#world with a working language and history are this goddamn annoying

[asamiscuddlepillow]

read another fucking book

What is your Hogwarts house? Which one would have the most chocolate?

sorry but I don’t engage in media made by a transphobic antisemitic bigot </3

[queerpyracy]

thanks to a post on the dying hellhole that is the website formerly known as twitter i've been stewing all day on the sentiment of art as a force for revolution, which i've been dismissive of for a while without really dedicating much time to. now, however, i've decided i'm actively hostile to this sentiment for its rampant fucking egocentrism of art as The Most Important Thing Ever, and by extension, artists as The Most Important People Ever

the tweet that prompted this, for context:

this is of course just one example of this kind of sentiment, and i don't include it to put the OP on blast on a personal level. but the idea that is art, specifically, that is undervalued rather than all labor because people who have their needs met are more difficult to control is flatly absurd. just because most/all people want to engage in art in some way doesn't mean they want it to be their fucking job.

this attitude that art is this incredible revolutionary force is an egotistical self-mythologizing. yes, art is critical to human experience and fulfillment, no it will not goddamn well lead us into the glorious future because the future is not made by individual artists creating something for other people to Be Changed By. the only way we make things better is by people working together to create material change. what i write will never be as important as bringing food to a neighbor or doing what i can to protect the bodies of water nearest me.

the "art is a force for revolution" sentiment, paired with the (completely laughable) notion that "superheroes are the new mythology" starts to make it sound like a lot of people in creative fields dream of being some kind of pop cultural priest king, that through their wise insights told through the language of tvtropes they and they alone will change the tides of history. if you think authors who are too logged on to social media are annoying now, imagine how bad they'll be if they start imagining themselves to be prophets.

obviously i think writing is worthwhile or i wouldn't dedicate so many hours of my one life on earth to it, but i don't delude myself that it makes me history's most special little guy, wielding social and political influence over my readers through the trials and tribulations of some guys i made up. telling stories is something we all do. i also farm, and farming and writing are two great ways to destroy your mind and body while making no money at all. only one of these things get waxed poetic about for its revolutionary potential, and the other actually feeds people.

no piece of art is gonna overthrow the state or the ruling classes. no piece of art is going solve any material problem presented to us. if the ruling classes were really threatened by art, we probably wouldn't have so many movies about Hey Guys, Rich People Suck, Am I Right? and there probably wouldn't be so many avenues for a select group of people to actively profit off of popular art.

we make art because we're human, not because it's gonna fucking change the world. if you actually want to change the world as an artist, then maybe you should start with getting over your damn self and talking to your neighbors.

[sequencer987]

As someone who has self identified as a Yankee for my entire life, the “What do we call people from the U.S.” discourse is so fucking annoying.

Yes, not all people in the U.S. are Yankees internally, but I think it’s fine as an international descriptor.

No, Yankee is not a slur or even a fucking pejorative. The only people who really take issue with being called a Yankee are Southerners and Californians.

Southerners because there’s a lot of bad blood between them and Yankees, and Californians because they are deeply stupid and generally uninformed about the world outside of their own gentrified hell hole of a state.

If you see someone telling you that ‘Yankee’ is a slur, they’re uninformed. Holy hell I have no idea why this is even a controversy. Nobody from the U.S. has ever had an issue with being called a Yank until seemingly this goddamn year.

One of our anthems in WWII was literally called “The Yanks are Coming.” The reason people from other countries call us Yanks is because that’s literally what we have called ourselves since before the fucking revolutionary war.

I understand why some people may not like the label, but I think it’s a little unreasonable to expect people abroad to constantly be differentiating between Yankees and Dixies and Cajuns and (Louisiana) Creoles and Cascadians and Gulfards and Appalachians and Southwesterners and Californians. Especially since we RARELY grant them the same courtesy.

Plus, we are not the only people in the Americas. Calling us ‘Americans’ feels like a fucking placeholder name at this point because we never thought of anything better.

And like yeah, it’s annoying when British people say the word ‘Yank’ derisively; but if we’re gonna ban all words that sound annoying when British people say them then we would have to get rid of the entire English Language.

Plus I am so sick of seeing the term Usamerican. It looks stupid and I have no fucking idea how you’re supposed to pronounce it out loud. It’s a goddamn internet world that is literally only used on tumblr. Also, it ties Yankee cultural identity to the nation of the United States. Fuck that. My culture and identity do not belong to a fucking flag, and leftists in the United States have actually been working very hard to decouple our identity as people from centuries of nationalist bullshit.

We are not inextricably linked to our fucking government and Usamerican only legitimizes the nationalist bullshit of “Stand for the pledge or you aren’t a REAL AMERICAN.”

I’m a Yankee. That’s what I am. If you don’t like Yanks (perfectly understandable given our history), then please just call me by the variety of anti-Yankee prejoratives that already fucking exist. I would rather be called a gringo or a seppo than a fucking ‘usamerican.’

EDIT: Thinking on it some more, if you are gonna call me a Usamerican, please at least have the decency to do so with derision. Make it an insult, not a fucking neutral term.

Also Estadounidense is fine. It works much better in Spanish anyhow. It just can’t really be directly translated into English and still roll off the tongue.

[coldtomyflash]

Thank you for answering ! I did finish the fic and chapter 3 does a great job of establishing Snart's history with his soulmark, but it's also specific to that fic ? Like it's an explanation for how he came to feel that way about his soulmate in the context on that particular fic, I was wondering more about what it was about their canon characterization that made you decide this was how they both would react to finding out they were soulmates in the first place.

hmmm i didn’t come at it that way and i think therein lies the disconnect with what you’re asking and how i’m able to answer.

i didn’t start with “what would barry be like if he met his soulmate” or “what would len do if he met his soulmate” in a way that started from canon and then extended to a new setting.

i mean i sort of did, in that i went “what if they were soulmates” then went “len is a dramatic ho who would think that bank robberies and heists are the right way to woo his beloved and barry would be progressively more annoyed with this bullshit” then went “oh nevermind let’s take that idea but make it angst” 

but in many ways i couldn’t start perfectly linearly from canon because i was started in a world that exists just to the left of canon. the way soulmates are setup in that world makes everything just sightly different, and i had to take that into consideration.

so while i started with “haha what if len was a total brat” (much like i always start with tbh), the crux of the story’s starting point was the shape of the soulmate bond, the bleed. i’m a hopeless romantic who loves the idea of soulmates but i get stuck on worldbuilding details. soulmate AUs with the “first words” or “see in colour when you meet your mate” really leave me wanting more because -- what the heck would society even look like if that were the case and what are the millions of ways it would be different? 

so the bleed was baked in from the beginning, from before the beginning, half because there was a post that went around about “what if barry and len accidentally got psychically bonded thanks to a meta”. so psychic bonds and soulmates, that’s the setup.

then i dropped barry and len into that setup -- into that alternate universe i’d made with all its societal backdrop. and i knew i was writing for angst, and i knew i wanted it to be messy and complicated. i wish i could say that i sat down and was like “okay so if barry were soulmates with len here’s how he’d react” but i didn’t. instead i sat down and said “i’m making a story where barry and len are going to be bonded with an emotional bleed and they’re going to be soulmates and it’s going to cause problems.” and i implicitly knew i wanted to explore themes related to separation, expectation, and identity navigation.

so why was barry the one who pulled away, and len the one who wanted to bond? in part because it just seemed a lot more interesting to me, and i’d already written stories where barry is the one who is “all in” and len is the one who is reluctant to commit. 

i also felt it very true to len’s character from a “i’m a thief” standpoint that he’d be a bit greedy/possessive over someone who the universe has literally said is supposed to be his, in part due to his past and how much he keeps people at arm’s length (but how obviously he thaws for the people he does let close). len might not want to open up or commit or be emotionally vulnerable under normal circumstances, but this is a sort of ‘sure thing’ in his mind, at least at the outset before that faith is shaken. 

barry though - barry was tricky, actually. i did have to figure out that if the central romantic conflict was going to be him pulling away -- why? 

if he was on board with it quite then it would be a much shorter story. i knew he would plausibly balk at being soulmates with len at the outset, but barry is a forgiving and kind person, so realistically how/why might he pull away?

so of course they bonded in/under terrible circumstances. that was like - step 1. otherwise, if len had been like “oh should we bond” and barry agreed, then there would be a lot of cognitive dissonance involved that would make barry retroactively justify his agreement to bond by interpreting it as being because he wants to be close to len. so i had to take barry’s choice away, and then realistically i think he’d react negatively because that’s overwhelming and the whole thing was a mess and very confronting.

but i also -

there’s this line from season 1 when he first asks Len for help, right before he goes to the bar. the thing that gives barry the idea to ask len, when he’s talking to joe at the precinct. “we only break the rules to help people”

it tells you so much about how barry sees the world. so. much. i could unpack that for days. and it’s wild that he immediately thinks about len as a result of breaking the rules for somewhat noble reasons???? just - what???

but barry sees himself as the good guy. it’s fundamental to his worldview in this really really huge way. and what we know about self-concept is that very close others become enmeshed/embedded into our self-concept: our partners literally become included in how we see ourselves.

if you see yourself as the good guy, and that is fundamental to your identity and worldview and necessary for you to be psychologically healthy because you’ve made it a cornerstone of your self-concept.... how the hell do you respond when a giant fucking grenade lands right in the middle of that self-perception and says “actually part of your self-concept now involves kidnapping, tormenting, and torturing your friends, also killing a dude just to test the cold-gun, also a lifetime of theft and murder, also betrayal can’t forget that sweet sting of betrayal.”

barry coming to len over time in his own way is one thing. barry having len bond with him as a soulmate out of the blue is about the biggest psychological threat possible. it’s threatening his sense of self, his worldview, the structure of his self-concept, his expectations for himself (which are too damn high, he has to save everyone, he ‘has to try’) and leads him to believe that others he loves will be disappointed in him or reject him for this because len has hurt them, and because barry is disappointed in himself for wanted to connect with len, with his soulmate, despite all the harm he’s caused.

as soon as that clicked for me, as soon as i put it in context of barry’s self-concept, everything kind of flowed from there really really easily.

i was overly ambitious in writing that out though i think because most people, barry included, don’t introspect a lot about the structure of their self-concept, and don’t have the language related to social psychology to articulate what it means to be psychologically threatened. so he doesn’t really understand his own reactions and why they’re so visceral, and when he does he’s lying to himself about how much of it is coming from the fact that he wants len and wants to be with len but he’s upset with himself for how deep he wants that because the absolutely massive guilt he experiences because of it.

aaaand all that brings me to pointing out that the obvious resolution there is having barry’s loved ones find out about len and accept len as part of barry’s life and show that these people aren’t rejecting barry for being with len. if/when that’s the case, barry is able to more authentically work through all this shit. but because of how they bonded and how goddamn secretive his is (canonically) about personal shit, he decided to hide his bond with len, which meant he wasn’t able to deal with literally any of this during the first several chapters and all of it compounded and magnified until it reached it’s first breaking point.

whew - okay that was a wall of text sorry not sorry i hope this helps answer your question but it probably just complicated things a lot.

[urmomsstuntdouble]

ok not sure how comprehensible this post is gonna be but! regarding the languages discussion, here are my thoughts about the anglo americans. be warned this post is long as fuck, but thank you so much if you do read all of it, and i’d love to hear your thoughts about it as well! 

so i just wanna start with alfred’s name- alfred. i think he may be named after alfred the great of wessex, who may or may not have been the first king of england. he wasn’t technically the king of a unified england that we’d think of it as today- he was the king of wessex, as his title implies, but there was a point at which he was “in charge” or however you want to put it of most of present day southern england. anyway this presents the first of his issues with his identity. he’s permanently tied to britain beyond just his culture and most common language- his name is a reminder of who he “belongs to.” of course most people don’t know that and they just think it’s a little odd that this 19yo miles morales type is called alfred but eh, what are you gonna do. 

then you have the fact that there’s no official language in the US, which makes things a little harder for him. he’s never sure what language he’s supposed to be speaking in, as the human representative of america. he thinks it should be english, seeing as that is the lingua franca, but there’s times when he just doesn’t vibe with english as a language. i mentioned before that he struggles with keeping his (spanish) dialects straight (which @cupofkey summed up as immigrant-kid-syndrome and that’s exactly it), although its not limited to just spanish. he also has a hard time keeping other shit in line, to the extent where his thoughts are a messy jumble of languages, concepts, images, and feelings. this is most evident when he’s nervous, because his accent will get super thick and he’ll start just saying the words that pop into his mind, even if they’re in another language or straight up not words at all. the only peson who can understand him when he’s doing this is canada. both of them are countries of immigrants, although they are different in who immigrated and when, so they dont have the exact same nervous tick language, but it’s close enough that they can communicate well. it’s sort of like a more global version of europanto? might sound something like this to an outside observer, but again, more global (also for the video they dont start talking until 1:17). 

america and canada also have a sort of inextricable bond because of the first nations people. the first tribe that comes to mind are the members of the okanagan national alliance, which straddles the present day border of british columbia and washington state (this is also something america shares with mexico). it’s caused a lot of pain between them personally, and with the okanagan nation. just as the border itself is vague- though the us-canada border is more respected than the okanagan borders- the parts of their identities are also vague. they feel bits and pieces of themselves ebbing and flowing, and matt and fred have gotten into arguments about it because they struggle to define their identities and they just want to be able to explain themselves to themselves. but you know that often winds up causing friction with the okanagan nations, because whatever issues with identity regarding their indigenous people fred and matt are having. they’ve got it worse, only in a sort of..negative image. like whereas fred and matt feel it on the fringes of themselves, making it so they cant tell where they end and other nations begin, the okanagan nations feel themselves being slowly eroded. none of them want each other to suffer, though, because the okanagan people can be americans and canadians and okanagans all at the same time. 

this also applies with the american border with mexico, seeing as there’s some areas in the southwestern us where spanish is spoken more than english. when he’s down there, freddie finds it easier to communicate than when he’s speaking english. chicano is his language just as much as english is- he just sort of became able to speak it when the west was colonized, and he already knew spanish for business purposes, so there ya go. there are some issues with that though because the spanish in the west is primarily from mexico and central america, whereas the east is more from the caribbean- like how miami has a large cuban minority. so he’s got a weird sort of chicano english too, because it’s no longer “pure” chicano. pure is a very loose term there because there is of course variation within southwestern chicano speakers. angelinos don’t have the same chicano as nuevomexicanos. anyway i think he’d get it mixed up with spanish proper or spanglish a lot because of the similar phonetic rules. i’m not sure about any indigenous tribes who have land that straddles the us-mexico border, but that’s probably not alfred’s biggest worry with That Border. actually no i think he might purposefully talk in an aggressively chicano dialect whenever someone in the government wants to talk to him about the ice concentration camps. like he usually doesn’t try that hard to keep the wrong language out of his mouth but he will go Full Chicano, just to make them uncomfortable and to try to get the point across that he can literally feel the physical pain of the people trapped at the border in those camps. but this also causes some tension with the countries of origins of those people, seeing as they can also feel that pain. there’s quite a lot of discourse between america, mexico, guatemala, honduras, and el salvador about that, because none of them quite know what to do. they argue again about whose pain it is and how they should, as nation personifications, deal with it.

another thing that he struggles with where matt is concerned is with his indigenous languages. the languages of his northernmost people are the most at risk and endangered, and some are actually in the process of dying. he hates that, because as much as he wants to act like he speaks just SCE and quebecois, he doesn’t. he knows all of his people’s languages, and it makes him feel like he’s losing his identity a little bit when his indigenous languages start fading away. the worst part about this is that he doesn’t even always know it’s happening until the fading feeling kicks in, so sometimes he’ll just make a point of going up to the northwestern territories and try to hang out with the oldest inuit people he can find to try and have a chat. and it’s ROUGH communicating at first but when he can get back into it he feels more solid and defined. i think this isn’t unique to him, and that the other countries in the americas do this too, but bc of the way civil rights work in canada, it’s a little different for him. because indigenous canadians are recognized as a certain class of citizen, indigenous canadian governments have a collective legal bargaining power and could theoretically ask for legal protections from the ottowa government for their languages. however, this doesn’t apply to the northwest territories, so that’s why matt goes there specifically to talk to old ass indigenous people. their languages aren’t protected legally in the same way that french and quebecois are, so he sort of takes it upon himself as mr canada to do preserve the languages and history. it’s especially sad when a language dies out forever, because then he’s one of very few people who still speak it and if he wants anyone else to know about it he’d have to teach them. but since the language is dead, there’s no one for him to get help from. the people who once spoke it are gone or use other languages now, and it’s all very weight of the world on his shoulders. i think this makes him very sad, because of the weirdly smug left wing anti-american nature of canadian nationalism. like he understands exactly the sort of pressure freddie is under but also has a cultural pressure to not say anything about it or even offer to help. 

this is also why he has the most boring and basic idiolect out of perhaps the entire anglosphere- even arthur has a distinct posh dialect that he uses most of the time. matthew talks like a textbook. a very polite and anxious textbook, but a textbook all the same. and matthew williams actually kind of likes what alfred jones has going on, but canada doesn’t. canada fell into british hands after the end of the 7yr war, which happened to be the war that sparked the american revolution (speaking of which the ages for america and canada make no goddamn sense, ask me about it if you want more detailed thoughts). loyalists fled to canada, and developed a superiority complex around the idea that they weren’t ungrateful. then it was about how they weren’t slave owners- which isn’t entirely true- and in the present day, even in hetalia canon, canadians often define themselves in relation to america. that is, they are better than americans because of xyz political thing. right now, to quote the anime, it’s “our free healthcare and lack of gun crime, eh.” this also poses some difficulties for canada in terms of culture, though, because if that much of their national pride comes from being better than america, what do they have to make a name for themselves? for anglo canadians, that’s a more complicated question. for quebeckers, it’s that the’re not anglo canadians. but quebec is also annoying as fuck and canada actually has nightmares about there being a successful secession movement there, so. i don’t know what the average anglo canadian thinks of quebec seeing as im not an average anglo canadian, but i do know that i hate their accents so now matt does too, although he will respect their right to have their language protected by the ottowa government (because quebec, that’s why). 

anyway i do have one last thought and that’s that nobody will ever really know america or canada like they know each other. they struggle with a lot of the same issues regarding language, but america has just sort of given up. in some ways, matt’s jealous of him, and in others he’s so glad he’s not the united states. but they do understand each other a lot as the anglo americans, and as some of the number one destinations for immigration out of the entire world. so yeah, i dont have any specific strong conclusion ot this post, but would absolutely love to hear your thoughts about languages in the americas! shit’s wack in this neck of the woods my dudes. 

oh actually one last thing. i think america and canada struggle a bit with their identities because they dont fit into any one specific group, linguistically or otherwise. they feel a bit isolated from the rest of the world specifically due to the intensity of the melting pot effect, and even within their own countries sometimes. people will be like oh you’re too white or you’re too black or you’re too dine or too much whatever other culture, so they often feel isolated from that stuff because they are all of those things, and have a deep connection with all of it. anyway they’ll always be there for each other

[thechildofstark]

Fuck John Walker (and also some other stuff): A Response To Episode Four

WARNING: some bad language, death mentions, violence mentions, blood mentions, racism, spoilers for for ep 4 of tfatws 

DISCLAMER: I have some Opinions about various characters. These do not extend to the actors, who I’m sure are lovely and should be treated with the dignity, privacy and respect that they deserve. 

“Fuck John Walker” was originally meant to be the subtitle. I decided on it when he screwed up the op for Sam. It got ungraded during the final scene, because nothing else could possibly compare as a necessary title to this post. 

Essentially, some (out of order) thoughts on episode 4:

~*Sam and Bucky, working together*~ (pretend this is a musical jingle)

The contrasting ways that they interacted with the displaced

While the incredibly valid argument can be made that Sam is the least privileged of the group (I’ve made it) it is obvious that he has had the most structured civilian life: approaching the people he comes across openly. Yes, he is polite and calm, but the closest thing to this he has personally come across in the past (that we know of) would be the war vets he worked with and the critical difference is that they wanted to be there. From what I remember of Sam’s groups they didn’t seem to be a sort of mandatory requirement: you came because you chose to. Or at least, you came prepared for the situation. Here, Sam is an outsider and an unwelcome threat. These people are not going to open up to him. 

Bucky is quieter, but still quite straight forward in the way he presents himself. I think he may show a little more care for the environment he is in than Sam but that isn’t saying much. Yes, he has experienced much worse things than Sam but we still see his unfamiliarity with this sort of situation paired with some less than stellar social skills really not working in his favor. 

Look, I love both these 2 to death. But this is not what they know. 

Zemo on the other hand quite likely lived in a place similar to this after his family was murdered. He shows an understanding of how this sort of situation would work, going to children who:

a) wont necessarily peg him as an outsider

b) are bribable

also I think he was genuinely super glad to give those kids that candy and money. He would have been such a good dad. now I have Zemo feels. somebody help me.

The inclusion of the Dora Milaje was incredibly awesome, and not just because I simp for powerful women. Narratively, this was the perfect place for them to join the party and assert their right to apprehend Zemo. 

Bucky speaking Xhosa (i think it was?) is very cool

 I would like to take this moment to formally state that Caption John Walker is a motherfucking asshole. 

It was also really nice to see Sam’s therapist skills, that worked against him earlier really help him here. 

I liked seeing that more human side of Karli, and having her interact with the “enemy” and have serious conversation about what everyone is doing.

Until Captain Insecurity has to destroy the op because he doesn’t trust the people he chose to work with, no one has comms or anything I guess?

Also Walker deferring to Bucky for team decisions over Sam, talking over Sam and acting like he knows better than Sam?

I smell racism in this Chili’s tonight

It was also really interesting to get a more in-depth look at how Zemo views supersoldiers. Nearly all the ones that he has either heard of or interacted with (destroyed) had either volunteered for the serum or were so brainwashed that it didn’t make a difference. These people are a dangerous enemy to be eliminated, alongside people like Dr. Nagel. His entire worldview is focused on their destruction that the idea that one of them could be a normal person is impossible to him. The only exceptions acknowledged are Steve (paragon of saintly virtue) and Bucky. 

And the fact that after his family died and his country devastated he would most likely have fixated on both the Avengers and the “concept” of a superhuman being as something to blame for his loss. His refusal to concede his position to Sam isn’t just arrogance, although that seems to be a part of it, but the fact that he has spent so much time and energy in destroying both the Winter Soldier program and most likely other similar operations, along with the Avengers that this hatred and belief in the danger has most likely become one of his core beliefs. To change this would be to question his vendetta against the Avengers, to question his actions against the Winter Soldier program which he knows was a horrible thing, and to question why he has spent the past seven years in maximum security prison. This isn’t something he is ready to do yet.  

The fact that Bucky is a noted exception is something that stands out to me. Zemo knows that Bucky is a good person, regardless of the serum. 

Bucky is also the only main character (that I can think of) that was injected with the serum against his will. The fact that he didn’t seek it out could quite likely be part of the reason that Zemo doesn’t look down on him for it - it is framed that the sort of person that seeks out that sort of strength/power would be a “supremacist”, someone who would use their abilities to harm and subjugate others.

And while we are at the apartment may I say how funny it is to see Zemo just. Literally being Sam and Bucky’s sugar daddy. He transports them and houses them and makes them fancy tea. It’s possible he’s providing them with clothes. Either way, love it. Cannot wait for the boys to work it out.

Sam and Lemar’s responses to being offered the serum are an interesting juxtaposition to how they view the concept of supersoldiers. They have both experienced hardship and survived war but Sam is the one that has gone up against Gods and monsters and he wants none of that, thank you. 

And Lemar is so comfortable with saying yes because it isn’t actually being offered to him. Walker expresses some hesitation in their discussion because for him, it isn’t hypothetical. This is something real that can and will effect him for the rest of his life and he wants to make the “right decision”.

The return of Erskine’s belief that the serum not only effect the physical but the mental, emotional and (possibly?) spiritual. This isn’t something that’s really been touched on outside of The First Avenger and I liked that it turned up here. But the fact that it was the reason Walker felt comfortable taking the serum? Eww

The Dora Milaje kicking names and taking ass is super awesome. They are so incredibly skilled and have such amazing teamwork and are also super beautiful I love them 

Sam and Bucky just. Watching. Enjoying the show. Absolute kings. 

Zemo being the sneaky little sneak that he is :)

One one hand, Bucky losing his arm in the fight was very awesome. One the other hand, he has a long history of complicated bodily autonomy in relation to that arm so........  Neutral opinion it is then 

Karli, honey, I really want to like you but can you please keep the mans family out of it. Okay?

And another thing that this show made me think about: kids left to fend for themselves after the Blip (uuuurrrggh it hate calling it that. stupid canonical name). I think it’s good that at least some people took it on themselves to take these children in, to give them good lives and families.

The way that Sam has incorporated his wings into his combat style is very cool

Okie dokie can’t avoid it forever lets get this over with. 

LEMAR MY BEAUTIFUL SON NOOOO

those fuckers (the writers i mean)

Side note: did they really have to make the first main character death of the series a Black “sidekick” character? No. No they did not. 

Side side note: I understand that this is a perfectly valid way (ew) to “advance the plot” but I can and will be annoyed about it

And now we really get into the shit. But...........................

As much as I absolutely unequivocally hate John Walker I actually like the thematic parallels of how they did this. All throughout The First Avenger Steve is adamant on how he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, he just wants to stand up to the bullies. It’s only after Bucky dies that he says he wants to kill all the Nazis and really get into the horror of it all. The fact that John, who has absolutely been on the edge for the entire episode if not longer, only loses it after Lemar dies?

Because Lemar is arguably meant to be that stand-in for Bucky in the eyes of the public, and they are obviously close friends..........

Just - 

I feel I may have accidentally been slightly nicer than I planned to Walker in this post. I’m not sure how I feel about that. 

But C****** J*** W****** is NOT Captain America. Up until now I’ve been calling him “Fake Cap” in my head and to my family, but he doesn’t even deserve that honor. 

And the blood on the Shield. Dear god that was horrible. 

And the fact that, as it was pointed out in this very episode, this man fully represents everything that is Captain America, to the world. He isn’t only tarnishing his own legacy, he is also destroying Steve’s. And to some extent, Bucky’s. The whole reason that Bucky Barnes is considered a “Superhero” is because, at least in America he is known as “Cap’s Best Friend”. He was marketed that way for over half a century, and after the whole “Winter Solder” thing, goodwill or no, brainwashing or no, this could end very ugly for him. Not to mention that Steve Rogers is most likely to be forgotten to history in favor of this freak. 

And on that note, where the fuck is Steve? This is set only 6 months after Endgame, if he had died we would know. So what the hell is he doing? Because I know he got perpetual brainrot going back in time to be str8 and boring but dear god if the show tries to tell me that he’s just chilling in some senior’s center in Alaska I will actually call bullshit. Steve Rogers would never. Okay this is a whole separate post on my thought on Steve. Watch this space I guess. 

And while we’re all here, Bucky Barnes needs a goddamn boyfriend. I’ve done some thinking, and here is a compiled shortlist: 

Sam

Zemo

De-aged Steve (he would be higher but I’m still mad at him for the whole “vanishing without a word to relive Jim Crow and the Lavender Scare. :/ )

IN THAT ORDER. 

That’s all folks. 

Feel free to send me asks if you want clarification or extra details on anything. 

And finally - 

the thing we all came to see:

FUCK

JOHN 

WALKER

fin

[lucas-koh]

Stitches - Bryce Lahela x MC V

Parts 1-4 are linked in my bio.

Doesn’t exactly follow canon, but elements of canon. FWB.

Song: Sudden Desire - Hayley Williams

Rating: M; implied sex, sexual language, swearing, mentions of medical procedures

Word Count: 3305

Taglist: @lahellacute @lahamseiroshoe @anotherbeingsworld @fuseboxmusebox @choicesficwriterscreations @bubblelaureno @bratzlahela

Chapter Five: The Tale and The Missed Moment

Bryce and Suki’s Fuck Buddy Agreement:

1. No work-place hookups.

2. No staying the night.

3. Always use the signal. 👃

4. No drunk texting a sober person.

5. No visible marks.

6. Proof of sexual health.

7. Keep it casual.

—-

Santa Fe: this is Suki hello

Santa Fe: i’ve sent the list

Scalpel Jockey: 👃

Santa Fe: that’s it, 👃

Scalpel Jockey: 👄

Scalpel Jockey: shit I meant 👃

Scalpel Jockey: big thumbs oops!

Seen on 15th October

—-

The following weeks felt like months. Work was long, it was stressful, and it was exhausting. Sometimes all Suki wanted to do was curl up into a ball in bed and sleep for as long as possible, letting the stress of working long hours in hospital compress out of her. Sometimes, she wanted to bundle up on the sofa and watch movies with her roommates. But sometimes, Suki wanted to release her tension in other ways. Ways that involved Bryce Lahela.

They left before the morning, were careful with their grip and kisses so as to not leave any marks, and they kept work at work. The arrangement was working out perfectly, and the rules proved successful as well.

So, on paper, everything was going fine.

And everything was still fine when Halloween rolled around and the roommates planned a relaxed evening at Donahue’s followed by horror movies. They didn’t really get a chance to dress up due to work schedules and a lack of time, but they were dressed up in spirit.

They arrived early and snagged a booth: Jackie and Suki squeezing in on one side and Sienna and Aurora on the other. Elijah wheeled his chair under the head of the table. They chatted for a bit before Sienna jumped up to order a round.

A few beers and shots (courtesy of Jackie) later, the group were having some in depth conversations, making jokes, and generally enjoying each others company.

There was a rowdy, annoying group of surgical interns stood nearby the entrance. No sign of Bryce there, however. Suki was somewhat disappointed, it was an amusing thought to her to see Bryce out the open again since they’d made their rules. She’d been to his a couple of times since then, but they hadn’t seen each other all that much really. Those times had been quick and at the end of long work days too, so Suki was looking forward to being able to draw things out a bit more at some point soon. She’d been quite obviously avoiding hookups at her house if it could be helped, because there were too many risk factors.

Plus, with him being a surgeon his hours were completely different to Suki’s, and actually stealing moments could prove tricky. She might’ve been one of the best medical interns, but word at Edenbrook was that Bryce was excelling over all the surgical interns, actually being able to watch a few surgeries, too.

That being said, she was glad he wasn’t there. She was able to enjoy a lovely evening with her roommates without thinking about only her carnal desires.

But as though the world was sending her a sign, the bell over the door rang to indicate someone entering. Bryce entered by himself, walking straight past the rowdy group of surgical interns and heading right for the roommates. He was wearing a plain black tee and distressed blue jeans, a very different look to his green scrubs.

What was he doing here, if not to see the surgical interns? Had he come to drink… alone? Or had one of the roommates told him they’d be there? They had invited him to the housewarming party, after all.

Then again, if it wasn’t for that party, they never would have come to their little agreement.

There was a knowing smirk on his face as he got closer to the group.

Suki felt her stomach contract a little; they hadn’t really interacted that much as a group since the two had devised their little plan. She wasn’t going to let anything slip, but she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t be maybe a little awkward. Just a tad.

“Hey man! Come join us,” Elijah invited. Bryce grinned and squeezed in beside Suki on the bench.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, not looking Bryce in the eye as she gave a greeting nod. His leg pressed against hers where they sat, and he was now so close that Suki could smell his cologne. Of course, nowadays, she only smelt that when they were having sex, so the smell brought her head right back to all those moments.

“Don’t you have friends over there?” Suki asked, motioning her head to where the group of surgical interns were congregated. They were now laughing obnoxiously about something.

An odd expression flashed over his face suddenly but was quickly warped into a smirk. “Well I’d rather spend time with you lovely nose wipers.”

“Oi!” Protested Jackie.

“Welcome! Enjoy our Halloween celebrations. They’re pretty lowkey this year, I wish we could all dress up and go to a party or something but, work calls,” Sienna rushed, smiling at Bryce opposite her.

Now that he was closer, and his hands lay casually on the table in front of him, Suki could see a few silver rings assorted over his long fingers. Interesting. She had an impulse to reach out and brush her fingers over them, or to have them dig into her own fingers, her body. And from that moment, she was screwed for the rest of the night. Serves you right for being so goddamn thirsty.

A few hours later, more drinks down and the thoughts having continued through her head, Suki nudged Bryce gently with her shoulder. They’d all been talking as a group for the night, so they hadn’t spoken one-on-one at all yet. He looked over at her, his face pretty close due to them sitting in such proximity. She brushed her nose with her middle finger - she could pass it off as a simple scratch. Bryce smirked. His eyes flicked subtlety down to Suki’s lips, and he chuckled under his breath, moving a thumb over his bottom lip and hanging his head when he looked away from her.

Just as he was about to slide off the bench and make up an excuse to leave, Sienna shouted:

“Guys! According to google maps there’s a walking ghost tour nearby. We should go!”

“I’m kinda spent-“ Bryce began.

“No! No way you’re bailing on this, Lahela. You’re one of us ‘nose wipers’ now. We bought you drinks!” Sienna cut him off, her sweet features contorting into mock anger.

He blew air from his cheeks, but he didn’t seem annoyed. “Is everyone going?”

“I… guess?” Added Suki.

“I’m… not sure,” hesitated Elijah.

“They’re not scary, Elijah. It’s just a load of paranormal bullshit,” Jackie said.

After a bit of coaxing and a couple more shots, the group headed out of Donahue’s. They walked down a few roads before they found a man in a long leather coat holding a lantern. Sienna bounded up to him and handed him some money, the others pointing out they’d pay her back later. He introduced himself as Henry and noted that they’d wait for some more people.

Bryce and Suki kept glancing at each-other, knowing their previous plans were probably not likely to happen. Nonetheless, Sienna’s excitement was rubbing off on everyone, and even Elijah seemed into the idea. Jackie and Aurora were discussing whether or not they believed in ghosts.

Soon enough, a large group had formed around Henry, and he went into an animated sing-songy tale about the ghost history around that area of Boston.

“And in this very alley…” Henry said dramatically a little later, “is where the ghost resides. AH!” Henry let out a loud shout, causing Suki to jump back into Aurora.

“You okay?” Aurora laughed. Suki nodded with a flustered chuckle, then Henry continued leading them down the road.

Well, that wasn’t at all embarrassing.

“Awwww, don’t tell me you’re scared, Santa Fe?” Bryce sidled up beside her.

“Of course I’m not scared!” She protested, “it’s easy to be shocked by a jump scare,” she turned her face ever so slightly, obstructing the tell-tale look on her face from Bryce’s gaze.

Henry was a fantastic story teller, emphasising the right parts and using his face and body to convey the different emotions; the group found themselves being swept up in the story. Or, facts, if one believed in the supernatural. Things were calming down a little in terms of the group being freaked out, and every now and again Bryce would lean over to Suki and whisper some kind of commentary about Henry’s story. She could just tell he was the type to talk through movies. But she didn’t mind, and actually found it quite amusing.

Then, just seconds later, a young group of guys were walking past and noticed the ghost tour, and simultaneously jumped and shouted at the touring group. It was a poor attempt to scare them. At this, however, Bryce himself yelped loudly and backed into Suki. She caught him, even though he was heavy.

“Awww, don’t tell me you’re scared, Scalpel Jockey? And of teenagers?” Suki mocked in an echo of his words before, holding the backs of his biceps in support. He had no jacket on, so his arms were chilly and she could feel the faint goosebumps on his skin. She found herself hoping her grip might warm him up a little. She was a doctor, after all. After a few seconds Suki let go of Bryce and the two scrambled a little to catch up with the group.

“How was I supposed to know they were just kids?!”

Suki threw her head back with a cackle as the image of Bryce cowering away from a group of teenage boys replayed in her mind. She raised an eyebrow at him, pulling her lips into her mouth.

“I wasn’t scared, obviously. No ones scared of teenagers. Well, maybe those people Gerard Way was talking about,” he laughed, his cocky demeanour flooding back into his words and face.

“And old people. Actually – lots of people find teenagers scary.”

“Well, not me.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as an MCR kid, though.”

“Only on the down-low,” he gave her a wink, “I was far too cool for that at school.”

“Right,” she scoffed, “Just too cool. Cool enough that you basically shat yourself at a random guy fucking with us.”

“You jumped a minute ago!”

“Yeah, along with half the tour group.”

He harrumphed. She shoved him playfully with her shoulder, partly as part of the conversation, but partly to put a little distance between them. There was still some alcohol lurking in her system and she just wanted to pull him into the alley from before, but, she couldn’t. He didn’t come closer again after the nudge.

“Shhh!” Chastised Jackie from in front of them, who was utterly engaged in Henry’s commentary. Bryce and Suki exchanged a look and tried to keep their laughter as quiet as possible.

—-

Later on, the group were walking up toward their apartment, discussing the night’s events. Everyone had a great time, even if it might not have been the Halloween they were all used to. They walked in a staggered lump, moving fluidly between each-other. Their voices carried down the empty Boston residential blocks, yellowed streetlights illuminating their smiling faces, setting the mood for the comedown of the night perfectly.

“…The Shining, duh. And we can’t forget The Conjuring, or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. These are classics, Aurora,” Elijah babbled along to the group.

“I vote Halloweentown,” piped up Sienna. Aurora laughed and dug her keys out of her pocket.

“Bryce, you coming in for movies?” Asked Elijah.

“Ah,” he looked over at Suki very briefly, “best not. It might be Halloween but I don’t function well on no sleep. Plus, I’ve intruded for long enough.”

Suki knew that if Bryce stayed there was every chance he’d be ending the night in her bedroom, and she’d been avoiding that since the Aurora situation.

“Killjoy,” chuckled Jackie, giving him a friendly smack on the back before entering the apartment building.

“See you next time!” Sienna pulled Bryce in for a hug, her tiny frame dwarfed by his six odd feet and broad stature. Elijah and Aurora chimed in with their farewells.

“Well… goodnight then,” nodded Suki. She didn’t go in for any kind of farewell, it wasn’t really their style. Particularly not in the company of others.

“Yeah. See you around.”

There was a moment where they kind of stared at each-other that felt like it went on for hours, but in reality was brief.

And with that, Bryce walked off down the road. There was an odd pang in Suki’s chest at the missed opportunity as she watched his figure get smaller and smaller. She’d been waiting since she’d given him the signal at Donahue’s for a chance to sneak off, trying not to look at him too much during the ghost tour or walk too close to him. There was just something ridiculously engaging about paying too much attention to Bryce Lahela that made her lose all her other thoughts. Even if she didn’t really want him to come in given everyone else, there was a sort of disappointment that he hadn’t seemed to want to come in. He’d only given her the briefest look and there was no signal, no attempt to continue the night. But it obviously just wasn’t in the cards for her to get laid that night.

That being said, Suki had enjoyed herself way more than she’d anticipated: the tour itself was entertaining, and of course spending time with her friends. And… Bryce wasn’t all that bad. Maybe sex wasn’t all he was good for. But either way, she couldn’t let herself get too tangled up in the other aspects of his personality, it would get messy.

“Come on then,” Sienna ushered the rest of them inside.

—-

“Hey,” Bryce’s voice rose up from behind where Suki sat eating a sandwich in the cafeteria. She turned to face him, bread stuffed in her mouth, and followed him with her eyes as he took the seat opposite her.

“Hmi,” she tried to say through her mouthful.

He barked out a laugh and pulled a shiny red apple from his pocket, flipping it round in his hands.

“When you’ve finished your mouthful,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “you free tonight?”

“Yeah, why?”

He gave her a disbelieving smirk. “You know why.” He took a casual bite from the apple, the crisp crunch ringing in her ears over the ruckus of the cafeteria.

She laughed, realising. “Sorry, still in Doctor mode. You could’ve texted, you know.”

“Eh, you were here, I needed a seat to eat my apple in. So?”

“Yeah, I’m free. I’ll drop by after my shift.”

“Cool.” He took another crunch from his apple and stood from the table, gave Suki a nod, and then swaggered off out of the cafeteria without a look back.

“See ya,” she muttered to herself.

Didn’t he just say he wanted to sit down and eat his apple?

—-

Suki exhaled breathlessly as Bryce rolled away from her body. They were both left in a sheen of sweat and exhausted. After a couple of moments for the duo to catch their breath, Bryce turned to face his body to her, propping his head up on his hand.

“So, not to be a bed brag or anything but… you just had sex with the guy who’s assisting on Dr Tanaka’s next surgery.”

Suki let out a breathy chuckle.

“You are a brag.” Then she turned so that she faced him from the other pillow, also propping up her head on her hand, “Well done, though.” Her voice went softer, and her face took on a disarming sincerity.

Bryce was taken aback by her genuine praise, but he couldn’t let her know that.

“Thanks,” he said, eyebrows furrowed with humour, “I’m actually really excited.”

“What’s the surgery?”

“Only an appendectomy.”

“Only?”

He laughed, sinking his head back down onto the pillow. His hands cradled under his head.

“Yeah, it’s not particularly advanced. Still, gonna be fun.”

They were talking as though they were friends, which wasn’t really a label Suki had felt appropriate to ascribe to their relationship.

“When is it?” Suki, stop asking him questions! Then again, at this point it would be awkward if she just up and left.

“Next week. Pencil it in your calendar because you are going to have the best sex of your life that night.”

Suki let out a cackle. “Is there anything you don’t think you’re amazing at?”

Again, Bryce propped himself back up so that he was facing Suki. There seemed to be a restlessness to all this changing of positions.

“I’m not lying though, am I?” As he said this his voice was low and sultry, deep mahogany eyes watching her from under his lashes. Those were sticking together slightly from the sweat, Suki was close enough to notice. He brought one of his hands down under the covers and rested it on Suki’s hip.

“If you’re trying to get me to boost your ego - It won’t work.”

He smirked, knowing that the answer he’d been looking for was hidden in those words. And she did agree. He was amazing in bed.

Bryce drew barely-there circles on Suki’s hip, before pulling it towards him. Then he leaned his face right in, so that it was inches from hers.

“I don’t need you to say it because I can see it in your eyes,” and yes, he was looking straight into her eyes. But she felt sort of drunkenly infatuated with it, her desire growing by the second. “and feel it on your skin.” His grip on her hip tightened, the sweat condensing between their skin-on-skin contact. Now they were close enough that they could do it all over again if they wanted to.

Bryce trailed his finger up from Suki’s hip slowly, tickling her skin and giving her goosebumps, over the dip of her waist, the rise of her ribcage; all the way up to her neck. He splayed his hand out flat over the front of her neck, and tightened his grip. Just enough that she could feel it. Face still inches from her, he said:

“I just have an effect on people.”

And then in one swift movement, and a melodious laugh, Bryce pulled his hand and his body from hers, falling once again on his back at the pillow beside Suki’s.

Fucking hell. Talk about flustered! Suki tried to pretend she was unaffected, also flopping back onto her pillow. He did have an effect on people and he knew full well by now that Suki, despite her best efforts to conceal the fact, was not someone who handled being flustered well. And let’s be honest, she wouldn’t keep sleeping with the guy if it wasn’t something she was enjoying.

Despite that, though, there she was, lying in Bryce’s bed post-lay and completely naked, and not worrying about it. Not in the way she’d worried their first morning, shuffling to cover herself with her bedsheets. She supposed by now he knew her body inside and out, and that emotional intimacy she’d been scared of had warped into a purely carnal intimacy. Plus, the fact that she hadn’t just woken up next to him, slightly hungover, probably helped.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” she practically choked out, as though his hand was still splayed over her neck.

He could tell he’d affected her, and that classic smirk spread wider over his face as he stared at his bedroom ceiling.

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (4/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K and I seriously don’t remember writing all of this AN: This is the part where we kind of deviate from Pushing Daisies (although there are some jokes from other episodes) and move into magic and meaningful conversations and it’s going to get relatively exciting from here on out. I hope, at least. Thanks for reading this. I think you guys are swell. 

@shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. Or, you can take it from the top. 

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-three days and, approximately, twelve hours and forty-two minutes old when her shoulder is nearly ripped out of her socket.

“Ow, jeez, what the hell, Ruby?” she hisses, gaping at her partner as soon as she tightens her hold on Emma’s wrist. “My health insurance is garbage. I can’t get injured here.” “Don’t you think we could sue the town of Storybrooke? I think you’re technically on city hall property at this point.” “Town hall,” Killian corrects. He’s leaning against the back door of Emma’s car, feet crossed at the ankle again which is only kind of infuriating in the way it makes Emma’s heart jump, but he’s also got a pinch between his eyebrows that wasn’t there when they left the restaurant. 

It’s because Emma made him sit in the backseat. 

And Ruby agreed. 

His arsenal of curses has gotten far more creative in the past two decades. One of the more nautical ones even made Ruby blush. 

Emma didn’t think she was capable of that. 

“Storybrooke is a town,” he continues when Ruby quirks a vaguely annoyed eyebrow in his direction. “If you want to get technical. The state of Maine is weird like that. Anything can really be a town, but a city has to be incorporated by a special act of the state legislature.” “Why do you know that?” Emma asks. “And, really? Anything can be a city? There’s not like...a population requirement.” “Usually. But Maine’s a strange place with strange laws and as discussed before, I’ve read some things in the last few years.” “That includes the requirements for a city to be formed?” “Incorporated.” “What a ridiculous word.” Killian hums, but the pinch between his eyebrows is still there and he looks a little cautious. Or nervous. That’s really the word for it. He looks nervous, as if whatever they’ll find out from Cora Mills at the Storybrooke Town Hall is going to change everything. 

Ruby still hasn’t let go of Emma’s wrist. 

Emma is slightly concerned about the blood flow to her hand. 

“The specifics of any of this could not possibly matter less,” Ruby hisses. “Jones, I need you to take a walk towards those very high bushes.” The pinch between his eyebrows is never going to disappear. “Excuse me?” “Did none of these encyclopedias you’ve read teach you how the English language works?” “Why do you think I was reading encyclopedias?” “Were you not?” “I mean,” he shrugs, “maybe at one point. Nemo had some really old ones that were mostly focused on the naval history of the world, but those weren’t very interesting and the pages were really fragile and—” “I do not care,” Ruby shouts, and Emma blinks at the absolute acid in her voice. She tries to yank her arm back to her side, but that works as well as trying to understand the absurd inner-workings of the Maine census bureau and only ends with Emma elbowing herself in the ribs. Ruby huffs dramatically, lips pursed. “A walk,” she repeats. “Towards those bushes where, presumably no one can see you and realize you’re breathing.” “Why are we yelling this?” Emma mumbles. Ruby’s answering glare could probably melt several thousand diamonds. 

Her grip could certainly crack them. 

And Emma isn’t really sure what’s changed in the car ride from her restaurant to the Storybrooke Town Hall, but there had been a lot of cursing and mumbling about acting like I’m a little kid and sounds like Liam and that second one had made her breath catch in her throat and Ruby was always very good at reading her face. 

Which she could see perfectly. From the front seat of Emma’s car. 

Oh, damn. 

“Maybe just one second,” Emma says, glancing at Killian to find him staring at her like it’s the first time he’s ever seen her. Ruby squeezes her nails into Emma’s wrist. “Or,” she amends. “Like thirteen seconds. Just...to come up with a plan of attack.” Killian clicks his teeth at that, eyebrows lifting, which doesn’t do much to help the very obvious whatever that settles on every inch of his face – something that looks like surprise and feels like disappointment and the buzzing in between Emma’s ears sputters into nothing. He’s chewing on the side of his tongue, a nervous habit he picked up when he was seven and Liam let them watch Friday the 13th on Halloween with the lights off and enough candy to make Emma regret her distinct lack of dental insurance again. 

“Huh,” he mutters, barely audible over the sounds of the town. 

They’re familiar sounds – a few cars and some kid riding their bike because it’s August and there’s a hint of humidity in the air that’s already starting to make the ends of Emma’s hair curl. She can hear an ice cream truck a few blocks away and mosquitos and someone needs to get their air conditioner checked out because it can’t be good for it to be that noisy. 

Emma shifts awkwardly on her feet, trying, and failing, again, to regain control of her right arm, but Ruby must have been a wrestler in another life because she’s got some kind of choke-hold and, clearly, no intention of letting go. 

“It’s just thirteen seconds,” Emma says, but her voice sounds like the lie it is and her own nerves are obvious in every single syllable. Killian’s lips twist. 

“At least. For your plan of attack.” “We just...you know, we like to be prepared going into stuff like this.” “Murder investigations.” “Well, to be fair, I’m not usually dealing with people who are alive. We’ve got more time and I don’t want to, you know, waste that.” “Seems impossible when you’re used to only a minute,” Killian says, and Emma is single-handedly digging herself into the world’s biggest ditch. She’s a little worried Ruby’s nails have cut her arm. 

“You don’t actually have to stand in the bushes.” Ruby scoffs, her own mumbled curses, and Killian’s lips twitch. “I had no intention of standing in the bushes. You better attack though, Swan. Lucas looks like she’s growing talons.” “Claws, honestly.” “I am standing right here,” Ruby seethes. 

Emma shrugs, glancing over her shoulder and she hadn’t realized she’d moved away from Ruby. Or closer to Killian. Honestly she’s going to write a twenty-seven page research paper on the possibility of magnets in the real world and how goddamn inconvenient they are. 

“And whose fault is that?” Emma asks. “Alright, I really do have garbage health insurance, so if we could avoid bodily harm before we deal with a maybe murderer, that’d be great. C’mon.”

She, finally, regains control of her arm, moving a few feet down the sidewalk and leaving Killian with the car and the anxiety practically radiating off him. 

And, really, Emma has every intention of controlling the conversation from the get-go, a determination that’s almost impressive because she’s having a very difficult time remembering to breathe consistently, but then Ruby is in front of her and the sun appears to be reflecting off the highlights in her hair and she’s doing that foot tapping thing. 

Emma hates that foot tapping thing. 

“Is this where you yell?” Emma asks, Ruby already shaking her head. 

“No, this is where I do the asking several very important questions and you tell me the God’s honest truth or I swear to God I will push you in traffic.” “In traffic?” “Is that not threatening enough?”

Emma makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat. “I feel like people would probably stop their cars. Or I’d still have the ability to dodge. I think I could dodge.” “Your reflexes are not that good,” Ruby promises. “And we are wasting time. Also, do you think Jones knows how to read lips?” “I’ve got no idea.” “What do you know about him?” The question seems unfairly large to start with, but Emma’s got a sinking suspicion that’s not actually one of Ruby’s questions and the weight of disappointment that settles in her gut at the realization that she may not actually have an answer is somewhere close to horrendous. 

“Your silence is overwhelming.” Emma blinks, trying to push impossible tears back in their ducts and she’s going to chew her lower lip in half before the day is over. “It’s not...ok, I know that’s not what you wanted to ask, so can we get to the point of this—” “—No, no, I wanted to ask that. Because I think there’s some seriously shady things happening here and a group of goons on some tourist cruise who call some other dude master is a little terrifying, don’t you think?” “I don’t think Killian was working for that guy.” “Do you know that for sure? Can you know that for sure?” Emma bites her lip again. There’s blood in her mouth. It’s disgusting. And Ruby sighs. “All I’m saying is maybe we should be careful and I…” She exhales, eyes going dangerously thin and Emma braces herself for the riot act. What she gets is almost worse. “Are you in love with him? Is it that brand of stupid?”

Emma’s right knee gives out. Only her right one. It’s kind of weird, but that seems to just be the sub-headline of her life now. And, at least, she doesn’t fall down. 

So, comparatively…

“No,” Emma says, but the word feels heavy and incorrect and Ruby’s head tilt is almost vibrating with judgment. “No.” “No?”

“No.” “I’m going to tell you that I don’t believe you, but—” “—I killed his brother.”

The words fly out of Emma’s mouth, her eyes widening with her own surprise and the noise Ruby makes is not of this world. It sounds like an alien has settled into her body and realized what a god awful race humans are and then decided, unequivocally, that Emma is the worst of the worst and is now desperate to get off this planet. 

The greenhouse gasses are pretty horrible anyway. That’s probably Emma’s fault too. 

Ruby brings both her hands to her temples, blinking far too quickly to be anything except jarring and Emma is running out of lip to bite. She moves to her cheek. 

“Ok, hold on a second,” Ruby mutters. “That is...when? Recently? I thought he said his brother died when he was ten.” “He did.” “And?” “And what? I…” Emma trails off, yanking on the ends of her humidity-ruined hair. They are going way over their thirteen-second limit. “The very short story is that the EMTs said Ingrid suffered a brain hemorrhage. Incredibly rare, immediately fatal and I...didn’t know that. So—” “—Oh my God, you touched her,” Ruby finishes. This is not the first time she’s heard this particular part of the story. Emma nods. “And that meant that…” Her hand flies to her mouth, but it doesn’t do much to silence the gasp she makes. Emma swats at both of her arms, desperate to quiet her or silence whatever guilt is bouncing around her skull and neither thing works. She can feel Killian casting curious glances their direction. 

“I am going to push you in traffic,” Emma warns. “And you will trip over your own heels.” Ruby scowls, absurd with her hand still plastered over her mouth. “You are questionably obsessed with my fashion choices. But Ingrid died. That’s why you had to leave Storybrooke.” “I know. But, ok, you cannot make any noise, do you understand me?” Ruby nods slowly, and there will probably be handprint marks smearing her lipstick. “I came into the kitchen and Ingrid was dead. Sudden and real and I was nine. I didn’t think...I just reacted and then she was alive and I was so happy, but then...well, the universe is a dick and—” Emma can’t bring herself to finish. 

The tears on her cheeks are distracting.

Ruby pulls her hand away from her mouth – lipstick somehow in place, which is actually almost comforting – wrapping her fingers around Emma’s wrist in a way that’s even more comforting. “Does he know?” 

Emma shakes her head. “No. I didn’t know at first. I had no idea what the rules were or are and I wasn’t trying to do that. I...I loved Liam too and he was so good for Killian and Killian...oh, he idolized him. But then I was leaving and he kept saying I was going to come back and—” “—You didn’t ever come back.” “No.”

“Did you want to?” “Every single day.” Ruby exhales through her teeth, and they’re all going to need extensive dental work by the time this is over. “Ok, so, uh...that leads us almost directly to my number one, top of the list, most important question of all time. Who died to make sure Killian Jones didn’t?” “I have no idea,” Emma admits, those particular words far more difficult to say than a secret she’d like to kept under metaphorical lock and key for the rest of her mortal life. 

“Yeah, I figured you were going to say something horrible like that. How does that even work? Is it an age thing? Does it have to be relatively similar.” Emma shrugs. “I think it’s a general proximity thing.” “I was like twenty feet away from you!”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Emma reasons. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just a fact. I would have been upset if you died.” “Wow, your charity is overwhelming, Em. You know what, I’m going to take all of your reward. Screw that. I didn’t realize I was playing with fire here.” “Metaphorically, I guess.” Ruby kicks at her ankle, nose scrunched. “You make jokes when you're nervous. It’s a coping mechanism.” She grits her teeth, more exaggerated breathing that Emma supposes is warranted in the moment. “And you know what this means?”

“Should I?” “There’s another body somewhere with no reasonable explanation for its death.” Emma’s left knee gives out. “Oh, well, shit.” “That’s eloquent.” “You have something better to suggest?” “Nah,” Ruby says, a grin that feels wholly out of place in a conversation filled with so much death. Emma wishes there weren’t always so much death involved. “But I bet if you ask your boyfriend he’d be able to help. I think he was using some pirate ones before. He seems like a practical treasure trove of frustrated curses.” “Are you making jokes now?” Ruby shrugs, hand moving to Emma’s shoulder. “It’s an observation. And you didn’t contradict boyfriend, just for the record or whatever.” “I don’t have time to be worried about antiquated relationship qualifiers,” Emma mumbles, but the butterflies in her stomach have returned and she wants to know every single thing Killian has learned in the last two decades. 

She really doesn’t want to tell him she killed his brother. 

On accident. 

Kind of. 

She wouldn’t mind kissing him again. 

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Ruby laughs. “Alright, well, we’ve got a serious check-list of things we need to accomplish before anyone else realizes we’re trying to accomplish them. No time like the present, right?”

She’s gone before Emma can begin to formulate a response – a twist of red and hair that doesn’t appear prone to humidity and a very particular shine to her shoes that Emma is almost certain she’s developed on her own. 

And Killian is exactly where they left him. 

He licks his lips as soon as his eyes dart towards Emma, eyebrows raised in silent question. They’d always been very good at that, silent communication that used to drive Ingrid and Liam insane in equal measure until Liam threw his whole head back and taught them morse code so they could at least learn something practical and they used to flash lights at each other from across the street when they were supposed to be asleep. 

“Everything alright?” he asks, and Emma makes a noise that is the audible version of the worst lie she’s ever told. “That so?” “I didn’t actually say anything.” “Yeah, you didn’t really have to, did you?” “The mind reading thing isn’t nearly as cute as you think it is.” The tongue stuff has got to stop. It means Emma keeps thinking about Killian’s tongue and that’s a dangerous line of thought and maybe they should get him some new clothes. Seeing him in the clothes he was supposed to be buried in is disconcerting. 

“So you think I’m dreamy and cute?” Killian asks, pushing off the car at the same time his eyebrows defy several laws of gravity. Emma swallows. She wonders how much it would hurt to have to get stitches in her lip. “That’s quite a tandem don’t you think?”

“I think you’re way too confident for your own good and it’s going to get us in trouble.” “What other trouble could I possibly get into, Swan? I’ve already been dead once in the last forty-eight hours, seems to cover most of my bases doesn’t it?” Emma sighs. “Can you pull your hat down? There’s too much of your hair showing.”

He does as asked, tugging with almost too much force. “No one is going to notice me,” Killian says, a promise he can’t possibly make in the middle of a town that knows far too much about both of them. “It’s the middle of the day, anyway. Cora’s probably the only person in the building. You know how she hates to delegate, works through lunch and—” “Yeah, uh,” Ruby interrupts, moving back towards the sidewalk and Emma hadn’t even realized she’d gone into the building. “No one’s really doing anything with lunch in there. Or doing much of anything. At all.” “What does that mean?” Emma asks. 

“This creepy Cora? She’d likely be at a desk that says mayor on a very fancy plaque? Dark hair? Suit that costs more than my yearly rent?” Killian nods. “All of the above.” “Yeah, she’s very dead.” Both of Emma’s knees give out – and she knows Killian moves, an immediate reaction that is equal parts dreamy and cute and absolutely impossible because she’s not wearing nearly enough clothing and there are rules and he can’t catch her. 

She stumbles forward, balance no more than almost precarious as Ruby’s fingers curl around her elbow. “Deep breaths, Em. It’s fine. It’s...you know, it’s fine.” “That was almost as bad as Swan,” Killian mumbles, arm still outstretched like he’ll be able to do something. It takes them all a moment to realize it’s his left arm. He grimaces as soon as his eyes land on the skin there, the sleeve of his shirt hanging over the edge and Emma wants a lot more than she should ever be allowed to even consider, but more than anything she wants to pull his arm into her hands and hold him there and promise it will be ok because he’s ok and it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, them or him or whatever they may be dealing with in the moment, because he looks at her like nothing is wrong. 

He looks at her like he’s been hoping to find her every single day he’s woken up and it’s a feeling Emma understands and wants and maybe Ruby is right. 

That’s kind of annoying. 

Emma hates when Ruby is right. She’s a bad sport about it.

“Did it...well, what do we do?” Killian continues. 

Ruby grins. “What we normally do.” “You want to—” He glances at Emma, mouth hanging open. She tries to smile. It fails miserably. “Oh, yeah, ok,” Killian nods, sounding as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Is that ok, Swan?”

She wishes things would stop surprising her. It can’t possibly be good for her blood pressure or the apparently shoddy state of her knees. But he says it with such sincerity and that hat looks absolutely ridiculous, makes the slight point of ears Emma always teased him about when they were little even more obvious, and he keeps having to push the sunglasses they found in the glove compartment up. 

Emma nods brusquely. “Yeah, of course. I mean...that’s what you were saying before, right? This is kind of my schtick.” “That’s not what I meant. I just...you were plotting.” “I wasn’t plotting without you.” “That’s not what it looked like.” “Ok, we genuinely do not have time for this,” Ruby says, cutting in before Emma can say something absurdly sentimental and decidedly out of place for what has just become another crime scene. “We have negative amount of time for this. Let’s go talk to creepy Cora Mills and get the hell out of here before someone realizes the lurker in the weird hat is dead.” “He’s not dead,” Emma growls, but Ruby just waves her hands in her face and nods as if that word isn’t kind of offensive. 

Killian smiles at her. “It is a kind of weird hat though, Swan.” “It’s not a weird hat! And you’re not dead. Can we please stop using that word? It’s--it’s messing with my head and, like, my lungs and—” “—You’ve got to breathe, love.” “How are you so calm about this?” 

They’re frozen in the doorway of the Storybrooke Town Hall, far too close and not close enough. Ruby is tapping her heel on marble tile now. “I’m not,” Killian says with an ease that belies the look on his face. “I’m frustrated and annoyed and pissed off. At the world and Cora Mills and goons one through six and kind of at you for never coming back because I always wanted you to come back and I wondered and—” She can see every single one of his teeth when he cuts himself off, and Emma wishes he’d stop doing that, but she figures it’s kind of unfair to demand proper sentence structure at this point. 

“I was dead, Swan,” he says, expression softening when Emma makes a face. “That’s a fact. But then you showed up and changed that and I...well, I wasn’t...if this is as dangerous as it might be then I don’t want anything to happen to you.” “Oh.” It’s the worst response. It’s an absolutely lame response, but Emma’s always been a little worried that she’s missing some fundamental piece of her empathy chip and she twists her arms behind her back again to stop herself from touching him. 

“Oh?” “Oh,” Emma repeats, whatever disgusted sound Ruby makes at their distinct lack of conversational progress bouncing off the far too ostentatious walls around them. “I—well, that was kind of nice.” “That was kind of the goal.” “Right. Right, well, mission accomplished, I guess. And, uh...that hat came from a baking contest a couple years ago.” “You were in a baking contest?” “You were making jokes about award-winning pie, but it’s almost true. The five-berry one was described as something close to life-changing.” “Seems to be a trend,” Killian mutters. He moves his hand again, a quick brush of fingertips over the curve of Emma’s shoulder and he shakes his head as soon as she tries to tell him to stop that, God. “That was the last time. Just...making sure.” Emma doesn’t have to ask what he means – knows he’s making sure she’s there and real and this would almost make more sense if it were some very lucid dream. But she figures she wouldn't want to torture herself even in a dream and Emma’s inability to touch a guy she maybe hopes could be referred to as her boyfriend in regular conversation is something she’ll have to contend with eventually. Once they solve his murder and the trail of bodies that seem to be piling up behind him. 

“Let’s go,” Ruby groans from the other end of the hallway. 

“It’s not like Cora’s getting up and walking away,” Emma mutters, working a laugh out of Killian. 

“At least not yet. C’mon, love, I’d rather Cora’s assistant didn’t find us while we were in the middle of this.”

Cora Mills, mayor of Storybrooke since, quite possibly, the dawn of time, looks almost exactly the way Emma remembers her. 

There’s more gray to her hair, a few more wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s still got an air of superiority around her that sets Emma’s teeth on edge. Her suit definitely cost a ridiculous amount of money and the manicure looks nearly immaculate – except on her right hand. It’s not the whole thing, but three of her fingers are missing nails and—

“Oh my God, Cora Mills gets acrylic nails,” Emma laughs. 

“Is that a clue of some sort?” Killian asks, earning more laughter for more sincerity and it is really getting very difficult not to hold his hand. 

“Ah, I like that you said clues. And, no, well, maybe, but...I guess it’s just funny. Acrylic nails are so...tacky.” “Ok, that’s not true at all,” Ruby argues. She’s already picking her way through piles of paperwork, a determined look on her face that usually ends in several stacks of bills untraceable by the IRS. “These aren’t just acrylic. They’re gel and hard gel at that.” “I feel like she’s speaking in code,” Killian says, perched on the edge of Cora’s desk. 

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Should you be up there?” “What’s she going to do to stop me?” “Jesus,” Ruby growls. “The flirting is honestly disgusting. Also, I am not speaking in code. I am speaking in spa.” “What’s the difference?” “The difference is that hard gel eventually becomes, as its name implies, hard enough to basically be an extension of the nail. Getting those off is some kind of serious bitch. You’ve got to be totally committed to the color.” “None of this makes sense,” Emma fumes, bobbing on her feet and she’s unreasonably nervous to touch a dead person in front of Killian. “Can I just touch her so we can get out of here?” Ruby doesn’t look up from the papers she’s leafing through when she answers. “No one is stopping you, but you’re missing a very important point.” “You lord information over other people when you want to feel in control of a situation.” “And why do you think might I feel out of control in this particular situation?” “Oh, shit, no I get it,” Killian says, jumping off the desk with enough enthusiasm that Emma is really starting to wonder if time travel is possible. “Fuck, that’s not great, is it?” “We won’t know until Emma touches her.” Emma rolls her whole head. “What am I missing?” “Lucas is right, we won’t know until Cora tells us, but,” Killian starts, grinning like a maniac who just discovered what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street, “If hard gel requires a commitment to the color scheme, that means it would take one hell of a fight to pull the nails off, right?” Ruby nods, something that feels like PI pride hanging off her shoulders. “And that means that Cora didn’t just die under natural circumstances.” “I kind of figured that part was obvious considering your rather untimely murder,” Ruby muses. “But I wasn’t sure there was a fight until I noticed Madam Mayor’s rather grimy hands. She didn’t go down quietly.” “If you knew Cora, you’d understand that’s very in character.” “Well, I feel as if it’s time for me to meet the great and powerful Oz.” “That wasn’t funny,” Emma mumbles. Ruby laughs anyway. “Alright,” she huffs, jumping up and down as if that will work out her influx of nervous energy. Killian smirks at her. “I am nervous about this with you here.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Ruby gags. Again. For at least twenty-one seconds straight. “There is a dead person here. Let’s try and keep some perspective. Also what did you say about that assistant?” “Aurora was terrified of Cora,” Killian reasons. “I doubt she’ll be back before the end of lunch. And you’ve got nothing to be worried about, Swan. It’s not going to change anything.” He can’t possibly mean it the way it sounds, but Emma’s brain doesn’t care. It latches to those words and that particular curve of his lips, confident in her and whatever magic she may be in possession of to fix things and control things she shouldn’t be able to control. Killian nods again when Emma wavers, his smile shifting slightly when he raises his right hand to cover his eyes. 

“That better?” he asks. 

Emma has to look down to make sure her entire body has not exploded into flames. It has not. That’s nice. “Yeah,” she breathes. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Can we get on with it?” Ruby drawls. She’s started opening drawers. 

“You may want to move,” Emma suggests. “Sometimes they can get a little flaily when they just wake up.” “Oh, yeah, good point.” She takes the whole drawer with her when she steps to the other side of the office. 

Emma takes a deep breath, tugging her phone out of her pocket and setting the timer and she’s almost pleased to notice that her finger doesn’t shake when she brushes over Cora’s hand. Killian’s fingers shift. 

He’s still smiling. 

And Cora does, in fact, flail. Her limbs are everywhere, impossibly agile and decidedly threatening, even with a few less nails than she’s normally used to. She jerks back as soon as Emma touches her, eyes crazed with a snarl on her face that’s only slightly intimidating. 

Her head snaps around, taking in her surroundings as if she’s surprised to find herself still in the office where she, presumably, died a few minutes earlier. 

“Oh,” Cora says, some of the fight almost visibly falling off her. “That’s—” She glances around again, and the curse she growls at all of them as soon as her eyes land on Killian is enough to make Emma’s hair curl without any humidity involved. ‘No, no, no,” Cora stammers. “What the hell are you doing here?” “That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” Killian asks. “Who killed you, Cora?” “Where’s your hand?”

“Full of tact as always, ma’am.” “That’s not a question of tact, although if you’d like to discuss upbringing, I’d be only too happy to share some thoughts on your uncles and what they’ve done to that beautiful house.” “Did you think I had both of my hands when I died?”

“I didn’t think they’d take it, no.” “They?” “Listen,” Emma interrupts. “You’ve got like...fifty seconds to tell us everything that’s happened to you today and why you’re missing nails.” Cora blinks. “I wasn’t going to sit there and take it. That goon—” “—A goon,” Ruby cuts in. “What kind of goon?” “Is this heaven? Because that’s...well, that’s a little surprising, honestly.” “It’s not heaven,” Killian promises. “But there’s the possibility for some serious karmic retribution if you answer our questions. I make no guarantees about where you’ll end up, although I imagine not being a complete and utter harpy can only help you.” Cora laughs, dark and threatening. “Oh, you were always far too confident for your own good, Jones. I’d imagine the people who killed me are the same people who got rid of you. Although why they brought you back to Storybrooke, I’ll never understand.” “Is that why you offered the reward?” Ruby asks. “Covering your own ass?” “That’s a little crass, but sufficient.” “Who were these people?” Killian presses. “You never actually said.” “And yet you were only all too happy to agree weren’t you? Desperate to get out of this town and away from this life. It was the perfect opportunity for both of us.” “Explain that.”

Cora bristles at the command, Emma still sitting there silent and nervous and she hates how knowing the gaze that flashes towards her is. “Oh,” Cora says. “There’s something interesting about you, isn’t there? And it...it matches up with his.” Emma jerks her head up. “Who’s what?” “Jones. Can’t you feel that? Ah, well maybe you can’t, but that’s always been my own particular talent. That’s why they recruited me of course.” “Who?” Killian shouts, standing up and Emma hears Ruby’s breath hitch. He’s furious, that much is obvious, but it’s more than that, a hint of darkness and frustration that wasn’t there when they were kids and it makes him feel taller and more threatening than anything else in that room. “You’re running out of time here, Cora. Straight answers.” “Fine,” she snaps. “Sit down, you’re acting like a petulant child. I’ve...well, I’ve been endowed with several gifts in my life and one of my more...appealing gifts is the ability to see into someone’s heart.” “What?” “If you’d like an explanation, then it’s probably in your best interest not to interrupt.” Killian doesn’t sit down, but he doesn’t say anything else and Emma moves to the front of her seat when his fingers wrap around the back of her chair. “As I was saying,” Cora continues. “I’m rather good at seeing what people want. Deepest desires and darkest feelings, those hopes and needs we’ve done our best to hide away from the rest of the world. And our mutual employer found that very interesting. He wanted someone with your particular abilities to help him, Mr. Jones.” “I don’t have any particular abilities,” Killian says. Emma hopes she doesn’t crack the chair.

Cora shakes her head, smile turning mocking. “I believed that for a very long time too, but that’s not true. I can see it, Mr. Jones and I can feel it. It’s...not quite as strong as Ms. Swan, yes, I remember you too, but it’s there. And it seems to time up very well with hers.” “With my what?” Emma demands, almost too aware of the ticking seconds on her phone. 

“Why your magic, of course. Both of you. It’s admittedly unfortunate that you had to die for it, Mr. Jones, but I’d imagine you walked right into it.”

“There’s no magic here,” Killian says, but Cora is already shaking her head and looking far too smug. She narrows her eyes. 

“The darkness is always interested in finding more of us whenever he can.” Emma freezes, mouth hanging open and breath coming in decidedly unattractive pants. Killian curses – loudly. And they almost suffer another disaster, a case of proximity and the whims of the universe, but Ruby’s shrill Emma, fuck wakes her up and she more or less slaps Cora across the face. 

It’s oddly satisfying. 

None of them say anything. There’s not much to say. Magic is a child’s story, but Emma can wake the dead and make sure they stay dead and the buzzing in her head roared to life at Cora’s words, like it was reveling in them and there’s got to be an explanation for this. 

This explanation, however, only seems to spark more questions. 

That’s less satisfying. 

“So,” Ruby says, eventually breaking the silence and Cora looks worse now than she did when they first found her. “That uh...didn’t really help us much at all, did it?”

“None of that made sense,” Killian mutters. “That’s—”

“—You going to tell me that magic is impossible when you just watched your girlfriend undead and redead someone?” “There’s got to be a better way of phrasing that,” Emma mumbles. She lets her head drop forward, colliding with the wood of the desk painfully. 

Ruby makes a noise that is, hopefully, an agreement. “Yeah, probably. So, uh...you do anything magical recently, Jones?” “That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “I never even learned how to do card tricks. I...I wanted to get out of Storybrooke and Cora gave me an avenue to do that while helping Nemo. That’s all there was to it.” “Still doesn’t help us much as far as figuring out who you were both, apparently, working for.” “She said him,” Emma whispers, the realization striking her like lightning and several other natural disasters. She hears Killian shift, letting go of the chair to move around her and he’s crouched next to her when she moves her head. “Cora, I mean. Whatever she was talking about with magic. She said the darkness is looking for that, but she said him. As in a human male.” “Or an alien male,” Ruby suggests. “Let’s be as inclusive as possible. Could even be an animal, right? A really dangerous...dark cat? What’s a terrifying animal? Oh, God, what about an alligator? Right, right? Apex predator.”

“It’s a crocodile,” Killian mutters. His knees must be killing him. He doesn’t try to stand up. “Those jaws could snap a whole person right in half. Plus, they’re scaly, so that just makes them untrustworthy. Thoughts, Swan?”

Emma can’t shrug when she’s more or less draped across a dead mayor’s desk and they are pressing their luck staying that office with the same dead mayor, but she makes a valiant effort and that’s really all she can ask of herself right now. “You said it was shady, didn’t you? The whole thing on the boat—ship, yeah, God, that’s...it’s stupid that you keep doing that.” “It’s a control thing,” Killian admits with a smile. “But, yeah, it felt incredibly shady. And...wrong.” “What does that mean?” “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete and total crazy person. “Try me.” 

Killian sighs, but it’s not frustration. It’s more nerves and concern and Emma knows part of that, most of it really, is directed at her. She’s going to give herself carpal tunnel from tensing her fists so often. “It felt wrong,” he starts. “I don’t...it was like I could hear it.” Emma’s elbow falls off the desk. She’s very glad she’s already sitting down. “You could hear what? Exactly?” “Buzzing?” “Why was that a question?” “Because you seem to already have a very strong idea of what my answer was going to be, Swan.”

“God,” Ruby chuckles. “When this is all over, Jones, remind me to offer you a job. You’re incredibly good at reading people.” He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Emma. “Just her.”

The rush of everything that shoots from the top of Emma’s head to the very tips of her toes isn’t quite as overwhelming as it probably should be. She’s got her suspicions about that – the look on Killian’s face and how goddamn blue his eyes are and whatever his mouth does when, she assumes, he feels it too – but Emma’s never been very good at actually voicing her emotions. 

And Killian has always known anyway. 

Plus Ruby would probably make fun of them. 

“Did you feel that?” Emma asks softly, another unnecessary question. They need to get out of Storybrooke. She’s going to bake twenty-six pies. At least. 

Killian nods. “Did you hear that?” “The buzzing?” “The buzzing.” “Yeah, I did.” “Ok, good.” “Good?” Emma echoes, and her voice cracks traitorously on the word. Killian moves, shifting his weight back onto his heels as soon as she presses her lips back together. He wiggles his fingers, like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her and Emma is fairly sure she doesn’t imagine his mumbled fuck it before he reaches forward, stopping just short of the bend in her knee. He doesn’t touch her. 

That’s for the best. 

Or so she’ll tell herself on loop while she bakes those twenty-six pies. 

“It means we’re both equally crazy,” Killian mutters, Ruby cackling at the sentiment. Emma blinks, not quite crying, but drifting dangerously close and her shoulders droop when she exhales loudly. 

“Yeah, I think it might be exactly that.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled all of that,” Ruby announces, stuffing what appear to be a few receipts into her jacket pocket, “let’s say we evacuate the crime scene, do a little bit more research on some kind of mythical darkness from the outer reaches of space and then maybe get Jones some new clothes to wear?” "I really don’t think we’re dealing with aliens,” Emma reasons. 

“And where exactly do you suggest we get me new clothes?” Killian adds, holding his arm out when Emma moves towards the office door. She mutters gentleman under her breath and he winks at her. “I don’t know that some kind of makeover montage is really in order,” Ruby sticks her tongue out. “I have clothes.” “I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my balance in your heels.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely hysterical. And you couldn’t even hold your own in my heels. But you might be able to do something in some t-shirts.” “At least solve a few more crimes.” “I think we’re still just dealing with one.” “Small miracles,” Emma mumbles. “Although you should get some new clothes. These are…” She doesn’t finish – not sure if it’s offensive or just plain ridiculous, but they were also just talking about aliens, so Emma figures she’s well within her right when it comes to ridiculous. 

“Yeah, it is a little macabre, isn’t it?” Killian asks. 

“Good word.” “Voracious reader with a very smart vocabulary.” “Is that what you tell all the girls when you meet them?” He snorts. Ruby groans. “No,” Killian says. “That’s what Shakespeare used to say when I’d use that same smart vocabulary to tell him that no one was interested in hearing another soliloquy.” “Did he recite soliloquies often?” “Almost as often as he liked to critique my clothing choices. He was never very big on the leather jackets.” Emma’s reaction to that is one-hundred percent more ridiculous than the alien idea. “Huh.” The tips of Killian’s ears go red. 

“That was super smooth, Em,” Ruby mutters, ushering them both back into the hallway as soon as the footsteps in the hallway start to grow louder. “But I’m not super interested in getting arrested this afternoon, so, if you two would be so kind…”

Emma nods quickly, Killian tugging his hat further down and pushing the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. They’re back in the car, key turning in the ignition when they hear, what Emma assumes, is Aurora’s scream. 

“How did you decide you wanted to open a pie place?” 

Emma tilts her head, several hours after a fashion clinic in Ruby’s apartment and Ruby’s absolute refusal to explain why she had so much disposable clothing of the men-type variety. “Pie place,” she repeats slowly, stirring the mixture in front of her. 

Killian grabs a strawberry. 

“Ok, stop that,” Emma snaps, but there’s a distinct lack of annoyance in her voice. It’s almost too obvious how easily he’s charming her. “We’re not going to have anything to put in the pie. And this was your idea.” It was – laden down with at least a week’s worth of clothes and a few options for shirts because, you know, you need some extra shirts, Jones, Killian and Emma had walked back to her restaurant, slightly cautious steps because, for the first time since this had all started, there was a break in the action and a lull in the momentum and he asked if she’d bake something. 

“I can help,” Killian added quickly, flashing her a smile, her smile , and Emma couldn’t argue with that. He’d probably been banking on that. 

“And it was a very good idea,” Killian says. “I’m just trying to spark some conversation while you do whatever it is you’re doing. What is it you’re doing, incidentally?” “Making crust.” “You make your crust?” “Oh my God, that’s honestly the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Killian shakes his head, reaching forward to try and steal a handful of raspberries. “That can’t possibly be true.” “It is and then some,” Emma promises. “You think I...what? Use frozen pie crust in my actual pie restaurant? That’s ghastly.” He nearly chokes on his handful of raspberries. “Did you just suggest that frozen pie crust is ghastly? Did that really just happen?” “It is. It’s all processed and there’s way too much sugar in it and it’s not good. It’s...there’s no feeling involved.” Killian doesn’t freeze, exactly, but it’s awfully close and Emma wonders if, maybe, some of Cora’s claimed magic has shifted to him. Like a magical barnacle. She kind of feels as if he can see straight into her or through her, she’s not sure which is worse. 

“You bake with a lot of feeling, Swan?” 

“No,” Emma grumbles. She needs to find a whisk. And buttermilk. “Can you open the fridge for me? And if you try and steal any more of my filling, I’m going to hide all your clothes on you and then what will you do?” “That seems to suggest you think I won’t leave the apartment in your clothes.”

“I bet you a magillion dollars you would not do that.” His shoulders shake with his laugh – the sound finding its way to Emma’s ears despite most of his head pushed into the refrigerator. “How many zeros would you say are in a magillion? Also what am I looking for in here? You haven’t actually given me any instructions.” “Oh, uh, buttermilk and just like...as much butter as you can carry.”

“That is not very specific.” “I don’t need it to be specific.” Killian glances at her over his shoulder, a wry look on his face and the prickle of something at the base of Emma’s skull kind of feels like sticking her hand into a fire. It’s not uncomfortable, just little brushes of warmth and familiarity, but she’s a little worried about getting burned by the whole, entire thing. 

She wishes she’d stop thinking in metaphor. 

“Isn’t baking some kind of exact science?” Killian asks. “I always thought you had to follow a baking recipe to the letter.” “Whoever told you that was a great, big, enormous liar.” “Wow, that is just...a sweeping judgment.” Emma shrugs. “It’s true. Baking is, well, at least for me, it’s instinctual. God, did that sound as weird out loud as I think it did?” “It didn’t.” He has to bump the refrigerator door closed with his hip, which probably shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “But it did sound as if you’re baking with a little bit more than feeling, love. So, let’s have it. Why’d you open the pie place?” Emma considers her answer for a moment – the idea of lying about it particularly appealing, but then he’s dumping ten sticks of butter onto her counter and there’s a jug of buttermilk pinned to his side with his blunted arm and anything except the absolute truth seems entirely unfair. 

To both of them. 

“It always felt like home,” Emma says. “And I’m...well, at the risk of sounding like a melodramatic idiot, this is something I’m really good at.” “That’s not melodramatic. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not melodramatic.” “You don’t know enough about me to know it’s not true.” Killian shakes his head, the smile on his face making it very difficult to come up with all those reasons Emma was so certain of a few seconds before. “I think I still know you pretty well. And I know you’re far too hard on yourself. It’s not necessary. Although,” he adds, grabbing a stick of butter and a knife, “you want these chopped?” “Yes, into, like...just, you know follow the lines on the wrapper? Was that your follow-up question?” “No, no, I just figured I should continue to pull my weight around here.” “It’s been kind of a ridiculous few days, I think you could get a pass.” Another head shake. This one is a little more tired and a little more anxious and several of Emma’s internal organs lurch at the sight. “I’d be very interested in knowing every single about you from the last twenty years.” She giggles. An honest to God, real life giggle. It feels like it bubbles straight out of her soul and explodes into rainbows and those little animated hearts that showed up on the Saturday morning cartoons they used to watch when they were kids, the ones that always showed how in love a character was. 

Damn, Emma hates when Ruby is right. 

“What do you want to know?” Emma asks, and Killian beams. While cutting up butter. 

They’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen twenty minutes later, pie in the oven and a bowl of berries in between them –  We’re getting real berries, Swan, if you’re going to bake the pie, the least you can do is eat it too – and Emma knows her teeth are stained blue. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Killian, who doesn’t seem to have an end to his list of questions. 

“Ok, what about prom?” “What about it?” “Did you go?” “And you dare to suggest you know me.” He rolls his head onto his shoulder, unimpressed. “I don’t need to rehash old points of the conversation, Swan. An answer, please and thank you.” “No,” Emma shakes her head. “I was...somewhere at that point, shit, when are you supposed to go to prom?” “I don’t know, I didn’t go.” “You didn’t go?” “Do you know me? It was far too middle America. I had no use for corsages or tuxedos or spending all that money on a limo to just stand awkwardly on a dance floor. Plus, you know, it’d probably help to have some friends who would want to go. Or a girl.” He mumbles the last few words, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze and she hates how stunned she is. She’s incredibly stunned. “God, what a bunch of idiots.” “Who? Me and you?” “No, well, yes, but mostly the teenage population of Storybrooke whenever you’re technically supposed to go to prom. Probably like sixteen, right? They’re the idiots. I bet you’d be a great dancer anyway.” Killian chuckles, soft and still a little nervous, which makes Emma’s organs react again, but she’s also pretty positive she can feel something in the admittedly minimal amount of space between them and it might be magic. 

She kind of hopes it’s magic. 

It feels a lot like what she thinks magic would feel like. 

“That’s an awful lot of confidence you’re throwing my direction, Swan.” “I’m not throwing it,” Emma argues. “I’m placing it. Lightly. At your feet. Which I’m sure are incredibly rhythmic.” “I’d at least be able to ask Shakespeare for some lessons. I’m sure he’s got tips.” Emma hums, not entirely in agreement, but mostly in contentment. “When’d you get your first leather jacket?” “I was fourteen.” “Wow, a bad boy from a very young age.” “Nah, a wanna-be. Mostly because I thought it’d make me look cool and, well...I remembered Liam having one when he was younger.” Emma doesn’t gasp. She’s proud of herself for that. She does, however, lick her lips and that might be worse because Killian notices and that means Killian is looking at her lips. It suddenly feels impossibly warm in her kitchen. 

“That must have been before I got to Storybrooke,” Emma murmurs, and Killian nods. 

“Yeah, I think it must have been. Ok. What about…movie...snack?” “Popcorn. With melted malt balls on top.” Killian makes a scandalized noise, complete with tongue and that only means Emma is also staring at her lips. Maybe they are the idiots of this story. “That is disgusting,” he proclaims. “How do you make that?” “Oh, it’s a very refined recipe. Lots of boiling and melting and—” She can’t help but laugh when he gapes at her, some of the tension twisting in between her shoulders loosening at the color of his eyes. “C’mon. I use a microwave. It’s the least complex thing I make.”

“That still sounds disgusting. It can’t be very healthy.” “Strangely enough I’m not thinking about my blood pressure when I’m watching movies.” “Favorite?” “Hmmmm?” “Your favorite movie,” Killian says, pausing between every word as if Emma is under oath and the fate of several different galaxies rests on her answer. They’re not actually dealing with aliens. “When we were kids it was—” “—Still is. That, uh...that hasn’t changed.”

He’s silent for a moment, another far too charged moment with irregular temperatures and the growing scent of a pie with way more berries than the recipe called for hanging in the air. And then he’s moving, reaching up towards the counter and knocking the roll of saran wrap on the floor, plastic spilling at his feet. 

“Ah, damn,” Killian sighs. “That’s not nearly as romantic as I was hoping it would be.” Emma clicks her tongue. “I think it went ok.” “Something about kissing, right? At the end? Most passionate, most pure...this one left them all behind. That’s how it goes?” “Yeah,” she breathes, yanking off a far-too-long sheet of saran wrap. “Is this a kissing book?” “I’d very much like it to be.”

Emma giggles again – straight into the plastic and against his mouth and she sees him shift, doing his best to keep any other limbs away from her and how much she wants to touch his goddamn hair. They stay in each other's space for a moment, quick kisses that turn back into longer ones that turn into quick and bruising and a slew of other adjectives that probably look ridiculous to anything else. 

It feels a little life-changing to Emma. 

Killian is the first one to make a noise that time, a victory of the make-out variety for Emma and her distinct lack of make-out experience. He opens his mouth against her, like he wants to tug on her lower lip or do something that involves the tongue that’s been distracting her all day, and both of those are impossible. Emma appreciates the effort. 

“I stole gloves from Ruby’s apartment,” Killian mumbles through the plastic against her chin, and Emma startles at that. 

“Is that code?” “We should come up with a code. I bet that’d infuriate Ruby.” “You’ve known Ruby for point two seconds and you’re already trying to infuriate her?” “Don’t forget stealing from her. That’s really the important part.” “Why’d you steal glove?” Emma asks, still a little breathless and a little giggly and a little something after all those kisses. And she kind of knows the answer. 

Killian kisses her through the crumpled-up plastic again. “To hold your hand.”

“Emma. Emma, are you there?” Emma blinks blearily, trying to take in her surroundings and there isn’t anything there. She’s standing on nothing, nothing but darkness around her and a distinct lack of anything. The voice yells her name again. 

“What the hell…” Emma starts, stumbling backwards when she blinks and there are two people standing in front of her. 

The woman is shorter than the man, dark hair in a pixie cut and a soft look to her eyes that feels like it could wrap around Emma and protect her for the rest of forever and, at the same time, cut down anyone who dared to threaten that. The man isn’t much taller than Killian, hair almost sandy in color and a set of his jaw that feels far too familiar. 

Emma curses. It’s distinctly piratical. 

The woman’s eyebrows leap. “Oh,” she mutters, but the man is laughing and he sounds kind of proud. “Well, that was...I mean, that’s fair.”

“What is going on?” Emma demands. 

“You have to listen to us, Emma. This is important and there isn’t much time. But...things are happening now that have been destined to happen since, well, the dawn of time—” “—What?” “Don’t interrupt,” the man chides. He’s smiling at Emma. And it all feels like déjà vu and answers to questions Emma’s never wanted to ask for fear of what she’ll find out. She bites her tongue. 

“It’s going to get difficult, sweetheart,” the woman continues. “But it won’t always be like that. You won’t always be like that. And, I promise, he’ll understand.” Emma blinks. “Who? Who will understand, what?”

“It’s going to be worth it, Emma. No matter what you think. Love is always worth it.”

Emma opens her mouth to ask what the hell are you talking about again, but she takes a breath and everything shimmers and her phone is ringing. 

“You’ve got to answer that, love,” Killian mumbles, back on the living room floor with a glove on his right hand and fingers brushing Emma’s forearm. 

Emma shakes her head, trying to get rid of metaphorical and possible literal cobwebs and she’s already having a difficult time remembering what she just saw. She grabs her phone off the coffee table, nearly hitting her head in the process and Ruby is already talking as soon as Emma swipes her thumb across the screen. 

“Em,” she says sharply. “You’ve got to get down here. They found another body.”

[wincore]

archenemies | huang renjun

pairing: renjun x reader

words: 8.8k

genre: ‘bad boy’!au, fluff

warnings: language, some juvenile activities, huang “fight me” renjun, he’s way too aries for this to be good

a/n: move aside it’s my emotional support bad boy fic

There are people who are lucky and people who have met Huang Renjun. 

Every day is a reminder of all your mistakes, all the sins you’ve committed to have to deal with him. You’ve forgotten what began all the biting comments and burning quarrels, but you’re not going to lose to some quick-tempered punk. In all honesty, however, you’d prefer to never think of him again.

Huang Renjun is just a cog in the machine that controls your life and you’re going to best ignore him till someone upstairs decides to fix that machine. (You wish it were that easy.)

You eye the bruise on your knee with a sour taste in your mouth. It’s a darker shade of purple now, the blues mingling amidst only enhancing the size of it. You sigh heavily and crouch to retie your shoelaces. You’re going to have to slow down now, and not jump over the steps of a ragged staircase. There are few reasons to pass through the playground, when you can take a safer albeit longer way to the subway station.

It’s the shorter way, yes, but there’s more. Is it because of the lack of overenthusiastic students and the loud buzz? Is it because you can walk down the thick metal railing feeling free, arms stretched? Or perhaps, the most important of all—the illegal murals on the walls starting from your school. The art gets removed every time and not two weeks later, there’s a new one. If anything’s more cheerful in colour in this city, you’d gladly pay a pretty penny to see it.

You stand in front of the latest in the collection, eyes studying every stroke of paint. It’s a wolf, made with different colours of the rainbow and with a star gently held in its mouth. You swear its eyes move with the way they stare back at you, deep and alive. You wonder what this criminal artist sees in their head to create things so raw, so full of feeling. You’re always sad when they get painted over.

You take a picture of it on your phone to remember. Your first picture dates to about two years ago, when you accidentally stumbled into the backside of the school buildings. It was the mural of a trophy, more specifically the one your school awarded for academics each year. Except the trophy was made of branches intertwined far too loose and it held a rotting apple instead of a live golden one, greens faded to brown. The single piece of writing was in black—‘here lies our youth’. You had scoffed at it then. Undoubtedly, some sort of edgy loser had spilled ink on those walls. But you had to admit, the mural was unspeakably pretty and you took the picture for your own amusement.

The school, of course, had it removed at soon as they could but you still look at it on your phone once in a while. The look on your principal’s face was glorious when a new one showed up right beside the front gate. A withering rose with thorns made of silver, and a raccoon gazing at it with its head at a slight angle. It made no sense, of course. All of these have been abstract, almost hard to find meaning in but you felt a dash of impertinence in that piece of art. It was meant to piss them off.

And of course, the art continued blossoming. Over the months, they got better and better; every new piece held a different meaning. It became a sort of game for you, to find each work and photograph it before it was criticized by disgruntled police officers and hastily removed. Adults find no importance in these kinds of things; it’s too bright, too attention-seeking and too honest.

You tread carefully along the side of the street now, aware of your aching knee and curse yourself for being so frivolous in movement. Except you aren’t as careful as you think you are, and you bump rather harshly into a lean figure when you were looking elsewhere.

“Sorry! I really am,” the words tumble out of your mouth before you can recognize the boy. But when you do, you grimace, a familiar bitter taste on your tongue. “Renjun. Hi.”

Renjun glares at you as he massages the shoulder you had so carelessly rammed into. The white bones on his dark jacket sleeves and the skull on the back look painted, although you think Renjun couldn’t have made something remotely aesthetic. You await the biting comment he usually sends your way, but he quickly turns away after shooting you another scowl.

“Well, okay,” you tell yourself. “That’s new.”

If it wasn’t clear before, Huang Renjun isn’t the nicest of people you’ve met. With a flaring temper and sharp tongue, he’s on your list of people to avoid, but you cross paths quite literally way too many times. Of course, his entire group of friends is on your list of people to avoid, but it’s Renjun who seems to be fated to run into you every goddamn time. You’ve been assigned to do projects with him at least six times by some sort of treachery, and for all the years you’ve known him, his seat is almost always behind yours. It’s torturous, really. Renjun would be much more pleasant to face if he wasn’t glaring holes into the back of your head all the time.

You pull the vague memory of a shy new boy from middle school and shove it aside—no way can you relate the past and present. At school, he’s only a troubled student, not the type to sugar-coat words and with no restraint on words, he often pisses off people he shouldn’t be pissing off. Honesty is a good feature but not on people like him. Only the bravest of teachers take a liking to him, and the rest of the students are a little in awe of him. I wish I could be that honest, you’d heard one of your friends say. That way, I wouldn’t be afraid of the world. He was mistaken; there’s no one on earth born without fear. Needless to say, your peers like to romanticize him as some sort of cool, tough guy with mystery on his fingertips. You think he secretly likes the reputation. The only times Renjun’s softened is around his band of troublemakers.

You don’t trust reputations but you think Renjun is at least six times worse than what everyone thinks of him. (And you speak from experience.)

You have to admit, though, that you might be a little at fault here. You’ve accidentally spilled hydrochloric acid on him in the chemistry lab and smeared his neck with an obnoxious green in art before, but you don’t think that’s reason enough for Renjun to hate you. Regrettably, there are more cases of misfired actions and you’d rather not dwell on them.  

If luck has anything to do in the universe, it loves to mess with you when you’re around Renjun. It’s miraculously always him the victim, and you, an unwitting culprit. Bad luck doesn’t even begin to describe what has bound the two of you. At least, that’s how it began. It’s not like you’re trying to be annoying; the circumstances provide the paint for your already messy canvas and Renjun is left more and more pissed at you at the end of every encounter. You’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such a prick.

The times you’re not accidentally messing with Renjun, he’s the one with offhanded comments that make your blood boil. You don’t know if it’s payback but it ends up with the two of you neck-deep in hatred for each other yet again. Sometimes, you enjoy the misery you unintentionally give him, like that one time the stray cat you were holding launched itself at Renjun and he ended up with more scratches than what was good (although, he isn’t exactly a stranger to injuries) and of course, the glorious times you were the cause of Renjun’s detention. Sometimes even those aren’t enough to shut his quick mouth and honestly, you’re giving up on ever having an actual conversation with him without being at each other’s throats.

You shake your head for thinking about him for this long. Any thought lasting longer than three minutes about Renjun is a curse.

“(name)!”

Chenle waves at you from a few metres away. It’s always good to see him and you smile; the kid’s a ball of positivity. It’s much better than running into Renjun anyway, for whom you’d have to grit your teeth and brace for another jab, trying not to start another bout of bickering with him. In fact, you find the contrast between Chenle (someone you’ve only ever talked with comfortably and an occasional angel) and Renjun (literally the Devil’s advocate) so sharp that you find it hard to believe they’re friends. The only thing they seem to have in common is living at the dorms, as non-native students.

“Hi!” Chenle greets you from a few feet away as he jogs up to you. “Have you seen Renjun?”

You furrow your eyebrows. You wonder why someone as nice as Chenle would follow around a mean grouch like Renjun.

“Yeah, I just passed him,” you answer, a little piqued by Chenle’s rapid flurry of expressions. Something’s obviously not right.

“Thanks,” he says with a slight bow before he takes off in the other direction.

Now, given your history of unfortunate circumstances with Renjun, you shouldn’t be following Chenle. You shouldn’t. But of course, you’d take this chance to snoop around on Renjun, just watch him speechless as he can’t come up with any response at all. Information, secrets—they give you the upper hand. You’re being petty, sure. It’s good for your health.

You follow the loud footsteps at a safe distance, starting to wonder if it’s worth it. You almost walk into Renjun’s view and scramble back behind the wall. He’s sitting on one of the swings while Chenle pants beside him, trying to catch his breath.

“I told you to stop following me around. You look like some lost puppy.” You hear Renjun click his tongue.

“You’re so mean,” Chenle says with a pout, “Wait, doesn’t that mean I’m cute? Like a puppy? Never mind, don’t you wanna know how far the investigation is going?”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Renjun responds, looking down at his hands.

Chenle smiles, radiant as ever. “It’s no biggie!”

Renjun laughs, a sound foreign to you. “You’re acting like I said ‘thank you’.”

“Didn’t you?” Chenle grins. “Anyway, you have to be careful for the next week. They’re going to increase patrols near school.”

Renjun scoffs. “Like they’ll ever catch me.”

You narrow your eyes. From all the rumours you’ve heard, Renjun is no stranger to delinquency and other things illegal for high school students. But they’ve only been rumours. This is your chance to get some dirt on him, and you’re certainly not missing it.

Chenle presses his lips together, a flash of worry passing through him.

“Be careful anyway, okay?” he says.

Renjun snaps his head to the side, an annoyed sound leaving his lips. He looks nothing but bothered by the conversation.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

You let out a breath, annoyed with how ungrateful Renjun is. Of course, you don’t expect better from a no-good sociopath, or whatever the hell he pretends to be. You never realized how twisted your ties with Renjun has been this far. You can paint no other picture except of a demon every time you think of him.

“Now scram,” Renjun huffs.

Chenle looks like a kicked puppy and you almost march over to Renjun to reproach him. There is nothing he does that doesn’t get on your nerves. But you maintain your position; it’s not worth wasting your time over.

The twitch of your foot, however, brings you to the boys’ attention. You retreat your head and look forward, your body getting still. Half of you is terrified of Renjun finding you and the other half simply doesn’t care, in fact wanting to shove some choice words at him in case he does find you.

As fate would have it, Renjun emerges from behind the wall and you hit your head back against it. Your heartbeat evens out quick and you face him, not wanting to look stupid. He’s pissed off—you can tell by the knitted brows and bitter twist of his lips.

“I knew you were annoying but eavesdropping?” Renjun rebukes, “Congratulations on getting to a whole new level of weirdo.”

Your ears turn red and you click your tongue. “Whatever.”

“You should stop being so interested in me. Seriously.”

“Me? Interested in you? If anything, you’re the one way too interested in me.”

“I’m not the one eavesdropping.” Renjun stands up straighter, fists clenched. Your cheeks colour.

“And I’m not the one picking fights every day at lunch.”

Your hostilities aren’t unknown to the school, who look partly afraid and partly entertained with your jabs and arguments. You’ve figured they’re more afraid of Renjun and his cold face than they’re afraid of your fights. If only they didn’t think he’s cooler than he actually is. You could roll your eyes.

“You guys sound like children,” Chenle butts in.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Renjun scowls.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” you warn.

“And who are you to tell me that?”

“A decent human being.”

“God, talking to you drains me of energy.” Renjun turns his head to the side, his frown never leaving.

“Looking at you drains me of energy,” you grumble.

With one last look of repugnance, you turn around to make your way back to where you were headed in the first place.

“I don’t know why you hang out with him, Chenle,” you say before you start walking off.

You can see Renjun tense up out of the corner of your eye. For a moment, you think he’ll yell an insult back at you but only the gentle breeze fills your surroundings. You like having the last word, but no part of this exchange was satisfying. You should’ve just gone your way.

The conversation you overheard leaves your mind as quickly as it entered. Soon, you’re on the subway home with a larger basket of reasons to avoid Huang Renjun.

As if high school wasn’t dull enough, being unable to skip class makes your sleepless body worse. The can of coffee you got at the vending machine offers no aid, and when you finally blink at the silhouette of escape, you seize it. You’ve never thought of skipping class as explicitly bad. It’s not good but neither is it an awful thing to do considering the condition of the present-day education system. You’d call it a necessary evil.

At least, that’s the excuse you use for yourself every time. You’ve only been caught once, and that’s because you fell asleep under the bleachers. Detention isn’t new, but it doesn’t put you in good books. You care for your future, and the inconvenience you cause others (unlike some others you know). It’s just that there are certain habits that you can’t help.

You’ve decided to be more careful, of course. You don’t want your mother getting any more upset with you nor do you want to spend more time at school through detention. There’s a prettier world outside these drudging walls.

Somehow, you sneak your way out to the back of the school building. The painting has been removed long since you first saw it, but the place has a sense of mystery to it. You’re drawn in, an optimistic explorer to lands that call. You shake yourself to prevent your imagination from wandering.

The weeds grow unkempt here, in the narrow gaps between walls and there’s messy graffiti (vaguely phallic and highly inappropriate) here and there. It’s not pretty but it’s fun walking through here, better than dozing off in class anyway.

The clicking sound grabs your attention. The thought of anyone else being here doesn’t make you very comfortable, but what could they do? There’s no way they’d land you in trouble without facing the same fate. You shrug and take slow, daunting steps towards the source. You might as well figure out who’s there.

You peek out from behind the concrete wall, only able to see a figure in a dark blue hoodie. Only a moment later, though, your eyes inevitably trail to the artwork on the wall.

It’s half done—without an outline or final touches. The strokes of paint make up what looks like a dragon skeleton, its wings spread out and a hollow look in its eyes. Even so, it’s funny to find it smiling. What stands out, though, is the burst of colour it’s made of. And without any prompt, you know it’s him—the mystery juvenile artist of your town. Why did he have to paint it here, where most people would never see it?

You step out from behind the wall, forgetting your hideout. It’s not like you’ll ever give away this artist’s identity, the only person who has the guts to make this place colourful. You’re about to call out when he turns and you freeze, your face morphing into disbelief.

“It’s you?!” you exclaim. This has to be a joke—what on earth is going on?

Renjun yelps at your appearance, dropping the spray can as he stumbles backward. He stands there horrified, eyes wider than usual and mouth apart in a stagnant pose.

“You’re following me again!” Renjun seems to have found words.

“I’m not following you, you dimwit,” you snapped. “I just happened to be here.”

“At least make up something more elaborate.” He takes a step towards you, still standing on the raised concrete between the walls.

You glare at him. “It’s true. I don’t care what you’re up to. But you’re the guy who’s been making these?”

You point to the painted wall, not wanting to believe a demon made something beautiful.

“And what if I am?” he snarls and steps off onto the ground in front of you. You’d be afraid of the look on his face, but you’ve seen it often.

“I could report you,” you say, almost smiling. You’ve wanted to see him squirm for a long time now.

You turn heel and walk inside, but Renjun runs after you, stopping only when you turn.

“What?” you ask, your smile smug.

He grabs your arm hastily before he pushes you against the wall, his hand gripping your shoulder too tight. There’s no doubt he’s learnt how to intimidate people. There are streaks of blue and yellow on the web of his thumb and parts of his wrists. The corridor is silent without lingering students, almost eerie without the buzz.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone.” He’s looking at you intensely, almost frantic. Of course, holding secrets takes courage.

You laugh, and he furrows his eyebrows, his frown deepening.

“What are you going to give me in return?”

Renjun scowls. He’s about to answer when you’re interrupted by a rather shrill yet familiar voice.

“No making out in the hallways!” your history teacher scolds. “I can’t believe you’re skipping class for this. I would say detention but I’m in a good mood. Jesus Christ, I know you’re young but there’s a time and place for everything.”

He leaves, his grumbling fading out soon but the two of you are frozen. You can see the red that’s flushed Renjun’s skin and you wonder if you look the same. His eyes are wide, his hand still in place against your shoulder. In his haste, Renjun had left no space between the two of you; in fact, if he were to dip his head a little lower, he’d have his lips brushing against yours.

Your cheeks flare up at the thought and you shove Renjun off you.

“That was- we weren’t- that didn’t happen,” you say quickly, your voice a pitch higher.

“That didn’t happen,” Renjun agrees, still flustered, the pink bathing his face and neck.

There’s an awkward silence before Renjun speaks again, a warning tone lacing his words.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“You could add a ‘please’, at least.” The look on his face is way too enjoyable. You wait for him to realize you mean it and the look progresses into something even more fun.

“Don’t tell anyone…pl…uh, please.”

Renjun turns a few shades redder. Life just got far more splendid.

Renjun sighs enough times for Jaemin to take notice. The last thing he wants is for Jaemin to mother him but he needs some answer to his problem (you) too. He could kick the telephone pole beside him right now, but there’s no point in hurting himself. He slumps back against the wall.

“So did you finally ask (name) out? I heard rumours of you two…you know,” Jaemin grins, his tone more than teasing.

“Why the fuck would I ask (name) out?” Renjun tries his best to get his disgust across to Jaemin, though the warmth in his cheeks probably gives his embarrassment away.

“I mean, you’re always talking about them.”

“Because they make my life hell! And I’m not always talking about…them.”

Jaemin laughs and Renjun wants to kick him instead. Jeno breaks into a short laugh beside him but quickly recomposes himself at the glare Renjun sends his way. Have his friends always been this annoying? Donghyuck is thankfully absent and Yangyang’s probably hanging out at the bike garage. His friends like to add salt to cuts and wounds. And Renjun’s only used to the physical kind.

He sighs again, toning down the thoughts. If he thinks, he thinks of you and your ways of making him miserable. The smug look on your face had made Renjun want to set fire to something, preferably you.

“You guys don’t understand,” Renjun whines, “I literally got threatened to be reported to the police. By someone who hates me and will probably do it.”

Jaemin and Jeno exchange a look and it irks Renjun all the more.

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Jeno says, “Or that (name) will do it.”

“Just talk it out,” Jaemin adds.

That’s nice and all but Renjun thinks they’ve completely missed the point. He’s dealing with the root of all his miseries and he sees no easy solution to this. For all he knows, you could be a demon launched directly from hell to make him pay for his crimes. Renjun shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think that way.

“Whatever,” Renjun sighs, “I’ll figure it out.”

It’s easier to get to solutions when it’s other people’s problems.

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows and Renjun shoves him playfully, a smile falling into place.

You raise an eyebrow. You made a face when Renjun approached you as you left school but now that he’s piqued your interest, you relax against the wall. There’s no one around at this time in the park.

“You’re really making a deal?” You grin, hoping it gets on Renjun’s nerves.

“Yes,” he responds through clenched teeth. “Just don’t say something too outrageous.”

You press your finger to your lips, squinting your eyes to think. Renjun taps his foot impatiently and you almost consider whacking him across the head to stop the noise. There is no way you’d ever get along with him.

“Be my date for prom.”

“What?!” Renjun sputters.

You burst into a fit of laughter; the look on his face is far more enjoyable than anything you’ve seen so far this year. You like Renjun owing you.

“I’m kidding. I don’t have anything in mind,” you say, “I’ll let you know when I do.”

Renjun groans, drooping his shoulders. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re awful?”

“Multiple people actu—wait, I’m awful?! You’re the one with mean comments, little graffiti man.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “You’ve been making me miserable ever since I came here—oh, don’t make that face, it’s true!”

You cross your arms and try ignoring Renjun’s look of disdain. After a moment of hesitation, you sigh.

“I never meant to,” you say, voice softer.

Renjun blanks out for a moment and you use it to get back to the dilemma at hand.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you clarify, “But…you have to show me how you make the murals.”

Renjun frowns. “I don’t like that.”

“The alternative is agreeing to do whatever I say whenever I want till either of us dies.”

Renjun throws his head back, a sigh escaping his lips. “Fine. I’ll take you to the next place I work on. You better keep your end of the deal.”

“Of course.”

You smile. As much as you hate to believe the one person you admired for their creations turned out to be a demon, you’re curious. You might as well make the most of this situation while it lasts.

You won’t admit you lost sleep on a Friday night because you were excited to see Renjun spray paint a wall. It’s almost embarrassing, considering the history you have with him but you can’t deny what’s standing so clear in front you. The art you’ve saved in your precious folder in your gallery, its secrets will be laid open soon.

“You know, I heard this place is haunted,” you hum.

Renjun freezes in his path, and you almost bump into him. He turns around with distress across his face, eyebrows knit together.

“Don’t say that,” he says a little too quickly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re afraid of ghosts?”

“No,” he starts, “Yes. A little bit. Whatever. This place is not haunted.”

You giggle. You didn’t expect Renjun of all people to have that look on his face. You know he’s not a tough guy (or, you refused to acknowledge he could be) but wouldn’t the school love to see him like this. He’s always come off as a little detached, uncaring of the world around him and he’s got scratches and bruises on him like he really doesn’t care which fight he’s picking. Of course the school got to talking about him—the foreign student with a mean temper and a rare smile. (“It gives him a rare charm! His laugh sounds so dreamy…” You rolled your eyes at your friends. “No. He’s just mean. And says mean things. You know. Like a mean person.”)

No one comes into this part of the subway station at night. The line is closed off during these hours, and you wonder how Renjun found out the hidden entrance. It's not easy to search over unchanging walls. The tunnel lights barely work, but the warm glow shoos away any unnerving feeling to leave empty spaces. It’s strange to not see platforms bustling with people; this one offering painted seats and large advertisements to no one now.

“What’re you going to make today?” you ask, making sure to not fall behind.

“Something simple,” he responds, taking the cans out of his satchel. “Maybe a remake of Starry Night.”

That does not classify as simple in your books, but you shrug, taking a seat by one of the tunnel walls.

Watching Renjun work is far different from staring at final products. The way his hands move in a fluid motion, the way he sprays the lines and curves with precision, the way he fills out the spaces with colour—you wish you could record all of it too. The clicking of the cans every time he shakes them is oddly satisfying, so are the full colours that transform the wall. His focus is trained and you maintain your silence, not wanting to break the encased time. You want to say you’re impressed, say it’s breath-taking to watch what he’s doing. But words don’t come easy at the cost of pride.

You tilt your head to focus on the large bruise-like mark on his hand. You thought it was paint, then a bruise but you can’t quite figure it out.

“What’s that?” you ask, tapping your own hand.

“A birthmark.” Renjun pauses momentarily to answer before turning back to his work.

You wonder how you never noticed that before. It’s like a little nebula, fitting for a boy who paints the sky with such adoration.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there but when you check your watch, time’s almost over. A little less than an hour left, you notify Renjun.

You never realized the importance of finishing touches. Neither did you ever think you’d find Van Gogh on subway walls.

An overused painting but there are Renjun’s touches to it—small tweaks in the colour and shape. There are still whirling clouds, bright stars and a sweet crescent moon. The village, though dark, somewhat adds meaning to the comfort of the lights from the houses. You shouldn’t forget why something was painted, Renjun had remarked as you were making your way here. This Starry Night holds no mourning, however.

“It’s lovely,” you say, finally. “I can’t believe you made this in a subway tunnel.”

Renjun looks up from organizing the spray cans back into the satchel. There’s a faint glow across his cheeks and he turns back to his bag quickly. His voice is unsteady when he speaks. “Thanks.”

You take your time searching for an angle with enough lighting to photograph it. Renjun looks at you dubiously at first but he steps aside with an indecipherable expression, his lips twitching at the corners.

The footsteps catch your attention. You share a look with Renjun, a cautious one when they get closer and you immediately move to stand near him.

“If that’s a police officer, I think we’re both going to jail,” you whisper.

“Or if it’s a ghost, I don’t think I’ll know what to do.”

“You seriously think it’s a ghost?!”

Renjun can’t answer for a figure comes into view, who most certainly belongs to higher authorities you’re not supposed to upset. Instead of saying anything, you share a look with Renjun and the two of you take off running. The adrenaline has already spiked into your veins as you follow your companion, who unquestionably knows his ways around these tunnels. You hear shouts from someone who’s most likely a patrolling guard but you keep running till an exit appears and you get out into the fresh summer air. You only feel the breeze for a moment before you have to break into a sprint again. You can tell dawn is on its way with the glint of the sky.

You can still hear trouble behind you as you leave the area and somewhere into your escape, Renjun takes a hold of your hand to keep you from tripping.

You reach the school dorms out of breath, sweat coating your skin and muscles throbbing. The two of you breathe heavily before a smile creeps onto your face and you laugh (or rather, wheeze) despite your lungs aching. Renjun looks at you incredulously and smiles back, the moment almost delicate. There’s a brief second when the two of you realize your hands are still clasped in each other’s and you let go with a start. You’ll brush this under the carpet too, of course.

“I hate running,” Renjun says in between huffs, bent over with his palms on his knees. “But the look on your face…I can’t stop thinking of it.”

Renjun breaks into laughter, the dimple on his cheek showing and making his features all the more pleasant.

You shake your head at him, deciding to let this one slide.

“I’ll treat you to breakfast at Red’s,” you say, unsure why you’re doing this. You don’t have to, but you feel like you should. It’s not every day you see the flicks of an artist’s wrists.

“Shouldn’t you get home? You live pretty far,” he says.

“It’s only a ten-minute subway ride,” you shrug, “How do you know I live far anyway? Does this mean you’re the one stalking me? Hm?”

“You’ve said you live far before, dumbass,” Renjun replies, his ears turning red.

You grin at him, hoping Red’s has opened for breakfast.

And just like that, you find you’ve both cast aside your differences. Everyone who knows you are in awe when you and Renjun simply shrug at the idea of being partners for a project. Only Jeno and Jaemin look smug when you laugh at what Renjun says, while Donghyuck and some of your friends leave teasing remarks. Your accidents have decreased by a decent amount and Renjun no longer glares holes into the back of your head in Calculus and Geography. In fact, you’ve been having civil conversations (save for light insults and jokes like between friends) and although something has changed, it doesn’t feel odd at all, like this was meant to be.

You don’t miss any opportunity to trail behind Renjun every time he comes up with something new to paint. It’s not like he keeps it secretive enough from you and although he acts annoyed, you think he’s glad to not venture into creepy, abandoned places alone. He’s a little bit of a coward, but a brave artist nonetheless. You’re lucky that more often than not, it’s a clean getaway (though Chenle’s snooping around the police station helps). Somewhere along the way, you shoved off your unnecessary hatred for Renjun. The night never ages when you’re together.

You sit atop the ledge of an apartment rooftop with Renjun beside you. There’s a bunch of obsolete items stashed around the small space—an old vending machine, partly broken flower vases, a rusted bicycle and more—some entertained by the overgrown vines cradling them. Renjun’s finished painting the floor of the roof, a sunflower field with vague meaning and a tiny Moomin hiding in between. This building will be gone soon and no one would find this one easily, yet he painted here. You don’t understand why he works on things that don’t last.

The building is too short for you to view the skyline; it’s quite dazzling to look at during night-time but it’s morning now. Thus, you only have the sky’s pink clouds and Renjun to keep your company interesting enough.

“I mean, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought this way,” Renjun continues rambling, “If the universe doesn’t give a shit about you anyway—why shouldn’t you do whatever the hell you want? Our lives are too small when you compare it to stars and planets. And even they don’t matter in the end!”

“Optimistic nihilism is not an excuse to wreak havoc, Renjun,” you sigh. The breeze is finally picking up on the rooftop. Empty apartment buildings are hard to find these days. Of course, you’ve only learnt that because of Renjun.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’re an angel, you know?”

You feign a shocked expression, hand flying over your heart. “But you’re the one in black, Mr. Huang Renjun. And I’m the one in a white sweatshirt, looking as angelic as I can be.”

Renjun drops his head to rest his cheek against his palm, the look of distaste across his face.

“You have no idea how miserable you made me all these years,” he huffs. “I remember when you dropped the pottery mud on me in sixth grade—you ruined my figurine and I never got to wear that shirt again!”

“Why do you remember what I did to you in sixth grade?”

“You expect me to forget tha—you don’t look very apologetic either.” He narrows his eyes at you.

“I swear I never meant to do any of that!” you defend, shaking your head profusely, “Maybe a little sometimes. But mostly never.”

Renjun breathes out, a defeated sigh tumbling out. He turns back to the sunflowers on the roof, a brief flash of respite passing his features. The following moments are coloured with silence and you lean back onto your arms. You can see the beautifully simple tattoo of Saturn on his left wrist peeking out of his sleeve. Renjun doesn’t like showing it to people often, and it’s not very easy to spot it either with his love for jackets and long sleeves. He said he wasn’t really thinking when he got it, just thought it was pretty. You think it’s just like him.

If you were to reach out right now, you could run your thumb over the ink, feel the skin. Your face turns warm. This is not supposed to be the feeling you get. You must not think the words, or you’ll accept them for reality.

You’ve started thinking this lately, but Renjun isn’t a bad person. He might be too honest for his own good but he has a strong sense of right and wrong, something your class is not wrong for admiring. He’s said he wants to be brave one of these passing days, (“I don’t want to run all the time. Just from the cops maybe. And anyone with a weapon.” “Glad to know you’re not going to jail any time soon.” “Don’t look so disappointed.”). You think he already is brave for being true to himself. He’s not always impulsive either, and he’s surprisingly kind often. He’s clever with his words, not just annoying. You realize you’ve seen only a shadow of him before. You feel guilty for having been so harsh.

“It’s funny,” he says, a small smile on his face, “People who know usually question me why I do this first. You haven’t questioned me yet.”

“Why do you do this?”

“I don’t know.” Renjun shrugs. “I just wanted to shove my feelings somewhere, I guess. You know. Choose your own sin, that kinda thing.”

“That’s nice,” you say, your smile mirroring his. “You don’t have to show off, Mr. Artist.”

Renjun laughs, his eyes twinkling with the stars. He doesn’t have to look like that. You look away for fear of delving deeper, something unknown gripping you. There’s an uncomfortable feeling choking you, its dark hands constricting around your neck. This isn’t good. You must not think the words, the feelings or they will become reality.

You get up suddenly.

“You think I can jump across to the opposite building?” It’s no use. The red must have started blossoming over your neck and ears already. No matter; you have to run away from this feeling somehow.

“What the fuck?”

“Treat me to ice-cream if I succeed,” you say, the adrenaline rushing in. Much better than whatever the hell had gripped you. The gap’s not that large; if you get enough momentum, you can leap onto the building’s ledge. You can run away.

Renjun stands up in haste.

“Did you get hit on the head?” He takes a step towards you. “Why the hell do you think this is a good idea?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

Before you can step on the ledge, however, Renjun’s hand shoots to grip your wrist, the touch burning your skin.

“Don’t.”

Oh, you definitely know what this feeling is. You’re not sure what the outcome will be, especially when a mere touch to the wrist can bloom red all across your skin, free so many butterflies in your chest and stomach. You’re almost ashamed of yourself, yet a voice inside you is smug; it was bound to happen. Renjun pulls you down off the ledge and lets go.

“Oh, well. The last one to reach the ground treats ice-cream!” you declare before you rush to the door at lightning speed, and swing it open to exit. You don’t want your feelings written all over your face for him to read.

“No- what?! That’s cheating!” Renjun scrambles behind you, his voice full of annoyance, but a different kind than before. You wish it hadn’t changed, but you’re also not quite complaining.

Renjun hates this feeling more than he’s ever hated you. In fact, he can’t remember the feeling of hating you anymore. He wonders if it’s okay to have these thoughts about you.

Renjun spots your figure on the couch by yourself. Jaemin’s parties have two kinds of people—people drunk out of their minds and people only here by peer compulsion. He can’t say he’s ever seen you at parties before, maybe once or twice, not that he’s cared—he only wanted to avoid you then. He fidgets with the yellow sleeves of his sweatshirt; he doesn’t usually wear something this bright but he’ll blame you once more. He wishes you hadn’t been so elusive lately; a part of him feels weary without you and a part curses him for that.

Renjun’s heart leaps to his chest when he sits beside you, only to be greeted with a sweet smile and flushed cheeks. Stop looking at me like that, he wishes he could think the words into existence. There are scores of emotions tangled up inside him with no way to untie the multicoloured knots. It takes a while to calm his heartbeat, and even then, it’s unnatural.  He might as well tell you at this point—tell you that he likes you, that he’s wanted you more than he’s ever wanted anyone. He read somewhere that summer is a good time to let out your feelings although he can’t be sure of the credibility of the article.

You’ve always been a problem for him, this stupid, annoying problem he wanted to get rid of as soon as he could. And yet, you’ve given him the sweetest picture of all. He doesn’t usually play this game—in fact, he’s never done anything like this before. He feels embarrassed every time he drifts past his daydream, wanting you to kiss him, caress his cheek and run your fingers through his hair. These thoughts feel more illicit than anything he’s ever done. Renjun feels weak in the head when you tug at his sleeve.

“Hi,” you greet, still smiling. Renjun desperately wishes you wouldn’t look at him like that.

Just confess, the voice inside his head tells him. Get it out of your system.

“Hey.”

However, the words halt on his tongue. This is the voice he’s been saying no to ever since you looked at him with wonder, with stars tugging your smile by those subway walls.

He needs to swallow his pride to confess— but just what is he doing? This is not what was supposed to happen, this is not something he’d ever imagine a few months ago. He’s practised the words, but he can’t look you in the eye. He can’t tell you, oh no. It’s easier to run away.

You tilt your head, your gaze soft and Renjun feels a sigh leave his mouth.

“I like you,” he blurts out. “Yes. I, uh, l-like you. That’s what I meant to say- what I’ve been meaning to say. For a while.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, “That’s very sweet of you.”

You burst into a fit of giggles. Renjun is only slightly baffled as he examines your condition. Out of all the ways he’d imagined you reacting to his confession, this was not one of them.

“Are you- are you drunk?!” he asks, the realization dawning upon him. You reek of alcohol, he finds with a sniff.

“What? No. Go back to being sweet. What were you saying again?”

Renjun places his face in his hands and groans. Not only did his horribly timed confession go unheard, but also he’ll undoubtedly have to carry your drunk ass back home. He definitely does not want your family finding him with you in this state.

“How much did you drink?” Renjun asks with a grimace, helping you up.

“Renjun. You’re adorable,” you say, wrapping your arms around his torso. He freezes immediately, resisting an urge to push you off him. This is strange, the feeling is strange. Renjun’s cheeks have risen a few degrees, his chest blooming with electricity and his ears will blow steam if he doesn’t do anything soon.

“We need to get you home,” he says, the syllables distinct.

“How could I go home?” you whine, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

Renjun resists another urge to smack you over the head. His heartbeat is frantic at this point, and he wants nothing more than the sweet relief of death to free himself from you. Besides alcohol, he can smell strawberries, possibly from your shampoo, and a dash of fabric softener. You’re warm and comfortable, annoyingly so. If you stay like this, he might not be able to bear the thought of you moving away from him.

Of course, Jeno has to find the two of you like this, your head in the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around him as his own balance you. In the middle of the living room, you look like young lovers who have forgotten the rest of the room, the world. There are people all around, yet no one cares.

Better Jeno than the others, Renjun thinks when he meets his friend’s eyes, although Jeno can be equally teasing.

“Help me get them home,” Renjun says, pulling you apart and holding you steady. You let out a complaint that he ignores.

“You could take them to the dorms,” Jeno offers. “It’s nearby.”

“What?!” Renjun didn’t realize his pitch could rise that high. “Can’t they…stay here?”

“The rooms are occupied. Besides, your roommate’s on vacation, right? You can take the top bunk,” Jeno suppresses an amused smile. Renjun hates him looking so smug.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll…do…that.”

“Need help sneaking (name) in?” Jeno has a teasing lilt to his voice.

“No, I’m good,” Renjun responds quickly. Jeno won’t let him live, will he?

In the end, with much difficulty, Renjun actually manages to sneak you in and with even more difficulty, he gets you to sit on the bed.

“I like you like this,” you say with a laugh. “I wish you’d always be this nice. And loving. And nice. Everyone would love you more. Not as cool guy Renjun. But sweet guy Renjun. I love sweet guy Renjun.”

Renjun sighs heavily. “If I gave all my love away like that, do you think people would care about me for me?”

He shakes his head. There’s no way he’s having a coherent conversation with you right now.

“I would,” you respond, your voice meek.

Renjun ignores your answer; you must be too drunk to think right now. With a hurried goodbye, he turns off the lights and clutches his heart tighter to bed.

You clear your throat, trying desperately to distract yourself from certain memories of last night and the fact that you’re currently in the school dorms, likely in Renjun’s room.

The afternoon has bled well into wisps of the evening, and you look around more nervous than ever. You remember clinging onto Renjun a little too tight, your hands around his waist—it’s the first time you’ve touched him save for the occasional swatting at his hands or punches to the shoulder. What would the school think of you two warmed up so close to each other like that—what would Renjun think of your stupid drunk self holding on to him like that?

Or even worse, what if you said something? What if you let slip something important at a time when words don’t mean as much?

The door opens and you flinch, turning your head to find the object of your afflictions. Renjun blinks for a moment or two before he sits beside you. He’s wearing a thin jacket; it’s not cold outside but he prefers those anyway. There are a gash and a bruise on his cheek and you wonder which obviously larger and stronger opponent he pissed off again.

“I thought you’d never wake,” Renjun says, nodding to emphasize. “That’s my bed, by the way.”

“Who’d you get into a fight with?” You shift closer, narrowing your eyes.

Renjun sighs, making a face. “Some idiot. Why does that matter?”

“Hold that tongue of yours for once,” you chide.

He heaves a noise of annoyance. “What are you, my mom? I let you sleep here all of last night and most of today—and the first thing you do is complain. I could’ve left you at Jaemin’s house, you know?”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about—you have no control over what you say sometimes,” you state, an old feeling bubbling up. “You pick a fight with everyone.”

“No. Everyone picks a fight with me and they do that because they hate the truth.” He pauses to let his frown show in his eyes. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t tell people to stop being rude to waitresses or tell the other kids to stop whining about not doing anything? They know the truth too.”

“When will you realize there are things more important than the truth?” Your voice is louder already. But you don’t think you mean the words; they’re just cowardly, from a person too afraid to lay their feelings out in the open.

“So you’ve decided to be this way then,” he says, scowling already. This is an old scene alright.

“I’m just telling you what might help—God, never mind,” you say, standing up quickly, “This what I hate about you. You’re just- there are just so many things I hate about you.”

No, you don’t mean any of this but habits die slow.

Renjun looks up at you silently. The sunlight makes its way to his cheek, caressing it with golden hues. His hair brushes against his browbone, the sun apparent in the brownish loose strands. The gash on his cheek is unbecoming but if anything, it highlights the rosy hues of his lips and nose. You’ve never been this infuriated yet fascinated with someone before. Your hands twitch, head still clouded with unfamiliar thoughts and a hangover. You wish you hadn’t snuck a look at his lips.

“Go on then,” he whispers, eyes flickering down for barely a moment, “Tell me what you hate about me.”

Do you take the risk? You hold the fragile thread against your thumb, a small tug required to snap it off.

You pull him up by the lapels of his jacket into a kiss, his lips rough against yours. The force of your pull sends the two of you stumbling backward three steps before your lower back hits the side of the study desk. You hold your position, your shaking hands bunching up the cloth you tightly hold.

When he doesn't respond, you feel a tremor of panic—maybe you shouldn't have been so hasty, maybe you figured wrong. You pull away with a start, an apology popping up on your lips and warmth across your face. But in the brief stretch of a moment, Renjun slides one arm around your waist and the other against the table for balance, his torso relaxing as he pushes against your lips again to further the kiss.

When you pull away, Renjun’s face is a sweet shade of pink. He looks embarrassed for a moment before he furrows his eyebrows, lips curving to a frown.

“You shouldn’t go around crashing your lips onto other people’s,” he scolds.

Your face flushes hot and you stumble over words to excuse yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, “I should have asked.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mumbles. “You’re lucky I wanted to kiss you the moment I entered this room.”

You feel another rush of warmth to your cheeks. Renjun is no different, face splashed pink from his words and your actions.

Renjun dips his head and you press your lips against his in another kiss, this one much calmer as a promise, the feeling already getting familiar. Maybe fate had different plans all along and the two of you misunderstood. Or perhaps, you’ve fallen into something fate forgot to acknowledge, perhaps fate grew tired.

Renjun pulls away first, lips parting into an open smile. Your heart swells, all the contempt inside driven out.

“I was wrong,” you confess, “I was wrong about you- about a lot of things, actually.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same boat,” he says softly.

You bury your head against his neck again, the smell of summer wind and green tea hand cream wafting in. You can’t quite describe it but you’ve grown used it, the scent and the warmth. You’ve grown used to Renjun as a person now and not as the bane of your existence.

“You know, I actually wouldn’t mind,” Renjun says.

“What?”

“Going to prom with you.”

You laugh. He looks away bashfully, the dimple appearing once more and you know right then you’ve been wrong in cursing fate—this is a gift that took time, one you unwrapped late. He’s only occasionally timid, not looking to pick a fight and you want to cherish moments like these. You don’t have to say things to mean them with him; you don’t have to hold his hand to feel warmth. Whatever had been set up for you, the two of you have finished it and as your mother says, only once in a blue moon does fate betray its course.

[notinthemaps]

Healing through the Himalayas

    I was unnerved at the thought of these mountains, aging near 50 million years old, full of history and wealth. There above lies rigid peaks and soaring heights, strong waters and vivid sharp-edged granite building the homes of the wild. The comprehension of beauty is influenced by comparison, however, there’s not a damn thing on the planet deserving enough to be compared to the Himalayas. They’re alive and awake, growing every day, shaped and shifted by avalanches and tremors and growing rivers fed by melting glaciers and the snow leopards, one of the only carnivores of the Himalayas, lies present yet silent, symbolic and representative to the creator of nature. There’s something alive here, hidden in plain sight, echoing out and drawing me closer. Something I feel I can reach yet is impossible to touch. Something I so long to search for, whatever it may be. 

I reached for the benefit of the beauty of nature over the fear of the unknown. Unable to sleep, I drifted between anxious shakes and these visions of eagles gliding along the soaring heights of the mountain range, Himalayan mountain sheep grazing in herds leaping between dry bushes and through the in-betweens, I saw a blurred vision of my father. Maybe the unearthliness and historic existence measure the markings of spirit within the Himalayas. I’ve always liked to believe that there’s an existential energy out there that lies between Earth and the resting world. One that holds the past souls but prevails in the present. One that doesn’t speak a human language but communicates well. Perhaps a world we still find ourselves in. Perhaps this alerting energy that bellows in nature.

The awareness and truth of suffering, the first of buddha’s teachings lie known across the land of the Himalayas and have fallen upon my lap, left to assimilate.  

I packed his ashes into a locket and I arrived late at night in a slow, small airport. There were crowds of taxi drivers yelling across the fence. I walked, exhaustedly, as they followed the travelers and me out to the parking lot. I hopped into a jeep with a quiet older gentleman who spoke little English. Too tired to put effort into a conversation, I watched the dirt roads ahead of us full of potholes. I paid most of my attention to avoid hitting my head against the windows until I arrived at the hostel. I fell asleep quickly on the top floor that had windows wrapping around the entire building that would once allow the sun to wake me as it rose.

In the morning, I lied awaiting the rest of the city to slowly waken as I craved the chance for a warm cup of tea. I stared out the window as the sun rose above Swayambhu, a temple full of greedy monkeys, one that embodies 365 steps to achieve its beauty. While the beauty lies in every corner through Nepal, it seems we had much walking to do to reach the most beautiful parts of the country.

An eye rub and groan across the room was noticed in the corner of my eye as I watched crows fly from building to building. He greets himself, a Tibetan man, 25 years old that did not know english very well spoke with me through google translate. He welcomed me to Kathmandu and stumbled across his words as he asked if I’d like to join him for breakfast. He guided me along to a restaurant through tall buildings, often a bit lopsided and accompanying cracks. The streets were hung with prayer flags and tourist shops were opening their doors. Namaste. Namaste. Namaste as we walked down the road. When he had finally reached the restaurant, no bigger than the average American sized bathroom, built by plastic chairs and wobbly tables. I enjoyed a rice meal and some tea and a slow conversation over google translate before he headed off to work that day. He asked me what I wanted to do that day and I pointed at Swayambhu. I hopped into a taxi and began the steps up 365 stairs. I followed the monkeys, soaked in the sun above the city with my eyes closed and welcomed the vibration of prayer wheels as they were spun by tourists and locals. I was here, accompanied by reason and purpose. Time was no longer a ticking clock, but a gift on this pursuit of searching and understanding this echo that led me to Nepal. I had no intention of leaving this place quickly. Many know how fascinated with leaving I had become. I had always wanted to leave. Run, in fact. But here, I don’t want to leave here.

The second noble truth: determining the cause of suffering. Desire and ignorance lying at the root.

After growing tired of the smog of the city, it was time to climb. I packed my bag with 2 pants, 2 shirts, a water purifier, a sleeping bag, some hiking boots, and a couple of layers to keep me warm through the next two weeks. It was enough and there are places in the world where you constantly feel like what you have isn’t enough. It feels good to strip down to the necessities of humankind. No one to compare riches and debts to. What matters from here is faith in yourself, trust in nature and to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

The trek began with a few hours walking through rice fields. It was colorful and quiet. I walked behind my Nepali guide who had curly hair and a passion for mountains. They were his home after all. He was shy and between the sounds of footsteps jumping over puddles and cattle grazing nearby, the habitual warming questions were soliloquized between. After all, I am spending the next two weeks with this man. I must get to know him and find the reason these mountains echo to him, what his reason is for climbing them for a living despite their obvious beauty. Perhaps for my own desire for clarity. I found out that he’s scared of dogs and swings, loves smoking weed and thought the phrase “Why not, coconut?!” was hilarious. We hopped around the trail until we finally reached the village we were staying at for the night. We shared some raksi, a traditional Nepali liquor, accompanied by dal baht, a traditional rice dish, that I fell in love with. And we laughed and laughed as the raski settled in and stared at the stars until our eyes grew heavy. I fell asleep to the sound of the Ngadi or “river” and the high pitch noise of the crickets.

Again, I rose with the sun, purified some water from the tap and walked alongside the river. This time for 8 hours to the town of Chamche. We took a stop at the base of this massive waterfall to cool down. In an attempt to get closer, I stepped on a grass patch that was not supported. I fell down the side of the cliff, completely burring myself with mud and grass. The mist was blinding being this close to the falls but I screamed and lifted my hand as high as the dirt allowed and was pulled up with nothing but a few scrapes, a sore foot and ankle, some leeches and a whole lot of luck. Upon arrival to Chamche, eating another serving of dal baht, he had the decency to ask me if I’m tired after walking 8 hours with a sore foot and ankle and I honestly didn’t know if he was serious or not but he looked at me waiting in silence for an answer. The day was best described by the words I wrote in my journal: I am climbing these mountains with a goddamn mountain goat.

I woke up to a throbbing foot and cramping calves. 5 hours today. I can do this. I ate lunch under an apple tree and dropped my sunglasses in the toilet or let’s say a full ‘hole in the ground’. Lovely. He said repeatedly “Bistārī, Bistārī” or “slowly, slowly.” He was right and he probably saw my frustration and felt it through my silence. Climbing mountains aren’t meant to be a race. Climbing mountains aren’t meant to be easy. If they were, no one would do it. I finally grew the courage to ask him why he does it. He said it’s in his Nepali blood. And they’re beautiful. He wants to own a tour company one day. And through his rambles, he eventually began to tell me how he started climbing mountains with his brother who passed away in a motorcycle accident two years ago. This was his connection and his dedication to his passing. I didn’t have words to respond and to break the silence, he pointed to the left of us and said: “that’s Annapurna 2.” I counted the rest of my steps with the Nepali words he taught me, “Ēka, du'ī, tīna, cāra, pām̐ca, cha..” and he corrected me as I went on with my mispronunciation.

I stayed up later than usual that night, despite how exhausted I was. It’s been a wave of emotions. This traveling is. Within a mountain lies the heavyweight of awareness due to the lack of distractions. Hours and hours of walking with nothing but your thoughts are the most draining part of it all. The conquerable part of it lies within a sufferer who climbs them anyway and does the difficult achievement of simply surviving.

Today, I fluctuated between ‘why am I doing this’ to ‘I’m so happy I’m doing this’. Today, I sat in a cafe and grew annoyed by a group of Israeli hikers complain about how they found a worm in their pasta. Today, I rolled my eyes to a couple of Americans moan about how they don’t have a private “bathroom.” Now despite being in the middle of the mountains on a trek that will reach near 17,000 feet, I have found myself more irritated with these people than I have with the fact that I have pulled hairs out of the past 3 meals I’ve eaten. Contemplation over whether to be disgusted or impressed with myself began. Is the lack of toilet paper I’ve used in the past few months of traveling impressing or? Is the cracking sounds that my socks make as I put them on in the morning disgusting? What about how comfortable I became peeing on the side of a road or trail? I’d say it’s impressive but I will leave that for each individual to decide.

The next few days, I spent plenty of hours practicing more Nepali, laid in the grass to watch the eagles fly in circles above, hiked up to lake Tilicho lake, the highest lake in the world to listen to ice crack and fall into the lake, and played an indefinite amount of card games with other trekkers. Oh, and ate all the dal baht I could possibly eat.

And when it was finally time to summit, we woke at 4 am before the sun, to a snowstorm and all I heard were the words, “Bistārī” or “Lagabhaga”. Almost. And my god, I have never hated a word more. When I reached the top and saw the tip of the Nepal flag, I walked as close as I could before I eventually collapsed to my knees. 17,769 feet. I cried after over a week of wondering if I’ll make it, if it’s worth it and constantly questioning why the hell I was doing it.  

And it was for this. For the historic human instinct of healing through nature. The feeling of confronting the reflection in the walls of the mountains and the spirits that lay between them. For my dad. For the first time the entire trek, my backpack had felt like nothing and my foot had stopped throbbing. To be humbled and disciplined. To become more human. Enamored by the mountain range, my attitude changed. For so long I carried this feeling of defeat or numbness that I reconciled as avoidance and throughout the trail, there was nothing I could use to hide from myself.

I looked at my guide as he twirled and looked up at the mountains around us. “For you, my brother” he whispered. I hugged him and clenched my locket. We both laughed and fell into the piles of snow as we danced and yelled. All this mountain range was before we started was something beautiful that led to the sky and I looked up and thanked them for becoming so much more than that. 

An end of suffering.

[blxckdamask]

Trashcan’s Fic Rec

So since it's the end of May, I thought it would be nice to rec some of my favourite fics I've read throughout the month. Most of these are BNHA since that's what I’m into now lmao. I’m doing this instead of writing the 5 fics I have planned and I havent posted in like 3 weeks oops.

Bakudeku Fics:

Plus Ultra Parenting by Superior_Moustache | 39k | 10/? | fluff | established relationship | kidfic 

Izuku and Katsuki, better known to the world as the Wonder Duo: Deku and Kacchan. The married hero couple finally adopted their first child together, a bouncing baby boy. Luckily, they're on paternity leave for one year (thank god), so they can bond with their son as much as possible. They're going to be the best damn daddies and go beyond PLUS ULTRA!

Katsuki Bakugou has No Goddamn Chill (But Its For The Best That He Doesn’t) by Rosae  | 8k | 2/2 | hurt/comfort | fluff | platonic or romantic 

Alternatively titled: The Entire Goddamn School Gives Up On Trying To Understand These Two & Aizawa is Really Tired.

Izuku and Bakugou had a long and complicated history, but most of the school was pretty sure that they understood where the two currently stood as rivals. Then Izuku's dad showed up on campus and everyone's preconceptions were mercilessly thrown out the window. In which Bakugou tries to murder a man, has a soft side and convinces his entire class the twilight zone is real.

Ft. Part 2: Turns out Izuku and Bakugou will work together willingly if given proper motivation. Endeavor showing up for a training exercise apparently qualifies. Aizawa is really tired of these children not asking for help and everyone else is absolutely terrified (and secretly very glad these two don't work together more often).

briar roses (and hundred years of sleep) by vannral | 15k | 5/5 | angst w/ a happy ending | get together | eventual nsfw 

In complete honesty, no one who knows the Class 3-A should be surprised anymore. Izuku is asleep.

In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.

Six Between by majjale | 2k | 1/1 | angst | established relationship | betrayal 

Izuku is hospitalized after a nasty fight. Katsuki finally visits.

Utopia by Kanea_vR | 2k | 1/1 | fluff | established relationship | marriage proposal | domestic 

In which Izuku worries that his and Katsuki’s relationship has become too domestic, and Katsuki proves him right. Not that either of them are complaining.

Todobaku Fics: 

No Questions by ravenssaur | 3k | 1/1 | hurt/comfort | angst | deaf!bakugou

Everytime his doorbell rings at 3am, Todoroki knows exactly who is it.

Kitties Tale by Midknight_works | 2k | 1/1 | fluff | domestic | slight nsfw

Bakugou brings home a stray box full of kittens for his and Shouto’s one year anniversary.

Where White Lilies Lay by sodapopcurtis | 17k | 1/2 | break up & make up | angst | hurt/comfort | fluff 

Shouto’s eyes light up in a way that rivals every star in the galaxy, and the past year falls to pieces. “You’re Katsuki.”

With staggered breath, he replies, “You remember me?”

“Of course I do,” Shouto says, “You’re my boyfriend.”

---

Todoroki Shouto gets amnesia and remembers only two things: 1) his name, and 2) that he's dating Bakugou Katsuki.

The only problem is, they broke up a year ago.

Deeper by snakeskinbuffalo | 3k | 1/1 | soulmate au | get together | tw suicide attempt, self harm, depression 

“Katsuki, your soulmate is someone who will always be by your side. They will be someone who completes you. Together, you will make an unstoppable force.”

AU where Bakugou and Todoroki are soulmates and Bakugou is in denial.

Do You Like... (series) by degradedpsychotic | 3 works | 57k | not completed | very nsfw | established relationship | cheating 

Shouto is looking at the damn vent like he’s about to make a break for it. “It’s not, um, what it looks-” “It’s exactly what it looks like,” Katsuki cuts across, his voice losing its bite. Shouto flinches, and silence spreads between them like the frost on Shouto’s fingers.

- - -

Shouto Todoroki and Katsuki Bakugo are tired of their marriage.

better late than never by bonnia | 12k | 1/1 | body swap au | get together | aggressive hand holding (lmao) 

“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you go. I quite like being in my own body.” Todoroki's next breath comes out icy cold, and Katsuki leans as far back as their joint hands will allow.

“Are you fucking hearing yourself?” he sputters, feeling heat crawl up his neck to his ears.

(or: bakugou and todoroki get hit by a body swap quirk, and physical contact seems to be the only answer to their predicament)

Without Hesitation by XenophoneSpeaks | 8k | 2/2 | love confessions | hurt/comfort | get together | fluff | angst w/ a happy ending

The first time Bakugou told Todoroki he was in love with him, he thought he’d die.

Starting Over From Ground Zero by HyacinthAtropa & XenophoneSpeaks | temporary amnesia | get together | coming out | nsfw | angst w/ a happy ending 

“What would their relationship have been like, if Bakugou’s pride hadn’t stood in the way? Would they have been friends, or would things have mostly stayed the same? Would Bakugou have been happier, more open and honest about his feelings and wants and needs as a person? Would he have accepted and even appreciated the comfort others offered him, rather than always keeping people at arm’s-length in an effort to maintain an image of independence and strength?

Todoroki didn’t know.

He didn’t know. But he wanted to.

Abruptly, like a bolt of lightning, he realized he actually had the chance to find out.”

(Or: that one where Bakugou has temporary amnesia and Todoroki is tasked with caring for him until his memory returns, but ends up falling in love with the part of Bakugou that Bakugou has always kept hidden away instead.)

i don’t need to hear to know how i feel (series) by Lizxcliff | 5 works | 16k | not completed | deaf todoroki | coffee shop au | get together | fluff | angst | eventual nsfw 

“English tea, right?” He asked. The man in front of him stared, unsure of how to interact with the handsome, blonde man. This, of course, annoyed Bakugou. “Speak, moron.” He said harsher. Todoroki continued looking at him. He probably doesn’t speak sign language. He reached towards the left end of the counter and grabbed a paper menu. Searching quickly, Todoroki found the English tea, and pointed to it.

Kacchako Fics:

pink cheeks, calloused hands, small wonders by TheGodWith5Yen | 37k | 7/7 | established relationship | domestic fluff | pregnancy | kid fic | adoption 

Her hands found his. She breathed out. Her breath smelled like Listerine, it made Katsuki wrinkle his nose at her.

“I’m pregnant.”

Katsuki’s eyes widened and he stared at her, his mouth opening. “Oh shit. Shit, whoa, okay, wow.” His hands unclasped from hers and traveled down to her stomach. “Ochako, wow.” Not even an hour ago he was convinced his girlfriend was breaking up with him. His mind couldn’t completely wrap around what was happening, but he couldn’t stop looking at his girlfriend in awe. He kissed her forehead, a smacking kiss with a “mwah” sound that had Ochako rolling her eyes and cuddling closer to him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am.” Ochako agreed, her voice steady and confidant.

Katsuki licked his dry lips. His mind was racing. “Cool.”

It’s Our Secret, Angel Face by thesweetestnerd | 200k | 39/39 | nsfw | mutual pining | get together | fluff | angst | friends with benefits 

Broken down and humiliated after her crushing defeat in the Sports Festival, Uraraka just wants to sleep off her injuries in the infirmary. She didn't expect to get a very loud and very angry roommate for the night.

(A Kacchako one shot that turned into a love story.)

Other Fics:

Perception (series) by aizawashouta | erasermic | 2 works | 10k | not completed | nsfw | friends to lovers | mutual pining | get together | angst w/ a happy ending 

Five times Hizashi feels like a burden to Shouta and one time he finally snaps with Shouta by his side to pick up the pieces.

-

Hizashi is all too aware that they’re polar opposites, Shouta being the calm to his storm, the quiet to his loud exuberance. Shouta, who’s at his most content curled up on the couch in their shared living room, or anywhere, really, napping or idly playing with their two cats while Hizashi’s busy going through his ever-growing music library, bothering Shouta for his opinion before adding the songs that have gained his friend’s grudging approval to whatever new playlist that he’s working on.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t leave him alone and, miraculously, Shouta’s been tolerating him for fifteen years.

He hopes to God that it hasn’t become an obligation.

like-like by nanasekei | stony | 5k | 1/1 | POV morgan | fluff | kid fic | steve being a cool step dad | domestic 

Morgan doesn’t really know Captain America.

After The Tournament by bluewerewolfprose | wolfstar & drarry | 175k | 53/? | canon divergent | fix it fic | fluff | angst | angst w/ a happy ending | everyone is gay | trans Sirius | eventual drarry | nsfw 

What if Remus and Sirius realised Harry was being abused? What if all Dumbledore’s careful plans were pulled apart by the power he relied on most of all?

After the Triwizard Tournament, a traumatised Harry admits he can't go back to Privet Drive. Sirius and Remus refuse to submit to Dumbledore's plan and take him back to Grimmauld Place with them, where they must learn how to live together, how to care for one another, and how to trust one another. After so long, can they build a family together? Will they even have a chance when a war rages outside their door? And can the prophecy ever be fulfilled?

[talesoftxt]

TXT Hogwarts AU

So this is my first time publicly sharing my writings and I'm really nervous and also kind of excited. Please bear with me, English isn't my first language however I do try to do my best in my works. Anywhos here's my first post I hope you guy enjoy!

Yeonjun

•Slytherin

•pureblood

•was shunned his whole life due to his parents being deatheaters in the second wizarding war

•raised by his grandmother who he loves to pieces

•don't tell anyone but grandma choi actually raised him muggle style so he's very knowledgable when it comes to them

•his one and only friend is soobin, that is of course before he met the three other boys

•the sorting hat barely even touched his head before it announced "slytherin"

•worked his way up until he became what he is today

•his goal is to erase the stigma of slytherins being evil

•intimidates everyone with his sharp eyes and blank face but don't be fooled, he's as extra and wild as the others

•once dared himself to wrestle with the black lake's giant squid

•always aims to be the best at everything, probably to the point of overworking himself

•as a first year flying had come naturally to him and easily became his favourite subject but was soon replaced by defence against the dark arts

•the boy is a quick thinker and could disarm his opponent in a matter of seconds, though he is good at casting other spells he opts for a defensive style of duelling

•ever since he was young he dreamt of being an auror

•the team captain of slytherin's quidditch team, his swiftness and agility earned him the title "best chaser"

•dubbed as "slytherin's prince" his housemates respect and look up to him

•don't cross him.just don't.

•very cautious when it comes to picking his friends and is very protective of soobin because he's just too damn precious

•gets along with kai really well because theyre both crackheads and kai is too cute not to like

•isn't one to share his feelings but because of his friends he's getting more and more open

•his greatest fear is becoming evil and hurting his friends

•he's really just a tiny bean who loves his friends and would do anything for them

Soobin

•pureblood

•Ravenclaw

•coming from a very traditional pureblood family, he doesn't really understand muggle lifestyle

•a straight A student prefect and athlete, he's the epitome of model student

•doesn't like to break the rules but somehow always finds himself staying up with taehyun or getting dragged to the dark forest by kai

•takes away points by decimals just because he thinks its funny

•can get pretty scary when someone questions his authority

•"out of bed past curfew? 4.23 points from gryffindor" "is that even allowed??"

•he's a responsible prefect and shuts everyone up with one stern look

•number one on the school's boyfriend material list (because c'mon he's like perfect)

•a perfect gentleman who's ready to help with a dimpled smile on his face

•takes muggle studies because he likes muggles and wants to know about them more

•still doesn't know what the function of a rubber duck is

•can cook up a potion even without the help of a guide and can recognize a herb by it's texture alone

•his favourite subjects are potions and herbology

•probably because the two are kind of connected in a way

•literally has a journal where he writes down everything he's learned about muggles

•nearly cried when he received a toaster from taehyun as a gift because he's always wanted one for his bread

•wants to be a healer in the future

•his future career also helps because all his friends can't go a day without injuring themselves

•keeper soobin (you gets?because the boy is such a keeper?hehehehe)

•his tall stature and quick reflexes helps him block quaffles from the opposite team

•recognizes hueningkai as his number one cheerer and never fails to wink at him before the start of every game

•always makes sure taehyun gets enough sleep, beomgyu and kai stay out of trouble and keeps yeonjun from overworking himself

•they always make sure to bring him back little muggle trinkets after they come back from the holidays

•the boys are just really thankful for soobin existance and love him so much

•choi soobin is a lovable and amazing bunny (that's the tea sis)

Beomgyu

•gryffindor

•half-blood

•gets himself into pretty stupid situations just bc he's too damn heroic

•always stirs up trouble but somehow charms himself out of it

•he's like,really charming

•made mcgonagall blush that one time

•he's absolutely cunning,his ability to hide his true intentions behind an angelic smile scares the crap out of the boys

•just don't mess with his friends

•bc of this the sorting hat actually took longer to sort him than usual wondering whether it should put him in slytherin or gryffindor, he had almost been a hatstall but after a silent debate between the two beomgyu had chosen gryffindor bc they had and i quote 'pretty colours'

•had to be physically restrained by soobin and yeonjun after he tried to fight a student who had called taehyun a "mudblood"

•Charms and transfiguration are his areas of expertise

•favourite spell is "accio" and practically uses it for everything

•"accio yeonjun hyung's clothes "beomgyu!"

•"accio taehyun's love of his life" "bold of you to assume i have any I-" "accio taehyun's books" "you little shi-"

•takes muggle studies just for the hell of it and because it's easy

•gryffindor's seeker,this boy could spot a snitch from miles away

•has his own fanclub with members from all four houses

•yes that's how charming he is

•no one really knows how but beomgyu always manages to enter all three other houses' common rooms

•his favourite hang out place would probably be ravenclaw's common room

•annoying taehyun is this guy's favourite past time, he just finds it cute when the younger glares at him

•if he's not annoying taehyun he's probably off pulling pranks and causing trouble all around the castle

•is currently grooming kai to become a prankster like him, he just has to figure out a way to stop the boy from being so goddamn loud everytime they prank someone

•in general he's a chaotic mess but everyone still loves him

Taehyun

•Ravenclaw

•muggleborn

•once something catches his eye he makes it a goal to learn everything about it

•no one really knows what to expect with taehyun probably bc he was so quiet and introverted

•as he gets used to life in the magical world he starts to become more confident and bold

•"why do we still use quills when ballpens literally exists?''

•''are you serious?a letter?kai you have a phone use it''

•his wisdom and good advices remind people why he's in ravenclaw

•his two favourite subjects are transfiguration and history of magic

•transfigured soobin into a bunny once at kai's request (well probably just to shut him up)

•history nerd and draco malfoy enthusiast

•''he was only a child!''

•doesn't even bother to answer the riddles' properly

•"where do vanished objects go?" "somewhere other than where they were vanished from,duh."

•usually found in the common room late at night cramming homeworks he's been putting on hold bc he found something much more interesting to do

•legend says prefect soobin always stays up with him (no one knows if its true or not no one has ever tried to find out in fear of facing choi soobin's wrath if he finds them out of bed)

•an excellent beater, taehyun's one of the best in their team even at such a young age

•rumours are he's one of the candidates for next team captain

•is soobin's source of muggle knowledge, probably bc kai only teaches them memes and popular vines and beomgyu just cant be bothered with

•claims he loses braincells every time kai opens his mouth but deep down he loves the boy like his brother

•looks up to his yeonjun and soobin hyungs

•unbothered king 24/7

Kai

•hufflepuff

• the boy literally dragged taehyun with him and introduced himself to nearly everyone during the train ride

•half-blood

•never fails to say "me dad's a muggle; mam's a witch,bitofanastyshockforhim

whenhefoundout" every time he introduces himself

•and i mean EVERY.SINGLE.TIME

•excels in care of magical creatures (probably bc every single creature falls in love with the boy on sight) and almost always accompanies hagrid to the dark forest

•let's be real ya'll the dark forest probably isn't so dark anymore with the amount of sunshine kai emits

•nearly gave soobin a heart attack when he had dragged the elder into the dark forest

•at the age of 13 the dark forest was just a forest to kai, "wild centaurs?bitch please i braid baby centaurs hair on saturdays"

•idolizes newt scamander and wants to be a magizoologist because he wants to change people's minds about magical creatures and show them how beautiful and precious they actually are

•'pet a dragon's belly' is listed number 1 in his bucket list

• 'ohmygod hueningkai don't you even dare try to rock that mandrake' 'but hyun its so cute!it looks like an ugly baby!'

•takes a liking for divination and unlike others actually appreciates and pays attention in class

•probably because of his close relationship with the forest's centaurs who also use divination in their day to day lives

•is a skilled flyer and was invited to try out for his house's quidditch team but turned it down

•he prefers to cheer for people rather than getting cheered on

•people don't really know who he cheers for most of the time bc he's like present in every game

•mysteriously gets louder and more energetic when ravenclaw plays most people think it's bc his bestfriend taehyun is playing but taehyun knows the truth

•"you did great hyun!" "i literally saw you stare at soobin hyung's ass the entire game"

•no one can hate this guy,it’s physically impossible

•even the meanest kids don’t pick on him,he’s THAT lovable

Anyways that all for today! That's my opinion on the txt's hogwarts houses,don't be shy and tell me what you think! See you later guys!

[askamaravox]

90 Question’s for Your OC

What is your purpose or your biggest goal in life?

Power and revenge. 

Of all your belongings, which are most important to you? If there is a story about them, please share.

All and any belongings that I once loved are probably now locked up in some police facility as evidence. So, I try not to get attached to anything physical. However, I do like my revolver. I keep it on me at all times.

I got it engraved a few years ago, you know, before it was a murder weapon.

Who is your best friend, or the person you are closest to?

That’s a difficult question to answer. I feel as if Ralsei and I have a relationship that runs deep without words, but it’s so much easier to talk to Julian.

Who are a few other people you know, and how do you feel about each of them specifically?

I would defend Amanda with my life. Even if that meant putting my reputation on the line. I think she’s a lot like Ralsei and needs to be protected and safe. They both don’t deserve this life. 

Blix. Ah, very similar boat to Amanda, but she can handle herself. Or at the very least, I think she can. I care for her deeply, and want her to be safe.

Now that friends are out of the way it’s time to discuss enemies!

Sophia is a bitch and I can’t wait to bring her down. To tear at her reputation, and take her down to rock bottom. Let’s see how she likes it.

Fuck Xavier. Fuck the Butcher. Fuck The Prince. They don’t even get explained, they’re merely honourable mentions.

Do you have any romantic interests, or have you in the past?

Romantic? Not necessarily. Past nor present - as much as I hate to talk about it... Ryan and I had a fling a few years back but it was hardly serious.

What is your general outlook on life? Are you optimistic, pessimistic, or maybe just very neutral?

I like to think of myself a realist. It helps me keep a level head and not to overestimate or underestimate things. However, a touch of optimism never hurts.

Describe your relationship with your parents. If they're no longer alive, how did that happen? How do you feel about it?

Well. Prior to all this, my relationship with my mother was sturdy. We talked occasionally, I went to her for advice on business meetings and cases. We met every Christmas at the holiday home with Camilla to have a warm home cooked dinner.

My relationship with my father was and always has been estranged. We weren’t close when I was a kid. He was distant, rude and enforced sexist ideals in the family. Something my mother always argued against in quiet.

The day she divorced him and took everything he will always be a momentous day in my childhood. I wont say it was the best day, because it certainly was difficult. But it was a good introduction to law... and well, fucking over those who treat you wrong.

Mother was always much better at the subtle long game than me.

Do you have any siblings? If so, talk about them. If not, do you wish that you did?

Camilla. My twin sister. We used to get confused a lot in school, but she tended to be the nicer sibling. A little less boy focused and more concerned about her close friends.

We were both very competitive though. Always fighting to get the best grades. Some years she won, some years I took the title. In our final year I took the cake by getting the highest ATAR score between us. 1.7 points higher than her.

Regardless, we both got into our respected fields. She entered the police force, and I got into law. We split off after that, but were still close. There was still that sibling rivalry sometimes. But we got along.

I still wonder what she thinks of me now. 

What is your favorite childhood memory? Make it a happy one!

Perhaps... When I was young and my father went away on business trips in the holidays. Camilla, Lillian and I used to go down and stay at the holiday home for a few days. We’d go down to the beach and walk along the esplanade, get ice cream and just enjoy the sun. Camilla and I would sometimes make sandcastles on the beach while mother would read on a towel.

I miss days like that. Even before I became kindred, I missed those days.

What are your favorite things to eat and drink?

I used to like red velvet cake a lot. That and caesar salad.

And red wine, of course. Something expensive, the older the better, usually.

Who is somebody that you look up to?

My mother, most likely.

When you're alone, how do you like to spend your time? Hobbies and Interests?

I love reading, reading and learning. I used to practice at the gun range, but I’m getting the feeling that it’s not exactly safe to go there anymore. 

What is something you're really good at?

Persuading, manipulating, knowing the law, being a general nuisance to the Camarilla... I’m generally pretty good at a lot of things.

What is something you're really bad at?

Uhg... understanding others, I suppose? Having good morals? Computers... 

What is something that you're constantly working on improving?

Having better morals.

Share a memory that involves the person you are closest to.

I - well... There’s a lot. I watched Ralsei murder Christina and did nothing about it, that’s a pretty prominent memory. I prefer the ones between the violence though, those feel like the real Ralsei. You know, when he’s not riddled with guilt. It wasn’t necessarily a big moment, but after the court session with the Prince wrapped up, we went home and Ralsei thanked me. I turned back to him and told him that I wasn’t going to let them kill him. That was a nice moment. Something very personal.

What is a custom of your family or culture that you participate in?

My family were very big into Christmas, and we always put the tree up together in the holiday home wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters we could find on the internet. Whoever wore the ugliest sweater and brought the worst Christmas ornament got an extra present from everyone.

There were some heated arguments about the worst ornament and sweaters sometimes. I once didn’t talk to Camilla for three days because her poop emoji ornament won over my drunk Santa one.

Still annoyed.

But, not sure what I’m going to do this year... it’s going to be rough, that’s for sure. First Christmas away from them.

How well educated are you? Do you speak more than one language? Are you well studied in a specific subject?

I have a Bachelors of Law, and consider myself well educated. I speak fluent French and am highly versed in aspects of American History.

What was your childhood like in general? Sad? Happy? All over the place? Describe it.

As mentioned prior, my childhood was... varied. Very school focused. But there were some good family moments too. Had father issues, but they were dealt with.

Are you at all religious? What do you believe happens when you die?

I’m not religious. When we die, we die. That’s it. The end.

Describe your clothing and your usual style.

Sharp. Stylish. Business. Red and black.

Do you have a job or attend school? If so, what is your job or what are you learning in school?

Not anymore! Well, I suppose I help Satya from behind the scenes, but I try to remain as hands off as possible.

Do you have any tattoos, markings, or scars on your body? What are they like?

Nothing notable

Is there anything about your appearance that you would like to change?

Well, a couple of months ago I honestly would’ve said nothing and that question would’ve been over and done with. But now? Fuck, I wish I wasn’t so goddamned pale!

Aside from your closest friend, who would you like to enjoy a relaxing afternoon with?

Satya, definitely. If I could, that was.

But if you want something more realistic - then perhaps Amanda or Blix. Perhaps we could go to a spa or something. That’d be nice. 

Do you listen to or create music? Do you enjoy it?

I listen to music occasionally. It’s nice, I suppose. 

What is something about the world you live in that is constantly on your mind? (War, Political Unrest, etc)

Discrimination, sexism - segregation. You know, the usual things.

If you were to pass a homeless person in the streets, what would you do?

Ignore them.

Where were you born, and where do you live now?

Adelaide... and I still live here. Unfortunately.

Do you prefer Spring, Summer, Autumn, or Winter? Why?

Summer, pump some warmth into this cold, lifeless body.

What is something you dream of accomplishing, but don't think you ever will?

Well, I like to think all my dreams are obtainable. Although ultimate power seems so far away, I still think it’s obtainable.

What's something that would make you really angry?

Someone touching literally anyone in my friends circle. I know that threat you made Sophia, I will hold you to that. Lay a single finger on them, I dare you.

What's something that calms you down when you're angry?

Cats, I suppose. Breathing, reading, being alone. All of the above.

Do you struggle with any physical or mental disabilities?

None that I’m aware of.

What are your three best and three worst personality traits?

As much as I hate to admit I have... flaws. I am aware of their existence.

My three best personality traits would probably be:

Resourceful Charismatic Determined

and my worst traits would be:

Bashful Blunt Complacent

Did you have any friends as a child that you are no longer in contact with?

Well, Satya I suppose. But everyone else I really didn’t keep close contact with. I didn’t necessarily care for them after high school ended.

If you fight with weapons, what are they? If not, what weapons do you think are cool?

My revolver, I use that a good chunk of the time.

Do you identify as the gender you were born with?

Yes.

What is your sexuality? Are you treated any differently for it?

I’m bisexual. I’ve never necessarily been treated too differently for it, I believe my father had some scorn when I brought a girl home one night, but that never really bothered me. I hated his guts.

What is an accomplishment that you are proud of?

Starting my own law firm with Satya.

How did you meet your closest friend?

Well. We were both brought to the Prince after being illegally turned into Kindred. It was interesting circumstances, but I know if we weren’t forced together then... well we would most certainly not be friends now.

How did you meet your second closest friend?

He walked down a staircase to the song Applause by Lady Gaga played on a portable speaker. He raised his arms and exclaimed “Darlings!” He went to shake my hand but ended up kissing knuckle.

It was one hell of an entrance. But, we’re close now.

Do you have any enemies? Who are they, and why are you enemies?

Oh, a good handful actually. Let me list them:

Xavier - I failed a ‘simple job’. Pretty sure he hates my guts.

Ryan - Brought me unwillingly into this life, assaulted me in doing so.

The Butcher - Assaulted Amanda, that made me mad so I shot his dick off after I met him.

The Prince - Things I’m an annoying nuisance fledgling. He holds the title I want. He’s also a dick.

Sophia - The bitch herself, genuinely hate her. Treats Amanda and Julian like shit, and shit talks Ralsei.

Facey - Some strange shapeshifter we met. Not sure if he’s dead, probably not knowing the Prince. But, he mistreated dogs then tried to manipulate Ralsei and I by shifting his face into those we care about.

Joe - I don’t know who you are. But believe me, you’re a dead man.

The Werewolves - I never want to see another one for as long as I live.

What is something that annoys you?

Disrespect, sexism.

What is a mistake that you've made in your past? Do you regret it?

Snowtown.

I regret every decision made there.

Have you travelled a lot? What was your favorite part of it? If not, where do you want to travel to?

I travelled a bit. I’ve been to Paris, Rome and New York. I loved learning new things and seeing different cultures in action, meeting other important people. Now... I think I’d actually like to go back to France again. With Julian, particularly. I’d like to see what he has to say about the place. I think that’d be very interesting.

Are you comfortable around people? Could you befriend a stranger, if given the opportunity?

No, not at all. I’m at my friend limit.

Have you ever been in a life or death situation? If so, what was it?

Every day of my fucking undeath.

Do you want to get married one day? What are your thoughts on children?

Well. I can’t conceive a child anymore. So that’s off the table. I also never really believed in marriage. It’s merely a legal binding, which makes death of a loved one a hell of a lot easier. So, maybe back when I was human, Marriage would’ve been a consideration, for law reasons alone. But, children? I’m a very work orientated person, I understand that having a child takes you away from you own life until you can set them up with their own. That’s a big commitment.

In terms of social status, where do you stand?

Well, I used to be pretty high up on the social ladder. Then some prick bit me, so, I’m not anymore. I’m pretty close to the bottom. And I’m sure i’ll be here for a bit longer, despite my best efforts.

Does anybody rely on you for something?

I suppose Ralsei. It’s always ‘Amara and Ralsei’, so we seem to rely on each other.

Also Jack. He relies on me for regular supplements of my blood source

Do you rely on anybody for something?

Julian, for literally fucking anything and everything.

What is a cause that you fight for?

Rights, fairness - any of my friends.

Have you ever been drunk or otherwise intoxicated? If so, what is something that happened while you were?

Quite regularly.

I vaguely remember one night when Satya and I went out a few years back... we drunk way too much. It was a fantastic night, I can tell you that much. But, the next morning - waking up in a bed with two unknown guys to the sounds of Satya retching in the bathroom was certainly an experience I’ll never forget.

Is there anybody you would die for?

Ralsei, Julian, Amanda probably. Blix too, I suppose.

Think of a friend or acquaintance you haven't yet spoken of. How do you feel about them?

I only keep a tight circle of friends. Everyone else either hates me or has a neutral disposition towards me currently.

Jacob interests me. But I don’t have enough information on him to back up any initial thoughts.

Are you competitive? Do you engage in any sports or competitions?

Quite. I like to win and come out on top.

I used to be on the debate team in high school and in Uni, but since then my competitiveness has shifted over to my work-life.

I’ve never really been a sport person. Camilla played netball, I did.. yoga. Well, she also did yoga, but I was better at it than her so she doesn’t matter.

Are you creative? If so, what do you like to create? Are you good at it?

Not necessarily. I have to come up with plans on the fly, so if that makes me creative, then, sure. I’m creative.

What are you the most afraid of in the entire world?

Well. The idea of Ralsei dying is pretty terrifying.

There’s also this... ambition that I have - and I don’t know how far it’s going to go to get what I want. I want Ryan dead. I don’t want to be Generation 13. Things line up, and it’s chilling.

Describe, start to finish, an average day in your life.

I wake up. Probably about 7 or 8pm. If I’m lucky, I wont get called to go on some incredibly dangerous and usually borderline suicidal mission.

Then, I would start researching, learning everything I can about kindred and the Camarilla - anything. When that all get’s too heavy, I take a break, check on Ralsei and ask if he’d like to go out and get anything to eat.

He’s a bagger so it’s hard. I’m trying to track down somewhere secure for him to get a supply source from.

Depending on his answer, we might head out. Mingle a little, get a drink. If I’m in the mood, I might drop by and see Julian.

Otherwise I’ll just head home and go back to reading, researching. Maybe I’ll watch a movie. Maybe I’ll watch a movie with Ralsei.

Then I’ll go back to sleep.

Do you celebrate any holidays? If so, which is your favorite? What is your favorite memory from that holiday?

All the usual holidays, Easter, Halloween (faintly) and Christmas. As mentioned above Christmas is my favourite.

My favourite memory from Christmas... well, there’s no specific memory, but the taste of mum’s food, air conditioner on full to justify us wearing our stupid sweaters... Camilla and I arguing over something, probably. Mother telling us to shut up...

Good times.

Would you prefer a peaceful nature walk or a trip to a busy city?

Busy city.

Growing up, did you have any important teachers or mentors? What's the most important thing they taught you?

My mother, really. She taught me to hold my own, to play the long con even if every second otherwise is painful.

If your parents or mentor knew everything about you today, would they be proud of you?

I don’t know. I really don’t.

Mother... might be proud.

What is something that excites you or makes you really happy?

Cats. Just, cats.

Do you have any really important secrets, or are you generally secret free?

Well, what Ryan did to me was one of my most well guarded secrets, but I apparently announced that in front of the whole court so not anymore. I try to keep my motives secret, but everything else about me open. It’s easier to mislead that way. 

If you were walking on the streets and you were attacked, do you think you could fight and win?

More than likely. Depends on who and what though. My hand-to-hand combat is... less than desirable. But if I had my gun, then perhaps.

Have you ever killed somebody? If so, why and how? If not, do you think you ever would?

Too many times to keep track. I’ve shot people, burnt them alive... And I’ll likely do it again. This life requires it.

What is your strongest physical trait? (Fast runner, very strong, super flexible, etc)

I can walk and run really well in heels. Otherwise I’m relatively flexible and balanced.

Have you ever been in love? If not, do you want to be? If so, with who, and are you still? If you aren't, how did it end?

I have never been in love. No one has proven themselves to me.

When you're alone and relaxing, what are you usually thinking about?

Revenge, plans... how to achieve my goals.

Do you have a lot of responsibilities? If so, what do they include?

A handful. I make an effort to take care of Ralsei, and others... even if it’s behind the scenes. I’m working on trying to find us a house, and finding a food source.

Among a variety of other things, I have a few.

Have you ever felt really guilty about something? If so, what was it?

I didn’t feel guilty at the time, but when I first met Julian and we were ambushed by hunters - I left him out in the open to die.

I think about that a lot.

Killing that 16 year old boy.

Not to mention, trying to drink Ralsei’s blood.

Do you have any habits, ticks, quirks, or anything like that?

Not off the top of my head. 

What complaints do you have about your best friend?

Ralsei is... well, he’s too soft. I understand he doesn’t want to kill - that’s okay. But a lot of our problems can be solved with just a little bit of killing.

What complaints do you have about your next closest friend?

Answer your fucking phone. I don’t care if you’re in the club, when Ralsei, Blix and I are facing people-dogs, I expect you to respond immediately.

Do you have any special abilities or talents?

I have my disciplines. Dominate and presence are very helpful.

Do you have any addictions or obsessions?

I’m sometimes obsessed with power. I’m sometimes obsessed with finding Ryan.

What drives you? (Your motivation or inspiration)

Keeping Ralsei and Amanda alive and safe.

What do you find attractive in a person, both physically and in terms of personality?

Confidence. Suave. I’m a sucker for brunettes. Both literally and figuratively. Brown eyes are nice too.

What do you think a stranger's first impression of you would be?

Intimidated, most likely. Impressed, perhaps.

Are you ashamed or embarrassed about anything?

Snowtown, messily failing to kill Detective Dickface.

Would you consider yourself to be trustworthy and honest? Would you lie if it benefited you?

I’m trustworthy and honest when it benefits me. I lie when it benefits me. 

Has anything huge happened in your life that you feel shaped or changed the person you are today?

Snowtown. Definitely.

What are some of your short term (less than 1 yr) goals?

Helping Amanda shrug herself free of Sophia.

Getting revenge for what that gang did to Julian.

Just... fucking Sophia up in some way.

Building my reputation back up.

How do you deal with stress? How do you respond to stressful situations?

Just keep going. Don’t stop.

What is something that most people don't know about you?

That I have an undying dedication to the Christmas Holidays.

Blank questions here!

[tubwhumping]

Adjustment Period

I'm just getting back into writing after going several years without writing anything other than research paper so bear with me if I'm a bit rusty.

Read it on AO3

Ronan was not the kind of guy who made plans. He never had been. So much of who he was came from trauma and fear, but impulsiveness was a part of his genetic code. He never understood the appeal of knowing every detail along the way. He didn’t live his life that way, and he couldn’t if he tried.

Gansey was another story. Blue was Gansey’s second love, always falling behind his longstanding quest for knowledge. Henry, though much less extreme than Gansey, was also a planner by nature. And while Blue loathed to be considered sensible, she too knew this was not the kind of trip meant for aimless wandering. The maps had begun appearing a few days after the near-end of the world. They were spread over the floor of the main living area of Monmouth, and displayed places and routes and the complex research Gansey had done on the history of each of their stops. Ronan had to step cautiously around the display to avoid ripping it because while he would miss them, he wasn’t mad enough to rip up their plans in a jealous rage. Yet.

He tucked his legs underneath him to sit next to Gansey on the floor behind the desk. Gansey’s face remained in its rightful place, smushed frantically in the pages of a book. It would be endearing if it weren't so annoying. He ripped several small pieces of paper from the edge of one of the maps and threw them, one by one, down the collar of his shirt.

Gansey finally flinched as large wad smack him across the cheekbone. He glanced up at Ronan. “Ronan, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Ronan snorted and threw one last piece of paper down his shirt for good measure. “How’s the research coming?” he said. “Any dead Italian kings to chase?”

Gansey opened his mouth, probably to explain the complicated Italian political system in the 19th century or some equally dreadful account of his adventures in Europe with Mallory, but the sound of the door squeaking open saved him from that particular fate.

Adam, covered in a layer of dust with coveralls thrown over his arm, shut the door behind him. His hair was ruffled and hanging loosely over his forehead, and he seemed to have grown even older and more world-weary since Ronan had seen him the night before.

“The fuck happened to you?”

Adam sighed, toeing his boots off in the doorway not to track anything too far into the room. He crept toward the center of the room but stopped before he reached the maps. “I’m covered in dust,” he said as if that wasn’t obvious. “I had to clear out some old boxes in the warehouse.”

“If you would like, you can shower here,” Gansey offered. It seemed like a safe enough offer, but Ronan knew small things could set Adam off when he was in a mood. “Do you work again tonight?”

Adam nodded slowly. “I have to be at Boyd’s in a couple hours,” he said. “I think I will get a shower.” He drifted back toward the bathroom.

When he returned, Adam looked a lot better, but not as much better as Ronan had expected. He had changed into his coveralls and came over to sit next to between them on the floor. Ronan reached over to grab his hand.

Gansey continued to read. Ronan continued throwing things at him, and Adam settled against his side warming parts of himself that Ronan hadn’t even realized were cold. He inspected one of Gansey’s books as well, but since he had yet to flip a page, Ronan guessed he was not actually reading.

It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The three of them were almost never alone anymore. Usually, Blue or Henry, or both were there as well. Sometimes Adam was at work, or Ronan was with Opal at the Barns. Of course, it was never just the three of them before because Noah had been there, but anyone who knew Noah knew it was really always just the three of them.

A couple of harsh sneezes broke through the quiet trance of the afternoon. Adam sniffed pathetically. “Sorry, I must have missed some dust,” he said. Ronan caught Gansey's eyes from across the room as they both watched him in mutual concern. Adam coughed into his fist before asking hesitantly  “Can I crash in N- in the other bedroom?” breaking the comfortable silence. A familiar pang of sadness rang through all them as it did whenever anything related to Noah came up. It was quiet grief they were all experiencing, and one they would most likely carry with them for many years. But Ronan was mostly concerned because Adam Parrish did not ask for favors, even ones as inconsequential as taking a nap in dead boy's bed.

“Of course, Adam,” Gansey said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just tired.” He rubbed childishly and uncharacteristically at his eyes. He was still a warm weight against Ronn’s side, too warm of a weight. Feeling his forehead like a goddamn mother hen felt far too intimate with Gansey watching so he grabbed underneath Adam’s jaw to turn his face towards him. “You have a fucking fever.”

Adam shrugged. “I think I’m getting a cold.”

“Do you want some Tylenol?” Gansey asked. Ronan was pretty sure there was no Tylenol in the building, but it seemed like Adam was more likely to take it if they already had it and he knew Gansey wasn’t above sneaking out to buy some.

“I’m alright,” he said. “I just need some more sleep.” He pushed himself up from the floor and dragged himself to the bedroom. Ronan let a few minutes pass before following him.

Adam was face-down on the bed, short, congested breaths panting dangerously into the blankets. He was somewhere between asleep and conscious, so Ronan turned his head so it fell to the side and pulled the pillow further down. He roused slightly at the movement, looking up at Ronan through bloodshot eyes. “Are you going to be shitty about this?” Ronan asked.

Adam shook his head and flopped it back onto the pillow. “I’ll try not to be,” he said. “But wake me up in an hour. I still have work tonight.” In the few months since their relationship had shifted to its current position, Ronan had learned a lot about Adam. And he was learning that he was much better off picking his battles. Adam was going to get some sleep and hopefully get a good night’s rest after work. This was a compromise he could live with. He pushed Adam’s hair back out of his face and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Gansey smiled a mischievous smile, so Ronan flipped him off to prove a point. Adam softened something within him, but he had a reputation to uphold. He stepped right in the center of one of the maps for good measure, leaving a large bootprint right in the middle of it. Gansey pulled it from beneath his foot and grumbled only slightly as he pulled his papers toward his chest protectively. “Is he okay?” he finally asked.

“He’s sick as hell.”

“Is he going to call in sick?”

Ronan scoffed and rolled his eyes. Gansey was learning to speak the language of Adam Parrish, but he would never be quite as fluent in it as Ronan. Gansey, a true genius in so many fields, was stupid sometimes when it came to people. He couldn’t help it. Gansey’s particular brand of stupid came from privilege and generations of Anglo-Saxon breeding. He would never truly understand what it was like to have nothing, but the truth was neither would Ronan.

“He can’t seriously think it’s a good idea to go in sick.”

“I’ll take him and pick him up,” Ronan said. “You know how he is. You gotta pick your fucking battles, man.”

Gansey’s mouth opened, a rebuttal already hanging off his lips, but he stopped. He nodded in concession. He turned his face back down to his research. “Did I tell you we’re spending a week in Ireland?” And with that, Gansey launched one of his lengthy musings on castles and grass and the beautiful sights they were going to see and adventures they were going to have.

Adam ’s subconscious fear of missing work ripped him from his dreams, just a couple of minutes before Ronan came to wake him. He spent those minutes staring up at the industrial ceiling tiles and wondering why he was incapable of calling in sick even when he felt terrible. Boyd wouldn’t mind. Adam had only called in sick one other time. He was a hard worker when he was there. He never showed up late or left early. There was no reason he couldn’t

What had been a steady drum against his temple earlier in the day had evolved (or devolved, from his perspective) into a harsh pounding all over his skull. His throat was raw, and he couldn’t get warm. He wanted to stay in one place. He didn’t ever want to move from underneath the blanket again.

The door crept open, whining as if it could feel Adam’s reluctance to get up. Ronan, sensing the tone, closed it quietly behind him and approached the bed, sitting gently beside Adam. As a cough tore through the little air left in his lungs, Ronan settled his hand on Adam’s back. This was not the Ronan Lynch who broke things and rage raced and pissed people off. This was the Ronan that kept a list by the fridge at the Barns of which foods Opal did and did not like. This was the Ronan that dreamt gifts for all of his friends that Christmas, each one unique and useful and magical in strange and curious ways. This was the Ronan that Adam couldn’t get enough of.

He raised one eyebrow in a questioning manner as if to say “Are you really this stupid?” Adam was afraid he might be, and it left him frustrated and confused. He reached up to grab a hand and squeezed it, suddenly craving Ronan’s skin against his. He needed touch more than he needed to breathe which was good because the mucus had settled into his sinuses, blocking his nose and making breathing a much more laborious task.

The door cracked open, and Gansey stuck his head in. “How are you feeling, Adam?”

He shrugged, too tired to think and too frustrated to speak.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call in sick to work?” Gansey asked. Adam wanted to cry or scream or vomit. Instead, he nodded his head.

“Would it make a difference if I told you that you should?” He shook his head once more.

A guttural groan pulled Adam’s attention back to Ronan. He grabbed Adam’s face, trapping it between his hands, and jerked it up to make eye contact with him. In the moment of complete vulnerability, Adam had no choice but to listen. “You’re gonna spread your fucking germs all over the damn garage. That’s going to piss Boyd off more than calling in.”

He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. It was true, of course. The last thing they needed was to pass around this virus for the rest of the winter. Everyone would be much better off if he stayed in and kept his germs to himself, or at least to him and Gansey and Ronan. He still wasn’t sure if he could, but he knew he should. He needed to. But he couldn’t.

He opened his eyes to see Ronan. He had let go of Adam’s face and was leaning against the wall, looking very much like wanted to look like he didn’t care which meant he cared a lot. He turned to see Gansey holding out his cell phone. The number for Boyd’s was already dialed. All he had to do was hit the call button and say the words.

Adam nodded once, then twice and met Gansey’s eyes across the room before looking back at Ronan. He grabbed the phone and took the plunge. Adam Parrish was calling in sick. And while this time it was because of Gansey and Ronan, maybe one day, he could do it for himself.

[gigilberry-wips]

20 Facts About Charlotte (and family) That The Readers Will Not Be Given In The Story

So here I am trying to organize my thoughts and do some character building in order to answer some questions about my oc that someone was very nice to ask and which I still need to come up with answers for, carry on with your business don’t mind me

(for those who’re sticking around to read this, a warning: this is long as heck)

1. Charlie was known as that kid who’d always be full of questions and giving the adults a run for their money “Why do crocodiles have big noses?” “Where does the moon go?” “Why don’t humans have claws? Aren’t they more useful than fingernails?” “Why do people sleep?” “Why are we supposed to do this? Why can’t we do that?” “Why can’t we ask questions? How would anyone learn things if they don’t ask questions??”

2. In her family she’s closest to her older brother. She doesn’t always share her concerns with him but when she comes to him with her thoughts and questions she trusts his words.

3. One time she read in a book where a meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup was described so delectably that for one entire month she insisted on having that at least once a day (it’s like what happened with me and when I read about the ‘bread and butterflies’ from “Through The Looking Glass” and now if anyone ever offered me a towering stack of heavily buttered toast with an ocean of horrifically sugary milk tea I swear I will devour the whole thing no hesitation). She stopped being so vocally fussed with them after that but she never really got over it. So if, whenever she might see either one of those two (or both!!) in the wilds, be it in person or on television or if she just catches the smell of it, and if you happen to be looking at her already then you just might catch her making The. Biggest. Heart Eyes. Like the love of her life has appeared before her and she is going to run into their arms and both of them will head off into the sunset.

4. Her favorite things to get on Christmas and her birthday are “fun science projects for kids”, or puzzle and strategy games, or books that had riddles, secret codes, recipes, more experiments, and especially made-up languages in them. She’s filled entire notebooks with the languages that she’s learnt from books, from Morse Code to Tolkien elvish, and she can easily recall many of them from memory. She knows a lot of the most common kinds of numerical puzzles and algorithms that have been used, and partially due to that and partially because of how good she is in math she frequently makes computer related jokes about herself.

5. Charlie’s brother is doing an internship at a nearby aerospace museum and planetarium. He’s currently studying for a degree in astronomy and engineering and works as one of the technicians there, and about once a month Charlie’s family goes to visit and have a picnic nearby and spend the day there. Since it’s so close, her brother is able to go from home and usually drops her and her friends off to school in the mornings in his old, beat-up car because he’s a good brother and he loves his sister.

6. One time when Charlotte was little (about 7-8) she was loaned a textbook from her school about famous people that she had to do her homework from. Her brother caught her scribbling in it with a pencil one time and found out that she was replacing all the pronouns of the historical figures in it (Mr. Miss Alexander Graham Bell, he she invented, Mr. Miss Albert Einstein, he she discovered, etc.).

(She didn’t really have the words for it back then but essentially she was doing this because all of these Oh So Important People Of History(TM) Who Did Oh So Important Things(TM) were different from her and she was very strongly aware of that and it made her really, really angry. She thought that if the only thing anyone was ever going to teach her was White Man History(TM) and that’s the only thing that ever existed since the dawn of time and that’s the only thing she’d ever learn then she wasn’t just gonna sit there and swallow that like the rest of her classmates, thank you.)

The next day he bought her a book about famous women in history from all around the world. She read it cover to cover and has kept that book with her to this very day. It’s got pictures like this in it too :D -

[image description] Three women (left to right: Indian, Japanese, and Syrian) who graduated from the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania in 1886

This is also one of the reasons why she likes Star Trek so much, and why she wants to learn so many languages.

[Edit: if anyone’s wondering, her brother’s the one who erased the pencil marks from her textbook. He told her since she’s the one who did it then she should be the one to remove it. But she refused to do it and she did not say sorry either. He knew she’d get in trouble if he told his parents or anyone about it, or if it was left alone, so he sat down with an eraser and methodically went through the book with it himself.

Charlie neither offered to help nor stopped him (she could’ve if she’d wanted to, she had cheeto crumbs on her fingers and she could’ve smeared them in the book or poked her brother with them but she didn’t); she just attached herself to his side and quietly glared because that textbook is Enemy #1 and no one should touch it as his hand patiently went through page after page and removed all traces of her vandalism]

7. Charlie loves her hair. When she was little one of her favorite shows was My Little Pony (don’t tell anyone but she still has a soft spot for it) and she wanted to have bright, colorful hair just like the other ponies did. One of her cousins was very fashion savvy and when she told her this, her cousin showed her all the fun hairstyles she could do with her own hair instead. She’s been growing out her hair ever since. Now Charlie and her brother are Long Hair Siblings(TM). :D

8. On the other hand, Charlie despises make up. When she was little she noticed that almost the only people that were on make up advertisements were white women, so in her head she thought that meant those pretty women owned the make up companies, right? Well, she looked it up and learned that the people who really owned the companies were not those women but instead ugly old men and that was when she came to the conclusion that advertisements are all full of lies and not to be trusted (also she learnt later that silicone rubber is used in making water proof mascara and her brain is forever scarred with that knowledge and now so is yours :DD)

9. When she got her first loose tooth she heard about the tooth fairy and how she takes teeth and leaves money. So her natural course of action was to look up the price of human teeth online. Then she took the case up with her father and told him all about her findings and how the tooth fairy was basically scamming everybody and should not be trusted. He found this entertaining enough that the morning after she lost her tooth she found a 2 dollar bill under her pillow. She kept it away safely and once she had enough “tooth money” she bought a whole set of glitter gel pens with it.

10. The number of times Charlie’s gone to a party can be counted on one hand, and that’s only because she was forced to go. One such house she’s frequented is one of her aunt’s and after all these years the only name she knows from there is the cat’s, whose name is Toast but she thought that was boring so in her head she renamed her as Clementine. She hasn’t told anyone else that she’s never learnt anyone else’s name but she has the feeling her brother knows.

11. She loves cats. She loves them so much. She was always such a solemn and serious little girl but the moment she saw a cat it’s like watching a toddler wandering after a butterfly. Abso-lutely adorable. She has these knitted cat socks and 2 cat plushies (one more worn than the other) and when she was 11 her parents let her and her brother adopt an orange kitten and she got to name it Tigger after one of her favorite childhood characters. In her friend group there are so many cat puns surrounding her. So many. (half of them are her own btw)

12. Charlotte is bisexual. I remember reading somewhere that it’s unrealistic to just have one lgbt kid all by their lonesome in any story worth telling and I agreed with that. I’ve also heard about the “disaster bisexual” troupe. In my cast of characters the one that fits it the most is Josie, so me being myself I flipped that troupe and instead made the most calm and collected one the bisexual kid (so instead of a disaster bisexual(TM) what we have is a distinguished bisexual(TM), thank you and good night). It’s not mentioned in the story because this story is told from Laila’s point of view and Charlie hasn’t told anyone about her sexuality, not her friends, not her family, not anyone. She learnt about it earlier than Laila did (when she was 13), but like it’s said in her intro she’s a very cautious and private person and it’ll take her a long time to think about something so personal openly let alone talk about it with anyone. I want to talk about this more in a separate post, and I’ve got a one shot planned that’ll focus on this too.

(Edit: so it turns out Charlie is in fact a bit of a disaster human and when I told her she comes off as smart and polished and good at judging people’s intentions she turned around and told me she also hisses under her breath at things she doesn’t like, lives in her room like it’s one giant nest, and sometimes forgets to eat and i find it too annoying to argue with my strong willed daughter so here we are goddamn)

13. For Charlie, feelings are ... awkward. They’re messy and confusing, and when she’s feeling too many things she needs a lot of alone time to sort through them and understand them. It’s not that she doesn’t feel anything, it’s just that she can’t usually identify what she feels from the whirlwind in her head in any proper way. And when people need comforting she doesn’t feel like she’s the best person for the job. But that’s not going to stop her from trying to help; if one of her friends comes to her with a problem then she’s going to help them find logical solutions to those problems. She knows her strengths and she tries her best to use them.

14. She finds it hard to cry. Even when she’s feeling too many things and she really wants to cry (because she thinks maybe that’ll help her, at least it’s scientifically proven to help) the tears won’t always come. Aside from early childhood, she can count on one hand the number of times she’s cried, and half of them are from when she was exhausted or shocked with sudden feelings. The other times feel random to her and often at odds with each other. (She can’t force herself to cry, she can’t fake her own emotions.)

15. One of the few times she remembers crying was the first time she saw the Aurora Borealis. She saw it in a movie theater, not in person, but to her it was like seeing the real thing. She was little at the time and when she saw it she was just - she was overwhelmed. She was overwhelmed with so many feelings, like happiness and beauty and wonderment. When they came out of the theater and her family saw her still crying they all started freaking out, until she tried to explain it to them (she was really choked up but she tried). She remembered describing it something like, “It’s like seeing music ... Mama, I think I saw music.” she counts this as the one time she expressed her words so artistically she doesn’t know how but she did. it was also one of those rare times she was envious of artistic people for being able to express human emotions so well (there’s that part in The Tale of Despereaux when he said that he “heard honey” when what he’d really heard was music that comes to my mind). Later, she was told what the lights were called and she decided then and there that if she ever had a daughter then she’d name her Aurora (no papa, not from Sleeping Beauty, this is different!). It was also around this time that she really got into learning about space.

16. Charlie’s a night owl. She loves being awake when all the world is asleep. She loves the silence and the clarity she feels in her thoughts when there is no one else around.

17. Charlotte has an “all things pink and glitter” obsession that she never quite grew out of and never really plans to. Her room is pink, her glasses are pink, her stationary is pink, most of her clothes are pink, and her favorite Care Bear and My Little Pony characters are also pink.

18. She got her glasses when she was around 10, and she even got to choose them herself. :D The sad thing was that she was only one of 2 kids in her grade who had glasses and the other one was who she considered to be an annoying prat, but the good news was that at least 3 girls in her year got braces and one of them was nice and called her glasses pretty and also she was the only one who’d done her braces sparkly so there.

19. Most her life she never had close friends. She was always considered too smart and aloof for them. She had her nose stuck in books and she always got the best grades in her year. She was also really good at chess and strategy games and not to brag but she’s even one a few awards for this and this quality was always something that alarmed and frustrated people to no end (read: boys who wanted to prank her and various arrogant, would-be bullies) when she would know all sorts of things about them that they never remembered telling her. What they didn’t know was that she gathered all that information just from observing them and listening to what they said. She’s a strategist and a planner and she delights in knowing more than everybody else, making it so that when she wasn’t purposefully faded into the background, she came off as intimidating and scary, and rightly so. You cross her or try to pull any nonsense around her and she’ll make you regret it.

20. Contrary to what I feel might be predictable for her, it wasn’t Hailey (the friendly and cheerful one) or Josie (the smart and sociable one) that pulled Charlie into Laila’s friend group, but instead it was Laila herself. Charlie might not be good when it comes to feelings, both hers and other people’s, but she’s an excellent judge of character. She doesn’t talk to her peers because she’s categorized them as not being her “type”. She sees them and thinks they’re silly and petty and loud and annoying. She gets impatient with how childish and flighty and apparently short of memory they are, how they haven’t yet decided what they want with their life, how they’re all sooooo fussed about what other people want them to be and how they haven’t made up their minds about who they want to be. Dealing with them is boring and somehow oddly exhausting, so she doesn’t waste her time with them.

She and Laila met through circumstance. And what she immediately got from Laila was that she was someone who was filled with something akin to gentle warmth. She saw someone who didn’t judge or expect things from her. Someone who didn’t raise her hackles or crowd her space, both physically and mentally. She saw a person who didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t, who didn’t really have anything to hide. Most of all, she saw in Laila someone who went about her day with honesty and good will in her actions towards others, who was genuine and caring. Those are things she’s not often found in other people, no matter their age. It’s something that she’s come to appreciate and respect in the rare, rare instances when she does find it. It took a while, but as she got to know Laila and her other friends better and hung out with them more often, she saw that she found a place where she felt like she could breathe.

[professional-anti]

Chapter Eight: Weapon of Choice

Heyyyyy!! Sorry, life has been cray, and it’s never gonna change, unfortunately. But guys, dw, I am dedicated. Also, weirdly, doing this has made me appreciate books even more? It’s so much fun to talk abt books, and I learn so much, even if it’s a book I hate. Okay, getting started (pray for me):

We last left off with Clary jumping thru the surprise door, like one does. Jace lands on top of her, yay, OTP moment, gag me. There’s a nice little detail where “Clary coughed hair (not her own) out of her mouth” which kind of captures the chaos and would be cute if it were an actual good ship. I hate when that happens. Jace criticizes Clary, FINALLY for a valid reason.

It turns out they’re at Luke’s house. Oh, classic, he lives in Williamsburg, the gentrified hipster paradise. Where else would a man who wears flannel live? Even more classic, he lives behind a bookstore. Clare is obviously one of those heavy-handed authors who has exactly two professions for her Intellectual Men™: bookseller and evil Giles.

I’m going to shake Clary. She doesn’t know why they’re here, despite having thought “I want to go where my mom would have gone” right before jumping. Like, bitch??? Do you have a brain? I’m cryingfff

Clary decides she wants to leave, even though there’s cleary something super sketch abt Luke. He’s so obviously protecting her, so he must know something, right? Well, Clary rubs her two brain cells together and decides, nope, nothing to see here! Time to go home!

Jace, being reasonable for once, is like, yo, maybe we should stay. They run into Simon, so you know there’s gonna be Dramaz. Jace and Simon apparently devolve into primordial wild dogs driven by the intense urge to fight for the girl dog so they can screw and produce puppies that are as annoying as they are. Here is what everyone is doing:

Clary is fixing Simon’s hair bc she’s a Woman Simon is pushing Clary’s hand away bc he’s Annoyed Jace is using his stele to file his nail bc he’s Not Paying Attention

There’s some horrible forced tension between Simon and Clary, where he’s all, “Clary, you ran away from me, I thought I and my dick upset you,” and Clary’s all, “Never, Simon, I love you,” and Simon cums. Not actually, instead he slut shames Clary:

“Yeah, well, you clearly also couldn’t be bothered to call me and tell me you were shacking up with some dyed-blond wanna-be goth you probably met at Pandemomonium”

On the one hand, draaaaag him, Simon!! Jace IS a peroxide blond who listens Evanescence (I almost wrote MCR before googling it and learning that if I wrote that, about a million punks would stream into my inbox in tears).

Simon’s eyes are “dark with suspicion”. which is just annoying. Yes, I would be so fucking annoyed if my friend ran out on me and then disappeared and then reappeared with a blond guy. But I’d also do some more questioning of the situation. Is she okay? Why is she with such a rude guy? Is he hurting her? Was she kidnapped? Is she being held against her will? Is this a drug thing? Does she need my help? Why did Luke cover for her? Is something deeper going on? Instead Simon is all possessive Nice Guy.

Apparently Simon spied on Luke packing a duffel bag of weapons. So he couldn’t give Clary any benefit of the doubt? It sounds like her family is caught in a bad situation! Maybe she had to hide for her life! Simon, use your brain!!

kajlkfaklsdjfalksdflk Clary tells Simon everything, and Simon asks if they kill all these different magical creatures, and Jace says ONLY WHEN THEY’VE BEEN NAUGHTY a;dlfjals;kdjfl;asdjfl;aksdjf hahahahahahahah This image that Clare is going for is just sooooo overdrawn. This dialogue, omfg.

Simon loses his mind and excitedly compares everything that’s been going on to D&D. Let’s totally forget abt the fact that Clary’s mom is missing, or that Luke just filled a duffel bags with murder sticks, shall we?

Jace and Simon have a bizarre conversation, and then they walk. In. The. Back. Door. Bc Luke doesn’t lock his back door. Bc that’s totally not something that someone who fills a duffel bag with weapons would do. At least the door to the bookstore is locked, though Jace opens it pretty easily with his stele. Why didn’t Luke have Jocelyn fix up some wards or something?

Simon asks Clary how she stands Jace, and she’s like “he saved me life” and he’s like “huh?” even though she told him everything that happened. Why is Simon so dumb. I guess all his blood is in his dick? Wouldn’t surprise me.

They find manacles in the wall, so either Luke and Jocelyn have (even more) hidden depths, or Luke practices

Luke’s apartment is filled with books. Of course. Look, I love books. I have about 500 in my room at this moment. I buy them constantly, I get from the libarary, I read and read and read. I think most of us on booklr do. But when every single Good Character in your book has books, it’s boring. And no one has unique book taste. What if all of Luke’s books were nature books? Jack London? Travel guides? That would paint a picture. Instead he has a bunch of fantasy and other fiction. That’s boring. I learn nothing, bc every goddamn person in this goddamn book reads fantasy. It’s so fucking generic. I totally approve of “good” characters admiring and liking reading bc that’s how you get ideas, and that’s how Lemony Snicket rolls, but there are more books than fantasy and mystery (the other main type that Lucas has) in the world. Justice Strauss has an inexhaustive library. Uncle Monty has all those books about snakes. Lucky Smells just has that one history of Lucky Smells. Already, you know so much abt each person (and place) by what books they have. We learn nothing about Luke.

Clary finds the overnight bag she leaves at Luke’s and changes clothes. I mention this only bc she puts on “a blue tank top with a design of Chinese characters across the front” bc of COURSE she is That Bitch. I hope it translates to something like “Radishes” or “Bridge”.

Luke’s bedroom has a shelf of “Indian statues and Russian icons” which, idk, makes me a little uncomfortable. These sound like things that are holy to someone. But I think the worst part is that Clary says, “Luke collects stuff. Art objects. You know … Pretty things.” I just googled it, and Hindu statues, like the one Luke has of Kali, are seen as actual avatars of gods. Clary is diminishing someone’s god to a “pretty thing”. It’s not a nick-nack or a trinket. (If you know more abt this, like if I’m wildly off-base, feel free to send me an ask!)

Jace finds the Metaphor known as a smashed picture of Luke, Jocie, and Clary, which Clary threw at the Ravener in her apartment, so realize that Luke went back through the apartment. Jace says that Luke must have gone through the Portal-potty last, so it brought them here. I’m still team Clary Asked to Go Where Her Mother Would Have Gone and Therefore the Portal did What it Was Supposed to Do and Brought Her Where She Wanted.

Luke and some warlocks show up, so Clary and co. hide behind the super convenient silk screen. Jace uses his sonic stele to make the screen transparent and we get this gem:

Jace shook his head at them both, mouthing words: They can’t see us through it, but we can see them.

Bc mouthing works that well. You don’t mouth compound sentences!! You mouth something simple like they can’t see us. Simon and Clary already know they can see Luke and the warlocks bc they’re looking at them right now! And this spell or whatever that Jace did takes the tension in the scene waaaaaay down. If they can’t see Luke, then everything becomes more tense. Are the voices getting closer to the screen? Is somebody about to reveal them? Instead, all the tension is drained in a dumb quick-fix.

Bc Clare thinks we’re stupid, she adds “It was frightening even though [Clary] knew [Luke] couldn’t see her, that the window Jace had made was like the glass in a police station interrogation room: strictly one-way.”

GD ARE YOU THERE??????? STOP THIS.

Jace realizes that the warlocks are actually Shadowhunters dressed as warlocks. Idk how he can tell, but whatever. He conveys this by whispering, so I don’t know what the mouthing nonsense was earlier.

The Shadowhunters are named Blackwell (redhead) and Pangborn (gray mustache). What sorts of names. It’s like Clare used a fantasy-name-generator. Who are we kidding, that’s totally what she did. Pangborn picks up the Kali statue and this conversation happens:

“Ah,” said Pangborn, taking the statue from his companion. “She who was created to battle a demon who could not be killed by any god or man. ‘Oh, Kali, my mother full of bliss! Enchantress of the almighty Shiva, in they delirious joy thou dancest, clapping thy hands together. Thou art the Mover of all that moves, and we are but thy helpless toys.’” “Very nice,” said Luke. “I didn’t know you were a student of the Indian myths.” “All the stories are true,” said Pangborn, and Clary felt a small shiver go up her spine. “Or have you forgotten even that?” “I forget nothing,” said Luke.

So the Shadowhunter mythology is that all religions are true? Inch resting. I vaguely remember this. Idk how I feel about this. The Shadowhunters are still gonna be super Christian no matter what lip-service Clare pays to other religions. She has angels! And demons! She’s trying to be inclusive, but it’s never really gonna work, bc she’s doing it in name only. But at the same time, I wouldn’t want her to mess with any religion but Christianity or, sigh, Judaism. Christianity bc it’s the dominant religion and can’t be marginalized (different denominations can be, but not Christianity as a whole) and Judaism bc she’s Jewish. There’s not very much Jewish in these books, though. Yeah, there are angels in Judaism, but it’s not really the Jewish Vibe. A book influenced by Judaism would have a lot of magic based on specific wording, and arguments, and Hebrew and Hebrew-derived languages. This book uses Latin and is into angels. It’s Christian-influenced, which is fine, I guess, but the lip-service to other religions doesn’t ring true. But also, saying “Christianity is the one religion!” is super upsetting and she shouldn’t do that. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, I’m literally thinking on the page. Do you guys have any thoughts on this? Please hit up my ask box or talk about this in the notes! This discussion really interests me, and I want to get diverse opinions.

Luke asks if Valentine sent them (he did) and if their clothes “are official Accord robes” “from the Uprising?” (they are). Wow. The Uprising. What a descriptive name! We don’t call things “the Uprising” in real life. It’s more like, “The French Revolution.” “The Cultural Revolution.” “The Revolutionary War.” “The Civil War.” Am I being unfair?” I guess someone right after one of the French Revolutions might just say “the Revolution.” But something about The Uprising is so boring. And aren’t there more than one Uprising? There should be. The Warlock Uprising. The Vampire Uprising. It doesn’t have to be all internal. Any organized group would rise against the Clave. The Clave is legit the worst.

It turns out Luke’s real name is Lucian AND. I. AM. DYING. Luke is Lucius Malfoy, confirmed!! Let’s do a list of what we know so far:

Clary: Ginny Jace: Draco Jocelyn: I’m getting Bellatrix vibes? Bc of the whole in-love-with Voldemort thing? Valentine: I don’t know?? I can’t think of who he could be??? We’ll have to leave this blank for now I guess :/ Hodge: Giles. Not a HP character, but this is a crossover event with Buffy. Isabelle: Pansy Parkinson Alec: I actually don’t know here. He’s the GBF. Simon: Does Harry make sense? They’re both boring nice guys (don’t @ me!)

This game is getting boring, let’s move on. Luke apparently used to fight with B and P, so we know he’s a Shadowhunter (or, if you’ve read this book before, you know he used to be one). Then he tells them he doesn’t know where the Mortal Cup is (they think Jocelyn hid it).

CLARY IS SO FUCKING DUMB OMFG. P and B talk about how Jocelyn hasn’t regained consciousness and Valentine wants to see her again (using her name) and Clary goes:

Jocelyn? Can they be talking about my mother?

NO THE OTHER FUCKING JOCELYN. CLARY HOW RU STILL ALIVE.

CC must think her readers are really dumb and can’t figure anything out on their own:

“I’ve never felt any way about [Jocelyn], particularly,” said Luke. “Two Shadowhunters, exiled from their own kind, you can see why we might have banded together. But I’m not going to try to interfere with Valentine’s plans for her, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

He might as well have said, “Jocelyn and I were both exiled. EXILED. We were exiled. We were exiled as fuck. Do you get it? Reading context clues is hard, so I’m saying WE WERE EXILED.” The quasi-warlocks should have responded like, “Yeah? We know you both were exiled? We were there?”

Blackwell refers to Jocelyn as “that bitch” bc institutionalized mysoginy is the absolute best! I love when vicious sexism is included for no reason! Bc also these guys aren’t any worse than Luke! Bc may I remind you that Luke was basically a supremacist! Just like them!

For some reason, these idiots believe Lucius when he tells them that he’s not close with Jocie. Then please explain why you both live in Brooklyn.

P and B threaten to make Luke stay in the city, and Luke threatens them, and somehow they let this happen? In other news, Clary is still dumb as rocks. She’s super hurt that Luke said that he doesn’t care about Jocie bc she has about 0 critical thinking skills. We’re talking none. She could have someone whispering the answers in her ear and still bomb the SAT.

Jace thinks that P and B think Luke “knows more than he’s telling” so why would they let him go???? Then Jace reveals that P and B murdered his dad, and this chapter is OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Someone bring me a Bloody Mary. It’s how I feel inside.