at odds against the fierce brunt of his arousal you feel grinding into your belly. You buck against the touch just as Sylus eases you down, only enough you’re on your feet now; bodies still moulded tight against the shape of each other.   

His mouth continues its work of feathering kisses across the curve of your cheek, down the delicate line of your jaw. His hips stroking against yours in gentle motions, sending the roll of his hard length against your stomach each time he guides you against himself, having you squirm in roiling pleasure, helpless against the insistence of his mouth and pelvis. Meeting his body with yours in the reflexive buck of your hips against his.   

The elongated stretch of your skirt, sending a mild frisson of frustration through your nerves to feel the restriction of your movements against his. Groaning in soft defeat against Sylus’s mouth over yours, just as he cups a large hand about the angle of your pelvis. Caressing past the flare of your behind, rucking up the fabric within a tight fist to slide it, far too slow, up your legs.   

A final brush of temporary farewell he kisses against your drenched lips before he descends, unhurried, down the length of your body; scarlet gaze refusing to relent from yours for even a single measured moment of mercy. A thick palm he traces, appreciative, down the curves of you as he pitches on to his knees.   

Thumb warming its touch against the edge of a knee, your skirts bunched at the hand fastened about your leg as it caresses a slow, sensual path up higher. The glorious sight he is, down on his knees in between the willing split of your legs; undoing in its entirety — you shudder at the devastation he brings upon you when his fingers hone their target upon the cloth of your underwear at your hip. Skating a delicate path against the knot of it before his index slips underneath it to tug undone.   

Wresting your underwear away entirely on his next sharp tug before he sweeps the mortifyingly damp cloth away from your body and under his nose for a long, obscene inhale. “You smell sweet, kitten. So much of this pretty nectar, all for me... I admit I’m more than a little flattered.” The skew of his devious smirk pulls wider at your choked sound of pleasure to witness him swipe your underwear down against his back, and pocket into the satchel at his belt.   

“Sylus,” you reprimand half-heartedly, in distressed urgency.   

“The victor takes it all, does he not? These are my spoils to have now, kitten.” His large palms are back at the skin of your legs, skimming a dizzying, scorching path up the quiver of your thighs. “Just as you are, the treasure I snatched for myself.”  

“Let me indulge in my private feast, quietly now.” He baits in heated whispers, jaw falling open as he disappears in between the heavy folds of your skirt and — Heaven help you — the sound that scrapes raw past your throat to feel the tease of his broad tongue against your drenched slit, is unlike any you’ve ever heard before. The high-pitched squeal you cut off in the hasty wrench of your bottom lip into your mouth, heated desire clouding your swimming vision to tamp down your moans of arousal, lest any passers-by, just a few feet away from your shadowed alcove, spot the indecency of your display.   

Thoughts drifting into emptiness — musing absent at how self-conscious you’d been while Sylus had carried you within his arms all the way out here; fully clothed then. And yet, here you were now, with your skirts bunched high up against your pelvis with that very same man’s wonderful tongue shoved deep inside you.  

The hot pads of Sylus’s index and middle you feel skim against the tight bead of pleasure at your apex, just as the point of his tongue seeps in at your entrance, sending your hips stuttering into his steeled grip, fast at your pelvis.   

You clamp a palm shut tight against your tapering moans, unable to smother them within yourself any longer. The heated plumes of your own breath crowding back against you with each shivered moan Sylus forces out of you.  

His mouth brushes about the length of your folds, the bow of his upper lip bumping gentle at your tight bundle of nerves. Before he closes it within the searing heat of his mouth, sucking at your increasingly swollen flesh.   

Sylus draws at the drenched slick of you like a man intent on devouring you whole, the thought drives your pleasure higher along with the rising euphoria bubbling within your body. A curious thumb parts your inner folds wider to admit the broad of his tongue deep into your slit. Your walls spasming against the breach of it as your hips judder down against the strength of his jaw.  

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? You can keep up a little longer.” His smothered encouragement, the vibrations of his thick voice right against your slit send you tumbling higher upon that precipice of sweet release.   

The added, ruinous excitement of not being able to see him past the abundant frill of your skirts blazes you higher; the sole nervous anticipation of not knowing where he’d touch you next has you gushing on his tongue.   

A low, soft curse you hear spill guttural against your folds, vibrating straight up into your womb, “You’re practically weeping on my tongue, sweetheart. I like that.” Your answering moan you bury into a bite of your sleeve as you fold your arm about your face; a full body quiver long having taken you. You no longer hold control over yourself. “Grind down on my face, relax yourself. Yes, there’s my good girl now.”  

The praise having your walls grip hard at the fingers he’s worked into you now. Propelling them at an indolent, maddening pace into your depths.  

“Sylus,” you pant harshly, mind numbing into a crescendo. “I don’t — hah — can’t — much longer.” Begging for a release so, so close at hand.  

“Then don’t . Let yourself go.” His groans muted against the wet heat of you. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”   

The crook of his middle and ring fingers up into you has you spasming against the intrusive stretch of them. Opening you up deeper; the deft pads of them scrounge up a spot against your frontal walls that has your mouth flying open on a silent scream, head falling back against the unyielding brick of the alley as your fluttering insides clamp down violent against his adroit handling of you. “Right here, is it?” You think you hear his muted whispers spill throaty against the sensitive expanse of your thigh.   

Right at the junction of your hip as Sylus sinks a bite into the pliant flesh just as his thick fingers rub up against that same weak spot inside to have you disintegrating into senselessness right above him.  

You can’t fathom how he’s brought you to such complete devastation in just a few, nimble strokes of his tongue and fingers into you, against you. Never having been dragged this fast or good to the precipice by your own hand, let alone another’s. He’s away each layer of defence, piece by excruciating piece, having worked you open so thoroughly as if he knew your body like his own.  

Truly a man that sought relentless victory even in between the fall of your legs.   

And it is only when that pleasure point is one keyed far too high, with the incessant press of his third finger up into your walls, stretching you open — so incredibly full of just his digits alone — does your body fall. No longer capable of protecting yourself against the battering deluge of a release so consuming, your knees buckle underneath the hefty intensity of his ministrations.   

Sylus’s large hand, you feel warm about your rump, to curve its easy support about it, as he presses his face further into you. Waves upon waves of pleasure, drowning your keening cries against your well-abused bottom lip. A faint frisson of overstimulation stringing you higher to gain enough conscious thought back to catch his low, guttural growl searing harsh at your drenched folds, at the sensation of you gushing all over his tongue.  

You quiver in nerveless arousal to feel the fleeting brush of his kiss farewell against your slit before he rises, slow, onto his feet once more. Your body clenches in on instinctual need to catch sight of his face once more. The slick that glimmers obscenely copious across his mouth and down the strength of his jaw, the untamed, almost bestial intensity to that barely tamped heat within scarlet, as Sylus sweeps a careful thumb against your wetness has you unfurling trembling digits forward to snag around his neck, dragging him down against yourself.  

Consuming the ferocity of his kiss just as eagerly in the tongue you lap at his lips, slipping along the angle of his jaw; moaning softly at the taste of you that clings still to him. Restless fingers steal in between your bodies to reach for the arousal that strains delectable and intimidating against his trousers.  

Flittering your digits about the catch of them as you work them open enough along with the thick fingers that aid you to release him free for your hungry gaze. Your audible gasp of pleasure Sylus captures against the pad of his thumb edging just past the part of your lips.  

He’s incredibly blessed, bigger, girthier than any you’ve ever had before. The prospect of taking that thing inside your body simultaneously terrifies and excites you.  

Your dazed musings Sylus fractures in the cup of your jaw in between firm, gentle digits. “Nervous?”   

“...A bit,” you admit. Adding for good measure, “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”  An expectant hand you move to curve about the breadth of him to make your point — fingers barely able to cup entirely about him.  

Sylus’s laughter is a low, heavy burst of sound. “Don’t worry, kitten.” He reaches down to join his fingers against yours in languidly stroking the length of him. Coasting in close to your ear as he lays a kiss of dark, hoarse promise against it, “I’ll teach you to do more than just handle it.”  

Your pleased moan you throttle against his quick, vehement kiss as Sylus gathers the folds of your skirt up to bunch about your hips. Fitting himself into the space he makes, his arousal glancing hot against your outer labia; feeling him so close to where your body clenches in on tense anticipation.   

He withdraws from you on a wet slip of tongue, seizing your gaze within his. The firm fist he strokes at his length guiding the flared, slick head of him against your folds to lubricate in your wetness, bumping pleasant at your sensitive bead of nerves on each indolent stroke.  

You buck your hips up against his in an impatient scratch of throaty sound. Slipping the head of him so close against your slit, it almost makes you dizzy with need.  

You are not, however, prepared truly for the actual breach of him as he splits you open in pleasure so blinding, it streaks right against your tender bead and up deep into your belly. Sylus’s guttural groans brand hot against the crescent of your neck in overwhelmed desire, a muted swear swallowed into the bite of teeth he presses into it. “Relax yourself a little, kitten, you’ve gone too tight on me.”  

You try, you truly do as you smother past your burning need to scream, for breaths to claw into your lungs; he feels too much, too good all at once, your body incapable of doing much else except accepting the slow propulsion of him deeper into your walls.

He feels almost too much for you to handle, spearing you open so far around him you didn’t even think yourself capable of such a feat. And yet, the copious arousal that slicks in between your bodies, with the voracious clench of your walls around the hard strength of him, sucking him inside, speaks volumes. Of how you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being impaled upon his length.  

“More,” you pant; the slow thrusts of his hips up into yours sending your lashes flittering shut, in overwhelming euphoria and need. “I need more, Sylus.”  

He grunts in acknowledgment, large hands fixing hot fetters of flesh against either side of your pelvis as he thrusts into you, each swollen stroke of his arousal sending him impossibly deep, until you feel it may truly reach your womb.  

Sylus heaves himself closer into you, nearly pinning you against the wall with the sheer strength of his towering body, the heavy pumping of his hips into you, sending euphoria skating through your veins. Intoxicated on feeling the way he moves within you.  

A hand drifts up from your hip to grip at the flare of your waist beneath cloth as Sylus manoeuvres your body to thrust into you at an angle that drives him hard against your swollen spot of pleasure inside.   

Your hands fly in agonized frenzy to clutch at his arms, his shoulders as you grapple with the blinding pleasure he’s carving into your body. His head skews downward to catch the sensitive flesh of your neck in between the bite of restive teeth, a low moan wrenched free of your throat. His mouth strokes down the length of your skin until he teeths at the fastenings of your collar, wrenching violent at the buttons before he scatters them apart. Mouth engulfing the exposed slope of your clavicle in fervid groans.  

Your fingers skitter for purchase into the silver brush of hair at the base of his neck, tugging harsh with his increasingly heavy pace. A low whine clambering past your throat when his grip upon your body tightens once more in purpose, dragging his length to the near tip of him before he rams back into you on a guttural snarl so primal, it has you violently spasming about his thick shaft, your vision blanking in for a moment.  

Sylus’s face is a flood of savage bliss and heated concentration — the sight along with his pleasurably punishing thrusts into your walls — has your heart nearly trying to rip past the bruising beat of it at your breastbone. Hips meeting his in stuttering thrusts as your body bows up, sharp, toward him to chase a height of euphoria so in sight.  

“You’re moaning so loud, kitten.” His throaty chuckle stirs weighty into your belly. “Keep that up and you’ll draw us an audience.” Gnawing weakly at your bottom lip to instinctively tamp your sounds just as Sylus moves to drive into you on a particularly ruinous, deliberate thrust that has your legs buckling entirely underneath you.   

But he’s there to catch you, thick forearms cording about the feeble, trembling plush of your thighs before he hoists you up entirely onto him; his hushed chuckle drifting into guttural laughter. “Why try being quiet on your own when you can just make use what you have at your disposal?” His lips drive against yours in a vehement kiss of teeth and tongue, devouring you, just the way he is in between your legs. You let yourself go at last, moaning unabated into the searing warmth of his mouth, Sylus’s pace turning to near-frenzied rutting, with the sounds he wrenches from your bruised throat.  

He forces you deeper against the wall, spearing you helpless in between the cool stone at your back and the unforgiving intensity of his drilling thrusts pillaging your body. Golden deep pleasure roiling pleasant just beneath your skin, to push at the confines, until you feel like you could float out of it heavenward and never return to the ground.  

Your fevered gaze snags against the painted beads of your gifted charm about his neck, swinging vehement with the force of his propulsions. Drifting absent fingers against the worn orbs of the necklace, mushed mind admiring how truly lovely he looks like this for you; coupled along with that tight knit of concentrated pleasure, it makes you believe he truly is all yours to have. As if he belongs to you, with you.   

That sole, deranged thought sending arousal thrumming within, so blinding, your body quivers into the tight curve of a crescent, pressing hard against his chest, a peak so close, you can feel it stirring vicious into your belly. “You’re all mine to have, aren’t you? My great warrior,” you gasp against his mouth, trembling fingers sweeping for the broad strength of his shoulders as your nails drive in, harsh.

Sylus’s response; groaned heavy against your tongue, without hesitation. “You’ve always had me in my entirety, sweetheart.”  

Your body has wholly given up — a leaden weight — within his grasp, held together only by the strength of Sylus’s arms curving steeled grips about your thighs. Pounding into you with each fervid roll of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs — the profuse flow of your arousal sweltering in between your already burning bodies, the obscene squelch of it each time he withdraws from your walls only to drive back in with savage, terrifying accuracy, rutting himself so good against the spot inside that has you quivering uncontrollably around the length of him.  

Your combined sultry symphony so loud within your ears, drumming along with the thundering of your heart, you’re sure any passers-by crossing the mouth of the alley would be able to hear. Your cotton-fed mind so far gone, however, you’re no longer coherent enough to care about anyone hearing your claims upon each other’s bodies. So deeply entrenched in the sole existence of Sylus: his body, tongue, his bruising grip upon you, you love so much — scoring stinging crescents as your own signs of victory, across the broad strength of his shoulders, down the firm muscle of his arms, serving to drive him only harder into you until he’s knocking half-screams out of your throat. Swallowing them up against the hungry sweep of his tongue.  

Sylus’s thrusts into your body have turned erratic, his guttural moans heating your skin into a blazing furnace. You’re so close to release, you can feel the heavy crest of its deluge approaching — golden and ruinous.  

His grip upon the flare of your hip shifts, pressing you impossibly deeper against him, the new angle driving the length of him against your sensitive bundle of nerves on each hammering thrust. “A-Almost—” Gasping a breathless warning.  

Hurtling you so high; the frenzied pump of his hips into yours, the constant stimulation at your swollen bead sending your walls spasming so violent, you feel Sylus loose a long, guttural groan deep into your mouth. You tumble off the precipice of release just as you feel the first thick spurts of his seed searing fire against your sensitized walls; Sylus’s sultry growls keying your frenzied release so high your fingers scrape across the back of his neck to tug him harsh against your mouth. Sinking your quivering, heated desires into a vehement bite at his chest, Sylus’s digits weaving tight into your hair at the back of your head, to hold you there.  

His thundering pulse you moan against in appreciation, laving absent to soothe the reddening bite at his skin, as your body convulses with the still flowing spurts of his release, stroking at the intoxicating fever of your prolonged orgasm, filling you to the brim and over; the warmth of it you feel drip past your folds and onto his sturdy thighs.  

Taking several, long much needed moments to compose yourself as your sweat-slick face falls, nerveless, to press your cheek against the damp expanse of his chest, body still suspended firm upon the corded strength of his arms, his cock nestled snug and thick within you.  

You claw a much-needed gulp of air past a throat, long sore. “...I fear you may have to carry me here on out, as well, Sylus, because I certainly can’t move an inch right now.”  

His amused chuckle drifts warm against the top of your head. “While joined together just like this?” He teases softly. “You may truly pass out of sheer embarrassment this time if I do, kitten.”  

“Doesn’t matter,” you quip right back, half-hearted, canting a languid gaze up his way. “I think I’ll be long knocked out before any pesky shame kicks in, from how good this — you were.”  

You feel Sylus’s length twitch within your walls at your words, groaning quietly at the growing strain of his arousal, back to half-mast already. Truly, was there a limit to the man’s enduring stores of stamina?  

But perhaps, the real question was of your own insatiable appetite too, when it came to him, as you were only newly discovering — your wrecked body responding in the muted burn of arousal, kindling into slow fire within your belly, clenching weakly at him.  

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Sylus’s skewed grin tucks against your ear as he nuzzles at your cheek.  “I’ll carry you out of here in my arms, as you wish, without the additional parade of our naked bodies. In return,” A kiss he feathers, against the angle of your cheekbone. “Come home with me.”  He asks of you, softly.

You bury your approval in the nudge of your nose against him, catching his lips against yours in a gentle, chaste kiss, “Sounds like a done deal to me, my handsome warrior.”  

End Notes: Thank you for reading! This was a very fun indulgence and I hope everyone who bagged Sylus’ card enjoyed his soft card story.

Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @Cas-tiel13 , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas , @ladyparamount

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[barbiewritesstuff]

Banished

-- Cyclone angsty fluff? Be warned, this is long.

Tw. Arguments? Cyclone being an unappreciative fucking prick? Prayer, I guess? A little implied smut at the end.

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2 --

You had banished him to the sofa. His sofa, that he had bought with his Vice Admiral salary. Granted, you had insisted on the new sofa after the children had wrecked the last one. You had also chosen the new couch and you were ensuring the upkeep of it. Of the whole house, really. So, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to call it HIS sofa, but calling it OUR sofa didn’t have the same effect of calming his outrage.

    Just like admitting it had been his fault in the first place. 

    Beau knew he’d fucked up as soon as the words left his stupid mouth. “You could have had dinner ready”, who the fuck said that to his wife when he knew damn well that she’s been ferrying his children around all day despite having a migraine. You had even found the time and energy to clean. But he had had a shit day at work and Maverick had been an absolute pain. He was high strung, he knew he was going to snap and instead of being a decent person and leaving early to take it out at the gym he had inspected his perfect home and cleaned and cared for children trying to find anything to shit on. He hated himself for it now.

“I was thinking we could order pizza” You had said from your seat at the dining room table. The boys were tidying up their homework. You had both hands to your head, rubbing your temples to hopefully relieve some pain. 

“You could have had dinner ready” He had snapped

Your face had fallen in shock, your eyes wide as plates and your mouth agape. His son had winced when he had said it. Matthew was fifteen and even he had been able to understand that that was not something his father should have said to the woman who had borne five of his children, especially, when he knew she’d have the decency not to fight back in front of the kids. 

Worst was, he’d had enough sense to bite back the next sentence (“It’s the least you could do when I work hard all day for you to stay home”), but he was sure he had thought it hard enough that you knew exactly what he had meant to follow up with. 

He hated that you had been so graceful about it too. You had stood up from your chair and marched towards the phone where you had promptly called the nearest pizza place and placed an order for four large pizzas and sent the oldest to get some cokes and a movie from the shop before planting the rest of the kids in front of a board game and sending him off for a shower. 

“Are you okay, Mama? That was out of line” He’d heard Matthew say as he left. Beau had wanted to come right back down and apologise but his feet wouldn’t let him. They carried him up the stairs and into the bedroom where he shed his clothes onto the floor, promising himself he would pick them up after the shower. He took a long shower, by the time he came out he felt better and the smell of pizza filled the house. Beau stepped out and realised, much to his horror, that his clothes had already been picked up and dropped into the laundry bag. 

What was wrong with him today?

Why were you so nice?

He had gone down to the living room to find you plating up the pizza and pouring coke. A pang of guilt surged through him. You had gathered them all around the coffee table. 

The coffee table.

There was a rule about eating on the coffee table: It can only be done when there is company. The damn table was glass, plates would scratch it and yet, you were breaking your own rule as he watched. One of the little ones scraped his plate against the shiny surface of the glass and you didn’t wince. 

Oh, this was bad.

“Honey, can I have a word?” He asked

“Are you going to be mean again?” Matthew said before you could answer. You didn’t even react. Shit. 

Still, you followed him to the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that, you know I don’t mean that. How can I make it up to you?”

“You’re sleeping on the couch.” You replied in an ice cold tone “And I’m going to bed. My head hurts. Don’t forget their prayers before bed, and brush their teeth. Oh, and Beau? Good luck dealing with them and the sugar rush, have fun.” 

You left him with a wink and climbed up to bed after kissing the children goodnight. 

It had been a fucking nightmare.

    How did you do this all day?

Matthew and Peter, the eldest two, weren’t affected by the sugar but they were determined to make his life hell nonetheless. The three younger ones, however, were bouncing off the walls twenty minutes after their first glass. He had been stuck watching Paw Patrol reruns until bedtime after their original movie had finished and Beau felt like he was going mental. 

And Paw Patrol had been a compromise… His daughters’ original idea was to binge watch Peppa Pig. He hated Peppa Pig. He would have been happy turning her into strips of bacon. But telling that to three year olds was a recipe for tears. He had already been an asshole to you, he didn’t need to make his daughters cry too. 

“It’s nine” Matthew said, shaking him from the children’s cartoon induced trance he had fallen in. It had taken a second to realise what that meant. Bedtime. The worst time of his day. Getting the boys on base to do what was needed was a damn challenge, getting Maverick to listen to anything he said was an art he had yet to master, but bedtime was a nigh on impossible task. Mary, Martha and Joanna were running laps around the couch. One of them had somehow found a marker in the space of a blink and she had already drawn on the walls. Martha tripped and fell, hysterically crying for Mama and inconsolable when it was Dad who showed up to help instead. Mary demanded more cartoons and declared she hated him when he refused, and Joanna disappeared off somewhere and came back three minutes later having coloured the damn dog pink (“Nana’s doggie is pretty now, Dad”) and instead of taking pity on their father, the two eldest stayed on their phone, basking in their Dad’s helplessness. 

“They’re usually not like that with Mama” Peter had dared to say, smirk plastered on his face

“Bed. Both of you” Cyclone had uttered through gritted teeth. 

They had walked off to their bedrooms, stifling laughs.

There was truth to what Peter had said, though, no amount of sugar would have the girls behaving like that with you. They would have just demanded an extra story and had a hard time falling asleep. 

He finally herded the triplets to bed after brushing their teeth. They had bit him, and for that he removed the bedtime story. All that was left was to kneel them at the foot of the bed after putting on their matching Care Bear pyjamas and say their prayers. 

“Father, we thank thee for the night,

And for the pleasant morning light;

For rest and food and loving care,

And all that makes the day so fair.

Help us to do the things we should,

To be to others kind and good;

In all we do, in work or play,

To grow more loving every day.”

 

At least he knew how to do this bit. He did this every evening when he was away. Keen to get back to their sense of normalcy, the girls calmed down quickly after that. He kissed their foreheads and flicked off the light.

“Night night Daddy '' One of them muttered before dozing off.

Beau made his way to the living room. It was wrecked. His brain grappled onto something to make the guilt go away and it landed on his banishment to the couch. 

“Mama says goodnight to us too, usually” One of the boys said from behind him. 

They were both leaning on the doorframe with scowls on their faces. 

“I’m sorry” Beau sighed “Good night, boys”

How could he be so bad at this?

They didn’t move.

“She does a lot” Peter said

“I know”

“Do you, though?” His oldest asked

Beau stayed silent

“Do you need help cleaning up?” Matthew eventually asked, after a minute of loaded silence.

“I think I do”

“Okay.” Matthew said “But we’re not doing this for you, we’re doing this for her”

He nodded. 

The boys moved with efficiency he had never seen. Peter grabbed the broom and dustpan, Matthew fetched a bin bag and immediately started filling it with wrappers, sauce packets and pizza boxes.

“It’s quicker that way, you’ll just sort through it when you do the recycling later.” 

    Beau wasn’t sure how he felt about being assigned tasks by a fifteen year old, but his wounded pride soon gave way to the trust that Matthew and Peter knew what they were doing. While they fussed with the trash and the floor, Cyclone busied himself with the walls. He knew you kept some special cleaning product for that exact purpose under the sink and after ten minutes of looking, he found the magic eraser. It scrubbed the marker straight off. 

They mopped, dishwashed, and laundered everything else until the living room was suitably clean. The boys went to bed with a hug and soon Beau was alone to deal with the pink Cavapoo. After an hour, the poor boy still hadn’t returned to his original shade and Beau was dreading having to explain to his mother why her prize winning purebred dog wouldn’t be able to compete this year. He had washed off the shampoo he had lathered the dog with when a little voice spoke up behind him.

“Daddy, I can’t sleep.” Martha said “Can I have a story”

“No. I’m sorry, but you hurt me earlier when I brushed your teeth”

“It wasn’t on purpose”

Beau sincerely doubted that.

“Tell you what, I’ll tell you a story if you help daddy with something. Can you tell me what Mama’s favourite flowers are?”

“She likes the ones from Beauty and the Beast.”

He nodded. 

“Do you know what she eats for breakfast?”

God, he despised himself for having to ask it. 

How long had he been so distant from his family that he couldn’t tell what his wife had for breakfast? 

He knew what you used to have when you started dating, because that was back when he still cooked for you. You used to have an egg, sunny side up, on an english muffin, with two bacon rashers, a tall glass of orange juice and a black tea with milk. But since then you had developed an aversion to eggs, orange juice had become too sweet, and you drank coffee more often than tea. At least he knew what the children had for breakfast, he thought, but that was because he shared a quickly diminishing box of cereal with them. 

“Mama doesn’t really have time for breakfast”

“No?”

“She likes pancakes, I think” Martha said “And coffee, with milk” 

He nodded, making a mental note of it.

“Mama says pancakes are better if you make the batter beforehand” 

She twirled her foot a little. Beau recognised a hint when he saw one. He dried the dog and then himself before picking her up and fetching her sisters, whom he found playing quietly. 

As silently as possible, they scoured through the drawers to find your recipe book. When they did, they were horrified to find that you had a list of ingredients and absolutely no method. After a minute of asking the girls what to do, he decided to just dump everything in a bowl and hope for the best. A small chicken-scratchy note in Matthew’s handwriting told him the batter needed to rest for at least five hours. 

Once he was alone again, he turned on his phone again and warned Warlock he wouldn’t be going to work the next day, citing a mystery bug. The other man replied ‘OK’ to his text and Beau could feel him practically cheering on the other side of the line. 

    He had the children showered and ready for when you walked down the stairs. The kitchen table had been dressed and a nice stack of pancakes waited for you on your plate. A gorgeous bouquet of blooming red roses waited for you too.

    “Did the boys help you clean up?” You asked, pulling back your chair to sit down. 

    He was relieved to see you seemed to have shaken the migraine and your smile had returned to your face.

    “Nope, he did it all on his own” Matthew lied

    You all sat down to eat. The pancakes were delicious and the coffee was too (although slightly too milky for your taste, but you weren’t going to complain). Soon the children were off to school, herded by the oldest boys and Beau could catch a moment alone with you.

    “I’m sorry. I was an ass”

    “You were an unappreciative, disrespectful and horribly rude ass” You reply

    “I was”

    “And you’re late to work”   

    “I called and said I couldn’t come” He explained “I wanted to spend some time with you. And show you how appreciative I can be” He winked

    You had hoped to have slightly more will-power, maybe to discuss the fact that this better not be temporary and that he needed to show up more for the family, but that all flew out of the window the second he dropped to his knees and tugged on the band of your pyjamas. 

    You smiled

    “That tongue of your gets you into trouble, but goodness gracious is it good at getting you out of it too” You sighed

[gffa]

Last time I went about five months between doing a set of STAR WARS fic recs, this time it’s only been three months! Hurrah! It helps that, as always, this fandom puts out an incredible amount of excellent fic, so I feel like I’m never hurting for fics I want to yell about and shove at people, which is something I continue to appreciate as it often feels like so much of the world is such a huge tire fire. It helps to be able to find fics to retreat into, to have fun with, to express joy and creativity with, and so many of the authors in this fandom are just so good at this! To the point that these sets sometimes take awhile because there are always more fics I want to add, until the post starts threatening to be overly long instead of a decent length–in my defense, no seriously, you guys are just too good! Also, I forced myself to stop at 69 fic recs, because yes I do think it’s funny. (Nice.) STAR WARS FIC RECS: PREQUELS RECS: ✦ a comedy in four acts by jesuisdeux, obi-wan & dooku & yoda & qui-gon & cast, time travel, 4k    This was what time-travel is: staring at the dark sockets of skulls everywhere your gaze lands on. Being haunted by ghosts long gone. The apprehension of the slow yet sure approach of the inevitable which is sending chills down your spine. ✦ No Rest for the Weary by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & jedi & ocs, 61k    Needing a break from life at the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, visit a Jedi AgriCorps settlement on the Midrim planet of Helia. There they encounter new friends, new enemies and have new adventures, all while attempting to navigate their sometimes turbulent relationship as Master and Padawan. ✦ Stars of Tatooine by Be_Right_Back, ahsoka & kanan & mace & rex & obi-wan & cast, 10.5k    After the end of the world, Ahsoka more or less kidnaps a child, has to air some old grievances, and tries to find whatever peace the universe can still offer. All paths in the Force lead home, eventually. ✦ Festival of Light by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, 8.7k    During his first year at the Jedi Temple, Anakin learns that even the Jedi celebrate holidays. ✦ the master, the padawan, the Force by skatzaa, depa & caleb, 1.4k    Caleb expects things to be different after Master Depa takes him as her padawan, but really, it feels like nothing really changes. ✦ desecrate my lungs by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & cast, 16k wip    Time-travel fix-it in which Mustafar haunts Anakin decades after it happened and years before it would. ✦ Grace by dismantlingsummer, obi-wan & anakin, 2.3k    Shortly after Mustafar, Anakin realizes what he has done. He finds Obi-Wan to beg for death. ✦ Fifth Migration by wrennette, yoda & mace & obi-wan & ki-adi & yarael & coleman & plo & palpatine & cast, 2k    How about an AU where the Sith’s Grand Plan accounted for everything -everything that is, except the fact that the Jedi temple is actually an very ancient spacecraft and the second word got to the Jedi about there being clones on Kamino, all Jedi are called back inside and they take off immediately? Just imagine the dear chancellor’s face… ✦ fill pages with scribbled ink by magneticwave, obi-wan/padme & sabe & mace & quinlan & cast, 9.8k    A year after the Invasion of Naboo, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is invited by Queen Amidala to return to Naboo and participate in a rite known as the Night of Fireflies. Things kind of snowball from there. ✦ Mind Your Words by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin, spanking, 7k    Obi-Wan reminds Anakin that there are consequences for careless behavior for young Jedi on missions. ✦ (you taught me) the courage of stars by grumpyhedgehogs, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 5.1k wip    Ahsoka Tano flees after a warrant for her arrest is issued, but not before receiving aid from an unexpected ally. (Ahsoka proceeds to go on a road trip filled with a bunch of strangers who all say the same thing: Obi-Wan Kenobi is much more than he has ever appeared to be.) ✦ they faked it (guess everything’s complicated) by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 4.5k    Ahsoka temporarily loses memories of the events of Obi-Wan’s fake death. To help with the healing process, Anakin and Obi-Wan have to pretend that they’re okay. ✦ programed to dream by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, body horror, 1.3k    The spaceship Comet-rider is the fastest, most efficient vessel in the galaxy, and is crewed by Separatist-funded pirates. Anakin Skywalker is missing. Unfortunately, these two things are connected. ✦ Unpleasant Truths by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k    Obi-Wan and Anakin are stuck in a room with one another while waiting for truth serum to wear off. ✦ moment’s silence by skatzaa, obi-wan & owen & beru & luke & leia (pre-obi-wan/beru-owen), 2k    Owen had long since resigned himself to trouble, whenever Beru got that particularly stubborn set to her jaw. ✦ hold gently and let go by shatou, obi-wan & anakin (pre-slash?), 1.7k    A troubled Anakin comes to Obi-Wan to discuss attachments. ✦ sun child by Ro29, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k    (or; sometimes being so tied to the Force causes problems, Obi-Wan helps his Padawan as best he can) ✦ A Dinner Out by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & cast, 1.6k    Obi-Wan can’t get his young Padawan to eat much, so he tries something new. But trying something different has unintended consequences. ✦ Shades in the Desert by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & luke & owen/beru, 10.8k    Not even from a certain point of view did Darth Vader kill Anakin Skywalker. He wished he did, but the specter of the Jedi’s light escaped before he could finalize his fall to the dark. Meanwhile, Anakin is raising his son on Tatooine. ✦ somewhere along in the bitterness by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, major character death, 3.8k    It was probably the twelfth day floating alone in space that Obi-Wan and Anakin realized no one was coming for them. ✦ Songs for Little Jedi by soft_but_gremlin, mace & younglings, ~1k    The initiates are having nightmares, so Mace sings a lullaby to comfort them. ✦ atmosphere level by softredscrunchie, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon, 1k    As a joke, Satine tells Obi-Wan she thinks Mandalore is flat. He doesn’t take it well. ✦ on sith holocrons and misunderstandings by billowypants, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & cast, de-aged!obi-wan, 7.2k    or, de-aged!Obi-Wan has the same Force bonds as adult Obi-Wan, and he does not react well. ✦ Perseverance & Resilience by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin, 1.1k    In the aftermath of Naboo, Obi-Wan realizes he needs strength to protect his new Padawan. Growing up, Anakin needs peace. ✦ A Delicate Balance by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & yoda & jedi, spanking, 9.6k    As Anakin’s skills grow, so too does his penchant for getting into trouble. After a training mishap, Obi-Wan struggles with his role as Anakin’s master. ✦ mirror, mirror by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, 5.4k    Obi-Wan has been rescued by Anakin after being rather embarrassingly kidnapped on the remote planet of Ilnuria during his investigation of rumored kyber crystals deep beneath the planet’s surface. …But is all as it seems? ✦ Mace Windu Appreciation Week by Redminibike1, mace & obi-wan & anakin & ponds & cody & jedi & cast, 12.5k    Set of unconnected ficlets for Mace Windu Appreciation Week, because he deserves it :) ✦ begin again as a quiet thought by skatzaa, obi-wan/quinlan, d/s, ~1k    Cool, smooth leather touched his jaw—gloves. Because of course Obi-Wan had thought of that as well. ✦ Drunken Lullabies by Siri_Kenobi12, obi-wan & anakin & siri & quinlan & aayla & garen & bant & ferus, 6.5k    “Do I really have to go to this thing?” Fourteen year old Anakin Skywalker dramatically sighed. “It’s sooo boring!” ✦ heaven knows how I love you by the_13th_battalion, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.2k    Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka are stranded on an unfamiliar planet overnight. They spend their time exploring the community- and maybe they get a little closer to each other along the way. ✦ A Reckless Padawan by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, spanking, 3.9k    When Ahsoka upsets Anakin with an act of reckless disobedience, it falls to her grandmaster to help her see the error of her ways. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Too Hot by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.8k    Too Hot: A game where two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, that player loses. The winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser. ✦ Nostos by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin & padme, NSFW, 17k    Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin discover that there are many ways to come home. ✦ to touch the light, darkest by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.9k    Obi-Wan begins to fuck Vader back to the light ✦ encode by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & padme & handmaidens & cast, 26.3k wip    Instead of being accepted into the Jedi Order at the age of 9, Anakin Skywalker became a ward of Naboo. ✦ Hunting the Homeward Light by GreenQueenofClubs, obi-wan/anakin & mace & ahsoka & shmi & padme & cast, 31.9k wip    When Anakin Skywalker was nine, he left his whole life and mother behind to follow Qui-Gon Jinn to Coruscant and the Jedi Temple. When Anakin Skywalker was twelve, he left his whole life and Master behind to follow Mace Windu to the Outer Rim and away from the Jedi Order. When Anakin Skywalker was twenty… ✦ use my body to break your fall by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 44.7k wip    Obi-Wan Kenobi is too good at being a Sith Lord general of the Separatist army. The Jedi Council approaches Anakin with an offer he can’t refuse. These things are, actually, related. ✦ Over and Over by obiwanobi, obi-wan/anakin, 1.4k    “I love you,” he blurts out, loud and impossible to miss. Obi-Wan blinks once, twice. And freezes. The first time Anakin tells him is a mortifying experience. ✦ Exceptions by rinverse, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & mace & quinlan & cast, NSFW, modern au, 23.4k    Young and brilliant, Anakin is the mind behind JEDI Tech’s latest innovation. Obi-Wan is the company’s perfectly composed Director of PR & Marketing. And last night, they were just two strangers at a bar, looking for something quick and easy. But life had other plans when it crossed their paths again the very next day. ✦ Here There Be Dragons by Ghost_Owl, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, 10.1k    Anakin knows why he can’t shift into his animal form like every other Jedi. It’s because he doesn’t want to, it’s because he’s had a vision of what he would become, and he doesn’t want it. ✦ Waiting in a Sea of Stars by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan/anakin, ~1k    Stranded in deep space, Obi-Wan and Anakin wait for rescue. ✦ Tristitia by JSwander, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 5k    An alternate timeline where Palpatine focuses his attentions on Obi-Wan Kenobi instead of Anakin Skywalker after the attack on Naboo. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 11: Communication, What Communication? by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, mobster au, 7k    a 7k obikin PWP that is somehow a prompt mashup of a mobster au, an accidental sugar daddy au, with a soupçon of an anakin never left tatooine au, and a pinch of qui-gon was anakin’s dad au ✦ who a person truly is cannot be seen with the eye by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, spanking, 3.6k    Anakin purposely avoids doing what Obi-Wan tells him to do. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 12: Potidaea, 432BC, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, historical au, 4.3k    Here is a short smutty scene inspired by all those classics asks, Alcibiades praising Socrates in Plato’s Symposium, and this vase c.490-480 B.C. depicting standing, face-to-face intercrural intercourse between a bearded man and a youth, which as far as we can tell was the most common and accepted position for it in Ancient Greece. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 13: Minikin and Tiny-Wan by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 5.4k    Happy May the Fourth! In honor of this happy day, I have written the fluffiest, crackiest, vanilla-flavored smut imaginable. Based on long discussions on discord with tomicaleto about her adorable Tiny AU. ✦ to hold until brightness by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.4k    Obi-Wan feared that it drew out the darkest in him, to bring Vader to these flashes of light, but it was a trade he would make again and again without hesitation. ✦ May Be Found, If Sought by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan/anakin & mace & quinlan, magical academy au, 2.3k    In which Quinlan, Mace, and Obi-Wan teach Non-Traditional Magical Philosophy in an institution rampant with academic snobbery and discrimination, something dark is stirring in the nearby forest, and no one is ever prepared for Anakin Skywalker. A small story about first meetings in magical academia. ✦ infinitely varied by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 2.2k    Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. ✦ recipe for disaster by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 9.8k    When Ahsoka tells Anakin she doesn’t want to learn piano anymore, Anakin is heartbroken. He doesn’t care about the instrument, obviously, but he’s practically in love with her teacher. Obi-Wan offers up a solution to their impending separation, and it’s not dating like any normal person would suggest. Instead, he’s gonna teach Anakin how to cook. Except Anakin’s a pretty well-known chef, and Obi-Wan is absolutely awful in the kitchen. ✦ Pretty Kitty by GayCheerios, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.2k    “Master, you always take such good care of me,” Anakin says, a little chirp coming after his sentence, as his thumb rests on Anakin’s plump bottom lip. ✦ As One, Into Eternity by Pseudonymoose, obi-wan/anakin, force ghosts, 3.1k    Death comes, but the man who was, and is, and will be Anakin Skywalker is not gone. And in the Force, he will never be alone again. ✦ does he make you laugh? by y0u_idjits, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, fusion fic, 3.6k    “Tell me it’s not about screwing the guy who’s screwing your husband.” ✦ Rotten Work by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, 2.8k    Obi-Wan: I’ll take care of you. Anakin, with bloodshot eyes and a broken back from hours of terrible posture: It’s rotten work. Obi-Wan, who needs to bathe this man for his own sanity and health: Not to me. Not if it’s you. ✦ afterimages by shatou, obi-wan/anakin, 1.3k    Mustafar is nothing but a bad dream. ✦ understanding is honoring the truth beneath the surface by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, 7.3k    Anakin asks Obi-Wan to take control. ✦ The strongest stars… by Tomicaleto, obi-wan/anakin & beru & cast, NSFW, 7.4k    The war’s end seems to be close, with everyone looking forward to it. And when Anakin is doubting himself the most, an unexpected visit arrives at the Temple. ✦ home has a heartbeat by izazov, obi-wan/anakin, 5.6k    Or: Anakin and Obi-Wan are together, but there are still some things left unsaid between them. ✦ turn back now (i’m haunted) by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & padme & quinlan & ahsoka & cast, modern au, ghosts au, 25k wip    Anakin Skywalker’s house is haunted. Luckily for him, Padmé knows a ghost hunter. Unluckily for him, it’s the hottest, most english-professor ghost hunter he’s ever seen. And extremely unluckily for him, he’s starting to get the feeling he understands maybe ten percent of what’s actually going on here, not to mention what’s at stake. ✦ game plan by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 11.2k    Or, Vader keeps capturing Obi-Wan during the Wars. Obi-Wan keeps escaping. It’s kind of a thing. ✦ Provocation by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.9k    Or: Obi-Wan and Anakin attempt to navigate their complicated relationship with barbed words and wilful ignorance. It wasn’t going well. ✦ Languages by Crowgirl, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 6.5k    So Anakin pulls out a map and makes a list. REBELS RECS: ✦ The Scent of You by ambiguously, kanan/hera & cast, a smidge of nsfw, 2.9k    Everything changes after Malachor, and Kanan has trouble finding his balance. ✦ Heard It in a Love Song (Can’t Be Wrong) by ambiguously, zeb/kallus, 2.7k    Kallus can’t quite figure out what makes Zeb tick, but he keeps trying. ORIGINAL TRILOGY/MANDALORIAN RECS: ✦ A Discussion of Choices by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & mace, 2k    Mace Windu has traveled the galaxy since the fall of the Republic, keeping out of the Empire’s sight and teaching where he can. Upon the request of a ghost of an old friend, Mace finds himself instructing Luke Skywalker, who is still reeling from the truth of Vader’s identity. ✦ staring down the barrel of the hot sun by magneticwave, luke/din & obi-wan & grogu & mace & cast, 25.7k    “Gone to a Child of the Watch, the Darksaber has,” Grand Master Yoda announces in his creaky little voice. “Peace, there is not, and yet peace, there must be.” ✦ Released by Peppermint_Shamrock, cody & rex & luke & cast, 6k    Nearly two and a half decades late, Cody’s chip is finally removed. Adjusting to having his mind returned to him after so long takes time, and Cody struggles with questions of his purpose of the past, present, and future. Fortunately, he does not have to struggle alone. ✦ A Tatooine Rainstorm by skatzaa, leia & luke & shmi, 1.7k    Leia meets a ghost. ✦ Dealing with the Darksaber by Peppermint_Shamrock, din & bo-katan & cara, 1.3k    After her recovery, Bo-Katan contacts Din to challenge him for the darksaber. Din is still very much not interested in the whole affair. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE

[mandoalorian]

Aren't you Resourceful? [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Rating: 18+ only.

Warnings: SMUT, degradation, dom/sub dynamic, oral (both m receiving and f receiving), choking, praising, name calling, fingering, it's soft at the end i promise… because no matter what, i’m a sucker for soft! Maxwell.

Author's note: If you see me shamelessly use his quotes from trailers and promos and put them in a sexual context… no you do not. ❤️ (because, spoiler alert, I did that more than once in this fic.)

Word count: 3k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

Masterlist

"Well, aren't you resourceful?" he mocked bitterly, his tone dripping with annoyance and sarcasm. You shuddered at the sudden roughness in his voice, the edge of it making you fearful and timid.

"Mr Lord, I- I'm sorry. I guess I just got confused." you found yourself babbling, nervously crossing your arms over your chest as he glared into your eyes. They were normally a shade of honeyed brown but now, they were much, much darker. Everything about him in the moment seemed darker. His eyelids were heavy, a scowl painted across his face and his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white.

"Confused? How could you get confused?" he gritted out, causing a small yelp to escape your lips.

"I- I guess I must've sent out the wrong reports." You bit your lip, looking at your boss apologetically.

"What other fucking reports could you have sent out?" He spat. "What the hell did you send them?"

He was mad. He was very, very angry. You were new, but you had certainly heard horror stories about your boss. You weren't even his assistant, just his receptionist, stationed at a desk outside of his office. You dealt with his visitors and passed along any phone calls for him… but he was the one who had tasked you with a job suited for an assistant. You weren't used to it, it was probable you'd make a mistake. Technically, it wasn't your fault.

And Maxwell knew this. In fact, he half expected you to fuck it up— and now that you had, his plan was in order. Everything was working out. The mild inconvenience over the wrong reports being sent out really wasn't that big of a deal, but he loved seeing how small your frame got when he shouted at you. He admired your comically wide eyes and hunched up shoulders as he talked down to you, and he wasn't going to stop there.

The truth is, Maxwell had his eye on you since you got the job. You were young, fresh faced and bright eyed— unqualified with no experience. It turned a few heads in the office as Maxwell always made sure his employees were the best of the best. You, however, didn't have a superiority complex unlike your peers. You were devastatingly different and Maxwell craved you, perhaps just as much as you craved him.

You thought about him every second of your working day. There was just a wall between you both, and you constantly daydreamed about what it would be like just walk in and sit on his lap. You imagined grinding on him, moaning his name and letting him massage your breasts as you gave him the best ride of his life. Your fantasies were sick, but they didn't stop there.

You'd go home every night to your small, shanky apartment downtown and tune into one of his longer infomercials. He had one broadcast at six o’ clock every evening. You'd discard your panties and sit on the sofa with your legs open, watching him with intent as you touched yourself and imagined your own fingers were his.

"Mr Lord- uhm, sir, please," you fumbled, dragging your feet towards the double doors that led out of his office. "Let me check my desk." his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you from leaving his office. Your heart began to race as his fingers curled around you and moved you away from the door.

"Stand over there," he ordered, gesturing aimlessly towards the large bay windows that overlooked the city. He turned back around and locked the door, the clicking noise sending a shiver down your spine. "You… you keep making these mistakes." he began to approach you, stalking towards you with a primal glint in his eye.

"I-, I'm sorry?" you swallowed as he neared you. Maxwell placed two firm hands on your shoulders and pushed you backwards into the window, the coolness of the glass stinging your exposed skin.

"Why?" he beckoned, his fingers curling and pushing your chin up so you were looking at him. You were speechless, your lips parted slightly as you looked up into his eyes. His own gaze travelled across your face and then down your neck, admiring how long and pretty it was… especially as he pointed your chin upwards. He tutted in disapproval when you didn't give him a response. "You're expensive, you know," he muttered. "But there's a reason I keep you around."

You gulped as his hands travelled down to your chest, his fingers beginning to tug at your collar and undo the buttons of your blouse. "Why?" you asked, your gaze not diverting from his once and a sudden rush of confidence jolting through your system.

"Why?" Maxwell repeated, his voice low and sinister. "High heels.. tight pencil skirt… Your blouse makes your tits look fantastic. I know you dress like this to get my attention. I know that's why you visit my office every single day, and you tend to linger in my doorway so I can get a nice look at your ass."

You let out an embarrassing squeak at his words. He really had caught you out. You had done all these things for him, desperate to try and win his attention.

"Let me lift up your skirt. I know how hard you try to tease me, how you wear your skirts shorter and shorter everyday," Maxwell continued, peeling up your pencil skirt so it was rolled up around your tummy. "Wow, such naughty panties for such a shy girl." Maxwell chuckled in surprise, his fingers gracing the lace of your blood red panties. You hummed as they rolled over your lips. "You're already soaking wet." he gasped. "Why don't you take your clothes off and lay down on my desk like a good girl?" Maxwell asked.

You obeyed without hesitation, stripping down until you were completely naked. Maxwell gawked at you, feeling his cock harden in his constricted pants as you padded over to his desk. You made yourself as comfortable as you could, despite the coolness of the expensive oak sending a shiver down your spine. "Now, open your legs and let me see your pussy." You exhaled, nervously spreading your legs open for your boss to examine. "Oh," he mumbled, leaning over to gain a closer inspection. "So pretty."

You felt his breath fan over your cunt, the arousal heading straight to your core. You fluttered your eyes closed as he continued to whisper jumbled up dirty talk about how ravishing you looked. Then, to your surprise, you felt the curve of his nose nudge against your clit as he licked a stripe between your folds. You gasped at the sensation, your toes curling and your fingers clenching into a fist due to the suddenity of it. "You like that don't you?" Maxwell chuckled, continuing to give you little cat licks. "Mm, sweet girl." he praised, latching his lips on your sensitive bud and beginning to suck. His groans of pleasure vibrated through your body and it wasn't long before your orgasm washed over you. He pulled away, his lips puckered and dark pink, as well as his eyes practically black from arousal. "Can I touch you?" he asked softly, and you nodded your head desperately.

Max began to circle your clit, humming in contentment as you squirmed underneath him. "Shh, sit still darling," he muttered lowly, pressing his body on top of yours and grazing his teeth over your jaw. "What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me."

"You." you breathed out, shuddering as his movements on your clit began to get faster. Fuck, he was good. "I want you." you re-affirmed, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," he chuckled darkly. "I know you're shy, princess, but this is just between me and you. Tell me what you fucking want." He growled, the change between his gentle sweet voice and the angry snarl taking you by surprise.

"I-," you moaned as he worked your cunt. You knew if he kept rubbing he'd have you orgasm any second. "I need you inside of me." you gasped, proud you had finally gotten the words out.

"Oh," Maxwell laughed a villainous laugh. "Why didn't you just say so?" Taking his finger from your clit, he inserted it into your dripping hole. It sunk straight in with ease, an obscene wet noise echoing throughout his expansive office. "Like this?"

You couldn't even respond, instead just rolling your hips further down and taking the full length of his finger until you felt his knuckles against your cunt. He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "So needy. So tight too…." he groaned, thrusting his finger in and out of you. He curled it so perfectly that with every movement, his digit hit that sweet spot inside of you. "You want more?" he teased and you nodded, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure washed over you. "Hey, look at me slut. You want more?" he asked again. Your eyes snapped open and you nodded your head impatiently. He pushed a second finger inside of you and you screamed as your hips bucked up. His actions were ruthless and primal as he fingered you hard and fast. Tears pricked your eyes as he kept up his perfect rhythm.

"More." you begged.

"But you're just so tight," he sighed. "You'll never be able to take my cock." he laughed, bringing his own hand down to palm his already throbbing length through his tailored pants. "Please." you muttered as his thrusts became sloppy.

"Ah ah ah, only good girls deserve my cock," Maxwell tsked, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "Girls who don't send off the wrong reports, you understand?"

You whined and felt your walls contract against his hand. Evidently, he felt it too. He brought his free hand back to your clit and began to circle it erratically. "Oh, so you're close? Look at you getting off from my hands alone. You want to cum?" you nodded quickly, pieces of your hair falling into your face. "You'll have to earn it." he growled. "Tell me, how often have you thought about this, huh? How often have you imagined I fuck you like this?"

"Ah- all the time." you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up at the revelation, although you had no shame. How could you possibly have shame when you were spread out, completely naked, on your boss’ desk? "T-this morning." you continued, gaining comical wide eyes from Maxwell. He wasn't expecting that.

"Tell me more," he urged, sliding a third finger into your weeping cunt. You groaned and felt your legs begin to shake. "Listen to me sweetheart, if you want to cum I need you to tell me what you were thinking about this morning."

You whimpered. "Max, please."

"What did you call me?" he growled, taking his hand from your clit and wrapping it around your neck. You felt your wetness slick against the skin of your neck as he applied just enough pressure around your throat to make your vision haze.

"Sorr-sorry sir," you gasped and his grip on you loosened. The movements of his fingers were still manic and he hadn't let up once. You were desperate to cum. "This morning when- when I delivered your coffee. You had that meeting and you were standing at the front writing something on the bo-board," you groaned as Maxwell reattached his free hand back to your clit. "And I stood by the- the doorframe for a few seconds and just watched you. Wa-watched the way the muscles in your back flexed as you reached up and the way your bicep stretched around your shirt as you- wrote- wrote-" You couldn't finish. You couldn't. Your orgasm spread like wildfire and Maxwell could sense it too.

"Cum for me baby." Max granted. And with those four words, you became a heaving mess, coming completely undone beneath your boss and soaking his fingers. He doubled out of you without warning and you whined at the loss of his fullness. "Your pussy was even better than I imagined." he revealed, unclipping his suspenders and unzipping his pants, letting them fall down to his ankles. He pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his hard cock to spring out freely. You licked your lips with desire as you examined him— long and thick, his tip beading with precum and it had slowly begun to drip down his length.

"Now I take what I want in return," Maxwell said. "On your knees."

You followed his instruction with a wobble as you clambered off the table and knelt down. You were the perfect height, your face sitting directly in front of his cock. You were still coming down from your high, your eyes feeling heavy. You hummed as he pushed his cock in between your lips, eventually parting them and sliding himself down your throat. Your post coital fog immediately cleared as his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and choke around his length. You steadied yourself, breathing through your nose and clamping your mouth around his cock as you began to slide your head forwards and backwards, taking him the best you can.

The taste of his precum sat well on your tongue, you savoured him completely, knowing that his salty taste would resonate deep in your mind long after this was over. "Fuck," he cursed, his head tipping back and his dark blonde locks of hair falling out of place. He was coming undone, and it was all because of you. His chest began to rise and fall as you took him as deep as you could.

Your hands lifted to cup his balls and you began to massage them playfully. He made the mistake of looking down at you. He was completely enthralled by the way your pretty lips looked wrapped around his cock and your glazed doe eyes framed by your perfect eyelashes. You hollowed your cheeks and smiled around him, wetness dripping from the corners of your mouth. He reached down and gently wiped it away with his thumb, cupping your face and admiring your beauty.

"How did I ever get so lucky?" he murmured, closing his eyes. He began to subconsciously fuck your mouth, his thrusts slow but passionate. He was deliberately being careful, not wanting to hurt you or overwhelm you when you had already been so good for him.

You sat and took it like a good girl, your posture straight and your hands still playing with his balls. It wasn't long before you began to feel his cock twitch in your mouth and he pulled out of you.

"Want you to swallow my load." Maxwell said, but for the first time, his voice sounded weak. He hunched over his still clothed shoulders and began to jerk himself off. You nodded your head eagerly and opened your mouth as wide as you could, sticking out your tongue to show him that you're ready. Within seconds, he was cumming down your throat, his seed roping against your lips and gracing your tongue and even hitting your cheeks and dripping down your chin. When he finished, he shuffled back, admiring your face like it was artwork. You closed your mouths, humming in delight as you swallowed his cum. When you were done you opened your mouth again to prove that it was all gone; that you had done as he wished for.

Maxwell sighed, pulling his pants back up and walking over to his desk drawer. Fumbling with the handle, he eventually got it open and pulled out a silk handkerchief. He walked back over to you and took your hand, pulling you up and sitting you on the edge of his desk. Taking the handkerchief, he carefully cleaned up his remaining mess that was on your skin.

The next few moments were spent in comfortable silence. Your boss tended to you first, before he even bothered cleaning himself up, which certainly took you by surprise. He smoothed out your hair and helped you back into your clothes, taking his sweet time to button up your blouse again and straighten your collar. He even kneeled down and slid your heels onto your feet, fastening the straps and making sure they were comfortable.

"Sir?" you asked nervously, biting your lip. Maxwell looked at you in silence but his gaze urged you to go on. "Uhm, thank you."

He nodded dismissively and you hopped for the desk, limping to the door. As your hand pushed on the handle, he called your name. You took a deep breath, turning around.

"Would you like to go on a date with me, sometime, maybe?" Maxwell asked with a small but nervous smile.

You couldn't believe it, this was the last thing you expected. You shot him a smile back and nodded your head. "Yeah, okay." you agreed before spinning back around and leaving his office.

[votederpycausemufins]

idk how to continue this one but i also don’t want to leave it just sitting forever so it may be a mess but i’m posting it anyway. think up your own endings or continue it or something.

it’s essentially a timeline divergence from War in Hermittown, so its again watcher!grian, avian!grian, hermit!tommy and triplet au.

hermit!tommy is from @petrichormeraki and this triplet au is mainly based on @strawberrylemonz ’s work.

For the first time since Tommy’s death, Tubbo finally had something to hope for. After some begging and pleading and proving he wasn’t going to do anything bad, Techno agreed to help the teen out with attempting to summon Tommy’s ghost.

Ghostbur was there as they worked as Tubbo thought having a ghost helping out would make things more likely to work. They set up a type of summoning platform, not quite sure how it would work and troubleshooting as they went. They all froze as Philza walked in, just coming to visit Techno. “What’s going on here?”

“Uh, we’re trying to summon Tommy’s ghost.” Tubbo answered feebly under Phil’s gaze.

He looked around at the mess they had made and the summoning platform they had created. “Really? Did you think this was going to work?” Philza asked, making Tubbo look away, feeling ashamed. “Obviously you need soul torches instead of regular ones. And the center should be cobble since it’s his favorite block.”

With the four of them working together, then managed to complete the platform and Tubbo activated it. The torches suddenly blazed taller, the blue flames nearly turning white. Energy filled the air and in the center of the platform, purple magic swirled until Tommy was there, curled up in a ball in the middle.

Before any of them could get out of the shock of Tommy being there, he shifted and grumbled. “Ugh… fucking put your wing back G. this place has no fucking insulation.” His hand blindly grabbed the air before he finally sat up. “Wait, what the fuck?”

Tubbo was the first to break the silence. “Tommy!”

Tommy looked over and his eyes lit up seeing his friend. “Tubbo?” He was hugged by his friend. “Where the hell are we?”

“We summoned you back! And I guess it went pretty well since it also brought you back to life.”

“Back to life? Tubbo I didn’t di- wait we?” Tommy pulled away from the hug and saw Ghostbur, Techno and Philza. “Oh. Tubbo, did you bring me back to the smp?” Tubbo nodded. “And do you have a way to send me back?”

“What? No! Why would you want to go back?”

“Tubbo, I didn’t die, I ran off. Some people found me and took me in. Fuck, when G realizes I’m missing things aren’t gonna go well.”

“Tommy.” Philza started to speak but Tommy stopped him.

“No, you don’t get it. If he realizes I’m gone, he might come here and overreact and might hurt you guys.”

Tommy watched as they all glanced at each other. “Tommy, what kind of person did you end up with?” It was Techno that spoke. And before Tommy could answer his oldest brother, more purple magic swirled, though not at the summoning platform. 

Tommy gave out a slight curse and Philza spread his damaged wings to protect Techno and Tubbo as someone appeared. Philza immediately recognized the signs of a Watcher, though the lack of a mask was different. “Tommy.”

“Heeeey Grian. Let me explain. No one’s at fault. I’m fine.”

“You disappeared.”

“Yep, just some people worried about me. Thought I was dead or something.”

Philza readied a weapon the moment the Watcher moved but wasn’t able to do more. Tommy was suddenly captured by the Watcher and he didn’t even try to escape which worried Phil even more.

“And you think I wouldn’t assume the same when you were suddenly gone?” The Watcher then looked down at the summoning platform and broke it. “Now let’s go home, ‘dad’ is going to be worried when he notices we’re both gone.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere Watcher.” Philza spoke, now ready to fight and not just protect. Techno also looked prepared for battle though his dad still tried to keep him back. “Tommy’s my son and he’s going to stay here.”

The Watcher looked over at Philza and the three behind him. They looked familiar. Possibly from the MCC tournaments. “Ah, so you’re the ones Tommy has mentioned. Well, even more of a reason to take him away.”

“Please, don’t take Tommy!” Tubbo managed to push past Philza. The hardcore player tried to stop them, but the teen managed to dodge his hands. “He’s my best friend. I don’t want to lose him again.”

The Watcher looked down at Tubbo, tilting his head slightly. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, he’s telling the truth. He’s big T.”

Philza managed to pull Tubbo back when he saw the Watcher’s eyes glint. “Don’t you dare try to take anyone else. I know what you Watchers do.”

The Watcher frowned. “I don’t think you do. Or you do and you deserve what’s happening to you. Based on the horror stories Tommy has told, I think it’s the latter.” Tommy tried to complain about what the Watcher said but was shushed. “Now, we can always change things, but it looks like Tubbo should be coming with me. You’ve lost your rights to children.”

Philza could do nothing as magic pulled Tubbo next to the Watcher. But he was still able to attack. It was timed just right and as the Watcher tried to leave, he was right there and it pulled him along.

Techno tried to follow along but was too late and just stood where the four now missing people had just been.

When they arrived on the other side, Grian was the only one with a graceful landing. Tommy did okay, but wasn’t used to it. Tubbo and Philza ended up completely face planting on the ground though.

“I didn’t mean to bring you along.” Grian addressed Philza. “I’ll have to take you back before-“ his communicator started ringing. “Nevermind. Hiiii X. No everything’s fine. Tommy just got vaguely kidnapped back to his old world. Yeah. Well I brought a friend of Tommy’s with me. Well they just managed to come along. Yes of course I’ll take him back. Xisuma are you actually asking me to abuse my Watcher powers?”

Before Grian could say anything more, Philza grabbed onto Tommy and Tubbo and started pulling them into the nearby jungle. He gave a shout and started to run after them, but was distracted by the call he was on and was easily tripped up.

“Phil Phil Phil Phil Phil!” Tommy repeated as he tried to pull away. “Phil c’mon we can’t just wander through the jungle! I’m sure if you just talk with Grian he won’t take you back, though X might need convincing.”

“No Tommy. That’s a Watcher. I don’t know how much it’s told you, but they’re dangerous and-”

Tommy dug his heels into the ground. “Dangerous? What? No Grian is, well he’s maybe a bit more dangerous because he’s a Watcher but he’s a pretty chill dude. He doesn’t really use his powers or anything even though he probably could.”

“And what about the other Watcher? You said it was named X?” Philza managed to tug Tommy along a bit further.

“X isn’t a Watcher, he’s an admin. Grian’s the only- look can we just go back and explain it when we’re not running?!” This time Tommy stopped harshly enough and pulled back enough that the avian lost his grip and Tommy was able to get away. He started back towards where they had come from, causing Tubbo to also pull away from Philza.

Phil attempted to grab Tubbo, but he was already running off. He tried to follow along, but ended up moving too fast and tangling himself up in vines. By the time he was free, neither of the teens were anywhere in sight and the hardcore player had to wander aimlessly in the jungle.

He was in a place with absolutely no landmarks and at this point Philza was sure he was just going in circles. The place also had enough shade that some mobs spawned, and dealing with them made him feel even more lost as the small fights left him turned around. Finally, he started going perfectly straight, ignoring any mob he saw and mining away anything in his way. There was no way he could get lost doing that.

It worked perfectly until he broke through a hill instead of going over it. Phil mined right into a cave and there was the surprised shriek of someone who seemed to be hiding there. The hardcore player’s eyes met with the screen of a computer monitor, a face displayed on it. Before he could really react to that, it moved away, making him notice it was attached to a body. It turned a corner and there was the sound of it colliding with something out of Phil’s view.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone broke in!”

Philza paused at the young voices. The first sounded like they could be around Tommy or Tubbo’s age, but the second one sounded much younger.

“Who was it? Scar? If so he probably just crashed a few too many times and needs a place to rest.”

“No! That’s the problem! I don’t know who it is!”

Philza paused, having been slowly approaching the voices. He reached the corner but didn’t look around it just yet. “Then perhaps they are dressed up. I’m sure there is a reasonable ex-” they stopped speaking as they turned the corner and saw Philza. Phil blinked upon seeing another screen faced being and it responded similarly. “Oh, I see. This really is someone new.”

The first one came around the corner and immediately clung to the second. “Who are you!” It spoke, seeming much more confident while next to its larger twin.

Philza stared at the two of them, thoughts about why they were here, what they were and what they knew ran through his head. But he did eventually answer them. “My name is Philza. What about you two?”

“My name is Grumbot and this is Jrumbot.” The taller- by their names Phil assumed they were robots -spoke. “May I ask what you are doing in here now?”

“Well, got a bit lost. Me and my family were kidnapped and brought here and I’m trying to find them again so we can go home.”

“Kidnapped?” The smaller robot asked before he lit up with an idea. “Evil X! He probably did it!”

The hardcore player gave a small sigh of relief. It seemed these two were against the Watchers in this world. “Yeah, I remember that name. Now we got split up in this jungle. There were three of us. Tommy ran off first and Tubbo went after him.”

“Wait, Tommy and Tubbee?” Jrumbot asked, now looking very confused. “But Tubbee’s here and Tommy’s with dad.”

Before Phil could ask more questions, Grumbot made a sound akin to clearing his throat. “Jrumbot, a diamond if you would? It should help us.” the hardcore player watches as a diamond was handed to the taller robot and he placed it into a slot on his monitor. “I see. You are Philza, a former king and father to a total of four sons, adopted a fifth, and have three grandsons.”

“I- wait three? Wait no how do you know this?” Philza asked, stunned, but he got no answer as Grumbot turned to Jrumbot.

“Can you call dad? I’m sure this is much more important than whatever he’s doing.”

Jrumbot nodded and pulled out a communicator. Philza wanted to move or speak but he just felt frozen. Was their information wrong? They didn’t know who he was a minute ago and suddenly they claimed to know more than he did. Or were they really right and- his thoughts were cut off as Jrumbot started to speak.

“Daaaad. Grum and me were playing and someone broke into our cave and we’ve never seen him before but Grum knows stuff about him and says you need to come here cause it’s really really really important.”

“Oh! Perfect! I’m actually looking for some new people!” Philza recognized Grian’s voice coming through the phone. It shocked him and he almost yelled at the phone but then a second voice came through it.

“What do they look like? And don’t say they’re wearing green since they both wear green. Do they look old or young, what color’s their hair, tell me stuff like that?”

“Tommy?” Philza spoke and the phone was quiet for a few seconds.

“Okay, Grian, you head there, I’ll keep looking for Tubbo.”

“Tubbee is here!” Jrumbot spoke into the phone, earning a laugh from Tommy.

“I’m sure he is, but someone else named Tubbo instead of Tubbee is lost in the jungle.”

“Oh, okay!” the small robot said happily before hanging up the phone.

Philza suddenly grabbed the two robots and pulled them towards the opening he had made. “Come on, we can’t stay here. The person you just called is the one who kidnapped us and for some reason Tommy thinks they’re safe to be around. It seems like you two think the same.”

“But he is safe.” Jrumbot said, letting himself be dragged, though he did pull away briefly to untie a lead and hold it, a bee now following behind them. “He’s our dad! And he didn’t kidnap Tommy!”

“I’m sure that’s what he wants you to think.” Phil continued to pull them along, glad at least for the lack of resistance from the two of them. “He’s a Watcher, and those are dangerous. They mess with worlds and-”

He wasn’t able to say more as Grian landed in front of him. He was surprised to see the Watcher wings looked more natural like an avian’s wings, but the rest of him looked similar enough for Phil to recognize him. “Dad!” Jrumbot pulled his arm away, leaving Phil trying to grab him again, but instead he grabbed the lead holding the bee that was being pulled along. The sudden tension made the small robot fall over.

Philza pulled Jrumbot back to him and pushed both him and Grumbot behind them, once more using his damaged wings as a shield.

“What are you doing with my kids?” Grian spoke, sounding serious.

“Protecting them from you.” Philza spat out.

“Prote- You’re the one they should be protected from. Tommy didn’t mention a lot of people he thought he could trust. And I’m sure you’re not one of those people.”

“Then he forgot or was scared to tell you.”

“No, you’re just one of the people he wanted to trust but instead hurt him so much none of us could approach him for the longest time without terrifying him.”

It looked like the two avians were going to argue more, but Jrumbot managed to sneak under one of Phil’s damaged wings and run to Grian. “Dad, he doesn’t seem that mean. He just thinks Watchers are bad or something.”

Grian glared once more at Philza before sighing and looking down at Jrumbot. “Well you’ve seen how Tommy can get sometimes. In fact, he might really need Tubbee for a bit soon.” Jrumbot frowned and crossed his arms, making Grian laugh a little bit.

“Dad, I believe there more-” Grumbot started to speak, but there was suddenly a shout from the trees nearby.

“Grian! I found Tubbo again!” Tommy emerged from the trees pulling Tubbo along. “I explained the gist of things to him and he seems okay with it.”

“Dad really this is-”

“Great. Meanwhile I caught up with the bots and this guy. He was trying to take them away from me.”

“Dad please his name-”

“What the fuck?! Phil these are his kids!”

“Da-”

“Do you want Tubbee now?”

“DAD THIS IS PHILZA MINECRAFT!” Grumbot finally had enough and turned his speech volume to its highest level. Tubbee flew around in shocked circles, Tubbo pulled themself closer to Tommy and Grian and Philza’s feathers ruffled in shock. “As I’m sure you’re aware he is also the king of the former Antarctic Empire.”

“Oh, well that changes things.” Grian said in a matter of fact tone before pulling his sword out. “Now I’m even more upset. This is what you became?!”

Philza drew a weapon of his own. “Oh, so you’ve been watching me for a while, have you?”

The three others looked at Grumbot with a range of expressions from concerned to confused. “Grum what the fuck is going on?”

The older robot just gestured to the two avians staring each other down, each waiting for the other to make a move or let their guard down. “Dad is upset at learning that this is Philza.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” Tubbo asked, not sure how much of this was brand new and how much of this he didn’t know from not being with Tommy.

“Oh, because Grian is one of Philza’s sons.”

“G’s what?!” Tommy yelled, surprised. At the same time, Philza looked over in shock at Grumbot, having heard what was said. Grian took that as a chance to knock Philza down to the ground.

For a full minute, everything was quiet and no one, except Tubbee, moved. Then, Jrumbot seemed to process the information. “Yay! A grandpa!” And he jumped on top of Phil, easily winding him from the weight of simply being a robot.

Grian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, fine. Let’s go to my mansion and talk this out. We can get X and Mumbo to come too.”

[hawkland]

My (mostly) Destiel Recs, Round-up #6

Well, between working like crazy on my DCBB fic and GISH and injuring my neck last month I haven’t kept up with my rec posts, so this one is going to be LONG and have a LOT and I’m going to try to break it up into sections, from oldies but goodies (some things I found on very old rec lists) to smutty delights to just tasty little bits of fluff, hopefully there’s something or everyone here. Most of these are not super-long, largely in the 10-25k range, though there are a few beyond that. With all the stuff I’ve had going on I haven’t wanted to lose sleep diving into 100k epics (especially when I’m writing my own right now, lol.)

“Oldies” but Goodies:  Here are two great fics written some time way back when but that still definitely slap.

Theodicy by manic_intent (11k) - Probably the most brilliant Godstiel fic I’ve read to date. One of Cas’s first acts as the new god is to make a new archangel. Dean isn’t exactly on board with having his soul re-sculpted into wings he hates on sight (especially as they seem magnetically drawn to Cas), but he isn’t exactly given a choice. He, Sam and Bobby struggle with how to handle their former friend suddenly becoming a vindictive deity - trying to make plans to kill him if they must, which is pretty hard when it seems like Cas is always one step ahead of him. Can Dean hold on to enough of his humanity to provide a conscience to Cas and try to steer him toward good acts instead of destruction? This is one that I can’t say has a perfectly happy ending, but it’s a hopeful and imperfect one that’s just right for how the story plays out. 

My Eyes Are An Ocean by entanglednow (10k) - Season 5 AU where Dean averts the apocalypse through a spell that “powers up” all the angels and he sees Cas’s true form - before being rendered blind. Dean tries to adjust to his blindness, Cas tries to deal with his guilt, and it’s just a lovely little read with an ending that’s... *chef’s kiss*

Lots more recs below the cut:

More great reads from some of my favorite authors I’ve recced before:

The Cabin on the Lake by DeanRH (21k) - This may be my new favorite DeanRH fic...at least for the moment. The year is 2152, Sam and Dean are long gone to Heaven, while Cas - stuck somewhere between mortal and angel - remains on Earth keeping vigil, keeping up the hunt, assuming he’ll never see either Winchester ever again. But when he starts hearing things, and imagining Dean visiting him as an angel himself, he starts losing grip on what is and isn’t real, and whether he can trust anything he sees or believes to be the truth. This is one hell of a psychological rollercoaster that kept me guessing right along with Cas until the very end. It also has some super-creepy horror elements, a novel “monster of the week”, and the hot-as-sin smut scenes I always expect from this author.

X Marks the Scot by DeanRH (15.9k) A fun little romp through history in one of this author’s great not-quite-au fics. Crowley sends Dean and Sam back in history to the Scottish Highlands to stop a monster, and while there they meet a blue-eyed clan chief who makes Dean weak in the knees. There’s something familiar about him, too. a very clever au that ties back to canon for an unexpected fix-it. Also, Cas in a kilt. Enough said.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon by DeanRH (12k) - Sweet and slightly angsty AU. What if Dean was a gardener in ancient Babylon when a strange dignitary came to warn that the tower under construction was to be destroyed by angels? Lush, romantic and sexy with some wonderful tie-ins to canon characterizations (of Dean, Sam, John and of course Cas).

sufficient for thee by angelfishofthelord (21k) - This is a beautiful Cas angst-fest and character study that reimagines how angel grace works, particularly in regards to healing others. It covers the whole of Cas’s arc from Season 4 through a post-series fix-it, is absolutely stunning and features some great world-building in regards to the angels. (One important TW: those with cutting/self-harm issues may wish to skip or at least proceed with caution). I love that I can always count on angelfishofthelord when I need a good dose of Cas!whump and pain.

And laugh at gilded butterflies by ireallydidthistomyself (13k) - another great Dadstiel fic from this author featuring one of my favorite angsty subjects! I don’t know how I missed reading this one before. An AU where Cas is raising (baby)Jack on his own until the angels find the two of them and prepare to seal Jack away in the Ma’lak box. Cas begs them to let him go with Jack, so at least Jack won’t be alone for eternity. Meanwhile Dean is frantically trying to find what happened to Cas, and he gets some unexpected help from Crowley.  It’s sad and sweet and all the characterizations are great. A+ Crowley use here, too.

what stays (and what fades away) by dothraki_shieldmaiden (64k) - a fabulous read with some great art, too, that started me reading a bunch of fic from this author. Cas goes missing, and when he’s found he seems deep under a spell. When they finally manage to awaken him, he doesn’t remember anything of this life with Dean, Sam and Cas in the bunker. The last thing he knew he was a nurse living with his wonderful husband, Dean, and their two adopted children, Jack and Claire. What I loved about this one was the clever twist as to who was behind Cas’s curse and also how well-developed his AU world/existence was. I’m not generally keen on mundane aus or the one-dimensional way a lot of djinn dream fics tend to go for them, but this one managed to capture a believable version of Dean and Cas living a “normal” life without monsters without making it sugary/too-sweet. 

before knowing remembers by dothraki_shieldmaiden (14k) Post 15x04, a wonderful fic that plays with some meta topics in a clever way. Dean and Sam are happy - they have free will and they’ve won against Chuck, even if they suffered some big losses along the way (including Jack). But Dean can’t help but think he’s forgetting something...or rather, someone. Yet every time he thinks he remembers, the name and face of that someone slips from his mind. 

weights on my ankles by dothraki_shieldmaiden (9k) Post-15x03 where Cas ends up going back to the Gas ‘n Sip and working with Nora after leaving the bunker. A bitter sweet divorce-arc AU and what I love the most is how it ends - not perfect, not tragic, just very real and believable. 

15x18 and Post-canon fix-it fics:

Orbital Velocity Around a Celestial Body by LeverDrift (26k) - An angsty but lovely fix-it fic, one where it gets worse for a while before it gets better. Dean pulls Cas from the Empty, where he’d been living in a fantasy world with a dream!Dean who was giving him everything real!Dean is certain he can’t. Dean has to struggle with wondering if Cas would have been better off with dream!Dean instead of him. This is one that will break your heart before putting it back together again as Dean struggles with his self-worth issues.

so good at crashing in by Wintertree (36k) - Another post-finale fix-it where Cas is back, the world is saved, and things are still...not as easy as it should be for either Dean nor Cas. Monsters are gone, there’s no more hunting to be done, and Cas wants to move out of the bunker somewhere closer to Claire, to move on with a proper human life. Dean thinks he can move there with Cas and stay as “best friends”, even to the extent that Cas encourages him to go out and have sex with others/women. (And wants to hear about it after the fact!) But can Dean figure out what he really wants, and what Cas wants as well? A refreshingly unique take on what a post-series life could have looked like for them.

Delicious smut:

Empty by squirrelofcelestialintent (43k) - Every day this fandom makes me rethink my previous squicks and DNWs in fanfic. Here I find myself enjoying quite a bit more dom/sub elements than I normally ever would! I think because I was absolutely drawn in by the breathtaking first chapter, capturing beautifully the emotions of Cas returning from the Empty in Season 13 if he and Dean had confessed their feelings right then and there. But Dean’s self-worth is all fucked up, he feels there’s no way he can be good enough for Cas, especially when his sexual desires run a little bit...let’s just say outside the vanilla and he’s struggling with shame over doing sex work when he was younger. This was HOT and POOR SAM really gets stuck in the middle of, well, hearing more about his brother’s sex life than he ever needed to.

He's My Mate by Hatsonhamburgers (22k) - This fic manages the delightful combination of humor and extreme hotness perfectly. Dean and Cas catch each other in some questionable masturbation situations. This leads Cas to decide he needs to buy Dean some proper sex toys. He’s just helping his best friend out, right? Sure. As I said, hysterical AND hot as hell. 

Generals by nanoochka (9k) - Cas/Dean, Cas/Balthazar/Dean, implied past-Cas/Balthazar. An old LJ fic I found on an ancient rec list that is just scorching hot and a brilliant character study of Cas and Dean. Balthazar decides to invite himself in when he catches Dean and Cas engaging in some frisky business, and it turns into a bit of a power-play between the two soldiers of Heaven. Cas gets DP’ed and it’s all...well. It’s fucking good, read it.

The One With The Preening by HolyFuckingHell (5.5k) Can I do a rec post without including some wing!kink/wing!grooming in it? No, I can’t. (I also really enjoyed some of the other fics in this author’s series including The One With Dean's Horny Movies).

A Single Point of Light by Destina (2.4k) - This is a gorgeous Cas/Dean/Benny Purgatory short! A delicious balance of the two each caring for and caring about Dean in their own, protective ways, definitely a delight for any fans of this threesome.

Short and sweet, fluff to angst:

Snugglebird by almaasi (5.3k) - So, so soft and sweet and snuggly, just like the title. Dean’s things are disappearing from the bunker...and so, suddenly, has Cas. What’s going on? I do love my nesting!Cas fics, so...yeah. If you need a smile this is a good one to read :)

And Cleanse Me From My Sin by thisisapaige (1.6k) - another one for my beloveds who also enjoy wing grooming and sweet Dean-taking-care-of-Cas fluff.

Needle and Thread by Misachan (4k) - Season 5 wing!fic hurt/comfort. Cas’s wings are badly injured, Dean doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s stitched up Sam and himself enough times. He can do this. If you love caretaker!Dean and vulnerable!Cas don’t overlook this little gem.

Deceptive Preludes by sp8ce (2.7k) - One of those stories that delves into some of the difficulties Cas might have after coming back from the Empty a second time, especially in regards to accepting what’s real or not, understanding Dean, and how both of their communication issues can add to their struggles. Painful but hopeful for the future, felt very believable as I read it.

[gellavonhamster]

in the bleak midwinter*: an asoue/atwq peaky blinders au concept

...also known as the idea that’s been living in my brain for what must be a couple of years now; I have reconciled myself with the fact that I will never write this fic because I simply do not have enough patience to think it out and write it down in the way that would give it justice, so here’s a plot bunny or something.

This is basically the Sugar Bowl Generation of VFD (still young, before kids and all) meets All The Wrong Questions (some of the events + some of the kid characters of ATWQ as adults) meets season one of Peaky Blinders, but I guess it could be read and understood without the knowledge of the latter simply as an organized crime AU.

It’s the beginning of the interwar period, and VFD is a gang. Which, yes, would require a certain amount of OOC of the characters, though I imagine their intimidation tactics would still avoid too much bloodshed. They deal with bookmaking, contraband, and sometimes art forgery because even this version of VFD has to have something sophisticated about it. There’s a number of places, such as bars and clubs, that pay them for protection, and there’s also a number of places they own, such as the Hotel Denouement with the Denouement brothers in charge and the nightclub ran by Ramona Browning**, alias the Duchess (her father was some kind of aristocracy, see, too aristocratic to ever truly acknowledge her). They use their influence to become the informal rulers of their part of the City. They claim to strive for power to make the City a better place, and these are not just words - they do donate money to schools and libraries, for example - but it’s not like they don’t enjoy being in power, and their rule is still based on crime, those who threaten it being eliminated swiftly. 

The Snickets are the Shelby family of this AU, of course. Lemony is Tommy - the mastermind, already a legend of sorts despite being the youngest, plagued by the horrors of war - but still hoping for the best, strange as it seems, because he’s still Lemony. Jacques is Arthur, the fighter suffering from PTSD. Kit is Ada, but she’s also Aunt Polly - she’s the one who ran the business while the boys were in the army. 

Now, season one introduced Grace Burgess as an undercover police informant spying on the Peaky Blinders.

Enter Ellington Feint.

Ellington’s father, the only family she has left, has been kidnapped by a gang called the Inhumane Society, and she’d do anything and everything to save him. So she agrees to infiltrate VFD, their rival gang, to find out the whereabouts of a shipment of weapons that was meant for the Society but was accidentally stolen by VFD. Apart from machine guns and shells, the shipment includes some “statue of a sea beast”, and no one cares to provide more explanations to Ellington about it, but apparently it is the most important part of that cargo. So Ellington takes on the position of a barmaid in The Black Cat Bar, one of the places that pay VFD for protection and the one frequented by its key members, and starts listening and watching.

Ellington needs to get close to the Snickets, because if anyone knows where the weapons are, it’s them. Steward Mitchum, the corrupt cop on the Society’s payroll whom she is to meet from time to time at the Natural History Museum (which she used to attend with her father) to pass on the information, suggests she should seduce one of the Snicket brothers. The problem is, Ellington has a chance to learn very soon that Jacques doesn’t know much about the stolen cargo, and Lemony is too taken with his girlfriend, the music hall singer Beatrice Baudelaire, to even look at any other woman. There’s no getting between them, even though it seems Beatrice also has something going on with VFD’s bookkeeper Bertrand Markson, and Lemony seems aware of it. 

So Ellington decides to approach Kit instead. Kit, who seems so lonely - Ellington doesn’t know the details, but there was some serious falling-out between her and her ex-boyfriend, who has since left the City (and won’t appear in this story. Olaf is the problem for the hypothetical season two of this imaginary show). Ellington doesn’t plan on anything other than a very close friendship - yet, the closer they become, the more she understands that she is attracted to Kit.

(There certainly is a variant of the “I warn you, I’ll break your heart” - “Already broken” scene in which Ellington sings to Kit)

Anyway. Things progress, and they fall in love. Well, Kit seems to have fallen in love, and Ellington keeps trying to persuade herself that she hasn’t, because Kit has to remain nothing but a task for her.

The location of the stolen weapons, however, still remains a mystery, even though Ellington once hears Kit and Lemony discuss it. Whatever the statue is, Lemony seems to believe it has great powers, and Kit seems to believe it’s nothing but folklore. Lemony tells her of the stories of a mysterious sea animal (or spirit, or whatever it may be) he heard from other soldiers during the war, about what Widdershins heard during his time in the navy. Kit tells him that everyone is a believer in a foxhole, and that she loves W like her own kin but he’s a bragging idiot. There was nothing on the sea other than enemy ships.

Elllington’s mission is complicated by Lemony clearly not trusting her. He tells her it’s because his sister has been hurt before, but she suspects it’s more than that. He even admits that he had his people make enquiries in Paltryville, the town she claims to have come from, and found out that no Ellington Feint ever lived there. When he suggests her secrecy is due to a child born out of marriage, she is eager to confirm that. (Cue him asking her if she’s read Les Misérables - yeah, even this version of VFD would be literature nerds, how can it be otherwise - because this whole situation reminds him of Fantine, and her lying that she hasn’t and thinking that she’s more of a Javert at the barricade, really).

Then there’s a masquerade party at the Duchess’s club, and Kit takes Ellington there as her date. (Which is okay, because if there’s any place in the City where a woman dancing with another woman or a man dancing with another man would not be looked at askance, it’s the Duchess’s club. If I was actually writing a fic, there would definitely be a scene in which Ellington observes Beatrice asking Bertrand to dance with her and Bertrand trying to decline by telling her that, since he didn’t have time to procure a mask, he shouldn’t be on the dancefloor at all, and then Lemony approaches him with a spare mask in hand and encourages him to dance with Beatrice and puts the mask on Bertrand himself and it somehow looks so intimate as if he’s undressing him and Ellington’s like “Oh, so it’s like that with them. This is probably of no use to me but still, good to know”). 

When Kit disappears at some point, Ellington follows her quietly and eavesdrops on her conversation with one of the Denouements. He tells her that his brother is all right and sends his regards. Later at the party, however, Ellington sees two Denouements. Why would one of them send the other’s regards to Kit if they’re all in the same room? A couple of drinks with the already tipsy Olivia (officially a fortune-teller, but who knows what purposes VFD really uses her salon for?), and Ellington learns that there used to be three Denouements, actually. But the third brother, Dewey, had a conflict with one of rival gangs which nearly resulted in a war, had not Lemony agreed to dispose of Dewey. To stop that gang from going against VFD, he killed Dewey with his own hands.

Except he didn’t, Ellington thinks. Lemony must have staged Dewey’s execution, and now he’s out there very much alive. Perhaps this knowledge will come in handy.

Meanwhile, the Inhumane Society, who have other beef with VFD apart from the stolen weapons, are getting impatient. There’s a gun-fight which results in Ike Anwhistle dying and his grieving widow, Josephine, telling Lemony it is all his fault and leaving the city. (I know I said this is based on s1 only, but they’re the John and Esme Shelby of this story). And Bertrand is severely wounded. VFD needs another bookkeeper while he’s recovering, and Kit, who knows from The Black Cat’s owner Dashiell Qwerty that Ellington has also been keeping the books of the bar lately and doing it well, offers this position to her. This gives Ellington an opportunity to learn more about the asserts and resources of VFD - and a chance to discover some interesting notes scribbled next to the name of Dewey Denouement. Dewey Denouement, who is only officially dead, but still has a grave at the cemetery.

Ellington tells Stew she has an idea where the weapons and/or the statue might be hidden.

When she meets some of the members of the Inhumane Society to take them to the tomb, she is surprised to see Hangfire himself among them. She’s only seen him in passing before, this mysterious man with his face covered in bandages. They say he’s been horribly disfigured during the war. They also say he came back mad. When they’ve done some digging and unearthed, instead of a coffin, several crates of guns - and opened one of them to find a small statue of what seems like a very scary seahorse - Mitchum and Flammarion are suddenly shot down, and Lemony Snicket steps from behind a gravestone. 

He’s been following them.

Of course he didn’t believe that all Miss Feint is hiding is an illegitimate child, Lemony tells them as he’s holding Hangfire at gunpoint. He’s been doing research. In fact, the man whose grave they’ve unearthed is presently in a unique position allowing him to make research away from the City. He’s found out that Ellington Feint is the daughter of a renowned naturalist Armstrong Feint, who’s recently gone missing. And then they managed to discover something more. 

This is when Hangfire grabs a gun and points it at Lemony, and Lemony aims at Ellington instead, which for some reason stops Hangfire from shooting. 

This is also when it turns out that Lemony has also been followed, and Kit Snicket steps from behind another gravestone, pointing a gun at her brother. He keeps aiming at Ellington, wearily telling Kit she isn’t really going to shoot him. 

Kit tells him that unless he drops the gun, he’ll find out.

(When Ellington tries to speak to Kit, she just tells her to shut up. And it hurts, because Kit has stopped being just a mission a long time ago. And now she knows that Ellington’s been lying to her from the start. And she may not want Ellington to die, but she would also hardly ever forgive her. And that would be fair).

And then Hangfire tries to shoot Kit, and Ellington screams, and Kit manages to spring back, and Lemony fires at the man who tried to kill his sister, and suddenly Hangfire is bleeding out on the ground and calling out to Ellington in her father’s voice. 

That is what they’ve also found out about Hangfire, Lemony tells her as she’s kneeling beside the body, unable to bring herself to uncover his face. He sounds genuinely surprised; he thought she knew.

Kit makes him let Ellington go and tells her she doesn’t want to see her ever again. And Ellington leaves. She takes a train to some seaside town she’s never heard of before and leaves. Her job is ended. Her father is dead. Her love affair that never should have happened is in the past. She still doesn’t know why her father lied to her when he could have just asked and she would’ve done anything, why he kept up this double life, what was the significance of the statue and what it might become in the hands of someone like Lemony Snicket. She is too tired and sick of it all to try to find out.

She manages to build a life in Stain’d-by-the-Sea. She works in a coffee shop and sings there in the evenings. She never sings the song she sang to Kit again. She marries a man she doesn’t have any truly strong feelings for.

Then, a year or so later, there’s a phone call, and the voice of the woman she loved and betrayed tells her she still can’t stop thinking of her.

*This phrase used by the Peaky Blinders upon the death of one of them is replaced by “The world is quiet here”. Obviously.

**My Last Duchess, referenced in ASOUE in connection with R, is written by Robert Browning.

[ta-ether]

Something I’ve been thinking about lately is Achilles and Patroclus’ relationship. Not in how it’s presented in any particular property – this isn’t an analysis of how they appear in The Song of Achilles, or Hades – but more how their relationship is in the Iliad.

I guess the thing that’s been in the back of my mind ever since I read the Iliad (god, was it the summer before junior year of high school?) seven or so years ago, is that while Achilles and Patroclus are held up as this wonderfully romantic couple, this often comes at people glossing over certain aspects of their relationship that are complex or ask questions that have hard answers. Namely, the one that’s been niggling at me is the question that if Achilles is supposed to have loved Patroclus so much, why did he let him go out to fight?

The wonderful thing about Homer, the thing I so desperately love about Homer, is that there is such ambiguity to things. Homer seems to deliberately sidestep giving us concrete answers. The Iliad is a poem that thrives on nuance, and that extends to the exact nature of the relationship between these characters.

While Achilles swears early in the Iliad he won’t fight until his dignity is restored, Patroclus has a much softer heart (in addition to not having been wronged by Agamemnon). Patroclus’ arc from Book 1 to the beginning of 16 is watching the effect Achilles’ absence has on the rest of the Acheans. Achilles himself retreats into his ship and sends Patroclus out for news of how the battles are going, meaning it is Patroclus who is privy to the pain being wrought, and it is also Patroclus who Nestor eventually asks to intercede on the Argives’ behalf.

After the Trojans start seizing the Achean’s ships in Book 15, Patroclus finally goes and asks Achilles if he’ll return to the battle, or failing that, if he can go in his place and armor. He runs up and Achilles asks him why he’s crying like a little girl. Patroclus starts by saying “don’t be angry with me,” but then quickly himself becomes angry at Achilles after explaining how all of their friends and allies are wounded and suffering on the battlefield:

“But it’s impossible to deal with you, Achilles. I hope anger like this rage you’re nursing never seizes me. It’s disastrous! How will you be of use to anyone in later generations, if you won’t keep shameful ruin from the Argives? You’re pitiless. Perhaps horseman Peleus was not your father, nor Thetis your mother— the grey sea delivered you, some tall cliff, for you’ve an unyielding heart.”

He finishes by putting forth Nestor’s suggestion that if Achilles won’t rejoin the fight, he should. “I could be a saving light for the Danaans,” he says. Achilles responds that since the Trojans have come to the ships, he will allow Patroclus to go out in his armor. Now, this is where, famously, Achilles tells him not to go press past the ships:

“Now, pay attention to what I tell you about the goal I have in mind for you, so you’ll win me great honour and rewards, so all Danaans will send back to me that lovely girl and give fine gifts as well. Once you push Trojans from the ships, come back. If Zeus, Hera’s mate, who loves his thunder, gives you the glory, don’t keep on battling those war-loving Trojans with me absent. You would decrease my honours.”

While Achilles is undoubtedly worried about Patroclus’ safety, he mentions his desire for the honor and rewards that his “returning” to battle would bring him. He also brings up (before he says Apollo might make an attempt on Patroclus’ life) that the reason he wants Patroclus to retreat is that it would decrease his own honors. You can chalk this focus on the honor he may or may not receive to many different things, the most charitable of which is that Achilles isn’t taking this very seriously, and perhaps neither is Patroclus. This is backed up by Patroclus’ flippant approach on the battlefield:

“Well now, there’s an agile man! What a graceful diver! […] I suppose these Trojans must have acrobats as well.”

The point still remains that for all the love that Achilles has for Patroclus, his first instinct – like it has been for the entirety of the Iliad to this point – is concern about his own pride and honor, not the safety of his closest friend or fellow Argives. War takes, but Achilles was more focused on what it gives, and then it took his closest companion.

While Patroclus has more of an idea of the horrors of what the Achaeans have been going through in recent books – specifically Book 11 – he still hasn’t been on the field of battle since before the Iliad started. Patroclus pushes on beyond the ships because of his desire to fight and his own refusal to stop, and it is for this reason he is killed by Hector and Apollo. The narrative remarks:

“How blind he was, poor fool! If he’d done what the son of Peleus had told him, he’d have missed his evil fate, his own dark death.”

We learn later from Patroclus’ ghost in Book 23 that one of his flaws, perhaps his greatest and deadliest, is that he can become blinded by passion and lose reason.

“I killed Amphidamas’ son, in my foolishness. I didn’t mean to, but I was enraged over some game of dice.”

The narrative and Patroclus himself admits that if he’d taken a moment to consider, to think rationally, he wouldn’t have felt the need to continue fighting the Trojans, or to kill Amphidames’ son. The thrill of war and perhaps his own desire for honors hid this from him, and this in effect kills him.

As I alluded to earlier, this isn’t something I think many people touch on when thinking about Achilles and Patroclus’ relationship: the idea that ultimately, it was perhaps Achilles who killed Patroclus – or at the very least, lead to his death. The Iliad does start like this, after all:

“Sing, Goddess, sing the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus— that murderous anger which condemned Achaeans to countless agonies and threw many warrior souls deep into Hades, leaving their dead bodies carrion food for dogs and birds— all in fulfilment of the will of Zeus.”

One of those souls sent to Hades was Patroclus. Achilles even acknowledges this in Book 18.

“Then let me die, since I could not prevent the death of my companion. He’s fallen far from his homeland. He needed me there to protect him from destruction.”

Patroclus’ death isn’t tragic merely because he died, but because the man who loved him could’ve protected him but didn’t, and he knows it. I don’t want to downplay Patroclus’ own hubris’ role in his death or place all the blame on Achilles – merely point out that for all the love Achilles had for Patroclus, he still didn’t go out to fight when asked: first by his friends and allies, and then by his closest companion. He instead lets Patroclus go out in his place. Achilles’ love ultimately wasn’t stronger than his own pride.

This isn’t to say there’s not a deep, meaningful relationship between these two characters. There clearly, textually is. These two people love each other, however that love is interpreted. But they are also deeply flawed people. And, for all his faults, Patroclus knows that about Achilles. He knew that Achilles might put his own pride over the lives of all the Argives, including him, and so he asked if he could go instead. Even Hector knows this, as before he kills him he says:

“You poor wretch, even Achilles, for all his courage, was no use to you. Though he stayed behind, he must have given you strict orders as you left.”

And, for what it’s worth, Patroclus doesn’t say that he blames Achilles, either here in front of Hector, or when he comes to Achilles as a shade in Book 23 (and characters in the Iliad are decently prone to blaming people for their deaths). Ultimately, he seems to accept Achilles, flaws and all, and desires for them to be reunited in death, as does Achilles.

Their relationship isn’t simple and it’s not straightforward, because these characters aren’t simple or straightforward. Achilles both loves Patroclus more than any other Argive including himself, and also loves his own honor and pride over Patroclus. The incapability of these loves directly leads to Patroclus’ death. Patroclus is also more measured and rational than Achilles, and also is clouded to reason, and this incompatibility leads to his death. If the point of the Odyssey is (in part) that the Trojan War caused unnecessary death, then perhaps Patroclus’ death is that in microcosm.

Still, I can’t help but read Achilles and Patroclus’ relationship as one that – to be blunt – failed. They couldn’t make it work, in life at least. If you read it as a sexual-romantic relationship, maybe that’s its own tragedy. I don’t say this to make people angry or even because I necessarily wholly believe it, but more because their relationship is imperfect and should be recognized as such. Personally, I think this relationship, broken but full of love and affection and flaws, is much more compelling than a perfect or unexamined one.

It goes back to why I love the Iliad in the first place: the characters are messy and rather than this detracting from their ability to impact the reader, it only heightens their ability to speak to us. Homer doesn’t provide concrete answers for things, but he doesn’t have to. Everything we need is on the page. Every time you return to the book, the characters show you something new. I noticed a ton of new things about Achilles and Patroclus while writing this, which really only strengthened my belief in the points I made here. The tragedy of Patroclus’ death is, in part, one of how pride hurts those you love the most. The idea that Achilles caused Patroclus’ death is one that shouldn’t go unexamined because it’s perhaps unsavory, because it is in examining it that the true depths of their relationship are brought to light.

There are so many more things I could’ve mentioned: Achilles and Patrolcus’ status as equals, the role the idea of “fate” plays in Patroclus’ death, how the role the gods play in Patroclus’ death effects all this – but I felt that I would let those be for perhaps another time. As it stands now, I feel as though I have (at least personally) answered my initial question. It’s not a simple answer, but it wasn’t a simple question about simple characters in a simple work. And that is both fine and also, in its own way, beautiful.

[lovelivingmydreams]

My king au headcannon Part two

So this is the follow up to this post  Which is a headcanon for this au created by @rondoel Enjoy!

Something to think about The king was meditating. He was trying to familiarize himself with the mindscape again, get a better feeling of it and see what his halves had done since the split. He was sorely disappointed. There were pages upon pages of ideas, but he found no evidence of them in the fantasy realm. No traces of the epic quests the ‘light’ half had envisioned, despite how well worked out they appeared. An ‘Ultimate Storytime’ should have left traces in the kingdom. Remus at least lived out his ideas even if they were only ever half formed and lacked substance beyond the initial impulse that brought them about. The results of these outbursts weren’t all that impressive either. He didn’t examine the ideas too closely. Obviously his perfectionistic half had abandoned them for a reason and so they weren’t worth his time. The one named Roman had spent some time in the fantasy realm, but he didn’t considered it his main duty. Instead he’d wasted time on crafting ‘ideas’ and ‘bonding’ with the others. Even the impulsive Remus had prioritized interacting with Deceit over expressing himself. Disgusting. Not that he could truly fault either of his halves. Other than his purpose every trace of him had been purged from their minds during the split. They hadn’t known to distrust the others the way he knew they should’ve. Obviously the others were to blame for all this.

As he thought of them he could feel his minister’s energy surging and subsiding in subtle burst and raging waves. One of Roman’s nickname for him ‘Stormy Knight’ seemed to suit the boy quite well at the moment. The minister was mostly alone, aside from morality. Someone had to babysit him he supposed. Suddenly he became aware of music… something strange yet familiar. “Disney. Medley.” A faint memory offered him. He remembered Disney. It was his aspiration to create worlds and adventures just as amazing for Thomas to escape to when the real world inevitably bored him. Clearly he hadn’t been gone long enough for that to change. Though he didn’t recognize the melody that was currently playing, even though he could tell that it wasn’t something obscure and nearly forgotten to Thomas. The entire imagination responded to the melody as if it was an old friend. Almost as if it was born here even. There were voices singing, a magnificent harmony. Powerful and foreboding. He followed the sound of the voices and soon saw a structure appear. As he approached he found it was a massive statue expertly carved from marble. Center stage stood a figure he recognized as Thomas holding his hands in front of him to form a heart. A brilliant smile on his face. It was heartwarming to see his boy like that. To Thomas’ left stood grown Morality with one arm thrown over his shoulder and another pulling the hooded side, Anxiety, his minister, into the group. The young side allowed it with a small smirk and gentle eyes directed at their protégé. On Thomas’ right stood Logic, a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder as he adjusted his glasses, which did not conceal the fond look on the man’s face. On Logic’s right stood Deceit, his back slightly turned to the rest and adjusting his hat, but also with a soft, caring expression gracing his features. Then right behind Thomas, standing slightly taller than they would have in reality, seemingly standing on a stage behind the group, but close enough to still be part of the ensemble, was him. Or the two sides that had been him for a while. Roman looked regal and was posing as though he had not a care in the world, his eyes proudly overseeing his subjects. Not minding the presence of Remus who was hanging of his ‘brother’s’ shoulders and making a face. It was an idyllic picture that never was and now never could be. There was beauty in it’s tragic impossibility. At the feet of the stone depictions were stone letters. Fam in cursive and then in big bold lines ILY. And leaning against the L was the minister, singing the song that had lured King away from his meditation. The shadows around him were aiding in his musical endeavor drifting around him and the statue. King took in the marvel once more, wondering how the nervous side had managed to create such a blessing with what should’ve been a cruel curse for at least a few more days before King would grant the young one his council and guidance. He hadn’t enjoyed being cruel to him. Not entirely. Sure, he had opposed creativity in the past and deserved to be disciplined. But king also knew how integral he was to the process. Roman’s discoveries regarding that weren’t lost to him. He couldn’t silence Anxiety completely. He would not get Thomas to go on adventures at all if he did so. But he had to teach him his place now, before he got any ideas of fighting him. The minister had been about to try just that and might have been successful too if he’d gone all out at once. But luckily he seemed unaware of his own abilities, or at least unwilling to use them on what he still thought to be the twins he’d known all his life. Alas he’d never get the opportunity again. “It all can be sold!” the shadows chorused around the teen-like side, captivating baby Morality with their movements as the little one clutched to the dark uniform and distracting King from his musings. “As a specimen yes I’m intimidating!” One voice continued, drifting around the side who was swaying to the music playing in his headphones with his eyes closed, holding onto Morality and then the dark clad side sang himself. “You can blame my friends on the ooootheeeer siiiiiiiiiide.” And just like that the shadows dispersed. Mostly anyway. They still swirled around the minister, but they were more of a dark aura than when they originally manifested. Anxiety seemed to be in better spirits than when he came to offer his ridiculous apology to Roman. King barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the memory. What a waste of time. Still it had been sincere, at least it seemed to be. And King wasn’t completely insensitive. He could understand that it would be hard for this young one to let go of his halves when he had never known them as one. Perhaps, King could cut him a little slack. Though he would have to remain vigilant… Hmmm, why did that word feel so odd when thinking about… Right, Virgil. Everyone had names now. Not that he cared much for those. Names were too… Names were for friends, allies. He didn’t need a name, nor did his subjects. Lest any of them forget who was in charge. King wouldn’t. Never again. The infant noticed that they were no longer alone in the room and tugged at Anxiety’s hair to get his attention. In response Thomas’ guardian pulled off his headphones and looked down at the heart. “What’s wrong popstar… or… Well, doesn’t really fit right now I guess,” Anxiety chuckled a little sadly. “Guess I’m more the dad now than you, huh?” he mused. “When this is all over, I promise I’ll never complain about you treating me like your kid again.” There was an uneasiness forming in King’s stomach. Anxiety was close with Morality, both Roman and Remus remembered that. But… how close was Morality with Anxiety? King knew that their ‘moral compass’ could be as two faced as Deceit. No, this could be part of an elaborate plan to gain his trust, he’d fallen for it once before. And of course they’d send Anxiety to do their dirty work now that all of them had already shown him their true colors. Little Morality pointed at King and Anxiety looked up, curious at first and then his eyes widened in fear. He put the child behind him and stood in a strange mixture of a respectful bow and a defensive stance. Arms slightly spread to shield his friend and head raised so he didn’t quite let his eyes leave King’s frame. “I…I’m sorry if I was too loud,” Anxiety offered with trembling voice, assuming he’d angered his king someway. Good. King approached, not sure if he was in the mood to scold or to praise just yet, but stopped about three steps in front of Anxiety as his foot hit something. He looked down and saw that the floor surrounding his minister was covered in sketches. He looked up at Anxiety with a raised brow, curious to hear what had brought on this little storm of creativity. And he found him staring at the sketches around them in horror. Then he seemingly felt the structure behind him, he turned and looked up in horror, trembling even harder. He looked back at King with wide eyes. “I…I didn’t mean to…” he started. “Then I look forward to see what you create for me when you intend to do so young one,” King mutters calmly, as he bids one of the drawings to come to his hand. As far as he can tell it’s two children playing in a forest. “Tell me about this one boy,” he instructs as he shows Anxiety the drawing. The side takes the sketch with a frown and looks at it for a moment before a small smile of recognition appears on his face. “I’d manifested for about two months. Remus felt it was about time I came on an adventure,” he starts explaining, and as he does the drawing rises up and gains colors and details that weren’t there before. Anxiety didn’t seem to notice, too captivated by his own memory as he described how freaked out he was by the forest and all its creepy creatures. Remus never let a single one touch him though. Still, it was stressful for him and he didn’t come along as often as Remus would like. The painting showed two preteens, Remus and Anxiety, the later clutching a comfort item, pillow or blanket, King wasn’t sure, maybe it was a stuffed animal. They were running around and laughing. But in their shadows Anxiety was curled up in a ball and Remus was making a gesture as if he’d just popped out and screamed ‘boo’. A lovely memory with a shadow side. But that was the nicest thing Anxiety could create with the power King had granted. Once the story was done and the painting finished, King snapped his fingers and conjured a dark wooden frame with a vine pattern around it and hung it on a non-existent wall. “I’m sorry, I know you said to get rid of the feelings, but I… I can’t… I always mess up like this please I…” Anxiety flinched when King reached out for him. Curling into himself, expecting another curse or some other punishment perhaps. Which is probably why his posture relaxed and his face was overcome with confused surprise when all he received was a brief pat on his hair. “You may not have gotten rid of those feelings but you did something even better,” King laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder and looked down on him. “You made something out of them. I am very pleased with you,” he informed his disciple. Anxiety looked up at him confused. “Really?” he asked, his voice breaking over the single word. Before King could answer, a displeased cooing pulled Anxiety’s attention away. He turned around and picked up the infant who immediately latched onto his neck and stared at King over his shoulder. Clearly the infant retained enough of Morality’s adult thoughts to be wary of him. Good it wouldn’t be a proper curse if the traitor wasn’t aware of the danger King posed to him and his precious family. King grinned menacingly at Morality, hoping it’d confirm the child’s worst fears about his intentions for who he apparently considered a son. What could be worse than agonizing over the fact that your sins would result in an innocent paying for them? For that innocent to be your child of course. “Please Pat, behave alright?” Anxiety muttered as he got up and turned back to the king. “Sorry… Your majesty. He’s a bit clingy,” the young man offered nervously. “Not your fault. I don’t quite understand why Logic and Deceit would leave the care for such a fussy child to their youngest.” Not quite true, King could perfectly see how they thought they had to concentrate on finding a weapon against him that they hadn’t tried already. But still. One would think that the two oldest should be in charge of protecting both their young ones, instead of letting them wander off into the territory of their enemy. If Anxiety had failed to entertain him with his tale, who knows what he would’ve done to amuse himself during this second visit? Maybe he’d put morality in a bit of a dilemma… He might still do so if he ever needed for Anxiety to see that his ‘dad’ didn’t love him as much as he always claimed. “Taking care of him keeps my mind occupied. I don’t want to give Thomas nightmares or anxiety attacks. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for our messes,” Anxiety explained. King might be mistaken, but that almost sounded accusatory. He elected to ignore it. Once his rule was properly reestablished, he could revisit the subject if at all necessary, which he doubted. “Well, creating art seems to do the trick just as well,” he mused as he called forth another picture. Anxiety guessed what he wanted, looked at the picture and started to talk about the movie night and a popcorn fight, then a duel with cardboard swords and laughing about memories of middle school. The colors once again revealed a pleasant day, with a shadow of self-doubt and fear of abandonment. The shadows showed Anxiety pleading on his knees while Roman threatened him with a sword. This time the frame King made was golden and held roses. “C…Can I ask something milord,” Anxiety asked timidly. “Questions are always welcomed in the realm of creativity,” King decreed. Questions created possibilities. “What happened? Before the split I mean? The other’s won’t ever tell me.” That surprised King. And from the way Morality stiffened, he had to assume it was the truth. They’d really not taken the chance to sway Anxiety’s opinion in their favor? For a moment he considers spinning a grand tale of betrayal and heartbreak, but he found the very thought of recalling the details of the events leading up to the split… unpleasant. “I trusted them and they turned against me because they disagreed with my vision for Thomas,” he informed Anxiety calmly, hoping it was enough for now. “I’m sorry. That… That is terrible,” he whispered hugging Morality closer. The young minister couldn’t see it but there were tears in Morality’s eyes. Which pleased King. Let the bespectacled traitor be afraid this may end up being the last hug he’ll ever receive from his precious Anxiety. Was this why they didn’t tell him? Because they knew that there was no spin they could give to their deeds that wouldn’t destroy the trust they’d built with the one among them who already feared being betrayed. “I… It was a long time ago. I think… Logan seemed very ashamed of what happened. Even Janus seems to feel bad. I’m sure… can’t we all…” Anxiety struggled to express his desires, but a new drawing showed what he wanted. King and Logic shaking hands amidst the others, all back to normal and smiling relieved. Faint shadows of Roman and Remus with an arm around one another’s shoulders right behind King. The fact that his minister’s powers had conjured it showed that the desire felt impossible. King dismissed this drawing in favor of another. Anxiety sighed, accepting that the subject was finished, and continued to regale him with stories of the twins. Sometimes it was a sad memory where the shadows revealed his care and worry for them both. Like a fight over a failed audition where shadow Anxiety was trying to patch up shadow Roman. Or a fight about a nightmare where the shadow of Anxiety was embracing Remus. Then memories of the other’s came. A debate about negative thoughts where shadow Logic laid a hand on shadow Anxiety’s shoulder as a gesture of pride. A staring match with Deceit but their shadows were reaching for each other. One memory had no shadows. The ‘lights’ were in Anxiety’s domain and reaching out for him as he sat huddled in on himself on the ground. The image was conflicted enough on it’s own. Then King picked up a drawing of Morality. “That’s the first time you came to talk to me remember Pat?” Virgil coed to the child who’d been rather quiet during the creation of this gallery. Anxiety recalled how he’d been upset about another fight with Roman and he’d come over and sat with him in silence. Then he’d offered him one of his cookies. It had surprised Anxiety, he knew how much Morality loved his cookies. Sharing one was his standard gesture of love and appreciation. But Anxiety felt like he didn’t deserve either at the time. He felt trapped in a role he didn’t want to play. And because of Morality talking to him that day, for the first time, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to be. Anxiety talked more about how the thought was quickly dismissed as unrealistic but King found that it was hard to focus. The colors revealed a painting of a side being offered a hand by Morality. He didn’t even notice the shadows this time. It was like he was trapped in his own memories. Then suddenly, he was back in the present and heard something beside him. A wailing child and someone gasping for air like they’d ran a marathon at full speed. He looked down and found Anxiety curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth with a crying Morality sitting next to him clutching onto his arm. Before he could wonder what had happened he could feel the others approaching at high speed. He stepped back, not wanting to be found too close to the distressed side. He could not allow them to think for even a moment, that he felt a second of worry for the minister. He didn’t, but he didn’t need the implications of such a show of weakness to bring his strength into question. “Patton! Virgil!” Deceit called out, causing Morality to calm down and just let out a few more sniffles. King set up a disinterested mask and turned to the approaching sides. “Oh good, deal with this. They bore me,” he drawled calmly as he stepped aside. He was barely acknowledged which he normally would take offense in, but he’d let it slide until he knew what had happened just now. And if it had anything to do with that terrible feeling that had struck him when he saw Anxiety’s drawing. Logic kneeled next to Anxiety and Deceit spoke with Logic’s voice. “Virgil, can you hear us?” The boy nodded. “May we touch you?” Another nod and Logic placed his hands on the side’s shoulders. “Breath Virgil, in for 4, hold for 7 out for 8, you can do it.” One more nod and the side started to follow the rhythm that was tapped on his shoulders, stuttering trough the 4th count of holding his breath. “That’s alright, try again.” King observed as the two patiently helped Anxiety to breathe normally again. Somewhere along the line the troubled side started to whisper ‘sorry,’ and ‘so stupid’. “You are not stupid, your feelings are valid and we are here to help you with them. We shouldn’t have left you on your own. Especially not with him around,” Deceit growled, now in his own voice, before turning to King. “I don’t care what you do to me, but leave Virgil out of this! He has nothing to do with this.” Before king could retort. Claim the responsibility and remind Deceit that he’ll play with his minister however he likes, the boy spoke up himself. “Not his fault. Just, random attack,” he muttered. Deceit and King looked down and found Anxiety holding onto Logic with Morality trying his best to stand on wobbly legs while holding onto the purple sash adorning the minster uniform. Logic and Morality were staring at him accusatory, but Anxiety was pleading with Deceit. “You don’t have to defend him Virgil. We know what he’s like… And we’ll do a better job at protecting you now. I swear. Let us look out for you for once, please,” Deceit pleaded. So interesting. For all Anxiety’s fears of being abandoned and betrayed, the others seemed to fear for his safety before their own. Had they changed? Or had Anxiety not yet given them sufficient reason to be muzzled? Or was it his drastic decision of muzzling himself that had made them cautious of messing with his part of their duties? “I’m not. Jan look at me. You’d know if I was lying. He was just listening to me. He didn’t do anything bad. I promise.” Deceit frowned confused. “He didn’t do this to harm you? To cause you to create…” Finally Deceit really looked at what King and Anxiety had been working on and the statue Anxiety had done all by himself. “Virgil what…” “I don’t know, I was listening to music and all this just sort of happened. His majesty was helping me finish some drawings,” he explained, confusing King. Was he… what’s the term? Covering for him? Then Anxiety got up, picking up Morality and looking at Logic who followed his movements, hands hovering around him. As if he were afraid that the younger side would fall apart at any moment. “Please, just go back alright, I’ll be fine. Thanks for helping but you should focus on making sure Thomas is alright,” Anxiety explained bravely, not quite looking at the others. Had recalling all his doubts and fears made him suspicious of the others? This could benefit King greatly. “Run along now. And take Morality. I have matters to discuss with my minister. In private,” King informed Logic and Deceit. Anxiety looked from King back to his tutor and confidant and offered him Morality. Logic shook his head with wide eyes. “Logan, it’s alright. You look after Pat for a minute. I’ll be back soon. Just… Please trust me?” Logic hesitated, sighed in defeat and took the child. He moved to leave, but paused. He turned and laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, a moment passed while the two held each other’s gaze. Anxiety nodded and patted Logic’s hand. “I will be safe. When am I ever not?” Something that would have been a chuckle rippled through Logic’s chest as he stepped away and started walking back to the commons, glancing back every ten steps or so. “Virgil… I…” Deceit started, unable to finish the thought. “I know. I’ll be okay.” And with that final assurance and a distrustful look towards King the last of the traitors left. “Why?” King wondered. It seemed obvious to him that whatever Anxiety just went through was actually meant for him. And not only had he taken the hit, he had covered for him as well. “I’m anxiety, taking on the insecurities and fears of the others is part of my job. I don’t take it all, just the really bad bits when I can take it. And… it took me forever to open up to the others about my own attacks. It wasn’t my place to share about yours. It’s nothing personal. Just me being professional I guess,” he shrugged casually. King allowed himself a small smirk and once again reached out to pat Anxiety’s hair. Once more the boy’s first instinct was to flinch, but he still let him do as he pleased. “Well done my boy. You have potential,” he told him before returning his attention to another drawing, leaving the one of Morality frameless. Later he might tell the little one a bit more about the betrayal. But first. He needed to get to know him better. “Now how about this one.”Being petted like a dog was degrading, humiliating. Trying to not just be civil towards him but formal and respectful was torture. But it was better than what he feared would happen every time the King moved his hand towards him. Virgil didn’t like being changed against his will and this king would do as he pleased with him. Which is why he had to keep him happy and away from the others. He ignored the urge to smile every time he received the king’s praise. He is not going to develop Stockholm Syndrome just because off a few half-baked complements. This guy is still a threat to Thomas… Even if the others, maybe made a mistake in the past and have a hard time owning up to that right now. Fact remained that Virgil’s job was to keep everyone safe. That meant making them not want to decapitate the king over an anxiety attack he hadn’t triggered on purpose. Still… What had triggered the attack?

[the-void-i-scream-into]

White Tulips - a JunJin fanfic 3/3

Full Story: Part 1, Part 2

Hey my beautiful readers. Thank you so much for sticking around till now. I was honestly so terrified of posting this fanfic because I had never done that before but everyone’s response has been so kind to me. Thank you.

This is the final part. I hope you all enjoyed the story. As always, this chapter is dedicated to the Shooters GC who are the best people on Tumblr.

Quick Info: The songs used in this chapter are You Were Beautiful by Day6. Park Yoona who plays Sujin said in an interview that she liked Day6, specifically this song. Haru by Royal Pirates is a personal favorite of mine. It has the same theme as True Beauty that in real love, things like looks don’t matter. The final song that Seojun sings to Sujin is Half Moon by Dean. Hwang In Yeop who plays Seojun stated that he liked this song in an interview.

Pairing: Kang Sujin x Han Seojun

Romantic Trope: Haters to friends to lovers

Word Count: 16.2k [this one is LONG]

Rating: T

PART 3

i.

“What have I done?” Sujin pulled at her hair in frustration.

The deal she had made with Han Seojun had been the on account of the many shots of soju she had taken. It was only when she had sobered up the next morning that she realized, with horror, just what exactly she had promised.

It was a bad idea. On paper it sounded plausible; two people suffering from the same pain could empathize with each other. But in reality, going through a heartbreak meant that you needed someone to support you, not the other way around. Trying to support someone whilst being in pain yourself was hard. And in this particular case, it would be impossible. Mainly because the people Kang Sujin and Han Seojun liked were with each other.  

Sujin could see her and Han Seojun’s fledgling friendship going up in flames before it had even had a chance to fly. She would always want to talk about Lee Suho and he would resent that since Suho was the one dating Jukyung. Seojun would want to talk about Jukyung and Sujin would find that annoying for the same reason.

It was a recipe for disaster.

“Yah, gimme your number.” Sujin had demanded last night, handing Han Seojun her phone after he had agreed to her stupid proposal. Seojun had obediently entered his number at her behest. She programmed her number in his phone as well.

“There. Now we can text each other if we ever need to talk.”

“Ya, why am I Gangster in your phone?” Seojun had protested when he had saw her type it out.

Sujin had chuckled, drunk on soju. “Because you’re a gangster, you gangster.”

“Is that so?” Seojun proceeded to type away furiously into his phone. He held it up for Sujin to see.

“Princess? Are we kindergarteners?” Sujin had frowned.

Seojun stuck his tongue out. “That’s what you get for naming me Gangster.”

Sujin had retaliated, editing his contact. “Here!” She held up her phone.

“Wha-What? Twerp?”

Sujin blanked on the argument that had proceeded after this but she knew they did argue. To the point that the owner of the tent bar kicked them out. 

Now Sujin was stuck with the contact named as Twerp on her phone and she had no idea what to do with it. Should she text him? Should she delete it? Should she just pretend last night didn’t happen?

She knew she should choose the third option. Or even the second. But her hand itched to send Seojun a text and see if he really was up for hanging out.

All day long Sujin kept checking her phone, looking for any new messages or missed calls she may have received. All she got were some memes from Suah and everyone else’s responses to those messages on their group chat. Han Seojun had also responded with a laughing emoji. Which meant he wasn’t too body or occupied to text Sujin.

Then why wasn’t he texting her?

Why do I care?

Sujin knew why. It was because she had no body else to talk to about what was bothering her. Normally, she would have called Jukyung but this time, she couldn’t. Jukyung’s giant engagement ring kept flashing in her mind over and over. It even plagued her dreams last night.

Sujin needed to occupy herself. Her current jobless situation wasn’t helping things either. She quickly fired a text to Suah to see if she was free to hang.

Sorry Kang Su! Me and Taehoon are going to visit his parents. Suah had replied.

Sujin looked at her list of contacts. There was no one else but Han Seojun who she could ask. Reluctantly, she texted him.

I’m going to the batting cages. Wanna join me?

Sujin pressed send before she could stop herself and was immediately filled with deep regret she saw the “Seen” check appear.

One minute, two minute, fifteen minutes passed. He didn’t reply.

“Guess he wasn’t interested.” Sujin lamented. It would have been nice to have someone to hang with, but given the obvious rejection, she had to make do with just lonesome herself.

Kang Sujin wasn’t exactly a prodigy at sports, but she was considerably better than most. Batting happened to be one of her strong suits.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

She hit each ball with graceful ease. Her brows were furrowed in focus. Her breathing controlled and steady. Sujin had learned long ago that sports aided in dealing with her rage and frustrations. It was a way to release all of her worries in a healthy manner and channel inner peace.

Thwack! Thwack!

She hit again and again, not caring about the score, just wanting to get the shot.

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Huh?” Sujin carelessly turned and her surprise at finding Han Seojun standing in the adjacent batting area was only thwarted by the ball hitting her in the torso. She yelped in pain.

“Oh, gwenchana?” Seojun asked in concern.

“Aish.” Sujin held her side and moved out of the way of the pitching machine. She gave Seojun a scathing look. “What are you doing here?”

“You asked to meet here didn’t you?”

“People normally respond to invitations to confirm they’re coming.” Sujin checked herself for injuries before resuming her batting position.

Seojun was quiet. “I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to meet you.”

Thwack! Sujin hit a ball. “Oh, yeah? What made you change your mind?”

Seojun picked up his bat, not responding. The pitching machine on his lane whirred to life. He hit his ball. Thwack! “Did you see the video Jukyung posted?”

“Ah-nee.” Sujin replied. Thwack!

“She posted a bridal makeup tutorial.”

Sujin missed the next ball. And the one after that. Seojun could feel her gaze on his back but didn’t dare turn. From his posture Sujin could sense hostility. Which was fine, she hadn’t invited him here to talk. She invited him here to vent. She resumed her batting.

“I scored higher than you.” Sujin informed with a grin once they were done.

“Good for you.” Han Seojun said, unimpressed.

He still seemed on edge. Sujin had tried to engage him during their small breaks between the game but all he had given her were clipped answers.

“Did you watch the entire video?”

“Yes.”

“How did it feel?”

“How do you think I felt?”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Just hit the ball.”

Sujin didn’t know how Seojun was when they had parted, but she herself felt significantly better. She went home with a peaceful mind and even discovered that she had gotten a call from a prospective employer. They asked if she could come in for an interview the following week. Perhaps things would be getting better from now on.

Or perhaps not.

The interview had gone horribly wrong, especially after the interviewer realized who she was. Sujin had expected a polite rejection but instead the interviewer had decided that she deserved a lecture on bullying from him.

“You know. I was bullied too as a kid.” The interviewer had said.

The experience had left her shaken. Was this going to be her life from now on? Would she just be kicked out of society just like that, over a badly reported gossip article?

Sujin’s hands ached to be washed but she refused to even think about it. She needed an outlet and she knew exactly what she wanted. It was then that she got a text from Han Seojun.

Let’s meet.

Sujin told him where to show up.

“You know jujitsu?” Seojun was surprised when she had invited him for a match.

“Don’t you?” Sujin said, clad in her white Gi. She had been warming up when Seojun had arrived clad in jeans and a hoodie. He had a cap on underneath the hood.

“I don’t fight with girls.”

“And what if a girl fights with you?”

Seojun chuckled incredulously.

“If you can laugh like that then you can show me what you’ve got, no? Or are you afraid you’ll lose like you lost in the batting cages.”

“That wasn’t a competition.”

Sujin smirked, “Sure it wasn’t.”

Seojun rolled his eyes and went to change out of his clothes.

Smack! Down Han Seojun went. He had gone easy on Kang Sujin for the first round because she was a girl. But she had immediately disarmed him and thrown him over her shoulder. Grinning like a wolf, she immediately took the fighting position again, leaving Han Seojun to recover on the floor.

“First one doesn’t count!” He argued.

“What’s wrong, Han Seojun? Can’t even fight against a girl?”

Seojun got up, “Alright. I won’t be going easy on you anymore.”

“Fine by me.”

Sujin attacked first, Seojun quickly blocked her, wrapped his arms around her waist and tried to push her down. She wrapped her legs around him and swiveled him around so that he fell. Then she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling at his arm.

“You fight without strategy.” Sujin said through clenched teeth as she tried to keep him down. Seojun managed to turn her entire body over, releasing himself.

“Fighting is about instinct. Not strategies.” Seojun went for the attack this time. Sujin blocked him but he easily maneuvered around her, throwing her down and pinning her in place with all his strength. It was an awkward position to be in, but he didn’t care. He would not let her win.

“Anything without a strategy is doomed to fail.” She grabbed his collar and adjusted her leg to flip them over. Now she was keeping him down.

“Nope. Instincts always win.” He weaseled out of her grip and they parted.

Sujin took fighting position again. She easily jabbed and smacked him around while Seojun blocked haphazardly. She was precise and focused, knowing exactly where to hit and how.

In her mind, she wasn’t fighting with Han Seojun. She was fighting with her interviewer. She jabbed and blocked and kicked the man who had sat and judged her without even hearing her side of the story. It was cathartic to let this all out. And if Han Seojun got hurt in the way, then she didn’t mind.

Sujin and Seojun fought for a long time, both sweating and panting with exhaustion but neither relenting.

“I’m still winning Han Seojun.” Sujin said with labored breath.

“We’re not done yet.”

Smack! Down Han Seojun went. Again, and again, and again.

“Had enough?” Sujin asked as they parted.

“Never.”

Seojun attacked. Sujin easily blocked it, kicking him in the chest. The mat was slick with their sweat. Sujin didn’t see Seojun slip and fall to his knees. She only spun around to deliver a roundhouse kick to his torso. But the kick would have hit him in the face. Except, except Han Seojun caught her ankle just in time. The force of it nearly knocked him down.

“I can’t let you hit my face.” He said with a half smirk.

“Wae?” She asked with a flick of her brow.

“It’s a precious commodity.”

He pulled Sujin by her ankle, bringing her leg to his side. She fell on him, using his shoulders to brace herself. Their noses were almost touching. He cupped her calf and grabbed her sleeve to hold her in place.

It was too close. Sujin’s mind went blank. And that was the opening Seojun needed to throw her down.

“I won that round.” He grinned, standing up.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still ahead.” Sujin’s face still felt hot. She got up and straightened her Gi. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Seojun nodded. “You hungry?” He asked. After the workout she had just had, she was ravenous.

They went to a nearby convenience store where they got ramen. Seojun watched in surprise as Sujin hungrily chowed down.

“What?” Sujin asked.

“You are a very unexpected girl, Kang Sujin.” Seojun took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair.

Sujin smiled and stirred her ramen. “So, what happened this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you ask to see me today? Did Jukyung post another video?”

Seojun hesitated. “Last time… I was in a bad mood. But you seemed like you wanted to talk.”

Sujin gave a slow smile. “What? You felt guilty?”

“Yes.” Seojun said unabashedly.

“You know we don’t have to talk. Maybe we can just keep each other company.”

“Sure. That seems fine.” Seojun looked at her critically. “But something was bothering you today.”

Sujin bit her cheek. “I had an interview today.”

“Didn’t go well.” It wasn’t a question.

Sujin told him, about how her interviewer treated her. About how she feared she may never get a job again.

“Ah-nee, how can people be so ridiculous? You already settled the matter didn’t you? Then what’s everybody’s problem?” Seojun’s outburst warmed Sujin’s heart. It felt good to talk and share. It made Sujin feel lighter. She wondered if she could return the favor.

“You didn’t tell me what you thought of Jukyung’s video.”

Seojun’s face fell. “Ah. That.” He leaned back and sighed. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah.”

Seojun’s face was a strange combination of pain and admiration. “She looked beautiful, didn’t she?”

Sujin’s voice was small. “Yeah, she did.” And Suho probably thought so too.

“They’ve been together for so long. Marriage was inevitable. But now that it’s happening… I don’t know. I just feel… honestly I don’t even know what I feel anymore.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t imagine how I’m going to attend the wedding.”

“My mom’s inviting the two over for dinner to celebrate. Imagine having to sit through that.”

“Yikes. Does your mom know how you feel?”

“Of course, she does. But Lee Suho is my best friend and she’s happy for him.”

“Well… I’m always here,” Sujin held up her phone, “just a text away. If you need me.”

“What I need right now is more food.” Seojun got up.

“Aren’t idols supposed to diet?”

“Not when they’ve had their ass kicked twelve times. You want anything?”

“Nah. I’m full.”

While Han Seojun went inside, Sujin checked her phone for any messages and emails. She had applied to a dozen non-profit companies. None of them, except the interview today, had gotten back.

“Omo. Isn’t that, that girl?” Someone said loudly.

“Yah! Shhh!”

Sujin looked up to some mean looking high schoolers gawking at her. There were three of them but the one standing in the front was clearly the leader. The girls to her side was trying to keep her quiet but unsuccessfully.

“It is! Look. Its that woman, Kang Sujin! Wah! I never thought I’d meet someone I read about online in real life.” The leader girl came forward, crossing her arms.

Sujin stood up to her full height. The girl was shorter than her, but she was undeterred. Sujin half admired her courage.

“Can I help you?” Sujin asked in a measured tone.

The leader girl stared Sujin down. “Check out her audacity. Should someone who’s hated by everyone be talking like that?” The girl spoke in banmal.

“I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. So why don’t you leave?” Sujin suggested. These kids were younger than her, although by not much. They looked like seniors who might have been held back a year or two.

“Why should I leave? You leave.”

“I was here first.”

“This is my usual place. My boyfriend’s coming here to meet me.” The girl said self-assuredly.

“Then let him come. There’s enough space for the both of us.”

“I don’t think so.” The girl got right in her face. “You’re the girl who seduced our Seojun Oppa, aren’t you? Don’t you know that you almost ruined his career by doing that?”

Sujin laughed at the thought of Han Seojun being someone’s Oppa. He always seemed so childish to her.

“Oh, you think its funny to ruin someone’s career?”

Sujin tried to explain calmly, “No, no. I wasn’t—"

The girl pushed her, “Women like you are everything that’s wrong with the world!”

The old Kang Sujin would have kicked this rude girl’s ass by this point. But Sujin was trying to be a new Kang Sujin, one that didn’t hate easily. Sujin sighed. “Kid, just leave me alone.”

The girl poked her finger in Sujin’s shoulder. “And what if I don’t?”

Sujin raised a hand and the girl flinched. But Sujin only stroked her head. “Youngster, you shouldn’t be so rude to people.”

“Like you were to Lim Jukyung?” Sujin’s face hardened as the girl taunted, “What? You guys are friends now? Who would buy that bullshit? People are you are such trash. You go around flaunting your beauty, seducing our idols. Trash like you doesn’t belong here.”

“Yah, stop it!” The girl’s friends warned from behind.

“Chaeri, you’ll get into trouble.”

Chaeri didn’t listen. “Leave! I don’t want people like you here.” She told Sujin.

It was one thing to be nice. It was quite another to be weak. And Kang Sujin was anything but weak. “You want me to leave?” Sujin said. “Then make me.” Sujin stood her ground, glaring at the girl.

Chaeri smiled. “Okay.” She reached over to the half finished can of soda that Han Seojun had left on the table and poured it over Sujin.

Sujin closed her eyes to calm herself. Don’t engage Kang Sujin.

“Here you go, b****.”

Alright, screw it.

Sujin’s eyes popped open enraged. “What did you just call me? B****?” She grabbed Chaeri’s hair and pulled.

Chaeri screamed, “Yah! What are you doing?”

“I was going easy on you since you’re a teenager. But now I see you need to be taught a lesson.” Sujin kept her grip firmly on the Chaeri hair as the girl struggled to break free. “Listen carefully. Just because someone has allegedly done something wrong doesn’t mean you get to take justice in your hands. If you see something wrong, you speak up about it. If it’s happening in front of you, you stop it. But you don’t go around harassing someone without even understanding the full story, arachi? If I’m a bully, then go tell the police and have them investigate. Calling me names and bothering me only makes you another bully, not an avenger.”

Sujin let go. Chaeri ran and cowered by her friends who looked at Sujin in fear.

“Now get out of my sight. And don’t let me see you girls again.”

The girls ran away as Sujin watched. She didn’t enjoy what had just happened. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Was I too harsh?

“Remind me never to piss you off again.” Han Seojun came to stand by her.

“Mwo-ya, were you watching? How long were you here.”

“I came out when I saw you grabbing that girl’s hair.”

Sujin frowned in worry. “I wasn’t—”

“I know.” Seojun came forward, eyeing her head. “I heard the speech. Did they do this?” He pointed to her wet hair.

“Ugh. Yeah.” Sujin groaned.

“Let’s go inside. You can clean up.”

Sujin used the convenience store bathroom to wash out the soda from her hair. She dried off with some paper towels but her head looked like a mess when she was done. She tried to smoothen it down but then it stuck to her face weirdly.

In the store, Han Seojun was signing an autograph for the store clerk. “Ya, gimme that.” Sujin came up behind him and took his cap off from him, putting it on herself. Han Seojun didn’t bat an eye lash.

“Here you go.” He told the clerk.

“Thank you. My girlfriend will really appreciate it.” The clerk beamed.

The convenience store entrance rang as they exited.

“You can keep that cap.” Seojun told Sujin.

“Ah really?”

“Yah! Are you the one who harassed my girlfriend?”

Seojun and Sujin turned. The high schooler, Chaeri, was standing there with four hulking boys, all looking like miscreants with their mean faces and unkempt clothing. They seemed older than high school kids, more like college students. The girl’s friends were notably missing. It was just her and the four thugs.

“Han Seojun,” Sujin whispered, “you leave.”

“No.” He said casually, yet firmly.

“You could get into another scandal, you idiot!” Sujin hissed.

“No.”

Sujin clenched her jaw. “Listen to me, you dolt. You’ll—”

“Omo! Is that Han Seojun?” Chaeri was staring, eyes wide in wonder. “It is! Oh my God, Oppa! Is that you? Why are you here?” Chaeri’s eyes passed between Seojun and Sujin. “Oppa, are you actually dating this girl?” She asked, sounding betrayed.

“You know this guy?” Chaeri’s boyfriend asked.

“He’s Han Seojun. He’s an idol.”

“He’s not with me.” Sujin declared as she walked up to the group, putting distance between her and Seojun. “We just coincidentally met inside.” She stood resolutely with her shoulders squared, not showing an ounce of fear.

Seojun walked up and stood Sujin. “I am with her. So what? You got a problem?” He asked Chaeri.

Sujin’s face contorted in exasperation. Han Seojun, you idiot!

The boyfriend looked amused at the situation. “Aaah. I see now. You think that just because your boyfriend is a big shot idol that you can do whatever you want?”

“That’s not what happened. Your girlfriend here harassed me first.” Sujin explained coolly.

“Oppa, she’s lying.” The girl said. “I was just walking by and she started pulling my hair.” 

Sujin scoffed. “What an obvious lie. You gonna believe that?”

“I don’t see why I have to believe you.” The boyfriend replied.

“Why would I attack her without any reason?”

“Oppa, she did it because I was a fan of Han Seojun.” Chaeri looked at Seojun, “Aren’t you going to defend your fans?”

Seojun tilted his head. “My fans don’t go around harassing my friends.”

Chaeri’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Also, no real fan would damage their idol’s reputation but causing a scene like this. Don’t you know it reflects badly on me when say I have toxic fans?”

Chaeri’s face contorted in anger. Sujin gulped, “Han Seojun, shut up.”

“Oppa, you’re going to just let these people treat me this way?” Chaeri pulled at her boyfriend’s arm.

The boyfriend leaned down to Sujin, “Listen here ahjumma, you hurt my girlfriend. That action is going to come with consequences.”

Seojun grabbed the boy’s collar, pushing him away from Sujin. “You can’t call yourself a man if you threaten women like this.”

The boyfriend laughed, before he went in for the punch. Seojun dodged it and kicked the guy in the chest, sending him backwards. Chaeri squealed and jumped to the side. The other three thugs went for Seojun and Sujin.

Sujin brought one of them down with a spin kick in the face. The other two boys were on Seojun. Sujin kicked one of them away and dragged him further by his hair.

It was difficult for Sujin and Seojun to keep up. The thugs, while young, were still huge and more in number. Sujin took her time to size up her opponents, hitting and dodging accordingly.  Seojun fought in his typical instinctive manner, taking many hits but also delivering his own. 

One of the boys had Seojun backed up in the corner and by this time the boyfriend had gotten back up. Seojun didn’t see the boyfriend, but Sujin did. The boyfriend picked up a stick lying on the corner of the street by the garbage cans. Two thugs were on Seojun now, holding him back as the boyfriend raised the stick, aiming to swing it right in Seojun’s face.

In that moment, Sujin forgot all about fighting with strategy. All she could think of was saving Han Seojun. She ran into the boyfriend, taking him down with her entire body. She kicked him in the groin, causing so much pain that the boy’s face became red. Han Seojun, and the two thugs holding him back, were staring at her speechless.

“I won’t let you hit his face.” She told the boyfriend. Then, giving Seojun a sideways look she added, “It’s a hot commodity.”

Seojun took this opening to break free and kick the thugs away. Sujin swung the stick and hit one of them in the back. The last one standing decided to be smart and ran away.

Seojun and Sujin looked at each other, and the high schoolers lying on the ground, moaning in pain. They had won and it felt good. Seojun looked at something behind Sujin. She followed his line of sight and found Chaeri standing by the corner, recording everything on her phone.

Sujin walked up to her. “Give it while I’m being nice.”

“I’m recording this too you know.” Chaeri said insolently.

Sujin smiled. Then spun around to kick Chaeri, except she missed her face by an inch.

“Ah, how sad. I missed.”

Chaeri just stood, frozen in place. Seojun walked up, pulled the phone from her hand and smashed it to the ground.

“Am I going to hear about this online?” It was a rhetorical question. Said with such authority, in that deep angry baritone, that even Sujin felt intimidated.

Chaeri just shook her head.

“Good. Lets go, Kang Sujin.” Seojun led Sujin away by her arm.

“So, like I said. Remind me never to piss you off again.” Seojun repeated. Sujin chuckled. “Also…” Seojun rubbed the back of his head, “Thanks… for saving me back there.”

“Don’t mention it. After all, we have to protect his hot commodity.” Sujin teased. Instead of getting annoyed like she expected him to, Han Seojun smirked.

“You know I never said my face was a hot commodity. I only said it was a precious commodity.” Sujin stopped in her tracks as she realized he was right. But Seojun kept on walking smugly. “I guess you think I’m hot.” He called back to her.

“No way!” Sujin yelled as she ran after him. “No way!” ii.

Things had changed between Kang Sujin and Han Seojun. They were way past enmity now. In fact, Seojun couldn’t even remember the hate he used to have for her. They were also past the courteous co-existence they had sustained for a brief period where they acted polite and nice to one another which was more a sign of them being strangers than anything else.

Now Han Seojun and Kang Sujin really could say that they were friends. Hanging out together had become a weekly ritual. Almost always, it was prompted by something Jukyung or Suho did.

The night of Suho’s and Jukyung’s the engagement party, hosted by Suho’s father, they went to karaoke to sing their hearts out. As expected, Seojun was the better singer. But Sujin wasn’t exactly bad herself. Her song choices were about self-empowerment and having fun. Seojun chose soft, ballads that were clearly about Jukyung.

“One day, my songs will be on a karaoke machine too.” Seojun had wished as they had walked back home.

“And then I will sing it.” Sujin encouraged.

“And ruin it.”

Sujin punched him in the shoulder.

The time Suho and Jukyung announced their wedding on Jukyung’s channel, they went to an arcade. Of course, Sujin beat Seojun at every game.

“Ah-nee, how do you know how to play? All I ever saw you doing in school was study.”

“Just accept it, Han Seojun. I’m better than you.”

“At bragging maybe.”

The time Jukyung got drunk and went around hugging Han Seojun thinking he was Suho, they went for a drive on his bike.

Sujin had insisted that he teach her how to ride it.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Seojun remebered how terrified Jukyung had been when she first rode with him.

“Why would I be?” Sujin asked, confused.

She took to the bike quickly and soon was riding them both around the city without Seojun’s guidance.

“Not too bad, Kang Sujin.” Seojun was impressed. Sujin grinned triumphantly.

As per their agreement, the two looked out for each other when they were with the group, making sure their feelings weren’t too apparent. At the night of the engagement party, Sujin kept covering for Seojun when he didn’t participate in conversations as much as he usually did. She would answer for him or change the subject. On the same night, Seojun had been the one to sneak Sujin away when she was on the verge of breaking into tears when the couple was cutting the cake. No one had noticed the two heart broken friends that night. All eyes had been on Jukyung and Suho.

On the same night that Jukyung had gotten drunk, Han Seojun had been the one to distract Suah when she kept pushing Jukyung into dating a guy she knew from work. And on a separate occasion, when the group was out for dinner and had run into Suho’s father, Seojun had kept a firm hand on Sujin’s back when Lee Joheon spoke at length on how sad he was about her parents’ divorce.

As uncanny as it seemed, it was undeniable. Han Seojun and Kang Sujin were friends now. Oddly enough, no one seemed to have picked up on their closeness, despite the fact that they never hid it from anyone. Sujin mentioned that Seojun had taught her how to ride his bike but the statement went unnoticed for its inclusion of Han Seojun. All Suah and Jukyung cared about was how dangerous it was to drive bikes.

“Han Seojun! Stop being a bad influence on Sujin!” Jukyung had scolded.

“What did I do? She’s the one who wanted to learn. And she’s not so innocent either. Just ask her about how she beat me in jiujitsu.” Seojun had pointed a finger at her.

“You know Jiujitsu?” Suho had asked, ignoring the part about her beating Seojun.

“Yeah. We should spar sometime.”

And so things went on and Jukyung’s and Suho’s wedding date inched closer and closer. But Sujin felt nothing had really improved with her feelings about Suho.

“We should really get to the therapy part one of these days.” Sujin casually said over a cup of coffee. This time, they had opted for a quiet meeting in a café.

Seojun considered her request. “What should we talk about?”

They both drew a blank, neither able to come up with a good starting point. Their feelings were so complicated and tangled that neither knew were to start unraveling.

Sujin raised a hand, fingers spread out wide. “Five questions.” She said, and with each word she lowered a finger, “Who, What, When, Where and Why.” She said in English.

“What’s that?”

“Its how you gather basic information. You ask yourself these questions.” Sujin explained, translating in Korean, “Who is it? What is it? When was it? and Why was it?”

Seojun nodded. “Okay. You first.”

“Hmm… We can skip the Who since we already know who it is. So, what is it that I like about Lee Suho? Hmm…” Sujin had to think for a minute. 

The first thing that popped into her mind was her father. She and Suho both had troubled relationships with their fathers and at the time, Sujin had felt that Suho could understand her better because because of this. But she couldn’t tell Han Seojun that. Having a dysfunctional family made her feel like a freak. She didn’t need Han Seojun knowing about her private problems, even if they were friends. 

So instead of the truth, she said, “He was cool,”  

Seojun scoffed. “Kang Sujin were you that shallow?”

Sujin looked at him flatly. “It wasn’t just that! It was… well, he was always cold to everyone else. But he still treated me better.” Sujin looked at her hands, nervously playing with her thumbs. “I guess I liked how he was with me. And I liked that he wasn’t shallow like most boys are. ”

That answer seemed more acceptable to Seojun. “I don’t think I can distill my feelings to just a couple of traits. I like everything about Lim Jukyung. The way she smiles, the way she ties up her hair, how kind and caring she is with everyone… she just has this warmth about her that just… draws you in.”

“I know what you mean.” Sujin agreed. But there was a little part of her that resented Seojun’s compliments of Jukyung. Wasn’t she kind and caring too? Didn’t she have any warmth?

Probably not. Her father’s voice said. Sujin pushed it away.

“When did you first start liking Lee Suho?” Seojun asked.

Sujin thought for a minute. “I don’t know. I just know that when I noticed I liked him, it felt like I had always liked him.” She sat up straight. “What about you? When did you start liking Jukyung?”

After a pause he replied, “When I started to get to know her. I can’t say exactly when… But I noticed my heart would act weird after she started teasing me about my underwear--”

“Say what now? What underwear?” Sujin perked up. It was at this moment that Han Seojun knew, that he had messed up. He could feel himself get red in the face.

“It was nothing. What I meant was—”

“Nononono, no. Han Seojun, you’re not getting out of this one. Tell me. What underwear?”

Seojun crossed his arms, “I’m not saying a word.”

Their therapy session had ended there. Sujin tried again and again to get Seojun to reveal what the underwear incident was but he kept his silence. He would die before he ever told anyone about how Jukyung had seen him dancing around in his cheetah print underwear.

Han Seojun still experienced PTSD when he heard “Okey Dokey yo!” from anywhere.

iii.

Seojun didn’t know how the fight began. They had met up for dinner after Sujin got off from work. She had taken up various part time jobs to pay the bills. With her being busy throughout the day, dinner was the only time they could meet.

They had been talking about Suho and Jukyung. Seojun normally danced around the topic of what Sujin had done back in high school now that they were friends. But this time she had brought it up herself.

“Do you remember that picture I took of you?”

“Yeah.” Seojun still remembered how flatly she had said You look cool. He had almost admired her audacity back then, and he did so more now.

“I traded it to get the info on Jukyung.” She admitted quietly.

“Ah, even back then my face was such a hot commodity.” Seojun said smugly.

Sujin made a face at him.

They joked about the past, about how Han Seojun hadn’t changed since then, about how Sujin had changed so much. Then, as they walked towards Sujin’s apartment, they got into the serious stuff. About how Sujin just disappeared after the truth about her was revealed, about how Seojun was right that she had only destroyed herself, and no one else.

“I wish I hadn’t done all that. Looking back, I want to kick myself.” Sujin had said.

“You should have shared, about what you were going through. Suah and Jukyung would have understood. I mean, having your father treat you the way he did… it must have made everything harder to deal with. Looking back, I might have acted better too, even helped y--”

Seojun suddenly noticed that Sujin wasn’t with him. She had stopped in her tracks and was glaring at him but Seojun couldn’t understand why.

“W-what do you mean my father’s treatment?” Sujin asked icily, her face was unreadable.

“Well… didn’t he used to beat you and pressure you for—”

“Shut up! Just shut up, Han Seojun!” Sujin suddenly freaked out. And it scared Seojun.

“What’s wrong?” He asked with concern. He moved towards her, but she moved back.

She looked at him coldly. “Who the hell told you about this? Was it Suho? It was Suho, wasn’t it? No one else knows besides him.”

Seojun hesitated. “Actually... that time when I met your mom—”

Sujin blinked rapidly. “So you’re saying that you’ve known about this all this time?”

“Kang Sujin, calm down its not a—”

Sujin spoke through clenched teeth, “What’s not a big deal? The fact that my family is broken or the fact that my father was an abusive asshole? What exactly about it is not a big deal, Han Seojun?”

Seojun was thoroughly confused now. “Sujin-ah.” he called out to her but she kept moving back with every step he took towards her. She was shaking quite visibly.

“Did you have fun, thinking I was so tragic and damaged? Did you have fun pitying me all this time? Did you—” Sujin’s eyes went wide as if she hit a realization. “Ya Han Seojun… did you become friends with me because you pitied me?” She said the word with such acidity that Seojun flinched.

It would be a lie to say it hadn’t influenced his opinion of her. But it wasn’t the only reason they were friends. Surely Sujin had to understand that.

“Sujin-ah—”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Sujin’s lip quivered. “All this time, you’ve only treated me decently because you thought I was some tragic case—”

“You know that’s not true.” Seojun protested but Sujin wasn’t listening.

“—and here I was thinking we were actually friends. Han Seojun, would you have even been nice to me if you hadn’t known?”

“Does that matter?” Seojun asked, frustrated, “We’re friends now, aren’t we?” 

That had been the wrong thing to say. Sujin’s eyes flamed as she suddenly switched. Gone was the shaking and the freaked out look. Sujin was now very calm and cold; calculating in her movements. She gave a sarcastic smile. “Ya Han Seojun. Do you know? I pity you too.”

“What?”

“Pathetically liking someone for so long, whining like a boy over everything, acting all childish, you think that makes you attractive?”

“Ya, Kang Sujin—” Seojun warned.

“I bet Jukyung pities you too.” Sujin stalked up to Seojun. “Ah, that loser, Han Seojun, until when is he going to be hung up on me? I bet that’s what she thinks every time she sees you.”

They glared at each other for the longest time. Maybe too long.

“Kang Sujin… you are seriously messed up.” Was all Seojun said before he walked away; from Sujin and the entire situation. Sujin’s eyes filled with tears which she furiously blinked away.

If Sujin had been more like Jukyung, she would have dealt with this situation maturely. Lim Kukyung would have faced her emotions and not taken Seojun’s sympathy as pity. Lim Jukyung would have been up front about how she felt and not pushed Seojun away. Lim Jukyung would have been better.

But Kang Sujin was not Lim Jukyung. Kang Sujin was a messed up girl.

iv.

“Has anyone heard from Sujin recently?” Jukyung asked the group. They were all gathered for lunch, all except Seojun and Sujin, both of whom had been absent these past couple of get-togethers.

“Wae? Has something happened?” Suah asked.

“Not really. But she hasn’t been replying as much to my texts.” Jukyung pouted.

“You know what Kang Su is like. She’s rarely online. Plus, she’s working all these jobs now.”

“She always replies to me though,” Jukyung muttered to herself as she looked at her chat with Sujin. The one Sujin hadn’t responded to since four days.

“Is Seojun not coming today either?” Taehoon asked Suho.

“Don’t know. He’s so busy with brand practice these days that he barely replies to me.”

“Guys! Sorry I’m late!” Sujin rushed towards the group.

“Kang Su!” Jukyung and Suah welcomed her.

“We were afraid you wouldn’t show up again.” Jukyung said, putting her arm through Sujin’s.

“Kang Su-ya,” Suah said, playfully nudging Sujin’s shoulder, “you’re all dressed up. Did you just come back from a date?” Indeed Sujin was wearing a sleek black pant suit with full makeup on.

“Who went on a date?” Seojun arrived but stopped when he saw Sujin. Sujin held her breath as she waited for him to say something.

“Our Kang Su.” Suah responded. Seojun just flicked a brow but betrayed no emotion. He took a seat besides Suho.

“Ya! It wasn’t a date. I just came back from an interview.” She grinned.

“Ooh! How did it go?”

Sujin kept her silence for a second before she finally burst with excitement, “I got it!” The girls squealed at the good news. “Its at this non-profit that works with providing clean water to under-developed countries.” She showed everyone the website for the company and the work that they did on her phone.

Everyone congratulated Sujin on her accomplishment. Even Seojun gave her a “Congratulations.” To which she thanked him.

“I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think you’d come.” Suho told Seojun.

He wasn’t going to. But he had heard that Sujin hadn’t been present either and he had figured it would be okay for him to join everyone if she wasn’t there. 

She should have been an actress, Seojun thought as he watched Sujin behave like nothing was wrong.

The conversation over lunch flowed easily as it usually did. Everyone laughed, joked and shared about what had happened since they last met. No one seemed to notice that Seojun and Sujin were not speaking directly to each other, even once. They only spoke to everyone else.

It was only when Seojun was leaving the men’s room that he found Sujin waiting for him and jumped in surprise.

“Ah, ggam-jjak-ee-ya!” Seojun held his chest in shock.

“Aww, the great Han Seojun get’s scared?”

“Only when confronted by pervert girls who stalk boys outside the washrooms.”

Sujin narrowed her eyes. “Shut up! I wasn’t stalking. I was only waiting to talk to you.”

“That’s equally worrying. What do you want?” He said dismissively.

Sujin handed him a keychain. It was his own face made in cartoon form. “Here. I know how much you love seeing yourself.”

“What’s this for?”

Sujin cleared her throat. “An apology. Mianhae, Han Seojun. Last time—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He handed the keychain back to Sujin. She grabbed his arm as he tried to leave.

“At least hear me out.”

“No.” Seojun pushed her arm away.

Sujin’s lips tightened. She grabbed Seojun’s arm again, pulling him with brute strength. “Will you just listen to me you big baby! I’m trying to apologize.” She glared at him.

“Why? I thought you hated me.”

Sujin’s face softened. “I don’t hate you, Han Seojun.” She let go of his arm. “That time… when you started talking about my father, I just lost it. I haven’t actually told anybody about what he did to me. Not even Suah and Jukyung know. All they know is that he was tough on me.”

“Lee Suho knows.” Seojun accused.

“He figured it out on his own. I never actually told him. How could I?” Sujin felt ridiculous admitting it out loud, “How could I tell him that I don’t know what a happy family looks like? I see Jukyung with her dad and Suah with hers and how they have such good relationships, and I can’t imagine being the same way with my father. And that makes me feel like a freak. People already give me weird looks because of my parents’ divorce. If they knew about my father, they’d think that I was crazy… and maybe I am, who knows.”

Seojun softened. “You’re not crazy, Sujin-ah.” 

There it was, that pity on Han Seojun’s face. Sujin hated it but she had come today to this lunch only to apologize to him and that is what she was going to do.

“I am, Han Seojun. Why else would I have said all of those mean things?” Sujin’s voice shook. Seojun moved to hug her but she stepped away. Him comforting her would be too much, she would fall to pieces if he did. She had to hold herself together, on her own. “I’m sorry Han Seojun. I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word.”

Seojun nodded. “I know.” He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and only then did he notice how bothered he really had been about their fight.

“You guys not coming?” Suho asked as he passed by. Seojun and Sujin straightened themselves up and joined the others.

They found the girls giggling at something on Jukyung’s phone.

“What’s funny?”

“Ya Kang Sujin, your nose looks so big in this!” Suah commented. Jukyung turned the phone to Sujin. It was the video of the live event they had done.

“Aish!” Sujin said disapprovingly. “I look so weird in this video.”

Suho and Taehoon leaned over and laughed too as Sujin robotically read off the comments in the video.

“Maybe we can go Seojun’s makeup next.” Jukyung suggested.

“I’m a celebrity, Lim Jukyung.” He said haughtily, pulling the lapels of his jacket, “You can’t just have me on any show.”

Sujin wrinkled her nose at Seojun, “This coming from a guy who didn’t even know the difference between ppt and fitting.”

“That never happened!” Seojun contested. Everyone else laughed.

“Sujin-ah. Maybe I can have you on as a guest next time.” Jukyung suggested.

“Sure.” Sujin put her arm around Jukyung and whispered audibly, “And let’s do it when Suho isn’t around.” The girls winked to each other.

Suho smacked Sujin’s hand away from Jukyung’s shoulder. “Keep your hands off my girlfriend.”

“Sure. But I can’t guarantee she’ll keep her hands off me.” Sujin grinned evilly. Suho’s wide eyed, worried, expression made Jukyung laugh.

v.

Han Seojun fell on his face for the umpteenth time as he tried to hit the ball that Sujin had served. He was lucky they were all on the beach and his face was hitting soft sand instead of concrete.

“Ya, who’s idea was it to play volleyball?” Seojun asked as he brushed himself off.

“Quit being a sore loser, Han Seo!” Sujin called from the girl’s side of the net.

“Just you watch. I will make you eat your words!”

Of course, the boys lost. Suho was too distracted by Jukyung. Taehoon played bad on purpose because Suah said she wanted to win. Chorong was a bad at playing in general. The only two people taking this seriously were Han Seojun and Kang Sujin who ran around covering up for their team mates, as if their lives depended on winning. Sujin in particular refused to let Seojun get a single goal.

“You must really hate Han Seojun, huh?” Suah asked once the game was over.

“No. I just don’t like to lose.”

“Look at her, it’s like she’s going to war.” Jukyung laughed at the fire in Sujin’s eyes.

“Did you piss Kang Sujin off?” Taehoon was asking Seojun on the other side as the boys drank water.

“Nah, she’s just like that in general.” Seojun panted, still exhausted from the game.

A crowd of girls had gathered around their little game, drawn towards Suho and Seojun playing. They had cheered the boys on during the game and now they gravitated towards the two, hoping to get a chance to talk to them.

Suho had brushed them off in his usual rude manner. Seojun had been obliging, especially when they recognized who he was. He patiently signed autographs but couldn’t take pictures since his company didn’t allow them.

“Han Seojun, we have to get back.” Suah had come over to inform him.

“Yeah, just one minute.” The fans kept coming and coming. Seojun realized that maybe he should tell them he has to go. But as much as he wanted, he couldn’t say no to the hopeful girls who had liked the music that he made and had decided his signature was worth something.

“Han Seojun hurry up! We have to move!” Jukyung called.

“Just a second!”

Suho came over and rudely pushed through the crowd of girls. “Yah! Don’t be like that to my fans.” He tried dragging Seojun away but Seojun dodged him and the girls quickly pushed him back.

“Yah! Haven’t you girls had enough?!” Sujin’s voice boomed over the crowd, terrifying everyone. “And you girls over there!” Sujin pointed, “I saw you two return twice! You’re planning on selling those autographs, aren’t you?”

“Ya Kang Sujin—” Seojun began to protest.

“Don’t piss me off.” Sujin warned, “Our trip isn’t a place for you to have fan meetings.” She grabbed Seojun’s wrist and dragged him away before he could object.

The fangirls whispered to each other angrily, but none dared stand in Sujin’s way as she took Seojun away from them.

“Mwo-ya.”

“Who is that girl?”

“What the hell?”

“Come on, I’m hungry. We should get back to the resort.” Suho said when Seojun had joined them. He and Taehoon picked up their things and loaded them in their car.

At a distance, near a food cart, stood Kim Chorong. He watched as everyone got ready to leave. He could see Suah and Jukyung clinging to their boyfriends, his own posse goofing around and Han Seojun laughing and joking with his arm around Suho.

“Did you see how all those girls swarmed around me?” Seojun asked Jukyung. “Ya, aren’t you lucky to have a guy like me as your friend?”

“What lucky? You wasted all our time!” Jukyung scolded.

“Ah, I just can’t turn off my charms.”

Sujin scoffed, pulling a disgusted face, “Where? Where are these charms?” She put her hand over her eyes and mimicked searching.

“Right here!” Seojun replied, puffing his chest. “See how charming I am!”

“As charming as a sea louse maybe.”

“Yah!” The group laughed as Seojun pointed accusingly at Sujin.

Chorong had watched as Seojun pointed at Sujin in a huff while everyone laughed. It was the liveliest that Chorong had ever seen Han Seojun be.

“Chagi, what are you doing here all alone?” Chorong’s girlfriend came up to him.

“Geunyang.” Chorong put his arm around his girlfriend and walked towards the group.

They all went back to their resort, a beautiful location that Suho had paid for as this was the first time that everyone was going together since high school. They were all given shared rooms. Naturally, Chorong shared his with Seojun.

“Han Seojun,” Chorong began as Seojun changed out of his shirt, “I’m really happy for you.”

“Huh? What for?”

“You always used to complain about hanging out with everyone, but I don’t hear you do that anymore.” Chorong said sentimentally.

Seojun blinked. “Kim Chorong did you drink too much sea water? What kind of a weird thing is that to say?”

Chorong came up and hugged the half-naked Seojun, who balked at the gesture. “What the hell?!”

“Do you know how worried I was about you?” Chorong, with his enormous size, did not notice how Han Seojun desperately struggled to break free from his grip.

“Ya! You pervert, lemme go!”

“Ah-nee, look at you now. You said you would never go on an overnight trip with Suho and Jukyung, and yet here you are.”

Seojun stopped struggling. “What?”

It was odd that out of all people, Chorong had been the one to notice. “I’m so happy for you Han Seojun. Th—”

“Han Seojun, Jukyung’s asking if you would—whatthehell?” Sujin burst in and went still when she saw a half dressed Seojun being held by a sentimental looking Chorong.

Sujin betrayed no emotion. Just wordlessly took out her phone and promptly snapped a photo.

Han Seojun tried to push Chorong away, “No! Ya! Don’t you dare!”

“Jukyung is asking if you will sing songs for us. Quickly get dressed and come over, okay?” Sujin went out and Seojun caught a glimpse of her evil smile as she did.

“Yah! Kim Chorong!” Seojun shouted as Chorong finally let him go.

Of course, Seojun would perform. He always did when Jukyung asked. The group clapped at the end of the first song but the only reaction Seojun cared for was Jukyung. As usual, he found her engrossed with Lee Suho instead of him. Seojun couldn’t help but stare at the two.

“You sounded good.” Sujin came out of nowhere, blocking his view of Jukyung. Seojun knew, she was doing it on purpose.

“Too obvious?” He asked quietly.

“Too obvious. Suah almost noticed.” Sujin moved to block Suah’s line of vision to Seojun’s face.

“Thanks, I owe you one.” Seojun said.

“Pay me back with a song then.” Sujin rolled on her heels.

“Nope. Only Jukyung gets to request songs.”

She pfft-ed through her lips, “Mwo-ya. How stingy.” She turned on her heels.

“What song?” Seojun asked. Sujin smiled and turned back.

“You Were Beautiful by Day6.”

“Why not something by my band?” Seojun sounded almost insulted.

“I like Day6 better.” Sujin teased.

“I expected better taste from you, Kang Sujin.” Seojun adjusted the tuning of his guitar, testing the chords.

“Its my goodbye.” Sujin explained. “I’m moving on from Lee Suho.”

“Haven’t I heard that before?” Seojun said skeptically.

“Its for real this time.” Sujin said. Seojun looked up at her determined face.

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. It’s been long enough now. This is my way of making it official. So do a good job, okay?” Sujin walked away.

“I bet I’ll sing it better!” Seojun called after her.

“We’ll see!”

She hadn’t looked at Suho even once during his performance. But then, she hadn’t looked at anyone, just stared out the window. By the end she was tearing up. Seojun saw Suho happen to look over at Sujin.

He’s going to see her cry.

Seojun began to play his guitar loudly and messily, “Yeppeosseo! Yeppeosseo! Neon neomu yeppeosseo!” Everyone winced as he sang, or rather shouted, at the wrong note. But the abrupt bad singing had its intended effect. Suho’s attention was on Han Seojun. It took a second for Sujin to get the message. She sat up straight and wiped her face.

“Han Seojun! Stop it!” Suah yelled and Seojun stopped. “Are you in a rock band?”

Sujin sent him a grateful smile.

“It’s a totally new style of singing. You guys don’t like?” Seojun asked.

“No!” Came the resounding response.

Sujin’s was the only voice that said. “Yes!”

Seojun pointed his guitar at Sujin, head tilted back. “Better than Day6?”

“Much better!” Sujin grinned.

vi.

“YES! I WIN! I WIN!” Seojun ran around the court, pumping his fist in the air as Kang Sujin stared with a flat face and her hands on her hips. After having lost at nearly everything to Kang Sujin, Han Seojun had finally discovered something she was bad at.

“Are you really that happy?” She said, her upper lip pulled up in disdain.

“Ya! How can someone be so bad at basketball? You didn’t score a single goal!” Seojun’s eyes were wide with pure joy, his cheeks uplifted in a wide smile.

“Stop making fun of me.” Sujin fumed. She hated losing.

“I mean, I’ve never seen anyone lose so bad!” He laughed while pointing at Sujin, relishing in her first defeat. He knew he was great at basketball, but he hadn’t expected Sujin to be that bad. Sujin looked away, puffing up her cheeks.

“Zero!” He made a circle from his finger and thumb, “You got zero! I’ve seen worse players score more on accident!”

“Ah shut up!” She stomped her foot, "I was just off my game!”

“Off your game? Wae? Was my handsome face too distracting for you?” Seojun expected Sujin to come after him with a flying kick, or a punch in the shoulder or even a pithy retort. What he didn’t expect was the deep blush that spread across her cheeks. She looked around, choosing to look anywhere but him.

“Oh my God, jinjja? You got distracted by my face?” Seojun moving to look at her face better.

“Ah-nee-godun!” Sujin yelled, dodging his gaze. “Who would get distracted by those mean eyes?”

“Oh, so it was my eyes?” Seojun purred.

“As if!”

“Ooooooh! You’re even blushing!” He teased.

“I’m red from playing!” Sujin spun around and walked away, leaving Seojun laughing.

“I’m joking! I’m joking! I know it’s not that. Come back Sujin-ah!”

They changed out of their sweaty gym clothes. Seojun was wearing his typical brown coat over black pants and a black turtle-neck sweater. He was ready before Sujin so he waited for her outside.

She came out all dolled up, her hair brushed straight, fresh makeup on her face. She had a white coat over a pretty, pale pink dress. Seojun didn’t understand why she had dressed up so brightly today. She even had heels on. Sujin had denied any special reason when he had asked before so he figured this was just a girl thing that he would never understand.

They had only walked a couple of steps when Sujin stopped in her tracks. “Ah, shit. I think I forgot my phone inside.”

“Why are you so distracted today? Where is your head, Kang Sujin?” Seojun complained. Sujin ran back inside to get her phone.

“Got it!” She came back running.

They walked over to the café that they frequented to the point where the barista recognized them now.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t go to the amusement park like you wanted.” Seojun apologized.

Sujin waved a hand dismissively, “Doesn’t matter. It was just a throw away suggestion.”

“But I understand why you wanted to go there instead.”

“You do?” Sujin asked with a tinge of worry.

“Its because you didn’t want me to find out you were bad at basketball, didn’t you?” Seojun snapped his fingers.

Sujin’s face fell. She clicked her tongue in disappointment.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Sujin replied sarcastically, “Ah, you’re totally right Han Seojun. I am so immature that all I care about is winning against a guy who thought Einstein was an appliance.”

“That happened only once.” Seojun defended.

A silence fell between them as their order came. Wordlessly, Sujin drank her iced latte and Seojun sipped his iced Americano. They often had these moments where neither would speak. But it was a comfortable silence. Sometimes Seojun and Sujin just enjoyed each other’s company without feeling the need to talk.

“You know we never finished our five questions.” Sujin reminded.

“Oh wow. That feels like it was so long ago.” Seojun leaned his head back as he tried to remember. “We covered the When. Where… I don’t remember where I fell in love with Jukyung. I think it was the moment in school where she was making fun of my…” Seojun cleared his throat.

“One of these days I’ll find out what that incident was, Han Seojun.” Sujin claimed.

“But not today.” He smiled. “So yeah, I think it was in school. What about you?”

“I think it was at the tutoring centers. I used to go there to study. My father had hit me, and I was in a strange place at that time. Suho comforted me and I guess that was when I realized I liked him. Now you, why did you like Lim Jukyung?”

Seojun leaned back and thought for the longest time. “She was… unexpected. I only started to pester her because I thought she was dating Suho.”

“Yeah, I remember that pestering part.”

Ya, Han Seojun are you a gangster?! Whiplash. Every time Seojun remembered that moment he felt whiplash.

“Since I hated Suho at that time, I had expected her to be hateful too. I thought she was just some vain, mindless girl but… she was the complete opposite. She was kind and thoughtful. She had a good heart and that made her beautiful to me. With or without makeup.” Seojun paused, then suddenly chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s funny. Before, I was never able to pin down what I liked about her. My feelings always seemed so complicated. But now that I see it… it feels so obvious.”

Seojun didn’t notice Sujin looking down at her hands, nervously rubbing them together, “Seojun, do you ever think you coul—” She spoke just when Seojun did.

“What did you like about Suho—oh sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no.” Sujin shook her head. “I wasn’t saying anything. You were asking why I liked Lee Suho? Umm…” Sujin thought about it.

“Lee Suho, has never once liked a girl. Not before Jukyung, at least. There was a time when I was his only friend in school. And I thought… I misunderstood, his kindness as interest. I’ve always been pushed to get the number one position, you know? I always had to be number one. And when I thought that the guy that liked no one, liked me… it made me feel like I was number one, even if I ranked low on the grade sheet.” Sujin looked out the glass wall of the café, out on the street where people were walking, and it was slightly drizzling.

“When he found out that my father hit me, I thought he would see me as a crazy person, or pity me, or judge me for hating my father. But he never did. He only comforted me. He just… understood. And it was the first time that I felt that there was someone else who could understand me and understand what I was going through. That’s why I liked Lee Suho.”

Sujin looked back at Seojun. His mouth had shrunken into a small curve.

“But now he’s just annoying.” Sujin said in a lighter tone, “I mean, at a certain point you start hating people when they appear too perfect, isn’t that so?”

Seojun attempted a smile but it was weak.

“I’m happy now, Seojun-ah. I’m happy that I’m not with Suho. I think its for the best. If I think about it. Suho and I are too similar. We didn’t need more of the same. We needed someone who would help us change. Jukyung helped Suho do that. I could never have.”

“That’s a healthy way to look at it. Though I still think I’m perfect for Jukyung.” Seojun said smugly.

Sujin scoffed. “You think you’re perfect for every girl.”

“Where’s the lie?”

“Here! Yeogi! Here’s the lie.” Sujin tapped her finger on Seojun’s side of the table.

“Ah, Kang Sujin. You have no taste.” Seojun squinted his eyes at her in mock pity.

“And you have the IQ of a sloth.”

“I don’t need a high IQ. My greatest strength is my charm.”

“You keep mentioning this charm but I never see it.” Sujin put her hand over her eyes and began to search around.

They bickered in the café till the barista had to remind them, that they were being too loud. The banter continued as Seojun walked her all the way to her apartment. Throughout the way, Seojun could notice Sujin acting nervously; playing with the hem of her dress, combing her hair again and again, wiping her sweaty palms against her coat when she thought he wasn’t looking. He felt she had something to say to him but he didn’t want to ask what it was. If Kang Sujin had something to say, she said it.

Then, out of the blue, she swiveled on her heel to stand right in front of him.

“Ya, Han Seojun…”

“What?”

Sujin gulped. “Ah-nee-da. It’s nothing.” She turned her back to him.

“Whaaaat?” Seojun whined. “You’ve been fidgeting this while time so you definitely have something to say. What is it?”

“I forgot.” Sujin said, walking ahead, biting her lip.

“Mwo-ya…” Seojun let it go. She probably had more to say about Lee Suho and he wasn’t in any mood to hear it.

“Good night, Sujin-ah.” Seojun said when they reached her building.

“D-Do you wanna come up?” Sujin asked, stuttering a bit.

“Nah. I should go. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Chalga.” Seojun waved goodbye. He had not walked more than ten steps when Sujin called out to him.

“Han Seojun!”

“What?”

Sujin hesitated. “B-Bye!”

Seojun chuckled. “Mwo-ya. She’s so weird.”

Sujin saw him wave and then leave. “If he turns, then I’ll tell him.” She told herself, trying to work up the courage to say what she had been meaning to the entire night.

But he never turned. Seojun just kept on walking and walking till he disappeared into the crowd.

“I like you, Han Seojun.” Sujin confessed to the wind. “I like you a lot.”

vii.

Han Seojun had to be absent for the whole month due to his idol duties. Sujin was glad for his absence. It had given her time to set her head straight about her feelings. She could still vividly remember, that last time she had ever confessed to a guy and that was back in high school. She clearly recalled how Suho had looked at her with disgust when she had said, or rather declared that he would have liked her if she had confessed first.

No. I wouldn’t have.

“Aish! What was I thinking saying all of those things?” She pulled at her hair as she rolled over in her bed. The humiliation of demanding that Suho break up with Jukyung, and ridiculously saying that she would toss Jukyung aside for him was too much. On top of that, she had tried to kiss Suho and he had pushed her away, repulsed. That in and of itself made her stomach ache with embarrassment.

She had a good heart and that made her beautiful to me. With or without makeup.

“Ah out of all people why him?! Why another guy who loves Lim Jukyung?! What the hell is wrong with me?!” Sujin groaned, rolling around in her bed over and over. Was she obsessed with men who were into Jukyung? Sujin felt frustrated with herself and wanted to throw her heart out.

She just has this warmth about her that just… draws you in.

Kind, caring, genuine, warm; none of those things describe me. Good heart? A single search on the internet would reveal just how good my heart is. Betraying my best friend and ruining all of my friendships in the process… who would say I have a good heart?

Sujin couldn’t compete with the shadow cast by Lim Jukyung. Even if Seojun did start to like her, Lim Jukyung would always be his first love. And just like always, Sujin would be second.

Sujin felt a familiar jealousy creep in; a resentment, a hate, an anger. It was history repeating itself. It was Lim Jukyung again. Why? Why did it have to be her? She and Suho had ten years worth of history between them and even that couldn’t compare to how he felt for Jukyung. Sujin and Seojun had only a year worth of friendship, a quarter of which included Seojun hating her.

It was a dark feeling. A heavy feeling. Like a weight in her chest. Sujin carried it with her whereever she went. She was supposed to meet everyone today. Seojun was suppsed to be back. She felt like she would be a coward if she didn’t go. But she felt like she would hate Jukyung more if she saw her. In the end she did go, and that weight in her chest went with her.

Jukyung was outside alone when Sujin saw her. She was finishing up a call.

Why? Why did it have to be her? Whywhywhy?

Sujin stopped in her tracks. No. She thought resolutely. She would not make the same mistake again. She would not let her feelings take over her judgement. She would not lose her friend again. As much as she loved Han Seojun, she loved her friendship with Lim Jukyung even more.

“Sujin-ah! You’re here-Oh?”

Sujin enveloped Jukyung in a massive hug, almost on the verge of tears. Jukyung hugged her back, confused.

“You know I love you, right?” Sujin said.

“Dangyunhaji! I love you too.” Jukyung hugged her tighter.

“I’ll always be a good friend to you, Jukyung-ah. I promise.” Sujin sniffed.

“Oh, are you crying?”

“No, there’s just something in my eye.” Sujin quickly wiped her face while still holding Jukyung so that she wouldn’t see her cry.

But before she could part, something pulled her collar from behind.

An irritated Suho stood, still tugging at her collar, “You’re not stealing my fiancée.”

“I bet she’d prefer me to you.”

“Okay! Okay! No fighting!” Jukyung declared a ceasefire.

“Are we fighting?” Seojun came up, putting his arm casually around Suho. “If it’s a fight, my bet’s on Sujin.”

“Wae. You think she’s better than me?” Suho asked.

“She’s scarier than you.”

“You traitor.” Suho released himself from Seojun’s side hug and went inside, grumbling. Jukyung followed after him.

“What was that about?” Seojun asked Sujin.

Sujin looked at him. His delicate, boyish features, his mean looking eyes that carried a surprising warmth. Her heartbeat wildly like a hummingbird. Sujin felt like she could spend an entire day just staring at his face. And then she felt it again, the quiet darkness that reminded her that she could never be with him. Quite suddenly, Sujin spun around and kicked Han Seojun in the back.

“Yah! What was that for?!” Seojun yelled.

“For being you.” She said and walked in, leaving Seojun bruised and confused.

viii.

You were pretty

The feeling of not wanting anything more

Moments that only you gave

Everything, everything

Everything has passed

But you were so pretty

Seojun hummed the song as he finalized the playlist for Jukyung’s wedding. Of course, he was going to perform at Jukyung’s wedding. It only made sense given his connection to Jukyung and Suho. The fact that Suho’s father was an important man at Move Entertainment also helped make things official.

A part of Han Seojun had wished that Jukyung hadn’t asked him. He was terrified of her wedding day; terrified of what his heart might do to him, terrified that he might feel compelled to run away with her in front of everyone.

Right now Seojun was calm. But it felt like it was the calm before the storm.

“Memories of me, have probably become, a thing of the past for you too, whatever I saw to you, it will all be something, in the past.”

“What’s that? New song?” His band mate asked when he overheard Seojun singing to himself.

“Hmm? No, its Day6.” The song had been stuck in his head since the day he had sung it for Sujin.

“You’re going to play a cover for your friend?”

“Yeah.” It would be his send off to Jukyung. Like Kang Sujin, Seojun was going to put an end to his chapter with Jukyung.

His bandmate put the song on their speaker. After the first verse he declared, “Yah! You can’t play a breakup song at a wedding.”

“Is it too obvious? I was hoping I could get away with it.” Seojun scratched the back of his head, stretching. He had been on his computer for hours now.

“Take it off. Choose something else.”

Seojun went back through his list of songs that he wanted to play. There was one other song that he had discovered recently by a disbanded group. He had really connected with the lyrics and it wasn’t a breakup song.

“How about this?” Seojun played it.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Use that for the couple dance.” His bandmate said.

The anticipation of the pain kept Seojun up all night. He worried about how he might behave or what might happen. The next day he woke up grouchy and depressed.

“Woah! Why do you look like a ghost?” His bandmate had said when Seojun arrived that morning. He would be going to the wedding with his band, given that they were performing. This might have been easier if he had gone with his friends.

Don’t worry. I’m here if you need me. Sujin had texted that morning. But Seojun was done relying on Sujin like a crutch. He would deal with things on his own. He didn’t want Sujin to think that all he was good for was complaining about his broken heart.

Seojun waited for the pain to hit when they arrived at the location but it didn’t. The wedding planner helped Seojun and his band set up along with members of Seojun’s own staff. When everything was good to go, Seojun took his leave to meet Jukyung in the bridal room where everyone was taking pictures with her.

Here it comes. The pain. How would it feel? Would Seojun cry again?

“Seojun-ah! You’re here!” Jukyung said. She looked stunning in her beautiful white dress. “Hurry! Get in the picture!”

Everyone was there, already positioned for the shot. Seojun joined Sujin to the side. She was wearing a tasteful black pant suit that fit her well. She was wearing makeup which Seojun noticed looked similar to one of Jukyung’s tutorials.

“How does it feel?” He whispered to Sujin.

“Meh.” She replied. “You?”

It was strange. Seojun didn’t feel anything. “Oddly enough, I feel fine.” Surely he was in shock. The pain would hit any time soon. 

It was a while before the pictures were done. Seojun’s cheeks felt sore from all of the smiling.

“Come with me to see Suho.” Sujin held up her arm and Seojun took it. She escorted him to where Suho was receiving his guests.

“Lee Su! Congratulations!” Sujin hugged him. Seojun did the same.

“Yah! I can’t believe we’re old enough to get married.” Seojun commented. Suho laughed.

Chorong and the Seojun Squad came over too, patting a blushing Suho on the back.

Seojun couldn’t help but think that Seyeon would have loved to have seen this. Sujin sensed his sadness and bumped shoulders with him.

“Okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Seojun smiled. Oddly enough he was. The pain still hadn’t hit.

A couple of girls walked up to him and asked him whether he really was the Han Seojun they were fans of.

“Of course!” Seojun puffed his chest and signed their autographs. He couldn’t see it but he could feel Sujin’s disgusted gaze on his back. When they were gone, Seojun turned to Sujin with an arrogant grin.

“Ah, I hope more people won’t bother me for my autograph.” He said in fake modesty.

“You should be grateful to have any fans.” She scoffed at him.

“Ugh. You’re too mean, Sujin-ah.” Seojun pouted.

“Ugh. You’re too childish, Seojun-ah.” Sujin mimicked him.

“Um. Excuse me.” A shy looking girl approached Seojun.

“Oh, you want an autograph too?” Seojun had a pen ready. Sujin gave him her most scathing side eye.

“Um actually—”

“You want a picture too? Sorry but I’m not allowed to take pictures at the moment. But I’ll sign if you like.”

The girl blushed deeply. “No, um—”

“Oh I get it.” Seojun swiped his hair dramatically from his forehead. “You’re here to confess to me. Well then I should let you know—”

“They’dlikeyoubackonstage!” The girl quickly blurted. “They’d like you to join your band. The ceremony is about to begin.”

Sujin laughed uproariously, that clear gurgle of pure, high pitched happiness that Seojun often enjoyed. But not in this moment. Not when his arrogance had been so efficiently deflated.

“Sure. I’ll be right there.” He mumbled to the girl who scurried away. Sujin was still laughing. “Found that funny, did you?” Seojun said, but it was not a reprimand. He liked that she was happy.

“Yes.” Sujin wiped away tears.

“You’re going to regret making fun of me when I perform.” He said, comically pulling the lapels of his jacket before leaving.

The lights dimmed as the wedding began. The Master of Ceremonies kicked things off, guiding everyone through everything. The band only played instrumental now. Suho entered first. Jukyung entered after him, looking every bit the ethereal angel that she was.

The couple exchanged their wows and drank the traditional wine. They then bowed to each other and bowed to their guests. Even in the darkness, Seojun could pick out Sujin. From the light glittering off her cheeks he could tell she was crying. He was too. But these were happy tears. His friends were about to make a new journey in their life together and he was happy for them. Truly. That pain he had dreaded over Jukyung’s wedding never did show up. Perhaps it never would. All he could feel was excitement for his closest friends.

Seojun had only one regret, that Seyeon hadn’t been able to see this moment. Seyeon’s was the one absence he always felt. In that moment, Han Seojun swore that he saw Seyeon among the guests. He saw his friend smile to Lee Suho’s and then to him. But Seojun blinked and Seyeon was gone but Seojun would keep that image of Seyeon similing with him forever.

Once the formal ceremony was over, it was time for the real party to begin. Seojun and his band turned up the performance, raising the mood of the room. People danced and sang along with them as they played so well that Sujin realized she could no longer make fun of Seojun when he bragged about his band.

The band then slowed things down, the set finally reaching the song Seojun was excited to play. He emptied his mind of everything but that one song and how it made him feel. This was for Suho and Jukyung and he was going to give his best performance tonight.

The bride and groom took center stage and swayed as Seojun played a softer version of Haru by a lesser known band, Royal Pirates. His rich baritone filled the room as everyone listened, entranced.

“You’re not a traditional beauty, but I like you, you who gets more attractive everyday.”

Seojun had never understood why people considered her attractive. To him, beauty had never mattered. But as he had gotten to know her, he found her to be more beautiful that how others described her.

“You don’t have a feminine voice, but the more I hear it, the more I get attached.”

He could hear her now, scolding him, yelling at him, throwing witty remarks at him that caused him whiplash, which was just his heart beating really fast.

“I can’t call you often, but I always miss you.  Each minute, each second. Yeah-yeah.”

When he thought about it, they never really hung out as much as he did with Suho or his Seojun Squad. Most of the time Seojun was busy with work and so was she. But he still looked forward to the times he would meet her again.

“An entire day would pass just by looking at you. If I look at you, I can’t do anything else. Oooooooh. An entire day would pass just by thinking of you. I won’t be able to sleep at thoughts of you. But I can’t help it, an entire day would pass just because of you.”

Time did fly when they were together. Whether he liked her or hated her, he had to admit. She was never boring. Even through the mundane stuff, she always kept his attention. With her brows furrowed as she concentrated, her mouth turned like an ‘n’. He smiled whenever he thought about it.

“We have so many differences. But you fill up what I lack. No matter how much I see you, you’re always beautiful. No matter what anyone says.”

She was always ahead of him; so much smarter and stronger. Beating him at everything. Well, everything except—wait. He never played basketball with Jukyung.

Seojun missed a note. The guitar twanged awkwardly as he stopped singing. His hands were shaking but he didn’t have time to digest what had just happened. The moment only lasted a half-second; Seojun had recovered quickly and continued. No one paid attention to his little mess up, but his hands were still shaking, and his heart felt like it would burst.

He couldn’t think about it. But how couldn’t he? This song had been for her all along. He had been staring at Kang Sujin the entire time he was performing, without even knowing it.

“An entire day would pass just by looking at you. If I look at you, I can’t do anything else. Oooooooh. An entire day would pass just by thinking of you. I won’t be able to sleep at thoughts of you. But I can’t help it, an entire day would pass just because of you.”

The base guitarist for his band leaned over to him when the song was done.

“Thought you lost your footing for a bit there.”

“You noticed? Did anyone else did?”

“Nah, I think you’re safe. But are you okay? You’re shaking.”

“Nothing.” Seojun said, more to himself, “Its… its nothing.”

ix.

He never got to see her again at the wedding. The band was surrounded by fans once they finished so they had to be escorted out. Their food had been arranged separately for privacy. By the time Seojun got the chance to break free, Sujin, along with most of the guests, had left.

Which was good because he needed to settle himself before he said anything to anyone. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what had happened.

“I like Kang Sujin? Ridiculous. Totally, ridiculous. This would never happen!”

Be that as it may, his heart still acted strangely when he got a text from her asking if he was okay. She was worried about him since Jukyung and Suho were now married. He told her tersely that he was busy and couldn’t meet. Then threw his phone away when he realized he actually really wanted to meet her.

It was the first time that I felt that there was someone else who could understand me and understand what I was going through.

Seojun could still remember his irritation when Sujin had told him why she liked Lee Suho. He had resented the fact that yet another girl saw Lee Suho as perfect. How could Han Seojun ever compare to the perfectly perfect Lee Suho? He and Sujin had ten years between them and a shared tragedy with their fathers that Seojun didn’t have.

Ah-nee, can’t I be someone who understands? Can’t she see that I get her too?

“Ridiculous. Why would I want her to think I understand her? Ridiculous.”

If Han Seojun had to answer the What, When, Where and Why of his feelings, he would not be able to put it into words. His feelings were intense and complicated. Too complicated for even him to comprehend. Which is why the braincell that he shared with Suho decided that he must be mistaken and that he didn’t actually have any feelings for Sujin.

“Ah-ne-da. I must have been overwhelmed because of Jukyung. Yes, that must be it. It must be a defense mechanism. I’m only thinking about her to protect myself, because I’m still not over Jukyung.”

It made sense. She was the only other girl he was close to in his squad, and they had been hanging out together more than they used to. His heart must have just gotten confused for a moment. Yes, that was it and nothing more.

The group did not meet each other for a while. Suho and Jukyung had gone off to their honeymoon. Suah and Taehoon had their own things. Seojun only met up with Chorong and Co. but his heart was never in those meetings.

He wouldn’t meet up with her. She tried texting and calling but he always gave her an excuse.

Why did we start meeting so much in the first place? He hadn’t noticed when it had happened, but Sujin had become someone he had come to rely on and this he only noticed when he started avoiding her.

“Seojun, you’re not coming to the flower festival?” Chorong asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Huh? What flower festival?”

“Ah-nee, where is your mind these days? You attend it every year! Did you forget?”

Oh right. Seojun always did like to see the flower exhibitions held once a year. He always got flowers for his mother and sister when he went. It may have seemed like a ridiculous hobby for a boy to be so interested in flowers. But Seojun unabashedly liked them and of course, Chorong and Co. were always there to go with him.

“Of course I’m going to attend. Wae?”

“Sujinnie was asking if she could tag along with us. Suah and Taehoon are not around so she has no one to go with.”

Sujinnie?! Seojun blinked rapidly. “Ya, since when are you and Kang Sujin close?”

“Waegurae? Aren’t we all friends with her now? Did something happen?”

Seojun put on a straight face, “Ah-nee!” He exclaimed in a pitch too high, “Nothing happened. I’m just surprised, as all.”

“Aigoo. Did you guys fight? Sujin did say you haven’t been replying to her texts recently.”

Seojun tried hiding his curiosity, “You’ve spoken to her?” He said, as nonchalantly as he could, which wasn’t nonchalant at all.

“Of course. We all had drinks yesterday.”

“What?! Why the hell did you guys meet her and not me?”

“Seojun, she did text you about it.” One of his friends pointed out.

“Yeah! And why are you acting so weird? Do you hate Kang Sujin again?” Chorong asked.

“Ya! Don’t hate her! We like her now!”

“Yes!” Half the group said together.

“Arasso! Arasso! Calm down.” Seojun waved at them to chill. It wasn’t as if he minded that Kang Sujin was hanging out with his friends. But he did feel a sense of betrayal that he didn’t know about it.

“So, how about it? Will you go?” Chorong asked.

The flower festival was an exhibition where all flower vendors came over to show off their best products. People looking for suppliers of flowers and the public in general could attend, buy flowers or just enjoy the various arrangements.

Seojun went with Chorong and the others. Sujin was there waiting for them.

“Ya Han Seojun! You’re alive!” She lit up when she saw him, punching him in the chest with a brutal force only she had.

“Yah! How could you hurt an idol like that?” Seojun rubbed his chest in pain.

“Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all!” Seojun said, “I’m a man. I don’t get hurt.”

“Pfft. Sure.” Sujin grinned.

They went through the various stalls that showcased the various beautiful flowers. The group seemed to have broken off. Chorong was led away by his girlfriend to take some pictures. The boys all banded around a strange, evil looking plant like school children. Seojun and Sujin seemed to have taken a track of their own.

“You don’t want to take pictures?” Seojun asked, pointing at Chorong and his girlfriend who were stopping at every stall.

“I don’t care for that sort of thing. Wae? You want me to take yours?”

“No. We should take on together.”

Seojun took out his phone and pulled Sujin closer, taking a selfie.

“Ya, you can’t even see the flowers.” Sujin complained.

“Yes, you can.” Seojun put a hand to his cheek. “Right here. I’m the flower.”

Sujin’s lip curled in disdain. “Ah, right.” She said dryly. Seojun laughed and she couldn’t help but smile too.

As a regular attendee, Seojun knew most of the repeat vendors there. He took Sujin around, introducing her to the people who knew him and showing her the various flowers he liked. Sujin listened to him go on at length about where the flowers came from and what they meant.

“You know the language of flowers?” Sujin asked, thinking back to the white tulips and the yellow roses he had gotten her way back when.

“Dangyunhaji! Every man should know flowers. How else will you impress the ladies?”

Sujin chuckled. “You know if being an idol doesn’t pan out, you can always be a florist.”

“I’m too pretty to be a florist. The flowers would all wither in shame.”

Sujin patted his head, sarcastically remarking, “Aigoo, our Seojun has suffered so much for being so good looking. It must have been so difficult, living like this.”

It felt nice being with Sujin again. Seojun felt oddly energetic; like he could run a mile and not break a sweat. He babbled about this and that and wondered if Sujin was getting bored. But she never was, she listened and nodded and responded when need be. Time flew by and before he knew it, they had finished going through the festival.

He pulled at the sleeve of her coat, “There’s something else you should see.”

In the back corner, hidden away from the main area were the small level vendors who could only afford the cheaper stalls. It was a street that led away from the festival. Only a couple of people were around.

“These people don’t earn that much because they’re always placed at the back. But they have the best flowers.”

Seojun introduced her to the people that were running the stall, all of whom he knew by name. Some of them gave Sujin flowers for free. She gratefully took them.

The day was almost ending, the slow sunset had begun. A lot petals had been shed. The street with these vendors was covered in these petals, making it look like a path made entirely of flowers.

“This is really beautiful, Seojun-ah.” Sujin said, admiring the street.

“Yeah.” Seojun said, looking at her.

One of the stalls was filled entirely with tulips. Bright yellow owns, pretty pink ones, eccentric multi-colored ones. Seojun pulled out a purple one and gave it to Sujin.

“Here you go, Princess.” Purple tulips represented regality. Sujin smiled.

“Aaand…” Seojun’s picked out a red one. “Here.” He said. Then quickly-— a little too quickly— he added. “Ah-Because it matches your coat.” He pointed at Sujin’s red coat.

Sujin looked at the flower, then back at him. But said nothing.

They strolled over to a bridge that overlooked the entire festival. The descending sun had set everything in a warm glow. The air smelled sweet with all of the flowers. Petals flew in the air.

“Here.” Sujin handed the tulips back to Seojun.

“Why? They’re for you.”

Sujin smiled. “Phabo. You should be giving them to the girl you like. And tell her what they mean when you give them.”

Seojun sighed wistfully, “The girl I like doesn’t know the language of flowers.”

Sujin hit him lightly with the tulips. “I wasn’t talking about Lim Jukyung. Go and like someone else, and bring her here, and give them these.”

“I wasn’t talking about Lim Jukyung either.”

“Mwo-ya. You have someone you like?”

Seojun’s bit his lip. “Yeah. But I’m going to give up.”

“Waaaee? You only just got over Lim Jukyung!”

“Because this girl likes someone else too.”

“Omo, chincha?” Sujin laughed. “Again? Ya, Han Seojun, can’t you choose a better girl to like?”

Seojun gave a sad chuckle. “I know, right?”

“Who is she? Do I know her?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is it? Tell me!”

“Nope. Secret.”

“Ugh, how stingy. At least give me a hint. What does she look like?”

Seojun looked at Sujin, “She’s beautiful. Very beautiful.”

“Ayyy, that’s every girl out there.”

“Well, that’s all the hint I’m giving.”

Sujin punched his arm but relented. It was perhaps better to not know who Seojun liked. Sujin would have been filled with jealousy again and she didn’t want that.

It was curious however, that Seojun found someone he liked, and she didn’t even know. It was curiouser that this new girl had someone she liked too. Just like Sujin, Han Seojun had—

Sujin looked at the tulips in her hand. They stood out among the other flowers the various vendors had given her. Sujin looked at Seojun, who was busy admiring the sunset.

It was strange, but in that moment, she remembered something her teacher had once said.

Some of you don’t know what it is you really want. And some of you do know but you’re hesitant. However, opportunities come without warning and you must be prepared to take advantage of it.

“Han Seojun.”

“Hmm?”

Sujin pointed the flowers at him, tilting her head slightly. Much like he had done a long time ago when he had asked her Do you think I’m handsome?

“Do you like me?”

And just like she had, Seojun answered immediately, with no remorse or regret. “Yes.”

Like the cool girl she was, Sujin didn’t overreact or exclaim in surprise. She only casually said, “I like you too. So, we should date.”

A beat of a pause. One, two three.

“What? What?! WHAT?! You like me? You like me?! Me?! As in, Han Seojun?”

“Yes you, you idiot. Manhi Joahae.”

“What? Ican’tbelievethis. How? Why? Wait, you asked me if I liked you. Did you already know?” Seojun appeared as if his brain had malfunctioned.

Sujin grinned. “You phabo, even if I didn’t know flower language, I could still tell by the red tulip. Ah-nee, red is the universal color for romance. Didn’t you know?”

Seojun’s face was a mixture of wonder, shock and pure happiness. His eyes were wide, cheeks red and pulled up, mouth hanging open in a slow smile. He had no words to speak. He felt like he would explode like a firecracker and light up the sky in sparks.

“You like me? You really like me?”

Sujin closed the distance between them, pulling at the lapel of his coat. She gave him only a chaste peck on his lips before moving back, blushing. “It’s official now. So, no backing out, okay?”

His mind, that was already haywire, went blank.

He pulled Sujin by the waist, pressing her entire form to him and cupped her face with his other hand. The kiss he gave her was intense and she gasped before giving in to him. Sujin felt she could stay like this forever. The kiss only ended because their mouths kept pulling back in an uncontrollable grin.

“You like me?” Seojun asked.

“Yes.”

He kissed her again but they couldn’t stop smiling. Both of them were shaking.

“You like me?” He asked again.

“Yes.” She replied again, chuckling.

And they kissed again.

“You like me?”

“Yes!” She laughed.

And they kissed again. And he asked again, she replied again, and they kissed again and again and again.

 EPILOGUE

When Seojun and Sujin told Jukyung and the others that they were dating, it had been the first of April. So naturally everyone assumed they were joking. Seojun and Sujin hadn’t realized this and were surprised at the luke warm response that everyone gave to their announcement.

“Yes. We believe you.” Suah had said and Sujin missed her sarcastic tone.

when Seojun gushed over Sujin, the group all just looked at each other thinking, Wow, they’re really dedicated to this prank.

And even when they left together, the group all gathered and said;

“You believe them?”

“Why pull a prank that’s so obvious?”

“Exactly! Han Seojun and Kang Sujin? No way.”

Only Suho had been the one to keep his silence and not say anything.

But when they all met up again and Seojun and Sujin acted like a couple again, everyone gasped in shock.

“What?!”

“You guys are actually dating?!”

“How?! How did this happen?”

Only Suho had been the one who wasn’t surprised. “Congratulations. I’m happy for the two of you.” He had said warmly.

“Sujin-ah, what about our affair?” Jukyung said despondently, making a crying face.

“I’ll let you know when Seojunnie goes on tour.” Sujin assured her quietly.

“YAH!” Both Suho and Seojun exclaimed in protest, pulling their girlfriends away from each other.

“Lim Jukyung, you keep your hands off my girlfriend.” Seojun warned.

“I will. But there’s no guarantee she’ll keep her hands off me.”

Chorong and Co. had a similar reaction, they all exploded into shock and happiness at the news. Only Chorong seemed unsurprised.

“So you finally figured out your feelings?” Chorong asked Seojun.

“You knew?”

“Friends know.”

To Sujin, Chorong said, “Sujin-ah, I respect you a lot. But if you hurt—”

“Arasso, arasso. I won’t hurt your precious Han Seojun.”

“I meant don’t hurt me if he ever pisses you off. You scare the shit out of me.”

When enough time had passed and they knew they had to tell their parents, they went to Seojun’s mother first. The woman had been pleasantly surprised by this news and declared Sujin a part of the family immediately. She had met Sujin before and had taken a liking to her immediately but now that she and Seojun were dating, the woman gushed and cried.

“Ah, I have another daughter now.” She said, kissing Sujin on the forehead.

The tricky part was Sujin’s mother, who was still a little pissed over the scandal.

“What will people say if you announce this online?!” The woman had argued.

“But mom,” Sujin made a flower pot with her hands around Seojun’s face, “look at how handsome he is.” And that was enough to entice Mrs. Kang.

Receiving so much happiness and love from everyone was an unfamiliar experience for Sujin. So much so that it terrified her. She felt like she was in a dream that would shatter any minute and she would suddenly wake up back in her old bed with her father banging on the door, screaming at her that she was worthless.

It was this image that jerked Sujin awake in the middle of the night. She sat up straight, her heart was pounding, her hands felt sweaty and clammy. Her father’s shouting was still ringing in her ears.

Seojun stirred on the other side of the bed, “Bad dream?” His rich baritone was husky from sleep but it cut through the darkness of the room and Sujin didn’t feel so scared anymore.

“Um-hmm.”

“Come here.” Seojun patted her side of the bed. She fell back into his arms, nuzzling her nose in his neck.

He sang to her softly, his deep voice soothing her. “Love, love the stars. Love, love the moon. Nothing has really changed. It’s still the same air. With the same bed looking at the same ceiling.”

Sujin’s hands stopped feeling clammy and dirty and soon enough, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of flowers and sunsets.

 THE END.

A/N: Dear reader, if you stuck till the end and liked what I wrote, then thank you. Saranghae <3

Please have my badly made memes with my sarangs

[miracle-sham]

Long for Who You Could Have Been.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 4, Day 19: Mistakes} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

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| They might be monster hunters and that might mean their lives are fraught with chaos and danger. But there were moments in between the contracts and courts, fragile and wavering like the dying embers of a flame; where pasts, and hopes, and dreams were shared in the refuge of the campfire. |

| Word Count: 1,764. |

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| A/N: So this is my second to last Jasonette July fic but the last to actually be posted in July since the other fic (Prompt: Loss) is taking longer than expected to write, whoops! Anyway here's a shorter Witcher au that's mostly fluff with a tinge of sadness here and there. Definitely feels weird to be using/needing so few tags for the first time in a long while! Lastly, thanks to my friend Saf whose reactions to the snippets I send her, absolutely fuel my will to write! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

The fire crackled gently, flames flickering in soft almost hypnotising patterns. The light and warmth were all that was keeping the chilling coastal mist at bay, from reaching their little makeshift camp.

Crescent moon and stars twinkled above, shining their silvery light down to mix with the ghostly mist below.

It was almost haunting, in the precious silence, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of waves against the cliff rocks not too far away. And the low hum of the local nocturnal bugs and other such creatures; the flap of bat wings, the cry of an owl, the flutter of moths and beetles, the scuttling of hedgehogs, mice, and foxes. The air was still, not even the faintest sea breeze and yet the fret rolled and crept and seeped into every nook and cranny outside of the protective glow of the campfire.

Jason sat on one side of the fire, on his bedroll and worked on cleaning his silver and steel swords with a rag, not quite humming as he quietly mouthed the words to a jaunty little tavern song, the Fishmonger's Daughter.

On the opposite side of the campfire, on her own bedroll, Marinette had a cloak splayed out across her knee with a needle and thread in hand. Tongue sticking out slightly, in concentration, carefully she darned away at the numerous little holes that had formed from walking through the thorny bush filled forest that their current contract had led them into entering.

With a huff, Jason threw the cleaning rag at the saddlebag on the ground beside him. He sheathed his swords and pulled out his favoured weapon, the crossbow with steel and silver-tipped bolts. Immediately he began checking the bolts for any potential damage and ensuring the shooting mechanism on the crossbow hadn't jammed.

“Something on your mind, Blue Jay?” Marinette asked, glancing up from her needlework for a moment.

He tipped his head back and sighed. “I've been thinking…”

“That's new.” She responded, mirth glinting obviously in her eyes and the bubble of laughter in her tone.

Jason gasped in faux offence, mindfully dropping his crossbow and scrambling for the cleaning rag just to throw it at her face.

Before it could hit her, Marinette plucked it out of the air with two fingers. She hummed mock-thoughtfully. “Your aim's off.”

“You take that back! My aim is impeccable. Alfred said so!” He argued back.

She snorted. “Alfred is biased because he's your grandfather figure. And I'll take it back next time we get through an entire contract without you missing a single shot.” To punctuate her point, she tossed the rag back at him.

He half-dived for it, grabbing it with both hands and with it safely in his grasp, placed the rag inside the saddlebag beside him. Throwing his arms up in mock-exasperation, Jason scowled playfully at her. “C'mon! That's not fair, you've never gone an entire contract without messing up or missing with your magic either!”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed with a nod of her head and a smirk on her lips, “but I've never claimed to be perfect at magic!”

Her words caused him to falter slightly. “Right,” he swallowed a breath of air thickly, “That reminds me of what I was going to say before we got distracted.”

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows and putting on a softer tone. “What is it? As much as we joke, I'd never actually judge you for missing shots or anything else, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know… I just.” He huffed in frustration. Hesitantly, he held her gaze with his own but not a second later, winced and shifted his to stare down at the flickering embers of the campfire pit. Avoiding eye contact with her. He clenched his fists. “D'you ever, I don't know, feel like this was all… a mistake?”

Scrunching up her face in confusion, she squinted at Jason. “What do you mean? As-as in taking the contract?”

“No! Well, yes but no. I mean…” He waved an arm, gesturing vaguely around them, “just everything. Becoming a Witcher. Or I guess in your case, a Sorceress. Do you regret it?”

When she didn't immediately respond, Jason huffed again, hunching his shoulders up and practically bristling like a particularly grumpy and grizzling moggy. “Look, never mind. Stupid question.”

“It's not stupid!” Marinette retorted, “I just… wasn't expecting a question like that at this moment.”

He stared at her expectantly. “Well?”

Tipping her head back slightly, she fiddled with the needle still in one hand and sighed. “I suppose I do, I know I shouldn't… but I miss the easy days. Like before I knew what I was capable of. Before I knew what horrors the world could bring. Back when my only worries were getting stitches right and not messing up when dealing with expensive materials. Or maybe having to worry if the Alderman's daughter was going to harass me at some point during the day.”

Marinette tilted her head forwards again, a frown gracing her lips, and shrugged. “What brings this up?”

There's not an immediate response, as Jason casts his gaze away from the fire—towards where the sea could be heard but not seen. His fingers twitched midair, almost as though plucking the strings of an instrument. “I never wanted to be a Witcher. I was a Child Surprise, dunno who was the one that offered the Law of Surprise though.”

“Ah, I sorta get that. I'm also a Child Surprise, didn't get to choose to be a Sorcerer either.” As she spoke, she nodded in solidarity.

Jason jolted, gaze immediately snapping up to stare at her, completely taken aback. “Wait seriously? You're a Child Surprise too? How'd that happen?”

“Well, my parents' bakery was attacked and Félix, y'know my mentor, saved them. He invoked the Law of Surprise, expecting to get bread or some other baked goods.” She snorted, “he was awfully surprised to end up getting me instead. And when I accidentally cast my first ever spell trying to escape the Alderman's daughter, I ended up teleporting to Félix.”

“So, wait Félix fucking invoked the Law of Surprise to get food? And got you instead. Holy fucking shit that's hilarious!” He wheezed, doubling over in raucous laughter.

Huffing, she cast a spell, causing a vine to sprout up out of the ground beside him and slap him on the knee. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

“Ouch! Hey, no fair!” Jason mock scowled, choking back any further laughter. Quickly, in retaliation, he cast a weak Aard.

The telekinetic wave knocked into Marinette, pushing her onto her back from the weakened force.

“Wha—! Oh, so the vine isn't fair but throwing me to the ground is!” She griped, crossing her arms (carefully as to not prick herself on the needle) but made no attempt to get up.

Half-shrugging and grinning smugly, he replied, “you started it!”

She made an exaggerated groaning noise in response before slowly shifting her position to push herself back up into sitting cross-legged. “Well, now you know how I became a Sorcerer. How'd being a Child Surprise tie into you ending up a Witcher, if you don't me asking?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged with both shoulders this time, “I tried to steal the infamous Bat of Gotham's horse, he asked me my name. Reluctantly and after some bribery of hot food, I told him. Didn't think to give a fake one, at the time. He made a face, invoked the Law of Surprise owed to him and dragged me back to the Bat Witcher school.”

“Huh,” Marinette responded, “so if you hadn't… what would you have done with your life?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? This is me we're talking about. I'd have gone to Bard College, obviously. I'd have written poems and shit. And books, I'd have written books.”

Scrunching up her face once more, Marinette glanced down at the needle in her hand. “We're by the coast.”

“What?” He asked incredulously, giving her a bemused and questioning look. “What does that have to do with poetry and books?”

In a rush of words, she rambled, “we could take a holiday. I could find out about the spell to disguise your eyes… and uh hair too. That way no one will know you're a Witcher. And we can go to the bard college-town that's down the coast from where we are. We can scavenge together enough gold for you to attend, and you can write your poetry and books.”

Jason stared at her in shock, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Softly, as though anything louder than a whisper would cause the offer to shatter like his childhood dreams once had. “Oh, oh, could you really?”

As warmly as the fire between them, Marinette smiled, “of course! I'd have to ask Félix first of course. But he fell in love with Bridgette and she was a Witcher and he came up with a spell to disguise her whenever they weren't doing contracts or courtly politics. So I don't see why he wouldn't show me how to do it!”

Shakily, he wiped his eyes and smiled back. “Fuck, I'd love that!”

“Okay then! I'll contact Félix on the xenovox tomorrow.” As she spoke, a yawn slipped past her lips. “I think I'm gonna head to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning!”

“Good night, Marinette. I'm gonna stretch my legs real quick first.” He answered, hefting himself up and stretching his arms. “Sleep well, though.”

“Be careful!” Marinette yawned again and packed away her needlework for the night. She then wriggled into her bedroll. “And I'll try, g'night!”

“Night,” he whispered once more.

Quietly, so as to not disturb her, Jason slipped away from camp. Following the direction of the fret, he made his way down the safest cliff path he could find in the dark until his boots hit the sand. Step by step, he walked across the beach until the sea spray spattered against his clothes. He's close enough that the waves gently lapped at the toes of his boots.

Clutching one hand to his chest, just over where his heart was, Jason sighed and gazed longingly at the mist-shrouded sea.

“I never thought I'd get to continue my dreams after becoming a Witcher.” He whispered to the wind. “And now I can, thanks to her.”

He sighs again, heart warmed. And silently in the quietude of the beach at night, he cries alone. For his heart is too full with the kindness of another to contain the feelings any longer.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

[imaginaryelle]

I just re-watched THAT scene and a thought hit me: Lan Wangji just stands there watching Wei Wuxian fall from the cliff... Why doesn't he jump onto his sword and swoops down to at least try to save him? Or is he all out of spiritual power? Or does it simply take to long to start and rev the sword? Not saying it's a plothole, I was just wondering...

I mean, I think this is a fair question and I know I’ve seen it discussed elsewhere. I just can’t seem to find the post or remember if any conclusions were reached, so I’m excited to dive into this. As always if anyone has insights or headcanons they want to add on to this, please do.

Because I like pictures, here’s ep 33 Lan Wangji holding his sword and staring in horror as Wei Wuxian falls (what is Jiang Cheng thinking? Who knows.) 

Why isn’t Lan Wangji doing anything? He just stands there for long enough that Jiang Cheng backs away and leaves him on the outcropping, all alone.

Poor guy.

Okay, moving on. I think there are at least two ways to approach this, and one is from the production perspective (since this cliff encounter is a thing that only happens in the drama) and the other is from the in-universe perspective (aka, Doyalist vs Watsonian), so I’m going to look at both.

For the production pov, there’s really only one scene (I think) where we see anyone actually riding a sword in the drama, and it’s when they’re confronting the water demon/abyss in Caiyi (ep 5). At that point there’s no prep time, everyone just jumps up and then steps onto their swords (which is actually even more ridiculous to me than the image had already been in the novel because I thought they were at least riding on the scabbard but no! Riding the bare blade like a skateboard. I love it.)

How majestic.

Lan Xichen is the only graceful and cool person here. The only other sword-riding shot in this scene that shows more of a person’s body than their head and shoulders is when Lan Wangji drags three people into the air at once and we get a brief glimpse of Su She’s feet kicking wildly.

So, based on this scene’s execution and the general scarcity of other sword-flying scenes (even with the Nightless City confrontation, Lan Wangji just flies in with his quqin, no sword under his feet), my out-of-universe theory would be a combination of budget and aesthetic at play. If the production can get by on wire work with super extra long jumps that don’t seem to require actually riding the sword, they will. It’s logistically simpler, and it frankly looks better on screen. It’s also a staple of the entire film genre, whereas this sword thing is not, so the crew and effects people would have more experience with it as well. (In-universe I have a lot of questions about Wei Wuxian’s retained ability to do those jumps. Do they not use spiritual energy? Does he still have spiritual energy, just not a golden core? Is he using resentful energy instead? How does this work?)

From a more story-side view on the production, they’re working against the fact that they changed the plot to add Lan Wangji’s presence at Wei Wuxian’s death and they want to capitalize on that relationship, so having Wei Wuxian knock himself over the edge as he destroys the seal (or something where he steps back as Jiang Cheng rushes him or any other number of possibilities) no longer fits with the emotional beats they’re trying to hit. Also they really need Wei Wuxian to die here for the plot to function. Having Lan Wangji mount a sword and swoop down to try and save him again just adds extra complications and delays the desired outcome of WWX = dead and LWJ = distraught. In that sense, it really does start to look like a plot hole, because it feels like they’re ignoring the capabilities of a character in order to get the result they need. I do think they try to address this, but since multiple people have this question and I personally had to watch the scene more than once while actively thinking about it to notice all the relevant details… the efficacy of those efforts is maybe questionable. (Also like.. why does Jiang Cheng wait three days to go look for Wei Wuxian’s remains? Why is anyone waiting at all? Why is anyone surprised they can’t find a corpse when the visual we get implies Wei Wuxian is falling into lava? There are many, many questions that can be asked here and for a lot of them the out-of-universe answer is probably going to resemble “because the plot/original source material demands it” without much helpful in-universe support.)

In-universe (and probably more pertinent to your question), yeah, Lan Wangji could be low on spiritual power (and upon rewatch, I think he genuinely is). He could be physically exhausted as well as injured, too. For someone who carried three people in two hands 2-3 years ago and canonically has only gotten stronger since, he sure is having trouble pulling one person up over the side of a cliff. And that exhaustion really isn’t outside the realm of possibility, no matter how strong and powerful he is. He just traveled pretty far! If the theories that he found A-Yuan before coming to Nightless City are true (since he’s not injured in those flashbacks), he likely spent a ton of spiritual power even before getting into this battle where he first confronted Wei Wuxian and then started fighting pretty much everyone on the field by himself. Then, in a moment of fear-induced distraction, he gets injured! He’s actively bleeding! So yeah. He could definitely just be physically exhausted.

All that blood loss is not a good sign, and it actually speeds up (visually) as he expends this effort. We can see his arm trembling all throughout this scene, and then his grip slips (thus the face). Even after that he slips again, not losing his grip, but losing the strength to hold himself up at all. In the end he’s literally just lying on the rock depending on gravity to keep him in place and putting everything else he has into holding on to Wei Wuxian. He can’t do more than glare in Jiang Cheng’s general direction and tell him to stop.

Bichen is right there. If he had spiritual power left, I think he’d probably be sending his sword out to block Jiang Cheng’s angle of attack. That, or he needs two hands to accomplish such an action (It doesn’t require hand motions later/in the future, but maybe he develops that skill precisely because of these events). So yes. He’s physically exhausted. He’s spiritually exhausted. But I think there’s more going on here, too: He’s also at the end of his rope emotionally, and that’s how he ends up standing there, horrified and unmoving.

He’s had a rough time recently: Everyone hates his best and only friend/love of his life, and he has to listen to them call for his death/judgement at fancy dinner party meetings on and off for over a year. No one will listen to him when he tries to present a different view. Even his own brother is (not unreasonably) much more concerned about Lan Wangji’s personal safety than what his silence on this issue is costing him emotionally, and his uncle is distinctly unsupportive of the friendship from the beginning.

I think Lan Wangji spends a lot of time questioning his upbringing in those months (we see him actually verbally do so when he’s punished after Wei Wuxian’s death, but I think it starts well before that). What is right and wrong? Who decides it, and how? When does justice and holding people responsible for their actions turn over into unjust persecution? What is true, and what is a lie, and how much does that matter when weighed against social/political/spiritual harmony? These are concepts that are buried pretty deeply in the Lan Sect’s teachings but the world is twisting all of them before his eyes, and I have to think that takes a toll on him. Additionally, just as things start looking up (they let him write the letter to invite Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling’s celebration! They listen to him, other people support his idea!), he has to deal with the facts that:

1) His best friend who he’s in love with just killed a bunch of people, including Jin ZiXuan and some of Lan Wangji’s own Sect brothers.

2) Wei Wuxian is clearly losing control of his resentment-based cultivation path, and is thus personally in danger on a spiritual level, and

3) Everyone now wants to kill Wei Wuxian again, possibly even more than they did before, and anyone who supports Wei Wuxian is an enemy of the entire cultivation world.

Later in the series, Lan Wangji says he regrets that he wasn’t at Wei Wuxian’s side at Nightless City. That he didn’t support him, despite what we see of him trying to help Wei Wuxian find Jiang Yanli and then, after she dies, stop him from killing himself. To me, this could very easily imply that Lan Wangji is still trying to walk a tightrope in those scenes, or perhaps trying to be a bridge. He’s deliberately not choosing a distinct side, because he refuses to hate and reject Wei Wuxian, but he’s also refusing to declare open support. He’s acting entirely on his own, in a balancing act between friendship and love vs his family, his entire life’s teachings, and all of his society. Certainly I find that sort of situation exhausting, and I’ve never had to do it for something so high-stakes or large-scale.

Then there’s the actual cliff scene itself, where he’s visibly desperate. How intense does an emotion have to be for Lan Wangji to so clearly show it?

Wei Ying, he says, come back. He knows Wei Wuxian is breaking down. He at the very least guesses that he’s going to do something wild like step off that outcropping, which is why he follows him in the first place. But he has no idea what to do, so he tries the same thing he’s been trying for years: Come with me. Let me help you. This is a bridge, and he’s offering to help Wei Wuxian cross it. But just like every other time he’s tried it since the Sunshot Campaign ended, it doesn’t work.

Note that Lan Wangji actually is flying here, without the sword, so if he doesn’t have any spiritual power when Jiang Cheng shows up, this is probably a last, desperate burst to go with this last, desperate act.

I don’t think he really has a plan here. Not a new one, anyway. This is a still a plea of Let me help you. And, notably, Wei Wuxian doesn’t accept his help.

Not once during this whole scene does Wei Wuxian reach up with his free hand or try to help Lan Wangji help him in any way. He smiles, and he says: Lan Zhan, let me go. Because he doesn’t want a bridge. He doesn’t want to go back. Honestly it’s a pretty explicit and heartbreaking message: Lan Wangji’s offer of help is not enough to make Wei Wuxian want to stay alive. Not right now. He needs more than that. He’s lost too much to believe, right now, that anyone is going to choose him and his side, or that he’s worth that effort. And to be clear, Lan Wangji isn’t even offering that in this situation. Wei Wuxian is one slippery handgrip away from death, and Lan Wangji is still not saying “You, I choose you.” From anything Wei Wuxian can be expected to infer, his offer here is no different than it’s ever been: let me show you the way back to the right path. Let me help you fit back into the world the way you used to. And Wei Wuxian can’t do that; he has no golden core, it’s literally impossible even if the rest of the world would let him try. But at this point he doesn’t want to go back either. He doesn’t even want to try. That world hates him, and willfully misunderstands him, and has taken too many people from him now for it to be worth staying in. He wants to die.

And then Jiang Cheng arrives.

Wei Wuxian’s reaction to his brother’s presence is to smile, say his name, and just–accept his hatred. He closes his eyes and waits for the sword to fall even as Lan Wangji calls for Jiang Cheng to stop. The only time he shows distress between stepping back off the cliff and his actual death is when Jiang Cheng twists his sword and compromises the stability of the outcropping so that Lan Wangji is also in danger.

I think it’s possible that if Jiang Cheng had also reached for him and tried to pull him back up, things might have gone differently. Maybe that would have been enough to alter Wei Wuxian’s thinking. But as it is, when Wei Wuxian falls, he falls with his limbs relaxed and a smile on his face. There’s no flailing and screaming like when he was thrown into the Burial Mounds (in ep 33. There’s some arm-waving in ep 1). And I think that moment of him pushing Lan Wangji back and then letting go, more than anything, is what stops Lan Wangji in his tracks, because Wei Wuxian could have saved himself. He had strength and energy left. Enough to push Lan Wangji up and back and nearly to a standing position. He could have accepted Lan Wangji’s help, easily. But he didn’t, because he wanted to die, despite all the effort and inner turmoil Lan Wangji has gone through on his behalf (most of which Wei Wuxian doesn’t know about but, still).

That’s a pretty serious emotional kick in the head. Lan Wangji cannot ignore, at this point, that even if he did have any physical or spiritual energy left, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be saved. And that’s when we get this face (actually from ep 1):

He has nothing left. He has at this point spent over a year, maybe two, trying to save someone who, when it came down to the final moment, didn’t want to be saved. There’s nothing more he can do, in this state of exhaustion and despair, and it wouldn’t matter if he tried.

Personally, I think he looks like he’s about to be sick, and I don’t think it’s just the image of Wei Wuxian falling and dying that’s working on him here. It’s also the knowledge that he fucked up. He didn’t do enough, or more accurately, didn’t do the right things, in order to encourage Wei Wuxian to keep fighting for himself or anyone else (I’m not saying this is a healthy or reasonable thought, I just think it’s a thought he’s having). And I think this realization plays directly into how he treats Wei Wuxian when he comes back sixteen years later. He knows that questioning Wei Wuxian on his path of cultivation doesn’t go where he wants it to, so he doesn’t do it. This time is going to be different. He’ll break rules. He’ll drink alcohol. He doesn’t scold Wei Wuxian for making dumb, selfless decisions like transferring the curse mark from Jin Ling’s leg to his own, he just accepts it and expresses concern over Wei Wuxian’s well being. He stops asking if he can help and starts just doing it: Wei Wuxian can’t walk so he’ll carry him. Wei Wuxian needs someone to speak for him, so Lan Wangji will do that, with his brother and with the whole cultivation world. And then we come to this:

This is exactly the same move. Wei Wuxian will protect Lan Wangji, but not himself.

But.

Lan Wangji is no longer trying to be a bridge. He’s not going to hold out his hand for Wei Wuxian to accept or disregard. He’s crossed over to be on Wei Wuxian’s side. And that’s what makes the difference.

[angelofthequeers]

I’ll Always Come Back

Rating: G

Summary: No matter what happens, no matter what pulls them apart, Alya and Nino always find their way back to each other.

We're finally able to share our pieces for @thedjwifizine and I had the privilege of being able to participate! Please go check it out and give all the other creators massive love!

1. Welcome home

“Are we sure you’re not one of the planes?” Adrien teases. Nino flushes and forces himself to stop jumping from foot to foot on the rich red carpet, although he finds himself still bouncing on the spot in anticipation.

“Dude, I haven’t seen Alya in like two weeks!” He’s expecting Adrien to tease him again but instead, Adrien just sighs and smiles.

“I know the feeling,” he says. “Two weeks without Marinette is a drag. Not that I don’t like hanging out with you, of course.”

“Thanks, bro,” Nino says dryly. Adrien rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to respond, except that the doors to the airport gate open and the shadows of the first few people off the plane loom against the corridor wall. Their banter is instantly forgotten as both men jitter on the spot and stand on their tiptoes to look out for their girlfriends.

“Did they get off last or something?” Adrien grumbles. “Hey, you think it’d be legal if I sat on your shoulders?”

“Dude, I’d totally sit on yours,” Nino says. “You’re heavy.”

Adrien raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Thanks. And here I thought we had something special.”

Nino maturely ignores his best friend in favour of continuing to search for Alya in the crowd. His heart leaps into his throat at the sight of a familiar reddish-brown bun, just behind a middle-aged white man with greying hair, and then the crowd parts and there she is, like a ray of sunshine.

“Alya!” Nino frantically waves his hands above his head, sparing only a fleeting thought for the people giving him strange looks as they walk past. Alya looks around at the sound of her name, and then she spots him and her face breaks into the most radiant smile that Nino’s ever seen, only making her look even more like a goddess from above.

“Nino!” Alya dodges around a young couple with all the grace of her superhero alter-ego, and Nino eagerly holds his arms open to catch her, but he’s still unprepared for the force that cannons into him and nearly bowls him over into Adrien.

“I missed you so much, babe,” Nino says into Alya’s hair. Alya just laughs and squeezes him tighter.

“Same. I even missed your snoring.”

“Wow. Thanks.” But Nino still holds her tight and relishes in her warm coconut smell, despite her super mean comments just seconds into their reunion.

2. Brainwashed

“Snap out of it!” Rena Rouge yells, despite the futility of trying to break through an akuma’s influence. Carapace just grins at her, but it’s all…wrong. It’s twisted, black-lipped, showing too much teeth, like he’s a shark rather than the turtle hero he’s supposed to be. 

Out of the corner of her eye, there’s a flash of red as Ladybug summons a Lucky Charm, but Rena can’t make out what it is and she’s too focused on her brainwashed boyfriend to look away for even a second.

 “Dammit!” Ladybug curses and grabs Rena’s arm to yank her out of the way of Gamer’s vivid green beam. “I need Carapace to make this plan work!”

“Well, he’s a little occupied!” Rena dodges one of Dark Cupid’s arrows, but then Carapace dives at her and she’s forced to jump away and duck under him to avoid the next one. It strikes him in the back harmlessly just as Rena swipes his legs out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ground with a loud wheeze. Before he can bound back into the battle, Rena plants her knee on his chest and pins his wrists to the ground on either side of his head.

“Aww, how cute,” Carapace mocks. “Do you want a mid-battle cuddle, babe?”

“How d’you like that, huh?” Dark Cupid cackles. “Sucks to have your heart broken!”

“And to see your best friend in such pain!” Gamer chimes in. He fires at Chat Noir right as Dark Cupid shoots another arrow, which forces Ladybug to abandon her brainstorming to jump to Chat’s aid. Rena just groans and hangs her head, still keeping Carapace pinned to the ground. If only they had his Shellter – if only she could free him, bring him back –

“True love is a scam!” Dark Cupid howls distantly. With a sharp intake of breath, the most desperate of ideas slams into Rena’s brain and then, before she can second-guess herself and end up incapacitated, she leans down and presses her lips to Carapace’s with a silent plea.

For a moment, nothing happens. The battle between superheroes and akumas rages on in the background, but Rena’s vision has tunnelled to the boy beneath her, staring up at her with such hate in his eyes that’s the complete opposite of everything that Nino Lahiffe is and that she loves about him. And then the black fades from Carapace’s lips – he stares up with clouded, confused eyes, and Rena lets out a choked sob –

“Uh, babe?” Carapace says as she rains kisses all over his face. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think this is the time.”

“You’re an idiot,” Rena splutters. “I hate you. Hurry up and get your lazy butt back into action before I run you through with my flute.”

3. Making up

“I’ll call you back, girl,” Alya says into her phone when the sound of the front door opening reaches her ears. There’s the dim sound of Marinette saying her goodbyes, but all Alya can focus on is the stiff-shouldered silhouette of her boyfriend standing in the living room doorway with a scowl on his face. But two can play the stubborn game, so Alya crosses her arms and glowers right back at him.

Neither of them says anything. The atmosphere thickens, until it’s so stifling that it could be popped with a pin like the massive superhero balloons paraded around Paris every year on Heroes’ Day. Alya toys with the idea of just getting it over with and swallowing her pride and caving first, except for the fact that she’s so not at fault here and why should she have to give in?

Except…it’s awful, this hostile air between them. And Nino had walked out but…he’d also come back. He came back. Just like he always does, whether it’s an argument about stealing the blankets or getting disintegrated by a smoke akuma just hours ago while Rena Rouge had been forced to watch helplessly. And if she has to swallow her pride and poke at this wound so that it can start to heal…is it worth throwing away what she’s got with him, everything they’ve been through together, just to be right?

“I’m sorry,” Alya blurts out just as Nino does. They pause, blink, and then laugh in unison, and Nino’s shoulders slump.

“I was way outta line,” he says. “And I shouldn’t’ve run away. I don’t want to lose you over some dumb argument.”

“I said some things I shouldn’t have as well,” Alya says. She holds out her arms. “Get over here, shellhead. You’re not getting rid of me that easily after everything we’ve been through.”

Nino moves so fast that he seems to materialise on the couch next to Alya, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She hums and buries her nose in the crook of his neck, nuzzling to drink in his sweet smell of cinnamon and vanilla, surrounding herself in the warmth of being cherished and cared for by the most amazing man she’s had the fortune of meeting.

“Not even a whole horde of zombies could keep me from you, babe,” Nino says. Alya laughs softly.

“You’re still an idiot for just sitting there and letting the kissing zombies get you for no reason,” she says. “But I appreciate you staying with me, even if I don’t remember it.”

Nino squeezes her. “Always.”

4. Lost

“Nino!” Alya’s shriek echoes off the dark, glistening walls around her. But there’s no response, so she desperately tries again. “Nino!”

Nothing. She turns a corner and is greeted with an identical dark wall, which seems to have looped behind her and cut off where she’d just come from. Seems to have, because Alya doesn’t even know what’s going on with this constantly shifting maze, unable to even trust her own senses to truthfully inform her of where she is.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir!” Alya pounds on the wall in front of her. “Someone! Anyone!”

“Alya!” echoes faintly in response; so faint that Alya barely makes it out. But it’s there. She takes off running, losing any semblance of spatial awareness as she hurtles down identical dark corridor after dark corridor in this damn akuma maze, because someone (i.e., Jalil) had decided to get akumatised into a Greek minotaur complete with a labyrinth.

“Nino?” she calls.

“Alya!” comes back after a second, much closer than it had been last time. Alya takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment to compose herself, and starts running again. Wherever Nino is in this labyrinth, she’s going to find him, because they haven’t gone through years of both superhero and mundane drama to be separated by a maze.

5. Down the aisle

“Will you settle down?” Adrien hisses. “You’re putting me on edge!”

“You’re always on edge, catboy,” Nino mutters in response, because if Adrien’s gonna act like he doesn’t wake up screaming half the time from the horrors he’s seen as Chat Noir then Nino’s damn well gonna call him out for it. He groans and tugs at his stiff white collar, wishing he could just tear it off already…but no, he can’t do that to Alya. Speaking of Alya, where is she?

“Rude,” Adrien says. “See if I make you my best man.”

“Go on, then,” Nino says. “Give it to Kim. I dare you.”

Adrien pauses, then shudders. “No way. I love Kim – I really do – but Marinette and I want everyone to walk away in one piece.”

“Chloé, then.”

“She’s already leaving super pointed voicemails about breaking gender stereotypes and appointing a best woman instead. I don’t need to encourage that drama.” Adrien pauses. “Why are you even trying to get out of it when I’m here for you?”

Nino rolls his eyes and prepares to fire off a witty retort, except for the fact that the guitarist starts to play the song he’s heard hundreds of times in Alya’s cheesy romance movies and Adrien immediately stands up straight, as does Marinette on the bride’s side. Nino turns and…oh. Oh.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. With the sun behind her to make her glow like an angel from the heavens, Alya glides down the grassy aisle they’ve set up in the Place des Vosges, her pure white dress hugging the curves of her hips and falling in layers of tulle around and behind her. Nino’s never been more grateful to Marinette than he is now for designing Alya’s dress as a wedding gift because…wow. Wow. Words? What?

“Hey,” Alya says softly when she reaches Nino and releases her father’s arm. Nino’s attempt to say anything even remotely intelligent results in a strangled, garbled mess that resembles no human language in existence.

“I can’t marry you,” Nino finally manages to coax himself to say. “You’re way outta my league. Holy –”

Good thing that Alya’s giggle interrupts him, or many children might have learned a very inappropriate lesson that day. He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, transfixed by the loose curls falling around her face, the light dusting of makeup that frames her eyes and glistens her lips, and he must have managed to say his vows through his hypnosis at some point because the next words he’s able to comprehend are, “You may now kiss the bride,” and he’s never been happier to do as he’s told.

“I love you,” he croaks once he finally manages to pull away from Alya’s divine lips. Alya grins.

“I love you too, dork.”

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 35

Just looking at Makado makes me realize how incredibly tired I am. “Makado,” I say, trying to put a little bit of that weariness into my voice, “please, I just want to get Elena out of here.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Makado tells me. “Take your helmet off.”

“Makado,” I start, but she raises the gun and coaxes a threatening-sounding click out of it.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and reach up and pop the helmet open. 

“Now take it off slowly and drop it.”

The helmet thuds to the floor with a dull clunk. I keep my hands open, bent at the elbows, roughly shoulder-height. I guess it’s a testament to how often this has happened to me lately that I’m not particularly panicked or flustered, even though she has a gun on me. I look into her eyes; they’re about as kind as a brick wall, a far cry from the Makado I knew - well, that I thought I knew. I don’t think she’ll shoot me but I don’t want to push her. 

“Makado,” I try again, speaking softly, “I know that you’re upset, but -“

“Upset?” she laughs. “That is a big understatement, Roan.”

“As if you have any right to be upset at me,” I snort. Makado’s eyes flash but I press onwards anyway. “You’re the one who was trying to literally fucking frame me for all the illegal shit you were doing -“

“You got Peter killed,” she says. My mind goes blank for a moment before I nearly laugh. I choke it back down; if I started laughing, either out of terror or nerves or just pure exasperation, I know I’d never stop, and I know Makado would probably shoot me.

“Makado,” I say, stammering a little bit, “I didn’t - there was nothing I could have -“

“Then how come you lived and he died, huh?” she says. I think I hear a crack in her icy demeanor and I look at her - really look at her. She glances away after a moment or two, and when her gaze swings back and hits mine whatever I thought I might have seen, whatever small vulnerability, has already faded away. “How come you lived?” she asks. 

The barrel of the gun trembles gently.

“Mak,” I start. I want terribly to be angry at her but something about the way she’s acting is just making me sad instead.

“Don’t call me that!” she yells. She slips her finger inside the gun’s trigger guard and I feel my breath catch. Maybe she really will shoot me; if she’s mad enough, if she thinks that somehow I caused Pete to get…to get leeched, or whatever the hell…

“Peter was the only one who ever called me that,” she murmurs. I know I’ve called her ‘Mak’ before and she never made a fuss about it but I guess this is special circumstances.

“Pete is - was - a fully trained ranger with dozens of expeditions under his belt, he might have - “ Makado licks her lips and tries again - “he might have gone a little downhill after 2007 but he was still sharp. He would have gotten out of there no problem. But he dies and you live?”

“Was that the plan?” I ask. If I can keep her talking maybe I’ll be able to pull something, but deep down I doubt it. “You send me down there hoping I’d die in an accident or something?”

“Of course not,” she says. “But if I had to choose between you and Peter…”

“That’s cold,” I tell her. She starts to say something, but I continue before she can. “But I get it. You loved him, huh?”

“Of course I loved him,” she says, sounding mildly scandalized. “You wouldn’t understand, I’m sure.”

“Why, because I - ? Oh, whatever,” I grunt. “Whatever, Makado. Just shoot me and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to shoot you.”

“Right, of course,” I snarl, putting as much venom into my words as I can. “You want to hand me over to the feds so I can suffer for your sins, right? That’s the endgame here, right?”

She has the good graces to flinch, at least. “I don’t -“ she starts, but I shake my head.

“Whatever,” I tell her. “What happened to Elena?”

Makado looks round, her eyes resting briefly on the wreckage of the autodoctor unit. “I don’t know,” she says. “When I got down here it was like this, and Elena was gone. I was going to -“

“Kidnap her so you’d have some leverage?”

“Bitch, will you stop fucking assuming the goddam worst of me? I was planning on tracking her down and getting her out of here.”

“I don’t believe you,” I tell her, my voice flat. “How did you even know she was here?”

“Because I heard the two of you sopping all over each other on the radio,” she tells me, her voice hard-edged with disdain. “Soon as I heard she was here in DUSA, I split off from my team and rushed up here. Guess I was too late.”

“Goddam it,” I mutter. My cheeks are burning a little from the knowledge that we’d been overhead; I guess I could have assumed, but it still had felt like it had been something private, something special we had shared. Maybe I wouldn’t have broken down quite so hard if I’d known Makado had been listening in. “It must have been the Leechman,” I mutter, glaring at the gaping hunk of metal torn away from DUSA’s hull. My eyes are stinging and I wipe them hurriedly, not thinking, and when I take my hands down Makado is glaring at me very seriously over the sights of the pistol, and I realize that the quick motion nearly made her shoot me. My stomach does a backflip and I stammer out the beginning of an apology before she mutters a curse and takes a length of rope from her suit pocket.

“Hands together,” she orders me, and with a sigh I slap my wrists together and hold them out to her. She comes to me with the rope and hesitates for a moment; I know it’s because she’s only just realizing that she will have to put the gun away to tie me up. 

“I’ll hold that for you,” I offer, and in spite of herself she laughs.

“Turn around,” she says. “Hands behind your back.”

My heart is thumping heavily in my chest as I do. I am trying very hard not to imagine the Leechman bursting into here like a demon straight out of a horror movie and swallowing Elena up into its swollen leechy body. I can feel my hands trembling as Makado takes my wrists and lashes them tightly together. The rough synthetic fiber cuts into my wrists and I grunt. Makado steps away from me and I flex my hands experimentally but it’s no use, she’s tied me tightly enough that I’d never be able to free myself unless I had a knife. She’s already taken mine from the sheath on my belt and tossed it casually to the dusty, oily floor.

Elena’s dead. I can’t stop the thought from echoing around my skull, increasing in severity with each impact. She’s dead, she’s gone, I was too late. If I had just been a little quicker, if I hadn’t stopped to sleep, if I hadn’t…

“Hey, what are you - oh, Jesus Christ,” Makado grumbles. I sniff and look away from her. I try to keep it down but a quiet sob bubbles out of my throat.

“Goddam it,” I mumble. I can’t even wipe my eyes. My shoulders are shaking with the weight of it, with the weight of knowing that -

Makado sighs behind me. “You didn’t kill her,” she says. “If she’s even dead. We don’t know.”

I let out a terribly mirthless laugh. “You didn’t kill him,” Makado continues, begrudgingly. “I know you didn’t, it’s not like you put a gun to his head and shot him. I just…”

“Don’t want him to be gone,” I suggest, and out of the corner of my eye, through a veil of tears, I can see her nod.

I feel as though I might rip in two the next time someone touches me, but in spite of everything I do want to reach out and touch her, brush my thumb along the knobby edge of her wrist, feel her warmth near to me. Maybe it’s pathetic and stupid, maybe I should be spitting and cursing and swearing revenge but I can’t bring myself to. I want to just curl into a little ball and cry. 

Makado is rustling around behind me, and then I hear the click and crackle of a radio. “Peterson, Rodriguez,” she says, enunciating clearly. “Status check, over.”

A moment passes and then the response comes burbling up through the airwaves. “Peterson, checking in. I’ve got Rodriguez here with me but he’s carrying the crystal so he couldn’t call himself. Everything’s good down here. ETA 20 minutes to DUSA. Over.”

“Thanks. You were able to disable the specimen? Over.”

“Hard to say. It backed off but Emmanuel is hurt pretty bad. One of those leeches, it got into her suit and chewed the hell out of her leg. We’ve got her on a stretcher and we’re bringing her back but I don’t know if she’ll make it. Is the autodoc functional? Over.”

“Negative,” Makado says. Her voice is tight and fraying. “Negative, it’s smashed. It looks like the Leechman got here before we did. Over.”

“Shit. Well, Emmanuel is fucked, then. Do we have support from topside? Over.”

I hear Makado mutter a quiet curse below her breath. “Give me a second,” she says. “Out.”

I sniff hard and duck my head down into my shoulder, try and wipe my eyes against the rubber of the ranger suit. Makado is tapping at the pad in the arm of her ranger suit; she’s put the gun away at this point, tucking it into her holster at her hip. I could make a run for it, I reflect. Instead I fold my legs beneath me and sink into a huddle on the floor a little like a gazelle bedding down for the night. Makado glances over at me and then back at her screen. “Who’s Emmanuel?” I ask. My voice creaks partway through it, and when I clear my throat it comes back thick and congested.

“None of your business,” she tells me, a little absently. “You’d better stop crying,” she adds. 

“Fuck you,” I tell her, but I can’t put much heart into it. “Fuck you for trying to walk all over everything and try to do it your way. You walked all over me, you walked all over the team, you walked all over Peter -“

Makado looms over me, ruddy bolts of fury sparkling behind her eyes. “You have no idea, you have no idea -“ she starts, but I roll my eyes at her.

“Do you have any idea how many people are dead because of you?”

That catches her, and I get a vicious little thrill out of seeing how it impacts, how she absorbs it, how her eyes grow even wearier. She starts to say something but I start listing off names.

“The Sergeant. Peter. Slate. Erica and Marcus. Klaus. Crookshank. Euler. Ellis. Emmanuel, whoever that is. And El - Elena,” I say. I have to swallow hard to get that last name out but I manage it. “They’re all your fault, Makado. If you hadn’t gone off the deep end because of this stupid fucking crystal none of this would ever have happened. Does it really matter? Does it really matter this much? Is it worth it? Tell me. Please. Do you even know?”

“They knew the risks,” Makado tries to say, but she isn’t meeting my gaze. “You wouldn’t understand,” she says, a little bit of strength returning to her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to -“

“To have an obsession take over your life?” I finish, and she blows a breath out.

“I’m the only one trying!” she yells. “I’m the only one fucking trying to stop all of this! That crystal is the only thing that we have that we know can shut down the Pit if it wakes up again. Getting it back should be our top priority -“

“And the last time one of those crystals was used,” I point out, “it infected - I’m sorry, how many people? - with a fucking personality-destroying disease that spreads when you feel emotions and forces you to crawl into the Pit to die.”

“We know better now,” she says, hands on her hips. “We know what we did wrong. If we don’t shatter the crystals -“

“How do you even know? Aren’t you just guessing?”

“You have no right to tell me how to do my job,” she tells me. I can see her knuckles whiten with rage. “I’m doing what needs to be done. If the Pit woke up and became fully ambulatory, it’d be the end of the world as we know it. If you think that isn’t something worth stopping by any means necessary, then you’re either stupid or insane. Maybe both. If I -“

“Okay, Makado. Whatever,” I tell her. I feel as though if I shut my eyes I’d be able to fall asleep in about a minute. My heart hurts. 

Makado glares at me and for a moment, just a moment, I think she might be about to draw her leg back and slam the hard edge of her boot into my gut, but instead she spins on her heel and walks away, fishing the radio out of its holster on her belt and talking quietly into it.

I think for a while about struggling to my feet and just walking out. I don’t think Makado would shoot me, I really don’t. I think she wouldn’t have the heart for it. Maybe she’d just let me go.

Elena’s dead. You haven’t seen the body, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind, but I don’t need to see the body. If the Leechman got her, I’m not sure I want to see the body. I would want my memory of her to remain clean. I want to remember her in the tent smiling down at me, I want to remember her hands on my body, the way her lips felt when she kissed me, the way my heart felt when she kissed me. 

I spend the next twenty minutes or so agonizing myself before the clunk and hiss of heavy machinery, burbles glutinously up from outside the rent in DUSA’s hull. With a little difficulty I manage to sit up and look outwards, and I see three orange figures in ranger suits marching up out of one of the vents leading to this organelle. Two of them are carrying a fourth on a stretcher, and the third…

My mouth drops open. The third is incredibly bulky, far more so than a normal person in a suit, and as they come closer and step into range of DUSA’s flickering floodlights, I realize that they are wearing something like a white enameled arthropod over their arms and legs, a squat mechanical spider perched on their back like a backpack. Its limbs extend along the ranger’s arms and fill out into armored gauntlets encompassing their hands.

And in their hands, hefted with an assurance and strength borne, I imagine, solely from their armor’s assistance, is the crystal, green and spiky and menacing, with an ugly luminosity flaring somewhere deep inside of it. I think again that I can see something moving within its murky depths.

Makado rushes out to meet them, leaving me forgotten, and again I consider getting up and just walking away. I think I’ve missed my chance, though; if it was just Makado, she might let me go. With everyone else here, all of these other rangers, there’s no way I’d be able to get away with it. And who knows if she’d have any compunctions about letting someone else shoot me.

Makado, to her credit, only paused briefly to tell the ranger with the crystal where to set it down before rushing to the ranger on the stretcher. Even from a distance I can tell that she’s hurt badly; her orange suit is splattered with blood and there is an enormous hole in her side. I think I can see teeth marks. One of the rangers shows something to Makado; it looks a little like a very thick, dark length of rope, and I realize with a horrible twist in my gut that it’s a dead leech. It looks to be about three or four feet long; it’s head has been torn off and it trails a thick, foul-smelling ichor behind it in a long oozing trail. 

The huddled conversation over the wounded ranger continues a while longer before the group breaks apart. The ranger with the exoskeleton carries the crystal into DUSA, moving with almost exaggerated care through the hole in the wall. He looks down at me as he passes, craning his neck around the crystal to make sure he isn’t going to bump into me. “You alright?” he asks. He has a thick Texan accent that makes me smile in spite of myself.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Do you think you could untie me?”

He pauses. “You’re tied up?” 

“Yes,” I say, rolling halfway over and waggling my fingers at him. “See?”

“Why are you tied up?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You’re Dzilenski, aren’t you?”

“I, uh. No.”

“No? What’s your name, then? I haven’t seen you around before.”

The weight of the crystal doesn’t seem to be troubling him at all. He cocks his head at me.

“Merriweather,” I tell him. “I’m new.”

He waggles a finger at me; the servos of the exoskeleton make little whining noises as he does. “Nice try,” he tells me, but I can tell from the shape of his voice that he’s grinning. I shake my head a little and give him a halfhearted smile.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I suggest, and he laughs as he stomps off towards the stairwell, the crystal glowing malevolently in his arms. 

A few moments later someone is taking me roughly beneath my armpits and hauling me to my feet. I stagger a little but keep my balance. I look over and see Makado glaring at me from a few inches away, but it seems as though her temper has died a little; there isn’t quite as much venom in her gaze as before. Without uttering a word to me she marches me out of DUSA and towards one of the rangers, standing on a small, bulgy lump of flesh with their hands on their hips. I feel a spike of fear in my stomach. “What are you going to do with me?” I ask her.

I can see Makado’s lip curl out of the corner of my eye. “I’m not going to kill you,” she tells me. “Peterson there is just going to take you up to the surface and give you back to the feds, that’s all. Then this whole stupid thing can be over and done with.”

“So that’s it, huh?” I ask, breaking out of her grasp and turning to face her. “You’re just going to throw me to the wolves? You really think that you can get away with this?”

“Roan,” she groans. “Do you think I want to fuck you over? Do you think I want to do this?”

“Well, from the way you’re acting -“

“This thing is bigger than you or me,” she says. “And I’m - I’m sorry,” she tells me. To my immense surprise I actually believe her. “I’m sorry, and I don’t want to ruin your life like I know I’m going to, but I - I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

Before I can say anything Peterson takes me firmly by the arm. Makado swallows hard and nods to him. “Take her up. There should be a contingent of FBI agents somewhere up there, I know it’s a mess but they should still be hanging around, probably yelling at Admin. Let them know she’s Roan Dzilenski, they’ll take it from there.”

“Right,” he says. “Come on, then.”

I stare back at Makado all the way over to the vent leading up to the passage out of here; she refuses to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Peterson mentions, adjusting his grip on me to push a hanging fold of flesh out of the way.

“If you’re so sorry, let me go,” I tell him. He has a quiet, apologetic tone.

“I’m not that sorry,” he explains, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Look on the bright side,” he suggests. “You’ll be out of here soon. I’m sure that will be a relief.”

“Yeah,” I snap, “I’m sure that -“

Something falls onto my shoulder and I let out a shriek. It rolls off and slaps onto the ground with a wet, meaty thump and slithers away.

“Are you okay?” Peterson is asking. “What was that?”

I look up, knowing what I’ll see, but the Leechman actually comes at us from the side, the leeches boiling out of the fleshy wall with a noise like a million hungry mouths gnashing and chewing and slurping simultaneously, leaving the wall pockmarked and collapsing. Peterson blurts out a surprised curse and lets me go, his hands darting to his holster, but the Leechman is faster. It reaches out with a massive, dripping, writhing paw and fixes it around his head, lifting him bodily off the ground. Rodriguez screams and I hear commotion from behind, in the main organ housing DUSA, but his screams quickly become muffled and gurgly and thick. His hands and legs are shuddering and jolting like he were being electrocuted, and then my stupid, shell-shocked nerves finally, finally kick into motion and I stagger backwards. My foot catches on something and I fall; the ground comes slamming upwards to meet me and the breath whooshes out of my lungs just as the Leechman drops Peterson. The helmet of his suit is bent and crushed and although he lands on his feet, his body sways gently back and forth like a wind were catching it. The Leechman stomps past me and I cringe away from it, but it ignores me entirely. Its footsteps resound through the meaty floor and rattle my teeth in my jaws.

I am so scared I think I might throw up. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to get up and run away, but I can’t force myself to move. “Hey,” I whisper, as the Leechman ducks its broad, wormy head and pushes into the organ. “Hey, uh, Peterson, are you okay?”

Rodriguez turns and looks at me and I scream. His face has been eaten away to nothing and his jaw is hanging from a few stringy tendons on the left-hand side of his skull. He shambles towards me and I scream again, and I hear my screams echoed from back behind me in DUSA’s chamber. It’s only a few moments later that the gunfire begins.

I kick my feet and try and push myself away from Rodriguez’s corpse. As I watch a leech crawls out of his mouth and plunges its snub-nosed head into the wreckage of his eye. The body lurches closer to me and into the light and I get a better look at him; my stomach nearly turns. I scream again and try to kick at him but he just catches my leg and drags me closer. The bone of his skull and the scraps of meat and flesh on his face are stained a dark, inky black with a dripping, noxious ichor. Without any preamble the body straddles me and shoves its fingers into my mouth. I choke and cough and try to kick and bite but it’s simply too strong. My eyes are filling with tears but I can still see the body’s cavernous mouth yawning and yawning and the body of an enormous leech slowly struggling up Rodriguez’s pitted, masticated throat. Though it has no eyes or face I imagine it leering at me, and though I redouble my efforts to get away, my throat convulsing in anticipatory terror, I can do absolutely nothing to stop what is about to happen to me. At the very last my courage fails me and I just squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the leech to barrel down my throat, wait with an anticipatory cringe to feel its needle-sharp teeth dig into my insides.

Instead I feel more than hear a horrific, bone-shuddering crunch from just ahead of me, and when I snap my eyes open it takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m seeing. Jutting from Rodriguez’s chest amid a thorny cluster of broken ribs is a bulky mechanical hand absolutely slick with gore and ichor. With a harsh mechanical whine it makes a fist and withdraws from the grapefruit-sized hole it made in Rodriguez’s chest and then seizes the body and flings it off of me. The body lands against the side wall of the vent with a wet crunch and then flops to the floor and lays still. 

“Joker,” I breathe. The robot’s blocky, flat-panelled head is staring down at me with what I imagine to be a rather odd expression. It’s pitted and stained and rusted and every couple of seconds sparks burst from its torn left arm socket. Its armored torso is battered and dented and it moves with difficulty, but it still leans down over me and with incredible gentleness tucks its blood-drenched hand beneath me and brings me lightly to my feet. A moment later it has untied my hands and I can feel the blood rushing back into them with a clustering ache of pins and needles.

I can scarcely breathe I am so relieved but I still manage to reach up and put my hand on the machine’s metallic chest. “Jesus Christ,” I tell it. “I am so fucking happy to see you.”

But before I get any more out, a tall, blonde-haired blur slams into me and wraps me up in long, strong arms and lifts me off of my feet and nuzzles her face against mine. “Oh god,” Elena says, and before she can say any more my greedy, bruised lips find hers and for a moment, just a moment, amid the gunfire and the screams, I feel completely okay.

* * *

When we finally break apart and Elena sets me down on my wobbly, weak-kneed legs, I reach up and take her face in my hands. I still can’t quite believe that she’s here, that she’s alive, that she’s okay. My heart is beating so quickly that I almost feel nauseous and I don’t trust myself to speak. Elena’s eyes are wide and slatey; they flicker over me, dancing like roulette balls, just as she runs her hands over my arms, my legs, my sides and back. “Are you okay?” she asks. Her voice is shaky. I try to speak a few times but I can’t get any words out so instead I just nod. Elena leans in and kisses me again, briefly this time, and then, with her lips brushing my ear she murmurs, “I was so scared, Roan, I was so scared that I had lost you, I thought -“

“It’s okay,” I tell her. There’s another scream from DUSA and we both jump. I grab onto her desperately as she starts to pull away. “Listen, are you alright? The gunshot -“

“I’m okay,” she tells me. “I promise I’m okay. Jesus Christ I thought I lost you. Let’s get out of here.”

Next to her, Joker shifts on his damaged heels and creaks forward further down the vent, towards DUSA. Elena curses. “Hey, wait. Stop. We have to go.”

Joker ignores her. “Elena,” I ask, “what the hell happened? Why is Joker -“

“Whatever the Leechman did to him down in the barrows jarred something loose or damaged him somehow, he’s operating completely autonomously.”

I stare at Elena. “You’re not controlling him?”

“No,” she says. “He - I think he heard our conversation on the radio, that’s how he knew to come to DUSA to get me. It’s a good thing he did or Makado would have gotten me. He burst right in through the wall, it was fucking terrifying.”

“Joker did that? I thought it was the Leechman, I thought you were dead -“

“No, no, it was Joker! Oh, god, baby you must have been so scared -“

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Where did he take you?”

Joker looks back at us, then returns his gaze to the scene inside the organ ahead. The screams have largely died down now, but I can hear Makado shouting something, and a high-pitched electric whine that sets my teeth on edge.

Elena shakes her head. “He must have been monitoring Makado’s transmissions, I think he has to have a radio receiver in there somewhere. He grabbed me and brought me down to a little organelle maybe a mile away and we just sort of hunkered down there for a while.”

“Did he hurt you? If he -“

“No, no, he didn’t, it’s okay, I’m okay. Joker!” she yells. “We have to go!”

Joker ignores her. There is a curious sense of animation about its pose and its motions, quick and precise and birdlike. As I watch, its fingers flex tightly enough to dig deeply into the fleshy wall it rests against. Again its head swivels and glances back at us and I think I can feel its nonexistent gaze resting on me. “Elena, if you’re not controlling it, then who is?”

“I don’t know,” she says, glancing over at me. “I think nobody.”

“But how could it -“

“Roan, listen, forget about that for a moment.” Her lips are tugging upwards in an irrepressible smile and I can’t help but mirror her. I want to hold her and kiss her and - “there was something I needed to tell you, something I needed to tell you face to face,” she says. My stomach swoops upwards in a surge of delight and I reach out, take her hand in mine. 

“Yes?” I ask, trying to sound innocent and oblivious.

“Roan, I -“ she starts, but before she can get more than a few words out, there is a whipcrack of thunder in DUSA’s chamber, and Joker bolts forward like a sprinter off the starting line, and we both scramble into action and chase after him.

DUSA’s wet, fleshy cavern is in utter disarray. Dead leeches are littered everywhere and there are massive stains of ichor and blood splattered all across the cavern, as though someone upended buckets of paint and flung them. A crushed, distended corpse in a black-stained suit has been driven so deeply into the flesh of the floor that it has nearly been snapped in two. Of the Leechman there is no sign, but as we watch, Makado and three other rangers come storming out of the other vent and take up defensive positions around it, hunkering down and training their weapons on DUSA’s hull. Makado is carrying a long grey brick of a rifle, bulky and supremely un-ergodynamic, with what looks like a lens in place of a barrel. I wonder about it for a moment before a sickly green glow floats into view and the Leechman emerges from DUSA, ducking its titanic head, with the crystal beneath one of its arms, held as casually as one might carry a basketball. It pauses there for a moment, peering out at the four small figures opposing it. 

Makado looks scared; her face has paled to a sickly white and I can see the rifle shuddering in her trembling hands.

I can’t see where Joker’s gone; I catch Elena’s eye and frown, but she nods upwards a little, and I see the robot just above us, clinging to the ceiling like a monkey. It seems content to wait for someone to make the first move.

Behind the Leechman an orange-suited figure takes a juddering, unsteady step into the light, and I can see the limp exoskeleton clinging to its limbs like a length of sodden rope. Another figure follows, and then another, and even in the dim half-light, lit by strobes and flashlights and headlamps, I can see their bodies bulging and throbbing with the gallons and gallons of leeches seething beneath their skin.

My stomach betrays me and I bend double and vomit, trying furiously to wipe the image from my mind, but I can still see the man’s distended belly glistening beneath the orange ranger suit, pregnant with its load of parasitic cargo, and the thought sends a wave of furious revulsion scurrying up my limbs, coaxing rank, cold sweat out of my pores.

The Leechman takes a deliberate step forward and Makado pulls the trigger on her rifle. A  coruscating lance of blinding white light jolts from the barrel with the same deafening whip-crack we’d heard before and spears the Leechman through the core of its body, blowing a meter-wide hole open clean through it and filling the air with the smell of burning leeches. The Leechman staggers back a step or two and reaches out to steady itself, dropping the crystal; it clunks to the floor with a strangely musical tinkle and I can see a few of the spikes shatter and fall to pieces.

Makado rises to her feet, a little color returning to her cheeks, and fires again. This bolt catches the Leechman through the head and forces it down to its knees. It puts one massive hand forward to catch itself and Makado burns it off. She advances on the Leechman, firing again and again until the thing is just a pile of writhing, dying leeches, slowly burrowing into the ground and the walls and the ceiling, trying to escape. The bodies of the parasitized rangers shudder and twitch but they hesitate, standing still as though bereft of any governing intelligence.

Finally Makado pulls the trigger and the gun hisses a loud, screeching complaint and vents an enormous gasp of steam from recessed ports in its side; through them I can see the gun’s innards glowing white-hot, and Makado tosses it aside after glaring down at it in disgust. She draws her pistol from her holster and trains it one-handed on one of the rangers, squeezing one eye shut and glaring down the sights.

I open my mouth to suggest to Elena that it might be time to leave, but before I can get a word out the Leechman charges past us, out of the mouth of our vent, forcing a shriek from my mouth, and bowls into Makado headlong, sending her flying. She slams into the wall on the far side of the organ so hard that I can see a Mak-shaped bruise forming in the Pit’s flesh when she flops to the floor, limp and helpless, either stunned or unconscious or dead. 

The rangers open up on the Leechman but if the laser wasn’t enough to kill it, bullets clearly aren’t going to be enough either. The three parasitized rangers surge forwards as well, wading into the fray, but the Leechman is doing the heavy lifting. I cringe back against Elena as I watch it pick up a hapless, screaming ranger and pull him in half, a spray of gore and guts flooding from the man’s cleft torso and legs. I clutch at Elena, trying desperately to get my legs beneath me, and she pulls me up and steadies me.

“We have to go,” she says. I can hear a note of hysteria in her voice. I take a shaky step backwards into the vent and feel a leech writhe and squirm beneath my cleats. Another one leaps at me and thuds into my back. I can feel its jaws working to pierce the thick latex of the ranger suit, and I hop frantically, trying to reach backwards and dislodge it. Elena brushes it off of me and crushes it beneath her boot just as the Leechman vomits a tidal wave of blunt, wriggling bodies into the pried-open chest of another ranger, struggling weakly in the creature’s squirming grip.

More leeches patter against us, driving us unwillingly out of the vent as we crawl and duck and dodge, trying to avoid them. A nerveless, exoskeletoned paw swipes at me clumsily and I scream and throw myself out of the way. From my vantage point on the ground I see Elena shove the infested ranger back and unload the entire magazine of her pistol into his gut, but the body staggers towards us still. I can see Elena’s teeth bared, a mad glint in her eyes, and I know that she is about to charge the thing and I know that it will kill her, but I haven’t enough breath to tell her not to.

Deeper in the chamber, the Leechman plucks the head off of a ranger’s pinioned, struggling body as easily as separating an apple from a tree and fling the chunk away like a bloody comet. It slaps wetly to the ground only a few feet away from me and I roll back from it, nearly mad with terror. I can see the Leechman slowly turning towards us and I am so afraid I think I might die just from fear alone.

“El - El - El - “ I try, again and again, but I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, I can’t think -

Joker drops from the ceiling directly onto the parasitized ranger, landing with a sickening crunch and a whine of servos. Its head snaps upwards and regards the Leechman with a calculating stare, and the Leechman, impossibly, stops. It seems to cock its head at Joker, and then it takes a step forward, heavy and inevitable and menacing, but before it can go any further Joker launches itself at it with a scream of straining metal and whining pistons. I struggle to my knees and brush the leeches off of Elena, checking her suit for holes or punctures.

Joker is losing. The Leechman has torn its other arm off and tossed it aside, and now it’s yanking at Joker’s leg. Joker is lurching spasmodically back and forth, trying to get free, but the Leechman has too strong a grip on it. The leeches are flowing over the robot’s metal form and in a few more moments it looks as though it’ll be enveloped entirely. I can see Joker’s head turn with what seems like a titanic effort and peer back at us, and then it disappears beneath the surface of the Leechman.

I tug Elena to her feet and take a few faltering steps back towards the vent before there is a colossal wave of sound and light and heat from behind that bowls me over and knocks me face-down in the sopping, bloodstained flesh. Elena falls over me with a scream and for a while all we can do is cling to each other and pray that whatever the hell happened is over quickly.

A moment passes, then another. I roll over and, with more than a little trepidation, sit up. 

It looks as though a bomb has gone off. There is a bloody, charred crater in the floor, and all that remains of Joker are a few metal fragments, embedded like shrapnel in the floor and walls and ceiling. The parasitized rangers have all been cut down, most of them separated into small pieces of flesh, both leech, and human, smeared across DUSA and the organelle like daubs of lumpy paint.

Of the Leechman there is no sign, and when I glance over at it, I realize that the crystal is gone as well.

After another few minutes of utter stillness, Elena and I look at each other. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I glance down at myself.

“Somehow,” I say, “I think I am. Are you?”

She pats at herself cautiously, peers down at her legs, wiggles her foot. “I think so. Did Joker - ?”

I point to the crater. “He must have exploded. Either there was some kind of self-destruct or whatever engine or motor it used was damaged, or…”

“Jesus,” Elena breathes, getting shakily to her feet. She offers me a hand and helps me up and for a little while all we can do is survey the carnage. I feel as though I want to cry and laugh and throw up all at the same time. 

I squeeze Elena’s hand. “What were you going to tell me?” I ask.

“Is now really the time?” she smiles, and I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning back at her.

“At this rate, if you don’t say it now you’re never going to.”

“Roan,” she says, putting a hand on my cheek, “I -“

There is a groan from across the cavern and we both snap around. Over there, on the far side of the wall, Makado is starting to sit up. She looks shaky and shell-shocked and terrified. She sees us and tries to get to her feet, but her leg buckles beneath her and she falls back to the ground. Elena’s eyes narrow and she lets me go, starting towards Makado, her hands curling into fists. I have a knot in my stomach.

“Elena, wait,” I call after her. She spins and stares at me and then shakes her head.

“Don’t look,” she tells me, and for a moment, just a moment, I think of going after her and stopping her from - from doing whatever she’s about to do.

But instead the coward in me wins out and I avert my gaze, squeezing my eyes shut, my insides tensing in anticipation of a gunshot. I hear Makado cry out weakly, and I shudder.

There is a loud, satisfying smack, as of fist on jaw, and then a flopping sound. I look up and see Elena wringing her hand, cursing beneath her breath, before she flips an insensate Makado onto her stomach and, folding the woman’s hands behind her, begins to lash her wrists together with a length of paracord. She looks up and sees me staring, registers the expression on my face and gives me a laugh.

“You thought I was going to kill her?” she asks, and I blow a breath out and try to calm myself before I answer.

“I didn’t know what you were going to do,” I say, truthfully.

“I’m not a killer,” Elena tells me, hefting Makado’s slim frame onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Jesus Christ,” she adds, adjusting her load a little. “This little shit is heavy.”

I kick at a piece of wreckage, a folded metal panel, bent from the force of the blast, and then reach down and with difficulty pull Joker’s battered torso out of the crater. Elena sets Makado down none too gently and comes over and squats beside me.

There’s something that looks a little like a car battery, jammed into a slot in the torso. I tug at it, using my foot to hold the hunk of metal steady, and it breaks free with a hiss like a seal being broken. “What is that?” Elena asks. I shake my head.

“BCPU - Property of Anodyne Berlin,” I read. “Mind Impulse Unit - B. Walken.”

“Walken?” Elena asks, incredulous. 

“No,” I say, “this can’t - no, that’s ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“Burt Walken was Erica’s husband,” I tell her. “B. Walken, Burt Walken. She told me he died from the psychic illness from 2007, that Anodyne had never returned his body.”

The top of the box is translucent plastic, but it’s too dark to see inside. Elena reaches down and grabs her flashlight and shines it onto the box, and we both squint at it. When I comprehend what I’m seeing I nearly drop it - for there inside the box, soaking in a briny, gelatinous fluid, festooned with wires and covered in metal electrodes and circuits, are the ridges and folds of a clearly human brain.

* * *

“What were you going to tell me?” I ask Elena again once she gets off the radio. She’s spent the last fifteen minutes begging and cajoling and cursing someone on the surface to try and get them to send someone down to get us and finally, finally gotten a begrudging affirmative. I can slowly feel my spirits rising, and Elena even gives me a secret little smile as she comes to sit next to me, sinking down against the wall of the vent with a groan of relief. I lean my head on her shoulder and she kisses me gently on the forehead. A wash of warmth floods down my arms and legs and I have to restrain myself from seizing her and clutching her to me.

“You sure I shouldn’t just leave it a mystery at this point?” she asks, and I elbow her lightly in the ribs.

“Tell me,” I insist.

Elena leans back and takes my chin gently in her hand, inclining my face upwards to her. I can see her studying me, see her pupils dilate as they flick from my eyes to my cheeks to my nose to my lips. “I love you,” she says, and my heart jumps in my chest as though struck by lightning. I can feel myself grinning madly, and then our lips brush and then fit together as though they were made to do so.

And then, when our breath has finally grown short enough to force us to break apart, we slowly rise, Elena’s hand in mine, scarcely daring to tear our eyes from each other, and begin to gather our things for the long journey up.

Continue with the Epilogue

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[phantomphangphucker]

Wild Masters - Chap. 5: From Rags To Riches

Vlad shows his face, queue a lot of snark and an exasperated Flynn.

Danny turns to the lab stairway, “I’ll get it”, glancing at everyone as he starts heading up, “I’ll holler if it’s Vladdie!”. His dad gives an excited double thumbs up.

Sticking his head around the kitchen entryway into the living room confirms that it is indeed Vlad, in his pompous ass suit and now staring at him looking extremely supremely unimpressed. Danny snickers at him before walking into the living room proper, sticking his hands in his pockets, “sup, vampy. Come to see your brat? He’s twenty-four by the way so don’t bother trying to groom him into your prime villain protege or anything. Also-”, snicker, “-he doesn’t how to read, so there’s that”.

Vlad glares, “you must be joking”. Making Danny snort, “I fucking wish actually, he doesn’t know what a cellphone is. What twenty-something doesn’t know fucking cellphones? He’s probably never seen a meme before. The horror”. Vlad rolls his eyes as he steps in, “yes, that is certainly the biggest issue with that problem. I’m sure”.

Danny gives a very cheeky, “yup”, before turning his head to shout towards the lab door, “HEY YO FLYNN! IT’S VLADDIE! GET UP AND GREET YOUR POMPOUS-PAPPIE”. Turning to look back to Vlad, who has decided to grace him with a flash of his red ‘scary eyes’. Oh how rare and bless-ed he must be today to get a glimpse of those ruby reds. Note: he was being sarcastic as fuck there, green eyes are way better anyway. So there.

Flynn steps only halfway out from the doorway, leaving half of himself hidden but making his staff absolutely fully visible and just stares at Vlad. It’s actually vaguely creepy.

Vlad stares back.

And Danny just looks rapidly back and forth between them. “Whelp, this is just a touch awkward”.

Flynn huffs and continues staring.

Danny pulls out his phone and waves it around, “these things come with a timer, you know. So I can totally just start that up and you two can make this dick measuring contest genuine”, pointing at both of them, “or we can talk like good little adults”. Flynn glances at him, “shorty”; making Vlad smirk at Danny’s expense. Danny frowns in fake offence, “hey”. But at least that gets Vlad to tug on his suit jacket to straighten it and step forward to actually greet Flynn, so hey, it’s something.

Sure Vlad’s form of ‘greeting’ is looking the half of Flynn that he can actually see over and giving a snide, “well at least you’ve got some build on you”. Which Danny rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over, “wow, way to be a dick, frootloop”. Vlad side-eyes him, “I’m still debating your demise”. Danny throws back a very apathetic and unaffected, “mmm okay”. Resulting in him having to dodge a very half-hearted swipe from the man and bounce out of Vlad's easy arm reach, “gotta be quicker on your toes, old man”, smirking, “what? that old age catchin’ up to ya?”, vaguely dancing over to Flynn and grabbing his Minotaur shawl thing, yanking him fully into the kitchen, “and get fully in here you, and face your maker”.

Flynn glares and huffs at him. Expected. Half the sounds the guy makes seem to involve either huffing or grunting. Wonderful sign of some serious lack of socialisation right there. Vlad’s rich asshole circles are going to love him so fucking much. Just like how they love Danny. Once again, note the generous helping of sarcasm he is mentally pilling on there.

Turning to look at Vlad and holding out the photo of alternate Vlad with alternate Maddie, “anyway, proof ‘cause I know you just love that stick that you’ve shoved so far up your ass you might as well be a popsicle”. Vlad leans forward, inspecting, and blinks vaguely disbelievingly. Danny rolls his eyes at the man not touching the photo, “let me guess, this has been in my pocket and is thus too dirty for you to sully your hands with?”. Vlad nods at him quickly with a smug smirk before straightening back up, “though the atrocity that I’m wearing in that deserves to be surrounded by the filth that fills your pockets”.

Flynn blinks, “yah, yer rivals. Tho figured ya’d be evenly matched”, looking to Danny -though Danny’s pretty sure this guy is trying to just play off the whole ‘meeting my dad for the first time in fourteen years and instead of being a dad the guy shit talks my half-brother’- Flynn points at Vlad while speaking at Danny, “ya could end ‘im. Don’ end my pa tho”.

Danny sputters and bends over wheezing while Vlad looks offended, “hear that vampy?!? He’s saying you’re weak!”.

Flynn instantly jumps to his defence, “‘s not that he’s weak. Ya’re jus... excessive”. Making Danny snicker, “can’t argue that”, because yeah Danny knows he’s over-fucking-powered. That’s kinda what happens when you’re the literal King of the entire Realm of the dead and all the ghosts therein. Regardless Danny keeps laughing and slaps his knee repeatedly. Which Vlad scoffs at, “get ahold of yourself, my boy”.

Danny can hear the raised eyebrow in Flynn’s voice, “‘my boy’?”. Danny looks up as Vlad huffs at Flynn, “yes I guess it would be rather rude of me to be calling Daniel that with you here”. Danny snorts, “like you care about rude, Mr. Plots Others Demise Directly In Front Of Their Faces”. Vlad waves a dismissive hand at Danny, “their intellect and worth is beneath me to care. Family has at least earned some level of attention from me. You should know that by now”.

“Still not your son”.

Flynn grunts, “an I am. Ya might be ‘ore stuck up than my ya”, then Flynn smirks and Danny has a feeling the guy is gonna say something that’ll piss Vlad off, “makes sense wit name like Plasmius”. Oh yeah, Vlad’s gonna be mad.

Vlad snaps his angry red eyes on Danny, sounding more than just slightly violently angry, “you told him”. Danny just bends over further and wheezes. Flynn pokes Vlad’s chest aggressively with the tip of his staff, “back back, no fightin’ in food room place”. Danny just wheezes more at that, “Ancients, it’s called a kitchen, man. Oh Zone”. Flynn grunts, glares, and removes his staff from Vlad’s chest to smack Danny over the head with it. “Ow”. Sure that didn’t actually hurt but it’s the point of the matter.

He can hear Flynn’s scowl, while the guy looks back to Vlad, “an ‘sides, I’d know what ya are any way”, gesturing the staff tip around Vlad’s body while Vlad quirks an eyebrow at him, clearly more curious about Flynn than pissed at Danny. “Can sense it ‘round ya an smell it on ya’s clothes. Yain’t all human. ‘Ore human than tha red one wit her suit on tho”.

Danny straightens up and brushes off his pants, snickering, “yeah he knows about Valerie too, surprise knowledge. Did you not notice his glowing green ass eyes?”. Watching Vlad squint and hum at Flynn, who just sits and lets Vlad stare at and analyse his eyes, “hmmm so you can see my ecto-field then?”. Flynn shrugs, “‘ore er less”. Danny chuckles, “you could say that that ‘bout sums it up”. Flynn looks to him and squints, “not addin’ anythin’”. Making Danny facepalm, “it’s another saying, man”. And Vlad actually has to turn to the side and sigh into his hand, it looks like the man is having a very hard time not insulting Flynn repeatedly and in ever-increasingly deeming ways; huh, guess he was willing to actually try to not be a complete and utter dick to his own son. That earns him a few points in the ‘not the definition of evil’ category.

Vlad looks back after a steadying breath, “be that as it may, I’d rather you not divulge my ghostly status to anyone. Flynn was it?”. Flynn squints, “that’s my name, ya”, looking to the side and huffing, though not letting Vlad out of his sights, “an I won’”, looking fully back to Vlad and sighing before just slowly poking the man with a finger. Both Danny and Vlad elect to merely watch and see what this previously non-existent Zone nomad will do next; Danny’s just glad his folks stayed downstairs or this entire meeting would be a bajillion times awkwarder. Danny wouldn’t be able to make such blatant jabs at Vlad, Flynn wouldn’t be able to discuss anyone’s ghostliness, Vlad wouldn’t be able to even be in the ballpark of honest.

Flynn pokes Vlad again, muttering, “yer real”. Alright, okay, the whole ‘here’s your father’ thing might have just hit the guy properly now. Vlad tilts his head ever so slightly, “indeed”; and Danny suddenly feels like he’s intruding on a very personal and private moment or something.

This is too much for Danny. Danny shoots both his arms out to the side and smacks both of the men on the back to smush them together, “ugh! Just hug already goddamnit!”. Both Vlad and Flynn sputter and cough, screwing up their faces; but they immediately separate and effectively turn their backs on each other.

“Don’ do ‘hugs’”.

“Neither do I for that matter”.

Danny practically growls, “oh for fucks sake”, and just telekinetically maneuvers them into forcibly embracing each other: which predictably and obviously gets him a pink ecto-beam straight to the face hard enough to send him crashing out the kitchen window immediately after he cuts it out. Flynn also pelts him with a rock, but that’s not exactly something that would cause Danny any notable kind of damage; though he is kinda curious where the rock came from.

At least they fucking hugged. Mission accomplished.

He can hear Vlad huff, “anyway. Now that Daniel’s finished being his insufferable self, I imagine you rather need legal documents. Since I doubt you exist in the legal system”. Flynn just huffs so Vlad continues, “right then”. Danny can’t help snickering to himself as he lies in a pile of rubble and some bushes when Vlad speaks up again actually sounding ever so slightly befuddled, “it would seem you already do”.

Flynn sounds slightly more befuddled, “what”. So Danny takes that as his queue to crawl back in through the shattered window, “oh yeah, blame Tuck. Dude probably preempted what I would have eventually asked him to do and just did it before I asked him to”, grinning smugly at the two men, “yeah my friends are awesome like that”, looking to Vlad specifically, “sure is nice to have genuine friends, eh Vladdie?”; Vlad points at him with a scowl and shoots a small ecto-beam. Danny doesn’t bother blocking or even moving and just lets himself get knocked back into the rubble/bush.

Flynn blinks, “... Red girl was ‘ight, do ya know tha word ‘dodge’ at all, shorty”. Vlad makes a sound that is almost a laugh.

“Hey”. Flynn shakes his head and Vlad smirks as Danny scramble crawls back in through the window, “I will have you know-”, grunt, “-I took that hit for comical effect”, landing on the floor with a not so graceful ‘oof’ before righting himself to be cross-legged and looking up at the two men, “and if anything is gonna get me hurt then it better be my terrible sense of comedy”.

Vlad rolls his eyes, “at least you know it’s terrible and unpleasant”. Danny points at him, “my name’s a literal pun, of course it’s terrible. Not unpleasant though. Also-”, holding up a finger and grabbing out his phone to quickly scroll through it, “-and yup! Tuck hacked the gov! Man my main man really should scare the government more or at least enough for them to properly put him on a watch list or two, geez”.

Flynn blinks, “ya lost me”, while Danny pockets his phone. Vlad also blinks. Okay wow there are similarities here and it’s kinda freaking Danny just a tiny bit, it’s creepy alright. Vlad shakes his head at Danny, “you can let your tech boy know that for once he has impressed me”. Danny grins slightly manically, whips out his phone, goes to the voice memos app, and holds it up ready to record, “care to repeat that?”, grin never faltering. Vlad sighs into his hand, sounding truly and exaggeratedly pained, “Tucker, you have impressed me”. Danny cheers, “yes!”, quietly to himself while double fist-pumping.

Flynn shakes his head and mutters, “ghosts”. Probably deciding that this behaviour is very befitting of ghosts, which yeah is probably true. Least Flynn just seems amused by it rather than annoyed like Danny’s folks would be. Vlad seems to agree as he sighs and side-eyes Flynn, “at least you seem unbothered by our more... ghostly behaviours, most humans get put-off just enough to make them rather unsuitable for any kind of close relations”.

That gets Danny to inhumanly quickly jump to his feet, startling Flynn enough to get that staff pointed at him as he near shouts excitedly, “did you just admit you can’t make friends!”, pointing animatedly at Vlad, “I’ve spotted character development!”. Vlad just glares at him, which is fair, while Flynn relaxes his stance. Danny sticks his hands back in his pockets and relaxes against the countertop, “anyway, since you’ve apparently given Flynn here your fatherly approval -congrats on the kid by the way, what should I bring to the baby shower?- you gonna stick him as your heir instead me now. Pretty please?”, and gives an overly innocent smile.

Vlad sighs, “I’m going to murder you”, and shakes his head, “you’re the High King, of course not, I’ve certainly got to keep you in my relations somehow”, grinning smugly, “I can certainly have two heirs. I don’t see why not. Try as I might, you know how I am quite a greedy man”. Danny snorts because that’s bullshit, Vlad absolutely doesn’t try to not be greedy; but well... when possession is your Obsession... Danny chuckles, “and try as I might, I just can’t keep that hero complex down. Guess I’ve just gotta keep an eye on your dealings with Flynn here, huh old man?”. After all, when protection is your Obsession...

Flynn promptly smacks both of them with his staff, “Obsession posturin’”. Danny rubs his head and grumbles incoherently. Vlad acts like nothing happened, instead insulting Danny’s behaviour, “well don’t you sound kingly”. Danny flips him off. Vlad looks to Flynn, ignoring Danny entirely, “regardless, you’ll definitely be my heir too. Whether you want to be or not”.

Danny snorts, “I don’t think you need to threaten the guy to be your son, vampy, geez. Would it kill ya to be nice?”. Vlad grins, “yes”; which Danny rolls his eyes at. Flynn huffs and shakes his head, “heir’s some money thing, he’s my pa not money loan”. Danny blinks, surprised the guy knows what a money loan even is. Chuckling, “eh heir’s kinda the best you get from old Vladdie here”, and jabs a thumb at Vlad.

Vlad scowls, “that is because you keep snubbing me and refusing to renounce your fool of a father, Daniel”, side-eyeing Flynn, “Flynn doesn’t seem to have that particular issue”, and then gives Flynn a truly stiff and awkward head pat. Flynn looks like he’s judging him heavily for that, “I’m stayin’ ‘ere. I don’ trust ya”. Danny coughs and laughs while Vlad jerks and looks like he just got stabbed clear through the heart and Core. Ouch Vladdie, looks like someone got snubbed again. Tough luck, try not being evil next time. Or maybe it was the awkward head pat that did it?

All three flinch or jump at Jack’s sudden excited, “yes!”, while popping out from the lab doorway, practically shoving Vlad out of the kitchen, and very quickly side-hugging Flynn who very obviously stiffens and shrinks away from the contact. Oh shit, how long have his folks been there?!? Fuck. His mom also giggles from the doorway and walks in giving Flynn a sweet smile while pulling Jack off him, “as we said, there’s definitely room for you here”. Flynn just nods slightly while slowly relaxing as Maddie pushes Jack out of the room to go clean the spare room upstairs with her. Danny, meanwhile, is busy side-eyeing Vlad as the man borderline flat-out snarls at Jack’s receding form.

Flynn stares at Vlad himself, muttering lowly at Danny, “he hates ‘im. He really really hates ‘im”. Danny sighs and watches the deep violent hatred shining in Vlad’s eyes, “yeah, yeah he really does”, frowning and probably sounding sadder than he really means to, “I wish that wasn’t how things were. Everything would be a lot different”; because really? If Vlad didn’t despise his father, the two only natural halfas in existence would probably get along. Maybe be genuine family or healthy rivals even. Instead of the weird toxic degrading bantering archenemy thing they’ve got going on and have been actively -and mutually, if he’s being honest with himself- fuelling. Maybe, maybe, that mentor/apprentice situation, that Vlad dreamed of and Danny had needed, could have became reality; but that ship has long since past. In Danny’s more introspective and thoughtful moments, he mourned that fact. Part of him hoped Vlad acknowledged and mourned that fact too, instead of just feeling bitter and ripped off. Maybe. Hopefully.

Flynn frowns at him, “yer ghosts an yer humans. Act like it”. Danny blinks at him, “uh, I don’t think you exactly know how humans act. No offence”. Flynn huffs at him, “am one, know ‘nough”.

“Uh, I’m not gonna agree with you on that one”, glaring slightly and whispering, “also, sssshhhh about the ghost shit, man”. Flynn rolls his eyes and promptly catches Danny off-guard, “an I’m keepin’ tha Masters name”. Danny chokes slightly, well damn; Vlad’s gonna get an ego boost from that.

Vlad, having of course heard -damn you ghost ears- snaps his head around and grins triumphantly at Danny then approvingly at Flynn. “Flynn Masters”, grinning smugly at Danny again, “might just have a better ring than Daniel Masters”.

Danny snorts and rolls his eyes, “if you’re trying to make me jealous it ain’t gonna work”, snickering, “but FM, like FM radio”. Now Danny’s wearing the smug look while Vlad glares at him. Danny finger guns at Vlad as he starts walking towards the steps, “now how about I let the Masters caspers not have to be actors due to me being one of the present factors while y’all deal with your family matters”, saluting, “so seeya later gangsters”. Vlad’s left eye twitches, “I will murder you, boy”.

Flynn blinks and looks to Vlad, “he always like this?”. Vlad sighs and nods, “unfortunately”, shaking his head, “he certainly has a taste for puns and word games, I think it’s born from some form of a sadistic side”. Flynn huffs, “dramatic”, huffing again, “an I need a drink aftar all yer ghostin’, pa”, and uncaps his liquor bottle for a swig. Earning raised eyebrows from Vlad and the same lean over sniff that Danny did, “ahh, you’re a fan of alcohol”.

“Make mine own”.

Vlad nods approvingly, “I've dabbled in the art of wine making myself in my spare time”. Flynn offers his drink earning him a quirked eyebrow from Vlad, who of course tries some. Leaving him humming to himself and tapping his chin, “you’ve been at this for a while. You might be a son of mine yet”.

Flynn huffs, “‘ere I thought we ‘ready established that. Yer my pa. Pas that”. They were, in fact, already past that. Vlad just rolls his eyes but pulls a flask out of his pocket and offers it to the guy, “here. Since you’re a Masters, you drink whiskey like a Masters”. And Flynn talking a swig from that is what Danny walks back downstairs to, “so what y’all talking about?”.

Vlad turns to him, “just how you were going to apologise for your years of abuse to me all in the name of brotherly love”.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all”. Danny then blinks at them, with Flynn lowering the flask and shrugging at. Danny throws a slight glare at Vlad, “really? I leave for what? ten minutes? and you start boozing the guy up? Really?”, muttering more so to himself, “I mean sure, Flynn started drinking after ten minutes, or whatever, of meeting me. But still”. Vlad smirks some, “yes, being around you for any prolonged period of time could drive anyone to drink. Why, the first thing I did after meeting you was drink”.

“That’s because dad assaulted your prized football, you going senile on me?”.

Flynn glares at Danny and takes another swig of the whiskey flask, which Vlad looks oddly triumphant over; especially considering Danny just insulted him. Flynn shrugs again and side-eyes Vlad, “eh, mine’s bettar”. Vlad waves him off, “you just don’t have a taste for it yet”, tapping his chin, “though yes, yours is quite good”.

Danny blinks, “did the Vlad Masters just genuinely compliment someone without it being backhanded or a thinly veiled threat? Shocked! Betrayed! Dismayed! The horror!”, tilting his head, wait a fucking minute, “wait, did you drink Flynn’s stuff? You know that’s ectoplasm in there, right?”. Flynn grunts, “well he does now”. Vlad blinks and Danny is detecting just a hint of shock there; Vlad is also clearly eyeing Flynn’s liquor hip bottle with a fair bit more appreciation now. Flynn making a disgusted face kinda cuts off Vlad’s appreciation though and Danny feels like he’s getting a flashback to that time Tucker had to eat all those blood blossoms. “Are you gonna throw up?”.

Vlad scowls, crosses his arms, and sticks his nose up in the air, “of course not, a Masters can handle his liquor”. Danny rolls his eyes while telekinetically moving a trashcan over to Flynn, “I don’t think that’s the problem here”.

Both of them look down as Flynn just kinda sits on the floor, puts his staff to the side, and throws up; at least he aims into the bucket instead of onto the floor. “Congrats Vlad, I think you just poisoned him”. Danny furrows his eyebrows a bit though when Vlad actually holds his hands out, bends down, and pats the guy on the back. Okay... guess Vlad’s being decent... Danny doesn’t actually know what to do with that. Ah the fact that he doesn’t know what to do with Vlad acting like a decent human being is probably actually concerning, come to think of it. So Danny does the logical thing and slaps himself across the face.

Vlad gives Flynn a not awkward head pat this time, “there there, just get it out of your system”, he hums, “I am rather surprised though, two sips isn’t exactly much”.

Danny sighs and taps his chin, “well when you consider the fact that he’s lived off nothing but ectoplasmic fauna and flora, makes sense that his body would kinda have forgotten how to fucking digest human food you stupid nutcase. Geez, for a guy who plays chess you’re not very smart”. Vlad looks back to him and glares slightly, “I’m surprised you know that. Did you actually pay attention in health class for once?“. Danny rolls his eyes at that particular jab, “one of my friends only eats plants and one only eats meat, what do you think happens every time some bull crap happens where they have to break their diets?”.

Regardless Danny sighs some and bends down next to Vlad and Flynn, joining Vlad in the back-patting/rubbing. Snickering at the guy some though because people taking you too seriously or being all nice ‘n shit when you’re throwing your guts up was more embarrassing than helpful, “maybe don’t eat or drink shit without ecto in it, yeah?”.

Flynn grunts, expected, “ßhût üp, ßhørtŷ”. Making Danny and Vlad blink, Vlad grins like an idiot while Danny chuckles, “huh, guess you speak ghost. Though talk about a thick accent there, Ancients”. Vlad shoves Danny head, which Danny let’s knock him over on the ground, “it’s͢ ͘q͟u͘i͜te͞ ͞a̕ ̧useful ̡sk̛i̡l̡l͜,̡ ͜why I̕ thi͡nk he̕’s m͏o͠re f͏l̴u̸e̵nt͠ tha͏n҉ ͜yo̶u, Dan̕i̵eļ”. Danny stays laying on the ground, “I’m̕ ̸a̡ na͏t͠iv̵e spea̡k̷ȩr, so̧ ̛I̕ ͠don̕’̡t͞ ̡th̶ink̷ so”.

Flynn leans back, pushes away the bucket, and puts his arms on his knees, “ÿæ ßtåŷįñ’ thërë¿“. Danny nods with a grin from the floor and gives a thumbs up, earning a head shake from Flynn.

All three snap their heads to the kitchen entranceway as feet pound down the steps and Maddie and Jack come barging in, everyone then looking to the lab door as Jazz pushes it open while dusting off her pants and grumbling, “I so do not envy Danny having to clean that all the time”, pausing and looking up around everyone before zeroing in on three people sitting/laying on the floor, “Flynn! Danny! What happened!”, and runs over while glaring at and obviously blaming Vlad, who stands and readjusts his suit like he’s embarrassed to be caught caring. Well get caught by anyone other than Danny anyway; which makes sense ‘cause Vlad would probably be all caring about Danny if Danny wasn’t, you know, not evil.

Danny rolls over onto his back, looking at Jazz, “guess who can’t stomach human stuff?”, and jabs a thumb towards Flynn while Maddie rushes over and helps Flynn stand. Well okay, Flynn mostly waves off said help and stands up on his own, but still; Flynn also promptly grabs up his staff again. That staff’s probably some kind of comfort item for the guy.

Jack laughs as he comes to stand next to Vlad, “guess we’ll be cooking with a lot more ecto!”. Danny can practically feel malicious intent wafting of Vlad. Flynn grunting, “I’m ‘ine”. Which Maddie looks at him sweetly over and Jazz shakes her head at, “well let’s move into the living room anyway. Then you-”, glaring at Flynn, “-can sit down, and we can all hear what happened to you”. Vlad nods and hums, “yes I would like to know how I acquired a son from another timeline that’s been living nomadically in the Ghost Zone”.

Jack laughs as they all walk into the living room, “yup! Most we know is that some darn ghosty called Misery Vex took you at some point!”. Maddie and Jazz watching Flynn with slight worry as they walk. Danny just eyes Vlad to see if Vlad shows even the slightest amount of recognition regarding this ‘Misery Vex’, he doesn’t -fuck Danny’s luck- but Danny can’t exactly expect the man to know of every ghost ever. Regardless Danny skips over, puts his hands behind his back and sticks his face next to Vlad’s, “guessin’ you don’t know who that is either?”. Vlad scowls, “‘fraid not, but when I find them, and I will, I’m going to make them beg me to end them and then I’m going to find out how good ghost skin is at reupholstering my dining room chairs”.

Danny blinks, “I forgot there was a reason you and Skulker got along. Also, I doubt you have the skill set to be skinning anyone. Also also, I’m amazed you care that much”, and smirks.

“Must you mock me so, boy”.

Danny grins, “well.., how would you like me to mock you? I’ll hear your requests”, shrugging, “sure I might ignore them, but I’ll certainly hear them”. And finally flops to sit down on the love seat, Vlad sitting next to him with scowl. Jazz opts to sit with Maddie and Jack on the couch, while Flynn takes the chair; got to give the loner nomad his personal space after all.

Flynn huffs, “yeah, Vex’s is tha one that pulled me in ta tha Infinite Realm”. Jack doesn’t give him a chance to say more, tilting his head, “is that what ghosts call the Ghost Zone?!?”. Danny and Vlad both quietly sigh into their hands. Flynn squints at the large man, “ya nevar asked ‘em?”.; at least Maddie and Jack have the decency to look sheepish. Flynn squints more, “it’s what it’s called. Propar name”. Danny chuckles and waves Flynn off, “eh, then Zone can be slang”, ‘Zone’ was in fact common slang. Flynn rolls his eyes.

Vlad sighs quietly again, “linguistics aside, was there a reason Vex took you? And I’m just to assume you’re in this timeline purely due to your old one ceasing to exist”. Which Danny mutters, “duh”, at. Everyone ignores him as Flynn shrugs, “don’ know, like I’ve said ‘ready, ain’t stickin’ ‘round half spider creature-”. Danny’s wondering if the guy’s getting tired of explaining that. “-bark armour wasn’ friendly lookin’ eithar”.

Danny eyes Flynn’s bark armour, “guess yours doesn’t make you look all that approachable either”. With Maddie jumping in, “did you get that idea from It?”. Making Flynn blink at her before looking to Danny, “I did say Vex’s a lady, ‘ight?”. Danny nods but Jazz is the one to audibly sigh, drawing Flynn’s attention as she talks, “yes but-”, side-eyeing her parents, “-ghosts don’t get pronouns”.

Maddie rolls her eyes not unkindly, “now honey, we’ve talked about this, ghosts aren’t sentient or complex enough to understand gender and we don’t call plants ‘he’ or ‘she’-”. Danny coughs into his hand, “Sam does, you know”; which goes ignored. Maddie continuing, “-so why would we do so for ghosts? It would be like assigning gender to lightning”. Danny sighs internally, and he bets both Jazz and Vlad do as-well.

Flynn just stares at her for a while before blinking, “moron-”. Danny has the distinct feeling his folks are going to be hearing Flynn calling them ‘morons’ an awful lot. “-they have preferances. Blobs are no gendar, not tha Cored”. Vlad sighs dramatically, “what does gender have to do with my son's abduction”. Danny chuckles to himself faintly, guess Vladdie really grabbed onto the whole ‘I have a son’ thing with absolute confidence. Made sense. Ancients if Danny accepted him then the man probably wouldn’t stop using the word ‘son’ at every possible opportunity for a solid month.

Jack laughs almost awkwardly and scratches his head, “nothing! I guess”. Vlad scowls at him.

Flynn clears his throat, “well she-”. Nice passive-aggressiveness going on there. “-couldn’ ‘xactly follow me aftar I slippin’ inta some rock crag”, grunting, “ghost can’ go through rocks ‘n what not there”. Jack looks like he’s physically restraining himself from peppering Flynn with questions about that. Danny thinks this should be obvious though, since ghosts not being able to phase through ectoplasmic constructs/formations is literally how ghost shields worked. Like, duh.

Vlad just nods with a hum, “so you’ve been on your own since?”; which Flynn nods at. Maddie huffs, “I’m amazed the ghost didn’t chase you down”; Flynn shrugs, clearly not about to claim to understand why himself. Which yeah, abducting a kid through a portal seemed like a lot of effort to put in to just turn around and let the human run away; probably thought that this random human child wouldn’t be able to effectively avoid capture or survive on his own. Well surprise mother fucker! Flynn’s a Fenton -well a Masters too but whatever- being able to handle ghost shit is in his genes.

Danny decides to ask something that’s actually mildly important for him to know, “so bark armour and the lower half of a spider, anything else?”. His mom quirks an eyebrow at him so Danny elaborates/makes up an excuse, “wouldn’t it be good to know what a ghost that may come after him looks like?”. Earning an approving hum from her. Danny’s more interested in Vlad muttering to himself, “an Arachne then”; sweet, he’s got a species now.

Flynn grunts, “purpal skin, lotsa black eyes, bare bark crown-”. Danny almost chokes at that and he’s sure Vlad at least went slightly wide-eyed, because crown implied royalty. Which just great, that meant Danny was going to have to deal with whoever all kingly and shit. “-an clothes were shinebettle, I think-”. So basically shiny latex leather? Alright, that’s a look. “-an wendigo mane pelt ovar spidar half-”. Well that all but confirms Danny’s suspicions that Vex is from or at least frequents the FairLands. The only wendigo’s that didn’t just turn to ectoplasmic ash when destroyed were the faebeast ones. Hooray for having to probably go see Oberon. “-She had a fauchard ta”. Danny nods to himself.

Jack taps his chin, “that still doesn’t explain why though”, earning shrugs all around. Jack grinning, “we should hunt Vex down and find out!”. Which Vlad actually grins at, “yes, you go do that”. Danny kicking the man subtly and whispering, “Vlad no. Bad”, he knows the only reasons Vlad’s encouraging that is ‘cause his folks might torture the ghost and because the ghost might harm/kill Jack.

Maddie shakes her head and chastises Jack, “you’ll be doing no such thing, we don’t know the Zone is actually safe”, glancing at Flynn, “regardless of Flynn’s survival. Flukes happen”. Danny thinks it would make way more sense to guess it's safer than they thought than to just assume Flynn got lucky. But hey! At least he doesn’t have to worry as much that his folks are just going to run wild in the Zone anytime soon.

Vlad rolls his eyes though speaks somewhat sweetly, “dear Maddie, always being the voice of reason”. Maddie grimaces, and Flynn glances between them with a slight frown. Vlad digs in his pocket when his ringer goes off though. Speaking up after reading the screen, “seems some of the underlings are too moronic to deal with some problem alone”, looking up to everyone, “so I must be taking my leave now”, and stands up.

Jack jumping up, “well we can finish up Flynn’s room and he can join us after you’ve said your goodbyes! Wouldn’t want to interrupt that!”, and laughs. Maddie smiling sweetly and following him once again upstairs. Jazz sighs and moves to follow them, “I’ll make sure they didn’t get carried away”; while Danny just stretches and lounges out across the loveseat. Watching Vlad talk down at the still seated Flynn.

“I guess I’ll have to leave dealing with this Misery Vex in your and young Daniel’s hands. I don’t particularly have time to deal with petty ghost squabbles”, side-eyeing Danny, “he’s quite experienced with those though, so I doubt he’ll fail to be an effective meat-shield if needed”.

Flynn rolls his eyes, “I don’ care ta ‘deal with’ her at all. ‘Ine as is”. While Danny snorts at Vlad, “Ancients, you’re such a fucking pissant”.

Earning squinting from Vlad, “I’m the mayor and one of the richest people in the world”, huffing, “and I’m nothing to scoff at power-wise”.

“You are staying that... to the literal king... of death”. Danny smirks, “I’m fucking lucifer, bitch”. Vlad and Flynn blink and stare at him. Danny rubs his neck, “eh, too much?”. They both nod slightly. And there the similarities go being creepy again. Vlad shakes his head slowly, looking back to Flynn, “ignoring that, you can contact me for anything. Particularly if you decide being here isn’t worth the effort or annoyance”, and pats Flynn’s head, “you’ll want for nothing regardless”, making shooing motions at him, “now run along and help your mother and sister stop that imbecile from installing an anti-ghost auto-detection machine gun on your ceiling or some other nonsense”. Danny vaguely hates that his dad might actually do that. Though he’s surprised that Flynn actually does as he’s told with only a mild amount of suspicious squinting. Maybe he’s tired of Vlad’s existence? Doubtful but Danny can hope. Probably more likely the guy just wanted to get closer to being able to have some alone time, and room set up was an effective way to do that.

Danny waits till Flynn disappears upstairs to speak up, “hey Vlad?”. Vlad doesn’t even look back at him, instead just staring up the stairs, “hmmm?”.

“Don’t fuck this up. You know, like you always do”. Danny glares seriously at Vlad as he goes to stand up and Vlad actually looks to him with a quirked eyebrow, “but if you ever hurt him you won’t need to wonder where your god is anymore, because he’s coming for you and he’ll be fresh outta mercy”, squinting, “all these fucks will have flown off, never to return again. And you will be left crippled, withered, dried up and crapped on. At the bottom of a shitty little well where people will throw out their rotten fruit down on you and the remnants of your shitty little life”, glaring more, “we clear”. Vlad nods a bit stiffly; after all, when the king orders something or warns you, you fucking listen. Danny decides to really hammer it home though, “the fucking heat death of the universe will not be able to even approach the level of damage that the amount of fucks I will no longer give will cause you. What I’m saying is, I wouldn’t mind tearing out a length of your intestines, rolling it in a pan, sprinkling on some nice cinnamon and maybe some raisins. You know, for texture and a little added surprise. Then sliding it right into the oven for a nice little cinnamon bun”, chuckling meanly, “there’s even some icing pre-made in the fridge. So I’m all ready to go, bitch. Then I could use your hollowed-out torso to ride you like a meat toboggan. I’m sure your fucking intestines could be utilised as perfectly fine ropes to control my descent down the bloody snow-covered hill all the way into the depths of madness that you were birthed from years ago”.

“Daniel... you’ve made your point”, Vlad actually sounds slightly disturbed. Danny rolls his eyes and puts his hand in his pockets, “yeah well, so long as you don’t go making god sacrificing his only son look like a good parenting technique”.

“I... won’t”.

Danny pats Vlad on the arm, “good talk then”, and finger guns before heading upstairs, “and I’m still not your fam, frootloop”. Vlad just scowls at him and leaves, closing the door slightly louder than necessary. Return to normalcy achieved.