#wish I had time to catch the others I'll go through the list once it's up

[enlitment]

Paris 2024 really said Women's History rights <3

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[nortonluv]

Richard sterling x prince (hunter) reader. I really like the classics 😒. I also think it would be a cute dynamic

Uh, one second while I just- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH.

Alr thank you for your time I'll get to writing now :3 I'm going out on a limb and guessing you want a male reader and not a gender neutral reader, but lmk if you want me to rewrite it for that.

Disobedience.

(Was written before I gained better understanding of his character so he may be ooc)

Masterlist

Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't expect of an Idv fanfic ig. Swearing, Mentions of aggression. (They kinda hate eachother through the first bit but trust the process), Fluff :3

Info: I originally intended to go for headcanons and then short little drabbles.. but ig this is what you get when you're hit with horrific brainrot for one character. [WRITTEN BEFORE HIS OFFICIAL RELEASE, I DONT REMEMBER IF PEOPLE LEAKED HIS ABILITIES SO IM KEEPING THAT DESCRIPTION MINIMAL]

Richard Sterling x Male! Hunter! Prince! Reader

---

This Manor isn't to my liking. Too small. Compact. Nobody listens to me either. Disrespectful little rats. Have they no idea who I am?

Have I really been forgotten by the world that quickly? Surely not. Sister would not have let that happen, I'm sure. Of the entire family, she loved me. She saw me. She saw me as I am, not as the misconceptions they've had of me since the day I was born.

My eyelids finally force themselves open as the curtains of the room I've been placed in are pushed open by an unremarkable face I will likely never remember. Nobody of importance, however, the woman bows and makes a swift exit as she meets my eyes. She had quickly muttered something along the lines of "Breakfast is ready to be served."

Hm. Food didn't seem to even get a rise out of me anymore. The thought having lost its appeal after my incident. Court of fools. Court of shrivelled cocks and frog faced women. Neither appealing yet praised as though they are Gods greatest gifts. Can't even protect their prince from something as simple-minded as poisons in his meals. I suppose I should make an appearance before my "games" today, see who I am to be matched against to begin with.

The newest survivors are often who I am matched with as I am a new hunter. The Lady Nightingale, as I have learned to refer to her as, has insisted that it is the best way for us to adapt to our situation. The Fire Investigator seems particularly taken by the poor burnt Puppet man. Ms Mora, although sometimes able to fool me, often lacks the correct facilities to correctly defend herself against me. However, the role that catches my eye upon the list of survivors I am to play against is The "Knight". A name not seen by the other hunters, according to Mr Desaulnier. He claims to have heard whispers amongst the staff attending to us all but he merely thought it to be just rumours and gossip. Of all the Hunters, Joseph Desaulnier has been the best example of what a friend is in this sort of situation. He has been respectful and taught me the ropes all he asks in return is my reciprocated respect.

My eyes scan over the heads of the survivors currently nearby, all familiar faces in a sense. Although I have not been here long, I am aware of the majority of the survivors present in the manor and their general styles. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose.

♡♡♡

I have vague memories of a handful of matches I've played in this place. The Red Church. Lots of walls and the main church building is rather open, often a cipher placed on there making the chase for the survivors slightly harder if they do not get enough distance in time. My goal for this match, however, is not to find my usual survivors. I understand them, I wish to study the new puzzling enigma that is the "Knight".

An odd sort of sight is given to us hunters that allows us to see the machines being worked on. Slight shakes on multiple at once, its only a matter of figuring out which would be best to go to. Church it is. Whoever is there, regardless of it being the one I want or not will likely try to pass off the kite to another as there was a sudden switch of the journalist to the composer. I am more likely to find one of their decoders but one can only hope to be so lucky.

As I make my way to the church an odd figure is there to greet me. He looks up from the machine in shock and takes a defensive stance, this allows me to get a better view of the man. His hair is long and perhaps considered unneat but in a charming sort of way. He wears an outfit that exudes the very concept of nobility to a high level most of my fathers court could not even pull off. His face is angular and a beauty mark sits below his lips to his right side. He regains his composure as he realises I am not here to attack him. The church is quiet as a cipher is finished most likely by the composer in the far corner. Aside from the large popping noise it makes nothing is said between us, not until he decides to open his lips.

"Are you not the one sent to hunt us all? I am I truly so intimidating that you have become incomplete." Stern words, harsh even but it does not bother me as it is the sort of taunting I have received many times through my time. His eyes narrow viciously. Two colours? I would not have noticed had I not taken this time to study him, his left eye a stony blue colour and his right, a deep brown with green tints in both. At this point to have been able to see this I have since gotten closer subconsciously. As though drawn to his prescense. I catch myself before i get too caught up in it all however.

"I am the Prince. Your Prince. Show more respect, if you truly deem yourself to be an honourable knight." He seems to smirk at my title and his confidence only appears to double.

"So a spoiled brat, demanding obedience as though all around are his new pet puppy dogs?" He's trying to get a reaction. His arrogance is almost reflective of my own however he must have a means to be doing this or is it simply for his own pleasure, as my reason had been to observe. "How rude. You are no Prince of mine, not until you prove it. So, shall we dance, Your Grace?"

My composure slips at the words and I feel the angered snear take over my features, my stance becomes more offensive and I begin to hastily move towards the cocky man. "Speak not of being a brat. You're disobedience will get you nowhere but a chair back to the manor."

The chase was not as long as I was expecting, I suppose he truly was arrogant in his abilities today. Time will tell if he masters his skills. A tie was all I could manage with the hinderance the Knights and my initial meeting gave me. I am forever grateful that the Faro Lady believes she can be a rescuer with her ability, a terrorshock is all it takes.

The Knight appears to want to become my antithesis. So that is all he shall be. An idea abstracted from my own and strange.

☆☆☆

- After the first meeting they appear to be forced together through consistent matches against one another or rumors spreading that the two knew eachother prior to the manor.

- False rumors but you suppose it is not completely unreasonable that a prince and a knight, or so his name claims him to be, to be closer than other roles within the manor.

- He says little to others, and when he does it is often sickeningly sweet words. Sugarcoated truths made to seem like the words are kinder than they are just to draw others in.

- few had fallen for it so he had abandoned such a tactic in favour of bothering you in some form.

- be it in matches, his improvement in the way he moves through each map having improved significantly. Easily gliding past obstacles and dodging your skills. A real pest.

- Tension seems to continuously rise with no seeming resolve in sight. That is until one day you walk past the music room.

- Expecting the violinist on the other side of the door as the melody continues on, only to be met with the closed eyes of the Knight as he plays a somber tune.

- You go unnoticed until the end of the song, a smile forming on your face. His eyes flash open as though some otherworldly being made him aware of your presence.

- A silent understanding forms between the two of you. As though no words were ever needed between the two of you, simply because you both understood.

- The tension dissipates within seconds.

- You and the "Knight" seem to find a deeper understanding of eachother over time. He learns of your past and attempts to sympathise with your unjust demise, while he shares stories of his past before the loss of his family.

- He wishes to find his 'sister' but as time passes he finds himself drawn to you, wishing never to leave your side.

- That is exactly what he does. He takes the role of a true Knight that protects his master, although he still has a tongue as sharp as a blade and swift wit that goes completely unmatched by most others in the manor.

- He cannot seem to ever truly listen to your commands, but suppose it is the thought that counts.

---- fin.

OKAY I LOWKEY FELT I WAS WAFFLING ON AND FORGOT WHAT I WAS WRITING, I DIDNT EVEN ADD SOME OF THE STUFF I WANTED TO CAUSE MY TIMES FOR WRITING WERE SO CLUNKY BUT HEY I GOT IT DONE EVENTUALLY!!

(Not proof read, I'll go back and get that done lol)

[seoll3miwrites]

Doing Time | Criminal Minds S.R

Chapter 6. Vegas

Spencer and Hana should probably talk about the other night, if only their wan't so important and distracting. Or maybe they're just coming up with excuses. Chapter Title: Vegas by Doja Cat

Spencer and Hana hadn’t spoken about the drunken kiss they’d shared only a few weeks ago. It had only been a three days after that night they’d been sent out on another case in , but once they’d gotten back to DC neither knew how broach the subject. Even now as they sat next to each other on the jet heading to Las Vegas, New Mexico, they both struggled to start a conversation about that night; so they didn’t.

“I wish it was the fun Las Vegas.” Hana complained as she ate the salad Sasha had made her that morning. 

“Did you know I’m from Vegas?” 

“Really?” She turned to him, perking up in interest, “Does this mean I should bring you with the next time I head to the casinos?”

“I would sat yes but I’m actually banned from majority of the casinos in Vegas.” He informed her nonchalantly. 

“Holy shit!” She exclaimed in surprise, “I was wrong you got a little bad side to you, Doctor.”

He laughed at her, which encouraged Hana to laugh as well. Out of habit she hit him slightly on the arm as she continued to laugh, before catching her breath. The pair were soon joined by the rest of the team in order to get a general profile before they land.

“Is there even anything interesting about this Las Vegas?” Hana questioned to start the discussion, which Spencer was happy to contribute.

“In the late 19th century, it was a booming railroad hub with a reputation for lawlessness, and apparently, outlaws are a part of the town's genetics. Billy the Kid lived there, and Doc Holliday himself had a saloon there before going to meet Wyatt Earp in Tombstone.”

“The more things change, the more things stay the same.” Rossi chimed in, looking through the case file.

“All the victims in both instances were teenagers, except for Jose Rivera.”

“A younger staff, that's pretty typical for a night shift.” Morgan chimed in, to add extra information.

 “The unsubs might have considered that. It would be easier to subdue a group of kids.”

Tara leaned forward slightly so she could contribute, “Almost an identical M.O. Copycat or no, why go back to this town and do this again?

“They could be sending some kind of message to announce their return.” Spencer suggested, followed by Rossi’s other idea.

“Or it just might be criminal ego. They got away with it the first time. Why not do it again?”

“Could also be about reliving it, if it is the same unsubs they might be wanting to relive the ‘glory days’.” Hana noted although she didn’t consider killing teenagers and arson as something someone should see as their ‘glory days’

“With unsubs this violent, how do you just disappear and go dormant for 6 years?” Morgan questioned, continuing to build the profile.

Hotch turned towards Morgan before speaking, “They may have been in prison. That would explain the criminal experience.”

“Crime U., best education taxpayer money can buy.” Rossi uttered making Hana smirk slightly, yet she hid it behind her hand at the glance she received from Hotch.

“When we land, I'll have Garcia compile a list of recently released convicts in the area. Morgan, you and Reid go with Federov to the coroner when we land. Lewis, you're with Dave and me at the local PD.” 

With that the team waited until they landed until they wait their separate ways. Hana followed Spencer and Morgan to one of the 3 cars waiting for them before heading off to the coroner. The arrived only a few minutes later, exiting the vehicle the trio made the way towards the building. The wind was slightly strong and kept blowing Hana’s hair into her face. She gather her hair and went to tie it into a pony tail only to realise that she didn’t have a hair tie on either wrist. Sighing heavily, she released her hair, allowing to flow in the wind. 

As they continued walking, Hana felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to face Spencer to her right. He handed her something before continuing towards the building. She looked down to see that he had handed her a small black hair tie. Smiling slightly, she pulled her hair backup and tied into a messy ponytail.

“Thanks!” She called over to Spencer, who turned and smiled in reply.

Once they entered the building the met with the coroner who led them through to the morgue where the three victims laid on separate metal autopsy table. Hana felt a strange feeling as looked at the victims, this was the first time she’d seen someone younger than her. They had so much life left in them, so much potential. She wanted to catch these assholes. Or maybe just kill them. 

Spencer leaned in to assess the victims, “Several antemortem wounds, facial lacerations, fractured jaw, a fractured skull.”

“Yeah, it was a brutal beating. All 3 of them had broken ribs, too.” The coroner responded as he read from his autopsy report.

“And ligature marks.” The doctor noted as he continued look over the bodies.

The coroner nodded before continuing, “Looks like the boys were bound with their own belts and electrical wires. I found leather and melted plastic in their clothes.”  He spoke as he lead them towards the female victim, “Renee Acosta was different. There's evidence of sexual assault.”

“Any recoverable DNA?”, Morgan asked.

“None. Whatever wasn't destroyed by the fire got washed away by the sprinklers. But she was recovered without clothes on. And based on the cotton and nylon fibres I found around her wrists, I think they restrained her with her own underwear.”

Spencer looked up from the female victim, “That's precisely what happened to the female victim 6 years ago.”

“Those details weren't released to the press. These aren't copycats. These are the same guys.” Morgan noted in reply.

Hana looked between the two other agents before speaking, “The question still stands, I mean why come back now?”

As it turns out only one of the unsubs was the original perpetrators from 6 years ago. Duke Mason had returned due his old flame, who most likely gave birth to his son before he was imprisoned all those years ago. Garcia, the wonder that she is, was able to find Tammy Vasquez’ address, and now Hana was sat next to Morgan as the team drove their way over there.

When they arrived Chief Montoya reached the house first and made his way to the door to knock, everyone else gathered behind him. 

“Ms. Vasquez! Police! Hello? Anybody home?” He called multiple times with seemingly no answer, “Nobody here.”

They turned to leave before Morgan heard a muffled cry in the distance, causing him to pause, “Wait a minute. You hear that?”, He moved towards the door before knocking, “FBI! Anybody here?”

Hana moved closer to the door and heard more sobbing coming from the house, she nodded at Morgan to show she heard it too. “There's somebody in there.”

The officers went around the back as Morgan kicked open the door. Moving through the house, Hana made her way through following closely behind Morgan. Turning a corner the pair found an older woman tied up with duct tape across her mouth.

“Guys.” Morgan called as he made his way to the woman tied up, “It's ok. It's ok, I got you. I got you. Are you hurt?”

“No. I'm fine. He took them. He took them both.” 

“We need to issue an Amber alert.” Rossi stated a turned around back outside the house. Hana stayed for moment longer making sure the other woman was okay, before following her team outside.

She walked towards Morgan and Rossi who were speaking to each other. While she didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation she heard Rossi’s question to Morgan. “What happened to Turner?”

“I bet it got pretty ugly when they split up.” Morgan suggested, car pulled up the scene and Spencer step out running slightly towards them.

“Hotch is out coordinating roadblocks and canvassing the area, but so far nothing.” Spencer spoke, giving them an update.

“Why switch directions are risk coming all the way back here?”

Rossi shrugged slightly before answering, “He's strung out and believes that boy Cole is his son. He's capable of anything.”

“We should extend the Amber alert.” Spencer suggested to which the team all nodded in a agreement.

Chief Montoya shouted as he made his way over to the team, “Agents! Tammy Vasquez' pickup truck was spotted heading south on Route 34.”

“Is that far from here?”

“About 10 miles or so. State police have major roadways on the other end blocked off so he can't get out, but it cuts through the Santa Fe National Forest. If he knows what he's doing, he can hole up out there for weeks.”

“Where would he go to access fresh water?”

“There's an old abandoned campground. It doesn't get used much. Sometimes the kids go up there to drink.”

“He'd want to go someplace familiar.” Rossi observed

“That’s probably where he took them.” Hana stated as Spencer turned to her, a strange expression on his face.

“Agents, if you don't mind me making a suggestion,” Montoya spoke as he lifted a map for everyone to see, “I know that place like the back of my hand.”

Hana stood next to Rossi as her and the team listened as he pointed to the map at a certain point where they could move if they wanted to catch Mason by surprise. After the plan was set up, they separated into small groups and headed towards the campsite. 

When they arrived Hana noticed the car park up, and two figures that appeared to be arguing, she turned to Rossi who nodded to indicate it was time to intervene. Signalling to the other groups who moved in to the figures.

Noticing the guns each of them was holding, Morgan stood out slightly to announce their presence, “FBI, drop the weapon!”

In response, Hana heard the one with the long hair shout something before the pair began to fire at the police and agents in the trees. In the firefight they were able to take the long haired with one sniper shot, but Mason stayed up longer. 

Hana step out for one moment in attempt to get mother shot in, when she felt red hot pain exploded in her right side. She moved back behind the tree and put her hand against the pain source; only to find her hand coated in blood. The asshole had managed to get a shot clean through her shoulder. 

“Shit!” She cursed as she put her back on the wound, “You motherfucker!”

“Language!” She heard the Rossi shout over from his position. 

“With all due respect sir,” she replied, “I’ve been fucking shot!”

While she was shouting back she noticed the firefight had finally ended and saw Mason lying on the ground. The lack of bullets firing allowed Rossi to make his over to where she was now sitting against the tree.

“Don’t worry it was clean shot, I’ll just need stitches.” She reassured as her unit chief looked at her shoulder in concern. 

“Someone should still take a look at it before we leave.” He ordered as he grabbed her uninjured left arm to help her up. 

She smiled wryly at him, the pain still making her dizzy. “Careful, Sir someone might think you like me.” 

Rossi laughed slightly before replying, “Oh we wouldn’t want that.”

After Hana was patched, she joined her team at the funeral of the victims, dressed in black sat between Spencer and Tara on a wooden church pew. That strange feeling that she felt when she saw the bodies had came back, causing her to clench the skirt of the simple black dress she was wearing. As she listened to the singer, and watching the parents say their last goodbyes; she realised it was sorrow. She’d felt sorrow before, but this was the first time she had mourned not only for these young victims but also for the lives they could’ve lived. 

So, around some of the few people that she trusted, she allowed one tear to fall. Noticing the need for comfort she felt Tara reach out and grasp Hana's hand gently, to which she squeezed it in thanks. At least this time she felt sorrow; she wasn’t alone.

Prev Chapter // Next Chapter

[thegrimreaperisanerd]

hi :) binge read your de fic that you have posted on ao3 last night and really enjoyed all of it! excited to see any updates. was wondering if you have any rec for other fic youve read and enjoyed-- i am not god's bravest soldier and do not enjoy trudging through tags and was wondering if you had read anything yourself that you really enjoyed lolol

Hey, thanks so much!!! Sorry it's taken a couple days to answer this, I'm poor as shit and have two jobs now wah... capitilism...

I'm working on the next 46' chapter, It's about 70% complete and I generally let it sit for an evening once it's done then re-read it the next day to catch the vast majority of mistakes (I edit everything myself) so I'd say expect that in the coming days.

I have some thoughts! I... Have never been asked for fic recs before so I'm gonna list a bunch in no particular order that I enjoyed, and reasons why. I will note that I tend to enjoy meaty plot-based works over fluff, so that's what I'll be recommending. Anyway!

Paddling Out (THE REPEATER CORPSE CONUNDRUM) - @transhitman - So this is the first DE fic I read and it set the bar pretty fucking high. YOU'VE GOT: a very cool and insular setting (don't get me wrong I like fics where they travel around Revachol too, but there's something to be said for building a set and living in it for a while) YOU'VE GOT: extremely harrowing tension and pale-fuckery YOU'VE GOT: some genuinely beautiful, heartfelt moments (I don't want to spoil anything but "people don't need your permission to care about you" kinda undid me) YOU'VE ALSO GOT: Amazing art?! Always a bonus, I wish I could draw people lol

Have You Heard The News That You're Dead? - Wizardlover - Time Loop shenanigans hell yeah! Basic premise: Kim is *unable* to save Harry's life after he's shot at the tribunal, each time he dies he Reawakens in Martinaise on the first day and desperately has to try and find a way to either prevent the Tribunal entirely, or survive it. I think the major draw to this one is how well it's characterised and how well that lends to the major source of tension: trying to convince THE WORLD'S BIGGEST SKEPTIC that you *a man he 'has only just met'* is actually stuck in a time loop. Juicy shit.

The Case Of The Man Who Two-Thirds Wasn't There - @glisteningceruleaneyes - We got another case fic here, gang. This is one of those "they travel around Revachol" numbers I previously mentioned. A lot to love about this fic; the minor OCs are all loveable (or at least well-written, looking at you Mr. Bigot-All-Rounder), the elements of writing in the game's style (particularly use of Harry's 'to do' list that you find in the ledger, you don't see that as often!) are all fantastic. Also without spoiling too much I'm a sucker for hurt/ comfort :) I like when bad things happen to our specialist guy :) ALSO! alternating chapters, Kim vs Harry's perspectives contrast REALLY well! Just a super enjoyable read. - On that note I also wanna include a special mention: there's a podfic for this one and since I mentioned my two jobs, I've been listening to audiobooks at work (I'm a cleaner. It's very boring) and that was a fun change of pace!

The Emergent Causeway - hal_incandenza - Now you KNOW this one is good because it's the only *unfinished* fic I'm recommending. Again, We've got art! We've got a brand new (non-Revachol!) setting that still feels excellently Elysium! We got that excellent balance of humour and misery from the get go! EXCELLENT murder mystery so far, I am intrigued AND also there's a fucking puppy. Hell yeah. This one's from Kim's perspective and does a really good job of it, nothing like a man being begrudgingly sent on holiday and being somewhat relieved to have a corpse to deal with.

A Spilled Kaleidoscope - @spilledkaleidoscope - I'm actually recommending a series here. Real definition of "came for the art, stayed for the writing" I mostly have a soft spot because I got to watch a few "haha, what if-?" musing text posts become a series of written chapters and INCREDIBLE DRAWINGS HOLY SHIT. Like, you really just draw hands for fun, huh? This person made a pact with some sort of devil beasts to draw hands very good, at the bare minimum we can read their fiction.

Nothing To Lose But Our Chains - Lepak - I almost forgot this one and I honestly can't believe it because this is one of these ones that you need a cigarette afterwards. Good fucking god. This is probably the best fic I've ever read in terms of not shying away from the heavy themes that make Disco Elysium such a beautiful, moving game. It tackles a racism in many forms, particularly how people like Kim (in working for the RCM) and immigration laws do their part in upholding racist systems, despite the way it hurts him too. Of course, it's also excellently written with tense scenes and some real funny moments. A real good'un here.

The Catacomb Killer - SupposedToBeWriting - Give Harry more memory loss. Make him convinced he killed a kid. Make *Kim* convinced he killed a kid... Then the plot thickens. I won't lie I can't remember fuck all about this one because I was mostly drunk when I read it, but if it was good enough that I kept reading instead of smoking a spliff or something then it must have been excellent... I will re-read it when I have the time, lmao.

MURDER ON THE AIRWAVES - @randomisedmongoose - I'm just a really big fan of murder mysteries and gore. You show me somebody with brain matter pouring from their earholes and I'm like "yum yum, more of that please." I am a sucker for curious methods of murder and this one's good for that. Lots of trekking back and forth like in the game again. More ACAB - always good.

I did not mean to include this many...........................

Oh well. Here's my list, there are plenty of others I've enjoyed but these are just the ones that came to mind! Thanks again for reading my fic! Always makes me happy when people let me know they enjoy my writing :3

[2chopsticks2eyes]

Limbo

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

Pairing: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Han Jisung/Han

Themes: Smut, Pining, Fluff

Word Count: ~9k | AO3

Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Cussing, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Creampie, Unprotected Sex (but, for real, wrap that shit up)

Summary: Minho has been longing for Jisung since the first time he met him and (with help from Bang Chan and Changbin) Jisung starts to catch on from the new song his best friend wrote.

Author's Note: I am delulu for Minsung. Just for fun guys (and for my own personal guilty pleasure). I have linked platforms with AO3 and Twitter too. Hope you enjoy!

(Lyric translation by GENIUS)

__________________________________________

“Our story was beautiful

You left me with a memory

Please don't forget that it means more than this

Wander through a long day

The night begins again

There are many things that I can't say, yeah

I don't get sick in my dreams

I want to call you quietly

The moment I wish I couldn't forget

Will it go back the way we used to be?

I know it'll change with just one word

The words I couldn't tell you

Lock me in this dream, please don't let me go”

-Limbo by Lee Know (Lee Minho)

- - - - - NOW - - - - -

Chan was attentive. Changbin was absorbed. And Jisung was absolutely gobsmacked. 3RACHA was more than eager once the other member’s songs came to them to listen to and they quickly went down the list, starting with - you guessed it - Lee Minho.

Not a single one of them had expected such a unique rock-ballad to be chosen by the lead dancer, moreso expecting a hip-hop vibe that would have some sick choreo potential.

To say the three of them were surprised would be an understatement. Of course they were mildly both confused and amused by the ending of the song, but it switched to endearment as Chan pointed out that ‘that is definitely Lee Know’s style’. They listened once again to the encapsulating melody and Chan and Changbin gave each other a knowing look when they focused on the lyrics.

Minho was in a hopeless battle of his probable unrequited love for Jisung and only Chan and Changbin had the eyes to notice it. They also noticed that a certain quokka was still speechless from the captivating track they were dissecting.

“You okay there Sung?” Changbin tried to hold back his amusement as he tried to bring the youngest producer back to earth.

“Huh, what? Yeah. I agree. Totally…” Jisung said as he shook himself to consciousness and scratched the back of his neck. Chan and Changbin couldn’t hide their choked back laughter as Jisung was still in la la land.

“So, Han-ah.” Chan blurted to grab the boy’s attention. “How do you feel about the lyrics? What do you think he was referring to? Hm?” Chan’s dimples betrayed his hidden smirk.

Jisung inexplicably widened his eyes as he looked at his smiling hyungs. “Oh… um…” He huffed out a half laugh, half scoff and ran his fingers through his hair as he stood up. “I dunno, man. No one can figure out what’s in that guy’s head. Right?” He nervously chuckled.

“Oh I don’t know about that. I think he can be very transparent sometimes. Don’t you think, Channie-hyung?” Changbin wasn’t even attempting to hide his giddy smile as he turned back to his leader.

“I agree! I think you should go ask Minho about it if you can’t interpret it yourself.” His smile grew wicked. “Besides…” He patted Changbin’s shoulder. “What kind of producers would we be if we couldn’t even understand our own songs?”

Jisung looked like a deer in the headlights, but quickly regained his forced confident composure. “For sure! Yeah… I’ll, uh. I’ll go do that… now? I guess I'll catch up with you guys on the rest tomorrow…”

“Oh absolutely! Let us know what he says!” Changbin jovially shouted at Jisung’s quickly retreating form before the door closed. “I think we are finally done dragging the chain hyung.” Changbin said with a coy look and a high five with Chan.

“And it’s about damned time too! You would think that Jisung would have pulled his head out of his ass four years ago!” Chan guffawed.

“You know him. Jisung prefers to stay blissfully ignorant.”

- - - - - THEN - - - - -

Minho denied it at first. He convinced himself that sure, he knew Jisung was closer to him than the others, but that’s because they were best friends. He knew that he would die for him in a heartbeat and have no regrets about it. 

When Jisung was happy, he was happy. When Jisung was sad, he was sad. And when the younger one looked at him with a smile, Minho didn’t care about anything else in the whole world.

He slowly started to notice that his feelings were probably somewhat deeper. Like when people started calling them “soulmates” he would get an indescribable jolt of glee run up his spine. He wanted to be special to Han because Han had always been special to him.

Sometimes, when Jisung was having a particularly bad day or he was feeling overwhelmed, he would crawl into bed with Minho at night so he could cry into his hyung’s warm embrace as he drifted off to sleep. Minho would never not be there for him. The thought of his Hannie being anything but happy made him want to hold him even tighter and never let go.

Minho knew for sure that he loved Jisung only a year after their debut. The realization came to him at the most random time, too. All he was doing was hanging out with the group backstage before a concert. He was on his phone on the sofa and he heard the beautiful sound of his Hannie's laugh. Jovial and contagious.

He looked up at him and he was suddenly frozen in place. There was nothing particularly different from normal circumstances. The younger man was still in his regular clothes, sitting next to Hyunjin as he laughed at the tall dancer’s dramatics. He didn’t even have his hair or makeup done yet.

But that is what stunned Minho. He was just so perfectly… Jisung.

The way his legs always turned in like an anime character when he sat down. How his waist was so small that it rivaled only one of Minho’s thighs. How he could look like the most precious and adorable being one moment, and then the sexiest motherfucker on the planet the next. And most of all, the way his smile, laugh, or face in general lit up the whole room when he walked in.

He was beautiful.

He was so beautiful. And Minho loved him. Minho loved his band member, best friend, and soulmate… and that scared the shit out of him.

No matter how hard he tried to distance himself after his revelation, Jisung always dragged him back into his orbit by not letting the elder hide for too long. And, if he was honest with himself, it pained him to be away from his soulmate for any length of time. Both mentally and physically. The amount of times that the elder had to “choke the chicken” to the thought of Han was almost embarrassing to him.

On a night just like any other, the young quokka unexpectedly crawled into bed with Minho again. However, Jisung didn’t say a word. He just pulled back the covers once Minho made room for him and snuggled himself in, stuffing his head into Minho’s chest and under his chin while they wrapped their arms around each other.

“Hannie?” Minho quietly whispered after a while, trying not to disturb his roommates.

“Hm?” He could hear that the boy was already being pulled into dreamland.

“Are you alright, jagi?” Minho ran his hand up and down the boy’s back as the younger squeezed him tighter.

“Mhm…” Jisung yawned. “I just wanted to snuggle tonight.” Minho’s heart ached and the boy looked up at him. “Is that okay, hyung?”

Minho was hypnotized by the round doe eyes that peered back at him and he had to remind himself that he needed to answer. His face softened and a warm smile grew on his face. He caressed the back of Han’s head and daringly pressed a small kiss on his forehead. As much as it pained him to say it, he relented. “Of course Hannie. Any time.”

The boy hummed with content as he buried himself back into his hyung’s chest and quickly drifted off to sleep when the elder pulled him closer.

Minho’s voice was barely a whisper as he buried his cheek in the boy’s soft, brown hair. “I love you so much, Hannie…” A single tear rolled off the side of his face and onto the pillow beneath him, quickly seeping into the fabric to minutely hide the evidence.

- - - - - - - - - -

Minho felt like his whole world came crashing down when he discovered that they were about to live separately. YEARS of pining, longing, and torturing himself by gluing himself to Jisung was about to end, and Minho HATED it.

Endless amounts of pent up frustration exploded like a match to oil and the members were taking the blow. They had to deal with Minho’s wrath from even the tiniest of triggers.

“Jisung, go fucking talk to him.”

“What?! Why do I have to go?!” The young rapper responded to his leader, exasperated.

“Because this is all because of you!” Changbin threw his hands in the air, pissed about just having been the most recent victim of one of Minho’s tantrums.

“What?! How?!” 

“Ji, think about it. You are his best friend. His literal soulmate. You can’t tell us that you aren’t equally as pissed about the news.”

He just crossed his arms and looked down to avoid the scrutiny of his hyungs.

“Please talk to him. You’re the only one he will listen to.” Chan put a consoling hand on Jisung’s shoulder and the younger one pitifully nodded.

Jisung knew the only way to make his hyung happy, and that was through his stomach.

He peeked his head behind the curtain to Minho’s bunk with a convincing grin and Minho just looked up from his phone to glare daggers back at him, still frustrated from his squabble with the boy’s fellow RACHA member.

“Hey hyuuuung.” Jisung took it upon himself to swoop in and jump on top of Minho, making the elder grunt from the weight on his chest.

“Jisung, what the fuck?” The man choked out.

“Lino-hyung come eat with me!” The boy looked up at him from where he had plopped down on his stomach with a cheeky grin.

“No.” Minho blatantly said as he returned his attention to his phone.

Jisung pouted his lip and propped his chin up on the device between them. “Oh c’mon, hyung. Don’t be like that!”

“I’m not being like anything. I just don’t want to get out.” Lies.

Jisung huffed and scooted up further on Minho’s chest, promptly squishing the phone between their bodies as the younger wrapped his arms around the other’s neck. Minho was sure his face must have been impossibly red from their proximity and it took everything in his power not to pop a boner as Jisung laid down the length of his body.

“Fine.” Jisung huffed, hugging the man tighter. “Then can I just lay here and cuddle with you? You haven’t let me in ages!” Jisung pouted and Minho felt the sharp pain of guilt in his chest.

He stayed quiet as he turned his head away. The silence dragged on between them until Jisung laid his head down on Minho’s chest, startling the elder.

“You know I didn’t want this either, right?” His voice was slightly muffled from where it was buried in Minho’s chest. “I really don’t want to live without you hyung. Y-you’re my best friend. I ca– I can’t…”

That’s when Minho felt the hot liquid of tears seep through his clothing onto his skin and he instantly panicked. “H-Hannie…” He tried to pull the boy’s head up to look at him, but Han kept his face glued to the soaked shirt.

“P-please h-hyung… d-don’t hate me!” He sobbed the last few words and Minho felt like his heart had broken into a million pieces.

“No! No! Hannie. Please look at me, jagi…” Minho cupped the boy’s cheeks as he looked up at him with red eyes and a quivering lip. “Listen to me. I could never, NEVER, hate you. You hear me? There is nothing you could do to make me love you any less.”

It seemed like both of the boy’s ears perked up at the same time at the unexpected word, but neither one decided to address it. Instead, Jisung wiggled up even further to properly hug Minho with his face buried in the crook of his neck.

“Promise you’ll come visit?”

“Promise…”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Do you still think I’m your soulmate?” Minho didn’t even think that topic was even in question. It had always been established, why was Han questioning it now? YEARS had gone by, but Minho’s desires for the boy never wavered. His love burned just as bright.

Minho felt a dark cloud over him that day as he realized that he might be drifting apart from the love of his life. He felt like the world was crashing down on him because while Han was everything to Minho, Minho was steadily becoming nothing to Han…

Han had said he wanted to hear Lee Know sing a ballad in that same 2 Kids Room shoot. Fine. Minho would tell him everything he wanted to say… just not directly…

- - - - - NOW - - - - -

Jisung took a deep breath as he stared at the door to Minho’s room. He had given himself a mental pep talk when the last inhabitant of the dorm, Seungmin, hastily left with a wide smile when he saw Jisung enter, leaving Jisung alone in the dorm with Minho…

Minho had been especially distant lately and Jisung had been more and more depressed that his hyung no longer adored him as much as he adored his hyung. Minho had always been the warmth that Jisung needed in his life. And although he was terrified to confront him, scared to know that he was moving on, Han was resolute in his quest to talk to his best friend, his soulmate, about his deep and complex lyrics.

Three knocks. “Fuck off, Seungmin. I told you I’m not going to talk to him.” Jisung’s heart ached because he knew exactly who his elder was referring to.

He slightly cleared his throat. “U-um. It’s Jisung… Can I come in?” Silence…

A bit of shuffling was heard followed by a bit more silence…

The door swung open and there was Minho, in all of his bed-headed glory, staring down at the quokka as if he had been caught with his pants down. “H-hey Jisungie! I-I wasn’t expecting you…” Minho was clad in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and blood rushed to Jisung’s face.

He could tell that Minho had definitely been working on his fitness.

Jisung couldn’t look him in the eye, but the only other place his eyes would involuntarily drift to was the elder’s impressive pecs. He started to shoot his eyes every which way as he panicked. “U-um y-yeah… I uh…” His eyes flickered to Minho’s equally flushed face. “I wanted to chill with you, can I– uhm… can I come in?”

What the fuck? Why was he being so weird? He usually just waltzed on in and made himself at home, even ignoring his hyung’s protests if there ever were any. “What? Oh. Yeah, sure!” Minho looked like he had just pulled his mind out of the void when he responded and stepped to the side.

Jisung didn’t plop down on the bed like he always did. He didn’t go grab Minho’s laptop to pull up a movie for them to watch. In fact, once he was standing in the middle of the room, he didn’t even move a muscle. 

When Jisung heard the door shut behind them, he couldn’t even find the courage to look at his beloved Lino. “Hannie?...” Minho’s melodic voice rang from behind him, but he still couldn’t move a muscle, his head dipped down and his eyes stayed glued to the floor. 

Why was he being like this? This was his best friend in the whole world, but why was his heart hurting so much? This awkward tension, the distancing, the fact that he hadn’t gone out with Minho anywhere where it was just the two of them like they always do. Well… like they used to do…

Jisung always wanted to address it with him, but when they were together, Minho would always find something to distract himself. All Jisung was able to do was sit there and stare at his beautiful hyung, the most handsome person in the world…

Why did he feel this way?

“Hey… Sungie?” While Jisung had zoned out, Minho had apparently walked around him to face him. The boy only snapped his head up when the elder gently placed his hands on Jisung’s shoulders, sending an exhilarating jolt through his nerves. “Are you okay, jagi? Do you need us to lay down?”

That’s right… they used to cuddle when something bothered Jisung. How could he have forgotten such an important detail? The idea of Minho even thinking of that in this moment had Jisung slumping in pain from the pressure on his chest. Minho didn’t even realize how kind he was. How much Jisung needed him. How much Jisung loved him.

Yes, of course Jisung loved him. He knew for sure that no one could ever be more important in his life than Minho was. That was surely love. And he hated how much it hurt that it wasn’t returned. His hyung was just looking out for his best friend. Nothing more.

Jisung felt like he was knocked over the head with a cinderblock at this revelation and the only thing he could do was stare back at the two black pools of Minho’s irises.

That was when Jisung felt the first salty drop of a tear fall down his face, completely unbidden. Minho’s face morphed into panic. He instantly wrapped the now sobbing quokka in his arms and quickly picked him up and carried him over to the bed. He pulled down the covers, guided Jisung to lay down, and went to grab the warmest blankets they had.

Once he had the boy fully covered and cozy, he slipped in beside him and pulled him tightly against his chest. Jisung was sobbing uncontrollably now as memories of the old days flooded his brain. How did he not see that he always loved his hyung?

The boy dug his face deep into the elders chest. Minho didn’t say anything. He never did when this happened and Jisung was thankful for it. All he needed was to know that he had Minho in his arms until he could think coherently again.

One of Minho’s hands was wrapped around him tightly to slowly rub his back, the other was gliding his fingers through the boy’s hair. They stayed like that for a while, letting Jisung release all of his sorrows into Minho’s naked chest.

“P-please h-hyung! Why are you being like this?!” Jisung lamented as he clenched his fists against the tan skin. “W-why won’t you t-talk to me anymore?! Why do you hate m-me?! I can’t live without you hyung. I ca– I can’t–” Jisung instantly was thrown back to when he said those exact words in this exact type of situation when they were forced to live separately. All Minho responded with was soothing shushes and soft reassurances to calm him down. He knew it was a bad idea to converse when Jisung was in that mindstate.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Jisung’s sobs finally subsided and Minho waited. He always let Jisung break the silence first. It felt like hours of silence and small sniffles from Jisung before he said anything. “H-hyung… what did I do?” While still holding his hyung impossibly tight, Jisung looked up at him with glossy eyes and a quivering lip.

“Oh, my Hannie…” Minho pulled his hand back to wipe away one of Han’s stray tears. “You did absolutely nothing. I’m the one to blame. I’ve been the coward…” Jisung was completely lost. What did he mean by ‘coward’? 

Jisung sniffled. “Coward?”

Minho bit his lip and fixed his gaze away from Han’s probing eyes. “I, uh… I’ve just been…” He looked back to lock eyes with Jisung, seemingly debating on saying something. What it was, Jisung had no clue. He eventually looked down with a sigh. “I dunno Hannie, this isn’t about me. I’m just here for you okay? I’m sorry I caused all this.”

But why? Jisung thought. Minho caressed Jisung’s face again and the boy closed his eyes and leaned into it. 

More silence.

Jisung thought ‘to hell with it’. “Hyung?” He asked with his eyes still closed. All he got in response was a small hum from the elder while he used his thumb to repeatedly glide over the smooth skin of Jisung’s cheek. “What was your song about?”

Minho instantly froze. His hand went rigid and it seemed like he stopped breathing. After a moment, Han opened his eyes to see a red faced and abashed Minho.

“Lino?” Jisung’s eyebrows drew together almost pleadingly as his balled up fists relaxed and pressed themselves against the dancer’s pecs. Jisung always knew Minho would let him drop honorifics in situations like these.

Minho cleared his throat. “Um…uh, why?” His voice shakily cracked. “I-it’s just a song Sungie…”

Jisung felt like he could cry all over again, but he was mostly frustrated at this point. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” Minho slightly pulled back, aghast at the younger’s outburst, but Jisung wouldn’t let him get far. The younger tangled his legs with the other’s and wrapped his arms around the elder’s neck. “Please, Min. I need to know…”

Jisung was desperate and Minho was at a loss for words.

- - - - - - - - - -

What did he mean he ‘needs to know’? Had he caught on? Minho didn’t know whether he should be terrified or relieved at the thought of Jisung finding out. Of course he wrote the song about him. For him. Anyone with eyes (especially the other RACHA members) would be able to see that. Anyone but Jisung.

Or so he thought.

But why did Jisung pull him closer? Even closer than before? Their faces were merely inches apart and Minho could see every beautiful, microscopic blemish on the boy’s face. He was dazzled by the proximity and at that very moment, he wanted to tell him.

Minho wanted to tell him and everyone else that he was indubitably head over heels in love with Han Jisung, he always was and always will be. He wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore. Fuck the subtlety of the song. If Jisung wanted to know, then he would tell him. Damn the consequences.

“You.”

That’s all he needed to say. The song was about Han Jisung and now that it had left his mouth, it was out in the open for the boy to take as he pleased.

Minho felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life, tens of tons of weight lifted from his chest with just one word. Jisung looked like he had been hit with a realization of a lifetime with the astonished look on his face and Minho wanted to fill the silence for once.

“I dream of you almost every fucking night, Jisungie. I dream of how we used to be. How we could be. And I never want it to end. All I have ever wanted was you and it drives me absolutely fucking batshit crazy how I can’t have that one fucking wish.” He almost sounded pissed with the amount of agony that was behind the words.

Once Minho had got it off his chest, he couldn’t shut his mouth and Jisung just layed there next to him looking like he was shitting bricks.

“I wish I could stay asleep for the rest of my life if that meant I could live that life with you and never have to worry about forgetting it all when I wake. I’ve been acting like a piece of shit because, everytime I see you, I’m reminded that you could never love me as much as I love yo–”

Minho’s ranting was brought to a halt when a pair of soft, pouty lips abruptly collided with his. Minho’s whole body shook like he had just been electrocuted and he was stunned into the stillness of a literal statue. 

Jisung’s lips. HAN JISUNG’S LIPS were on his! There was no way this was right. It had to be just some hyper realistic dream, right?

He soon realized that he hadn’t kissed back once he felt the warmth leave his lips. He almost whined at the loss.

“I… I love you too Lino…” Minho’s wide eyes stared down at Jisung’s brown irises. His rosy quokka cheeks. His plump, red lips. Then his face altogether, which looked almost as terrified as he felt only moments before.

“Hannie…” It was barely a whisper, but it didn’t really matter because Minho quickly closed the distance again as he cupped the boy’s cheek with one hand. Now they both were both moving in tandem, their lips sliding against each other gracefully as they tried to pull each other suffocatingly closer.

Years of pent up frustration and longing for the boy had finally been set free and Minho could almost cry from the relief. There’s no way this was real. He pulled away from the kiss and Jisung whimpered, making Minho feel something stir in his core.

“God, please tell me this is real…” Minho’s eyes buzzed around every detail of the boy’s face to ensure that wasn’t the case as his fingers grazed across the skin of the boy’s round cheeks.

What was once a pout on the boy’s face quickly turned into an amused one as he giggled. Without any words, the boy nodded in amusement and then pulled his hyung back in to lock lips once more.

Minho couldn’t hold back anymore. He gently ran his tongue along the boy’s lips between kisses and Jisung gasped when their tongues collided soon thereafter. With his hand still caressing Jisung’s cheek, Minho maneuvered them to an easier position as he laid Han on his back so he could halfway lean over him.

Jisung’s hands slid down from his shoulders and coincidentally brushed over Minho’s nipples on their way to wrap around his back. Minho wanted the earth to swallow him whole when an embarrassing moan escaped his mouth. Goddamn, the sexual frustration he has had to endure must have vamped his sensitivity. He just knew his face was beet red when Jisung pulled back to stare at him in amazement.

However, he didn’t have to suffer much longer because the quokka then decided to pull him back down for a bruising kiss with LOTS of tongue, subtly wandering his hands back to the man’s naked chest again. Of all the times to have him been caught without a shirt on…

He had to hold back his next pathetic moan when he felt another tentative brush of the boy’s thumb against his sensitive bud. He was growing hard embarrassingly quickly and he would die on sight if Jisung caught him with a boner. But the question was whether to stop or keep going…

Jisung apparently decided for the both of them when he pushed his hyung on his back, detaching their lips and moving to straddle him. “Wait! Jisung don’t–!” Shit… it was too late. Minho grunted when Jisung sat right on top of his fully erect cock and both of them wore shocked expressions. “I… I…” Minho was at a loss for words because there was no way in hell to talk himself out of this one.

That was until a glint flashed across Jisung’s eyes and he daringly rolled his hips down. “Ngh!” Minho sounded like he had gotten punched in the gut and his hands flew to Jisung’s tiny waist with a bruising grip. He glared up at the quokka who was sporting a cocky grin. He tried to do it again, but Minho’s hands stilled him. “Han fucking Jisung…”

His breath was shaky and when Jisung leaned closer to hover over him, he could feel that the boy was also sporting a raging boner, and that did NOT help Minho’s predicament. They looked into each other’s eyes as Jisung rolled his hips once more, fighting against the grip on his waist.

Minho’s hips involuntarily bucked up and he saw a sliver of a smile form on the boy’s face before he knelt down to messily lock their lips again. Jisung’s tiny whimpers were painfully adorable and Minho couldn’t help but to want to coax more out of him.

They soon matched in rhythm, with both their mouths and their hips. Their tongues explored each other while rolling their hips frantically. Jisung pulled back to desperately rid himself of his shirt, only to reattach his lips immediately after. He seemed to have no self control and, although he wasn’t in much of a better mindset, Minho needed to do something about it.

“H-Hannie… *ngh* Hannie–” He tried to say between kisses and stifled grunts.

Jisung refused to relent. “Hyung… *ahh* more…” He whined into the kiss.

Minho had to push past the fog of feeling the boy’s bare chest against his own, but he managed to grab Jisung by the shoulders to force him off with a whimper. “Jisungie… we need to stop… y-you don’t know what you’re asking…” He had to close his eyes while saying this because he knew he would be fucked if he looked at those round, pleading eyes. It wasn’t helping that Jisung was still running his hands all along the elder’s chest.

“Lino, p-please… please don’t stop…” Jisung tried to overpower Minho’s grasp on his arms, but the elder was resolute in his decision.

Minho clenched his eyes tighter. “We can’t do this, Sungie… you’ve been crying… you’re not in the right state of mind to make these kinds of decisio–”

“I know what I want, Minho.” Jisung’s voice was firm and it made Minho snap his eyes open. Jisung’s eyebrows were drawn together worriedly and he looked desperate. “I want you, Lino… do you not want me… in that way…?”

Minho quickly sat up to press himself flush with the boy on his lap. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how many times I’ve fucked my fist to the thought of you over these years?” Jisung ducked his head with impossibly flushed cheeks and Minho smirked. “So, yeah, I think I can confidently say I want nothing more than to pound you or be pounded by you right into this very goddamned mattress.”

Jisung’s eyes flew open in bewilderment as he covered his agape mouth with one hand and smacked the elder’s arm with the other. “Minho!”

Minho just guffawed at his reaction and that, in turn, made Jisung start laughing too. “What?! You asked!” Jisung covered his face in embarrassment and Minho just cooed at him as he wrapped his arms around the tiny little waist of his. “Aww c’mon, Hannie. Don’t hide from me jagi!”

When the boy removed his hands, he was glaring back at the elder. Without further ado, he overpowered the elder and pinned him to the mattress by his arms. “You can’t say that kind of shit and expect me to give up. You want me, Lee Minho? You can have me in any which way you want.” Jisung’s eyes were black with desire as he looked down at Minho. “I will do–” The boy kissed his lips “...whatever–” A kiss to his neck “...you–” A messy kiss to one of his nipples “...want–” He ended with a long, lingering kiss right above the hem of Minho’s sweatpants and the man shivered with every single touch.

“F-fuck Hannie…” Minho looked down at Jisung who was looking back up at him from where he had slid down the bed to kneel in between Minho’s legs.

Jisung always liked to act overly confident in situations where he was feeling insecure and only Minho could see when that was. There were the tell-tale signs that Jisung always gave away and he had no clue that his best friend was noticing them.

Minho could see that Jisung’s hands were slightly shaky as he ran them up and down his hyung’s thighs. He noticed that, although his eyes were full of desire, his lips were being gnawed raw. He couldn’t allow himself to let that slide.

Minho gently stilled the slim hands that were on his thighs and sat up, bringing a confused expression to Jisung’s face. “Jagi…” Minho solemnly looked into Jisung’s eyes. “You’re not ready, baby boy…” He felt a jolt of euphoria run through his body from the words that left his own lips, but he had to stay focused. 

“I am ready Minnie!” The younger looked down and blushed from the words. When he looked back up, he was pleading. “I-I know that I may not be experienced in ways that you are, but…”

He knew the boy was referring to a conversation he and Minho had a long time ago about how he was still a virgin and how Minho had his fair share of sleeping around as a backup dancer. Minho sure as hell didn’t want Han thinking anything less of himself because of it.

“Hannie, you don’t seriously think that I care about that right? I love you no matter what. I just don’t want you to jump the gun when you aren’t even sure that you… you know… are into guys–”

“You’re right.” Jisung immediately replied, freeing his hands and wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck once again. “I don’t know if I’m gay, you know I’ve always liked girls and that is still true…” Minho felt his heart split. “But I know now that I don’t want anyone anymore unless they are you… You’re not just some dude in my eyes, jagi… you’re my best friend. My soulmate. It doesn’t matter to me what sex you are, because you’re… you.”

Minho’s eyes were wide as they stared back into Jisung’s glistening ones. The boy was slightly shaking and Minho hugged him tighter.

“If you think I’m nervous, I’m not. The anxiety I have right now is only the eagerness from anticipation…” Jisung leaned in and pressed a long, heartfelt kiss against Minho’s lips, making the elder slightly dizzy. Minho tried to chase his lips when he pulled back, but Jisung just pressed his forehead against the elder’s to whisper against his lips. “Please don’t make me beg…”

Minho gently grabbed the boy’s face so he could pull back and look him in the eyes. He scanned them for any fragment of doubt and all he saw was the same desperation that he was feeling himself. His Hannie wanted to make love to him . HAN JISUNG. The boy that he had dreamt about doing this with for years was finally here in his arms asking, no, pleading for it. And who was Minho to disappoint him?

“Okay Hannie.” He could see Jisung’s entire face light up in an instant.

“Okay?” He said with disbelief.

“Yes, baby boy. But you have to behave and listen to me. Okay?”

“Yes!” Jisung nodded frantically as he leapt on Minho again. Minho chuckled as his back hit the mattress and Jisung kissed him all over his face and neck. “I’ll do anything you want, Minnie…” Jisung moaned against Minho’s neck as he tested the waters by rolling down his hips again.

“Ngh, S-Sungie…” Minho grabbed his hips again and flipped them. He stared down at him menacingly and clicked his tongue. “Now, now, jagi. I thought you said you’d behave.”

“I just want you so bad…” The boy whined as he refused to control his hips and clawing grasp to pull Minho back down.

“And you’ll have me, baby.” Minho smiled fondly as he leaned down and kissed his plump lips. “But we have some things to do first…” Jisung cried out in pleasure when Minho tentatively pressed his palm against the erection straining against Jisung’s jeans. “I don’t usually do this, but…” Minho continued to palm the boy and his breathing started getting heavy. “...since you’re a little ass virgin…” Minho cocked a teasing smile at the younger and all he could respond with was a whine. “I won’t make you bottom for your first time.”

Minho maintained eye contact as he popped the button open on Jisung’s jeans and slowly started to remove them, Han nodding permission the whole time. Once they were removed, Minho shuffled around and Jisung almost started hyperventilating when Minho knelt in between his legs and lowered his mouth down to the tent in his boxers.

“Breathe, jagi.” Minho rubbed soothing circles on the boy's thighs and only continued once the boy’s breathing had stabilized.

Minho closed his eyes in bliss when he finally got to wrap his lips around his soulmate’s clothed erection. They both groaned at the feeling and when Minho opened his eyes back up to check on the boy, Jisung was looking back at him like he had put all the stars in the sky. Minho was still in disbelief that this was all real.

After a moment of absolutely soaking Jisung’s boxers, Minho moved to press his lips against the inner thighs of the boy while his fingers played with his waistband. “H-hyung… please.” Jisung was already unbelievably whiny and Minho chuckled against his smooth skin.

“What was that, baby? I didn’t quite hear you.” Minho smirked as he sat up, still thumbing at the boy’s underwear.

Jisung huffed out a whimper and was having a hard time holding himself back from just taking his boxers off himself. “P-please Minnie… I want you.”

Minho smiled endearingly and then regained his cocky demeanor. “My baby is so polite.” Minho laid a chaste kiss against the boy’s stomach and then slowly, oh so slowly, started lowering the boy’s boxers.

Jisung’s breathing picked up again when Minho started leaving sloppy kisses down his abdomen at the same rate that his boxers were being lowered. Once his cock was finally freed, Minho pulled back to pull his boxers the rest of the way off.

Fuck.

Jisung was leaking all over himself and Minho could only stare in wonder. He was just about the same size as Minho, maybe a tad bit smaller, but even that intimidated Minho, who was usually a top, into nervousness about how he was going to be able to take him.

Jisung whined and moved his hands to cover himself. “Hyuuuung! Stop staring!” Jisung was red hot and couldn’t look Minho in the eye.

Minho chuckled and harshly grabbed Jisung’s wrists to pin them above his head. “No covering yourself, baby. You’re just so goddamned beautiful. I can’t help but wonder how I’m going to take all of you…” Jisung shot his eyes to meet Minho’s and he blushed furiously.

“M-Min, if you usually… you know… ‘top’, I can bottom for you… I want you to feel good too…” Jisung looked away as he said this, being adorably shy as usual.

Minho moved one hand to make the boy look back at him and then returned it to keep pinning down Jisung’s wrist. “You are such a sweet boy…” Minho softly kissed Han’s swollen lips. “But that’s something we can think about in the future… being bottom’s not necessarily… easy. And I don’t want you in pain for the first time, jagi. Don’t worry, baby. I know you will make me feel amazing.” Another chaste peck and Minho pulled back.

Jisung looked up at Minho in adoration and Minho licked his lips as he slid his hands down Jisung’s arms to his chest. “Now don’t move those pretty little arms of your’s, okay jagi?”

Jisung nodded enthusiastically as Minho lowered himself once more.

Minho got his mouth painfully close to Jisung’s tip, making the boy stiffen, but then abruptly redirected course to sensually kiss the boy’s pubic bone. The rapper whined and twitched as Minho kissed all around where Jisung most wanted him and it seemed as if he was about to combust.

Jisung almost sounded like he was sobbing when he opened his mouth. “Lino please touch me! I can’t take it anymo–” It was then that Minho swallowed half of Han’s dick and the boy choked on his words, instead inhaling a stuttering gasp. “Fuuuu–”

That was all Han could say as Minho slobbered all over his dick, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue around the majority, and stroking what he couldn’t reach with his mouth in his hand.

Minho swore that he would never forget the image on Jisung’s face as his mouth went slack and his lashes fluttered over his blown out eyes.

He was so beautiful.

Minho needed him and he needed him now. Once he felt like he was thoroughly stimulated, if the shaking in the rapper’s skinny legs was any indication, he pulled off the rock hard cock with a loud pop. Jisung just whined again against his rapid breathing.

“I gotta get myself prepped, okay love?” Jisung hazily nodded as Minho hopped out of bed to go grab some lube and a condom from his desk. That was when he froze as he looked in the drawer.

Jisung must have sensed his distress because soon Minho could hear a tiny voice from across the room. “J-jagi?” He was still heavily breathing and when Minho turned around with lube in-hand, he saw that the boy was palming himself.

“B-baby… I… I don’t have a condom…” Minho was sweating from the anxiety of having to end things here.

“Do we really need one?” Minho’s ears perked up at the rapper’s words. “I mean, I know we are both clean and healthy, so what’s stopping us?”

“Well… yeah, but… do you really want to?” Minho was unconvinced that Jisung would just be A-OK with fucking his ass raw.

“Hyung, I’ve literally been begging. Please don’t make me wait any longer.” Jisung was apathetic with his words with how impatient he was getting.

Minho just cackled and bounded over to the boy to pounce on him, littering him with kisses and making Jisung shriek with giggles. “God, you’re too good to be true, Sungie…” Minho’s kisses got slower and sloppier as he felt slender fingers pull at his sweats. Impatient as always, Minho kicked off the fabric separating them and let Jisung stare as he straddled him, starting to feel cocky with the awestruck look on his face.

“Hyu-hyung…” Jisung’s eyes drifted back up to Minho’s and then the boy went savage. He grabbed Minho’s face and pulled him down on top of him, locking lips and then moving his arms to wrap around his waist and pull their naked bodies flush against each other.

They both moaned when their bare cocks pressed against each other and Jisung couldn’t control the bucking of his hips.

Minho was getting more and more impatient by the second as he popped open the cap to the lube and subtly coated his fingers.

He made sure to keep his lips on Jisung’s as he reached back to circle his own hole, but once he inserted a finger, he had to drop his head onto the boy’s shoulder to concentrate. 

He felt his heart swell when Jisung started rubbing soothing circles into his sides and began licking and suckling along his neck.

It had been a LONG time since Minho had bottomed, so getting himself prepped was a long and arduous task. He could only pray that Jisung couldn’t hear the subtle wincing in the back of Minho’s throat from the stretch as he added more fingers.

However, he must have noticed because soon, Minho felt warm, shaky fingers wrap around his length and started tugging. Minho emitted a long groan and the added stimulation definitely made the stretch more worth it.

Minho’s body involuntarily jolted forward when his own fingers unexpectedly brushed against his prostate. He had gasped and Jisung quickly pulled his hand back. “D-did I do something wrong?” He sounded frightened and Minho pulled his fingers out of his ass as he lifted his head up to look at the boy.

With his clean hand, Minho brushed some of Han’s sweaty hair out of his face. “No, no, baby. You’re doing so good for me, jagi.” Minho pecked the boy’s nose. “Now I’m going to sit down on you and you let me know if you ever want to stop.” Minho said as he added some lube to the boy’s achingly hard dick.

“N-Never!” Jisung looked like he was going to buzz off the bed with the amount of anticipation running through his shaky bones and Minho chuckled at him.

“Aw, are you eager baby? Maybe I should wait a bit longer…” Minho jokingly looked up as if he was pondering the question and he felt a bruising grasp appear on his hips.

“You better fucking not.” Jisung’s voice was firm and Minho guffawed at the pure offense written on the boy’s face.

“Are you sure you want to be talking to me like that?” Minho scooched forward and grabbed the boy’s cock to start circling his entrance teasingly.

“F-fuu…” Jisung stared wide eyed at the sight and licked his lips.

“Now what do we say, Jisungie?” He continued to move his tip back and forth to catch on his hole and Jisung kept jolting from the sensation.

“PLEASE! Oh god, please, hyung! I’ve waited so long. Please!” Jisung was clawing at the sheets and Minho was in awe of seeing this side of Jisung.

“Okay, my good boy…” That’s when Minho slowly started to sink down and both of the boy’s heads snapped back in pleasure. The veins in Minho’s neck were protruding as he struggled to adjust to the feeling. He had to stop halfway for a breather and wait for the burn to subside.

He slightly slumped his head back down and placed his hands on Jisung’s chest to stabilize himself. That’s when he felt gentle hands run up and down his shaky thighs. “You okay, Minnie?” Jisung had a worried expression on his face and Minho’s heart swelled once again.

“I’m okay, baby boy. Just… just give me a second…” Jisung gave a tiny nod and Minho took a deep breath before he sat the rest of the way down. The both of them groaned and Minho dropped down to press his forehead against the other’s.

It wasn’t too long after some heavy breathing and long, lingering kisses that Minho started to roll his hips, gaining a gasp from the boy beneath him.

The stinging feeling that Minho had was slowly drifting into pleasure. The way Jisung was grasping onto his thighs for dear life and how his eyes were glued to where his cock disappeared inside Minho was really helping Minho enjoy it even more.

“H-holy fuck, Min. You’re so damned tight… I’m… I-I’m not gonna last long…”

“Yes you are baby. You cum when I say you can, yeah?” Jisung only whined a reply and Minho maneuvered his hips experimentally. He leaned back and put his hands on Jisung’s thighs behind him and slowly rocked down on him.

Jisung looked at Minho’s face in awe as the elder yelped when he found his mark. The repressed moans he was emitting was driving Jisung insane. The thought that his cock was doing that to the ever stoic man above him had him basking in confidence.

That bout of courage caused Jisung’s hands to drift up to Minho’s hips and slam him down on his dick. The euphoric cry of pleasure from Minho was worth the bone-chilling glare he gave after the fact. Jisung cocked a grin at him and repeated the action, thrusting up his hips to meet him halfway.

Minho wanted to take back control, but Jisung felt so fucking good that he couldn’t bring himself to give two fucks. The light grazing of Jisung’s cock against his prostate made him dizzy with every thrust and Jisung’s smile was the most beautiful thing Minho had ever seen.

No more fake confidence. His Jisungie was proud of himself and Minho was happy to give that to him.

The look on Jisung’s face was filled with love and wonder and it was like a magnet to Minho. The elder crashed down on top of the boy and ran his fingers through his soft locks. “F-fuck H-Hannie…” Minho didn’t sound like himself as he was whiny while bouncing on his dick. “Y-you f-feel s-so g-good…” Minho was speaking against Jisung’s mouth and, with his hands still controlling Minho’s hips, Jisung captured Minho’s lips in a searing kiss.

It was becoming sloppy as their saliva dripped down each other's lips and their tongues continuously licked into the other’s mouths. They were getting more and more sweaty and Jisung’s arms started faltering in their efforts.

Without a word, Jisung flipped them. Pushing Minho off his dick and onto the mattress next to him, the elder whined from the loss of stimulation. However, that was quickly replaced with ecstasy when the rapper threw himself on him and slowly entered him again.

Jisung started moving at a brutal pace as his lips latched onto one of Minho’s nipples and the dancer’s mind couldn’t focus on anything but Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

“J-Jisung-ah…” Minho muttered breathlessly. Jisung lifted himself off of Minho’s pec and was panting as he looked at the man under him in question. “I love y-you so f-fucking much…” It almost sounded like a sob from the amount of emotion behind Minho’s words.

Jisung’s eyes went wide and glossy and he looked at the man with heart eyes as he replied. “I love you to M-Minho.” Jisung was still pounding into him as they talked, but Jisung returned his lips to his soulmate. “So.” A kiss. “So.” Another kiss. “Much.” He ended with a long, soft kiss as his hips minutely slowed.

Minho felt every molecule of love in that kiss. He felt it in the way Jisung gently and tenderly rocked into him. He felt it in the way that instead of hunger and sloppiness in the kiss, it felt like he was savoring every touch and connection of their tongues and lips. Minho could almost cry from yet another realization that this was true.

On one particular thrust, Jisung lightly grazed over Minho’s prostate again and Minho’s jaw went slack against Jisung’s mouth as he emitted a choked moan. He couldn’t bring himself to words, but when Jisung started missing the spot again, he almost cried out.

Jisung sat up to stare at Minho in awe and then he looked down at where they were connected, mesmerized by the squelching sounds of his movements. He wanted more of those beautiful sounds from his hyung’s mouth. 

Jisung was determined as he lifted Minho’s hips and hooked his arms under his legs to spread them further and lift them higher. Once he readjusted, he slammed his cock into the dancer and thank god no one was home because the part-whine, part-moan, part-shout that left Minho’s lips was deafening.

“Fuckfuckfuck Hannie, right there!” Jisung’s heart swelled with pride as he continued to abuse his prostate and the sounds that Minho was trying to hold back was music to Han’s ears.

“God *huff* you’re so fucking *ngh* gorgeous, hyung.” Jisung was lost in Minho’s enraptured gaze and slack jaw that emitted choked moans and whines, but his erection that was bouncing against his stomach caught his attention. The head was red and leaking profusely all over his stomach and Jisung had a sudden urge to lick it clean.

But since he was buried inside Minho and he needed to concentrate on not cumming, he settled for wrapping his hand around his hyung’s length to stroke him in tandem with his thrusts.

“F-fuck Sungie *ngh* I’m gonna cum, jagi… *hiss* Cum inside me, baby…” Minho basically growled the words and Jisung sped up his efforts, enticed by the idea of filling the elder up.

After only a few more thrusts, Minho threw his head back with a cry and Jisung watched as he painted his hand and the other’s own chest with white. The sight pushed the younger over the edge as well and he loudly whined at the ceiling after throwing his head back.

Jisung pumped inside him a few more times to milk it all out of him and Minho jolted from oversensitivity. The dancer winced as Jisung pulled out of him and the boy wore a concerned expression. He didn’t even need to say anything before the elder spoke up. “I’m okay, Hannie. It’s just a little uncomfortable.”

Jisung just nodded and looked down to see his cum spilling out of the man’s ass. He didn’t get to look long, though, as Minho grabbed him and pulled him down on top of him to lock lips with him. Minho bit, sucked, and licked into Jisung’s mouth and they both were breathing heavily once they parted.

“God, you’re unreal…” The elder pressed his forehead against the other’s and they laid there in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, Jisung repositioning to snuggle his face in the crook of Minho’s neck.

“Hyung?”

“Hm?”

“We’re covered in jizz…” Minho absolutely guffawed and Jisung giggled along with him. They both pulled back and looked at the smooshed and sticky strings that connected them as Jisung lifted his chest.

“Yeeeah, and I think I need to change the sheets.” They looked at each other and cackled. “Let’s go get cleaned up, yeah?” Minho showed his finality by smacking Jisung’s ass cheeks with both hands.

Jisung nodded his head enthusiastically, but before he made a move to get up, he looked back into Minho’s eyes. “By the way…” Jisung seemed shy as his cheeks turned red again and Minho was intrigued. “At some point, I want to show you the songs I’ve written about you…” And with that, Jisung leaped off the bed and scurried his naked ass down the hallway to the bathroom after making sure the coast was clear.

Minho was flabbergasted. “Wait, what?!” Minho shouted across the dorm and all he heard was a maniacal giggle from down the hallway. Without even knowing it, Minho had the brightest (and slightly flustered) smile that stretched across his face as he ran down the hall to wrap his arms around his soulmate, best friend, and now lover once more.

Minho no longer wished to be locked in his dreams. He was already living them.

__________________________________________

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Please like, follow, and share! Thanks baby stays! 😘

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

[yanderes-galore]

Nizat 'Kvarosee, Romantic/Platonic intentions. Scenario where during his exile on Netherop, he captures the darling from the similarly stranded UNSC forces and keeps them as a pet - at first as a psychological warfare thing against the humans but eventually forming a twisted attachment. Optional: the inclusion of prompts #2 and #14 from your blog's prompt list, since I read through them and thought those would be fitting for this and your prompts deserve more love in these requests. - Scale Anon

I watched lore videos and read his wiki entry on Halopedia so I think I got this >:) Hope you enjoy!

Yandere! Nizat 'Kvarosee Prompts 2 + 14

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Kidnapping, Dehumanization/Degrading behavior, Obsession, Delusional behavior, Covenant religion, Manipulation, Violence, Slight worshipping, Implied darling is on the verge of mind break, Forced relationship/companionship.

Out of everything that has happened during his exile on this planet... you may have been the best thing that's come of it.

At first your capture was meant to a message. A message that eventually he'll win this war against Petrov and break the humans fighting against him. However... it has been a long time since Nizat had any company other than the Sangheili he was stranded with.

Despite being a dissenter, Nizat felt incredibly religious during his exile. He began to view your meeting with him as fate. You were a gift from the Gods... all for him.

Nizat had learned human language to speak with you. Instead of treating you as a prisoner... he began to be softer. He doesn't want to kill you as you're defenseless. Instead... he treats you like the gift he believes you are.

His fellow Sangheili find his behavior strange. Their leader is so fanatical about this human prisoner. All to the point of treating you like some pet.

Nizat began to adore you once he saw you as a gift from the Gods. He began to see you as a companion... one he loves more than most things. He never let you get far... often dragging you around like one would do a pet.

He made sure you were as comfortable as you could be on this hot planet. Even as his Sangheili brethren perished... Nizat found comfort in you. You may not wish to be with him yet he can't just toss aside a divine gift!

Nizat worships you as his human. You are meant to comfort him in his exile, aren't you? He hates that you keep fighting him... don't you see it's meant to be?

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that." Nizat tries to reason with you. The heat outside could kill you if he doesn't provide for you! Despite you being placed in his lap as he sits with you in private... you struggle against him.

How long had it been? Weeks... months since he's caught you? Your determination was becoming tiring... he wishes you'd just give in.

Nizat catches you whining and trying to squirm like a scared animal. Like most Sangheili he found humans weak... but not entirely deserving of being killed. In fact he found you quite beautiful in your own alien way.

"I'll take care of you, my gift... just relax into me, alright? I'm not going to hurt you. If anything, you're hurting yourself." The Sangheili tries to comfort you by holding you closer to his chest.

For now... you give up and allow him to coddle you. He really is the only sense of comfort you've had in a long time. Sighing softly you lean into the Sangheili, allowing him to crane his head into the crook of your shoulder. You hear the Sangheili give a growl of approval before squeezing you closer.

Thankfully this was out of sight from anyone.

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you." The Sangheili whispers into your ear, nuzzling into your shoulder. The feeling is scaled and strange but you don't fight it. Do you have any power in this situation anyways?

"You are my divine gift... the Gods have not forsaken me completely for my sins." Nizat coos, indulging in the comfort you give. "I'd never let anyone take you away from me...."

You then hear him growl behavior, this time it's threatening instead of comforting.

"If anyone ever does try..." Nizat muses and you feel his claws dig into you. "They'll die brutally by my blade, I can promise that, my gift."

You say nothing and only stare at the ground, quietly accepting your fate.

[deanwanddamons]

Undercover - Chapter One

Summary: Homicide Detective Dean Winchester and Detective Y/F/N Y/L/N go undercover to solve a spate of murders. 

Universe: Detective AU

Pairing: None (yet) 

Chapter Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Dark subject matter. Angst.

A/N 1: As always thank you to my beta @winchest09, who helped me with the idea for this story. You are my cheerleader, my bestie and my constant support. I love you. A/N 2: As you may or may not know, I haven’t written anything in an absolute age. I have been struggling with writer's block and life has simply got in the way. But…I started this series a long time ago and a few chapters were just sitting in my docs. So I thought I would post the prologue in the hope that you guys enjoy it, want to read more and it may give me the inspiration to continue with it. I’m happy to say, most of you seemed to enjoy it so here is Chapter One. Please let me know what you think - comment and reblog if possible ❤️ Tag list is open if you wish to be added.

My Masterlist

Undercover Masterlist

3 weeks before Prologue 

Dean walked through the winding streets of Pasadena, Los Angeles, making his way towards the precinct where he would now be working. 

After spending a week in the hospital after ‘the incident’, he had been ordered by his Captain, Rufus Turner, to take some time off work to recuperate from his ordeal. Dean wasn’t happy with this command, and had been very resistant to agree. The police force was his life, and the idea of just sitting at home doing nothing was alien to him. But he knew that Rufus was not the kind of man you could argue with. 

Rufus had been his chief for several years, and Dean knew that he wouldn't back down once he had made up his mind. He had tried to reason with him, explaining the importance of his job as a police officer, but Rufus had already made up his mind.

Flashback

"Look, I know how you feel," the older man had said, his tone firm. "But you need to take some time off. You've been working non-stop for months. You need to recharge your batteries, spend some time with your family, and just relax."

Dean knew that his Captain was right. He had been putting in long hours, working weekends and holidays, and neglecting his personal life. He had missed important family events, and he could feel the strain on his relationships.

"I understand, sir," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "But what am I supposed to do? I can't just sit at home and do nothing."

Rufus smiled. "I'm not asking you to do that. There are plenty of things you can do. You can take a vacation, travel, catch up on some reading, or do something you've always wanted to do but never had time for. The point is to take a break, clear your head, and come back refreshed."

The officer nodded, silently acknowledging the wisdom in the words he had just heard. He knew he needed a break, and he also knew that his Captain had his best interests at heart. He would take some time off, reconnect with his family, and come back ready to serve and protect.

"Thank you, sir," he said, standing up. "I appreciate your concern, and I'll take your advice."

Rufus nodded, pleased. "Good. Now, go enjoy yourself. That's an order."

When he eventually returned to work, the idea of being given a new identity and to move away from Lawrence, Kansas had been posed to him. He had been furious, but had eventually agreed when he realised if he didn’t, his life could be in danger. 

It was going to be strange. A new day, a new station and a new name. 

He pulled the badge from his pocket, the one that was mailed to him by his new superior Captain Bobby Singer. 

Detective Jon Elliot. 

Dean huffed a laugh. He recognised the mixture of names that had been chosen. Jon Bon Jovi and Joe Elliott. He was impressed. Even though he didn’t think he looked anything like a ‘Jon’, the name was something he was going to have to get used to. His life, and many others, were at stake.

Opening the heavy doors of the police station, he walked over to the desk officer. 

“Detective Elliot to see Captain Singer,” he announced. The deputy nodded and picked up the phone. Dean turned around, noticing a few chairs to his left and sat down. 

He looked around the reception area. It was full of people, coming and going, and was much bigger than the station he had worked in back in Lawrence. It consisted of a large communal area with around twenty desks and three offices. One that belonged to him and his partner Benny, one that had belonged to Captain Turner and one that had been used as a store room. There had been very little crime in the area he had originally worked in. 

That was until Michael had come to town. 

He shook the memory from his head, determined to not let himself be distracted today. 

“Detective Elliott?” A burly, thick set, bearded man in his late 50’s was walking towards him, his hand outstretched. 

“Captain Singer.” Dean stood and shook the man's hand. 

“Please. Call me Bobby. There’s no formality here,” he said “Come with me if you will,” he continued, gesturing to a corridor on his left. 

Dean nodded, and side by side the men walked quietly towards an open door. 

Entering the spacious office, Bobby closed the door behind him as Dean took a seat by the large, oak desk. Taking a moment to look around the room, the Detective took a deep breath as he tried to get himself accustomed to the new surroundings. Photo frames filled with smiling faces adorned the wooden space in front of him. He could only assume that it was the family of the older man who he would be reporting into. 

"Dean, I was sorry to hear about Benny," the Captain started, taking his place in his plush office chair opposite him before he steepled his fingers. "Terrible situation."

“Thank you,” Dean acquiesced, taking in the grim expression on Bobby’s grizzled features. He appreciated the concern, but was hoping that he wouldn’t be expected to go into too much detail. He wasn’t sure he felt quite ready enough to discuss what happened in depth with a stranger, even if he did mean well. 

“Losing one of our own is always a deep blow,” the elder man continued, “And for it to be your partner while you were on a case must make it even harder to bear. I have lost a few colleagues…” Bobby’s words trailed off as he realised Dean was fidgeting in his seat, loosening his tie with his right hand, the fingers of his left hand drumming against the wooden arm of the chair. 

“Anyway, I digress,” he went on, mentally kicking himself for making the new Detective feel uncomfortable, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in here. I trust your new accommodation is to your liking?” 

Dean was happy that the subject had been changed. As Bobby had been speaking, he could feel his heart rate begin to raise, his palms getting sweaty. He wondered briefly if the Captain had noticed, and that was why he had stopped talking. If that was the case, Dean knew he needed to get himself in check. He could not perform his duties correctly if he couldn’t bring himself to talk about Benny. Even though no one else in the precinct knew his real identity except his superiors, it was enough that Bobby asking him questions had made him react this way for him to realise he may need to take the force up on the offer of a therapist. 

“Yes, yes thank you Sir. It’s very nice,” Dean lied. The small apartment he had been supplied was in a rough part of town, above a liquor store, but he was grateful for the relative safety the tiny rooms afforded him. 

“Okay so,” his new Captain went on, “I’ll introduce you to the team, using your assumed name of course. They’re a good bunch. A few mavericks that need to be reigned in now and again, but besides that, they behave themselves most of the time.” 

Raising from his seat, Bobby buttoned his jacket as he walked past Dean towards the door. He opened it and gestured for the younger man to exit the stuffy office. 

He was led through a corridor into a bustling investigation room. Numerous staff were typing away on keyboards, the clack of their fingers creating a cacophony of different rhythms. Desk phones were ringing loudly, most of them being ignored. A large white board containing photographs of suspects in the particular case they were currently investigating stood at the front of the room, words written in different colours of magic marker, some circled, some underlined filling in the gaps between images. 

Dean followed his superior as he moved between the desks, the occupants standing up as the Captain passed, nodding at him briefly before taking their seats again and getting on with whatever work they had been doing. Some of them glanced at Dean as he walked closely behind, others ignored his presence. 

It was clear that Bobby ran a tight ship and was well respected by his subordinates. The fact that they stood up when he approached their work station was a surprise to Dean, as this was not something anyone did for Rufus back in Lawrence, but he made a mental note to remember this in future. 

The duo had reached the desk of an attractive blonde police woman. Her face was open and pleasant, a bright smile on her lips. She rose to her feet, as Bobby introduced her. 

“Detective Donna Hanscum, this is Detective Jon Elliott.” 

“Pleased to meet ya,” she said, holding her hand out. Dean shook it, warming to her friendly demeanour straight away. 

“I’ll leave you in Donna’s capable hands,” the Captain told him, “come by my office before you leave for the evening.” 

As Bobby turned away, Donna pulled a chair out and patted it. “Take a seat.” 

“Coffee?” she offered, her eyes moving towards a vending machine in the corner of the room. “It’s not gourmet, but it does the job.” 

Dean was relieved. He was desperate for some caffeine. “Please. Black, no sugar.” 

“You betcha.” 

As Donna prepared the beverage, Dean took in more of his surroundings. The staff were a mixture of uniformed and plain clothes officers, male and female, young and old. Some were busy on their desktops, others were leaning back in their seats, cellphones to their ears. Food was being consumed at work stations, papers were being shuffled, names were being yelled. 

It was so different to what Dean was used to, but he liked it. It distracted the tumultuous thoughts that haunted him, even in his waking hours. 

Donna, returning to her desk, brought him out of his reverie. He took the plastic cup gratefully and gingerly sipped the tepid liquid. She was right. It was far from gourmet, muddy tasting and luke warm, but it provided the caffeine hit he really needed right now. 

“Nasty right?” Donna chuckled, obviously noticing Dean’s disdainful expression. 

“It’s fine,” he smirked, placing the cup down.

“So, Jon,” Donna said, turning her body towards him, “What brings you here?”

Chapter Two

Tags - @salt-n-burn-em-all / @littlelonewolfgirl/ @krazykelly/ @deans-spinster-witch / @lastcallatrockysbar / @ssimelttilgniht / @123passwort / @winchester-girl67 / @winchestergirl2 / @americasass81 / @jessjad / @akshi8278 / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @waywardbaby / @deanwinchesterswitch / @440mxs-wife / @globetrotter28 / @sexyvixen7 / @hobby27 / @djs8891 / @kickingitwithkirk/ @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden / @kyjey / @lindalouh / @solariklees/ @trektraveler

[blueeyedrat]

Games I played in 2023.

Last year was stable. This year has been... less so. I've bounced between getting out more and shutting myself in more, and between trying to take better care of myself and letting small issues and stressors start to pile up. My steady job got a lot less steady, and I'm now out of work and finding ways to pass the time. Like video games, for instance. Shall we?

(2022 ⇐ 2023)

Moncage

This was another decent year for getting caught up on games I've tried out and expressed an interest in before. Moncage, INSIGHT, Railbound, URBO, and a few other games you'll see further down the list. I also followed up on some games I've played in the past like Train Valley 2, and even dipped back into some old mainstays like Eternal. One of these days I'll find time for Minecraft or Dwarf Fortress again.

I more or less broke even on my backlog this year, chipping away at smaller games from assorted bundles I've picked up over the years, but also picking up some new bundles to add to the pile. So many games, so little time.

Before We Leave

While we're talking about the backlog, here's a game I've been interested in for a while. A settlement builder in a solar system of small planets, with a quaint aesthetic of wooden ships and massive space whales. I was pleasantly surprised how much I enjoyed this one. The automation and logistics aspect is an interesting spin on the genre, even it gets a bit complex at times. Never too challenging, though, and there's enough depth and nuance to hold my interest all the way to the final stages and on towards the stars. I'm looking forward to the upcoming sequel.

The Legend of Zelda (series)

It's hard to go wrong with Zelda. I have fond memories of Skyward Sword, Wind Waker HD, and Breath of the Wild, and with a new one on the way, it seemed like as good a time as any to catch up on my library. In order: Link's Awakening DX, Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask, The Minish Cap, and the DLC quests from Breath of the Wild I never got around to. Our Wii U saw more activity than it's gotten in years.

Opinions on each: Awakening was a fun, solid 2D adventure that never overstayed its welcome, though the game shows its age at a few points. Likewise, Ocarina was an interesting look at the series' jump to 3D, but was also somewhat janky at times and it took a while for me to really get into a groove with it. (I think the turning point might've been the Water Temple. I actually liked the Water Temple. Ye gods.) Majora was a sizeable improvement gameplay-wise and played with the format in neat ways, though I'll admit that I butted heads with the time loop mechanic more than once.

I have a particular nostalgia for Minish Cap; some of my earliest memories of Nintendo games are watching my friend's GBA over his shoulder on the bus ride to elementary school. After so long, this was the one I was most curious to see if it held up. Answer: yes. Minish Cap is officially my favorite 2D Zelda, and the highlight of this little retro binge. There's a lot of charm to it, and it just feels good to play.

It may be a bit too recent for nostalgia, but I almost forgot how much I loved Breath of the Wild. My old file was exactly how I left it, and playing through the extra content was a good way to re-acquaint myself with the "new" Zelda style before…

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

This was a daunting one. If I had to sum up Tears in one sentence, it would be this: There is so much game in this game. Even compared to its predecessor, there's so much to do and so many more layers of exploration and interaction, with a wide array of smaller improvements that make it a smoother experience overall.

I wish I could say I put as much time into this game as I did into Breath of the Wild, and I did put a lot of time into it, but… some other things got in the way. Summer is when my work got a lot busier and a good amount more stressful, and this was a game I slowly chipped away at whenever I found time for it. I got pretty much everything I wanted out of it, and after the credits rolled, I put it away and haven't touched it since. I should change that. I'm sure there are more good times to be had.

Mutazione

The word that comes to mind to describe Mutazione is fascinating. It's a point-and-click narrative, light on gameplay, heavy on story and character. Of the other games I've played recently, the vibes remind me the most of Sable – quiet and contemplative, where all you want to do is observe and take in the world and characters that are being presented to you. It dovetails nicely with the story itself, which largely consists of a curious little soap opera playing out around characters who are along for the ride. The writing is some of the best I've seen this year, and gets real fuckin' raw in ways I wasn't expecting. This one will stick with me for a while.

Pikmin 3 / The Wild at Heart

I've never had the focus or dexterity for a really complex RTS, but Pikmin's always been a little more approachable. Played the second game in the series a while back, picked up a used copy of Pikmin 3 at a local convention this year, and with another one coming out, it seemed as good an excuse as any to make it a double feature.

Both games have their charms. Pikmin has a distinct style and sense of scale that's hard to replicate, and a good variety of environments and encounters and puzzles. The Wild at Heart is smaller in scope as a Pikmin-like, and hits some familiar beats while remixing some of the core ideas in interesting ways. The latter also put more of an emphasis on character and narrative, something I'd like to see fleshed out more, but what we got was still satisfying. Both games were fun, and I'm looking forward to getting my hands on Pikmin 4 soon.

Chants of Sennaar / Heaven's Vault

Another double feature – one game that caught my eye immediately, and another I've been curious about for a while. For a long time I've had a fondness for constructed languages, with scripts and writing systems of particular interest. The idea of decoding such a language lends itself well to a puzzle game, and these two approach it in different ways: Chants of Sennaar features multiple cultures in a Tower of Babel-esque setting, each with their own quirks and traits to learn and translate between, and their own puzzles to solve. Heaven's Vault opts for depth, with a single language and a vast history that you slowly unravel through exploration.

My verdict for both games is the same. The language puzzles are really cool and interesting! I want more of them! …Everything else in between gets sort of meandering at times. Not enough to drag down the overall experience, but perhaps enough to overstay its welcome. Sennaar filled the space with a mish-mash of puzzles and stealth, which felt oddly paced at times. Heaven's Vault's pacing was hit even harder with slow exploration and visual novel-esque story segments – fine enough for one playthrough, but the amount of wandering and backtracking involved makes me hesitant to go back and play NG+ to see the rest of the content. I don't have the patience to play a visual novel multiple times to see what all of the dialogue options do. The story's fine as is, and I got what I wanted out of it.

Even with their faults, these are still probably the games that influenced me the most in 2023. If anyone asks me, as a game dev, what I would make given unlimited time, resources, and creative freedom, from now on I'm going to point to Chants of Sennaar and say "something like that". I want more games like this to exist. I will make them myself, if I have to.

F-Zero 99

This wasn't the only racing game I played this year – a bunch of new content was added to Mario Kart 8, and I also pulled Horizon Chase Turbo from my backlog and spent a bit of time on that – but this is definitely the one that made the biggest splash. I've never played an F-Zero game, and it controls differently enough from other racers I've played that I had to unlearn a lot of muscle memory, but I got the hang of it after a while. The 99-player model is frantic in an enjoyable way, and races are quick enough that it's easy to pick up and play in short bursts… which is good, because short bursts are all my nerves can take with this one. Seriously this game is stressful. Fun, but stressful. Maybe one of these days I'll actually win a 99-player race.

Cobalt Core

I've been playing... a lot of Cobalt Core these past couple months. I don't jump on every roguelite or deckbuilder that comes out, but when one does get its hooks in me, they get in deep. This is another one of those games where everything just works. Great music and pixel art, fun characters (all traits shared with its predecessor, Sunshine Heavy Industries, which I also liked this year), a simple but engaging narrative, and an addicting gameplay loop that I can easily sink an hour into whenever the mood strikes me. It doesn't reinvent the wheel, but it doesn't need to – it takes a lot of ideas from games that have come before it, and builds on them to create something really enjoyable. One of my favorite games of the year, without question.

Terra Nil

As we build up, so too must we tear down. This is another one I wanted to get to sooner or later, and managed to slip it in during the last couple weeks of the year. It's also a type of game I want to play more often; a lot of the time when I play sim and builder games all I really want in the end is to build nice-looking homes and environments, and Terra Nil spins that into a puzzle game where those things are the only goal. It was a nice time, but left me wanting more – either more content in Terra Nil, or more games like it.

Eastward

This game is… a curiosity. A solid action-adventure game with a memorable cast of characters and impeccably detailed pixel art. Gameplay flips back and forth between slow-paced story segments and fun setpiece levels with a decent variety of tools for combat and puzzle-solving. The biggest sticking point is the narrative: the pacing and worldbuilding felt odd and disjointed in places, particularly in the back half, sometimes feeling like it's saying too much and often like it's said too little. Yet throughout all that, it never failed to be compelling, and I was hooked all the way 'til the end. What's more, the idea of the upcoming Octopia DLC flipping the entire game and setting on its head has my interest thoroughly piqued – something to look forward to in the coming year.

-

Here's to 2024, and here's hoping things turn around sooner or later.

[leeknowsnot]

rental romance (i.n x reader)

genre: fluff, retro setting: 80s warnings: none tbh, ok maybe a short mention of early pregnancy but it's not that major. it's not even relevant to the story lol

Series: Retro Series

hii!! this will be the first ever imagine that i'm posting for this blog. it will also be the first to the ot8 retro series that i'll be making so i hope you enjoy!!

note: idrk if i should add this as note but f/n stands for your friend's name ^^

links: chan minho changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin

The school bell rang, eliciting a cheer from almost every student, including you. It was the last day before summer vacation, and no one could wish for more than the last minute to end. As your professor waved her hand goodbye, wishing everyone a happy vacation with an amused smile on her face, you stretched out your arms and legs. 

You could swear you heard some pop, but you could never blame your body for not feeling stiff after sitting through five hours of unnecessary lecture about accidental summer pregnancy and foolish teenage adventures during summer. You knew it was just the faculty keeping out for you and the others—considering how someone had “accidents” during the school’s overnight camping trip a few months ago; they didn’t want a replay of that. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder, your friend’s grin beaming too close to your face once you turned your head. “Got any plans for summer?” she asked. 

You pursed your lips, jutting it in a manner that you always do whenever you think and shrug at her, “I don’t know. I’ll probably rent some VHS and catch up on some movies I haven’t seen ever since my brother broke the VCR. Dad got us a new one after his promotion last week.” 

You weren’t exactly the most adventurous person, but you weren’t anti-social either. You just preferred being alone most of the time with your movies, curled in a blanket in the living room, hogging the television set and feasting your eyes on some half-blurry movie that you have managed to get your hands on, keeping the entertainment all to yourself. Though sometimes, you’d end up engrossing the others at home with your endless list of movies to watch. Your choices were always what’s “in”; The Breakfast Club, Fright Night, Ghostbusters—you didn’t mind whatever genre it was. Except for one. Romance. 

You didn’t exactly hate romance, but you didn’t like it either. For you, watching Romance movies was... well, it was weird, and you’d rather not risk it and save yourself from the cringe. 

Taking your bag from your seat, you both headed out of the classroom, the chattering of other students livening the ever-so crowded hallway. Since today was the last day of the school year, it was denser than ever. 

F/N grimaced at you, one of her eyebrows raising. “Didn’t you tell me you didn’t like the lady owner at the store?” 

Your nose crinkled, unsure if it was because of the mixed smell of perfume and summer sweat from the other students in the hallway or at the owner of the VHS store you always talked—no, scratch that—complained to your friend about. You decided it was the latter. 

“I don’t have any choice F/N, that’s literally the only video rental store in town,” you said. 

“You’re right”, she gave you an expression of defeat. “You might as well date that old woman this summer, since you’ll be frequenting her shop.” 

“Ew, no. I’m not into older women,” you give her a shove on the shoulder, and she lets out a laugh. 

You both were cut off from your conversation when you heard a familiar honk by the street across the school entrance. F/N’s face fell, “Well, I guess I gotta go. Dad’s having his relatives visit tonight and we’re going to eat out at that same diner at the next town.” 

It was now your turn to return the favor and tease her back. “Hope you get flirted by that waiter again!” 

She let out a frustrated huff at you and rolled her eyes, to which you responded with a laugh. You heard another honk. 

“Ugh, fine I’m coming!” you heard her groan as she walked away from you and into her father’s car, waving one last time at you before they sped off—an inaudible sound of him scolding her for leaving the school grounds late, retreating as the car soon joined the sea of cars in the distance. 

⊹　　˖　　　　 ̟　　　⊹　　　˙

The distance from your school to the video rental shop wasn’t exactly far so you arrived only a couple of minutes later, on foot. 

As the usual bell from the small entrance door jingled at your entrance, the familiar smell of the store welcomed you. It was always a mixture of wet wood, dry cardboard, vinyl tapes, and the lady owner’s disturbingly fragrant perfume. However, her perfume wasn’t what trickled your nostrils, but a different perfume. It was musky, a bit fresh, you thought. Either way, it was different from what you were used to. 

When you turned into a corner and towards the counter, you expected to see the old woman rubbing on the back of some vinyl disc, as what she would always do each time you visit for a rental. But it was a different person behind the long wooden table this time. 

It was a guy, dressed in a white collared shirt that was tucked in his jeans, and a—what even is that. 

‘Is that a floral beach shirt on top?’ you laugh to yourself. You tried so hard not to chortle at his untimely choice of fashion while manning a store, but a snort escaped between your lips and caught his attention. 

He raises his eyebrows at you and smiles, “Welcome! Anything I can assist you with? We have some new arrivals from this morning’s delivery.” 

You could swear his eyes disappeared momentarily when he beamed at you. You cleared your throat, landing your eyes everywhere but him at embarrassment over the possibility that he could have caught you staring at him and silently ridiculing him for wearing a beach shirt outside of the beach. 

“I uh... I was just wondering where the owner was since I haven’t really seen you before,” you said, trying to talk your way out of being caught red-handed. 

“Oh, she’s not here. I’m the new store employee, it’s my first shift!” And he bought it with a smile. Well, he technically didn’t see you anyway since he was too busy updating the shop list, but you felt it was necessary to play safe anyway. 

You nodded your head, your mouth slightly agape as you silently mouthed a quiet hum. “I see...” 

At least I don’t have to deal with her cranky attitude anymore, you thought. 

He walked out from the back of the counter and towards you, his whole stature finally revealing itself as the counter was tall enough to cover below his chest. At the end of the lace that hung on his neck was an employee identification card and sure enough, he is an employee at the store, seeing that the logo was plastered beside his picture—in which you thought that the logo was unnecessarily huge. 

Yang Jeong In, it read. 

From up close, you thought that he was cute. Well, compared to those brutes and try-hards at your school anyway. He was slightly taller than you are too, and the whiffs of his perfume reached your nostrils more than it did earlier. 

“The new movie tapes are in that shelf over there,” he pointed with his thumb. 

You blinked, remembering the cassette that was inside your bag—the idea of possibly making a bad impression on the new employee not lost at the back of your brain. “Actually,” you paused, fishing your bag for the cassette tape. “I’m also here to return a movie I borrowed a couple of weeks ago.” 

You hand him the copy of The Outsiders that you had been meaning to return since two weeks ago. He returned to the back of the counter again, his face disappearing as he bowed his head down at whatever logbook he was writing in from earlier, leaving you to stare at a couple of his hair strands poking out from the prim wax finish that looked like it had been rushed upon application. 

“It’s uh... It’s past due,” you can hear him scratch his head. “For about almost a month now.” 

You let out a sheepish laugh, tapping on the strap of your bag. “Yeah, about that... I wanted to return it as soon as I finished it, but school was...” you trailed off. Yeah, not a very valid reason. 

You heard him tap the counter from behind twice before he poked his head out at you with a smile. “Okay, I’ll just fill this in,” he said before his face disappeared behind the counter again. 

You decided it was best not to question him anymore and took a walk around the store, running your fingers around some movie tapes and musing inside your head about what and what you have not yet watched. You stopped at a shelf where the employee said they had new arrivals. There were various titles that weren’t familiar indeed and you had the worst indecisive trait, so you lingered on your spot, staring at the multiple movies. 

“I recommend giving Gregory’s Girl a watch,” the new employee from behind you suddenly spoke. 

You jumped in surprise at his sudden presence, both hands clutched at your chest. It was now his turn to snort in amusement. You were too focused on eyeing the movies that you didn’t notice him leaving the counter and walking up behind you. 

“I’m not a fan of romance,” you blinked, recovering yourself from the untimely fright that he had given you. He tilted his head slightly, both eyebrows raised. 

“It’s both a combination of romance and comedy. It’s good,” he nods. “I’ve watched it for about five times myself.” 

You stood there, eyes switching from him to the paper cassette box stacked neatly amongst the other movies. You were contemplating whether to take Child’s Play or Gregory’s Girl, but you wanted a change of pace from your usual action and horror movies, so you thought that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if you took his recommendation into consideration. 

“Fine, I’ll borrow that,” you finally gave up and he flashed another smile. Does he ever not smile? You think to yourself. Though, you didn’t exactly mind. It was cute refreshing to see rather than a certain woman in her late 50s, unleashing her bitterness over life at her own customers. 

He then took the tape and wrote something on his logbook before handing you the cassette in a plastic bag and stamping on your rental booklet that they use to keep track of each person’s rental history. 

You thanked him, slightly bowing your head before heading out of the door. 

It was your first time renting a romance movie. You thought to yourself, I’ll just watch the first few minutes then I’ll just rewatch Beetlejuice. 

Yeah, you’ll do that. 

⊹　　˖　　　　 ̟　　　⊹　　　˙

You have never been so wrong in your entire life. Here you are now, standing in front of the same counter, in the same shop the next day, with the same new employee. And he was trying his best not to give you the widest, smug grin while he took Gregory’s Girl from your hands. 

You rolled your eyes at him, “Okay fine, it was surprisingly good.” 

He gives you an exaggerated expression, “Surprisingly good? It’s great! It’s one of the best romcom movies I’ve ever seen. Well, after The Breakfast Club.” 

You held up a hand, “Wait, you like The Breakfast Club too?” 

“Of course, who doesn’t? And Fright Night.” 

“No way,” you rested your chin on top of the small table at the middle of the store while he placed the tape you rented back at the shelf. These were practically your favorites. “Don’t tell me you like Ghostbusters too.” 

He faced you, both eyebrows raised at you. “I love Ghostbusters! It’s an icon.” 

You gave him an amused expression, a smile on your face. Back at home and at school, you didn’t really have anyone else to share your enthusiasm over movies with. Not even your friend, since she had more interest in sports stuff. 

Then, he started humming a familiar tune. “If there’s something strange, In your neighborhood.” Your ears perked at that. 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. His head was bopping at the mutual tune that both of you had in your heads. 

“Who you gonna call?” he continued before finally turning to you. 

You laughed as you shook your head and your hand. “No way I’m singing with you.” 

He tilted his head again at you, an expecting expression on his lips. Eventually, you gave up. 

“GHOSTBUSTERS!” you both exclaim at the same time and laugh at the unison. 

You held your stomach from laughing too much. “Ohh, this is so much better than having that sulky old lady around!” 

You were laughing so much that you hadn’t realized you were the only left laughing. Until you did. When you recollected yourself, you saw him looking at you with wide eyes, hand covering his mouth. 

Oops, I think I thought out loud, you grimaced. 

“I... I mean—” 

“HAHAHAHAHA!!” He slowly burst out laughing. You were momentarily confused as to why he laughed at your sudden self-snitching, but he eventually spoke. “So I wasn’t the only one who thought that too? That the store owner was really sulky.” 

Suddenly, you were back on the same page as him again. “Exactly my point!! It’s like she’s got a grudge on the world or something.” 

⊹　　˖　　　　 ̟　　　⊹　　　˙

From that day on, you started coming a lot to the store. Well, not that you weren’t a frequent customer before, but the new guy made it more tolerable. You shared a lot of interests, had almost the same opinion on everything. Basically, you both were like fire and oil. You’ve become friends over the whole duration of your summer vacation. However, there was one problem. 

“Come on, Jeongin! This is the umpteenth romance movie you’ve recommended me, and it always gets sappier every time!” You grumbled with a contorted expression as you swiveled comfortably on his chair by the counter. 

He gave you a small laugh, eyes leaving yours. “No, they're not.” 

“Yes, they do!” 

“Nope.” 

“Yes.” 

“Nopee.” 

“Yes, they do. Oh my God!” 

Again, Jeong In laughed at your expression and ruffled your hair. You saw his smile disappear and saw him avert his eyes away whenever your gazes meet but you tried not to read into that too much. He retracted back his hand awkwardly from your head and wiped it on his jeans. 

‘Weird idiot...’ You muttered inside your head. 

You both shared the silence for a while, and he had his back turned to you, but you could see his hands fumble with whatever they touch. “Jeongin, you okay?” 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Of course I am,” he replied immediately. Too immediate in fact. 

You blinked. Was he offended at what I said earlier? 

“Hey...” You muttered, “I didn’t... I didn’t really mean what I said earlier. They’re not entirely sappy. I just... You know I’m not a really big fan of romance so—” 

“Y/N,” he cut you off mid-sentence, a deep inhale following. 

“Yeah?” 

“I have... something to say to you,” his voice got weaker at the end, as if he suddenly had second thoughts of saying it midway, but you still heard it anyway. 

Your blinked. “Is there... something wrong?” 

It took him a short while, but he finally spoke again, his back still on you. “I love that you get cold when it’s 71 degrees out.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Huh...?” 

“I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich,” he continued, finally facing you this time, a serious expression on his face. “I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts.” 

You blinked, crinkling your nose indeed but you knew where he was coming from. “Wait,” you chuckled. “Isn’t this Harry’s dialogue from When Harry met Sally?” 

“I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night.” 

You gave him an acknowledging nod, “I’ll give it to you, you really memorized the whole dialogue word per word.” 

As you gave him an amused smile, Jeong In stared at you for a short while before sighing and closing his eyes. “No, Y/N. This isn’t just me... reciting the movie dialogue out of nowhere.” 

He cautiously held your shoulder, his eyes boring themselves in your own hues. “I...” He looks down momentarily before his eyes are on yours again. “Look, I really like you, okay? Like, like you. These past weeks, I... I uh...” 

You were holding your breath. You were looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. Yet why did you look so beautiful in his eyes still? He sighed, hands releasing your shoulder as he hung his head a bit low. Jeong In shook his head. “It’s not supposed to be like this, I’m sorry. We’ve been friends for quite a while now and I...” He grumbled exasperatedly. 

“God why is it so hard to say. I even practiced at the mirror this morning,” he whispered in the last part. 

Though hesitant, you encouraged him to continue. In your sight, he was so cute right now. Was it your rationality speaking? No. You’ve always found Jeong In cute but you were too in denial to admit it. And now he was here, acting like a child, botching his own confession. 

Jeong In took a deep breath before finally looking you in the eyes again. “I like you, Y/N. You’re my friend, my best friend, my soulmate. And I’ve realized that during the days we’ve spent here in the store. It... may not be the best place to write our love story on but...” 

He looked away for a short while before holding your hand in his. “Will you write a sappy—the sappiest love story with me in this shabby old video rental store and be my girlfriend?” 

You almost laughed out loud but suppressed it with a snicker and nodded. “Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

You could see Jeong In almost turn from a smile into a crying happy face but then saw it turn into a horror expression. You furrowed your eyebrows. Well, that was three expressions in 10 seconds. 

You were about to joke about it, until you finally heard the reason as to why his expression changed so fast. 

“I am not paying you to flirt with a customer, Mr. Yang Jeong In,” the lady owner’s voice grimly rang from behind you. 

Oh, shit. 

i hope you like it!! i'm sorry if it still sounds a bit meh rn, it's been a long while since i wrote x reader fics like... it's literally been more than 10 years

anw, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist (or visit my pinned messages!)

[musicboxmemories]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @viola-ophelia <3 Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 58 on my primary page, 38 on my trash page, and 5 on my catch-all.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? LOL if you think I'm going to add up the word count of 101 total fics, you're crazy! So instead, I'll just say my longest fic on my primary page is 96,771, my trash page is 34,787, and my catch-all is 11,722, for a total of 143,280. So with that being for just three fics, I shudder to think what my actual word count is for 101 fics lol.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Lately, TURN: Washington's Spies, though past fandoms have been H.annibal, E.mma 2020, and The M.agicians, to name a few.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? I'm just going to stick to my main page for this:

Wake-up Call (From D.usk till D.awn: the Series) (438)

Changing Winds (S.tranger T.hings) (384)

Lost in the Dark (S.tranger Things) (284)

Anyone But You (That 70s Show) (265)

To Thaw and Burst into Bloom (S.tranger Things) (235)

^^The funny thing is, none of these were fandoms I was overly into/participated in much, but they're way more popular than my favored fandoms, which is why none of what I'm TRULY proud of is listed in my top kudos ranking. Ah well.

5. Do you respond to comments? I do! In the past, I've always made friends through reviews/reviewing, so I always respond to comments and leave comments on works I've enjoyed. :) I really wish engagement/fic friendships were more encouraged these days.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Uhh, probably Folie a Deux (H.annibal) or To K.iss, to Consume (Turn). OH, and Let the Weary Rest (Turn), where I killed off Ben lol.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? After 2020, pretty much all of my fics had happy endings. The World is Made Wrong made me happiest though, I'd say.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I'd rather not jinx myself, but I haven't since I was a kiddo! And that hate was deserved tbh, cuz they were just telling me I wrote xyz wrong since I was a child/didn't bother to research.

9. Do you write s.mut? *gestures vaguely at my trash page* Uh. Yeah. lol I don't really have a specific type I write, beyond M/F, if that's what you're asking -- the specific scenarios are typically a case-by-case basis.

10. Do you write crossovers? I used to write quite a few! Nowadays, I save that more for things like RP and edits, though I do still enjoy them. Sometimes, crossovers work better than canon, I said what I said.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I have! But I was like 13 at the time, and the person posted it in the same ship/fandom, so Idk what their plan was lol. Fortunately, they deleted it the day I reviewed.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! A few times, actually (all for the H.annibal fandom).

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Sure have! They're all RP-turned-fics though, cuz I've never actually asked someone to write something who wasn't an RPer themselves.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Probably David/Maddie from Moonlighting. They're timeless! <3

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I suppose my time travel romcom. It's basically me rewriting a book I've already created, but altering it for the Turn universe. Even though it's fun, it's kind of boring repurposing my old work, and most especially when there's so little engagement. I flourish on comments, alas. Other than that, I mostly tend to finish my works!

16. What are your writing strengths? An editor once told me my strengths are my dialogue and humor. She equated the first 20 pages of my book (a recent work) to a Shakespearean comedy, which really tickled me, ngl.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? World-building! I've improved with this by a lot, but I genuinely do think fic writers are conditioned to stop describing settings/appearance thanks to our audiences already KNOWING, and thus, our OG works suffer for it. Mine certainly do!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I wouldn't do it personally, since I doubt it'd translate well, but I encourage others to do it! I'll still read!

19. First fandom you wrote for? C.owboy B.ebop.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Probably The World is Made Wrong, since I've since reworked it and I'm still very proud of how that second run-through turned out (not the one available on AO3 -- that version is in all its heinous first draft glory lol).

Tagging: @retrograderesemblance @pagetreader @ms-march @culper-spymaster and whoever else wants to!

[cheerstotheelites-if]

❛ i just want you to know... that this is really nice. ❜ for Fleur and Weylyn if you're cool with it!

Prompt list

Oh yeh no problem I gotchu, sweetie 😎👍

~•~•~

Oh, and to tell you is too scary So I'll just say something else And I wish that you could hear me When I talk to myself But this plane might not land safely So, what the hell do I have to lose If I just tell you?

– Pancakes for Dinner - Lizzy McAlpine

~•~•~

Walking around the little city of Delphinium into the early hours of evening is not how Weylyn thought things would go after their little lunch. Being in such a rural area, there isn't much to do. There isn't a mall they could spend their remaining time in, with the nearest one being in the next city that's a four hour drive away. There's no theme park to ride thrill seeking rides or win prizes. No arcades for that spark of adrenaline in winning. There is an ocean, though it's below the cliffsides at a fifty foot drop with jagged rocks. As much as Delphinium likes to call itself a city, it's more of a place with the bare necessities; residential areas, schools, local establishments for business, a small hospital and a few other medical places.

In other words, it has more open, untouched land than anything else.

But its people make do. Despite how old fashioned home is, the relaxed and quiet atmosphere is better than the endless bustling and rush of the capital city and those similar to it.

The two stop at one of the old stone bridges; sides covered in moss and ivy as down below is a lazy little river that runs through. There are old fashioned lamp posts, tall and black, with its paint flaking off from age and revealing the rust underneath. The stars twinkled above them and the moon shining high as they both leaned their back against the stone railing, simply enjoying the breeze that passes by.

"So," Weylyn starts, clasping his hands infront of him, "that's that, huh..."

Fleur hums in reply with a nod, eyes focused onto the river that reaches to the tree line of a forest just beyond them. Her arms are folded across her chest, her coat wrapped around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry today wasn't that, you know, exciting," the boy, with eyes that can hold the warmth of a god, apologizes with a sheepish rub at the nape of his neck, "I would've brought you somewhere better if I could."

"I'd like to think otherwise." The girl, with a voice as soothing as a loving touch, gently protests with a hum. "I think today has been really nice."

"What do you mean?"

Fleur looks at him with a small tilt of her head. "Well, for starters, you're here."

"... Ah."

Weylyn clears his throat as he looks away, cheeks flushed as fluster racks his entire body. Gods above, he might just throw up the churro he had earlier from how badly his stomach is doing flips. The soft chuckle from Fleur only makes his fluster grow even more.

"I... I know my sickness limits me from being able to do a lot of things with you," Fleur continues, a small sigh escaping her, "I should be the one apologizing for being an inconvenience for hindering the more exciting things we could be doing, really."

"Don't call yourself that." Weylyn immediately protests, looking at her with a frown of disapproval. "You're not an inconvenience to me, nor to anyone for having that sickness. Sure, we couldn't go on a long forest hike like we originally had planned, but I really enjoyed just spending time just idly walking around Delphinium with you and talking to you. Just... Just simply being with you is enough for me, even if we were just sitting around the park with nothing to do."

And the world stills, for Weylyn at least, as the realization sets in. As his brain catches up to process the little admission his mouth blurted out. Truly, his Tad and Mam were right when they said, "From the overflow of your heart, the mouth speaks". The image of the wrinkled smug smiles of both his parents makes his face once again flush deeply. He quickly looks away from Fleur and folds in on himself, covering his bright red face with both his hands.

"Did I just say that?" He asks in a flustered mumble.

"Yes," Fleur replies, "you did."

Gods, take him away already.

Weylyn groans. The tips of his ears are now the same bright red. "I'm sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable or weird, Fleur."

"Well, if I were to be completely honest with you," Fleur clears her throat, as if to compose herself, "I... It's really sweet of you to think of it that way. I really enjoyed our time together, Weylyn. Simply being with you is also enough for me, so... thank you for all of this, and all your efforts to make this fun for the both of us."

Weylyn turns his head to look at her, now seeing the small delicate smile that curls the corner of her lips and the faintest bit of red dusting her cheeks. He can't help the slanted smile that tugs at the edge of his lips as he straightens up.

"Thank you too for being here with me to experience it."

[queenofbaws]

Is this a prompt or is this just me blabbing nonsense words as I spew vast amounts of word vomit into your inbox? Who knows! All I know is that I've apparently decided that I needed to share this with someone, and that (un)lucky someone is you lol.

Anyways, for some reason I can't stop thinking about trash trio sleepovers. But not the events that take place during the sleepovers, just that little bit when they've all gotten into bed at the end of a busy night and are actually trying to go to sleep.

Specifically, those all too rare nights when Josh is actually the first to fall asleep, leaving Chris and Ashley as the two still awake. And I just feel like on those nights, they spend a frankly insane amount of hours forcing themselves to stay awake as they just talk. Bundled up under borrowed blankets and thankful for the darkness of whatever bedroom or livingroom they've crashed in for the night hiding tired yet utterly besotted smiles and completely enamored faces as they do their best to stay quiet so they don't wake anyone up, even as they can't stop giggling and laughing every couple of minutes. Just, like, taking about everything and nothing as they both selfishly not allow the other to go to bed, not wanting to put a stop to these oh so rare moments when it's quiet and soft and private. It's just *them*.

So they can't help but stay up way too late, until the point hits where they're both so overtired that their once carefully constructed and guarded filter starts to crumble and one or both of them is like seconds away from blurting out 'so I think I'm maybe in love with you.'

I've also decided that this is probably the closest that either of them get to actually saying anything about it, and yet it happens more often than either would like lmao. Like they probably get out the first couple of words before their brain finally catches up to their mouth and then they're making flustered and mortified excuses/realizations about how it's like 5 in the morning or something so they should definitely absolutely go to bed as they roll over and end whatever conversation they were having abruptly and seemingly out of nowhere lol.

And yet, when they get up grouchy and grumpy in the morning, you know that neither of them regret even a single hour of it 💖

(i am very sorry about this word vomit you are about to wake up to lol. Haven't been able to stop thinking of this for weeks cause I love how warm and gushy it makes me feel fhdkskdhdkshd)

There were a lot of downsides to Josh being a heavy sleeper - and 'a lot' meant a lot, the list running the gamut from the relatively harmless (e.g., having to find a way to wrestle your arm out from under his dead weight if you made the mistake of falling asleep in his general vicinity) to the downright torturous (e.g., the snoring) - but as the prince of horror taketh, so too did he giveth, at least in a sense.

Him being able to sleep through a mass extinction event meant they only had to pretend to whisper.

"It's really not all it's cracked up to be, y'know," Chris said, was saying, had been saying, the conversation about college life having long-since turned into something else by virtue of how many times they'd circled around it, turning it over and over again like a craggled rock thrown into a polisher until it became smooth, "I mean, don't get me wrong...there's a certain kind of beauty to just having to swipe your ID at the dining halls and not having anyone raise an eyebrow when you say, like, 'Why yes I do think I'll be having another burrito for breakfast, my good sir,' but...eh, sometimes I wish I was still here."

In the half-light of the basement, only the ambient glow of entertainment center lights there to cast a bluish cast about the place, he couldn't see Ashley so much as imagine her there, a faint rustle from the couch suggesting she'd rolled over or tugged her blanket up. "Awww," she teased, "sounds like someone's homesick, huh?"

That was one word for it, he guessed, though it wasn't quite the right one; neither was it the wrong one, it just...it was too vague, too open, too, too, too nonspecific, because 'homesick' meant you were missing home, but did it mean the same thing when the home you were missing was a person and not a place?

"Or maybe I just don't know how to function when you're not around to roll your eyes at me, you ever think of that?" he asked, and he smiled when she laughed, Chris did (because that, in a way, was its own sort of home, and another one he'd been sick for, if he was being honest), but he wished he could find courage enough in that darkness to admit aloud to her that he hadn't been joking at all - not even a little bit.

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

[apoptoses]

how did you stop comparing your writing to other people's? if you can please share some of what helped for you ❤️

So. First things first. Step away from the fic.

Seriously. We have to develop the skill of being objective about writing before we can stop comparing.

Fic typically has a certain kind of writing style so you've gotta diversify your portfolio of inspo. Take a week long AO3 cleanse. Pick up a few books at the library, watch that movie you've been meaning to watch. Read some books about writing technique and only once you mentally feel refreshed can you come back with a clear mind.

And if you stop reading about your blorbo and start reading about some character in book you don't care a ton about you can disconnect. We project onto our faves, it's just a fact. So when you're reading a shitload of fic about your fave you're thinking 'yes, this is how i see them, no this isn't how i see them' and then you get into the spiral of 'but this is how i wish i could write about them' and you're on a one way train to Sadness.

But! Picking up, say, Call Me By Your Name- Elio and Oliver are fun, but they're not My Guys. So I can look at their experiences in the book more objectively and then actually look at the writing style itself. It's like taking two steps back from a painting and suddenly seeing the whole image at once. If you're too close (physically and emotionally) you're cut off from the big picture.

Then when you pick up a writing technique book, you can start seeing the stylistic choices used in Thing You Just Read But Are Not Too Close To. Get back into your literary analysis mindset. Get objective.

Now that you've done your cleanse, come back to a favorite fic. Print it out or download it to your phone. Treat it like an academic exercise. Highlight what you like about it. Figure out what skills that writer had to work on- was it description of places? Was it word choice?

Put those skills into a list of things YOU, the writer, want to work on. And then research how to get better at them! Remind yourself that you're learning and then you'll find yourself comparing in a objective way and not a self-esteem based way.

Now on the psychological side-

Comparing yourself comes from being insecure in some way (I know this, I have been there, I have suffered a lot from it). You gotta work on your self talk.

I've said this before, but work on changing the way you think about your work.

this work sucks -> this story needs edited

X writes blorbo better than me -> I need to reread the source material and write some meta about this aspect of blorbo

X's fic is so much better than mine, I'll never be that good -> X has spent a LOT of time working on their fic and if I work hard my fic will be good too

It sounds silly but god, it works! If I catch myself saying a negative thing then I stop myself, figure out how to reword it, and say that thought to myself in the new, not harsh way. Your brain works like a muscle, you've gotta train it until it remembers these things and you catch yourself before you spiral.

Also, if the person you're comparing yourself to is your friend- ask them about how they do the thing in their fic you like so much!

Remember that they're human too and are likely hitting the stages of grief as they write, and they're here to support you. My most feared writers are now my friends and I go to them for support when I'm in the weeds of self esteem.

Finally, if comparison is stopping you from sitting down and writing at all, you gotta just push through that pain. Write something. No pressure, it can suck, just put a 100 words down. And then the next day do something different. And the next. Just a 100 words! Until something sticks and you feel like you can keep going with it. And then apply previous steps so you don't give up before you're done.

And then? Post it. Fuck it. Your brain might be telling you it's not as good as X's fic but someone is gonna come into your comments and gush about loving it. If you can't post it because you're proud, then post it for the validation. Just share the thing so it becomes habit.

Lastly.

It's fic. We're not competing. We're not getting paid. We're doing this for love of our characters and if you're comparing and struggling with negative self talk then you're not having fun. Figure out what it'll take for you to find the joy in fandom and then try again.

I hope some of this helps! It's so hard but being objective about it is the most important thing you can learn to do ♥ And I promise, your work is better than you tell yourself it is.

[amongthesharks]

I'll stay here through the darkest night <-AO3 Link.

I got the writing bug, here you go:

Summary:

They're on their first full day of exploring the area around Moonrise towers when the arcane hunger finally digs too deeply into Gale, causing him to slip from the protection of torch light. Can he fight off darkness and hunger and come back to Tav?

Notes:

I haven't written in a while, I wrote this today. I have no beta-reader, I just hope I have good proof reading. I've got a small list of songs that If I were any good with video editing I'd make into little videos, but instead I'm gonna make song fics. This is based of Rider's Lullaby. I've put them into a spotify playlist for those curious: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2bx33NULJdAzisQ1PSabkM?si=d7988b8c48344621

He probably should have asked sooner. He disliked asking though, he had grown accustomed to dealing with this issue on his own, albeit with Tara’s help. But those were lonelier times, a time he once in a while wished for, to not be a burden to the group of people he had the new found pleasure of calling friends. If he remembered correctly, his social circle before was no larger the a pin head. They were on the first full day of getting the lay of the land this darkened land. Gale hung at the back of the group as they walked through ruined paths, close enough to look as though he was keeping up and within the protective circle of the torch light, but just at the edge enough to hide the pain eeking into his body. 

It always started the same, a tingling numbness in his fingers, something that in these cold lands he could overlook, and so could the others. Then an ache in the shoulders that slid down his back like a network of barbed wire, prickling pain, there in one moment, gone the next. More and more symptoms of Mystra's present would layer in until the the warnings became too much to bare. The moment he felt his heart was trying to beat through sludge and grit, he knew he had gone too long. The trials of getting to moonrise were also sapping some of his energy, his purple robes accentuating the growing bruises under his eyes.

How long did he have to continue like this? Each time he found himself at his limit, he found that his remedy was becoming less and less effective. The wizard couldn't keep asking for item after item, his thoughts began to slow him down. At what point did he just give in, at what point does Mystra win. His heels slipped out of the warm circle of light first. Maybe I should just let her win, what use am I to this team… Gale felt a chill mist over him, weighing him down, making him slower. As the light pulled away from him, his voice seem to become lost too. The scope of his vision began to darken, his feet slowed to a stand still. Should I not just let the darkness take me, I could rid the world of myself and the shadowed lands…  They'd be safe then... The world began to blur. Safe from me.

He felt his body grow heavy as he dropped to his knees, and sounds became nothing but muffled wind and a steady piercing sound that began to block out all others. A ghostly wail that filled his mind and senses. His body swayed forward as his world went black.

—-----------------------------------------------

Tav noticed moments too late that one of her party had strayed out of the torch's reach. “Hells below.” She said as she looked behind her, Gale was on his knees, shadow beings looming over him like angels of death come to collect. In which Gale looked the part, he looked like death gripped him. She shoved the her torch into Shadowhart’s hands and rushed back. "Damn it, Damn it!" Her hands were already conjuring up dancing lights, casting it around Gale in a weak attempt of a barrier. She slid towards him on her knees as he pitched forward, catching him with all of her being. He felt so small in her arms right now. She looked up at the beings who dared to try to take him. The shadows roiled around her and she clung to his unconscious form. 

It didn’t take long for the group to follow suit, the stronger light pushing back the dark beings into the forest’s edge. The light also revealed the pale and cold sweat covered face of the wizard, as his breaths came in hard shudders. Tav's mind reeled as she tried to figure out the best plan, pressing his limp form into her body. Tav looked back the way they came.

“He can’t continue-” Shadowhart started as she kept eye out on their protective circle.

“Obviously!” Tav snapped and winced, not meaning to lash out. “Sorry. I just..... How far are we from Little Light?”

“Fifteen minutes, But I could make it in less if you can keep up, Soldier.” Karlach said as she eased down beside Tav. The druid stared forward a little longer before Karlach nudged her. “Let me carry him.” There was a small bit of hesitation, not for doubt in Karlach’s strength, but the reminder that it was only a day prior that no one could touch her. Tav relented and helped with shifting Gale into Karlach’s warm embrace.

Not a moment later they were off, not their normal trot but a sprint, keeping inside the circle of light while making sure to avoid areas they haven’t scouted yet. They could have made camp, but it was better to have more people on watch, wasn't it? And Halsin was there if she needed an extra hand. No one risked a look back, if the shadows kept their distance and the girls kept their pace. The Harpers met them at the gate with questions that Shadowhart stopped to updated them with, they had been on high alert since the attack from Moonrise. Jaheria had a space was made for them up stairs, in an area that was left mostly whole after the attack. For Tav, the whole trip from fallen Gale to a bed was a blur. Her mind a whirlwind of running scenarios on how she missed what was happening, could she have caught this sooner, and why wouldn’t he just keep the magical items she offered him even when he didn’t need it. Fury kept her running, before the fallout made her collapse into a chair beside him, there was talking in her vicinity, updates made to camp and crew before she finally got her mental footing again. Now was when her druid training came to light.

“Bring up some water, a bowl and some clean cloth scraps please. And a spare sleeping set from anyone’s pack. He’s already soaked his clothing through with sweat.” Tav gave the orders.

“On it!” Karlach hopped to it, going down the stairs, and it wasn't long before she was back with the requested items. The rest of the crew was sent away to give the druid space. Karlach worked with her to clinically remove Gale from his damp clothing, and into something dry, before moving him under the covers partially. With that done she asked to be alone.

The muffled sounds from the bar below, the rustling of movement from outside the inn, and the wheezing of Gale’s pained breaths were all that filled the room now. Tav closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the door a moment before locking it. No interruptions. She turned to look at the pinched face of the wizard in the bed. The man that she’s spent nights talking magic with and listening to him drone on about his ex. Tav gave a soft laugh to herself. This dumb, kind, smart soul who didn’t know when to ask for help, or recognize help when it was being offered… almost put their whole party at risk. Get the sass out now, Tav. She told herself, the last thing he’d need upon waking is for her to berate him about the choice to come out with them in such a state.  It only took a few steps to close the gap and sit on the side of the bed. Her hand pressed to his forehead, he was clammy and cool under her touch, his brows dipped in discomfort, a keening soft sound escaping his lips. Her warm fingers smoothed over his creased brow, a pained sigh was offered up in response, his head tried to lean toward that source of comfort. Her fingers trailed down the lightning shaped markings below his left eye and moved over his cheek, along his neck, a shudder in response, before she placed her hand over the bruised circle in his chest. 

“You silly boy.” She murmured as she closed her own eyes and began to cast a rejuvenation spell, something to help settle and dispel some of the non-physical ailments. Her other hand found his and began to gently rub at his fingers. She hummed softly, letting the spell flow through her and into him, trying to imagine it chasing away the chill of the shadows, lighting the darkened corners of his mind and soul. There was a chance that the magical black hole in his chest was eating up some of her efforts, but it wouldn’t stop her from trying. 

Her gaze moved to the ring on her hand, resting over his chest. It was something she kept, from their travels. Something he had commented on as looking pretty. Her thoughts turned again, she wished Tara was here. Maybe the tressym would know how to feed magic to an unconscious idiot, could she even do it. There had to be times when Gale, in his tower of solitude, let himself go for too long. Tav hadn’t even second guessed that this was the issue at hand today, though in her panic, she didn’t think about the repercussions of bringing a human bomb to a largely inhabited safe house. She slid off the ring and awkwardly placed it in the circle.

“Please work.” She whispered to the air more than anyone, or maybe in hopes that the goddess would let her help him in this way. Tav covered the ring with her hand and gave it a light press and closed her eyes. She scrunched her face as she tried to form that connection, a way to open the circle. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

The world was dark. 

Had he died? Had he taken everyone with him?

The world was cold.

He had to be alone. Why would anyone be here? 

The world was small.

Even in the vastness of nothing, he felt trapped in the smallest of spaces.

Then there was the barest of pressures, of warmth. It moved through his hands, then creeped his arms, till it brushed at his core. He wasn’t as cold as he was before. Gale could feel some ease in the tension of his body. The darkness was now more gray, as if light was trying to break through a dense fog. Then the weight of the fog tried to bring him down once more. He would have let it too, if it was for an electric spark that made the place he was in light up in the brightest of lilacs. 

Images flashed around him; Gale alone in his tower with Tara on his chest, Tav out in the open plains running along side fellow Elves and a unicorn, long nights and mountains of books, Tav placing protective wards around a forest, the Nautiloid, Tav slapping his hand as it stuck out from the portal, Tav and Gale sharing moments over the difference between druidic magic and the weave, Gale showing her the stars… Moments between him and this woman who had her suspicions at first but has grown to be a guiding star in his sky. Lastly is the image of Tav, sitting at a bedside, with him unconscious in it, pressing a ring to his chest. The room then flashes purple again. Pain cords through him, his arches up with a cry and a sob as the magic fills the need and settles into his bones.

—------------------

Tav couldn’t believe it worked, she was in pain, but when wasn’t she, and it had worked . Draw back was the mental connection that meant sharing the intense pain but some memories she hadn't thought of in a while, but she’d do it again. His breathing was settled down, but he seemed more lively, though still not awake. She shook out her hands and combed them through her hair as she processed what to do next. The soft glow of her healing magic came back as she did a healing word or two to ease the pain she knew for sure he was feeling. Then, all she could do was make him comfortable. Then after so false starts she made a decision. It took some odd maneuvering, but she was able to sit against the headboard and lay his head in her lap. She took the rags, dipping them in water and began to gently wipe down his face. A song bubbled up in her, from a distant memory, probably dredged up from the seeing the memories flashing earlier. She began to hum the tune, a lullaby of sorts as she laid a cool damp cloth over his eyes. Her fingers gently rubbed at his temples then up to comb through his hair as words quietly slipped out in tune:

“You're okay

You're alright

I'll never, ever leave your side”

She felt him stirring slowly and she placed a hand on his chest to settle him, continuing the song.

“I will stay and I will fight

With you”

Tav hummed a small spot in the song as she heard him try to move. He sucked in a pained breath. “Hush hush, I’ve got you…” She said, feeling him trembling lightly, she leaned forward to pull the quilt there higher up, stretching one of her legs down his side as support and warmth.

“You're okay

You're alright

I'll stay here through the darkest night

All the way, I will fight

With you”

“Tav..” His voice croaked out, he raised an arm to pull the cloth from his eyes, it was slow but she let him do it himself. Gale stared up at her, he still looked rough, but a lot less like death. His eyes still seemed distant, uncertain. Her hands moved to cup his cheeks, brushing along his beard.

“I’m here, you idiot.” She felt him shift his head into one of her palms, his eyes squeezed tight for a moment.

“I….I thought that I possibly….” He trailed off, his eyes opening again taking in the room of the Little Light tavern. “I’m….”

“Alive? Sorry? Thankful?” Tav proffered as she moved her hands back to combing through his hair, she chided herself, she didn’t want to bully him tonight by any means. His face crumpled a little and he moved to sit. Tav wasn’t having that, the moment he was even half way up, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back to lean on her. She buried her face into his neck and held him firmly. He froze for a moment before relaxing into her.

“I am sorry.” He finally said as he rested his hands on hers. He soaked in her warmth. “I don’t… I don’t fully remember what happened.”

“You fell behind… Then the shadows were coming for you. You.... you looked dead.” She said into his skin before lifting her head and resting it on his shoulder. “If I was a betting person, I’d say you didn’t speak up before the hunger got bad.” Her fingers laced with his. “I fed you that ring you like, I didn’t know if it would work…” She could see him frown out of the corner of her eye. 

“The sapphire one?” He said, slightly saddened at the thought.

“I’d rather have you here than the ring. It was a no-brainer.” She sighed and was quiet for a moment before asking. “Was it enough?”

He was silent for a while before nodding his head. Whether it was true or not was another thing. Tav knew that each item was becoming less effective, but what else could they do. She felt him lean his cheek against hers and she smiled, she’d give him all she could, if it extended his time here with them.

“You could try… not waiting until the point of exhaustion to eat again, you know.” Gale said nothing, his thumb rubbed over hers in small circles, then she heard him begin to hum. It was her tune from earlier. 

“What’s that song from…” He asked quietly. “I’ve read many a book, but I don’t recall those lyrics before.” Deflection, but she'd take it, for a moment of calm and normality.

“Old clan song…. We’d sing them to animals and children and the like in the south of Alaron.” Tav didn’t mention her past often, it lay in the far off parts of peoples maps. “I can take you there one day, have you meet a unicorn when all this is said and done, if I can still find one.”

“Alaron…” He hummed and swayed slightly in her arms as he thought for a moment, her arms kept him steady. “Isn’t that Moonshae? That’s a bit of a hike from here.”

“Bit of a boat ride, yes… or Nautiloid ride in my case.”

“I.. read about in a book about the history of the isles…. Kamerynn lives there?” He asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer as he closed his eyes and began to recant what he knew. She could correct his details later, right now, she just wanted both of them to rest, and him to focus on the living and the now. What waited for them in the future didn't seem bright, but one could only hold onto the happiness of the current moments. She'd hold onto this one, and keep looking into a way to save this idiot man from himself.

Later, someone had to lockpick the door to check on them, just to find them curled into each other, sleeping. It... didn't look comfortable, but they certainly looked happy enough.

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.26. “You Look Awful,” “Don’t we all??”

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51140125

Words: 1,640

Cws: Near failure, almost giving up, overworked, minor swearing if you’re a Catholic like me

Notes: I really wish I hadn’t rushed this one, because this sort of thing makes me absolutely rabid, but it’s still pretty good as is. :) A LITTLE Better Powers AU because I am insane about them. (Powers of these five listed at the end.)

Prompt: No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.” Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

The door slammed open, and Blue looked up as Red pushed his way into the room. Blue raised an eyebrow. Red’s hair was full of leaves, his face was covered in scrapes and bruises, and his hat was on sideways for some reason.

“You look awful,” Blue commented, watching as Red slid into the chair next to him.

“Don’t we all?” Red asked him, laughing tiredly as he rolled his eyes at Blue.

Blue shrugged, even though he knew it was true. Red was by no means the only trainer in their group with dark circles under his eyes and hair filled with sticks and leaves. (Blue hoped that his own hair, at least, looked a little bit more put together, but he knew that he was just as scraped up as Red was, that was beyond hope.) Just because Red had bandages replacing his fingerless gloves on one of his hands didn't mean that he was the only one who looked awful among them.

Yellow, for example, had clearly been crying before she'd walked in. She was trying to put on a brave face as she walked through the door, but Blue knew her far too well to ever buy it. When Green followed her, she was missing all of her usual snarky glow, and Blue noticed that part of her hair was a little shorter and more tangled than the rest. (If her text earlier that day had been true, she had run into a probable ex Rocket owned Scyther and got a little unlucky.) Ash... Well, Ash looked about as good as he usually did, but he always looked a little beat up, so that wasn't really a good sign to Blue.

And Blue knew that he himself looked tired as hell. (Or, if he somehow didn't, he must've learned how to put on some hell of an act in the free time he knew that he didn't have.)

Seeing that no one was starting the meeting, and it was clear there would be no more small talk, Blue sighed. “We're all here now, right?” Blue asked, tapping a stack of papers on the desk in front of him to organize them more cleanly, then, when everyone had nodded those tired nods of theirs, he continued, ”I guess I’ll start,“

Ash sighed loudly, as if he had been hoping for something a bit more entertaining, but Blue ignored him and continued to speak. “I suppose I'll start with my week's notes, and then we can go around the table,” once again, the others nodded, but it was somehow even weaker this time, as if the reminder of what had gone on in the previous week had been nothing but discouraging for them (if that was true, Blue actually had something to agree with them on, shocking). “I tried looking for a hidden base,” he continued, pulling out a sketched map of the region and gesturing to several red Xs he had drawn on it, “but I wasn't able to accurately trace any grunts back to one place, I kept getting called to help with other things,”

“They're getting better at hiding their movements,” Green agreed, opening a notebook of her own and pointing at some cursive scribbles that Blue couldn't read from his distance away from her. She pointed at a couple and Red raised his eyebrows like it was shocking. He whispered something, and Green made a face as he reminded her of a detail, and her earrings clicked against themselves when she moved her head. ”I swear they're catching onto me, specifically, it's like they're disappearing the second they run from a battle,“

“Maybe your gears’ outta date,” Ash muttered, crossing his arms a little tighter to his chest, clearly thinking about the friendships he had made with various Rocket Grunts in the past, “I still think we should be actually trying to talk to them,”

“Bad mood today eh,” Blue muttered, but Red was already glaring at Ash, so clearly the youngest of their region wasn’t the only one having a bad day.

“Yeah, like you ever try to talk-,” Red started, cutting himself off when Green gave him a look. He gave her one right back, “I only meant-” he said indignantly, now actually getting cut off when Green interrupted him as she continued to speak.

“I’m worried they’ve got more researchers on their side,” she said, ignoring Red and Ash’s muttering as she closed her notebook again. She looked to Blue earnestly, and he had to suppress a yawn as the room’s attention was directed towards him once more. “Do you think you can ask Daisy or Gary if they can snoop around in the researcher world a bit? We absolutely cannot lose the technical advantage again,”

Blue nodded distantly, and he jotted that down in his notes for the next day. “Yeah. I think so,” there was a pause as he wrote, and then he nodded to Yellow, who had been sitting rather quietly at his side, “Do you have any major news for us?”

Yellow fidgeted with her hair for a moment before answering, and then nodded, flipping through her sketchbook before slamming it down on the table. “I don’t know if it has to do with the Rockets,” she admitted, and Blue tilted his head to see a sketch of a very upset looking Beedrill, “not for sure anyway, but if they have really good researchers again then they’re definitely experimenting on Pokemon, this Beedrill evolved directly from a Weedle I rescued the other day,”

Red inhaled sharply through his teeth, and Green made a face. That wasn’t natural at all, and it couldn’t be at all healthy for the poor little Pokemon. Even Blue, who normally found the focus on Pokemon a bit inappropriate when human lives were at stake, found himself cringing. That was way beyond anything they’d done to Pokemon close to Giovanni before, were they getting bolder?

“The Beedrills’ fine now,” Yellow hurried, trying to correct the worry in the room as if it was her fault and not Team Rocket’s, “I gave her some rare candies to try and catch her up and she’s doing much better now, but…” she trailed off, and it was clear that she had heard a lot more from that Pokemon’s memories than she was letting on, “I don’t want it to happen to any more Pokemon than it already has,”

“I should hope not!” Red interrupted, looking almost offended on behalf of the bug type, no matter how much dislike he had for that particular species, “Forcing evolution like that is evil!” 

For a very stupid, very impulsive moment, Blue almost wanted to bring Ve and Red’s evolution stones into the argument, but he held his tongue. There was no time for that here. They were already defeated enough without going at each other’s throats. (At least, not this early in the meeting anyway. Arceus only knew how, but they always seemed to dissolve into fighting as these things went on.)

Green looked entirely taken aback by Yellow’s story, but she finally managed to find words as she put her hand on Yellow’s shoulder. “Do you want me to try and devolve the Beedrill?” she asked quietly, and Blue cringed at the mention of her special power. This all had gotten worse when that had happened, and they all knew it.

“No thank you,” Yellow seemed to be forcing a smile, but she held Green’s hand to her shoulder with one of her own, much smaller, hands. “She’s doing alright now, I would have messaged you if she really needed it,”

Green nodded and leaned back in her chair, pulling her hand away from Yellow. Yellow’s hand stuttered in the air for just a little bit longer than it should have at the absence of Green’s, and then she hurriedly tucked it back into her lap again.

She stared down at her desk, and there was a moment’s pause before Ash cleared his throat to speak. “I’ve just been fighting,” he said, and for the first time in the meeting Blue realized that his feet weren’t up on the table today (this stretch of time really was taking the fight out of all of them), “I don’t have anything especially important to add,”

He nodded to Red, and Blue couldn’t even force himself to probe more at those words for better information. The tiny spark of fire that Ash had had at the beginning of the meeting was totally gone, and he seemed almost defeated as he slumped back down in his chair. (Had it been the confirmation that Team Rocket was getting stronger again that had broken him?) Red seemed to notice this too, and he sighed heavily before he spoke.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep doing this, Blue,” his eyes connected with Blue’s, but Blue looked away. No matter how strong his powers had made him, Blue knew that Red could still break, “I- I hate to say it, but we would need a miracle at this point if we wanna win,”

To Blue’s horror, even Ash nodded at that. 

Blue took a shaky breath in. Whatever he said, he knew they had to believe him.

“Then, believe me, we’ll get that miracle,”

The awful feeling of Ash’s power stopped pulling on his soul.

Before this, before all of this, Blue had never been the positive one. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t right for him to be that way. He was a trainer, a teacher. He was supposed to tell truths that those who looked up to him needed to hear.

But these weren’t people who looked up to him.

These were his friends.

And if they needed him to lie to believe it, that’s what they were going to get.