#what the hell is with that. why are they in the road in non-reflective clothing in a section with very little light just walking around

[pa-pa-plasma]

nearly died in a fiery car crash because one of the many, many, many, many, many construction workers native to the highway ecosystem bolted from the herd & directly in front of my car, which distracted me from the other car ahead stopping very abruptly at 90kph, probably for the same reason. luckily, I got an A+ in car & so we are all alive & well

[gotnofucks]

Midnight Adventures

Pairing: soft!dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: He thinks you’re trying to escape him, even though he’d made it clear who you belong to. Though the truth is far more innocuous than that.

Words: 2.1k

Warning: Dub-con, past non-con implied, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, smut, language. 18+ ONLY

A/N: Inspired by this ask I got . Finally getting back to writing in more than a month. 

He was going to tie you to the bed and never let you free. Anger flowed through his veins as he sneaked into the museum, looking around for you. Sam and Bucky snickered behind him, and he resisted the urge to flip them off.

“Cap, can you see any heat signature?” He asked Sam. Sam looked around, turning this way and that until he pointed at the hall on the right.

“That’s your girl right there Steve.” Sam answered, his shield reflecting the dim lights of the museum back. Steve nodded, asking them to stay back and hold off any cops who came in while he went in and got his girl out. Bucky had disabled the alarms you had triggered, but he was sure the place was about to be swarmed with authorities any second now. He had to get you out before that happened.

His feet barely making a sound, he entered the room Sam had pointed and glanced around. The only light streaming in was from the windows, and Steve could see your silhouette moving against one. You were muttering to yourself, stumbling over your own feet as you moved about. He let his gaze wander around the room before fixing it on you again.

You hadn’t realized he was there yet, too lost in your own world. Stepping closer, Steve stood directly behind you and turned his flashlight over you, clearing his throat. You screamed, turning around to look at Steve with a frantic and guilty look in your eyes. Steve opened his mouth to set you straight when he finally caught sight of what you were doing, and he stood there dumbfounded.

It seemed like you were stealing soil. One of the display cases was smashed open and you were transferring the grey soil in there into a glass container in your hand. You stilled, stopping midway in taking more soil as Steve stared at you in utter confusion.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, flabbergasted. You gulped, tentatively sealing your jar and putting it back inside the small bag on your back. You stood before him, guilty as small child caught sneaking cookies from the jar. Steve turned his head a little as distant sounds of feet reached his ears. The cops were here.

Without waiting for your answer, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him, his eyes narrowed at you. His arms went around your waist, tugging you right into his body as he silently maneuvered you both towards the exit door at the end, peeking out. Two armed cops were coming this way, the faint sounds of grunts telling him that Sam and Bucky had a few others engaged out in the hall.

“Hold on, and don’t scream.” He whispered in your ear and you nodded, holding him around his neck. He walked over to the window and looked down at the deserted street. Pressing your head into his chest, Steve took a deep breath and jumped out. The wind rushed through your hair and you muffled your scream into his shirt, nails digging in his flesh as he landed swift as a cat on the road.

Without wasting a second, he took you and jogged away, the dark not deterring his steps. You tried to keep up with his large strides, dread and thrill of the chase coursing through your veins. A minute later, a familiar black car pulled up before you, Sam grinning at you from behind the wheel.

“Oh honey, you are in trouble.” He smirked, letting you and Steve in the backseat. The police sirens faded away as you all drove back towards the Avengers compound, Steve’s hand still wrapped around your arm. You chanced a glance at him, shuddering at the sheer anger on his face. Shit. You were a goner.

Steve dragged you back towards his room, ignoring his giggling friends behind. You ducked your head and followed him in silence. It was never a good idea to argue with him. Once inside, he locked the door and turned to you, a frown deepening the lines on his forehead.

“What the hell have I told you about trying to escape?” He growled, body tight with tension. It had been a while since he’d been this pissed at you, and you shivered.

“I wasn’t escaping.” You said, nervously shifting on your feet. Steve came closer to you before tilting your chin you, making you look him in the eyes. His eyes were dark and hard, a promise of punishment rolling in them like waves in an ocean.

“Then what the hell were you doing in that museum? You ran away!”

You shook your head desperately, clutching his shirt in your hands. It had been months since you last tried to escape. You knew how futile it was to keep trying. You could never overpower Steve, not with Bucky and Sam always by his side. You’d made peace with your situation a while ago. Steve had snatched you, had kept you by force. And you accepted it as your life. You’d almost come to…enjoy it even.

“I promise you Steve, I didn’t run away.” You implored, looking deep into his eyes so he could see the truth in yours. Unless you did something really drastic, Steve rarely ever got angry with you these days. It was scary to have him so pissed again.

“What were you doing in that fucking museum?” He asked again. You bit your lip before pulling out the jar of soil from your bag, offering it to Steve. He looked at it and then your face, which curiously held embarrassment along with guilt there.

“I was stealing Lunar Soil.” You admitted, shaking the jar slightly so the fire particles in there shifted. Steve blinked at you before taking the jar and examining it, confused.

“Why?” He asked, putting it aside. You didn’t answer and he scowled, stepping closer and closer until he backed you into the wall and stared you down. Running a finger down the side of your face, he brought his lips to yours in a dangerously soft kiss, his other hand balanced beside your head. “You know I have ways to extract information from you. Would you rather I resort to them?”

You gulped, half in fear and half in anticipation. Steve’s punishments were as much a torture as they were pleasure. He was your captor, but he was also the man who would scale every corner of the earth to give you what you want. His body had a way of making you crave his touch, an intimate solace for whenever your mind turned to how helpless your situation really was.

“I – I wanted to –” You stuttered, suddenly shy and mortified. Steve hummed and urged you to go on, his hand gliding down your side to cup your ass. You slowly peered into his face, scrunching yours nose. “I wanted to use it to make moonscreen.”

Whatever he expected you to say, Steve did not expect it to be that. He raised a brow at you, silently asking you to elaborate and you flushed, pressing your face into his chest to hide from his screening gaze.

“Moonscreen, it’s like, you know, sunscreen but for werewolves.” You said at last. Steve’s hands stilled from kneading your ass, a sort of stunned silence between you both. And then he growled low in his chest. He pushed you away to face you, incredulously staring at you.

“Did you run away from my bed in the middle of the night to steal something for a mythical creature?”

You pouted, playing with the button on his shirt to avoid looking in his angry eyes. It was all Peter’s idea anyway, but he was too much of a wimp to steal the Lunar soil himself. It wasn’t fair how you were bearing the brunt of Steve’s anger alone.

“They are not.” You counted softly. “Werewolves exist.”

Steve gave a strangled groan before crashing his mouth on yours, digging his fingers in your soft flesh as he carried you to the bed and dropped you on it. You moaned, kissing him back as he tore through your clothes like a man possessed. His hands were everywhere, mouth leaving a trail of sinful fire as it moved from your shoulder to your chest.

Your hand went behind his head when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, back arching as you urged him to go faster. Wiggling, you untangled your pants from around your knees, wrapping your legs around Steve. He sat up and stripped quickly, covering your naked body with his again. There was a frenzy in his actions, an urgency to have you closer.

Quickly checking if you were wet enough, he entered you in one practiced thrust, tearing a cry from you. You whined, yours arms pulling him closer as he went in and out of you, roughly breathing with each stroke.

“You idiot girl!” He snapped, entwining your hands with his and pinning them beside your head. Sweat glittered on his hairline, his body rocking hard into you, sweet pleasure running down your spine and settling as heat in your womb. “You fucking dumb bitch!”

It seemed like he had a lot to say but just couldn’t. So, he showed you. He kissed you like he was sucking your very soul from your body, he fucked you as if branding you from within, he held you as if he could merge you into himself. Panting, softly cursing, Steve took you hard and fast, eliciting mewls and cries from you that fell like music on his ears.

“Mine. You are mine!” He said, but more as a statement than anything else. “You don’t leave me ever again. Never.”

The coil in your gut tightened, Steve letting one of your hand go to bring his to your bud and flick it with expertise. His eyes were fixed on yours, holding your very being hostage with his power. In a moan that echoed off the walls, you succumbed to his will, shattering below him and falling limp, floating in a haze of glittering pleasure. He buried his head in your neck, thrusting a few more times before finishing inside you, his cum flooding you within and warming your core.

You panted, sweaty and sated, wearing his marks and covered in him. He rolled over, taking you with him so you rested above, your ear over his chest that thumped with his strong heartbeat. Crazily, you found peace. In the hailstorm of your fucked up life, Steve was the one you held you together. He was the one who pushed you down, and he was the one who caught you as you fell. Your sanity, your insanity.

“If I ever wake up to you gone again, I’ll shackle you to me. You get it?” He murmured, running a hand over your back. You nodded, shifting closer into the warmth of his body. He grunted in approval, pulling a sheet over you before he got up to bring a cloth to clean you.

Kneeling before your legs, wiping gently and softly tracing your folds, Steve murmured soft words of love and praise and apology. He kissed your abused hole, the inside of your bruised thighs, the mass of your belly and the softness of your breast. He kissed your eyes and your nose, reaching your mouth the last.

“What is my truth?” He asked, dressing you into soft pajamas and cradling you into his lap. You relaxed into his touch, head on his chest.

“That you love me, and you’ll never apologize for that.” You answered. In the most bizarre way, you did believe he loved you. And though his love wasn’t perfect or without pain, it was what got you through his darkness that confined you here by force.

“And what is your truth?” He asked, lips on the crown of your head. You closed your eyes, listening to the beating of his heart that matched yours.

“That I am yours.” You said, sleep creeping over you in a beautiful embrace. Shifting you in his arms, Steve laid you down and spooned around you, hands covering your own. You wiggled, pressing your bum into Steve’s groin, and smiling at the catch in his breath.

You floated towards oblivion, a dream already encroaching over your consciousness when you sleepily called out to Steve. He hummed, squeezing your hands gently.

“Werewolves are real.” You muttered and before he could so much a snort out a laugh, you were snoring.

Steve smiled into the darkness, running his thumb over the back of your hand. The panic of your disappearance earlier was replaced by fondness, his heart full of love for you. No, he would never apologize for how he had taken you. Just like the lunar soil sitting on your nightstand was still a part of the moon, no matter how far apart, you were always going to be a part of him. That was your truth, both of yours.

[lizzie-saltzman]

I’LL CRAWL HOME TO YOU

A Hizzie fanfiction / update

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman Fandom: Legacies Rating: M Chapters: 2/? Summary:  In many ways, meeting Hope in a different reality had helped Lizzie put things in perspective, and perhaps even understand her in ways she hadn’t before. Understand them, their connection, the palpable animosity that had turned into a reluctant friendship and now something far more tangible. The rest, well, she doesn’t tell Josie. Not about waking up after three weeks away from her real home, tucked under the covers of Hope’s bed with their clothes discarded around the dormitory, with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and her hair sticking to her cheekbones. There were some things better left unsaid. (Upon her return from an alternate timeline a Malivore monster teleported her to, Lizzie must deal with the aftermath of her time spent away, and her newly doormat feelings for Hope Mikaelson.)

chapter 1 here

READ CH. 2 HERE ON AO3 or under the read more 

[ 3 WEEKS AGO ]

A muddy splash sends speckles of murky water coating a pair of white boots. Under the full moon, an owl hoots, as Lizzie Saltzman breaks through the branches that leave a bloody mark on her left cheek. She reaches for it, with a mumbled expletive as her breathing grows heavier and her knees start to give. Behind her, a black wolf with yellow tinted eyes that shine through the darkness of the woods gives chase, snarling as it draws closer to her. 

She’s been sprinting for a while; Lizzie’s exhausted, pushing past the burn on her thighs as she rounds a corner and leaps over a log dangerously set on the ground, almost losing her balance as her boot skids through the mud. Its drizzling, her clothes are weighing her down, her hair is ruined – if she had the mind to complain about the other terrible but insignificant, personal circumstances, she’d be holding an ice pack to her cheek and ranting over a Strawberry Smoothie. Instead, she finds herself here, in the outskirts of the woods in Mystic Falls, barely managing to get on her feet before the wolf catches up to her. 

“Lecutio!” She’s all out of magic after –– the ball of energy flies ahead of the wolf and crashes against the tree behind it, effectively snapping off the branches and watching as they fall near the wolf long enough to distract it. It wasn’t her intention, really – she was aiming for it’s head. Soon enough, the wolf turns it’s head (and it’s disorienting eyes) in her direction, growling.

“Crap…” And she takes off again, her boots splash, splash, splashing rapidly on the wet floor. This is not how she pictured spending a Sunday night. 

Her lungs are giving out, her body begs her to stop running; she might pass out from exhaustion alone, and her vision – on top of that – blurs as the light drizzle of rain washes over her face. She wipes it away with the palm of her hand, but it obstructs her already impaired vision in the dark, and trips over a boulder on the ground. Lizzie groans, her body rolling through the mud, and the wolf slows it’s approach. She’s cornered. She’s screwed. She’s dead.

The wolf stalks forward. Lizzie raises her hands to her face, and it launches itself through the air. 

Lizzie screams, anticipating the powerful impact, the bite, but instead another wolf collides in the air with her attacker. White, with speckles of grey. They roll around in the mud, snarling at each other, growling, taking bites anywhere their teeth can sink into until they’re both back on their feet. Lizzie watches, covering her mouth as she gasps, pushing herself back until her shoulders meet one of the trees behind her. 

Then, the white wolf attacks the black one again. They begin their vicious snarling, and as Lizzie finds the force to pick herself off the ground, she hears one of them whimper. When she looks back, the black wolf is retreating, disappearing through the trees, and the white one turns, even slower in its approach. Lizzie’s eyes widen, out of magic, and out of breath, but she turns around in an attempt to try and run away again. 

Except she spins out, when she feels her black hoodie being yanked away from her body, leaving her in a tank top under the rain that starts to pick up. She turns around angrily, but instead of finding a white wolf stalking back, she finds –

“Hope?” 

Hope is sporting her too-big-for-her hoodie over her naked body and watching her with her arms crossed over her chest. It covers just enough. Not everything. Just enough. 

“Oh, thank God!” Lizzie exclaims, throwing her arms around Hope in sweet, sweet relief as she tries to catch her breath. “I thought I was dead. Dead, dead.” 

But she knows Hope Mikaelson. Always coming through with her last minute heroics. 

Except this time, Hope pushes her away, hands on her shoulders, taking a step back to get a good look at her. They look at each other, almost comically; Hope with an eyebrow quirked and Lizzie, with her mouth agape. Then, Hope’s strange behavior is perfectly clear –

“Who the hell are you?” 

------

[ PRESENT DAY ]

“Lizzie!”

Hope’s tired voice carries down the hallway. Behind her, Lizzie can hear her footsteps approaching – faster, faster – until they stop at her side, walking in tandem with her into the vast, otherwise dusty library at the end of the hall, where students gather quietly over a pile of books raging from anything about the occult to the mundane – European History and an old, thick Gaelic book about Magical Portals that thuds on the ground as it falls sloppily from the top of the bookshelf and almost takes Lizzie out. Talk about head trauma.

“Hey, watch it!” Lizzie looks up as dust gathers below her. Alyssa Chang stands on the top of the rolling ladder, shrugging nonchalantly. Whoops.

Lizzie picks up the book, coughs, swatting the dust away and piling it on top of Hope’s already busy hands. Hope says nothing, only blinks away the speckles of dust as she trails behind Lizzie with concern.

“I haven’t seen you all day. Is everything okay?” 

She shouldn’t be taken aback, but she is, by the genuine worried inflection in Hope Mikaelson’s voice. Hope is tired, the evidence marked clearly on her face, vaguely darkened circles under her eyes that Hope barely had mind to conceal this morning with even the smallest layer of makeup. No one would be able to tell, not really, but Lizzie can. She knows that look Hope carries around like a weight on her back when something’s been keeping her up at night. 

In front of the tinted window sill, Lizzie turns. The yellow light reflects off Hope’s exhausted, blue eyes, and Lizzie almost stutters, opting to instead, snatch the book back from the pile already gathered on Hope’s arms and toss it onto the nearest unoccupied table. 

No, Hope. I’ve been avoiding you all morning until this very unfortunate meeting where we’ll be subjected to a torturous hour of incessant nerd rambling on how to kill the very same monster that sent me through a hell portal into another dimension where I hooked up with you and your unforgettable muscles and now I can’t even look at you in the eyes without thinking about it, so–

“I’m fine”. Lizzie says, saccharine sweet. Too sweet. Enough to make Hope suspicious, as she looks at the book Lizzie tossed on the table with an eyebrow raised. “I was having a perfectly fine morning until MG interrupted my strictly scheduled morning meditation and after reluctantly agreeing to meet here in exactly five minutes, the kitchen was out of Belgian Waffles, so I had to settle for a non-fat Greek yogurt. So yes, I’ve been severely inconvenienced, but it has nothing to do with you”.

“I never said it has –” Hope starts. “Shouldn’t we talk about it? About what happened…” 

Lizzie stiffens. 

“With the monster…”

She deflates.

“We still don’t know if there are any side effects to any of this. Doctor Saltzman said you refused to talk to Emma about what happened –”

“And now you’re giving me advice about what I should and shouldn’t talk to our school therapist about?” Lizzie scoffs, on the defensive, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “That’s rich, Hope”. 

“That’s not what I meant –”

“Everyone at this school is so prolific at internalizing every shitty thing that happens to us on a weekly basis but since this one particular thing happened to me, then of course I’m the one who has to have the damage control, witchy therapy sessions with Emma despite the fact that I’ve already told everyone who’s asked that I’m fine!” 

“Lizzie –”

“Is that why you were looking for me this morning? You wanted to check up on me?” 

“Yes”. Hope says sincerely. Its her version of an olive branch – honesty. Lizze frowns, but Hope touches her wrist and she stays frozen in place, like she’s been jolted and immobilized by an invisible force. “The same night you found your way back to us you rushed into the woods on a near suicide mission to help me fight a monster we’re still not sure how to kill. Of course I wanted to check up on you. I was worried. You left my bedroom so suddenly last night that I didn’t even have time to ask how you were feeling. I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to come back. I wasn’t sure if we were ever going to see you again.”

Lizzie takes a breath, defeated. We, we, we – she has no right to be stung by the plurality of the word, but it gives her that feeling in the middle of her throat, like it runs dry, like one wrong word from Hope and she might break down in tears. 

“I want to make sure you’re okay”. Hope continues. “You’re my best friend”. 

And that’s the tragedy of it. She’s Hope’s best friend. Anything beyond that is nothing but something she could only clearly wish for in another timeline. One where Hope doesn’t know about her baggage, one where they got a clean slate to restart their history, no rumors, no backhanded comments…

“Me too”. Lizzie whispers. She brings her thumb up to brush over the side of Hope’s hand. 

She thinks about holding it. She almost does, until –

“Yo, guys. We should get this show on the road”. Jed interjects, seemingly out of nowhere, picking up the book Lizzie had discarded on the table earlier and hopping over the banister towards the center table in the now empty library, where the rest of the squad has now gathered around one of Wade’s Dungeons and Dragons books. 

By the time Lizzie pulls her hand back and they both gather around the table, Wade’s already settled in with the group.

“– That’s the thing though. Dimensional Warpers don’t usually engage in combat, but they do like learning about their enemies and their battle tactics. They’re not usually ones to initiate but they’ll fight if they sense that their life is in danger.”

“That explains why it disappeared last night and didn’t come back”. Hope pushes her way in between MG and Jed at the front and center of the table. “Do you think it’s after something?”

“Maybe. I can’t imagine another reason why Malivore would’ve spit that particular monster out. They’re elusive, hard to kill, and they only come out at night. Their night vision is impeccable”. 

“How do we kill it?” 

“Well, they are giant, bipedal, flying snakes, but they’re still snakes. I think we all know what the easiest way to kill one is –”

“Cut off it’s head”. Lizzie deadpans. Everyone turns, and Lizzie stands on the other side of the table, looking intently at the picture of the creature on Wade’s book. 

And Hope, looking at the magical artifacts on the far side display, slumps her shoulders. 

“We’re gonna need a very big sword”. 

------

[ 3 WEEKS AGO ]

“Is your name Lizzie Saltzman?” 

“Yes”. Between two slender and shaky hands, an orb flashes blue. 

Across the antique, expensive looking desk in front of her, and a family portrait in the space where a tinted window used to sit, Klaus Mikaelson looks at Hope with concern and curiosity. Hope, looking taller and prouder as her hand rests upon Klaus’ leather chair, gives him a side eye. 

She remembers Klaus from when she was younger, just as intimidating and commanding as he had been the day he’d sought out their help to save Hope from the Hollow all those years ago. She also remembers the Klaus she’s read about, in the books tucked away in the very same library a couple of doors down the hallway; the tales about The Great Evil. The boogeyman to end them all. The man who had terrorized Mystic Falls and claimed New Orleans like a dynasty, the man who had courted her mother until the day he died — but she also remembers the Klaus Mikaelson that Hope had told her about. The father. The man weighed down by the consequences of his choices and the drive to ensure his family’s survival, their safety, no matter the cost. In one universe, it had already cost him his life. In this one, the story seems to have been painted differently. 

In this story, Hope is different. She’s prouder, she wears a scowl like armor but not with the purpose of pushing everyone away. This Hope reminds her of an heiress. Someone destined to inherit something bigger and greater than herself. Maybe it’s all this, Lizzie thinks. The Mikaelson School. Maybe it’s another kingdom entirely. 

She looks… Good. Really good. 

“Are you Alaric Saltzman’s daughter?” Hope continues. 

“Yes”. Blue again. 

“That doesn’t make any sense”. Klaus moves to take the orb from her hands, but Hope is faster — much faster — grabs his father’s arm before he can snatch it. 

“Dad, you can’t fool the magical lie detector. They’re simple yeses or no's”.

Klaus respects her, she can tell, because he backs off and opens a drawer in his desk, takes out a heavy looking file — and pulls out a picture of her dad. He puts it in front of her. 

“This man is your father?” He asks her again. 

“Yes”. 

And like clockwork, the orb shines blue again. 

“That doesn’t make any sense —” Lizzie goes to interject but Klaus holds his finger up, standing from his chair with his hands behind his back, circling around the office like a man with a decision to make. Technically he is… a man with a decision to make. About her. 

Which really, really gives her the chills. The bad kind. 

“— You see, Alaric is a slobber of a drunk man who unfortunately lost his wife on his wedding day. He was supposed to father two children, twins actually, and his psychopathic to-be brother-in-law murdered his fiancé at the altar. His daughters perished with her. He lost his Tenure at Mystic Falls High, now teaches a second-rate-history class at a local college, and he let the rest of his dreams die in the bottom of a bottle of stale whiskey and fatty liver disease. That man never got to father any children. He’s barely a man at all. No purpose. No drive”.

“Apparently not in this life —” Lizzie mutters. The orb flashes blue and Hope’s eyes immediately snap to Lizzie’s. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” She’s the one taking the orb from her hands in a blink of an eye. She’s fast. Really fast. It takes her a second to realize, as Hope holds it between her fingertips and looks at her with blind distrust, that the Hope in this universe might not be jaded by the loss of her family, but this one might be jaded by something else.

Like her own death.

Oh. 

“You’re gonna want to sit down for this one”.

------

The Mikaelson School library is even bigger than The Salvatore School’s. The Stallions were branded as the rich, spoiled, and troubled children of Mystic Falls, but the Mikaelson school rivals the self-made stereotype by a tenfold. Lizzie’s staring at a row of books about magic she could have only ever dreamed of reading — it’s obvious to her that Klaus Mikaelson’s vision for a school for the Supernatural was slightly different than her father’s. Somewhere witches, vampires, werewolves and others could live their powers to their full potential. 

She picks a book from the rack, takes another one down with it, but Hope catches it before it can fully fall off the shelf — Necromancy: The Art of the Undead — and pushes it back in its place. 

“If what you told me is true then your father built a school with the same purpose my father did”. She offers. This Hope, now a little less guarded and lit by the light of the full moon by the library window, is much softer, willing to momentarily let her guard down around the pretty stranger with the wavy blonde hair. “He wanted a place where I felt like I belonged. Somewhere he could offer a safe haven not only for me, but for all the witches, all the vampires, and all the werewolves who are forced to do all of this all on their own. The world is cruel and unrepentant. My dad knows that. So he and my mom bought this mansion, expanded it, and made it into a school for the Supernatural. It’s taken off since; we have a branch in Belgium and another one in development in South America. Argentina. Something about the wine…”

For the first time since she’d been blindly dropped into this dimension, Lizzie smiles. But after a much noticeable glance at Lizzie’s lips, Hope continues. “We thought all the Gemini witches were dead. They’re rare. Powerful —” Hope says. It takes a second for Lizzie to notice she’s sizing her down. 

She doesn’t want to talk about how that makes her feel. 

“You have to take someone’s magic to use it, right?” 

And Hope offers her hand. Lizzie’s brows furrow, but she takes it anyway. She’s siphoned magic from Hope before, but not a fully triggered Tribrid Hope. When she drains her power Lizzie feels an adrenaline rush like no other, like sticking her hand directly into a fuse box and taking all the energy in Mystic Falls with it. She watches Hope carefully for any sign of pain, but Hope doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move, only watches their joined hands. 

Then Lizzie raises her wrist, flicks it, and closes all the doors of The Mikaelson school in simultaneous fashion, making the building tremble. 

“Something like that”. Lizzie grins and Hope lets her hand go. She’s grinning back and Lizzie doesn’t know why that makes her feel drunker than taking all that power from her. “The stronger the source the stronger and the magic we can do, but we can take from anything that’s come in contact with magic. This building, for example. A vampire, a werewolf — miscellaneous…” 

“Well, here at the Mikaelson school we’re always looking for other powerful witches. I know you want to go back home eventually, once we figure out how to send you back, but if you want to stay, we can make room for you.”

They walk past the archway, to a display case with magical artifacts and weapons of all kinds. Some she recognizes, like the dagger that had started it all that brutally eventful day when Rafael joined the school, the urn, an enchanted compass, Papa Tunde’s blade…

“We’ve collected those over the years”. Hope motions to the display case. “Some of them were already in my dad’s possession before we put them here. The display case was enchanted by my aunt, so it’s practically impenetrable and impossible to open unless you’re a Mikaelson, but my mom thinks it’s important to teach these kids everything we can about magic and everything that could hurt them. Some of them —” She continues, sliding her finger over a display case of weapons. “— are just purely decorative though”. 

Lizzie watches Hope’s finger land on the glass over a large broadsword. 

“What exactly do you know about my family?” Hope asks. When she looks at the display again, Lizzie can see her own reflection next to Hope’s on the glass, and when she looks closer at the weapon, their faces on the side of the broadsword. 

“Oh, you have no idea”. 

------

[ PRESENT DAY]

Sparks cloud Lizzie’s vision. At the old mill, in the dead of night, Hope sharpens a sword Lizzie thinks is larger than her standing up. She’d poke fun at her, for wielding such a big weapon for such a small person, but if the past few weeks — days — weeks — whatever, had taught her anything, is how immeasurable the power Hope wields at her fingertips is. Maybe she could provide them both with a quip, if she wasn’t so busy staring at her, agape. 

God, get it together, Lizzie. 

She clears her throat and Hope stops. 

“Hey! I thought we could get a head start with this old thing. Your dad kept it downstairs but I think it’ll give us the firepower we need. It’s a shame though, it’d make for a nice decoration”. 

Lizzie wants to laugh. No, it would make for an awful piece of decoration. She’d seen it displayed neatly on a case, but ancient artifacts and old swords make her think of ancient cursed castles and the ghosts within them. 

“So asks-too-many-questions Hope has now become knight-in-shining-armor Hope. I gotta say, I think I like this version a little bit better”. 

“Because I’m not asking questions?” Hope challenges. 

“That’s part of it”. 

They both laugh, look at each other as Lizzie takes her place beside Hope, until Hope goes stoic again. She puts the blade down, wipes her hands on her dark jeans. 

“Lizzie, I know this isn’t by far the most threatening monster we’ve ever faced but, I think you should stay inside the school. Kaleb and I designed a foolproof plan to kill the —”

“Why are you sidelining me?” Lizzie frowns. “I was of perfectly good help last time you almost got sucked into a portal too, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant —”

“Then what do you mean Hope? I know this isn’t about glory. So what is it? Martyrdom? Pushing people who care about you away?” 

And Hope is surprisingly calm, despite the tension in Lizzie’s voice, despite the way she raises it, despite the way it cuts through the sound of the chirping crickets in the woods. “No. It’s the opposite, actually. It’s about trying to keep the people I care about safe. I don’t want you to end up somewhere you won’t be able to come back to us if we risk it”. 

“What about Kaleb, then? Surely you care about him”. 

A beat.

“Not the way I care about you”. 

They stand there, in the cold of the Old Mill, looking at each other as Hope picks up the sword on the table, and Lizzie realizes for the first time, Hope is making an entirely selfish decision… And it’s all about her. 

[cheezritsu]

Elegy for the Living

Fushiguro x reader

One of the tenets you’ve created for yourself when you became a jujutsu sorcerer was that you would save everyone—criminals, bullies, junkies, the like. You were no god; judgement was never yours to give. And yet, Fushiguro Megumi is trying his damndest to break every single one of your beliefs, brick by hard, infuriating brick. It’s all fun and games, until it’s not.

Alternatively: enemies to lovers and back again, in five easy steps.

A/N: currently in the process of writing an Enemies to Lovers Fushiguro fic so here’s the first part:

It’s possibly only seconds after you’ve finished battle. Seconds, he thinks, because his chest is still heaving, because you haven’t moved an inch, not even to pick up the weapon that’s been left behind after the final blow. (His blow, which made lamented card float lamely into the grass. It sits there, the five of cups, his disapproving frown aimed at you.)

Your feet are still, as if nailed to where you stand. The clouds begin to drop rain over the two of you, the run off puddling around your grimy combat boots. That’s how long you stay staring at the dismembered figure; you can only assume it was once a person by the puzzle pieces of body parts left behind after the attack. A hostage, a possessed person, a cursed item. A human being. Or, what was one.

Megumi’s steely eyes hold no reverence, instead watching your movements as you mindlessly reach into your uniform pocket, pulling out a small carton. You shake the box once, and the slim stick reveals itself.

Megumi’s skin prickles. “Hey,” he says, stepping closer to you as you continue to numbly place a cigarette between your lips. “We need to get going. Ijichi’s coming with the car soon, we have to meet him back at the entrance.”

There’s a flicker of blue light that emits from your fingertips; cursed energy, ignited like a flame. Megumi sneers at the misuse, watching in disgust as you take the first few puffs. “Unbelievable,” he mumbles. You tear your eyes away for only half a second to give him a withering glare, and then they’re back where they started.

But they twitch. There’s anger that fuels the blue flames licking your fingertips, and you can’t help but wonder.

“Why’d you attack it with divine dogs before I could secure him?” You don’t even acknowledge his look of bewilderment. “If I’d been able to separate them—“

“You couldn’t have.” He snaps. The tightness in his jaw is visible; it makes the sharp line his face even more defined, while at the same time marring the his boyish handsomeness. Does being a hardass come naturally? Or does he force himself to be this way? You mull over the question as he berates you, catching his customary reply:

“You’re not even close to being strong enough to save everyone.”

Megumi’s truths are white noise, barely decipherable from the drizzling rain. Underneath the awning of this abandoned high school, you’re safe from the onslaught of rain, but the body is not. It sags as water soaks into the clothes—a seifuku, black with white stripes. Blood floods the grass, trickling in rivulets down the sidewalks, sloshing into the gutter. You breath in, as if you’re sighing, taking a long drag of smoke that makes your lungs burn and your eyes finally shed the tear that’s been welling in the corner. The body’s going to bloat in a few days if it keeps raining.

Megumi, not privy to your inner thoughts (and frankly, unsure you even have any,) grabs your left arm. “Are you even listening?”

“How come whenever demons attack it’s always in shitty weather? Ever noticed that?”

Perhaps it’s the way your fingers separate, all of them equally spaced out as your right hand reaches up to drag the cigarette from your lips, that makes Megaumi pause. As the cigarette slides between your digits, a trail of blood stains the pure white. You haven’t wiped your hands yet. You go cross eyed from looking down, examining where the blood on your hands stains the cigarette. Your eyes glaze over, as if throughly entranced.

Megumi tears his eyes away, lest he be caught up in the same hypnosis. “We don’t have time for your stupid questions.”

You scratch your forehead with your thumbnail, humming slightly. “That just means you don’t know either.”

Cold wind sweeps through the thin fabric of his uniform. He looks at you with a pinched frown. “No, it means I don’t care. Let’s go.”

He’s done asking you anything. He heel turns away, leaving you—to do what, exactly? Your unerring stare never leaves the quartered girl, her mouth open to the clouds, like the dammed souls of hell crying for their saviour.

(Did you think that savior would be you? The mocking voice sounds unsettlingly like Megumi.)

Or perhaps, more likely, in her final moments of living she screamed for the safety of her mother, like any little girl would. Like she would.

“Damn,” you sigh, finally squatting down to collect your card. Your knees create a symphony of cracks, and you groan like an old war veteran when you stand back up.

When you spot Megumi, he’s leaning against one of the poles under the awning, his attention turned to the road. He doesn’t see you light another cigarette, inhaling slower this time to ride the drug out.

He only slightly turns his head when your feet start idly sloshing the water where you stand. The pointed toe of your shoe draws words he can only guess before they wash away.

“What are you doing?” He asks, both to get you to stop and from a deep seated curiosity. “Writing,” you say briefly. The cigarette dangles precariously from your barely open lips, your hands splayed out beside you to keep balance.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“What are you writing?”

A quick bite of a response loads itself on your tongue, but you hold back. Instead, you divulge the truth to him, knowing it’ll make him angrier.

“Things that deserve to be forgotten. Pain,” deft strokes write the kanji, and Megumi sees it take shape. “Agony. Memories. Sorrow.”

You finally take the cigarette out, the stick already half burnt. His eyes narrow upon it, his blood boiling as you waste your dexterity on vent poems in the rain. Perhaps this is your most vexing quality; your almost childish insistence to succumb to whatever emotion moves you at the moment. You’re as fickle and fragile as the wind, pretending you’re made of stone.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He suddenly asks, though not for the first time. The first time he asked was far less judgemental than it was now. “Why do you always make things worse?”

Worse for who, you have to ask. You cough, trying not to outwardly cackle in his face. The idea of bringing Megumi misery makes you nearly giddy. The bubble of excitement dies down the moment your eyes catch his expression: brows pinched, eyes flashing dangerously until they give a lidded glare, his mouth turned in an upward sneer. The look saves just for you, just when you’re alone.

“I don’t think anything could get worse than this,” you tilt your head towards him, pointedly blowing smoke. “Besides,” you tack on. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” You laugh again at his response, and his shoulders tense, expression slipping into a boyish anger. “It’s not about you, it’s about the fact that you exacerbate your bad emotions like you want every other demon in a five kilometer radius to find us.”

“Exacerbate,” you snort childishly. “Now that’s a five dollar word.”

His posture has straightened, shoulders defensively squared and facing you. “When are you going to admit you’re not made for this, huh?”

Your shoulders shake with another laugh, this one hollow and bitter. He stands in front of you, expectant, voice laced with an air of maturity he doesn’t have the right to posses. Not even if he was born decades before you, a millennia before you.

“Made for this,” you repeat slowly. “Like the gods themselves crafted you, Fushiguro Megumi, from the mud under my shoe to fight demons.” You relish in the hitch in breath you elicit from him, even if it is followed by the individual cracks of his knuckles. You meet his gaze, and your combined cursed energy signature fluctuates; those same demons in the five kilometer radius must be fainting in its wake.

It doesn’t deter either of you. You’re both as still and stubborn as bulls. It feels like having a stare down with your own reflection, and it is agonizing to know this truth. To know he is your mirror.

“You weren’t made for this either, Fushiguro. You made yourself. So you must forgive me for not suppressing any and all emotions, like you.”

The curl to his lip drags upward even further, like the snarl of a wolf catching its prey. “You can barely keep it together after a grade 2 mission, and you want to come at me?” There’s something cruel in his eyes when he says it, something that wants to dissect your flaws and put them in a glass cage to repeatedly gawk at. Your eyes drop to ground, unable to bear the lens he views you with.

“You’ve lived with sorcery and demons for so long, and you’ve never gotten used to it. So why do you keep pretending like you can do this when you can’t?”

You blow smoke towards your feet. It vanishes quickly, evaporating into thin air. You stare into it, as if your memories are scripted in fog, abs you can make them disappear just as easily.

Megumi scrutinises your face for every micro expression that flits across your features, and he’s disappointed when all he sees is confusion. Like you don’t know the answer either.

He clicks his tongue, training his eyes back to the road. You stay staring at your feet, unblinking, lest you close your eyes see her decomposing body behind your eyelids.

A sudden realization shocks you as you bring the cancer stick to your lips for the first time in minutes. You’re only a quarter of the way through, leaving it forgotten. But there’s a warmth in your veins and a steadiness to your hands, some non-nicotine induced high. You smile callously at Megumi, who stands stiff as a board, pretending not to glance at you from the corner of his eye.

Unfortunate, you think. Seems I’ve found a better drug.

You take a drag off the cigarette. It’s feels like nothing in comparison. You burn through half of it, so that when you open your mouth, smoke curls out like a simpering dragon; elegant, dangerous, intoxicating. Megumi gapes as you grin, and something in you burns.

“You’re fun to argue with.” You snuff the cigarette between your calloused fingertips, putting out the ash in the box careful not to litter. Megumi’s expression is so priceless, you laugh when you say “Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

[nancywheelxr]

For Sokka/Zuko prompts: falling in love + fighting non-bender style

hey, anon, i love you and i hope you like this <3

*

“Come spar with me,” Sokka says, just like that. The sun is setting in the sky and Katara’s food is beginning to stir Momo from his nap, and a few feet away Zuko can see Suki attempting to teach Aang a very basic fighting stance while Toph laughs. 

It still doesn’t explain why Sokka is still there, looking at Zuko like Zuko is the insane one for being doubtful. “Why?”

Sokka flails. “Why– because! Because I’m bored! Because I want to! Because– I don’t know, Zuko, why does anyone do anything?”

“You do realize you would lose, right?” He says instead of trying to parse through his reasons. Only Sokka knows how his mind works and after the awful days spent in the prison, Zuko’s learned it’s no use trying to follow his logic. 

“Excuse me!” Sokka gasps, offended in a way that shows on his whole face, “I’ll have you know, I’ve been trained by a master in the arts! I’ve got a space sword!”

He wonders how liberally the word trained is being used. “Still.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Sokka sharpens in a smirk, arms crossing over his chest, and Zuko watches amused, a little disconcerted at the whiplash between expressions. “You’re scared you’re gonna lose. That’s okay, I get it, I’d be too if I were you.”

It’s not that Zuko doesn’t know he’s being played, he knows, but the challenge is still out there, in the air, and he has never been good at standing down. Sokka’s got him there and he knows it and Zuko knows it and probably even Katara, wherever she is, knows it too. “Fine,” he snaps, scowling because otherwise he’d be smiling and Zuko’s never been very good at that either. At least he thinks so, it’s been a long time, he can’t remember, anyway. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sokka laughs. “Famous last words.”

*

A friendly spar is not something Zuko remembers doing. Training, yes, or showing off when he thought his father might be looking, or the thing Azula did where sometimes she would tackle him and they would wrestle and pretend it’s not meant to hurt, but not this, not until now.

But it’s nice, too, and it burns off the restlessness that’s settled ever since they left the Boiling Rock, and Zuko aches to think he’d been trying to destroy this sort of thing only weeks ago. His sword clashes with Sokka’s and they glint silver in the rising moon. 

Sokka grins.

In the moonlight, he glows, and Zuko thinks of the boy with war paint on his face standing as tall as he could in the way of a warship, and something in his chest twists and aches again– it’s been a long road to here, but he sees the ocean on Sokka’s eyes just as clear as they had reflected the waves that day. “Tired yet?”

Yes, Zuko wants to say, frighteningly so. “Not a chance,” he replies instead because that’s not what’s been asked, and presses harder, hits him in the ribs hilt-first, smirks like he’s learned.

And so it goes, steady like clockwork.

*

“You know,” Sokka says the next night, “this place is pretty neat, huh?”

Zuko, who knows this temple by heart already from patrolling every night before sleep in the first week, figures neat is probably the understatement of the century. “You could say that.”

“It’s at least on the top three places we camped,” he continues, pushing further on his attacks and forcing Zuko to pull back in defense. Then, his face softens a little, eyes darting fleetingly up at the moon and around the clearing, and this sort of vulnerability, of distraction, is the perfect moment to make his move, but for some reason, Zuko can’t bring himself to do it. Sokka grins ruefully and the whole world goes a little dizzy, “it kind of makes you wish we could stay here forever, doesn’t it?”

Feeling oddly off-tilt, he shrugs, distracted. “I guess,” he shakes his head, hopes to clear it with the whiplash.

Sokka rolls his eyes, lowering his sword. “Well, no need to sound so excited, jeez, I was just saying.”

“Sorry,” Zuko blinks, watches the muscles on his arms work as he reaches for his canteen, watches water spill down his chin, the curve of his neck, and disappear under his shirt. Right. It’s definitely time for a break. 

His own water does little to his dry mouth and it’s only when he tries to nudge their lanterns just a bit brighter but finds the flames flaring up higher, that he notices the racing of his heart hasn’t faded yet. Sokka smiles, and says something about their itinerary, and Zuko listens, and listens, and listens.

*

The Western Air Temple is left behind and it feels awfully final, Sozin’s Comet a hanging threat on the horizon. It won’t be long now.

Zuko sits on Appa’s back and watches Sokka, head bent over a map with his sister, the rising sun painting his skin. At his side, Toph makes a startled noise. “Really, Sparky?”

“What?” He frowns, dragging his eyes away to find her looking at him strangely. His face warms and his hands close into fists, even if he’s not sure why. Half of him kind of hopes Toph tells him, but the other half is terrified of the answer.

She shakes her head, makes a face up at him. “Nothing, just thought you should know– you’re so not subtle.”

It’s not like she’s wrong, but Zuko would still rather know what he’s letting show on his face now. Fear? Sorrow? Anger? 

It doesn’t matter, in the end.

It won’t be long now.

*

After his coronation, it takes Sokka three days to find him in his study, table littered with reports and law texts, an insurmountable mountain of things he must fix, must change, to even begin thinking of reparations. 

“How did you get past my guards?” He asks without looking up from the scroll in his hands. The candle by his elbow flickers, throwing golden shadows across the paper.

Sokka is smiling, Zuko can tell even while turned away, and there’s the rustle of his brushes being shuffled away from the edge as he leans against the table. “I’m like, a war hero now. It gets me places.”

“Suki let you in, then,” Zuko finally allows himself to roll up the scroll, tilt his head up for once to talk with him, and grins. He was right, Sokka is smiling, easy and malleable.

“Like I said, it gets me places,” he shrugs, kicks the leg of his chair, falling serious, “hey, she also said you’ve been here a while.”

Zuko sighs, feeling the exhaustion snaking around his bones, the tight aching on his chest from the branching scar Azula’s lightning left, the unsigned paperwork he left in his quarters this morning. “There’s a lot to do,” he says truthfully.

“Yeah, no shit, but it doesn’t have to be done in a day,” Sokka rolls his eyes, kicks his chair a little harder. There’s a crinkle between his brows and it’s very distracting, it makes Zuko want to reach out and smooth it away, trace the lines until they faded back to someplace peaceful. “And you don’t have to do it all alone either, dumbass. Come on, you need to relax before you combust in one big fireball of stress.”

“I can’t,” he rubs at his eyes, willing the weariness to settle back, and closes them for a second– inhale, exhale. “There’s too much– negotiations will begin soon, they’re sending ambassadors– and the school curriculum, it needs to be revised– and, and–”

“Zuko,” Sokka says, and his voice arrests Zuko’s focus impossibly. Zuko really wishes it didn’t because now he has to look at Sokka, give him his full attention, and it’s overwhelming. The moon is backlighting his figure and Zuko never noticed how much the blue of his clothes, his eyes, stand out in the red and gold of the palace. It makes Zuko’s lungs hiccup and his heart constrict painfully, a warm ache blooming just behind his sternum– a summer tide, heating up his skin against the night chill, and even before he asks, Zuko knows he would give him anything, there’s no choice for him. “Come spar with me?”

Zuko puts out his candle. “Yeah, okay.”

*

“I gotta say,” Sokka says, sword steady on his hands, “this place is a hell of a lot better than that clearing at the temple.”

The practice room has a mat to break their falls without leaving scraped skin behind, at least, and practice swords blunt enough they don’t have to worry about accidentally losing a limb. “The view isn’t all that great, though.”

Something shifts in Sokka’s eyes, softer and warmer. “I don’t know,” he shrugs with painfully fake nonchalance, “it looks pretty great to me.”

There’s a flush rising to his cheeks and Zuko doesn’t understand why for a second, but looks behind his shoulder at the closed doors, frowning, because this sounds like Sokka’s strangely smooth awkward flirting he’s witnessed. “I don’t think Suki can hear you from here,” he feels the need to point out, speaking around the sudden catch on his throat, “and the door’s closed anyway.”

Sokka chokes. “That’s not– I didn’t– what–” a pause as he seems to gather himself, “I didn’t mean Suki. Why would I mean Suki? She’d probably kick my ass for a comment like that, anyway.”

Zuko frowns. “Because she’s your girlfriend?”

Another round of startled coughing. It’s a really good thing those swords are blunt, after all. “We broke up, like, ages ago? After, you know, the comet and everything. It put things into perspective or something, I dunno. It was different, with no war or anything, when it was just us hanging out.”

“Oh,” Zuko clears his throat, something odd fluttering around his chest, and tries to think if there was something different about Suki in the past few days. He doesn’t think so? It’s hard to tell, he’s been busy and she always smiled when she saw him– it did feel like her eyes had grown a little more knowing lately, though, like she knew something he didn’t, but that could probably be his lack of sleep talking. “I’m sorry?”

Sokka snorts. “No that’s rough, buddy, this time?” but before Zuko could apologize for that too, he waves him off, “it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I think we just realized we loved each other better as friends. Maybe the fact that both of us are fine is a sign breaking up really was the right thing.”

“Like Mai and I,” he nods, understanding. Being with Mai had been nice, safe and comforting, but when she had taken his hand and told him she would be leaving with Ty Lee, Zuko hadn’t been heartbroken. Mai had smiled, a small pretty thing, and hugged him, face buried on the curve of his neck, and he misses her dearly, but loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean being in love with someone. 

“Yeah,” Sokka twists his sword on his hand, eyes following the arc it makes in the air, and his smile comes in gentle waves, washing over Zuko with its cheeriness. “Now come on, quit stalling– I’m so kicking your ass this time.”

With a sinking dread, Zuko refuses to acknowledge the realization just beyond his fingertips, curling his hands around the hilt of his dao blades fiercely, and ignores the gentle smoke wafting from his palms.

*

Denial doesn’t take him too far, unsurprisingly. His feelings for Sokka have been building without his knowing, a spring that’s grown into a river spilling into the ocean, stretching in all directions, far beyond the horizon line. 

It’s far too late to try and contain now.

Instead, Zuko will just have to learn to carry that around too, board it up away from the light, careful not to let any of it tumble out in the open. In the past, he’s never been very good at keeping his emotions in check, but since the Sun Warriors, he thinks he might be improving a little.

Not that Sokka makes it anywhere easy for him. So far, none of them have left, on the contrary– Katara has taken upon herself to boss the healers around while the injured are slowly trickling in from all over the countries, Aang and Toph have ingrained themselves in every one of his meetings since no one has dared to question their presence yet, and Sokka– well. Sokka seems to be everywhere these days.

Sure, Zuko knows they won’t stay forever, they all have a home to go back to, families to return to, but for now, well.

“Dude, wanna see how many fire flakes I can fit in my mouth?”

For now, there’s Zuko watching Sokka sit by his window, basking in Agni’s light and smiling at him while digging into the flake bowl even though he knows the spice will burn his tongue. “I’m guessing around two before you start crying?”

“It’s not that bad,” Sokka glares, but it’s mellow and gentle, late-afternoon lazy, and Zuko has to forcefully remind himself not to stare. “Yeah, no, okay, it’s bad, it’s bad!”

He pushes the milk he had nicked from the kitchens earlier just in case something like this happened towards him, snickering like he’s not hopelessly endeared. “I did warn you.”

Sokka glowers. “Shut up, I’m building up a resistance.”

“If you say so,” Zuko allows, knowing it will rile him up and make him flush, probably go into a rant, and hides his own smile. Affection bubbles on his chest, I know you, he thinks, I know you by heart.

Predictably, Sokka pushes off his seat, crowding on Zuko to tell him exactly where he could shove his condescension, and Zuko twists on his own chair to face him, an eyebrow raised. It doesn’t slow Sokka down, though, if anything, it inflames him further, makes him take another step forward, slip between his legs to poke at his chest.

“ – and, and,” Sokka trails off, looking down at where his legs have bumped on the chair, and seeming to finally notice how very close they had gravitated. Zuko shifts and his knees graze Sokka’s pants, and his skin seems to burn even through the cloth. Swallowing thickly, he risks looking up, shakily trying to keep a blank expression and feeling the ocean raging around his ribs. Sokka’s eyes are wide and blue, a gentle wave crashing on the sand, and any words die on his tongue. “So, uh.”

He hums questioningly, one hand clinging to the table edge, undoubtedly leaving soot burned handprints behind.

“I, erm, forgot what I was going to say,” Sokka admits quietly, and Zuko wants to think his gaze has slipped down to his mouth for half a second there, but it’s very hard to think when they’re close like this and if neither of them moves soon, he fears his chest might crack open like ice, spilling his love all over the floor, heart falling at their feet, bruised and stitched up as it is. “Hey,” he nudges his knee.

Zuko burns. “Hi?”

“I think– I think I’m gonna do something real stupid right now,” he says, “and I’m really hoping you won’t hate me for this later.”

There’s no hating you, Zuko wants to say, because he’s been falling since, perhaps, the South Pole, and by now, there’s no stopping. His feelings are an ocean and Zuko’ll drown in them.

Sokka doesn’t want a reply, though. He exhales shakily and suddenly, his hands are on Zuko’s cheeks and Sokka is leaning down, kissing Zuko. Lightning sizzles inside him and you don’t stare at the sun, so Zuko closes his eyes, hands closing on Sokka’s waist to draw him closer, feeling like he might die from this, would gladly die for this. 

“Hey,” Sokka says again, pulling away, and Zuko chases him that inch, a pull and push of tides, and there’s breathlessness in the air they share, “so, no hating, uh.”

Zuko touches skin under his shirt and feels Sokka shiver under his hands. “What do you think,” he murmurs, so painfully fond that his whole self aches with it, “I love you, dumbass.”

Sokka laughs, light and bright, like sea foam, and kisses him again, and again, and again, like he knows Zuko has been walking around with all these impossible wantings inside him and now there’s a hollowness that leaves him afraid he might float up if untethered. Like he knows Zuko’s never thought he’d get to have this, to be this happy. “You’re such a jerk,” he says, “I love you too,” a kiss, a hand tangling on his hair, his heart, bursting, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Dear Little Me...

Recently, I’ve been struggling. Struggling with the fact that, looking back on my childhood, I was left with more scars than I thought. That it had far more impact on me and who I am today.

I spent a good portion of the other day traversing through my memories and coming to terms with the fact that I was hurting as a child.

Today... I came across this and decided to give it a go. As a way to let go of the past hurt. To validate myself. And maybe even as a reminder, not just to myself but to anyone that might need to remember that we are worthy of love and kindness and gentleness.

So... here it is. A letter to little me... and maybe, some of you can take a message away from it too.

Hey, Kiddo.

So this is me talking. Um… to start off… I’m nonbinary. No wonder we despised the clothes mum got for us, eh?

So… most people call me Defence these days… and yes, by that, I do mean my friends. And before you ask, yes, you find yourself friends one day. Friends that remind you that they care about you. Friends who never make you question whether or not you matter. Friends who see your flaws and your quirks, who see how different you are and still love you.

Do you know why?

Because you deserve it. Just as much as anyone else.

You do, I promise you that you do, hun. I know that you think you don’t. I know you think that the way your peers treat you is normal. I know that you think that the way your so-called “friends” treat you is normal but believe me… it isn’t.

It is not okay for them to question how devoted you are to the group just because you’d rather sit and listen because you just like listening to them talk.

It is not okay for them to make plans in front of you every single day but never invite you, excluding you from things that you so desperately want to be a part of but are too scared to ask for.

It is not okay for them to dangle their friendship in front of you but only let you get so clos, snatching it away when you behave in a way that they don’t like.

No, they’re not obligated to love you. No, they’re not obligated to spend time with you. They don’t have to invite you anywhere. They don’t owe you shit, to be quite frank.

But to make plans in front of you, to ignore you, to shower each other with affection while you’re forced to watch isn’t okay. To make you question why you’re not good enough for them isn’t okay. To slowly isolate you from them instead of being honest with you isn’t okay. To make their friendship, their love, conditional isn’t okay.

And the thing that hurts me now, kiddo, is I know how much that killed you. I know how much it chipped away at your soul and heart every goddamn day. I know how much you wanted to be a part of that. I know that you loved your friends fiercely. And I know that when you finally left the group… you may as well have not even existed. You discovered the truth that day, little one. You discovered that you didn’t matter. That you were nothing to them.

And it happened time and time again. Because you were different. Because you weren’t normal. Because you didn’t match up with what they wanted from you. Because you were a weirdo that spent more time with her nose buried in a book, content to listen to her friends because their happiness made her happy. Because you just didn’t understand social connections like they did. Because it was harder for you to connect to people your age.

And the worst part is… I know what you’re thinking right now. You think that this is okay. You think that this is normal. You think that love and friendship and affection is unobtainable to you. That you’re not allowed to have it. That you don’t deserve it. That you’re not worthy of it.

And it kills me that you’re going to feel this way for 23 years. It hurts knowing that you’re going to get your heart broken over and over and over again.

It hurts knowing that you question why anyone would be friends with you. Why anyone would love you. Why would they even tolerate you.

It hurts knowing that one day… hearing a friend say “I love you” is going to overwhelm you and leave you wondering “why?”

It hurts knowing that you think that you’re better off alone. That you’re meant to be alone.

And dear fucking Christ above, kid. It breaks my heart knowing that you can’t even look at any reflective surface because you can’t stand to look at the girl nobody wants to be friends with. That you hate yourself. That you wonder every single day what you’d done wrong.

It hurts knowing that you believe people when they say that you don’t care enough. That you’re heartless.

But let me tell you this… you didn’t do anything wrong, my love. You might not always know how to show it or maybe the way you show is just different or maybe you’re just not good at emoting… but you have a heart. You do care. You care so much and have so much affection for your friends that it bubbles up inside your chest and you feel like you’re going to explode because there’s just so much. It overwhelms you… but it’s only a bad feeling when you know they don’t even like you. When you know that they care right back? It’s very comforting.

And that love that you think you’re not worthy of? That friendship that you think you don’t deserve? I need you to know that you do. You are so, so worthy of it all. There is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken. You’re just different and that’s okay.

And here’s a little secret… one day… you’re going to get a haircut. You’re going to change your hair colour. You’re going to dress how you want to dress… and when you do? You are going to have the biggest, dopiest grin on your face when you look in a mirror and for the first time in your life you’ll like what you see and you’ll say “I feel handsome. I like me. This is good.” And it will be. Because you’ll finally be looking at you, not the person everyone wants you to be.

You’ll make friends who care about you. Friends who you care about you so much. Friends who make you feel wanted and loved. Friends that slowly help you unlearn all of the horrible lessons that your school years taught you. And you’ll help them in return. You’ll support each other. Tease each other. Annoy the utter shit out of each other. Be utter gremlins to each other. Scream at each other when you’re not taking care of yourselves. And it comes from a place of mutual fondness, which is very nice.

I know you don’t believe me. You still think that you don’t deserve it. That you’re too broken to have it. That you’re not allowed to have it. That’s okay. You take your time. Hell, I’m still learning to accept it myself! But there’s something else I want to tell you before I go. Something that has been a long time coming.

Are you ready?

I love you, little me. I do. I love you for your quiet nature. I love you when you get loud and excited and don’t know how to wait your turn to speak because of this really cool thing you learned! I love you when you’re shy. I love you when you just want to sit in your room and read. I love you when you think that no one else does. I love all of your quirks and I love you through your flaws. I love you when you’re being a little shit. I still love you when you fuck up and make mistakes, even when those mistakes hurt people. I love how you learn from them. I love how sensitive you are in a world that demands you to be cold and uncaring and harsh. I love your creativity and how you make dumb jokes just to make other people smile and laugh. I love that you’re clumsy because it’s a part of who you are. I love that you love so fiercely, even though it fucking terrifies you because you know it’s just going wind up with another broken heart. I love your strength that you think you don’t have. I love the bravery that you think you lack.

I love you, kid. I’m just sorry that it took me nearly 24 years to say it to you.

I won’t lie. We’re still hurting. Still healing. We have a lot of bad days. But the good days more than make up for them. I don’t always love myself and sometimes, often, I’m not very nice when I speak to myself. But this is me reaching out to you. This is me taking a step forward. This is me looking back at the hurt and scared little girl I used to be and smiling reassuringly.

Because believe you me, kiddo… we’re going to be okay.

That’s a promise that I intend on keeping.

You’re going to hurt. You’re going to lose people. You’re going to watch somebody very important to you fade away to illness and you’re going to grieve for them. You are going to be so strong and so brave for that, no matter what you think. It’s not easy, this road that we walk. But it’s ours and we’re not entirely alone. We have our family and one day, we’ll have our friends.

Chin up, baby girl. Keep those eyes open. Keep breathing and taking it one step at a time. Take as many breaks as you need to. Because one day… you’re going to make it to my point in the road and you’re going to look back and say “Holy shit. I did it!”

We’re not always kind to ourselves… but I am proud of you. I love you. And I promise that I won’t give up on you.

Promise that you won’t give up on me?

And I know it’s your birthday this month. I know you don’t like your birthday, even less after what happened with mum. But it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to be happy. It’s okay to laugh and smile and giggle as the people in your life celebrate you.

You deserve it. Because without you, I wouldn’t be in the amazing place I am now.

So… Happy Birthday, little me. You’re more loved than you think you deserve and I can’t wait until you see what’s in store for you.

Spoiler alert; you’re happy. Still sad, still have bad days, still spiral. But you’re happier than you have been for many years. That’s something to look forward to, my dear.

I’ll leave you here… but just know that the future is brighter than you think.

Lots of love,

Older you.

P.s… try shopping in the men’s section. Our non-binary ass will appreciate it 😉

[when-they-write-stuff]

no pressure to do it but for the prompts: "[Puts feet on the other’s lap]" sterek

John wasn’t sure how, but it became a thing.

‘It’ being the relationship between his son and Derek Hale. Resident alpha werewolf, Derek Hale. The very same one John had nearly put behind bars two years ago.

Although, John didn’t know if he could call it a relationship, exactly. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what to call it. But ‘relationship’ seemed to make the most sense, even though he was pretty sure Stiles would launch himself out his own bedroom window before admitting that out loud.

The point was, it’d somehow became a thing. And John didn’t know what the hell to do with himself about it.

It started when he walked into Stiles’s room to see his son laying across Derek Hale’s back, chin resting on top of Hale’s head as the other man flipped through a book. John froze in the doorway and Stiles startled so hard, he toppled off of Derek’s back and crashed to the floor with a squawk.

Derek was on his feet in a second, face bright red. John could’ve sworn the color went all the way to the tips of his ears. The book he’d been reading dropped to the floor inches away from Stiles’s face.

“Sir,” Derek said, voice higher-pitched than usual. John pressed his lips together.

“Right,” he said, glancing between his son and the ex fugitive. “Is there something going on here I should know about?”

“No,” Stiles said, stumbling to his feet. When John raised a brow, Stiles’s face turned a deep shade of red and he shrugged. “I mean, we’re just doing research. You know. Searching. Though books. For information. The re-of-search.”

“Research,” John said. Stiles nodded.

“Yep.”

John glanced at Derek, but the other man was standing like a deer caught in headlights. After a moment, John nodded and turned away, wishing he just would’ve stayed downstairs. “Okay, then.”

Faintly, it occurred to him that Derek had never come through the front door. It also occurred to him that he didn’t have the energy to dwell on that.

But tonight, John decided, steaks were being served. Because right now? He deserved a steak. He deserved mashed potatoes too.

And maybe some therapy.

-

It was definitely a thing.

John was patrolling Lookout Point when he came across a black car pulled off the road and hidden by the trees. Sighing, he flipped on his lights and pulled off too, mentally preparing himself for the teenagers that were sure to come stumbling out of the car with messy hair and rumpled clothes.

He never failed to see that at least once during patrols like this.

Except, when John stepped out of the cruiser, he realized that he recognized the black car. He paused for a second, taking in Hale’s camaro, and then tried to hold back a heartattack. 

“Please,” John said to no one in particular. “Don’t let this be what I think it is.”

He moved toward the window and rapped a sharp knuckle against it. For a moment, his face was reflected off the Camaro’s window, and then it rolled down. Derek gazed out at him and John glanced beyond him to see Stiles too.

Except thankfully, all clothes were in place. And Stiles himself— despite a slightly red face— was completely non-rumpled, other than a stain of ketchup on his collar that he’d obviously tried to scrub off. Unable to hold it back, John let out a sigh of relief.

“Good evening, boys. Late night fast food run?”

“Stakeout,” Stiles said quickly. John glanced at his son and Stiles offered a nervous grin. “There’s an omega running loose around the woods. Someone’s gotta keep the public safe, right?”

“Right,” John said. He glanced at Derek but once more, the other man’s face was pale and he was speechless. John hesitated for a moment longer before stepping back. “I’m going to assume you coming home later then, Stiles?”

“Right-o, pops,” Stiles said. John nodded.

“No later than ten.”

“You have my solemn word. No later than midnight.”

John knew he should chastise his son for that, but he really just wanted to be somewhere else. Shaking his head, he turned away and started back toward the cruiser. Faintly, he heard Stiles whisper something sharp to Derek.

But John didn’t even try to listen to what. He didn’t think that would be very good for his mental well-being.

He decided he deserved some fast food though.

-

By the third time, John decided words needed to be said. Of course, the last thing he wanted was to be the one saying those words, but this was getting ridiculous.

He had to stop walking in on stuff like this.

It was a completely innocent Friday night when John walked into the diner with a craving for something unhealthy and deep-fried. Stiles had texted him that he’d be ‘out all night’ so John decided this was his chance.

Except, Stiles was at the diner. Sitting at one of the booths with his feet propped in Derek’s lap as he waved his hands around and talked. Derek’s face was uncharacteristically soft as the man listened to the boy, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

John didn’t know it was possible for Derek Hale to smile.

Sighing, John forced himself forward. Words needed to be said, he decided. He just didn’t know what those words were. Or how it was fair that he had to be the one to say them.

Derek saw him first. The man sat straight up, pushing Stiles’s feet off his lap, and Stiles made a squawking noise of protest. But then he swiveled around and went pale too.

“D-dad!”

“Out all night,” John said, stepping beside the table. “Pack stuff?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, tugging at the neckline of his t-shirt. Except it wasn’t his t-shirt, John realized. Stiles didn’t own too-big grey henleys. “Pack stuff. But then I got hungry. So now it’s… pack stuff and food?”

“The pack is a little absent, isn’t it?”

“Oh, they’re back at the loft,” Stiles said. Then he winced. “They already ate?”

John sighed, looking at Derek. This time, he thought the man was actually going to try and say something. Derek’s mouth opened and closed, but then his face turned redder and not a word came out. John nodded. “Do you two want to let me in on… whatever this is?”

“This?” Stiles said, words squeaking. “This is nothing, dad. Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously!” Stiles said. “Just dinner. Is dinner a crime? Because if that’s true then— wait, what are you doing here?”

John blinked. Then he narrowed his eyes. “This is not my interrogation.”

“Um, this is an interrogation?”

Derek’s face turned paler. John took a deep breath and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. Maybe— maybe words didn’t need to be said. Not today. Because this was going nowhere and John didn’t have the energy he used to. “No,” he said after a moment. “This isn’t an interrogation. But I’m here to get a burger and I don’t want to hear a thing about it.”

Stiles squinted. He seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding and propping his feet back up in Derek’s lap. “Fine. But we’re having salads for dinner tomorrow.”

“Does that mean you’ll be home for dinner tomorrow?”

His son’s face turned bright red and John took his victory in that. Turning away, he started toward the front counter and could hear Stiles sputtering at his back.

It was the little things, sometimes.

He got extra fries.

- 

Stiles was in the hospital.

Derek held the boy’s hand cupped between his own, trying to leech away what pain he could. But there’d been no black lines for hours now and all he could do was wait— wait for Stiles to wake up and the hand in his to get warm again.

Suddenly, the door behind him opened. Derek dropped Stiles’s hand and turned around to see the Sheriff rushing in, brown eyes dark with worry.

“What happened?” the man said, scent sour with fear. “What happened to him?”

“Hunters,” Derek said quietly. “I tried to get to him as fast as I could but—”

The Sheriff ignored him, moving to Stiles’s side. Derek shied back as the man took the hand Derek had just been holding and squeezed it. Suddenly, the air the room felt colder and Derek realized his stay had run up. Quietly, he stood and turned away.

“Where the hell are you going?”

Derek froze, before slowly turning back around. The Sheriff was looking at him with furrowed brows and Derek shuffled his feet, at a loss for words for a moment. “Out. To give you two some space.”

“Sit back down,” the Sheriff said, and there was no room for argument in his voice. Slowly, Derek moved back over to sink into his chair again.

“Sir?”

“You are not leaving my son,” the Sheriff said. “Right?”

For some reason, Derek felt like they were talking about completely different things. But he nodded anyway and the older man’s face softened considerably. 

“Good.”

Derek didn’t know how to answer that. So instead of saying anything, he fiddled with his hands. The Sheriff watched his son for a moment longer before turning back around with a sigh.

“Do I scare you, Derek?”

Derek looked sharply up. “What?”

“The big bad alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills,” the Sheriff continued. “Are you scared of me? Because I’ve wracked my brain as to why my son has yet to mention your relationship and that’s all I can come up with.”

Derek stared at him for a moment. He was aware of his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. The Sheriff sunk down in the other chair and looked at Derek with what could only be considered a hurt expression. 

“It’s not my son who’s scared, is it? Stiles isn’t scared of what I’d think, is he?”

“S... sir?”

“Because I know he mentioned it years ago,” the Sheriff said, sounding miserable. “I mean, I didn’t think he was being serious. I thought he was trying to pull something over my head again. But if that was really him trying to let me know—”

“We’re not together,” Derek said, cutting him off. The Sheriff’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide.

“What?”

“Stiles and I,” Derek said uncertainly. It hurt a little for the words to come out. “We’re not in a relationship.”

The Sheriff stared at him for a long moment. Then, to Derek’s surprise, he burst out into laughter.

“Oh thank god,” he said and for a moment, Derek felt like he’d been punched in the throat. But then the older man rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head. “I thought my son wasn’t telling me because he thought I wouldn’t accept him. But it turns out, it’s just because he’s Stiles.”

“... Sir?”

“When Stiles wakes up, I’m going to leave you two alone,” the Sheriff said, his smile melting a bit. “And when I come back in, I expect things to be all cleared up. Is that understood?”

Once more, Derek didn’t know what to say. So he only nodded.

“Good,” the Sheriff said, turning around again. “Because I’m too old for this. My heart can’t take the suspense any longer.”

Derek stared at him. His mind was moving, but slowly. Piece by piece, the Sheriff’s words were sinking in and when they did, Derek felt his own heart nearly stop. He blinked. “Sir, are you giving me permission to date your son?”

“Derek,” the Sheriff said, glancing at him. “You two have been dating for a lot longer than today.”

“I don’t—”

“And Derek?” 

Derek closed his mouth and just stared. The Sheriff’s face softened.

“Call me John.”

And Derek didn’t know what to say to that. He was pretty sure five minutes ago, he’d been here comforting a pack member. Not… getting their father’s blessing. But also, he wasn’t about to protest. And… John? The Sheriff wanted him to call him John?

Derek wasn’t sure how, but it’d just become a thing. And hell if he knew what to do about it.

Except… agree?

Yeah, he was going to agree. 

- -

I’m not sure if I followed the prompt to the T, but I had a lot of fun with it! Thanks so much for the prompt, friend, I hope you enjoyed!!

(Support your overcaffinated (so much so) student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[andiandyandee]

Run from What’s Comfortable

Virgil gets his first tattoo, and Logan is not pleased. (Oh and we get some Logan Tragic Backstory)

This is part of my Parental Logince Punk AU! Which exists now lmao.

I’m gonna tag @princemesscharming and @datfearlessfangirl since they seemed very interested in this but if y’all don’t want tagged in future stuff let me know. If anyone wants tagged ALSO let me know :)

He’re the links to other works in this AU

Last Words: Part 1 and Part 2

And here’s the series on Ao3

3321 words

Okay here’s the fic

Virgil and his Papa had their first actual fight when he was fifteen. They had plenty of small, meaningless fights in his life, but this was the first one that didn’t end with an apology, a coffee, and a quiet conversation.

    “What does it even MATTER? I’m fifteen, it’s not like I’m a child anymore. YOU had tattoos when you were fifteen!”

    “Yes, I did, and it was stupid when I DID IT TOO.”

    “So what, I’m stupid then? Just because none of us are as smart as you doesn’t mean we aren’t smart, Logan.” He said the name like it was an insult. There was an anger reflected in the blue eyes the two shared.

    “Excuse me?  I have never once said you, your brother, or your father were anything of the sort. You’re right. You’re fifteen years old, and you need to stop acting like a CHILD. You don’t get to throw a tantrum every time you don’t get your way. And you certainly don’t get to SNEAK OUT and do whatever you want when your father and I tell you NO.”  Logan could feel the dull pounding at the back of his head, indicating this particular conversation was going to give him a migraine. “Go bandage that- whatever it is- and go to your room, Virgil. I am not having this conversation right now. You can speak with Roman when he gets home.”

    Virgil deflated at that. Papa very, very rarely used his actual first name. It was something they had agreed upon when Virgil had turned 13. He wanted a nickname, something that felt less formal and nerdy. Papa hadn’t understood, but agreed anyway, and had called him nothing but ‘Virge’ or ‘Vee’ since. He was too mad to see the way Logan has started to go pale.

    “You know what? No. I won’t go to my room. Either stand here and have this conversation now, or I’m leaving. I’ll go stay with Dee or something.” Logan winced at that.

    “Virge-”

    “NO. Either talk to me or I’ll go! I’ll call him right now.” Logan closed his eyes for a second, then nodded.

    “If you’d rather stay with your cousin than cease the conversation, then by all means, go pack a bag. I’ll make the call and drop you off.” Logan turned to his phone, sitting on the table. He didn’t want Virgil to see the way tears were welling up in his eyes, or the way his hands shook when he dialed the number. Virgil stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, then nodded slowly and went to his room. He grabbed the pile of clothes that were folded on his bed- probably Papa’s doing- and shoved them in his bookbag. He pulled on his boots and grabbed his jacket and hoodie off the door, and stomped back down the stairs. He didn’t look up when he passed Logan, who was still on the phone, and went to sit in the car. When Logan came out, still in his work clothes, his eyes were red. His jaw was set as if he knew if he opened it he would say something he would regret, and he started the car with the only words he said being, “Seat belt. Now.” Virgil complied. Nothing was said for 25 minutes, Virgil staring at his phone, so he was surprised when they pulled up to a tattoo shop. Not the one Virgil had gotten his tattoo at, which was more like someone’s garage, but an actual, proper tattoo shop. Logan got out, went inside, and was talking with the person at the desk, who looked to be in their late twenties, early thirties. Much too young to have been one of Papa’s friends, but possibly Dee’s age. The person behind the counter gave Logan a bag, and Logan handed them some money, and they both laughed at something. Logan’s smile was gone by the time he got back into the car, settling into the stoic, neutral look that Virgil knows is reserved for when he’s trying to avoid any emotions whatsoever.

    Logan dropped the bag and a sheet of paper onto Virgil’s lap. He said nothing, and pulled back out onto the road and drove the rest of the way to Dee’s house in total silence. Virgil didn’t look at the jar until after Logan’s blue sedan pulled out of the driveway. Dee was standing next to Virgil, a hand on his shoulder, and wasn’t saying anything either. The jar said Hustle Butter, but there was also a bottle of the same brand that said hustle bubbles.

    “Dee, what the hell is this stuff?” Virgil asked, finally cutting through the very stiff silence. Dee looked at it, snorting a bit.

    “It’s for your tattoo. There’s probably a care sheet, too. You need to take care of tattoos differently than you would regular skin. That’s a good brand, you shouldn’t have any problems.”

    “Why would he buy these for me? He didn’t want me to get the thing anyway.”

    Dee pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just get you cleaned up and find something to eat, Virge.”

***

    Once Logan got home, he collapsed onto the floor next to the front door. He tucked his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. He didn’t hear his younger son approach, but he could see the shiny holographic boots that had become a staple of the kid’s fashion for the last decade. “Hello, Patton. Am I in your way?”

    “Papa, what happened?” The teenager asked. Patton, who was 14, spoke much softer than his brother. “Virge isn’t texting me back, Dad sounded really mad when I called him, and you look terrible.” Logan laughed a little at that.

    “Unfortunately, that is my fault, Pat. Virgil came home with a tattoo today, after sneaking out last night to get it, and we may have gotten into a bit of an argument.” Logan sighed. “I lost my temper and yelled at him, and he told me he wanted to go to your cousin’s house, so I dropped him off there. You know Dee has a thing about using cell phones all day, so Virgil’s phone is likely off. Roman is angry with me, not with you.” The front door slammed open, and Roman stood there, looking livid.

    “Damn right I’m angry with you. How could you just LET HIM GO TO DEE’S HOUSE”

    “Dad, I don’t think-”

    “No, Patton, it’s okay, he has a right to be angry”

    “But Papa-”

    “Puffball, can you go to your room? We need to talk about this.”

    “Wait- will you just-”

    “Patton, please just-”

    “WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?” Patton screeched, much to the surprise of both of his fathers. They nodded. “Virgil needed to be away from the house. While maybe Papa shouldn’t have agreed to it so quickly, Virge was going to end up there one way or another. You both behaved irrationally today, and you can both apologize tomorrow. For now, Papa, you need to go get a shower, take your migraine meds, and change into more comfortable clothes. You look like you’re going to pass out. Dad, you need to put your work stuff down and call Dee, and make sure Virge is alright. And I need to work on homework, so if you could avoid yelling for like, 45 minutes, that’d be very helpful.” Patton smiled at them. “Okay? One-two-three- BREAK!”

***

    “He called me STUPID, Dee. To my FACE”

    “I’m sure that’s exactly what he said, Virge.”

    “He had tattoos when he was my age!”

    “The tattoo that almost cost him his hand, or the one he got covered up three years later? Oh, wait, both of those he got when he was your age. How peculiar that he wouldn’t want you to get them, then.”

    “He did not almost lose his hand because of a tattoo.”

    “Yes, he did. He told me that story when I got my first tattoo. His first tattoo was on his wrist, you’ve seen it, I’m sure. It’s that weird faded grey bit of skin that pokes out from behind his watch that looks a lot like a bunch of scar tissue.  It got infected, because he got it done by some rando in a garage somewhere, and he didn’t tell anyone. By the time Uncle Roman and Dad convinced him to see a doctor, the Staph had basically eaten all of the ink, and it took like, nine rounds of antibiotics before it went away. They were worried the scar tissue would permanently make his left hand impossible to use without pain. He’s very lucky he didn’t die.”  Dee sighed and adjusted his beanie. “I know what it’s like to be a fifteen-year-old and want to rebel, but Uncle Lo was right that this was VERY STUPID. Not that YOU are stupid, but that you did a stupid thing. And I know, that you hate yelling or being talked down to, but I really do think you were in the wrong, here.” Dee sighed.

***

    “Virgil is okay. Dee showed him how to wash his tattoo with the stuff you bought him.” Roman sat down on the bed, next to Logan. “That was a smart thing to do.”

    “My arm still hurts from mine. I wouldn’t want him to go through that if it can be avoided.”

    “Lo-”

    “No, Roman. I was in the wrong. Virgil may not be a child, but he isn’t an adult either, and I treated him unfairly.”

    “You were worried, and you have a temper when people ignore you. Virge knows that, I know that, and Patton knows that.” Logan laughed a little

    “God, Patton today. He’s going to have my temper too, isn’t he? You should have been the one to sire those little monsters.”

    “Remus and I have the same DNA, and he made Dee. You really think if they were biologically mine they’d be any better?” There was a knock on the door, then, and Patton stuck his head in.

    “So, If we’re airing out things we did without permission should I mention I have a belly-button piercing?” Logan slammed his head into his pillow and screamed for a second before mumbling,

    “I absolutely did not hear that.”

    Patton giggled and lifted up his shirt, showing a noticeably non-pierced navel to Roman with a wink, mouthing ‘little monsters’ with an eye-roll. “Papa, do you want a coffee? I’m going to run across the street.

    Get him an iced caramel whatever. Take a long time, will you?” Roman grinned at the teenager who immediately turned red and sprinted out of the room.

    “Great, now you’ve traumatized him.” Logan deadpanned, laying his head on Roman’s shoulder. “Please tell me my fourteen-year-old did not get a back alley piercing.”

    “He didn’t. I’m guessing that was his revenge for you ignoring him.” Logan groaned and laid down, his head in Roman’s lap. “Lo, you know Virge loves you, right? This isn’t going to change anything.”

    “I.. don’t want to be like them. Like.. my parents were.” Logan admitted quietly. “I never want our kids to resent me like my brother and I resented them.”

    “Woah Woah Woah. You got in ONE fight with Virgil. He’ll stomp around Dee’s house for the weekend, and when he gets home, you will drink coffee and apologize, and he will too, and you will both be fine. This isn’t the same, Lo. You aren’t like them.”

    “I hope not,” Logan mumbled. Finally letting himself cry. “I miss him, Ro. I know I shouldn’t have let Virgil go. But the whole thing was just like-”

    “I know, starlight. This isn’t going to end like that, though.”

    “Okay.” Logan’s voice was small and scared. “Can you go get Patton? I don't like him being out of the house.”

    “Of course. I’ll be back soon.”

***

    Virgil was playing music loudly in Dee’s basement, pretending like he was justified in his anger. He was in a ratty old misfits shirt, one he had probably stolen from Dee years ago, and a pair of basketball shorts, and was about 45 minutes into a workout that he knew would leave him aching and too tired to be angry when it was over. He kicked the bag again, singing along to the Dead Kennedys song and pretending like it wasn’t something Papa had shown him. He went to swing at the bag for what was nearly the hundredth time when someone snickered from the stairs. Virgil missed the bag completely, throwing himself forward and landing face forward on the mat. The person on the stairs howled, and Virgil turned to glare at them. Standing on the bottom step was Remus, who had a book under one arm and a towel in his hand.

    “Okay kid, time to stop the workout. We’re having a chat .” Virgil rolled his eyes and was promptly hit in the face with the towel.

    “What do you want? I know, Papa was just trying to protect me from doing the same dumb shit he did. I don’t care.”

    “Yeah, I know you don’t care. Hence, the chat.” Remus said with a sigh. “Come sit down, you goddamn emo nightmare.”

    “I’m taking that as a compliment.” Virgil did as he was told. Remus opened the book he was holding, which Virgil now recognized as a photo album. “Why are we reminiscing? I already know the story about the stupid tattoo he got.”

    “No, you don’t. And that doesn’t matter, really. But actually, I wanted to show you them first.” Remus turned to a dog eared page towards the middle, and suddenly, staring back at Virgil was a punk kid with his exact face, save for this kid had a black eye, and a garbage bag taped around his wrist. The kid had a smirk Virgil would recognize anywhere. This was unmistakably Logan, at fifteen years old. He was wearing a social distortion tour t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, black jeans, and what looked like the most worn-out pair of Doc Martens Virgil had ever seen. The picture below it was of the tattoo itself, crudely done with poor linework and blown-out lines everywhere. It said ‘Do better’. That was it. Virgil raised an eyebrow at his uncle, who had a small smile on his face. “He was so pleased with himself when he got that stupid tattoo done. He wanted a reminder to not be like your grandparents.” Remus nodded, to himself obviously, and turned the page. There were seven photos on the spread, the first being Logan flipping the camera off from a hospital bed, pale and looking like he was about to keel over. The second was Logan with his shirt off, and some guy tattooing his shoulder. The pictures didn’t look like they were taken very far apart.

    “He got another tattoo after almost dying from the first one?” Virgil asked incredulously, looking at his uncle for confirmation. Remus snorted.

    “As a celebration for not dying from the first one. He took much better care of that one, to be fair.” The tattoo was of what looked like a bird, probably a crow, but it was hard to tell.

    “He doesn’t have a bird tattoo there. Isn’t that where he has the tree?”

    “Ro and I paid for him to get it covered up for his 18th birthday. He took good care of it but it still looked like a flaming bag of garbage.” Remus laughed

    “Why are you showing me these, anyway. I know he doesn't like his parents and I know he picked a shitty artist and got sick. That doesn’t change that he literally just let me leave because he didn’t want to deal with me. It didn't change that he called me stupid.” Virgil crossed his arms.

    “I’m getting there, kid.” Remus bumped his shoulder into Virgil’s and turned a few pages forward in the book. There was Logan again, now in a misfits t-shirt and what looks like the same jeans as before. Sporting a gnarly bruise on his jaw and a split lip. He had a grin and a backpack slung over one shoulder, and from the way he was holding his arms apart, Virge could see the scarring on his wrist, meaning this was taken after the tattoo incident. Virgil looked at the t-shirt he was wearing. It was almost certainly the same one, with the same bleach stain on the left sleeve. “This picture was taken about an hour after Logan ran away from home,” Remus said quietly. “For the first time, anyway.”

    “Did he do that a lot?” Virgil asked with an eyebrow raise

    “No. He only ran away three times, the last time he left home was because they kicked him out.” Remus shrugged. “But this time was important because he left after having the same argument with his dad that you just had with him. Well, kind of. Logan’s dad somehow didn’t know about the tattoos until he walked into Lo’s room while Logan was changing. Pretty hard to hide a big ink stain when you’re topless.” Remus shrugged. “His old man told him it was irresponsible, he was too young, blah blah blah. You know the drill. Of course, Logan was an asshole as a teenager, so he argued that he wasn’t a kid, that he was old enough to make those decisions, whatever. His dad told him he wasn’t going to have this conversation, that he could take it up with his mother- you’ve met her, she was definitely the worse of the two. Logan told him off, and when his dad still wouldn’t talk, he left. He stayed with us for probably three weeks before he got the call that his brother-”

    “Papa has a brother?”

    “Had. He had a brother. He was older, and had the same sort of temper you and your Papa share.” Remus sighed. “When he had found out why Logan had left, he got pissed and went to go pick Logan up from our place. He wrapped his car around a tree, and never made it out of the O.R. Logan went home after that.”

    “Oh god, did his parents blame him?”

    “No, no, of course not. Your grandparents weren’t good people, Virge, but they knew that argument was as much their fault as it was Logan’s. But Logan blamed himself, and that was enough.” Remus sighed. “I know it doesn’t excuse his actions, but I think, maybe, that the argument you two got into probably brought up a lot of difficult and angry feelings. Logan isn’t a robot. And when he gets upset, he says things that he doesn't mean, and the things he says don't always come out the way he intends them.”

    “Yeah, okay, I get it. I acted like a jerk and I need to apologize.”

    “Nah. You acted like a teenager. You DO need to apologize though. But not tonight. Tonight, we’re watching all of the Saw movies and eating way too much pizza.”

***

    Eventually, Virgil went home, and apologized, and pretended to not notice how puffy Logan’s eyes were, despite the fact that it had been two days, and made him and Papa coffee. Logan apologized too, and told Virgil the tattoo did look cool, even if he should have waited another 9 months to get it done professionally, and they talked about what Virgil had done with Dee, and Logan pretended to not notice the way Virgil kept glancing at the scar on his wrist that was for the first time in years not covered up by his watch. And when Virgil hugged him and whispered. ‘You are better, Papa.’ Logan most definitely did not cry, and Virgil did not cry, and Roman did not give Patton the $15 he now owed the kid, and Patton did not snap a picture to add to his own photo album.

[just-horrible-things]

[Content: forced nudity, stripping in a non-sexual context.]

He steps out of the showers still proudly wearing his - now sopping wet - uniform. The guard looks him up and down as water streams down the cloth and puddles at his feet. “What the hell you playing at?” she asks tiredly. “I told you yesterday,” he lifts his chin, “If you want me in your horrible prison rags, you’ll have to strip me yourself. I know your tricks. You only wanted me to shower so you could steal my uniform - well I’m not having it.” “You’re not clean,” the guard points out. “I showered, what more do you bloody want?” “No one gets clean showering with their clothes on.” “I’m not taking it off.”

The guard sighs. “First you won’t eat,” she complains, “now you won’t wash...” She shares a long look with her partner. The second woman rolls her eyes. “Take your uniform off,” she orders the prisoner, “And wash properly.” “I won’t,” he snaps. “You can’t do this to me.” “Well. Don’t go whining that you weren’t given a chance...”

Between them, they manhandle him back into the shower. He struggles a little, but he quails from the threat of a raised baton and lets himself be dragged. In stony silence they pin his hands to the wall above his head, and then clip handcuffs onto him with the chain looped round the shower head to keep him in place. “Hey,” he yelps as he realises what they’re about, “Don’t do that! You barbarian brutes, you’ll pay for this!” His shouts get louder and angrier as one of the women produces a knife and, without ceremony, starts cutting the uniform off his body. He twists and struggles, nicking his own skin against the little blade, but their strong hands pin him in place and there’s nothing he can do to stop the cloth being sliced away.

By the time they are done, he is quiet and still and sullen, glaring murder at his uncaring captors.

“Now,” one declares, hands on her hips. “Are you gonna wash if I unlock you, or are we gonna have to fetch the hose?” His lip curls, but he says nothing. The guards look at each other, then shrug. One of them steps forwards to undo the cuffs. As soon as he’s loose, he tries to fling a punch. Not quite surprised, she sidesteps and kicks out his knees. He goes down hard, snarling into the tiles. But he doesn’t get up to try again, so they leave him to wash.

When he re-emerges, still quietly furious, he is frogmarched back to his cell, and the guards are not gentle about shoving him through the door. A roughly folded bundle of dull blue cloth is tossed in on top of him.

He balls his hands into fists and reminds himself to breathe.

The clothes are formless, at least a size too large, and worn out at the cuffs and the knees. Stitched with numbers to identify him - prominent badges of shame at the shoulder and thigh, front and back.

He crumples them back into a bundle and throws them against the wall, then curls up in the opposite corner to glare at the tiles.

Hours later, the door is unlocked. The same guard as always threatens him with a baton, but he doesn’t try to move until an unexpected visitor steps into his cell. Then he scrambles to his feet, unwilling to cower on the floor before the enemy general.

The general’s gaze sweeps briefly over the prisoner, then flicks to the discarded clothes in the corner. He quirks an eyebrow, and the prisoner flushes red, but he does nothing to cover himself. His jaw remains set and his chin high.

“I’m told that you persist in refusing basic amenities,” the general opens, “And I see that it’s true.” “Your generous amenities are demeaning,” the prisoner snarls. “I won’t wear these rags.” “Would you rather march naked?” “Than wear your colours? Yes, if I must.” “Oh, it’s the colour that offends your sensibilities? Unfortunately for you, you are in my custody and under my control, and the garb we offer our prisoners reflects that. However, if you’d rather show the world your nakedness, then I’m sure my soldiers won’t mind the entertainment. Tell me, will you be accepting boots, or do you intend to march barefoot too?” The prisoner has no answer to that, face dark with humiliation and fists trembling with anger.

“As for food, perhaps you will change your mind after a day’s march on an empty stomach. Just remember when your gut starts cramping that you were offered plenty of chances.” “If you offered me food I would eat it,” the prisoner mutters darkly. “I’ll not eat slop, I’m not a dog.” The general barks a sharp, humourless laugh. “You are in no position to be a picky eater,” he observes. “You are not a dog, but you are a prisoner - as I should not need to keep reminding you. You hold no rank here. You will eat what you are given, or you’ll starve.” “You’ll get no ransom if you starve me.” “That is true. Should I execute you now, instead, and save myself the trouble of dragging you across the country?” “You may as well, see if I care.” The general sighs.

Silence stretches briefly.

“Why are you here?” the prisoner snaps. “Just to mock me and to rub salt in my wounds?” “I hoped that perhaps we might have a civil conversation,” the general tells him, “But I can see that you are in no mood to cooperate.” “I have no civil words for you,” he snarls. “You are scum of the earth and I will never do as you want.” “Then you will find your time with us quite unpleasant. But perhaps some time on the road will sweeten your temper. Do call for me if you change your mind. Good day, prisoner.”

When the general is gone, the prisoner hits the wall as hard as he dare - pain flaring along the bones of his hand and wrist - then sinks back to his knees. The cell is cold, and the night will be long.

[san-station]

A Quiet Place AU / ATEEZ (Post-apocalyptic)

Chapter 7

 ↝Word count: 5336 

Description: In a world full of silence and dangerous creatures seeking for blood, a group of friends have to survive for their own good and find the safe place they’ve heard about months ago.

Pairing: OC x San

WARNING: cursing, mention of death, angst, ANGST, AAAANGST. 

A/N: This took me forever because even though I’m on college vacations, work makes my head empty… and I’m not proud of it ;(. Hopefully, chapter 8 will turn out better! 

・・・・・・・・

Kids playing to be adults

When the basement door opened, I had a sad smile on my face and I was clinging to Hongjoong’s arm as he whispered the story about our time in the woods and how we found out about Wonderland, the promising land that expected us on the other side of our road. We’d been walking for weeks in the vast woods, hiding ourselves from the recent attack we had from a unknown group of rebels that wanted our food, clothes and, if we were lucky, they’ll leave us alone, but that day was one of the worst. The group leader, a guy who name I think was “Coups” refused to let us go without having some fun, and by fun I mean taking Misuk, Byol, or me, the only girls around, into hell. When he took Byol away from us, she struggled with the guy’s grip and managed to escape, but, unfortunately, Coups happened to be faster, agile and also evil. A blink later, Byol had a sharp knife nailed on the side of her neck and her eyes went backwards, full white. Coups had a hand over her mouth to quiet the noises she’d make. Blood started to flow quickly outside her body, splashing Coups face with its burgundy color and warm steam. The other group had now more members than us, thus my friends were being hold on by the rebels, incapable of saving her or any of us. 

When Coups rested the lifeless body on the wet mod carefully and gestured to reach for Misuk, the tan boy, Lucas, wrestled in a rebels arms and tossed him on the ground with a thump noise, everybody tensed and Lucas started to signed with trembling hands. 

“Stop! Don’t hurt anyone else, please…”, Lucas’ face was shocked, he was one of the strongest of us, he would always take care of his friends and, when the apocalypse started, he was devastated that he couldn’t safe his family, forthemore, he decided to protect his new family, us. The air in his lungs traveled as fast as it got there, sweat started to roll down his forehead and his eyes looked between Byol’s body, the leader, Misuk and me.  

“I can’t take an offer if I’m not winning anything in exchange”, Coups approached and capture Misuk’s wrist, she didn’t flinch at all, keeping a straight face. 

“Take me instead! I- I’m strong, I can carry things!”, Lucas tried again, stepping forward cautiously with hands in the air. The rebels looked at their leader waiting for his commands. Coups glanced at the tan boy from head to toe.

Like a flash, Coups took out of his back a .48 gun fully loaded and pointed it to the tall boy’s direction, he whispered: “Do you know how to use this?”

Lucas nodded hastily as he stood before us, blocking Coups’ sight. That was the day last day we saw Lucas, tears streamed down almost everyone’s eyes as we parted ways due to his sacrifice. I never got the chance to thank him nor say goodbye, they just vanished quickly and left us wandering around. 

Days later, we found a place near a river guarded by a couple of old ladies and a young boy called Jeongin. They took us for the night while we rested in a warm place with a roof. It had been a while since we had a roof over our heads when we slept. That night, Jeongin told us a story about a group of ladies that passed by days before talking about a new safe place, they called it “Wonderland” as if it was made for those who still believed in a world where noise fills your ears with joy, laughter, real voices and isolated you from fear and danger, that was our basement for us, we could talk freely after a few arrangements and for the past six months we were truly happy. 

Although, nothing lasts forever and food was running out, we started to racionate water and medicine. When Hongjoong noticed that, we had a discussion one night while everyone was eating. He made us all promise to get safe to the place where our hopes could finally be tangible, where food lasted and had variety, where we could love, laugh, stop worrying about the creatures around ready to slaughter our weak and tired bodies.

Hongjoong closed the door behind him and the room fell silent; Yeosang, San and Wooyoung gathered in the kitchen while they whispered with concerned eyes something I couldn't catch. There was no sight of the rest, so I decided to ignore them as I believed they would have the same behavior as Hongjoong before our talk. 

Joong walked next to them and they exchanged a strange glance. The air felt heavy, their bodies were alert at any moves I could make and you could cut the tension with a knife if you wanted. San cleared his throat when I walked next to them looking for the kettle and the leafs for the tea, I rolled my eyes when Yeosang avoided my eyes.

“I hope he’s doing fine”, I broke the awkward silence in the room and the guys jerked up in surprise. I missed Lucas, he was a living party in this hell, easy-going, gentle, a good friend. We will always remember how he exchanged his life for ours. 

"Ehm…", Hongjoong thought for a minute asking himself why would I said that before comprehend the idea. "I'm pretty sure he's fine, Lucas is a strong man and knows how to take care of himself", I handle him the kettle and opened a jar of jam almost empty to spread some on my right finger.

A few breaths later and shared glances, Wooyoung mumbled "she needs to know" a little bit too loud to let me understand the words. San sighed as Yeosang shook his head in denial. I turned to face them with pursed lips and raised an eyebrow as my body reflected hot steam from my upset mind.

“Quit the fucking act and tell me what’s wrong”, I sighed desperate. Having them staring at every movement I made was making me go insane, I was treated like their prey in the isolated clearing part of the forest, easy to hunt. The black haired boy flinched and turned his head to the other side. Wooyoung gulped and closed his eyes for a second. He then stepped closer and places his hands on my shoulders.

“What?”, my eyebrows knitted, San scratches the back of his neck, Yeosang sat on the couch pissed of, Hongjoong put the kettle down and looked at the basement door for something to happen.  

“We were supposed to wait until we all went down the basement again, but I know you’ll be hella mad at them for this…”, suddenly, Wooyoung made me sit on the couch next to Yeosang and took a deep breath. The tickling sensation in the middle of my chest started to emerge from the bottom of my body, confusion was all written on my face as Hongjoong and San approached a few steps near us. 

And like a bullet colliding unexpectedly into my flesh, Hongjoong spoke slowly painfully. 

“Jongho went to the abandoned city like an hour ago…”

Hold your horses… 

“What…?”, I barely said, the air in my lungs left entirely as my eyes pierced Honjoong’s pupils severely. Wooyoung moved uncomfortably on his spot, avoiding my eyes. “...Why?”, I spoke again with knitted eyebrows and dry lips. 

“The little brat wanted to keep the search. A week has passed….”, San’s voice sounded like an echo now. Why would they let him go? Why would they allow the younger boy go straight to his own death? I… I don’t understand shit. 

“Yeah, a week of a non-existing Jongho... I barely sensed him”, Wooyoung added playing with his hands, maybe he didn’t really know where to put them or it was just anxiety. 

“You all know why he wanted to go there…”, I left out a sigh. Leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, I hid my face in my hands at the same time my skin began to warm. “I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“You were the first one saying to let him go,” Yeosang finally spoke since we came back to the basement, his face unreadiably. “You said we needed to let him be himself and not to hold him in here after Misuk’s death, Jiyeong”, he spatted a little too harsh gaining stearns from Hongjoong and San. Wooyoung just wanted to avoid all of this knowing too well the end of the conversation.

“I never thought he will really go out there!”, exasperation started to boil inside me, and it was noticing due the tone of my voice. “It could take him a whole day before even found the place that happened! You just let him go to his own death!”, I groaned and stood up of the couch, hands sweating and heart pumping insanely into my ears. 

“He’s well aware of that, he won’t do anything stupid!” Wooyoung tried to eased the heavy air surrounding the place, he really tried, yet we knew it was going to be impossible with the characters discussing. 

“And if he does, he’ll end up like Misuk and a trillion of other people, that’s the course of life”, Yeosang was on his two feet now in the other side of the room serving himself a glass of water. My lips trembled as I was barely containing myself from the rage, he always had that facility to say things without affecting him, he seemed so nonchalant about death, about love, about fun, about every fucking thing in this life…I cleared my throat and rather watch the others’ faces than his. 

“Who’s with him? Yunho? Hwa?”, I asked fisting my hands. Did Seonghwa accept to go along Jongho and show him the place where we bury her? Was he ready to do that?

“Mingi”, San replied after a long sigh and I looked him back with panic written all over my face.

“What the fuck?!”

“He insisted”, he explained scratching the back of his neck. Wooyoung whispered something to Yeosang and Hongjoong tapped his food nervously on the floor. 

“Do you realize their chances are low, right? They need protection, our protection”, a faint of sore throat started to appear when my voice came out stronger than I thought. I felt like the mother of naughty children running after them and scolding them one by one. 

“They’ll be fine, Ji, they’re adults. Stop worrying”, the black haired boy responded one more time, almost like a mumble. 

“Fuck you, San, I can’t just...  back off from this! Jongho is going to Misuk’s death spot and all he’s gonna find is nothing but dust. We-”

The basement door opened suddenly making me jump from surprise. All five heads turned to that direction just to find Yunho and Seonghwa carrying some firewood and water. 

“We started the fire on the watchtower so the others around would be more careful”, Seonghwa stated and Hongjoong patted his shoulder. Yunho joined us by sitting on the couch with a tired face. 

I frowned hearing that new, every time silence engulfed the basement, my heart beats became louder and faster to a point that made me dizzy. 

“You were saying…” Hongjoong muttered gesturing me to keep talking. I blinked a few times and licked my lips. Seonghwa looked at me with a frowned, I just ignored it. 

“We moved what was left of her body…”, I sighed and watched a specific black spot on the ground, not knowing what type of faces the guys would make to that information. “We buried her in a better place, somewhere to be missed and honoured.” My hands found their place into my jean pockets and I closed my eyes, maybe I could calm my heart taking deep breaths. 

So I did.  

“Where’s that?”, that question… that fucking question that I didn’t want to answer. 

“Near Lee’s Valley…”, Seonghwa spoke after he realized I wasn’t going to say it out loud. 

“You carried a dead body to Lee’s Valley without us?! Are you fucking crazy?!” Wooyoung’s calming presence just left the chat and we welcomed the angry and enraged Woo. 

“Nothing happened”, simply as that, Hongjoong had a concerned look on his face, San nibbled the skin of his left thumb while Seonghwa looked at me with sad eyes, Yeosang pressed his lips together showing angry eyes and Yunho intertwined his own hands with his elbows on his knees.  

“Don’t you ever go there again, Jiyeong. You know what they did with that boy, the freckles boy” Wooyoung warned. 

“Yongbok?” San asked with a quick look to his friend. 

“He’s alive” Hongjoong assured. 

“Cause he’s a Lee” Yunho added cooling the air. 

 “Yunho, shut up, please” Hongjoong shook his head. 

“It’s the truth, you only survive if you’re related” Yunho defended the statement and nodded. Then, he rested his back on the couch. 

“Jongho and Mingi would never find her without our help, I can’t believe you ruined everything we’ve been working this months just to let a potential prey be killed”, my nostrils let out the heavy breathes I was taking to stop me from bursting into tears, even if I wasn’t yelling, the hardness of my voice almost scared me, I wasn’t aware of how the different scenarios lived today could change my mood so sudden. San noticed the shift of my emotions and frowned.   

“He wants to pay respect to his dead girlfriend”, he mentioned taking one step in front of me. 

I needed to rest, I needed to go back to my glowing fantasy and be happy, no worries, no headaches.  Why are my eyes hurting so much? Why are they throbbing? Everything was burning.   

“When the hell did they start dating?”, I muttered becoming exhausted about that. 

“You’ll realized more about things if you weren’t so oblivious” Yeosang’s words came out bluntly, his sharp features judging every second I spoke.

“I’m concerned about the things that matter the most and you know it's surviving.”

“Well, maybe some people think that if we’re surviving, maybe we could start from zero with someone else”, he replied again leaning on the kitchen short countertop.

“Did you hear yourself right now? Did you guys heard that?”, my feet stepped closer to Yeosang, he hide a little smirk and my blood boiled. What is he trying to play? We finally decided to make peace and he’s ruining the whole fucking thing.

“We all need love, Jiyeong, even the girl obsessed with aliens knew it”, now it was San’s words that startled me.

I froze in the middle of the living room, a few steps near Yeosang, a few steps near San. 

Silence.

Everything fell silent after that and it felt awfully wrong. Why is this happening right now? Couldn’t he just wait until all of us joined him on the road? This situations complicated the whole plan, this brought the worst of all of us together. We were tense, we were worrying too much about the boys. Well, I was. We talked about leaving to Wonderland that day, why did Jongho and Mingi have to go when they knew the plan. Why was everything so difficult?

Interpersonal relationships should improve in a world full of disaster, fear and few quality of life options. People should trust each other, give everything for the other knowing that any time could become the last time... no, there is no way to think about anything other than survival, there is ... no… 

Hongjoong's eyes were switched between Yeosang and me, he wanted to prevent any other fight that was about to happen. Yeosang had the singularity of saying things very direct, without shame, without caring about others’ feelings as long as he didn’t feel affected or destroyed inside. Although, the truth could be quite the opposite and perhaps only sought attention to his own loneliness. However, my approach to the extreme of some situations was due to how fragile I used to be. Human beings can develop new masks to problems to avoid showing vulnerability, and there we were, trying to avoid buried feelings to emerge victoriously from an argument which end will always be brutal for everyone.

“I’m going out”, I said firmly. San’s hand found his way once again to my wrist. No, there is no fucking way to… no… Why does his hand feels like that…?

“You can’t! That’s why Hongjoong went to look out for you… after they left, Wooyoung heard some noises outside…”, Yunho spoke rational this time. His panicked voice made me stop on my way. Or was it they way San was looking at me with begging eyes? No, it definitely wasn’t… Shit.

“I don’t fucking care, they are in great danger and it’s your fault, so let me fix this…”

“No”, San stated this time. His gripped tighten a little more, without hurting.

“I need to fix this, please…”, that came out almost like a whimper. Seonghwa walked next to me and squeezed my arms while his big and deep blue eyes looked at me with determination. 

 “Until we can assure there's no more danger, no one gets out, clear?” he ordered calmly but certain that I’d respect the decision. 

“You can’t tell me what to do”, I yanked from his and San’s grip, finally free but not stepping aside. 

“You’re acting like a kid”, Yeosang whispered and rolled his eyes. That’s it, that’s my mark… 

“I’m acting like a kid? You are the one who rathers talk about relationships when it’s the end of the fucking world and our main priority is Wonderland!”, I turned abruptly to him almost hitting his face with the braids of my hair. Yeosang flinched but didn’t step back.

“We’ve survived for almost 500 days since the attack and people live their lives as if nothing happened, maybe we should do the same instead of pursuing a place we heard months ago”, the tip of his feet touched mine, I scoffed.

“You know what? Shit happened! Our families died, our friends died! We are so lucky to be alive right now and you just let our friends go to their death wish!”, my voice trembled at the end, getting weak at the sensation of tears forming in my eyes. 

“Both of you, calm down” Hongjoong muttered watching carefully our movements. I lowered my head, not wanting to face Yeosang’s stearn.

“I just want to fix this, I can’t let them die like I did with Misuk…”, I whispered fisting my hands and feeling the lump in my throat. I felt guilty already, this situation was also my fault. If Misuk hadn’t died that day, Jongho and Mingi would be home safe and sound with us.

“Jiyeong… you know it’s not your fault, we talked about this”, Wooyoung reassured smoothly, probably everyone was looking at me with sadness and concerned… I hated it. I wanted them to say it was indeed my fault, I really wanted to hear from them that my actions had consequences, that with every step forward I take, I go backwards thousands more. It was hideous being  the only one realizing the facts and not treating the guilty with compassion. 

“I’d rather be in her place than feeling the constant guilt eating me alive…” I heard how Yeosang clicked his tongue and left out a loud groan full of frustration.  

“Could you please behave yourself and stop being such a whining selfish bitch?”

Everyone flinched at the words that came out of his mouth. Yunho gasped in surprised while San clenched his jaw and was about to grab Yeosang’s shirt if it wasn’t for my arm hitting his chest to stop him. 

I was a little startled, yet I knew Yeosang would explode quickly at my words. I just couldn’t believe he’d call me like that. 

“What did you just say?”, I frowned and tilted my head a little to the side. Yeosang’s eyes scanned my face and pursed his lips again. 

“You’ve been such a crybaby since last week and it’s exhausting... We appreciate the care you had for Misuk, but life goes on, it’s time to grow up”, his voice was gentle this time, perhaps he noticed how rushed it came out for having everyone so dumbfounded. 

“Yeosang…” San started between his teeth, Yeosang interrupted stepping back. 

“Am I wrong? You all said this morning when she was out that she needed to calm down and be more rational about the situation”, his eyes traveled to every face in the basement, some of them had wide eyes and uneased faces. San and Seonghwa were madder than the others, though. “You said that if she wanted to keep going, she had to stop acting so depressed and be responsible for her actions.”

“We never said that!” Wooyoung suddenly interrupted with sharp tone, he was outrageous.  

“You did” San spatted, eyes never leaving Yeosang’s. 

“Nobody argued with me, tho. Nobody changed my mind, so you agreed indirectly with me that she’s being a whiny selfish girl ” Yeosang cleared, a smirk showing up in his face. 

Silence surrounded us one more time. Nobody argued with him, huh? I licked my lips slowly and stepped closer to Yeosang. He tensed for a second when the tip of our noses touched, but then, his features relax slightly as he tried to wipe a tiny tear streaming down my face. I slapped his hand and he flinched. I wasn’t calm at all and they’ve already watched my tears streamed from my face too much, so I cleaned my face quickly.

“Why won’t you go and fuck yourself...”, I firmly said watching his eyes. Yeosang retained his breath and gulped at my serious statement. 

After that,I walked away bumping into Seonghwa’s shoulder and entered the bathroom. I opened the shower so the noise of the running water would covered the talk outside. I felt my body drained with tiredness by the uptight situation, all I wanted was take care of them the way the always did with me but why was it so difficult? I sat on the cold floor resting my back on the wall next to the sink and let my mind travel with anything but Yeosang’s words. What would Haerin do…? Would we be in this situation if she was still alive? No… she was too smart, she could help us with this… I only seem strong but after 400 days of this mess, I can only be torn apart by the words of a friend… Yeosang was right, I was being a selfish bitch worrying about only surviving and not noticing the way people felt around. I always thought that keeping our feelings to us made us stronger, made us brave and unstoppable. I was wrong once again…  

I felt left alone, the voices in my head became louder and louder touching my nerves. Why all my decisions ended up so bad? Was I really that bad? How would the boys feel? How would Seonghwa feel? I never asked him how affected he was, I only knew he felt kind of anxious so far. The pressure that was on my shoulders became heavier with every step I took and I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was totally unaware of my own feelings too… My main focus was Wonderland, was keeping everyone safe but at what cost? I was the last person to know about Jongho and Misuk, she had to die for me to realized it. This is so messed up. 

My sobs became stronger even if I wanted to stifle the noise with the water coming out of the shower. I felt pathetic, crying didn't change anything, my tears didn't bring Misuk back, or Lucas, or Haerin, or my family ... That's another reason why I didn't like to cry, it was useless. Eventually I would realize that I was damaging my interpersonal relationships because of my shield, that shield that tried to protect me from people who could use my vulnerability as a lethal weapon. However, I never realized that none of them would do such atrocity, except in such an extremist situation.

Two knocks on the door startled me and I turned off the shower. 

“Jiyeong?”, San’s voice came through the other side slightly. I didn’t answer.  

“Jiyeong, please, open up…”, I rested my forehead on the other side of the door and took a deep breath. 

“What do you want?”, I managed to say without a broken tone, despite the tears rolling through my face uncontrollably. 

“Can I come in?”, he asked pulling at the locked knob. My hand followed it and grabbed it strongly. 

“Can’t you use the other bathroom?”, I whispered, now a little bit quieter. 

“I don’t want to use it, I want to see you…”, he mumbled. A minute later he said louder, “shit, just open up, Ji…”, his voice transformed from gentler to an exasperated one. Before I could think, my body reacted first and unlocked the door. San entered the bathroom closing the door behind him and locking it again. I took a few steps back and sat again on the floor. San watched me do my thing and got himself comfortable by my side.

“Sorry about that…”, his hands played with the braids of his shoes while his eyes roamed the bathroom walls, he seemed nervous somehow. 

“What are you apologizing for…?”, I frowned and tilted my head to the side. His eyes met mine for a second.

“When Yeosang talked about you like that, I couldn’t say anything to defend you because-”

“Because you know it’s true…”, I finished his sentence as he left out a groan.

“I only agreed with the part of you being selfish, unaware of how people feel towards this whole end-of-the-world situation…”, his eyes met the walls again as I continue scanning his features.  

“I’m the one who feels sorry about everything…”, I whispered too caught up of his cheekbones. Did they always look that prominent? He has dark eye bags… Why does he look so tired and skinny but at the same time so full of shine and fit? I didn’t know anything about what was going on inside his mind, I never asked him how he felt or how was his day recollecting supplies. Guilt pressed my chest one more time as I understand I was a really bad person for not caring about the others around me. I blinked my watery eyes rapidly and San looked at the gesture with a sad smile. 

“Don’t be afraid to cry, Jiyeong…”, his voice always sounded so good when he had that look on his face, when he looked like he cared. 

“It doesn’t help with anything…”, I sniffed and torned my sight apart from his. He giggled and something inside me sparkled vaguely, like a soft tickle or a finger pressed into my stomach momentanly.  

“It actually work in a cathartic way, you know? It liberates you from sadness sometimes…”, why does he keep looking at me like that? What’s with that soft smile…? Saying I was confused would be an understatement, but San was a character that I couldn’t comprehend too much. He could be a very easy-going man which you can open up your heart and he’ll listen to every preoccupation you had. And sometimes he could be the Devil expecting you to die and join him in hell just to make you suffer… or maybe I was exaggerating things. Likewise, he could be gentle and a great friend, also a asshole when he wanted to act narcissist.

We remained silent for like an hour (it was actually thirty seconds), and he spoke again. 

“Yeosang is just upset, you know… after watching you with Hwa the other night and now with Hongjoong…”

“What do you mean?”, my voice came out as a whisper and San moved closer, his shoulder bumped into mine, his warmth skin felt slightly pleasant against mine. 

“Well, me too but… Yeosang is jealous”, I couldn’t find the meaning of the first phrase, yet my eyebrows knitted.

“He’s a dick, that’s what he is”, I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest. San chuckled, his eyes disappearing in crescent moons. 

“Yeah, that too”, he agreed. 

“Why is he, tho…jealous I mean ”, I asked still intrigued about it. The black haired boy licked his lips and started.  

“Before everything happened, before the meteor and the monsters showed up, before silence covered the Earth and we were obligated to remain silence, Yeosang was dating someone…”, my eyes widened with the news, I would've never thought about that by myself.  “Remember when he was talking with someone over the phone one of the nights at the church and he started to breath like if he was having asma?”, I nodded. “Well, he heard them dying on the other side of the line…” 

“W-what…”, a gasp escaped my mouth in surprise. How would he...-?

“Yeosang’s upset because he knows you have opportunities but won’t give it a chance…”, San’s eyes rested on mine for a seconds, then he broke the gaze making me yearn for his orbes to see me again. “He would do anything to see his significant other alive, Jiyeong, and he’s mad at your oblivious ass…”, he finished resting the back of his head on the bathroom wall with eyes closed. Even though he seemed exhausted, he looked like a whole piece of art that I would love to paint someday… Oh… what should I respond to that…?

“I… I don’t know what you mean, tho. I don’t see opportunities, I only think about one thing and-”

“Yeah, we been knew… keeping us alive”, he laughed dryly and left out a deep sight. For a few minutes we sat there without a word. At the other side of the door Hongjoong and Yeosang’s voices echoed faintly, nonetheless I was focusing on San’s breathing next to me. He sounded calmed, almost asleep and it brought a little peace in my disturbed mind. If I wanted to express more, I needed to talk more about what I thought and I San was there in a bathroom floor, willing to wait for me to feel better, maybe it was the right time for just a start…

“I-...”

Three knots on the bathroom door made us jerked up and the soft voice of Seonghwa calmed my heart. 

“San, is she okay?”, the older asked with a concerned tone, almost like a whisper. San stood up on his feet and gave me a hand to do the same. “Can you guys get out? We need to rest, tomorrow is the big day”. I quickly washed my face in the sink and San was about to open the door when he questioned:

“What were you gonna say?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I remember”, a soft chuckled resonated in the place as. He nodded, not very sure if it was true and opened the door for Seonghwa. The black haired man had a anxious look on his face and he waited for San to go out of the bathroom to wrap me instead in his arms. 

“Jiyeong…”

“Let’s not talk about it”, I immediately said getting as far as I could of him with a soft tone. “We need to rest and go find our boys, Seonghwa, we’ll talk when we get them…”, he remained there after I entered my room with the door locked. Tomorrow would be the beginning of our journey to Wonderland, the nerves were already up in everyone’s body after the heated argument I caused and we needed to avoid negativity once again.  The only thing in my mind was San, Mingi and Jongho. I don’t remember being worried about the three of them at the same time, but somehow San slipped through my mind even if I didn’t want him there.

(...)

Masterlist

[taetaespeaches]

You opening request? If yes can you make songfic based on taylor swift you belong with me? The member can be jimin or jin, you pick it. Thanks!!😁

“Dolly Parton’s a real jerk, huh?”

Jin x Reader

Word count: 2.7K

a/n: So this is very loosely based on “You Belong With Me”. It mostly just uses the general idea of the song and the whole “Hey isn’t this easy,” line. I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for reading :) 

The rain was getting heavier, drops increasing in amount and weight as they drummed against the car roof and windows. Pulling up behind the Big Hit dance studios, you opened up your messages, tapping on the most recent conversation, finding your way to the call option. You put the phone on speaker, the ring back tone echoing throughout your car as you leaned over the center console to rid the passenger seat of your junk- various papers, a few food wrappers, your gym clothes, and a water bottle.

“Jesus, I need to clean this,” you mumbled to yourself, “I’m disgus–”

“Hello?” Jin’s voice cut you and the ring back tone off.

“Hey, I’m here,” you replied happily. “Out back.”

“Ok, we’re packing up now,” Jin spoke into the phone, seemingly distracted.Sitting back in the driver’s seat, you looked out the front window, focusing on the patter of raindrops against the glass. “Yeah, cool, I’ll be here,” you said, pushing down on the windshield wiper switch, sending the blades into a single swipe. “Wanna get some snacks bef–” Jin abruptly hung up the phone, making you flinch at the sudden silence. Scrunching your face in confusion, you began to think that maybe tonight you wouldn’t be getting your fun, carefree best friend.

After a few minutes went by, the doors of the building opened up, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jimin pouring out, all hurriedly headed towards the same vehicle to escape the rain as Jin, sporting a hoodie with the hood up, hung behind them, breaking away to head to you. The others waved to you, flashing small apologetic smiles, you waving back tentatively. What the fuck happened?

When Jin opened up your backdoor, a water bottle that was lodged against the backdoor rolled out, bouncing on the wet street near his feet. “Jesus, you really need to clean this,” Jin told you with a huff, throwing his practice bag across your seats before bending over to grab the water bottle, tossing it onto your car floor, pushing your door shut. You pouted as he opened the passenger side door, hopping inside the vehicle, grabbing the seatbelt, pulling it across his body, clicking it into place, all while not sparing you a single glance.

“Um, hi?” You questioned, your tone laced with confusion and sass. Jin slowly turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows at your expression and tone.The gears visibly turned in Jin’s head, as he strategically decided his next move.

“Hi love,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, which you took notice of.

“Hi love?” You mocked. “You come into my car clearly in a bad mood, criticize my cleanliness, and then toss me a hi love?” You were teasing, your tone dripping in dramatics, but you were studying his features as he let out a light chuckle. “Ok, what’s up?” Jin’s eyebrows pulled together as he looked at you, avoiding meeting your eyes. You cocked your head as you observed him. “You seem off,” you frowned, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head slightly, Jin looked ahead, watching the raindrops trickle onto the windshield, streaming down the glass, collecting into larger drops of water.

“Just dance practice,” he sighed, “Stressed me out.”

Leaning forward, you tried to catch his gaze. “Nothing else?” When Jin responded with a little head shake, you hummed. “You know what this calls for?” Your best friend looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Sad Bitch Hours.”

Reaching for your phone, Jin let out a breathy chuckle. “What bops do you have in store for us tonight?”

“Oh, you’ll find out, just you wait,” you said as you looked over your shoulder out the window to check for oncoming traffic before pulling onto the street. As “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac filled the car, a smile spread across Jin’s face. You snuck a glance at him, smiling when you saw his expression. “There’s my boy,” you cooed with a fond grin, causing him to bashfully snicker, shaking his head as red tinted his cheeks and ears.

“Sweet wonderful you,” you sang with the song with a little shoulder shimmy, causing a small breathy chuckle to escape Jin’s lips. “You make me happy with the things you do.” Looking to Jin for a moment, you smiled widely before whining, “Jinnie,” you dragged out his name. “Sing with me,” you giggled.

As you sang along with the chorus, Jin started to bob his head to the groovy beat. When the guitar solo kicked in, Jin couldn’t hold back from rocking out.“Ooh, Rocker Jin, get it,” you cheered, bursting into giggles. Watching Jin fully commit himself to the guitar solo, arms in position as his left hand slid along the imagined frets, his fingers wildly moving along the non-existent strings, you couldn’t help but think how easy it was to just be with him. Even when one of you was in a mood, neither of you could ever stay upset for too long when around each other.

Returning your focus to the road, you nodded towards the small convenience store to your right. “Hey, I’m gonna stop up here for snacks.” Jin nodded as he finished out his guitar solo, both of you joining in on singing the chorus.When the second verse kicked in, Jin’s singing faded out as he watched you groove, your head smoothly moving from side to side to the beat, your voice belting it out with Christine McVie.

Don’t break the spell,It would be different and you know it will,You make loving fun, And I don’t have to tell you but you’re the only one.

Too into your jam session and your focus on driving the vehicle, you didn’t see the mix of a sad expression and an adoring smile plastered to your best friend’s face. Straightening his form, he settled further into his seat as he kept his gaze on you. 

The outro of the song played out as you pulled into the convenience store lot. Parking the car, you looked at Jin, who was already staring back at you. Eyes widening, you pointed to the store. “You coming with?” Shaking his head, he pouted his lips in a frown. Eyeing his features for a moment, you could feel your heart break, knowing there was something wrong but also knowing he wasn’t planning on opening up any time soon. 

With a sigh, you unclicked your seatbelt. “Want anything in particular?” You stared out the windshield as your mind raced over the possibilities of what could be wrong with your best friend.

“No, I’m good,” he said, making you turn to look at him. “You always choose the best stuff anyway,” he said with a small smile. If you were anyone else, you may not have noticed the heaviness in his tone, reflecting the heaviness in his mind.

“Yeah, I have good taste, huh?” You smirked, opening the car door as the piano intro to Dolly Parton’s “Here You Come Again” started playing.

“Dolly Parton?” Jin asked in confusion, you staring at him blankly. “Since when is Dolly on Sad Bitch Hours?”

“Hey, Dolly speaks to my soul,” you shrugged, hopping out of the car. “Yeehaw bitch,” and with that, you slammed the door shut, leaving Jin alone to fondly gawk at you and your antics.

Jin settled into his seat, blowing on the cold passenger window, drawing little squiggly lines on the glass as the song played.

He tried not to think about you and what the 95s had told him not even twenty minutes ago, he really did. But as the song went on, he slowly starting to process the lyrics.

All you gotta do is smile that smile,And there go all my defenses.Just leave it up to you and in a little while,You’re messing up my mind,And filling up my senses.

He pressed the previous button on your car stereo, restarting the song. The piano intro started sounding as he focused in on the song, staring at the stereo.

Here you come againJust when I’ve begun to get myself together.You waltz right in the door,Just like you’ve done beforeAnd wrap my heart ‘round your little finger.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until you ripped the car door open exclaiming you got all the way to the candy aisle before you realized you didn’t have your wallet. “Fuck, I’m a mess, I really need to get my shit—Jinnie?” Your voice got quiet as you stared at Jin, his eyes wide and pointed at you, cheeks damp as more tears built up on his water line.

“Jin, why are you crying?” You stood frozen, in shock, rain drenching your form though you hardly took notice.

“Huh?” Jin snapped into consciousness, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I’m not.”

“Jin,” you started, “my love, you’ve got to talk to me.” Finally coming to terms with what was happening, you hopped inside the vehicle, shutting the door and turning your full attention to your best friend.

“Dolly Parton’s a real jerk, huh?” He said with a small laugh as more tears appeared in his beautiful orbs.

“You’re crying because of the song?”

Shaking his head, he waved you off. “No, I’m just stressed, the song must have hit me weird tonight. I’m ok,” he forced a small smile in a poor attempt to assure you.

“Ok, you’re my best friend, I love you, you are not ok,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm, only to have him pull away. He saw the hurt flash across your face at his action and he felt all control and resolve crumble.

“You belong with me,” he said suddenly. It was whispered but it rang loud and clear in your ears, however you couldn’t hold back the shocked “what?” that slipped out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He said louder, this time accompanied by an angry tone.

Flinching a bit at his change in resonance, you pulled your eyebrows together. “Tell you what? What is going on?”

“That you’re seeing someone,” he yelled, not at you but out of frustration.

“Huh?” You said in utter confusion. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?”

You looked around the car as if you were searching the perimeter for answers to your own question. “Wait, did you say I belong with you?” You asked in surprise, suddenly hit with the meaning behind those whispered words. Dolly’s voice faded out as the song ended, though neither of you noticed.

Jin looked at you sadly, defeated, as Rick James’ “Give It To Me Baby” started playing through the car speakers, still neither of you taking notice. “It’s so easy with us,” he spoke quietly, tears welling up again, your eyes mimicking his.

“Jin–”

“You talked to Tae and Jimin about some dude you were interested in,” he explained in a sudden loud voice. “Why were you keeping it from me?”

Realization slowly came to you, resulting in a scoff escaping your lips when you figured out what had happened.

“Did they tell you that at practice tonight? That I talked to them about some dude? That I’m seeing someone?” You chuckled, shaking your head, your focus shifting to the two morons, momentarily getting distracted from Jin and the possible confession that just took place.

“Why are you laughing?” He asked you, hurt written in his features.

“Because those two morons are as big of idiots as you are, jesus Jin, you think I wouldn’t tell you if I was seeing someone?” You looked at him with scrutinizing eyes.

“You didn’t tell me though—”

“What did they say?” You asked impatiently, already preparing yourself to kick their asses next time you saw them.

Jin looked at you a bit taken aback at your hasty tone. “What? Th-they,” Jin stuttered. “You asked Jimin about some guy. Him and Tae said you’re dating him.”

“Ok, first of all, I didn’t even willingly talk to them, they practically forced me to after they caught me pathetically watching you play guitar.”

Jin’s look of confusion only set further in as he repeated your words, “Watching me play–”

“Second of all, I only told them that there is a guy I like, that’s it. They came up with all the other shit on their own, I guess they have some wild imaginations,” you said frustratedly. “How the fuck could they have even gotten all of this so wrong? I was literally pining after you right in front of their eyes, it was obvious what guy I–”

“Pining after me?” Jin’s eyes practically bulged out of his head as he tried to figure out if he was somehow hearing things, officially having gone mad, or if you somehow actually just said those words.

“I didn’t tell you I’m interested in someone because I didn’t think you felt the same way,” you confessed quietly.

Jin stared at you blankly as his mind carefully considered everything that just happened. “You like me?” He asked for clarification, wanting to be completely sure before he prompted his next question.

“I do,” you told him genuinely, your eyes locked on his own.

Nodding slowly, he took a few seconds to process. “Can I kiss you?”

It felt as though the oxygen within the cab of the car disappeared as you nodded quickly, a whispered, “Yes,” slipping from your vocal cords.

Leaning towards you, he placed a hand on the side of your neck, fingertips digging into your wet hair, his thumb brushing over your jawline. Your mouths were a mere inch away from each other, your noses bumping together as he rubbed his against yours, a small smile on his face, before he tilted his head opposite to yours and connected his lips with your own.

As soon as his plump lips met your own, the oxygen rushed back into your lungs and you felt more alive than you think you ever had before. He deepened the kiss and you happily responded, getting lost in the moment, the rain still pattering against the car, and him, kissing you after all that time.

Interrupting the intimacy, Jin groaned, “this song,” as he chuckled into the kiss. “Why is this song playing right now?” He shook his head lightly still laughing as you pressed small pecks to his lips and the corners of his mouth.

“This is our song now you know,” you teased, giggling against his lips. Jin’s hand cradled the back of your head, pulling you more firmly against his mouth, kissing you hard.

“Absolutely not,” he mumbled into the kiss.

“We’re gonna have our first dance to this at our wedding,” you continued to laugh at yourself causing Jin to pull back just enough to see your face clearly. 

“Already planning our wedding?” He smiled widely. “You really have been pining after me huh?”

Groaning, you turned away from him, pulling your seatbelt back on. “Nevermind, call it off,” you said as you positioned one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift as you pretended to prepare to drive. “You ruined it,” you joked, a smile toying on your lips. Jin laughed loudly as he leaned over the console, placing a hand to the side of your face turning you towards him, capturing you in a needy kiss. You responded easily, your hand moving off the gear shift to grab at the material of his hoodie, your lips moving perfectly with his.

It was always so easy with him. Almost as if you really did belong with each other.

“You’re all wet,” he suddenly spoke, pulling back a bit.

“Jesus, you’ve got a filthy mouth,” you teased, Jin sighing as he flashed an embarassed smile. “Give it to me, baby,” you giggled, sliding your hand from his chest to his neck, holding your palm against the warm skin.

“Stop it,” he laughed, shaking his head, his face tinted red. “I just meant we should head to the dorm so you can–”

“Nuh uh,” you interrupted. “If I go to the dorm and see those two idiots I’m going to kick some ass and I don’t want to do that tonight. Tomorrow maybe, but not tonight,” you smiled as you put the car into drive, pulling out of the parking lot.

Jin strapped his seat belt, laughing at you fondly. “Ok, to yours we go then.”

So fucking easy.

[ryik-the-writer]

Chapter 26 - Temporary Fix

[A03]

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story) Chapter 3: Day One Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress Chapter 7: Operation Spotless! Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1 Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2 Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground Chapter 14. Recovery Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more Chapter 15: Trapped Chapter 16: Filth Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1 Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2 Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 1 Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2                                         Chapter 21:  The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3                                         Chapter 22: Reflections pt. 1                                                                       Chapter 23: Reflections pt. 2

Chapter 24: Closing

Chapter 25: Felix is helping Pan

So guess what…

THIS BITCH FINALLY GOT A JOB AND HER OWN PLACE TO LIVE!!

HELL YEAH!!

So slight negative note on that: that kind of means updating is going to be REALLY slow for a while. The place I moved to, while really nice, is kind of out of my budget and I am pulling as many hours as possible to pay for it and such.

On top of that, the place doesn’t have internet and I’m trying to see what my budget will look like after I pay bills so I can consider getting my own (which I really need as a writer and as a journalist).

So just know, I’m not giving up on any of my stories. I’ve just started a new chapter of my life and have to let the ink dry before I can pick up my old interests.

Anyway, here’s Papers and Sleuthers…

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Wendy half-heartedly checked that she had her notepad full of her old notes before she locked up to head to Peter’s. If he started acting up she could use her lack of supplies as an excuse to slip out. She truly hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted this week to be a sort of awakening for them, a chance to finally pull the hatchet away from each other’s throats.

She was linked to him now in the worse way. They’d been through hell together so many times but it hadn’t done anything to shift their relationship into a more stable light. Perhaps if they took the chaos out of the equation something would change. Things really needed to.

She found herself checking her hair as she exited her apartment before she chastised herself. This was an after-hours investigation, not a date!

Wendy scoffed as she locked her door. Her and Pan on a date? What a nightmarish thought!

She grimaced when she reached his door, the unpleasant memory of confronting him the day Mother Superior died still vividly fresh.

“Tosser,” Wendy muttered, wanting to call him something much crueler. However, learning to tolerate him now that they were going to be in close proximity for an unknown amount of time might be beneficial.

With that, she took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.

There was a light thud behind the wood before it opened, a wild Pan greeting her with a sharp once-over.

“You’re wearing that road-kill?” he scoffed, pointing harshly at her feathered sweater that had been more than appropriate for the weather.

So much for patience.

“Shove it,” Wendy hissed, pushing him into his trashed living room.

“The hell happened in here?”

Pan circled her, not answering, and pulled a giant marker board from the kitchen.

“I’ve started putting some notes together,” he said, adding a picture of Cruella de Vil on the board.

“Um…” Wendy started, her heart speeding up at the site of their old nemesis. “Where are we starting?”

Pan pondered at the start of his chaos. “From the beginning. The devil woman is our best bet. Somehow she set all of this off.”

“How do you figure that?” Wendy inquired.

Pan passed a folder over his shoulder to her, eyes still trained on the board.

Wendy shifted through its components, her gut dropping at the various photos of the dog murderer.

Her brow wrinkled in thought as she went through de Vil’s information. Exact date and location of birth unknown, though her last address was in Manchester…with her now-deceased husband. Wendy whistled at the rap sheet of her marriages. Four times, all but her last ending in death (the last abruptly ended in divorce following a major arrest of the husband.)

There was a scan of her passport as well, signifying that she had been in the country at least six months before she kidnapped Storybrooke’s dogs.

“Why here?” Wendy wondered aloud. “Why Storybrooke, and why dognapping? It’s such a cartoonish villain move.”

“Except in cartoons the villains wouldn’t bleed the dogs out and turn their skins into coats,” Pan muttered, back still to her.

“Coats?” Wendy gasped, the mental image making her stomach twist.

“Last page in the file,”

Wendy balanced the folder to find the page and blinked at the printed out copy of a news article before her.

MANCHESTER WOMAN CHARGED WITH 13 COUNTS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY

Wendy gulped at the picture of the drunk-looking mugshot of de Vil, her intense eyes seeming to stare right at Wendy, as if blaming her for her past crime.

 A local woman is being charged with the kidnapping and death of several dogs.

The dogs, all of Dalmatian and mixed Dalmatian breeds, were taken out of the Manchester and Liverpool areas within a three week period, according to authorities.

The woman, identified as 39-year-old Cruella de Vil, was apprehended at an abandoned windmill outside of the Liverpool area where over 20 dogs were being kept. Upon her arrest animal control discovered the mutilated remains of eight dogs. The remaining five dogs very rushed to the Wrightsville Veterinarian clinic for emergency treatment, and are expected to survive.

De Vil is being held at the Wrightsville Police Station without bail.

This story will be updated as more information becomes available.

Wendy checked the date of the incident to find that Cruella committed her first act three years ago. She shifted to Pan’s slightly cleared off the counter to spread out the devil woman’s file and located an additional article.

MANCHESTER DOGNAPPER TRIAL UNDERWAY

The trial Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil will begin Monday morning.

De Vil was charged with 13 counts of animal cruelty following the torture and murder of several dogs in January.

De Vil’s lawyer originally declined to comment of her client’s state for her case, but De Vil stated to the press before being led to the jail: “I’m not worried, Darlings. Who would sentence a woman in diamonds?”

Wendy snorted. Now that was quality journalism! She flipped to the next article.

‘DEVIL WOMAN’ CRUELLA DE VIL EXPOSES PLOT FOR DOGS DURING TRAIL

Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil stated during her trial that she abducted the Dalmatians with the purpose of using their pelts for ‘the perfect coat’.

De Vil continued to go into great detail about how she mutilated the dogs ‘when it was their time’, much to the disturbance to the court.

“I took one pup by his stringy little tail and hoisted him up,” de Vil, who was clothed in an elaborate gown and furs, detailed, “The little bugger wouldn’t stop squealing, even after I slashed his throat open.”

Evidence shows that De Vil had dozens of sketches for coats not just for the Dalmatians she abducted, but also for poodle and Shi Tzu breeds. The sketches also showed plans for various muffs, boots, and glove items.

When asked what she was going to do with all the coats, De Vil said, “Why, wear them of course! I’ll be the envy of every bitch at the social club.”

 De Vil's criminal record includes dozens of speeding tickets and two cases of vehicle homicide attempts. Records show that De Vil was acquitted for both cases and never paid off the tickets.

De Vil’s sentence trial will be held in October. Until then De Vil will be held in Manchester Sanitarium for the Mentally Unwell for further observation.

Wendy sighed in exhaustion. What a story! How could someone so heinous be so close to her neck of the woods?

The other articles were faded from an obvious lack of printer ink, but Wendy was able to make out enough from the headlines to guess what happened next.

De Vil was sentenced to two years in a different sanitarium that specialized in disorders like her. She was deemed “cured” after a year and released due to a special project. She left for America right afterward for a “fresh start”.

“Oh she stared fresh alright,” Wendy commented.

“Great,” Pan said from the board. “You’re where I was thirty minutes ago. Let me know when you get where I’m at now.”

Wendy resisted throwing De Vil’s folder at his head.

“I don’t think there’s anywhere else to go with this one,” Wendy pointed out.  “She went crazy, killed a bunch of animals, ran here and started all over again. That’s really it.”

“But the motive!” Pan growled, looking her dead in the eye. Desperate. “There had to be something else. Maybe she was working for someone or trying to start a multi-dognapping franchise here or…”

Wendy edged back at the desperation in his voice. He was grasping at straws, but there were none left for him in this case.

“Pan,” Wendy tried carefully, “There’s nothing left,”

“How the hell would you know!” He shouted.

“Because sometimes people are just bad,” she shouted back. “Sometimes they do a few terrible things just to do them! There doesn’t have to be a reason or a great scheme behind their actions! They just cause chaos and kill over!” with a spike of adrenaline, she stepped up to him, feeling his hearted pounding in the buzzing air.

“Don’t they?”

Pan twitched, glaring at her with a raw sense of hatred.

Wendy thought for a moment he might throw her out, and she really didn’t want him to. Pan had to see logic, had to stop filling his mind with information that just wasn’t there, and she couldn’t just run off and leave him to fill in such non-existent gaps. 

He’s scared. He’s frustrated. He needs to be kept busy.

With a deep breath, she stepped back to locate one of the other boxes on the couch, tensing a bit when she saw Jekyll’s name on the cardboard.

“We can start with him now,” she said, pulling out a folder.

In a flash, Pan slapped it out of her hand.

 Wendy gasped and brought her stinging hand to her chest where a shallow papercut was surfacing, staring at Pan.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, looking just as surprised as she did.

It was the closest thing to an apology she would get from him, she knew, and she expected it, but it still did not stop her from hating him.

“What is your problem!” she yelled as she sucked the blood from her stinging cut.

“Nothing,” Pan defended, though he was tenser than a tightly wound spring.

Wendy looked him over, trying to pinpoint the root of his harsh mood. Of course, going through their old cases was certainly stressful, with the memories that surfaced as they saw photos of their former nemesis faces…

Ah.

She stared at Jekyll’s case box where the corner of his photo was just peeking out, turning Wendy’s stomach.

Gods know what the site of him was doing to Pan.

The journalist stepped away, twisting to pick up de Vil’s box.

“What about her lackey’s?” Wendy inquired, picking through her file.  She didn’t meet his eyes as she dug through the very scarce information. “We don’t know how they play into all of this outside their association with de Vil.”               

Pan looked at her, his expression solid and unreadable, but Wendy swore she saw a glint of something in his eyes.

Gratitude?

No, Peter Pan didn’t thank anyone for what they did, for him or otherwise.

Good thing Wendy didn’t expect it from him, or anything else for that matter.

They began adding Horace and Jasper’s notes to de Vil’s board, though a now were quick glance told Wendy it wouldn’t add much. They were jailbirds on and off as far back as the records could show, became acquainted with de Vil sometime after their most recent parole hearing, and thanks to her and Pan were tucked safely in a Boston prison until they could be moved to one in London. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Pan wasn’t ready to accept that, so Wendy pretended to stay busy until she commented on ordering from the Chinese menu on Pan’s fridge.

Half an hour later they were sitting silently in his living room, munching on greasy eggrolls as they stared absently at the evidence before them.

Fuzz the cat made a lazy trail from Pan’s bedroom to where they were eating, plopping himself next to Wendy.

The blonde smiled, charmed by the odd-looking cat, and reached out to pet him.

Pan readied a warning. Fuzz was known to scratch first-time visitors to bleeding shreds, but with a flash of naughtiness, decided to let the little bird find that out for herself.

However, Fuzz the cat purred in delight at the attention and collapsed next to Wendy, hungry for more.

“You…slut!” Pan hissed at his sorry excuse of a cat.

Wendy’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“The damn cat,” Pan barked, turning back to his food to begin another round of silence.

Wendy shrugged and quietly offered him another eggroll, which he took with no additional fuss.

It was strange, this quiet domesticity. No violence, no fighting, no apprehension of what was to come.

It would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the wave of uneasiness Pan was letting off.

His leg was shaking with antsiness, and he kept making small sounds to break the silence.

I suppose it’s better than him yelling, Wendy thought. Might as well attempt conversation.

“So…” she begun, earning a questioned glare mid-chew. “I…ran into someone today,”

Pan looked up at her, looking slightly bored.

“And?” he shrugged, mouth full.

Wendy shrugged. Of course it was a stupid thing to bring up. Pan probably knew everyone in Storybrooke, and he had little interest for all of them.

“It’s nothing,” Wendy responded. “Just thought he was…” She searched her vocabulary for the word to describe the man with unsettling charming manners.

“Different,”

Pan’s eyes flickered at that.

Wendy Darling was smitten.

“Sounds like a scoop,” Pan smirked. “Let’s go find him.”

Wendy coughed on her fried rice as he stood. “What?” she laughed, truly mystified.

“Let’s go meet this mystery man,”

Wendy blinked trying to comprehend his shift in emotion as he put on his coat.

“Pan, it was dark out, I didn’t get a good look at him,” she explained. “I don’t even know his name!”

“It’s Storybrooke,” Pan waved her off. “We’ll find out who he is in an hour.”

“This is insane,” she barked with a laugh.

Pan wadded up her jacket and threw it at her, earning a yelp.

“Well, I’m bored. Are you coming or not?”

She stared at him, wondering just how high up the cliff of insanity he had already climbed. Boredom was making him scattered-brained and seeking action in the tiniest occurrence.

It was sad, like watching an animal trying to chew its way out of a trap, but also fascinating. Pan needed her, whether he would say it in words or in action. He needed her to keep him from jumping off that cliff, especially when they had no way of knowing what was waiting for him at the bottom.

With an exhausted sigh, she unraveled her jacket and followed him into the icy night, missing his satisfied smirk as he closed the door.

.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.

Wendy was having trouble keeping on his heels. It was dark and cold and he was the only one who really knew where they were going.

If he even knew himself.

Pan was all over the place tonight, and Wendy was starting to get dizzy from his back-and-forth.

She was practically having to skip to keep up with him. It was like he was forgetting that she was with him. Already he was trying to focus on something else.

Her loud cobbling seemed to echo through the street of Storybrooke, and in the dim night she felt a wave of paranoia run up her spine. It sounded like there was someone behind them, following them.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Pan.

“No, here we are,”

He stopped so suddenly Wendy ran into him, her face hitting him square in the spine. She gained her balance and glared at him before she stepped to his side, staring into the bright building ahead as it spilled vibration into the night.

“What is that?”

“The Rabbit Hole,” Pan smirked. “Sleaziest place in town.”

Wendy snorted through a shiver. “And you thing the well-polished man I ran into tonight is in there?”

Pan shrugged. “Maybe. Either way I want a drink. Come on,”

Wendy followed him with a sigh. At least she would get out of the cold.

Her ears began ringing as soon as she entered the nightclub, her eyes cloudy from the flashing lights.

“I don’t know about this,” she shouted, her voice lost in the sound.

This time, Pan took hold of her sleeve and pulled her through the cluster of tipsy people.

“Good thing it’s not a workday,” Wendy muttered to herself as Pan pulled her to a cluttered table.

She swept bits of food off the sticky surface, wincing at the music and hard chairs. Across her Pan was staring out into the crowd, his eyes glistening bright as he watched the gyrating bodies.

“You…come here often,” Wendy joked, feeling claustrophobic and savagely out of place.

“Once or twice with Tiger Lily,” Pan shrugged, somehow able to hear her over the music.

“And you’re not deaf?” she shouted.

“It’s not loud enough. It never is.”

“Huh?”

Pan looked up from the dancing sin to stare at her. Really stare at her. Truly look at her for the first time in days.

Her hair was growing out more evenly, her curls had even started to come back.

But the bags under her eyes were darker, hollower. She was tired, and he knew it was his fault.

“You want to dance?”

Pan looked as shocked as Wendy was when he looked back up at her.

“Did I…did I hear you right?”

Pan’s bright red face was hidden by the flashing strobe lights. The fuck did he say that?

“You’re not deaf yet are you?” he smirked, standing. “Let’s go.”

Wendy glanced out onto the dance floor. “I…think I’m overdressed.”

Pan glanced out at the half-clothed bodies and chuckled. He slipped off his jacket and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

Wendy’s heart leapt and her throat tightened.

“You’re turn.”

Wendy shot from her chair, her clothes suddenly feeling stuck to her skin.

“Oh don’t be so damn modest,” Pan cackled, easing out into the dance floor. These little outbursts were giving him some energy.

Wendy shivered, feeling naked under her multiple layers.

Damn it! Why the hell did he have to get under her skin so easily!

She clutched her sleeves, watching as he began to get swarmed by dancers.

Yet…strangely enough…he was still waiting for her. As if he actually wanted her to come out there with him.

Keep him distracted. Keep him busy.

And he was actually smiling!

Well…leering, but he wasn’t as threatening as usual.

With a groan, she shed her feathered coat and eased out into the crowd, instantly getting sucked into the vortex of sweat.

She reached out for stability, hoping she wouldn’t accidentally grope anyone. Out of the sea of grinders a hand grabbed her wrist and—thankfully or unthankfully, she wasn’t sure yet—she fell into Pan’s chest.

“Bet you didn’t do this kind of dancing in your London prep school,” Pan snarked against her hair.

Wendy detached herself from his chest, getting some much-needed space between them.

“I went to a public school, thank you,” she barked, a smile tugging at her lips. It was hard to find a balance with so many people crushing them together.

“What do we…how…” she yelled, desperate for just an inch for space.

She felt Pan’s laugh rumble against her chest, the feeling much more put-together than the vibrations in the air. His hands snaked up her shoulder and gave them just enough space so that they could look into each other’s eyes.

“Just do what I do.” He said.

I already do.

He took her hands and helped her sway in their tiny space. Wendy could have fainted from the heat and the shock of the situation. Here she was dancing with the biggest arse in the entire world! She must be as mad as he was bored!

Her heart pounded as she copied his movements, almost afraid to let him go. So many people were brushing and bumping into them. She could easily be trampled, and something told her she wasn’t leaving the bar tonight without at least a cracked rib.

She looked up to find Pan watching her. He looked strangely human. Less territorial and ready to fight.  

Like he was actually…enjoying himself.

“Okay,” he instructed, pulling her arm over her head. He began twisting her wrist and Wendy caught on quickly, letting her twirl her until spots flashed before her eyes.

But he didn’t stop, and she kept going, catching the light in Pan’s eyes each time she spun back to him.

And before Wendy knew it, she was laughing, the sound much more soothing than the trash flowing through the intercoms.

For a moment Peter Pan and Wendy Darling weren’t small-town reporters who got into too much trouble far too often.

They were just two normal adults who were having a fun, random night.

Wendy couldn’t remember the last time she did something like this. Perhaps back in college…when she wasn’t as dark, before the bloodshed and the grittiness of the world became part of her daily routine.

And it was nice to be having this fresh taste of life with the person who had drug her into it.

“Not bad, Wendy Bird,” Pan teased as she grabbed on to his shoulder to stop the dizziness.

“Same to you, Peter Pan,

He scoffed, covering the hand on his shoulder and grasping this one.

“Let’s make you fly.”

With that, he pushed into the crowd, anchoring her with the hold on her arm. She spun back into him naturally, howling like a fool.

“Don’t let go if you’re going to do that,” she laughed.

“I promise, I won’t.”

Wendy had to admit, she rather liked this fun side of him. Sure, he was really just distracting himself from his current issues, but he was doing it in a constructive way that was keeping them both out of harm's way…mostly.

She nearly slammed into a dancer during her second twirl. When she spun back to Pan she was ready to tell him to try something else, but he looked so…happy.

She couldn’t do it…and had he had said he wouldn’t let her get hurt.

And she was safe…

Thank you.

Until he spun her out again…

Time to fly.

And let go.

He was gone in the blink of an eye and she stumbled out into the crowd.

The more drunkard dancers shoved her away and she stumbled to find stable ground.

“Pan!” She called out, drowning.

She was wedged between so many people, blind and hot.

“Pan!” She yelled again, feeling for him. “Where are—“

Someone’s elbow pounded into her lip and she flew to the sticky ground. Blood filled her mouth in seconds, and she stopped caring if she found Pan or not and started searching for a way off the dance floor.

Pan had taken them too far out. She had no idea where she was. People were stepping on her like she was nothing. On her hands, her hair.

She was going to die here. Had Pan done this on purpose? Had he really hoped her death would somehow entertain him?

She was going to die and no one would know until the club closed, or morning at least.

She was going to die…

“I got you lass!”

She was picked up effortlessly and drug from the crowd, the person clutching her moving through them like Moses through the parted sea.

A savior, it would seem.

Before her brain truly recognized what was going on, her savior had her outside, away from the noise and her unintentional murderers. Her lungs painfully filled with fresh, icy air and she started coughing up blood from her wound, very uncaring how disgusting she looked to her companion.

“There you go, love,” the savior—a man?—instructed, patting her back. “Get the sin out of your lungs.”

Love…

Wendy brushed her bangs from her eyes and met the haunting blue eyes of her earlier savior, the very man she and Pan had set off to find.

“You!” she gasped, nearly laughing with the insanity of it. “I…we…hi!”

He chuckled. “Hello again.”

She tried to catch her breath as she went back and forth with the odd coincidence and Pan’s disappearance.

Disappearance…or abonnement?

Wendy’s stomach flipped when the idea passed through her mind. It seemed almost too cruel for him to do, yet it seemed like something that he would do.

He was all over the place tonight, jumping back and forth like a frog on a scorching lily pad.

But really, he was always like that, she just hadn’t accepted it yet.

And now he had left her to be trampled to death in a night club, wandering off to gods’ knows where.

And he didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

“Are you alright?”

Wendy blinked, not realizing that her eyes had been misting.

“Yes, of course,” she breathed deeply and stood. “I just…I need to get home.” And get a club, she added to herself.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered immediately.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

The man chuckled. “Each time you say that I find you in peril,”

Wendy made a sound, not wanting to be rude but really not wanting to stick around much longer. “Really I’m fine. But thank you.” She nodded at him and began walking away, the raging fire in her heart, melting the ice in her bones.

“Killian Jones.”

Wendy paused and glanced back at him. “What?”

He smiled, at pearly whites and charm. “My name. I think it’s about time, you learned it.”

Wendy worried at her lip, letting the name rest on her mind. It suited him somehow. An old-world name for an old world charmed man. It was an interesting combination.

“I see. Well then, thank you, Killian Jones.” She said with a nod, picking back up her step.

“Wait.”

Wendy halted, slightly aggravated. If he turned out to be a maniac like Jekyll she’d bash his lights out with a chunk of ice.

He stepped forward, his hands resting in his pockets, showing he meant no harm, posed no threat.

“Would you like to get a drink sometime?”

Wendy laughed, her face burning. “That’s…forward.”

Jones chuckled with a shrug. “With your track record, the next time I may see you is in a hospital.”

Wendy shrugged that was true. She gave him another look over. Mysterious creature of the night.

She had learned already that trusting people was too dangerous, especially the kind who lurked in the dark. 

She didn’t know him, and he, despite his multiple rescues, didn’t know her.

“Why on earth would you want to have a drink with a perfect stranger?” she inquired aloud.

Jones cocked his head, his eyes gleaming with intentions Wendy couldn’t trace.

“To get to know you, of course.”

Wendy stiffened, her anxiety rising.

“That’s not a good idea,” Wendy gasped, desperate for space. “I have to go find…” she shook her head, her mind too cluttered to find a definition for her current view of Pan.

“If you change your mind,” Jones called after her. “I’ll be waiting. Tomorrow at the diner.”

Wendy increased her speed, making a direct line to Pan’s apartment.

She was going to kill him. She’d made the threat many times before but this time she meant it.

He left her.

He pulled her into all of this madness, and then just released her to break her neck without him.

Where had he gone? What temporary rush was he following now?

Why hadn’t he taken her with him?

She found his apartment the same way they had left it: locked up and dark. She searched for a spare key in the places anyone else would, but Pan wasn’t like everyone else and thus wouldn’t think to leave a spare key.

Out of aggravation, she picked up a loose brick, check over her shoulder, and hurled it into the glass.

It was exactly something Pan would do, and Wendy couldn’t help the small flame of satisfaction that came with damaging his property—which she had to plan to fix thank you very much.

She stormed in, flicking on lights and opening doors to find him. Fuzz the cat ran out of the bedroom as she checked behind checked in his closet.

“Pan!” she howled, her hands shaking.

Why?

“Where are you?”

Pan wasn’t there. He hadn’t returned to hide from her or even to continue their work. He had vanished completely with no warning for her.

With a stiff sob, she collapsed on the couch, feeling right at him with the shattered remains of his home.

“Peter…”

He left you.

“He left me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He wasn’t sure when or where he was.

But it was bright there, and surprisingly warm. It couldn’t be a memory of his childhood. Those were always dark and cold.

But he was somewhere…at least he thought it was him. There was glass in front of him, well-made and clean, and big enough to cover an entire wall.

But he couldn’t see his reflection…

Nor anything outside the window.

That’s why when the little bird flew closer, it terrified him.

“Stop…” he tried to scream just as the bird hit the window.

A loud bang…

It landed at his feet—

Its neck was broken.

He startled into consciousness, his fuzzy mind going into an automatic death mode.

Someone had grabbed him…he thought.

One second he was throwing Wendy out—letting her fly just enough from him—and then she was flying out of his grip while he was being pulled further from her.

He wasn’t sure what happened after that, but now he was tied up in some sort of darkroom, his hands above his head on some kind of meat hook, by the fill of it.

Something equivalent to a lantern was in the corner, giving him just enough light to keep him from going into a state of complete panic.

Jekyll’s prisons were always too bright.

A noise indicated he was no longer alone. A second later a door in the corner opened, and a man stepped in, the light behind him silhouetting him just long enough for Pan to get a good idea of him.

“Good to see you again,” the man said as he pulled a chair up and straddled it.

“Again?” Pan scoffed. “Go to hell, you wanker.”

“That’s captain to you, boy,” he returned firmly. “Captain Killian Jones, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, and know, who the fuck you are.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Killian said casually.

“I tend to forget people who aren’t worth remembering,” Pan smirked, his face warmer from the trail of blood leaking from his temple.

Killian chuckled, charmed. This was going to be the most fun he’d had in a while.

“I suppose it won’t matter anyway,” he sighed. “Not with you knocking on death’s door.”

Pan licked his lips. A challenge at last!

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” Killian said. “You see m’boy, I’ve been sent by someone who really wants you dead.”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Pan winked.

“No one you’ll need to worry about,” Killian alluded. “Just know that you’ve caused enough trouble that it warrants a very clean—and if you behave yourself—a very quick one.”

Pan scoffed. “If I’m scheduled to die, know that I’ll make my last days your worst,”

Killian seemed unphased by Pan’s threat, and while Pan wasn’t yet worried about it, it did make his gut turn just enough to be noticed.

Then, Killian laughed, and tapped his fingers on the back of the chair.

“You know, you actually gained our attention after that boy with the scar inquired Henry Jekyll’s files,”

Ice…the blood can’t move.

“Oh…I can’t quite remember his name…”

You have to keep count of the spasms…you have to know where the blood is going…

“That’s his benefit I suppose,” Killian smirked, watching as the blood drained from his face.

Felix…oh Felix I’m sorry…

“After all, it’d be a shame if that poor boy succumbed to one of his little fits in the privacy of his own home one afternoon…”

Pan bolted against the restraints, blood raging and teeth desperate to break skin.

“You fucking go near him I’ll kill you!”

Killian grabbed Pan by the jaw and forced him into the wall, pressing his knee into his stomach.

“I’d love to see you try,” Killian husked, his ice blues evenly hitting Pan’s forest greens. “I’d love to see you help any of them. Him, that pixie of a girl who hates you more than life itself…” his grin widened. “And that pretty blonde distraction you brought into this whole bloody mess.”

“Wendy…” the word left his lips before could stop it.

He didn’t know how to protect her the way he did the others.

“Such a pretty name,” Killian gloated. “Such a pretty girl at that. And she’s so desperate to find you, even after to abandoned her on a dangerous dance floor,”

Pan glared at him. “You bitch,”

Killian released him and made his way to the door.

“I’ll take no pleasure from killing her, m’boy,” Killian said, surprisingly quite truthfully. “However, this is as much to do with her as it does with you.”

Pan dug his nails into the cloth binding his wrists, trying desperately to stare a whole through Killian’s heart.

“How quick or how slowly she goes depends on what you can do for me within the next few days,”

Pan winced.

“Goodnight,” Killian winked, turning off the light and enclosing Pan in a blanket of darkness.

[bran-writes]

Farm Boy Blues Ep. 1 “Welcome Home, Sunny” Pt. 3

Sunny’s office on Ventura Way was literally home, and he was sorry he ever left it. Parking his car in its garage, Sunny keyed the door to the familiar chime and made his way in. The blast of automated air conditioner embraced him much in the same way Lacey did shortly before, welcoming him back. The place still smelled like mahogany and looked crisp. The downstairs break area he used for an armory and supply room was still neat and ordered, the lockers lining one wall while maps of Dyson City and the surrounding wastes lined the opposite one. When he crossed through to the carpet of his office, he flicked the light on and tossed his keys onto his desk, glancing around at his license hanging on the wall next to his commendations from the city for bravery and service, as well as pictures with some of his favorite clients. 

Sunny smiled and stood there for a moment, basking in the feeling of safety and familiarity. He’d come close to never seeing this place again and even though his job was naturally dangerous, this brush with death felt closer, more intimate. It was probably because, this time, he’d almost been killed by someone he trusted. He figured that would probably have an affect on someone’s outlook. 

Turning the light back off, Sunny took his shoes off and walked wearily up stairwell behind his desk, anxious to sit down in his chair upstairs. Yet, halfway up the stairs was when he got the feeling that he wasn’t alone. It was a small shuffling that lasted for a few seconds and was barely audible under the air conditioning, but Sunny was sure he heard it. 

There was only one person he knew who could get into his office without leaving a trace. That person wasn’t a threat to him as far as Sunny knew, but just to be sure, he drew his handgun and held it at his side as he walked the rest of the way up. 

The first thing Sunny noticed was that his place wasn’t ransacked or even disturbed. To his right was his living room, where his TV, personal computer desk, couch and favorite chair was. The kitchen was to the right and both the bar counter and wooden island were as clean as he’d left him. His fridge, however, was slightly ajar- enough that the light was still on. Sunny checked the trash can to see one of his empty beer bottles sitting at the bottom when, straight ahead from the direction of his bedroom and bathroom, he heard more noises, someone clearing their throat and a toilet flushing. 

Rolling his eyes and tossing his shoes to the floor, Sunny sighed and leaned against the bar counter. There was the sound of a sink running before that too stopped. 

Special Agent Grafton Ellis walked out of Sunny’s bedroom, waving his hands at his side, air drying them. “You’re out of paper towels in there.”

Sunny gave the man a once over and noticed his expertly pressed and creased pants, clean button-up and crisp tie. “And you’re wearing shoes in my apartment.”

“Yeah, sorry, I forgot. I won’t be long.”

“Good.”

The man hadn’t changed much in the years Sunny knew him. He must have been at least thirty-five by now with reddish brown hair, piercing green eyes accompanied by unflattering dark rings and a crooked smile amidst his perpetual stubble. A long, ragged scar crossed the side of his neck down to his clavicle. The man hadn’t changed much at all. He still looked tired as ever. 

Agent Ellis took a seat at the bar and sighed, clasping his hands together. He looked bored. 

“Y’know, coming to terms with the fact that our new government, and by extension, the Bureau, is gonna have me keeping tabs on you until they’re 100% sure you’re not some sleeper agent for The Commonwealth,” Ellis said in a completely conversational and non-accusatory tone which made Sunny want to throw his shoes at him, “I’ve accepted that I’m in for many a frustrating day. Whether it’s responding to reports of you having gunfights with thieves inside the city wall or trying to find out where the hell you’ve been for the past four months- it’s always something.”

“Gotta mix it up somehow,” Sunny shrugged, holstering his handgun.

“True. I will say you keep things exiting- I suppose I should be grateful.” 

Ellis took a moment to stare around at the apartment, his legs swinging from the bar stool nonchalantly. “What do you want, Ellis?”

“I guess we could start with where you’ve been?”

“Look. I’m hurt, I’m tired and I just want some rest. Can we not fuck around right now? You know where I was. You probably tracked me coming into the city, too.”

Ellis regarded Sunny for a moment while the young man waited for a response. Finally the agent shrugged. “Fine, why were you there?”

Sunny chewed his lip for a moment. He’d known Ellis since he was eleven years old. He met him the day after The Commonwealth fell. It wasn’t that Sunny didn’t trust Agent Ellis- it was that he didn’t feel like going into it at the moment. He was far too close to what happened to discuss it openly, he realized. He just wanted a day or two’s distance before giving the federal agent the debriefing he was sent here for. 

“Was that too direct for you?” Ellis smirked. Sometimes, Sunny wanted to punch him in his face. He unclipped his gun from his belt and placed it on the counter before heading into the kitchen, kicking his fridge all the way closed. He picked through a cabinet for his bottle of whiskey and two glasses. 

“New York or Chicago?” Sunny called over his shoulder. 

“Chicago.”

Sunny nodded, he liked his drinks the same way. Forgoing the chaser in the fridge, Sunny poured whiskey in both glasses then slid one across the bar to Ellis, who nodded thankfully. “I was out there, with Mia, because she asked me to leave with her.”

“Is that right?”

Sunny sat in his chair and sank into the cushions with a sigh. From this seat he could see the city outside through his large window- a perk he’d noticed when he first rented the office. He had a pretty good view of the hills and the beach from here. At night, the street and building lights dotted the window like multi-colored jewels set in a satin cloth. Sunny eyed his glass, lazily tilting the liquid back and forth. 

“Keaton…”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunny held back the hurt in his voice, along with the tears he almost lost from his carefully tended reservoir. 

“I just want to know what happened, kid. Give me that, and I’ll write the report and be out of your hair. Hell, at this point they might not even ask for a report.”

“She said she was going straight.”

“Mia?”

“Mmhm.”

“So she showed up promising a new life without the crime?”

“Said that she was ready to just be with me and she didn’t need any of that other stuff. She didn’t need the money or the lavish lifestyle bullshit. She just wanted me,” Sunny took a swig of whiskey and grimaced, the instant warmth cascading down his chest. 

“Shit…”

“Four months in and I find out she’d already made plans to rob the federal reserve transport trucks while they crossed the desert. I told her she was fucking crazy, and all she kept saying was how with this one job we’d be set for life.” Sunny stared at his reflection in his own drink before shrugging and taking another swig. “Stupid me, right?”

“So what, she tried to get you on a job and you just said no?”

Sunny scoffed. “I burned the charges her and her little buddies were planning on using for the roadside bombs. Her crew realized they were gone before I could get out of there, though. She asked if I did it, I said yeah. She put two bullets in my chest and left me on the side of the road.”

Without saying a word, Ellis stood and moved over to sit on the arm of the couch. Sunny unbuttoned the top of his Hawaiian shirt and showed Ellis the stitches, not daring to look down himself just yet.

“Jesus, Keaton…”

“A family on vacation found me and took me to one of the doctors out there. He go the bullets out and had me lay up for a few days before I could move on my own. I just got back to town today.”

Ellis sat back and rubbed his chin for a moment, eying Sunny’s bullet wounds. He took a swig of whiskey and played with the glass between his fingers. The two were quiet for a few, long moments before Ellis cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’ll finally wise up, will you?”

Sunny looked at Agent Ellis and hoped the man could see the annoyance in his face. Wise up… What an asshole. “Fuck you.”

Ellis shook his head, “You know, I’m probably going to regret saying this, but I hope this has taught you a little about yourself. And I hope you realize that maybe, just maybe, your life is worth a lot to the people who care about you… Clearly you feel like you’re not worth much at all.”

“How do I know?” Sunny mumbled, almost choking on the words. 

“Know what?”

“That my life is worth a lot. Or anything for that matter…”

“Well, the contrary is usually what happens when our mind starts working against itself. Luckily we have eyes and ears that often give is the hints we need, we just gotta take it for what it is.”

“Easier said than done.”

“For sure. But how about starting here,” Ellis cleared his throat, “What are you more afraid of? Those stitches or the Commonwealth ID number tattooed to your chest.”

Despite himself, Sunny allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Probably the gunshot wounds.”

“Which means that being a Farm Boy- being the former property of The Commonwealth doesn’t feel as bad as it used to be. It matters less and less. That’s a good a place as any to be, don’t you think?”

Ellis didn’t give him a chance to answer, but stood up and set his tumbler on the bar. “Out of my hair already, eh?”

“I’ll give my superiors the run down,” Ellis shrugged, walking towards the stairwell. “You might have to go let the police take photos of your injuries. You’ll be down at the precinct tomorrow anyways, though.”

“Why’s that?”

Ellis turned around, brows furrowed. “Your contractor recertification…”

“Ah, shit.”

“Hey, luckily you passed your 5th year last time, so it’s just marksmanship certification for the next couple years for you. But you know the rules- to keep getting contracts from the police you’ll need a re-cert every twelve.”

“Maybe I should have just stayed in the desert,” Sunny stood and followed the man to the stairwell. He leaned on the banister as Ellis descended into his office area. 

“I’m sure Detective Dodson would eventually come find you,” Ellis chuckled. 

“What can I say,” Sunny smiled, “We’re madly in love.”

“You do know how to pick ‘em.”

Sunny watched as the man opened the front door and glanced out for a moment before stopping. Ellis looked up at him and took a deep breath. 

“Hey, for the record, I guess… Add me to that list.”

“What list?”

“The list of people that care about you. It’s a no-go for handlers to grow attached to you guys, but I’ve known you since you were a kid, so I don’t know what to tell you. You’ve come a long way since we met… I just don’t want to have to ID your body at the morgue one day.”

“Thanks, Ellis.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

“Will do.”

And just like that- the door was shut and Ellis was gone. The silence folded around Sunny like a suffocating smog. He turned back to his bar counter and downed the rest of the whiskey before shuffling back to his room, the weight of the day and his injuries making every step a trial. 

Sunny’s room was dark and cool when he made it back there- just the way he liked it. He wanted to see his posters and maps and space ship blueprints on the wall. He wanted to see his desk and shelf of keep-sakes. But he also wanted to lay in the dark for a while. 

He chose the latter. 

The moment Sunny laid his head down on his pillow, the tears broke through and poured down the sides of his face. He felt powerless to stop crying, but at this point, he didn’t want to. Best to get it all out. 

Everything bouncing around in his mind assaulted him at once and he was having trouble collating it all, having trouble answering his own questions. 

Why did she do that?

Why can’t I ever get things right?

Why can’t I ever make the right decision?

Hell, why can’t the right decision ever find me for once? 

Why do I have to struggle like this? 

How do I make it stop?

Why do I still have feelings for the person who keeps leaving me in the dust?

Goddammit, Sunny. 

Sunny’s phone vibrating in his pocket shook him out of his downward spiral. He fished it out, planning on ignoring whoever it was before reading the contact name flashing on his screen:

Big Sexy

Sunny was so happy to see that name that he wanted to cry harder, which made him laugh at the ridiculous nature of Collin Talbot’s contact name, but he had no intention of changing it in the near future. 

Without hesitation, Sunny hit accept and put the phone to his ear, waiting with still breath to hear his best friend’s voice.

“Yyyyeelllooww, Sunny? Sun-tzu?”

Sunny smiled, “I’m here, man.”

“Ah, great,” said Collin on the other end. There was a pause before Collin continued. “You okay?”

“No,” Sunny surprised himself, once again, by not choking on his words. Yet, he knew Collin picked up on it. 

“What happened? Where are you?”

“Back home.”

Again, another silence. Collin was trying to figure out what to say or how to ask what happened with Mia. “Do you want me to come to the city?”

Of course he knew what to say.

“I’d like that.”

“Say no more, give me a couple days. Should I get a suite or come to your place?”

“My place is fine…”

“Alright, well I’ll get to you as soon as possible. Like I said, two days at the most. Here’s what I’m thinking, you ready?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll catch a flight, land in Dyson, stop by the grocery store, pick up some food because your sorry ass still can’t cook, and then we’ll eat and drink and you can tell me about what’s going on. Sound good?”

“That sounds fucking beautiful.” 

“My man. Anyways, I’ll let you go cause I have to go wrap up this test flight. I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Thank you, Collin.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Just… Hang on until I get there, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

“Peace out, brotha.”

Collin hung up just as the sounds of a single passenger ship engine flared up in the background. Sunny stared at the phone for a moment before setting it on his night stand. 

That was that. All he had to do was wait for Collin. Maybe Ellis was right, maybe his friends really did see the value that Sunny didn’t. Maybe he’d be okay. Sunny almost kicked himself for the way he’d lost hope in them moments before. He turned over on his side and closed his eyes, ready to sleep and start the next day. 

Contractor recertification.

Pick up TK from the Trey’s shop.

Swing by the coffee shop the next morning to see if his coffee buddy would still be showing up after four months of him being gone. 

And then Collin would be here.

That, Sunny decided, was easy enough. He had a plan. He had a way out of the confusion and pain. He just had to stay focused. He just had to live. It shouldn’t be hard, he thought. He’d been doing it pretty well so far. 

_______________________________________________________________________

@writerinafury @oneleggedflamingo @carmina-solis @anomaly00 @neirawrites

@lnspired-insomniac

[alfredosauce50]

Who’s the bad guy? (2p + 1p America x reader) 11

Wordcount: 2,182 The reader is referred to as she/her

"Allen, get your ass up! We're gonna go shopping!" You shrilled, slapping your hands all over the big lump under the blanket. Ever since you woke up at around eight this morning, the energy coursing through your veins hadn't subsided. That was obviously because you were an early bird unlike Allen and you loved visiting department stores despite never getting the chance to go on a worthwhile shopping spree in them. 

Low groans were muffled against the covers and the man resting under them only rolled around in it to tighten himself in a tighter burrito. "No... 5 more minutes, please..." He mumbled, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. After spending so much of your time with this man, you've come to learn that he loved to sleep in to nearly noon when he didn't have anything planned in the morning. The thought of this bad habit hit you and made you sigh frustratingly. 

When his nest of fiery red hair peeked out and pooled around, you dug your hands in them and gave it a good ruffle. "Al, I'm gonna sit on you and squash you with my fat if you don't get up this instant." You threatened with a taunting smile tugging at your lips. He let out a soft chuckle and with that said, he did not bother to move a single muscle. "Go on, do it." He thought with mischief manifesting onto his features in the form of a smirk. 

Narrowing your eyes with a scowl, you jumped on him and squeezed your limbs around the shape of his body under the blanket. He let out a grunt and feigned hurt. Those noises made in protest silenced when he rolled onto his back, however. As you enveloped yourself around him like a boa constrictor, he snaked two arms around your neck and pulled you close much to your surprise. Noses pressed together and eyes locked, he held you in this intimate position for a few moments forcing you to stare right into his lazy, half-lidded gaze. He turned his head and brushed his lips against your cheek before giving it a light peck. "I'm up, baby." He moved his warm lips against your skin as he spoke, sending chills to shake through every inch of your body from the feeling. You inhaled sharply and bashed him on the head repeatedly. "Let me go, idiot!" You hissed with a little bit of pink tinting your cheeks. He responded by tightening his arms. "Not till you gimme a morning kiss. You know how much I hate waking up early." He whispered with his brows knitted together. You grumbled something under your breath. Darting your eyes over to the clock standing on the bedside table, it read 9:32AM. You grabbed that while carefully avoiding the prickly potted cactus sitting next to it. Holding it in front of his line of vision for a good second, you then hit his head with it. "It's not early, Al. It's half past nine already." He rubbed his forehead. "And that's pretty early for me. It's all about perspective, dollface." He replied, cupping a hand behind your neck. "Now give Allen some sugar." You rolled your eyes at him and sighed in defeat. You couldn't really escape his iron grip and decided to go along with his whims to stop wasting time. You could be already out there shopping for a nice dress, but no, he was still curled up in bed. Leaning in to give his cheek a quick kiss, he released you and smiled contently. Stretching his arms, he screamed to wake himself up. "I'm up!" An hour later after breakfast was served for the late-riser, the two of you jumped into the backseat of Alfred's car to get to the shopping districts of New York. Even though visiting boutiques and shopping in them were new for Allen and you, you were far more enchanted by the products offered than he was. Of course, if you showed him a good place to have a smoke and beer, he would be all over you. That was not the case this time however, so he just found himself following along after you in a shop filled with glamorous and glimmering fancy dresses. Alfred figured that his cousin's suit could wait until last; it would not take as long. Everything inside was well-lit with the chandeliers dangling from the tall ceiling, brightening up the whole expanse of mannequins and gushing women with dancing arrays of light. The air was also laced with a sweet, feminine scent of perfume, filling you with delight at the pleasant smell. The host of the party let out obnoxious laughs as he watched you browse through the store like a child in a candy store. Under those lively explosive laughs hid a sinister smirk inside, something that manifested in his mind because he knew what he was doing was going to win you in his favour. "This party is gonna be a freakin' blast! Just pick whatever you like because you'll look great in anything!" Alfred exclaimed, patting you on the shoulder. You turned to him with a light blush but smiled brightly at him nevertheless. Your chest was swarmed with warmth once more when he flashed you another one of his toothy grins; those million dollar smiles always managed to make your heart flutter. "Thank you again, Alfred. I honestly cannot express how grateful I am." You gleamed. "Haha, no worries dudette! Just as long as we have fun, am I right?" He nudged you in the shoulder. The blonde bent over so that his mouth would be in level with your ear. The indifferent face of Allen's grew alarmed when he spied the movement from the corner of his eye, twisting over to you two with an enlarged vein on his neck. Gritting his teeth and seething through it, a hot fiery trail burned behind his footsteps as he neared his cousin. "I know you haven't experienced a lot of what we're doing together, but I'm happy to be your firsts for all these things." He whispered, his hot breath entering the shell of your ear to send shivers down your spine. Ripping yourself away from him, you slapped him on the shoulder. "What the hell, Alfred?! It sounds weird when you put it like that!" You hissed under burning cheeks, unaware of the third presence who just joined. The man you conversed with did know, however. Allen knitted his brows together and frowned deeply, unable to fathom the anguish boiling inside. He was already furious at what Alfred said to you, but the reaction you gave him tore at him even more. As you continued to slap Alfred around on the shoulders, he flickered his eyes at the onlooker and narrowed them slyly. The redhead just tore his gaze away and walked off, not wanting to stare any longer into those calculating pools of icy blue. He completely avoided Alfred from that moment on. He was unable to bear a second in his presence and instead just kept close to you. The only time he scraped together the will to utter anything to him was when he was purchasing a suit for the night, a quiet word of thanks before he disappeared into the fitting room to change into the formal attire. Slipping off his bomber jacket after giving himself a good look over, he let the rest of his clothes drop to the ground before he slipped on a crisp white dress shirt. He buttoned that up to feel as if he was being choked but kept everything on for the sake of looking good. After he fastened a belt around his pants, he tightened the dark blood red tie around his collar. Once that was done, he needed to stop himself before he reached for the jacket so he could take a good look at himself. Allen pursed his lips and nodded in approval at his hot reflection. "Oh shit." He mouthed. "I look like a hot businessman." Never mind a hot businessman. This man was a lady killer with the jacket on. He threw on the suit jacket to finish the look, but only slowly to savor a pivotal moment in his life where he would be wearing something formal for the first time. As if the whole vicinity was put on mute, his surroundings were plunged into a suspenseful silence as he shot his arms through the armholes. Pulling down on the ends to straighten it up, he brushed the non-existent dust off his shoulders and grimaced at his reflection. "Oh shit yeah, Allen. You lookin' like a fine snack." He gave himself finger guns. He continued to stare at his front profile for a good ten minutes before he started twisting and turning to get a good idea on how he looked from all angles. Every single degree out of 360 earned the Allen seal of approval. Snickering to himself as he enjoyed his little alone time of self-admiration, the playful smirk curling at his lips faded once his visage wandered back to his neglected bomber jacket splayed on a velvety black chair. His gaze fell down to the small mound of clothes at his feet this time, which consisted of his tank top, jeans, and dog tag. He then glanced back up at his reflection and frowned. Unlike before, he was glaring at the clean white shirt and invaluable suit jacket. It wasn't like he looked terrible in it, but he looked terrible in it. This was ridiculous. The infamous street rat wearing high-end fashion? This unprecedented event was thought to be impossible and the fact that it was taking place right here mocked him. He licked his lower lip and shook his head with a sigh, a dark shadow consuming his features the longer he stared at himself. "Fuck Alfred." He growled lowly. He was already suffering enough by living on his turf in a world of luxury, but now he had to wear this? No matter how much he complained, this was bound to happen. Why? It was your love and fascination for all things glamorous and his own tendency to stick to you like glue. Even so, he blamed his cousin for throwing these useless parties and spending his money without a care in the world. Rolling his eyes at the sound of his explosive, obnoxious laugh echoing in his mind, he clamped a hand over his face and rubbed it to relieve some of the emotions of anguish. It was something that he held pent up in his system for the past few weeks and it was driving him on a road to insanity. Clenching his hands over the frame of the mirror, he glowered at himself with a glint of death. "There better be alcohol." *** Allen was already intoxicated with melancholy when he stepped out of the limo that brought the group to the destination. Ignoring the blinding flashes of cameras from paparazzi on the sidelines, he trailed behind the couple that was you and Alfred with not a trace of emotion showing on his exterior. You clung onto the blonde with a dazzling smile at the cameras that tightened on you both. Albeit a little overwhelmed, you felt significant for once. It was a feeling you never experienced before but you came into good terms with it immediately. As Alfred dragged you off to meet all the faces of cooperations who had more money than God, a mountain of sparkling glasses came into Allen's sight. Inside the large hall that had ceilings stretching up to the sky, there sat his only a bit of salvation amidst hundreds of insignificant party-goers. His prayers were answered with alcohol, and a hell of a lot of it. Gallons upon gallons of champagne drew him to the long table of refreshments to where he gawked at with delight. Liquid gold it was in its finest form. He didn't hesitate to start chugging the supply of drinks offered to the guests and was slowly exhausting all beverages. In exchange for everything he consumed, his logic and coordination were swapped for impaired vision and judgment. Collapsing into a nearby chair with his face flushed bright pink, he was knocked out cold after consuming more than ten pints of it. He was given weird looks because of it, but the spotlight soon moved onto a small group of finely dressed men with their faces hidden under dark masquerade masks near the entrance. "Sirs, this is not a masquerade party. May I kindly ask you to take them off as a security precaution?" One of the burly guards asked. The shortest one of the group peeled his mask off to reveal piercing magenta eyes. Pulling a Beretta out of his pocket, he cocked it and trained it in between the man's eyes enlarged with shock. "How's this for a security precaution?" He growled, his finger pulling the trigger. Blood splattered onto the wall behind as an ear-splitting explosion echoed throughout the grand hall.

[thepowerofmybeing]

Hottest Trends for 2019

Loads of articles out there in the World Wide Web, some of them I really think we should not leave unnoticed.

Huge development in technology/ car industry field with self driving cars allowed on the roads. It still sounds a bit scary imagining there will be robots taking us down the road and we will just sit in the car waiting to arrive at our destination, reading morning newspaper, playing with kids in the back seat or just polishing our nails. In a way, it sounds sad, non personal, inhumane, but, if you really think how luxurious it will be and how much could be done while the car takes you where you need to, all the arguments are pro robot driving! If it will turn out to be super safe, I’ll be in the line to get one ;-)  “ This cycle has restarted, and the term “driverless car” will soon seem as anachronistic as “horseless carriage.” We don’t know how cars that don’t need human chauffeurs will mold society, but we can be sure a similar gear shift is on the way”  https://www.wired.com/story/guide-self-driving-cars/

If I was a small entrepreneur, I’d read this article:  https://www.metrilo.com/blog/ecommerce-trends-niche-products. I found this information very enticing and up to date. So happy that fast fashion, fast food and fast everything is slowly being replaced by more valued items that would last longer. I am a strong believer in quality and would be so happy to see more exclusive products on shelves of all free standing and e-commerce shops. It would save so much for our planet Earth - Chinese women being locked to their sewing machines doing slave work for the likes of Primark, plastic thrown in oceans and killing wildlife, children playing with hundreds of useless plastic items filled with toxic substances, us all wearing dresses with unfinished seams made of suspicious inflammable materials, us eating food that is not really worthy of being called food - all the danger to our future and our children’s well being. Less is more concept needs to take place in order for this World to not come to an end...Healthy boxed lunches, reusable food wrap, buying for life items, eco friendly lady products, custom cosmetics and apparel, crafted, handmade, novelty and specialty, these are words of new, personalized and original man and woman. And I need the smart backpack (this item is on all trending product lists of 2019) as we all have discovered how amazing it is to travel and see more in life! 

How about Social Media trends in 2019? Well, just like most of the trends, these also become more personalized and more “machine involved” at the same time. https://www.inc.com/john-hall/7-social-media-trends-brands-need-to-know-to-prepare-for-2019.html So, while the CEO of any large company should get on Instagram and tell his audience who he really is, what he eats for breakfast and how he spends his free time, while each social media user and influencer should become the apple of every company’s eye and receive custom attention and care, Chatbots will take care of more and more business conversations and interactions. Its funny how this World is becoming more geared towards individual approach and more robotic at the same time. So while we will be sitting in a car driven by a robot, chatting on the phone with a robot, we will wear more sustainable clothing and eat more healthy food just so we can stay alive longer to interact more with robots and phones ;-) haha, this makes sense! But, to be honest, hopefully this shows an intentional, more purposeful shift towards human intelligence. Robots and computer development is a good thing if used for the principle of our own education and improvement, if the time spent with a robot doesn’t take us away from our families and loved ones and if it makes us brighter and greater.

This post is never going to end? Yep, you guessed it! I am just so amazed from researching this subject! It is so interesting - investigating and predicting, understanding the “whys” of the upcoming year, evaluating customer behavior change and the company reaction to the always changing consumer needs. Here is an article from Forbes about customer experience trends in 2019, how companies are always going above and beyond all customer expectations, how some are succeeding and some - not. “Continually re-evaluating processes, products and business models is what keeps companies alive and successful in the ever-changing minds of customers.” We have to stay on demand or the ship will sink, we have to be flexible to adjust to the needs and changes, we have to sustain the connection with our customer and do it in a way that amazes, pleases and keeps them coming back for more. This is a very good article about change, expectations and staying popular with your buyer. Digitalization here is mentioned as an aid - helpful and useful tool - which does not replace human presence, but improves the overall experience, saves time for both sides and improves the quality of information for both - the assistants and the consumers. ‘When machines control the mundane tasks, humans have more time to dedicate to the uniquely human tasks, like strategy, creativity, innovation, problem solving, connecting with customers and developing a strong customer experience.’- https://www.forbes.com/sites/blakemorgan/2018/12/05/five-trends-shaping-the-future-of-customer-experience-in-2019/#44e4d61c7bb6

And last, but, most certainly, not least - fashion news for 2019. Haute Couture and Mode can not be forgotten or let out as this is our everyday expression, our individual approach to showcasing who we are and as Elle puts it: ‘The question of how designers envision women, what a woman wears and the image she projects has become a political hot potato. The big takeaway from the season? To value those visions that really are attuned to reflecting our truth in some way so that we can do us.” I LOVE this sentence! Yes! We celebrate and showcase US! We move away from sweatpants and hoodies, leave our athleisure-wear in the drawers and replace it with ruffles, silky materials and bubble skirts. We put couture dressmaking and craft skills in front shelves just like craft drinks and personalized socks (reference from previous article about niche products). We add small puoches and large pockets on all our clothing items, we purchase a stylish backpack to make a statement and prove to all that we are worldly travelers. We add some hippy charm and burst of 60′s color into our wardrobe to celebrate all our beloved icons from the past. Hell, we even put on shoes with square toes (not sure I’ll get into this trend...). But, hey, we do not have to do it all, we can just borrow a few ideas and tips from each trend, we can just use it as a reference when we look for a new outfit in 2019. After all, this should not be difficult, as we just have to stay true to ourselves - the motto of my page here. Don’t be who you are not in 2019! It is my wish to all of you and my personal New Years resolution! May you be happy in your own skin! Cheers!

[styomi]

Fifteen study dates | 15-day prompt challenge | Sweet Pea/OC | Day 8

AN: Well, this was a fun one to write! I think that these two may be a little bit OOC, but, I figure that they would have their own dynamic after a while :D Enjoy!

Info:

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Sweet Pea/OC Rating: T Word count: 2035 Chapter count: 8/15

                     Take me anywhere, everywhere, away from here

“Please,” Sweet Pea gasped out, flat on his back. “Please, Ruby.” His voice was strained and he looked to be in physical pain. “No more.”

“Just a little longer.” The girl shot back from her seat at her desk. The tall biker groaned, rising from her bed and glaring at her back.

“No more or my brain will explode,” he said in a warning tone. They had been in her room for hours. Sweet Pea understood that finals were important. He got the fact that Ruby wanted to pass with excellent grades. He was also fully on board with him taking junior year material with her. However, enough was enough. Over six hours without a single break except for the bathroom or more snacks were killing him. He needed to get out of the damned room he’d been so eager to get into. He’d even stopped obsessing over the fact that he was sprawled on her bed, quite invitingly. After all, Ruby was too focused on memorizing biology terms and definitions to notice the temptation. Or, she wasn’t interested. Sweet Pea chose not to go down that road. “Let’s go downstairs and play with Chili for a bit. Half an hour,” She shot a glare over her shoulder, muttering a definition. “Okay, ten minutes. Please, Ruby, for God’s sake!”

“Oh my God, would you let me finish this already!” She yelled then, before swiveling her chair around and closer to her table, her back to him. “I need five more minutes and then we can do something else for a bit.” Sweet Pea groaned and let himself fall back on the bed, knowing that it wouldn’t be five minutes.

Ruby didn’t mess around when it came to studying. Unfortunately for him, that meant that he was forced into being cooped up with her stressed out self for the whole day in her room, hearing her mutter and repeat or helping her revise by quizzing her. Sweet Pea didn’t know half of the material she’d already memorized, but that didn’t bother him. They still had a week or so before the exam. He had time. Ruby, though, thought that she needed to know everything then and there.

Sweet Pea checked his phone, seeing that only two minutes had passed since Ruby’s latest promise. He made himself busy, scrolling through his social media and then finally closing his eyes, deciding to get some shuteye if nothing else. He wasn’t sure if he’d managed to fall asleep or not. Sweet Pea was shaken from his wandering thoughts and peaceful position when he felt a weight on his midsection. His eyes opened to find Ruby’s face above him.

“I’m done for now.” She promised, smiling softly down at him. But, she looked worse for wear. Her long hair was in a really messy bun on the top of her head and her eyes had dark circles underneath them from the lack of sleep. She seemed beyond tired to him.

“Good,” Sweet Pea sighed out. “Come here.” His arms opened invitingly and Ruby dropped down from her previous spot, still straddling his midsection. Her head fell under his chin, just a bit to the side, how she loved it. The faint scent of her conditioner wafted from her hair, reminding Sweet Pea of the time she’d slept next to him in that very same bed just a few days ago, passed out from exhaustion. Ruby Wolfe was a beast when it came to finals. A demon straight from hell. But, Sweet Pea wasn’t afraid of demons. He embraced her small frame gently and trailed his fingers up and down her back, making her hum in pure bliss.

“I’m sorry I’m such a pain.” Ruby sighed into his neck, making gooseflesh break out all over his skin. Sweet Pea suddenly felt very warm.

“You’re not,” he assured her. “You just need a small break, shortcake.” Ruby’s head rose, leaving his neck feeling all too cold despite the warm weather.

“What do you have in mind?” There was the Ruby he knew well and loved dearly. A girl always looking for an adventure with childish glee, never minding the Serpent symbol on his neck or back. Sweet Pea grinned.

“Just a little something,” and he pushed himself up, moving the girl to have her sit on the bed, where she just flopped over like a ragdoll. He shook his head before going over to her wardrobe. “Here,” Sweet Pea took a bit of time finding where her shirts and pants were, using his iron will not to stay too long in her underwear drawer because she was in no state to protest. He grabbed the first pair of jeans he saw and a shirt he’d seen her wear a number of times. That meant she liked it. Good. “Get these on.” The clothes hit the space next to the girl, making her look up tiredly.

“No, Sweet Pea, I don’t want to function like a proper human being!” She complained. “Let me lie here for the rest of the day.” While there was certainly something about her in her baby doll PJs sprawled over her bed, Sweet Pea wouldn’t take no for an answer then. He already had a plan and he was intent on making it a reality.

“C’mon,” the biker pulled the petite girl’s limp body up into a seated position with little trouble. “Hands up like at a rave.” Ruby obliged, her arms rising over her head in a sluggish motion.

“I’ve never been to a rave.” She confessed as he slid the top of her pajamas up and over her head, leaving her in a sports bra. Ruby didn’t even move to cover herself, which only confirmed Sweet Pea’s suspicions of her being beyond tired.

“I’m sure that Toni and Fangs will be happy to take you to one.” He helped her slip on the shirt with only a small fumble to get her arms into the proper holes.

“You don’t want to take me?” She was smirking up at him from her seat. Sweet Pea knelt in front of her, tucking his thumbs into the waistline of her PJ bottoms.

“Maybe. It’s not really my scene.” Ruby rose a bit to let him slide the clothing off before he helped her into the jeans he’d found.

“Why do I get the feeling you only go to rock concerts?” She swatted his hands away when the jeans got to her thighs in a clear sign of recovery. Sweet Pea pulled the girl up to stand and watched her shimmy the pants the rest of the way up, buttoning them.

“Your feeling is wrong.” He didn’t offer anything else. Telling her that she’d hooked him onto some of the catchier rap artists wasn’t a secret he was willing to share yet. Sweet Pea offered the girl his hand and she took it immediately, their fingers interlocking. He led her down the stairs, stopping only for a second for the both of them to slip some shoes on, and then they were gone.

Sweet Pea knew that Ruby liked riding behind him on his bike. He had noticed the way she’d stopped being reluctant to get on it over time. He had also realized that she asked him to let her drive them around in her Mustang less and less. By the way she grabbed the spare helmet without hesitation and held onto his waist loosely, he knew that she liked the ride more than she was willing to let on. That day was no exception.

As Sweet Pea drove to a place Ruby wasn’t familiar with, she let go of his back, making him throw his arm behind to hold her instantly. She patted his shoulders in reassurance before he saw her throw her arms up in the air, head back and stray hairs whipping around wildly. Sweet Pea couldn’t stop glancing at her reflection in the mirror, the smile on her face positively huge and infectious. Ruby was the kind of girl who enjoyed riding on the back of a Serpents’ motorcycle with her arms up and head back, whooping with joy. And, it was positively infectious. Sweet Pea couldn’t resist teasing her a bit. He hit the breaks lightly, making her slam into his hard body, before revving the bike and speeding up. Then, her giggle of joy was directly in his ear as her arms hugged him around his neck tightly. She was standing, the boy realized. The crazy girl was actually standing behind him on the bike, straddling it. They both ignored the numerous odd looks they got from the Northside residents as they whooshed through the streets and onto the highway.

Sweet Pea didn’t stop until he got to one of his favorite spots. It was a ride which took them on the highway, a little out of town, and down a road lined with non-deciduous trees. Finally, after a little over thirty minutes, he took a left and parked his bike on a small rest stop at the side of the road. Without many cars on the highway, it was quite peaceful out there.

“We’re here.” Sweet Pea told his companion, offering his hand to help her get off the motorcycle. Ruby eagerly took her helmet off, leaving it beside his on the bike and letting the tall teen take her towards the edge. There was a single bench there, overlooking the scenery in front of them. The whole town of Riverdale could be seen underneath, houses huddled together on the Northside and old buildings rising up on the Southside.

“Will you believe me if I say that I’ve already been here?” Ruby asked, plopping down on the bench. Sweet Pea joined her, his arm swinging around her shoulders and bringing her closer to him almost instinctively.

“You can’t pop my bubble like that and leave me with no context, munchkin.” He spoke in a rumble. But, they both knew that it was just a teasing jab, instead of his usual disgruntled comments. So, Ruby launched into a story of how she’d picked up her best friend, Mattie, from the airport and they’d stopped at that particular spot to eat some food, sit on the hood of her car and sing along to some ridiculous pop songs which came on the radio. Sweet Pea instantly demanded that they take her car next time, in order to sit on the hood like that together and Ruby agreed, giggling.

Evening came before either of them noticed. With their cell phones left under the seat of his bike, they had ignored all the texts and calls, enjoying the peace of sitting under the warm sun rays which came in between the treetops instead. As Sweet Pea got ready to take Ruby back home, probably for some more stressing about finals, he realized that they hadn’t exchanged a single kiss during their time there and that he hadn’t minded one bit. In fact, he felt closer to Ruby than he had in months.

“Hey,” Sweet Pea stopped the girl before she could take the helmet and get on the bike to go back home. She turned, a questioning expression on her face. Sweet Pea reached behind her head to the small hairband which held her bun and pulled it. Dark brown, slightly wavy, locks spilled from the top of her head, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. They were a mess, sticking up in odd angles and creating a curtain of soft, conditioner smelling chocolate. But, even when she tried to tame down the parts which had twisted awkwardly, she looked beautiful to him. Sweet Pea leaned down and kissed her lips quickly, only for him, and pulled away before she could return the affection. “Your hair definitely looks better when it’s down.” He told her before grabbing his own helmet as if they hadn’t just had a moment.

“Oh, you gigantor of a dork.” Ruby grabbed his forearms and pushed herself up to engage in a slightly longer kiss before they headed back home. Needless to say, Jo wasn’t happy about his daughter getting dropped off by a biker after hours of ignoring his calls.

That’s all for now folks!

The taglist is still open: @enticinghell

Here are the previous parts:

Day 1: A way to memorize Day 2: How to prepare for a study date (?) like a proper gentleman Day 3:  With proper motivation, anything is possible Day 4:  PG13 PDA sugar can be good motivation Day 5: Autumn time is picnic time Day 6: It’s best when we can compete Day 7:  Master of procrastination and his jailer   Day 9:  Dirty French for beginners   Day 10:  I need… sleep?… no, you…   Day 11:  Delirium   Day 12: Stay still for me   Day 13:  Debate? Apparently, a turn-on   Day 14: Two-seater and Chinese   Day 15:  Unintentional intentions  

Let me know how you like it and if you’d enjoy reading something longer about these two :D