#would try to swoop in and claim the threes business

[arolesbianism]

Trying to get a better feel of Choice’s design

[nomsfaultau]

Fairytale au where Wilbur and Tommy always had no one but each other. The two young brothers fend for themselves as much they can, but it’s hard. One winter day they get desperate and try scavenging in the woods far past where humans are supposed to go. They find a cozy cottage, and tentatively investigate to find the owner is gone. The boys break in and devour as much as they can because they haven’t had a good meal (or sometimes any meal at all) in so long.

They scarcely notice the crow watching in the window sill, but it notices them. Philza is a very powerful witch, and naturally knew the moment they broke in. But he also has business at the moment, and so only gets back by nightfall. He finds the boys hidden in a cupboard sleeping nearly fused into one another. They didn’t want to get found, of course, but it was so cold outside.

Tommy and Wilbur wake up tucked in a bed. Naturally they flee, terrified of the wrath of a witch. The brothers count themselves lucky for surviving the encounter.

They find the cottage nearly every time they enter the woods now. But the brothers are cautious, a survival instinct beaten deep into their marrow. They avoid the cottage avidly, worried what awaits them.

But then Tommy hasn’t eaten in days, and Wilbur hasn’t eaten even longer than that. And Tommy keeps crying at night and Wilbur would do anything for him. So they enter the cottage. It is empty, or so they think, and so the pair raid the pantries once more.

But they freeze when they realize there’s a witch perched in the rafters, watching them the whole time. Like he’s ready to swoop at a moments notice and twist their necks with his sharp crow’s feet. They run.

But they don’t the next time. Wilbur keeps a wary watch on Philza the whole time as he urges Tommy to keep grabbing food. Wilbur almost expects the door to be locked when they try to leave, but it isn’t. The shadows that cling to the ceiling like fog don’t quite hide the witch’s smile. It sends cold down the both of their backs.

The boys grow a little bolder each time, still cautious, still wary, but assured to some degree the witch only ever watches. They never take anything but food, since all the stories say that’s a death sentence. Still, Wilbur is half way convinced their souls have been stolen already and they just haven’t noticed yet. But it matters little when his brother is starving. The winter is unrelenting in its cruelty, and each time hunger claws at their insides they’re a little quicker to turn to the cottage for warmth and full bellies.

And then one day the cupboard is barren. The witch’s crow lines crinkle as he stares at them. But the house smells of glorious cooking and Tommy scampers off. Wilbur follows, though keeps his eye on the witch the whole time.

They find a table set with three plates. They’re still warm and piled with mouth watering food. The boys have only ever really cooked something if it was dangerous to eat else wise, and it turned out charred more often than not.

The boys dig in, but freeze as the witch appears at the threshold. Philza drinks in the scene, then walks in, claws scraping across the floorboards. There’s no comment as he takes a seat at the side, Tommy having claimed the head of the table. The witch simply begins to dine, and then Tommy, finally Wilbur.

“So. You’re fattening us up to eat us?” Wilbur challenges.

“The pair of you are rather scrawny for that,” Philza says lightly. “Malnutrition tends to do that. I’d be waiting years if that were the case.”

“Then you’re trying to steal our souls!”

“I make no promises either way.” It was almost more soothing than if he’d outright denied it, because then Wilbur would’ve known for sure he was lying. Like this? …well, Wilbur still isn't sure, but his caution feels vindicated.

Caution that still fades over time. They begin to eat more meals than not with the witch. And when blizzards come and they have no other bed to turn to, the brothers find themselves welcomed to the softest pillows and blankets they’d ever known. They keep watch, of course. They always did, instinct ingrained. And then they spend more nights with Philza than without, and nothing ever goes wrong, and they both get so much more sleep if they don't bother with watch…

Gradually, they begin to never leave the cottage at all. There is no food or warmth to be found outside in the terrible blizzards. It just makes sense to stay. And Philza is so lovely to talk to. Wilbur no longer checks over their backs. The scrape of his talons on the floor bring not a shudder but a grin. And anyway the claws are always so gentle when they ruffle through their hair. On the coldest nights the witch’s feathers are so wonderfully soft and warm, so why shouldn’t the boys tuck under wing?

It’s when spring comes that Wilbur realizes something is wrong, so horribly, gut-wrenching wrong. Because there is no excuse to stay anymore, and yet the brothers do.

Wilbur prods the distrust in his gut, the wariness that’s served him his whole life. All he feels for Philza is warm fondness, and that— that is a feeling reserved for Tommy and no other. No, Wilbur knows for sure that whatever the witch has done to them is powerful magic indeed. A thrall inescapable, sly and slow like a poison seeping in until it's too late to cure. No curse is more inescapable and deceptive than mind control. The witch stole their hearts alright, just not in a way Wilbur had known to guard against.

Wilbur will cut out the part of him that feels that way if that’s what it takes. It’s only ever been Wilbur and Tommy, or Tommy and Wilbur. And no one, not even some all-powerful witch, will take that from him.

So quietly, carefully, Wilbur hardens his heart and prepares their escape.

(End part 1)

[liillyliilly]

A Place Where You Can Disappear

sugawara koushi x reader words; 1464 synopsis; she's the ghost at the end of the hallway- sugawara fully believes she is anyway.

Walking down the empty hallway of the main building always set his nerves aflame. Remembering all the ghost stories his own upperclassmen told him as he was trying to get to the gym was not a good way to start off practice. But he put on a brave face and kept walking with his head held high.

For three years, he shuffled along the hallway covering his ears and mumbling a prayer for safety. Asahi said the gods wouldn't let anything bad happen to him with that specific prayer. Asahi proudly claimed that the prayer was the only way he got through second year mathematics.

The first time Sugawara hears music start playing, then immediately being cut off with a slight startled scream, he gets scared.

He did his best to pick up his pace down the hallway. There was trash littered along the floor, and scratches and dents on the doors of the empty, unused classrooms.

I'm only a third year and I'm going to get murdered by a serial killer this early in my life.

He timidly shuffles his feet to the classroom where he heard the ruckus. He peers in through the glass of the door, only to be greeted with a dark room. Except for in the far corner, where a girl sat with a lamp on the desk. She seemed to be writing or drawing something in a notebook while her earbud wires dangled from her ears. She was nodding along to the beat of the music that was probably playing from her phone, which was sat on the table facedown.

Sugawara can't help but smile. She seems perfectly content with just being by herself and messing around. Sugawara hears the gym doors slam open, and he goes to exit the hallway and head to the gym, but not before stealing one last glance at his mystery girl.

This becomes a daily occurrence. Suga walking through the hallway, but stopping to check in on his mystery girl. Sometimes she eats snacks, sometimes she’s reading a book (Suga immediately goes out of his way to locate a copy of the book and read it), sometimes she is making some sort of craft. More often than not, she had headphones on and was staring at her phone screen.

While talking to Hinata one day, he subconsciously takes Hinata down the empty hallway with him. Doing his usual observation of her, Sugawara notices that she is crying, tears falling down her face and the tear mark lines on her skin are prominent from the light from the lamp. Ushering Hinata to the gym, Sugawara knocks on the door.

“May I enter?” He asks, loud enough for her to hear but not loud enough to scare her.

She sniffles before uttering a small yes. Sugawara tries not to trip on anything as he passes through entrance of the dark classroom.

“Are you alright?” When she nods and smiles, Sugawara becomes confused. “But you’re crying?”

“A very thoughtful observation, but if you would have bothered to pay attention, I’m watching a movie.” She pauses the video playing on her phone, taking out her left earbud so she could pay attention to the stranger invading her space.

Sugawara blurts out another question, “Can I watch with you?” He knows he can't stay for long, he had a practice to get to. But a short ten minutes couldn't hurt, he'd just do Daichi's tedious extra warm-ups for being late. She leans back onto her chair and folds her arms.

“What's in it for me.” She pauses before smirking, ���Stalker.”

Sugawara blushes furiously. “I wasn’t stalking you! I was just-”

“Watching me for a very long period of time?” She offers, holding her hand out and motioning it into a semi-circle.

“Yes! Wait, no!” Sugawara covers his face with his hands and groans slightly, realizing anything else he would try to say would only end up with him as a blubbering mess. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. He wanted to be seen as some sort of hero that swooped in just in time, not the creepy pervert stalker of a girl just chilling and minding her own business.

She leans over and drags the chair from the other desk next to her. Shifting her own chair to the side of the desk, effectively setting up a place for Sugawara to sit.

“Are you going to watch the movie with me or not?” She pats the seat of the chair. Sugawara hesitantly sits down next to her and nods slowly.

She closed out of the movie she was watching, and opened a new tab, typing away in English for a movie title. She asked if he was okay with subtitles, he nodded.

“One question, before we begin, why are you always in this empty classroom.”

“Because I’m the ghost that has been assigned to haunt this classroom.” She sticks her earbud into her left ear and hands Suga the right one.

“Really?” Suga whispers and tugs at the hair on the nape of his neck nervously.

“No!”

His ten minute internal clock passed, and he quietly excused himself from the room. She just waved at him, focusing intently on her movie again.

____________________________________

The following week, Sugawara didn't stop by her classroom again, needing to prepare a little more intently for the upcoming matches. He wasn't a starter, but he needed to be there for the same reasons all players are apart of the team, because they made a commitment and loved volleyball.

Tanaka finally gave up trying to get Sugawara's attention, telling Nishinoya that Suga was too far gone to be helped.

"Ghost Girl still haunting you?" Tsukishima mocked.

Sugawara rolled his eyes, tossing Tsukishima a ball to put away.

Instead of going home by ways of his usual path, Sugawara decided to backtrack, passing through the hallway to go to the main entrance of the school.

She wasn't there though. Pursing his lips, he entered the classroom, just to inspect it. Turning on the lights, he almost dropped his water bottle in reaction to his sights.

The classroom had desks, the usual set up, but on the front board was a lengthy list. A To-Watch list, he deduced. Movies ranging from Oldboy by Park Chan-wook, to the animated Anastasia from 1997. There was a beanbag in the opposite corner to where Ghost Girl had been sitting.

He hadn't noticed how the classroom was essentially a movie theater since he had only peeked in, and the lights were off. The banner hanging from the windows stated: Karasuno Movie Club.

The back wall that typically stored cubbies for students to put stuff in was replaced by rows of CDs, a projector, blankets, and several notebooks. Sugawara picked up one of the notebooks, and flipped to the front page. The notebook had just been started, seeing as all the other pages were blank.

Karasuno Movie Club

Members: 1

Advisor: None, special permission from Principal

Funds: ¥3747.12

Goals: Watch the Letterboxd Top 200 before graduation

Acquisition for New Members: That white haired boy who stares at me sometimes (possibly) (probably not though, he didn't seem too impressed with the movie we watched) (i mean who leaves ten minutes into Crazy Rich Asians?)

Sugawara smiled, tucking the book back onto its place on the cubby shelf. He took out three one thousand yen notes from his bag, and a sticky paper. Thinking about what to write was quite possibly the hardest thing he had done today. Ending up on a short statement of how he would love to be considered apart of the club, and that the money was a donation for the club.

Maybe this little movie club could be a place only they share.

_______________________________________

Sugawara was surprised to say the least when his desk had a small envelope on it.

She wrote about how hard it had been to find out his name, but that signing his initials on the note had helped her to find him, and flipping through the yearbooks too. She said that she didn't know if she could trust him to join the club, again mentioning the time he left early from watching a movie with her. But if he would show up on Saturday, maybe she could let it slide.

Saturday came as quickly as it went.

He brought the good popcorn, a variety pack of treats, and a blanket.

She was crouched down, twisting the knobs on the old projector, casting a light on the pulled down screen at the front of the room.

The beanbag was just big enough for two.

The paper taped to the outside of the classroom door was simple: Now Showing - "Ju-On: The Grudge" and "The Perks of Being A Wallflower"

[manias-wordcount]

View of Paradise (Satoru Gojo x Reader) PART FIVE

[𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘼𝙐]

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗱𝗲, 𝗽𝘂𝘀𝗵𝘆, 𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 <𝟯

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿 || 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲 || 𝘀𝗶𝘅 || 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 || 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 || 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲 || 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝗳𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝘀𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 || 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲…

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

All morning, there’s been a bit of a buzz in the air. 

  An excitement. A feeling. An energy that you just can’t ignore, no matter how hard you try. You felt it outside as you walked to work. You felt it inside as you greeted your co-workers at the diner. And you surely felt among the chefs. All the quiet murmurs. The shifty eyes. And you know exactly the reason why. At this point, it’d be stupid not to. It’s a like secret that everyone is in on, but nobody wants to open their mouth and say it. Though you did hear one of the chefs tell the other that they can’t until people start ordering desserts. And naturally, you know why. Anyone would know why after that news broadcast last night. 

  On its menu, the diner has six desserts. Three of them are made with Gojo Candy products. Meaning that there’s a fair chance that one of the chefs back there could unwrap a candy bar and become one of the luckiest people in the world. 

  But no one says that. No one bothers to say the quiet part out loud. Maybe they’re worried about losing out. Being in the wrong spot at the right time. You did hear some more arguing than usual about who gets what station today. And maybe they’re worried about jealousy. About action. About someone swooping in and trying to stake a claim to what’s not rightfully theirs. It’s already becoming increasingly obvious that some waitresses are being very helpful to the kitchen staff. More than you’ve ever seen in all your time working here. And you won’t lie. You were a little eager to get the trash cleared from Head Chef Nanami today. Even in the moments when you should have been minding your own business.

  You just told him it was your way of saying thank you for all the food he snuck out for you. He just asked if there was anything particularly special about the chocolate bar he gave your brother.

  He wasn’t surprised when there wasn’t, but you appreciated the disappointed look on his face nonetheless. But all too soon, you’re being called to the front of house with a coffee order in one hand and a hot bun in the other. Your world doesn’t quite have time for dreamers. For people who want way more than they could ever have. But it does have time to remind you of that every single day as you smile a little harder and make your voice a little perkier for the old man sitting at one of your tables. Hoping that he might like you enough to tip a little extra today.

  And so the cycle continues as it always does. You’re rushing around. Taking orders left and right. Busing tables. Refilling drinks. Making light small talk and little half-jokes with your regulars and a couple of new faces. All as the early morning ebbs and flows away into something normal. The buzz from earlier you felt has died down. No more whispers among chefs. No more fights about stations. And eventually, no more super helpful waitresses poking their faces and their noses in places where they don’t belong. You included. 

  But then the news breaks.

  In the middle of your shift. Just a quarter of the way into the lunch rush. And on one of the biggest TVs the dinner has to offer to its customers.

  And you almost missed it. 

  You’re behind the counter when you notice it. The quiet sound of the almost muted TV. The jingle of the news show's breaking news segment. You almost missed it. Almost decided not to turn your head and instead focus on the gentleman you’ve been serving. The one who had been eyeing you very carefully as you prepared him a cup of tea. But even though you felt his sharp eyes burning holes into your body, you still decided to put down the honey. You still decided to look up. And you’re glad you did.

  UI UI wins the first Gojo ticket!

  The diner goes quiet. Completely and utterly quiet. You swear someone turns off the music and the other TVs that were showing something else as everything in the building falls completely still. 

  UI UI wins the first Gojo ticket!

  The headline runs again, underneath the showing of an anchorwoman looking directly into the camera, moving her lips. She’s saying something- something extremely quiet that only you and a few others can just barely pick up considering your proximity to the device. But then out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone- Nobara- reaching for a remote control and turning up the TV.

  “-I repeat. The first Golden Gojo ticket has been found in none other than West Germany. Reporting to you live, here’s one of our sister stations out in Bavaria to tell you about this lucky winner of Mr. Gojo’s Candy lottery.”

  The scene changes, and yet the whole diner sits in complete silence as a woman with a heavy accent speaks into her microphone. She works as all newscasters do- give a little context, give a little exposition, and then finally- turns to the subject of interest. Winner number one. But the second the camera pans onto the little boy beside her, the silence in the diner is broken by the sound of a screeching voice.

  “OF COURSE A PIG WOULD WIN FIRST! MY BABY DESERVED THAT TICKET, NOT HIM!”

  At that, the whole diner erupts into chaos and noise. Someone shouts back at the voice, spitting a damning “How dare you say that to a child!” Other people chime in with their own thoughts. About the boy. About the voice. About the fact that there are only four tickets left now that someone has one. About the fact that the lottery is real.

  Meanwhile, you’re looking around, horrified, for the source of the one who broke through the silence. But now people are no longer still. People are no longer quiet. Instead, the waitresses are moving around- some reaching for remotes to turn the other TVs off of sports channels and daytime movies to find their closest news channel running the story. You see someone run to change the radio in one of the farther sections of the restaurant. And chefs are starting to wander out of the kitchen and peek their heads out wherever they can to catch a glimpse of a TV to hear the story as it breaks. Meanwhile, some particularly excited guests start getting up and standing around the counter to get a good look at the story running on your TV. 

  They squish around the man you were just serving with absolutely no regard for his personal space. He pulls a face at that. A sour one with a simmering, quiet type of anger that sends a quick shiver down your spine. And so you’re quick to tell everyone to back off of your guest. You hush and shoo people away as kindly but as firmly as you possibly can, encouraging everyone to sit back down in their seats, and you’ll turn the TV up a little louder. It takes a little longer than you had hoped, but eventually, the crowd that formed at the counter calms down at the reminder of the fact that this new story will likely be playing all day. After that, they wander away, and you up the TV volume a couple of notches, just like you promised.

  The new story continues, although the boy is no longer on screen. Instead, it’s someone else talking about how crazy things have been for candy sellers around the world. You listen with only mild interest as a man talks about how many Gojo Candy products have been sold in big cities everywhere. Paris, Mexico City, Vienna, Shanghai, and more. Instead, you’re a little more focused on sending your guest at the counter a sheepish look as you have to start a fresh cup of tea for him now that the one from earlier has gone cold.

  But as you start his tea, you find that he’s watching you carefully again. And although it’s not like you haven’t been stared at before, the intensity of his gaze is a bit intimidating considering how it seems like every single other person in the diner except him is more occupied with thoughts about the Gojo Candy Company right now. So you make sure you get every single thing right about his order this time. A dash of honey. A squeeze of lemon. A hint of mint. All dropped into his fresh cup of green tea, nice and steaming hot.

  “I’m really sorry that took so long sir,” You tell him as you push the drink in front of him. In the same breath, you offer to grab him something to go with his tea- a slice of pound cake, a muffin, anything really- for his troubles. But he just holds up his hand and gives you a closed eye smile. One that strangely puts you at ease despite just how scary this man felt only moments prior to this. 

  “It’s not your fault, my dear.” He speaks to you warmly before putting the cup of tea to his lips. You try to warn him about its temperature. About how very hot his tea is and how he should probably wait a little bit before drinking it. And yet, he tilts back his head and lets the drink pass through his lips like it’s absolutely nothing at all. He gulps it down. Sip after sip after sip. And by the time he brings the cup back down and places it in front of himself, almost half of the tea has disappeared. “I suppose he’s just too good at capturing other’s attention. Even from afar.”

  At his words, you think back to the boy- the winner of the first ticket- and ponder on it for a bit. You didn’t get a good look at him. But some details did stand out. The neat press of his clothes. The small stains of melted chocolate around his lips. The fact that he was still eating chocolate, even throughout the interview. His age. And well...his size too. To put it simply, he was a plump boy. A bit on the bigger side, but nothing you hadn’t ever seen before. What you really cared about more was the fact that he looked to be about Yuuta’s age. Maybe a little bit younger. Maybe a little bit older. But the kid seemed charming with that big grin of his as he showed off his golden ticket. You remember vaguely the sight of happy parents standing right beside him, smiling just as wide as the actual winner. 

  The thought makes you smile as well. 

  “Yeah,” You agree, a light laugh playing on your lips. “I think some people just have a knack for it.”

  For a little bit, your guest at the counter doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or rather, looks past you. Lost in a deep thought. This time, you didn’t mind it as much. You were asked by Maki from the other side of the counter to plate a couple of pieces of coffee cake for her. And then you were handed a few tall glasses to clean out by Nobara before she took the rest of her plates back to the dishwasher’s area. You were occupied now. The diner was quieter now, even though the buzz from earlier did return. The chefs were itching for a dessert order. Waitresses were being a little too eager to help once more. And around you, the lunch rush of the diner felt more alive with energy and anticipation than you’ve ever seen before. Ever.

  But yet, all that seems to stop when you hear the man’s voice again.

  “I think you’d like him.” 

  You blink, pausing your movements momentarily before looking up at your guest behind the counter. The rest of the tea is gone. Drunken up somewhere between you washing glass number two and drying off glass number six. But now, your guest is looking at you. Looking right at you with a deep, thoughtful look fixed on his face. 

  You’re not sure what to do. But something tells you to try your best to respond. And so, you do. 

  “The-” You look at him carefully, before pointing up at the TV, unsure of what words to use in the moment. He was talking about the ticket winner, right? Somehow, you don't feel confident in your answer. Luckily, your guest at the counter seems to understand you perfectly fine and answers back with another closed-eyed smile and a nod. 

  You think about it for a moment as you put down the glasses to put off the rest of the cleaning for a little bit. You fish your notepad out of your pocket and handwrite him a receipt while the image of UI UI enters your mind. You couldn’t pay much attention to his interview. And all you really gleaned from that small segment was that he was a happy young boy with happy parents and a big love for chocolate. 

  But then you thought of Yuuta. And how much that boy reminded you of Yuuta, in his own little ways. And although you’re not quite sure what your guest from the other side of the counter means (or why exactly he’s asking a question like that), you have a funny feeling that the guy didn't say all that to get a sob story or an older sister bragging session about her kind-hearted and hard-working little brother. So you shrug. Even though you know the small smile tugging on your lips betrays you.

  “Maybe.” You answered easily. “Maybe.”

  You place the receipt in front of him, sliding it across the counter with a pen before going back to work on the few little droplets of water you left on some of the glasses. But before you can even pull out your drying rag, the receipt and the pen are being pushed back towards you, along with a neat pile of cash.

  You look down at it carefully, counting dollars and cents, before noticing that the amount of money he put in front of you is way more than the cost of just a little cup of tea. You turn your head, looking to find his eyes, only to see that he has already stood up and is getting ready to go. You open your mouth, about to ask if he’s absolutely sure about the amount of money he just paid. But then he stops you with another smile. Only this time, his eyes are open. And the look he gives you feels like he knows something you don’t. Like he knows something that everyone is blissfully unaware of. And he opens his mouth.

  “I think he’d like you even more.” He hums at you, his smile growing just a tiny bit wider. You know in your heart that’s not a very kind smile he’s showing towards you, even if the negative feelings aren’t directed towards you. But you don’t have any time to get answers. Just like he doesn’t have any time to for questions. Instead, he backs away from the counter, and raises his hand up in a casual wave of good-bye as he calls out, “Until next time.”

  You nod once at his disappearing form, and he turns to leave for the door. You watch him exit the diner, exchanging pleasantries with the person who holds the door open before you go ahead and look down at the receipt. You count out perfect change for the cost of the tea. And an extra five dollar bill poking out from underneath the receipt like a secret in itself. On the signature line, it reads a name.

  Geto Suguru.

  You take a deep breath. And then a second. And a third. And a fourth one, for extra measure. 

  Something tells you to remember that for a later date. So, you do.

[cassandrarebornanew]

Wolf among sheep p2

Panoramic View, AWOLNATION

Just trust me, this song is theirs now. 

1.4K words

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You didn’t think it would be that serious. You thought that after a couple meetings the two of you would have a fun night, maybe a few of them. But you realistically expected nothing other than that. God were you wrong - and you’d be a dammed liar if you pretended that you weren’t more than a little glad. One meeting turned into two, and three, and five, and ten. Each in some stuffy, elaborate ball that you would both invariably steal away from before the end of the night. Boring conversations abandoned for enrapturing ones, weak liquor swapped for strawberries. The two of you shared so many bowls together, that you couldn’t look at another one without thinking of Viktor, his sweet laugh and silky soft accent. He couldn’t either. Thinking of you the second another event was written on the calendar, your eyes on strangers faces and your effortless charm filling up the silence. Heimerdinger scolded him repeatedly for being so enticed by The Wolf, and no matter how many times Viktor explained that Nickolas was the one he cared about, he wouldn’t listen. He told no one of this friendship that stretched the limits, of the lingering touches and dream-filled nights. And now, with Jayce in the picture, and HexTech pulling them up the ladder, they had to go to more events than ever before. The first of these was planned for tonight, and Viktor couldn’t wait. Fixing his clothes in the mirror, he performed one last swoop, checking every detail. His hand traced the grip on his cane, given to him by Nickolas after he had offhandedly mentioned the bruises he got from leaning on the solid handle. It was soft, black, and the same leaf pattern tattooed on Nickolas’ hand was etched into it. It was almost like a personal claim on him - one Viktor revelled in. Jayce poked his head around the door.

“Viktor, we’re leaving soon. You ready?” He’s dressed similarly to Viktor, and he feels a pang of… something. Jayce fills out the suit more, broader shoulders and a much better posture. Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, he hums. 

“Yes. I am ready.”

You circulate the ball room. High ceilings and arched windows, this is a carbon copy of every nobles’ house in Piltover. It’s lifeless and boring, much like the people you’re talking to now. While you hate every second of these businesses-centric conversations, you have to keep up appearances. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that a certain scientist may be coming soon. Absolutely not. An unfathomable thought. You would never - oh look, there’s Viktor! You quickly and politely excuse yourself from the conversation at an appropriate time, before prowling through the crowd to meet the new arrivals.

Viktor cranes his neck, trying to look for you amongst the crowds; something Jayce picks up on fairly quickly. “Are you… looking for someone? Who?”

Heimerdinger scoffs. “The one person in this room he should not be talking to.”

“My, my, Heimerdinger, I’m starting to think you don’t like me.” You snark from behind them. None of them saw or heard you coming, and now you were right there. Heimerdinger grumbles under his breath, Jayce freezes, and Viktor… your eyes lock, and you smile at him. You take his hand and kiss it gently. “And who might you be?” You tease, just to see the gentle flush that appears on the tip of Viktor’s ears. 

“Oh, stop it.” Is his only response before throwing his arms around your neck. “I missed you, Nick.” A soft smile lifts your lips as you gently nuzzle in closer. “Missed you too, hermoso [beautiful].”You may not be looking at them, but you can practically hear their jaws drop at the display of affection. You and Viktor have certainly hugged before, but this is the first time you’ve done it in front of Heimerdinger, and certainly Jayce. You part after a moment more, and your hand rests casually on the small of Viktor’s back. 

“You must be Jayce. I’ve heard a lot about you. Pleasure to meet you in person.” Colder than the way you spoke to Viktor just a second ago, more business-like, and much more intimidating. Jayce, visibly shaken at the quick switch, shakes your offered hand tentatively. You turn back to Viktor. “Come on love, I have a lot to tell you. And, yes, there’s a bowl at our table.” He smiles in return and you swear your heart skips a beat. “Alright, but only for the strawberries.” You lead him away, chuckling. “Only for the strawberries? Ouch.” 

Jayce and Heimerdinger are left behind, stunned.

“Did Viktor just hug The Wolf?”

“Mhm”

“The Wolf?” 

“Mhm”

“And called him Nick.”

“Seems so”

“……what the fuck?”

“That, dear boy, is a question not even I can answer.”

“Do you think we can do it? Harness the arcane and build a new era, one free of suffering?” 

You’re both reclining on a cushioned sofa, facing a truly ginormous window and gazing at the stars. Viktor has been rambling on about the HexTech project for so long, the question nearly flies over your head. 

“Do you think you can do it?” 

“I… I don’t know. This is Jayce’s idea, and I have not been looking into it for nearly as long as him, and it did work a few days ago, but perhaps that was a fluke, maybe it won’t work again and it will all come crashing down on us, and-“

“Viktor, love, I’m going to stop you right there. Breathe. You may not have had the original idea, but without you all his work would’ve been destroyed, no? It will work. You will make it work.” You take Viktor’s hand, kissing the knuckles gently. “These hands, amor [love], they are a kind of magic that you should start believing in.” You lean closer and kiss his forehead reverently. “I believe in you, in your magic. Even if it doesn’t work, I will still be here for you, as I have been for the past months.” His breath shakes, and he lets his head fall onto your shoulder. 

“Thank you solinshko.”

You look at the stars together, hands intertwined. His legs rest atop yours and for once, you are finally at peace. 

This is how Jayce and Heimerdinger find you. Viktor has long since fallen asleep, and you didn’t have the heart to wake him. No one will know the gentleness with which you brushed the hair from his face, or the expression of adoration no living being has seen on your features. No one but you will ever know. It’s the early hours of the morning, everyone else long since gone. When you see Viktor’s companions, you sigh, before scooping him up gently, gesturing for Jayce to grab his cane. The three of you walk in silence, Heimerdinger’s only attempt at conversation shot down by a sharp glare, and Viktor’s face still pressed into your neck. When you arrive at his home, you softly ask Heimerdinger if he could unlock the door for you, which he does so begrudgingly. You sail in, carefully side stepping the countless projects and papers that litter the floor. You gently rest Viktor on the bed, before looking for a blanket. 

“You won’t find one.” Heimerdinger whispers. “He doesn’t sleep in here often.” You blink in response, before shrugging off your coat and placing it on his sleeping form. It reaches the middle of your calf, so it covers him entirely. The other two seemed rather confused at the gentleness with which you ensure that he is completely protected, the soft way you take his shoes off and close his blinds. You shepherd them out and close the door slowly. Without another word, you set off down the hallway, heading home.

“Hey!” A whispered shout follows you. “Where are you going?” 

“Home.” No elaboration, no turning around. Then, you stop. “Tell Viktor he can keep the coat until I see him next. Buh-bye now.”

You stalk out the building and start walking the streets, letting your feet guide you home. As you pass through the doors and past the front desk of the office, Clarissa, your secretary calls out to you.

“Hey boss. Nice night?”

You stop. “Yeah. Yeah, it was nice.”

Ignoring her knowing smile, you bid her goodnight and head up to the top floor, where you live. That was your favourite coat, and you just handed it to him like it was nothing. You were so screwed.

[onboardsorasora]

Enchanted AU: Part 32

Hey everyone! Not feeling my best, but I hope this chapter is ok. When I feel better I'll link everything together

Part 1 | Last Chapter

Part 32

Daniel cackled as he overtook Charles, who had just punted Lando off the track. Max used one of the escape roads to slot in infront of Alex who had been keeping out of trouble and quietly in the lead.

In front of Daniel, Alex overtook Max at a corner, stealing the apex before Max completely committed. Daniel ran wide and Charles swooped in like a hunter. They continued for another five laps before the chequered flag flew and Max won with Alex right behind him. Daniel came third and celebrated by driving in circles, squealing. Max eventually joined him, spinning around with a huge smile on his face.

“Is this some sort of intricate mating ritual or something?” Charles took off his helmet to watch, he turned to Alex. “Do magical people like claim mates or something?”

“Mate, he's not like a wolf or something.” Lando rolled his eyes, Alex snorted.

“You’re worried about this now? You’ve been trying to set them up for weeks!” Alex was laughing openly now, Charles looked sheepish.

“Yeah but like, I didn’t consider that maybe Daniel would need to like lock him away for three business days or something!”

Lando crouched to the floor, barely able to suppress his laughter. He was turning red.

“Charles, oh dear.” Alex shook his head.

“What?! It's a realistic worry!”

“What’s a realistic worry?” Max was stepping out of his kart. Daniel was still spinning like a top.

“Oh God!” Lando couldn’t help himself, his giggles started bubbling over like a rolling boil.

Alex snorted into his hand while Charles looked like he was weighing the benefits of asking Max about Daniel’s mating habits.

“Charles had a thought.” Alex supplied and Max nodded. That was a realistic worry.

“You said he was feeling poorly, is he better?” Alex nodded towards Daniel who was finally still, but staring off into the trees just outside the track.

“It's a little more complicated. But his mom and sister are here. It’ll be fine.” Max quickly assured them.

“It was bad enough that they came all the way over here?” Charles was worried.

“It's fine.” Max replied.

“Does his family have powers too?” Lando asked curiously.

“His sister does. She can like see the future almost? And I think mind reading. Don’t stare into her eyes.”

Daniel parked by them and stumbled out of his kart, he tugged off his helmet with a smile. “Can we get ice cream?” 

“Ooh! I want a milkshake!” Lando called out. And that's how they ended up at a small ice cream shop by the beach. 

Daniel happily licked the ice cream off of his spoon, it was a yummy decadent brownie cookie dough flavour that Max tried to talk him out of but Daniel wanted it anyway. It didn’t matter if his tummy hurt or his sinuses got inflamed. It was making him feel good. He’d had a horrible few days. 

The silence in his head had  finally disappeared when they were karting. It was back again and still so very disconcerting. He spent a lot of time trying to think so that his thoughts took up the empty space but he didn’t have enough thoughts. Couldn’t think of enough things that would distract him. Music helped, but the staticky noise playlists were the most consistent. Michelle told him he was zoning out a lot, but he was just trying to fill his head. He couldn’t do that and other things at the same time yet.

He was concentrating again when Charles came up to him. “You’re really quiet today, are you still feeling sick?” He asked with concern. Daniel looked at him in confusion before he remembered what Max had told him. He didn’t really want to lie.

“I’ll be ok.” He said instead. “I’m just like concentrating really hard.”

It was Charles’ turn to look confused before his furrowed eyebrows relaxed in understanding. “Is it really loud today? Everybody’s been coming back I bet it's been a bit overwhelming?”

Daniel looked at Charles’ concerned face, appreciating how much he cared about how Daniel was feeling. He couldn’t lie to him, not if this was going to be a permanent thing. Daniel looked down at his ice cream, watching it melt around his spoon and hearing the undertone of silence in his ears.

“It's quiet actually.” Daniel muttered. He looked at Charles again with a sad smile, Charles’ eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t hear anyone anymore. My powers are gone.”

“What?!” Charles whisper-shouted. He searched Daniel’s face to see if he was making a joke, pulling a prank. “What happened? Are you ok? Does Max know?'' He asked quickly, unsure what was going on but wanting to help either way. He looked around to see Max still maxplaining to Alex and Lando who were listening attentively. Charles stepped closer to Daniel as if to shield him from everyone.

“Yeah, Max knows. My mom and sister are here. The three of them are like helping me… acclimatize I guess.”

Charles pulled Daniel into a long, tight hug. He mumbled reassurances in Daniel’s hair. They would take care of him no matter what, they would help him however he needed it. Charles didn’t know if there was a cure, if it was an actual sickness or whatever the circumstances were, but he knew he was going to try and help.

Daniel detangled himself from Charles’ hold, sniffling and wiping at teary eyes. He hadn’t expected Charles to be so worried or consoling. He was fully expecting more invasive questions, and maybe jokes about it. He didn’t anticipate breaking down on Charles’ shoulder. He excused himself to the bathroom in the little shop to wash his face.

Charles immediately made a beeline for Max who was looking at him in concern after his eyes had followed Daniel’s movements (of course).

“What happened?” Max asked.

“Can it be fixed?” Charles asked instead, almost frantically. Much to the confusion of Alex and Lando.

“I– he told you?”

“Told him what? What’s happening?” Lando asked quickly. Max sighed.

“His magic is gone and he’s really really sad.” Charles whisper-shouted. Lando and Alex reacted as if Charles had slapped them.

“How is that possible?” Alex murmured.

“Look, we’re dealing with it ok. Just…don’t treat him any differently.” Max tried to calm everyone down.

“Well duh!” Charles complained. Lando and Alex nodded, because of course they wouldn’t.

“But it can be fixed?” Alex asked softly, they watched as Daniel came out of the bathroom and the older lady who ran the shop called him over to chat.

“Yeah, Michelle has a theory.” Max replied just as quietly.

“What is it?” Charles would admit to being nosy. He wanted to know he could possibly help.

“She called it ‘true loves kiss’.” Max muttered after a while, cheeks turning red.

“So someone who loves him has to kiss him?” Lando asked, confused. Alex rolled his eyes and pressed his palm to his face. Charles grinned gleefully while slapping Lando in the back of the head.

“No no Lando, Max gets to kiss him. Because he’s Daniel’s true love.” Charles looked between Max and Daniel like the cat who finally figured out how to get the canary. This was perfect. Finally, his friends would get together and stop dancing around each other, Max would finally man up and get with Daniel and it would all help Daniel get his powers back. At the same time!!!

“How can we help?” Charles was already in wedding planner mode.

“No! You don’t need to help. Just…just let me do this my way– please.” Max glared at Charles before softening his face back to something more neutral. He would give them information so they didn’t ruin his plans. “First of all, he can’t know about it. So shut up please. Second, I already asked him on a date for tomorrow. So we are, of course, doing that. Just…don’t tell him anything. You’ll help him by literally shutting up about it, I think.”

Charles looked a bit put out but also mollified that Max did have something planned. He could wait and see, he drove for Ferrari afterall.

Daniel came back after that and Max put his arm around Daniel’s shoulders and pulled him in close. Daniel went shyly, a small blush on his cheeks.

Next Chapter

[nonplayer-character]

The night Ed meets Stede Bonnet he’s a little drunk and feeling a kind of antsy he hasn’t felt in about 20 years. It’s a shit night. He broke up with Jack, or Jack broke up with him, or something, but any which way it happened, it’s quarter to three in the morning and he’s a bit pissed and half clothed and feeling reckless.

Stede is sitting on a park bench across from a condemned brownstone twiddling his thumbs overtop his clasped hands. There’s a briefcase by his side on the bench and his golden hair is illuminated by the lamppost overhead — a little beacon in the abyss of evening.

Ed doesn’t know why he’s there or what he’s doing but the scene is so fucking weird he figures if he doesn’t make himself a part of it he’ll be thinking about it for the rest of his life.

Ed sits beside him.

Stede — Ed doesn’t know his name yet, but that’s what it is — startles, fidgets, seems to assess Ed for a moment and then moves his briefcase between his feet with a halfhearted “my apologies”.

Stede’s a calm presence. Just sitting beside him Ed’s skin feels a little less tight around his bones.

“Don’t need to be sorry, mate,” Ed’s pretty sure the words slur a little. “You were here first. Could’ve left it where it was and I wouldn’t‘ve cared.”

“Ah,” says Stede and offers a smile that’s not more than the quirk of the left side of his lip, but it exposes a dimple and that’s all it takes, in the end: Ed’s fucking gone.

In retrospect, 3 minutes is maybe a little pathetic a span of time to have fallen in love in.

“But that would have been terribly rude.”

Ed chuckles, lets the silence stretch between them as he adjusts to the weird situation he’s placed himself in, and finds that he likes it — a lot.

“You a gentleman then, bound by propriety and shit?” He finally asks, ready to continue the conversation.

“Only when I’m trying to impress a new acquaintance,” says the gentleman.

It’s weird, the whole vibe, but they both grin at each other under the flicker of that lamp, enjoying it.

And later, backlit by the tacky neon light above Ed’s bed.

Ed moves a curl from Stede’s sweaty forehead and kisses him like cracking up against rocks under a lighthouse, totally merciless; totally ruined by the man beneath him, who’s name he still hasn’t learned, even as he’s half planning their wedding.

It’s probably at least a little bit the buzz’s fault that Ed’s feeling how he is, but the rest of it is the way Stede is clutching his hips, the thumbs so nervous in Stede’s own hands only an hour ago, now rubbing thoughtless circles into Ed’s hip bones in the gap between his shirt and the jeans slipping down his waist. He’s intoxicatingly gentle and Ed has to nip his bottom lip about it, bite his neck, suck bruises into the hollow of his collarbone. Anything he can to lay claim to the madman sitting alone at the asscrack of dawn looking nothing more than desperately lonely and achingly lovely.

“What’s your name?” Asks the gentleman.

“Ed,” says Ed, placing a kiss just below his ear.

“Ed,” repeats the man, his voice a little broken around the edge. “What do you do, Ed?”

Ed sits back then, straddling Stede’s hips and running curious fingers around the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I’m a musician,” Ed says, waiting for the recognition to light up Stede’s face. What he gets instead is a look of surprised delight.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Ed hums. He swoops down for another kiss, a gentle press that Stede immediately closes his eyes to. Ed doesn’t. He can feel his brow furrowing as he stares into the blur of the man under him. When he pulls back Stede relaxes into the bed under him, eyes still closed; he looks like he’s thinking very serious things.

Finally, he blinks and those soft hazel eyes fall on Ed.

“I can’t have sex with you,” he says, all quiet.

Ed’s never been in the business of pushing and he’s not about to start now, but he can still hold the little bit of disappointment in his chest; not really even about the act of having sex which is, sure, nice, but mostly just because he wants everything from this weird guy and he wants to give everything in return — he’s not sure what else there is to give, if not his dick.

“That’s fine, mate,” Ed is about to dismount but Stede’s fingers flex at his hips.

“We don’t have to stop, I just … I’m not ready for anything more.”

There’s a tone Stede uses to say the words that Ed thinks probably warrants further investigation so he cups Stede’s neck and runs a thumb over his cheek and it’s just the kind of contact he wants to give and Stede seems receptive, the way he leans in. Ed asks:

“This new to you?”

“I told my wife today,” says the gentleman. “That I’m — gay, that is. So yes, but even ‘new’ feels a bit inadequate.”

“Fuck.” Says Ed.

“Fuck,” Stede echos, smiling in some approximation of embarrassment.

“That why you were sitting on a bench in the middle of the night?”

“A factor.”

“Sounds like a story,” Ed cocks an eyebrow. Stede shrugs.

“If, after tonight, you still feel inclined to hear it, or speak to me at all, ask again.”

Ed’s not going to come on too strong about his intentions for the future, but he’s pretty sure this man is going to be a feature of it. Still, chill. He can be chill:

“Sure mate,” he grins, holds Stede’s face more firmly with the hand cupping his cheek and pins the man’s left hand to the mattress for good measure, kissing him again.

Midnight ficlet for your reading pleasure

[cosmicanger]

By The Anarchothoughtism Collective

There’s a lot wrong with this little rustbelt city. It’s hard to love, almost painful. Yet people here try to do it anyway, often to our own detriment. We critique this city scathingly, but we love Milwaukee too. Black Milwaukeeans work hard to carve out a cultural niche. It’s a city that’s been shit on so much that it’s developed an inferiority complex; it demands recognition, for better or worse. I joke that living here would be funny - if it wasn’t our lives. Oftentimes it is funny, in a sad, nihilistic, and absurdist way. You have to laugh to keep from crying.

The structural issues of Milwaukee are deeply enmeshed, feeding into each other and compounding the struggles its Black underclass must face. The city’s cultural undercurrent is marked by distinct apathy, conservatism, and complacency. Individualist and bourgeois aspirations are rife. Small pockets of resistance bubble up, only to be extinguished by petit-bourgeois endeavors such as the non-profit industrial complex (NPIC), “activist” grifters, or the business class. This allows for highly fascistic elements to develop without resistance. The 2016 Sherman Park uprising is a prime example of such an “extinguishing”.

Milwaukee is known as the worst place for Black people to live, the most segregated city in the United States, and as “Harvard for pimps”. Black people have been locked out of homeownership, with only 25.2% of Black Milwaukeeans actually owning homes. A culture around stolen vehicles (we call them “stolies”) holds fast. “Kia Boys” and “Kia Girls” drive throughout the city recklessly, giving MPD (Milwaukee Police Department) a run for their money. To be fair, most people in Milwaukee drive recklessly. Lives are ended or altered by gun violence. You can’t trust tap water because of the lead pipes. Out-of-state slumlords own too much property, resulting in poorly-kept homes, leading to excessive electrical fires and evictions. The homeless remain mostly unseen, systemically pushed into surrounding forests. Milwaukee Police Department takes up more than half of the city budget, their pensions are bankrupting the city. As a result, libraries will close, fire stations and ambulances will operate at reduced capacities. In two to three years, a youth prison will be built here. Conditions feel overwhelmingly grim.

Following the Murder of Syville Smith by MPD in 2016, Sherman Park erupted in flames and the uprising that ensued lasted for 3 days. Rioters looted and burned down a BP gas station. This was not senseless or random; Black community members had been frequently profiled by owners of this particular BP station, and frequently had Milwaukee Police Department (MPD) called on them. A month before the murder of Smith, an employee fired a gun in the air to intimidate a group of teenagers standing in front of the store, claiming that he feared for his life. As rioting progressed, rocks were hurled at local law enforcement, a bank was set ablaze, and a local liquor store was looted. The city of Milwaukee was transfixed, yet what followed in the wake of that moment seemed a dizzying blur: over 2-3 years, conversations shifted abruptly from police brutality, racism, and state violence to entrepreneurship. Almost as quickly as it happened, outside investors swooped in to develop what is now known as Sherman Phoenix, a collection of 30 Black-owned businesses housed within the former BMO Harris bank that was burned down during the riots.

Before this shift, Sherman Park resident and youth mentor/activist Vaun Mayes was framed by both MPD and federal agents for the attempted firebombing of the District 7 police station at the height of the riots. Though the case against him remains ambiguous in its resolution, Mayes’ case and eventual release from state custody garnered him an abundance of local media attention, alongside undue credit as a reliable community activist. Soon after that ordeal, Mayes began dubbing himself “Milwaukee’s Malcolm X”, though his politics were moderate and inconsistent. His influence would later play a role in stunting Milwaukee’s 2020 protests.

The officer who killed Sylville Smith was acquitted of the murder; however, he was discharged from MPD and spent time in prison for a series of sexual assaults. In 2020 Smith’s family was awarded a $4 million settlement from the City of Milwaukee. Over the past 10 years, Milwaukee has spent $40 million on police misconduct settlements. This is not justice, it never will be. Justice cannot exist for Black folx within this system, our own hands must forge a new path.

Non-profits: The Worst Jobs We’ve Ever Worked (CW: Rape, Sexual Assault)

Milwaukee non-profits are closely linked with MPD. More often than not, they aid in advancing the carceral state through partnerships and broad coalitional work. One member of our collective was introduced to the NPIC when they were 16 years old by members of the ACLU Wisconsin when the latter visited their high school classes to speak with students about their civil rights and electoralism. By the time our comrade hit 19, they had dropped out of college and had their first real experience working in the NPIC through an AmeriCorps program. They were paid $17,000/year and received additional food stamp benefits. For how little was paid, it could be argued that work involving social services and the NPIC is a twisted type of exploitation that normalizes the commoditization of marginalized peoples’ experiences even as it normalizes the extraction of their labor and their harassment/abuse within NPIC structures.

During their stint with this organization, our comrade worked directly with women involved in street-based prostitution. In this supposed “harm reduction-based” approach, our comrade was often forced to work directly with police to maintain the symbiotic relationship their employer held with district attorneys, the House of Correction (a county jail that falls under the Division of Adult Institutions but operates somewhat independently from them), and law enforcement organizations (LEOs) writ large. This placed our comrade and other workers in the impossible position of offering little material or social supports to trafficking victims in exchange for tracking them and discussing their cases regularly with police and community members that viewed the presence of trafficked women as a “blight.”

Our comrade remembers their time with this organization as one of the most traumatic periods of their life. As they worked to provide compassionate and appropriate care to victims of sexual violence, sometimes in emergencies, they were simultaneously experiencing violence within their org that overlapped the violence they were expected to help combat in the streets. Gender-based harassment from supervisors and assault at the hands of a co-worker some months into the job, coupled with the daily trauma absorption of the job, eventually took its toll; our comrade’s mental health declined, as did their performance, and they were let go. They recall there was relief in that moment and remained unemployed for a few months while seeking therapy to heal.

Another comrade never even made it that far. As a transplant, this comrade with years of nonprofit experience working with youth and other marginalized communities, decided to volunteer with various organizations to gain both a better map of the city and to better understand where they could apply their passion effectively. Despite becoming a dues-paying member of at least 2 supposedly radical orgs, the only jobs they were being told about were ones that would exacerbate pre-existing health problems. Through 2 different periods of homelessness, this comrade still managed to show up and organize or lend support wherever they believed good community work was being done. Eventually, our comrade’s persistence and organizing chops developed, and the local NPIC began sniffing around.

Our comrade began being flattered and specifically invited to “brainstorming sessions,” a quirky Milwaukee euphemism that essentially serves 3 functions for nonprofits: the first is crowdsourcing language and popular-if-inconsistent definitions of social problems; the second, to pull in and start cultivating so-called leadership skills in individuals who may be able to be exploited by nonprofits through low-pay positions or as uncompensated volunteers; the third function being pure extraction, wherein community members are invited to rough out projects or initiatives that grassroots formations seldom can bankroll, but pose no financial risk to NPIC orgs that regularly receive millions from the state to water down and scale up.

Catching onto the grift, however, is not always a guarantee that one’s boundaries around labor would be respected. When our comrade began politely declining invitations to these brainstorming sessions, they were eventually lured into applying for part-time positions with the same organizations that would allow them to keep their health benefits while earning an income, which made our comrade eagerly apply to all. Experience notwithstanding, our comrade found that the fishing expeditions of the brainstorming sessions were not yet done with them: though it took the better part of a year, during which our comrade filled out multiple applications, underwent numerous background checks, weirdly intensive demands for outlines of programming they had not yet been hired to facilitate, and oddly probing interviews with the occasional direct questions about their anarchist leanings, our comrade realized that these nonprofits had no intention of hiring them so much as simply extracting their labor - as well as intimate personal information - under the guise of community building. Some years after the compliments stopped, our comrade simply withdrew from the NPIC and organizing publicly, preferring to work only with those who respected their boundaries. For a disabled person who could not leave their home much, severing ties to the NPIC represented an end to the social life they badly needed for their well-being.

Abolish the NPIC, Abolish the Celebrity/Career Activist and Black Misleadership Class

NPIC culture demands much from marginalized workers while offering very little in return. Non-profits market themselves as more “just” or “equitable” workplaces for marginalized peoples, but often, they just offer the same capitalistic shit gilded in the rhetoric of false radicalism. In this way, the NPIC exploits the desires of those who wish to build a better world and change the material conditions of oppression knowing they never will be able - or inclined - to address oppression at its roots. Non-profits that portray themselves as “radical” or “revolutionary” are actively lying. The NPIC is an apparatus of an imperialistic, white supremacist, ableist, capitalistic state. It serves to redirect radical energies into neoliberal, ineffectual organizing methods. Its function is to maintain the status quo; those who disrupt or refuse to sell out are pushed out.

One of the worst byproducts of the NPIC and social media culture is the production of the “celebrity activist” or “career activist”. What we're describing is nothing new - sellouts have existed across generations. It’s become more complicated, nuanced, and insidious with the appropriation of radical aesthetics and language. When we think of this type of sellout, elements of George Jackson’s criticism against Bill Cosby and Black capitalism are applicable nearly 50 years later. “Black capitalism, black against itself. The silliest contradiction in a long train of spineless mindless contradictions…We can never learn to trust as long as we have them. They are as much a part of repression, more even than the real live, rat-informer-pig” (George Jackson, Soledad Brother, p. 237). The Black celebrity/career activists are rooted in the ideology of Black Capitalism, tainted by entrepreneurial (bourgeois) aspiration, and opportunism. Their politics are shallow and unprincipled. Coming out of the George Floyd Rebellion, one of the most prominent and glaring examples of this is Patrisse Cullors and the mishandling of donations made to the BLM (Black Lives Matter) Foundation. Despite being a “trained Marxist”, Patrisse accepted deals with Cadillac and owned several million-dollar homes while chapters of BLM struggled to organize on the ground. Patrisse profited in one of the most direct ways possible from the deaths and oppression of Black people. How many more Patrisse Cullors types do you need to see?

During protests against the police killing of Alvin Cole in Wauwatosa, Jay-Z’s Team Roc took the opportunity to generate positive press for the brand, posting bail and covering legal fees for those arrested, including Alvin Cole’s family. The celebrity also took out a full-page ad in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel calling for Alvin Cole’s murderer, Joseph Mensah, to be prosecuted. Additionally, Tamika Mallory made an appearance, offering a performative press conference. While support from celebrities like Jay-Z may appear beneficial on a surface level, the ultra-wealthy do not and will never sustain social movements or revolutionary activity: Jay-Z has repeatedly shown his allegiance to capital, and his support aims to co-opt the energy of mass movements and encourage the Black masses to buy into myths of Black Capitalism.

In Elite Capture by Olufemi O. Taiwo, the author references the work of Frantz Fanon, Jared A. Ball, and Franklin Frazier to elaborate on myths of the “Black Economy” and Black buying power. In describing African middle classes in post-colonial Algeria, Fanon postulated that this middle class would “capture, dilute and ultimately subvert the energy of anti-imperialist struggle.” Taiwo notes that Fanon’s prediction came to be, “The national independence movements supplanted formal colonial rule only to run headfirst into neocolonialism: a condition in which those young nations’ new ruling elite were either sharply constrained by or actively colluding with the corporations and governments of the former colonial powers - and the international system they dominated.”

Taiwo goes on to analyze Franklin Frazier’s Black Bourgeoisie and the idea of escaping racial strife through a separate Black economy, citing Booker T. Washington’s National Negro Business League. “The combined net worth of all 115 attendees at the inaugural National Negro Business League did not amount to even $1 million. By the time Fraizer wrote his book, more than six decades later, all eleven Black-owned banks in the nation combined did not represent the amount of capital held in the average local bank in smaller white cities.” Drawing from Ball, Taiwo concludes that investing in the idea of a Black economy is politically naive, a fruitless endeavor that would need to be birthed of our current political and economic reality of white supremacy and racial capitalism. He notes that myths of Black buying power and financial literacy only serve to place the onus on the poor instead of on the exploitative nature of capitalism. We see the myth persist to this day through endeavors such as Killer Mike’s Greenwood “Bank”. “The possibility of an insulated Black economy is the myth, while the immediate interests of a few well-positioned Black Folk provide the true impetus.”

For petty bourgeoise aspirationals and the ultra-wealthy, the NPIC provides the perfect platform for the co-optation of our mass movements. Protests become photo opportunities; elements of resistance and revolution are appropriated to market an individual's brand or NGO to philanthropists, funders, and sponsors. Brand recognition is key. Locally, we’ve witnessed executive directors and NGO boards claim police abolition, only to turn around and hire ex-police officers to perform union busting on their behalf. We’ve seen blatant misogynists and homophobes win the title of “Activist of the Year” throughout a near-endless stream of self-congratulatory awards ceremonies. Milwaukee suffers an ongoing plague of micro-celebrity activists, bolstered by an NPIC culture that actively blocks opportunities for effective, revolutionary organizing. Our point is simplistic, the conclusion feels trite, but it’s a message Milwaukeeans need to hear. If any real work is to get done, the NPIC and career/celebrity activism need to be abandoned or eventually destroyed.

(A mural that recognizes “leaders” involved in Milwaukee’s 2020 protest movement…the mural depicts Frank Nitty, Sam Alford, Khalil Coleman, Jeremiah Thomas, Elle Halo, Tommy Franecki, Markasa Tucker, and Vaun Mayes.)

*Note: Some non-profits do excellent work, and are well respected within the communities in which they operate. The non-profit legal structure can be used as a tool that allows grassroots and anarchist formations to operate more freely. However, within a $2 trillion industry employing 10% of the United States population, we find the types of non-profits mentioned above represent a microcosm within a majority. Members of our collective understand the benefits and contradictions of being involved in the NPIC as we have worked within the field and received services from the NPIC. This is not a judgment of those involved within the NPIC structure, it is a call to think critically about the structure.

How Milwaukee Got a Youth Prison: Past to Present (CW: Sexual abuse, Child abuse)

Milwaukee’s NPIC is deeply connected to the carceral justice system and policing, and many violence prevention programs and non-profits are incentivized to work with the police to receive funding from the city. Unsurprisingly, local non-profits ushered in a new youth prison in Milwaukee. To explain how this all came to fruition, we’ll need to lay some ground and talk about the Lincoln Hills and Copper Lakes crises that occurred over the course of a decade. Tracking everything that occurred at these facilities could amount to a separate book on its own, so we'll only be tackling a tiny fraction of events in this section.

According to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, the problems began in 2010-2011 under Republican Governor Jim Doyle’s administration. The number of youth prisoners had steadily decreased over the years and in 2011, inmate populations dropped to half of what they were in 2004. For the Doyle Administration, it financially did not make sense to continue running three separate facilities (Lincoln Hills located in northern Wisconsin, Ethan Allen School in southeastern Wisconsin, and Southern Oaks Girls School in southeastern Wisconsin): Lincoln Hills operated at a much lower cost than the other two facilities and state law mandated that a juvenile facility must remain open in northern Wisconsin. This law did not apply to southeastern parts of the state, where most of Wisconsin’s Black and incarcerated population stemmed from. By January 2011, Republican Governor Scott Walker was instated; he moved quickly to close Ethan Allen School and Southern Oaks Girls School, consolidating 100 prisoners into Lincoln Hills and doubling the prison population. Lincoln Hills was extremely short-staffed, the sparse population of northern Wisconsin being to blame. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel stated, “...juvenile justice experts around the nation were recommending smaller, more localized facilities, Wisconsin went in the opposite direction, consolidating operations in a remote setting.”

In February 2012, Racine County Circuit Judge Richard Kreul sent a memo to Scott Walker detailing a case of abuse. ”The memo Kreul sent to Walker described an incident in which an inmate from Racine was forced to perform oral sex on his roommate and then beaten unconscious. Workers learned of the assault at 4 p.m. They didn’t get the victim medical treatment for three hours.” [Milwaukee Journal Sentinel]. In 2014, when Milwaukee-based Public Defender Robin Dorman learned that one of her clients was not receiving medical treatment or being sent to classes, she quickly learned that her client was not alone. Upon discovering additional allegations of abuse and neglect, Dorman sent a memo to Milwaukee County Chief Deputy District Attorney Kent Lovern, who forwarded it to the Department of Corrections. By January 2015, a criminal probe was launched to investigate Lincoln Hills. What the investigations would unveil was deeply disturbing.

Most of the youth held in the facility were Black children from Milwaukee, though the facility was located in Irma, WI - 215 miles away from Milwaukee (a 3.5-hour drive). Horrendous abuse and corruption plagued these facilities, ranging from physical child abuse to suicide, and sexual abuse and harassment of minors. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel details the conditions inside the facilities, describing a teen who had his foot crushed by a prison guard. “Inside his room, Evans screamed and held up his foot so the staff could see the bleeding. The Milwaukee teen had lost parts of two small toes, but it would take prison officials nearly two hours to take him to a hospital 15 miles away.” Another incident involved a psychologist commenting on a teen girl's breasts, stating that they looked "rode hard and put away wet." The investigation also revealed that the prison’s lead trainer taught staff to pin inmates by putting their knees on inmates' backs - a technique that could cause suffocation and death. This trainer did not contact nurses when inmates were injured. There were 4 incidents where inmates had broken bones. By December 2015, the facility was raided by 50 state agents and the investigation was turned over to the FBI. Over a dozen staff members quit, were fired, or retired. A $25 Million settlement was reached for those who stayed at the facilities.

In 2018, Governor Walker announced a plan to dissolve Lincoln Hills into 5 smaller prisons spread out across the state. In April 2022, Democratic Governor Tony Evers signed a law that would bring a prison to Milwaukee. By January 2023, Milwaukee Common Council approved the zoning for a new youth prison to be built on the predominantly Black northwest side of Milwaukee. The Facility will not be operational until 2026. The decision was made to put the youth prison in a district that completely lacks an alderperson at the time of this writing (the previous alderwoman, Chantia Lewis, was removed from office after pleading guilty to embezzling $20,000 in campaign funds). Residents were taken off guard by the development of the prison and a majority opposed it, citing the potential decrease in property values as their primary concern. Many non-profit leaders spoke out in support of the facility's relocation to Milwaukee’s northwest side, however, framing it as a way to bring the youth inmates from Lincoln Hills “home”. Sharlen Moore, co-founder of the non-profit Urban Underground and youth justice advocate stated, “We have to figure something out. We have to put them somewhere.” Representatives from the non-profit Ex-incarcerated People Organizing (EXPO) echoed Sharlen’s sentiment. There are currently 69 youths that remain at the Lincoln Hills and Copper Lakes facilities. Alternatives to prisons exist, we’re dealing with people, not objects to shuffle around or “put somewhere.”

George Floyd Rebellion of 2020: A Clusterfuck

During the George Floyd Rebellion, the lack of solid organizing and security culture in Milwaukee led to Black misleadership and celebrity/career activists seizing control and altering the trajectory of a radical movement into neoliberalism along a counter-revolutionary line. The People’s Revolution (TPR) was formed in the early days of the George Floyd Rebellion and was initially spearheaded by Frank Nitty, Vaun Mayes, and Khalil Coleman. These “leaders” quickly proved dysfunctional, as accusations of homophobia and misogyny bubbled to the forefront almost immediately. Throughout 2020, we talked with individuals involved in TPR’s protests and though accounts varied from person to person, what we picked up on overall was that TPR’s leadership fostered an environment that made protests feel unsafe for Black women and queer individuals. On June 12, 2020, TPR leadership was called out in a Facebook live stream regarding accusations of misogynistic and derogatory language used toward queer protestors. While Vaun Mayes showed up to the live stream for “accountability”, Frank Nitty and Khalil Coleman did not. There were repeated attempts to reach out to Frank and Khalil, which seemed to be met with hostility. The presence of misogyny and homophobia are major red flags for any group claiming to be revolutionary. The Facebook Live stream did not provide the accountability process needed to change course. In an ideal world Frank, Vaun, and Khalil would have stepped down from their leadership positions within TPR and undergone a serious accountability process that involved their removal from movement and protest work, if only until genuine efforts towards transformation had occurred.

The effects of misogyny and what we’ll call “weak link politics” have been touched on repeatedly in writings such as Why Misogynists Make Great Informants, by Courtney Desiree Morris, and Basic Politics of Movement Security by J. Sakai and Mandy Hiscocks. As Morris succinctly points out, “There are serious consequences for choosing ignorance. Misogyny and homophobia are central to the reproduction of violence in radical activist communities. Scratch a misogynist and you’ll find a homophobe. Scratch a little deeper and you might find the makings of a future informant (or someone who just destabilizes movements like informants do).” In Basic Politics of Movement Security, Sakai details the story of an FBI informant known as “Tom” who played a role in destabilizing the Black Panthers. Tom got in with the Black Panthers by appealing to patriarchal values. Sakai recounts Tom being called out by a group of local women on suspicion of being an informant, “Oh, its politics that’s so hard for me to learn, ‘cause I had no education… I wanna learn, I’m sorry, give me another chance.” Tom rebuffed in a way that is somewhat similar to the accountability dodging Mayes did during the live stream referenced above. “I am ignorant to a lot of shit, you know? …as far as being a straight male versus y’all community (the LGBTQ+ community), there's a lot of shit I don’t understand… I don’t primarily deal with y’all community.”

We don’t draw this comparison to accuse Vaun or the former TPR leadership of being outright informants. Practically speaking, there’s no way for anyone to know unless evidence explicitly demonstrates otherwise. The point is not to badjacket or drum up needless suspicion. However, we draw the comparison to accentuate that an individual's politics, actions, and consistency should be examined with a discerning, critical eye. Trust and access should not be easily given to those who consistently show up with weak link politics. Sakai states, “...Security is not about being macho vigilantes or being super suspicious… Security is about good politics. That's why it's so difficult. And it requires good politics from the movement as a whole. This is demanded of us… Bad politics covered for agents…it’s that bad politics - like opportunism, patriarchy, sexism, and class privilege - rips up the fabric of our terrain, the area of our radical culture, and weaves it instead into that terrain all their old oppressor politics, their values.”

[Defaced mural of Frank Nitty with the words “misogynistic coon” and “sexist” spray painted across it.]

TPR slowly unraveled throughout the rebellion. Despite appointing themselves revolutionaries, TPR operated in multitudes of obvious contradictions. They frequently partnered with local elected officials and pushed electoralism, lobbying, and reform as a method of “revolution”. State representatives such as David Bowen and Jonathan Brostoff publicly aligned themselves with TPR, and attended marches consistently. “They use their resources to help as many people as possible and to push the system to be accountable, especially to Black and Brown people,” said David Bowen to Milwaukee Magazine in September 2020. The excess media attention around the George Floyd Rebellion provided the perfect stage for stooges to bolster their platforms and appeal to potential voters. While electoralism and aligning oneself with the state may seem like a clear pitfall to an experienced organizer or theorist aligned with revolutionary/liberatory movements, it bears explaining to those less familiar. Aligning oneself with politicians, elements of the state, or electoralism is explicitly counter-revolutionary:

“It isn’t revolutionary or materialist to disconnect things. To disconnect revolutionary consciousness from revolutionizing activity, to build consciousness with political agitation and educational issue-making alone is idealistic rather than materialist. The effect has been reformism rather than revolution. When any election is held it will fortify rather than destroy the credibility of power brokers. When we participate in this election to win, instead of disrupt, we’re lending to its credibility, and destroying our own.” (George Jackson, Blood In My Eye, Pg. 26)

TPR’s leadership brought forth a movement of cooptation, empty symbolism, and misdirection. It is no surprise that Vaun Mayes has recently aligned himself with MPD post-rebellion, advocating for increased police surveillance through ShotSpotter technology. According to Sheperd Express, ShotSpotter is an acoustics-based technology that locates potential gunshots via impulsive sound. The contract with ShotSpotter has cost the City of Milwaukee $3.7 million over the past 13 years. “I’d like my ComForce team to get access to ShotSpotter because when we hear shootings in our neighborhoods, it is sometimes difficult to find the location...We are here to help the police and protect the residents, and we are expanding…I think we are setting a standard on how true collaboration and unity is supposed to look. We want to work with the police,” said Mayes, referring to Community Task Force (ComForce), a non-profit he helms which regularly partners with MPD.

[Photo of Frank Nitty next to a billboard advertisement of himself promoting voting, despite not being registered to vote himself.]

From a security culture standpoint, TPR’s practices were negligent and put protestors at risk. TPR’s marches often lacked street medics, leadership constantly live-streamed their whereabouts, and TPR provided little to no recourse, such as bail funds or free legal representation, for those arrested. Leadership also folded in with the likes of fascist groups such as the Bugaloo Boys, posing as street medics for TPR. The effects of this negligence culminated when the rebellion reached Wauwatosa and Kenosha. According to The Daily Montanan, Wauwatosa Police Department (WPD) managed to create a list of over 200 protestors, and a good portion of that list included members of TPR, as well as people who marched in solidarity with them. The list was created by Dominick Ratkowski, a crime analyst for WPD, and was utilized as early as mid-July 2020. The list was circulated amongst MPD, KPD (Kenosha Police Department), and the FBI office in Milwaukee. Up to 12 agencies received the list. Members of TPR were mailed tickets as high as $1300. The Daily Montanan reads, “On Aug. 28, Gibson (Milwaukee DA Investigator) asked for any lists or photographs of protesters to share with Kenosha. On Sept. 15 the list, which had been shared by Ratkowski, was sent to Kenosha PD Detective Pablo Torres, who worked for the department’s Special Investigations Unit at the time. ‘Here is an updated list of the subjects identified as members or associates of The People’s Revolution,’ Gibson’s email reads.” The screenshot below does not prove that Coleman or TPR leadership was feeding members' information to law enforcement agencies; it is mere conjecture, but we cannot dismiss it as a possibility.

[This post was made on September 1, 2020]

Regardless of whether the intent was malicious or not, a lack of security practices essentially had the same effect as an informant or wrecker: TPR members and leadership had been arrested at several points during the rebellion, and during any of these arrests, police could have confiscated their cellphones to collect intelligence on members and associates. This is why maintaining anonymity is key - never bring a cell phone to a protest, and never record yourself or others engaging in protest activity. Your identity should be your most protected asset. Cover tattoos, piercings, or other identifying features and always wear plain, unbranded clothing. Consider utilizing a pseudonym during protests. Always remember your cell phone and other pieces of technology can act as a cop, and avoid the potentiality of surveillance as much as possible.

Our advice for those participating in protests and riots is to return to analog styles of communication (written notes, utilizing walkie-talkies, communicating face-to-face, implementing coded language, etc). Detailed in episode 8 of the Alphabet Boys podcast, an FBI program known as “Social Media Exploitation” was utilized during the George Floyd Rebellion. This program allowed the FBI and local law enforcement agencies to mine social media accounts and create files on individuals without probable cause. The host of Alphabet Boys, Trevor Aaronson, goes on to detail the story of a woman charged with a crime for throwing her bike down near a police officer. She was captured on a police body camera and identified by law enforcement through social media posts, specifically by matching photos of her biking gear with her attire in the video. Police were able to attain a warrant to search her home and she was charged with attempted aggravated assault of a police officer, a second-degree felony. Police reforms, such as body cameras, are weaponized against those who dare to resist the state. If there is a will to charge you with a crime, there is a way. People should always keep in mind that their social media presence is likely being monitored and should try to practice good digital hygiene. Intentional mass arrests are an outdated tactic of the ‘60s and ‘70s; in the present day, arrests should be avoided if possible - you do not want to be logged into any state system as it makes it easier for law enforcement to target and track you for an indeterminate length of time.

Ultimately, TPR’s influence managed to assimilate many young people into their organization, placing youth directly in harm's way. This disillusioned, traumatized, and embittered many young people. Tyrone Randall, a participant in TPR’s protests, was pinned by police, left on the ground, and struck by a car. Tyrone was left with broken ribs, a broken pelvis and thousands of dollars in medical debt. TPR’s failures fostered an environment that made many reluctant to return to grassroots organizing as a whole. Former members and youth of TPR were quickly assimilated into the NPIC once the organization grew stagnant.

Post-George Floyd Rebellion: Where are these niggas?

Post-rebellion TPR quickly dissolved, and few of the former leadership remain active. In April 2022, Khalil Coleman was found guilty in the first degree for a robbery that took place in Kentucky in February of 2021. Coleman attempted to rob a trap house with the coerced aid of a minor and was later sentenced to 10 years in prison. Coleman maintains that he is innocent via Facebook posts, and he has been soliciting support for his appeal through an online petition.

Around August 2020, Frank Nitty led a March from Milwaukee to Washington D.C. In the immediate aftermath of this commemorative journey, several scandals began to surround Nitty. Rumors of Nitty stealing and mishandling donations circulated on social media, which led to some accusing him of using the funds to take white women on dates. Additionally, a Facebook group of “sister-wives,” boasting nearly 200 members at one point, formed around Nitty. All jokes aside, around November 2020, Nitty was accused of sexually assaulting four separate women. He was arrested and held in jail for a short period before his bail was posted, and charges were never brought against him. After 17 months, prosecutors decided that there was not enough evidence against Nitty between the four women who accused him and dropped the charges completely. Based on Nitty’s history of misogyny, we believe the women who accused him. Nitty’s whereabouts and current activity remain unclear, as he has seemingly disappeared from Milwaukee altogether.

Vaun Mayes remains active in Milwaukee’s non-profit and organizing scene: He currently remains a leader of ComForce, engaging in ambulance chasing. Vaun has continuously aligned himself with the police, local politicians and even noted transphobe/huckster Dr. Umar Johnson.

Conclusion: Wrapping this shit up

2020 demonstrated that Milwaukee is not politically prepared to resist the rising tide of fascism. It is a frightening position to be in considering that the RNC (Republican National Convention) is coming to Milwaukee summer of 2024. The fascism Black people in Milwaukee have had to face has primarily been institutionalized, moderated through politicians, policing, prisons and racist state/city policy. The city has rarely had to face off directly against fascist demonstrators. There is no dedicated Black Bloc or anti-fascist presence prepared to push back against the fascists that will come to gather in Milwaukee summer of 2024. The city is seeking to import nearly 4,500 officers to Milwaukee for the convention. Frankly, we wouldn’t recommend an outright counter-demonstration against the 2024 RNC. Marginalized people should stay home the day the RNC comes to town. Those interested in preparation should get street medic training, and learn how to treat gunshot wounds. Black communities situated directly near the RNC should prepare their neighborhood or block in community self-defense tactics. Prepare for violence but do not seek it out.

Strategically there are stronger opportunities for resisting. The youth prison coming to Milwaukee’s northwest side should be resisted, and the youths that remain captive in Lincoln Hills should not be abandoned in cages of the state. A non-carceral solution is desperately needed. We're not sure what the exact solution looks like for Milwaukee, but answers have already been conceptualized in writings such as Instead of Prisons by the Prison Research Education Action Project. The text details an experiment done in Massachusetts in 1972 to decarcerate the state’s juvenile prison system. The majority of youths returned home on parole, some were sent to a local university to work with a student advocate for a month. The text continues, “The administrative system was decentralized, with seven regional offices set up to make all decisions about individual youth placements and needs. Almost all services for the juveniles were contracted from private agencies, resulting in the creation of a wide range of community programs.” It advocates cutting ties with the criminal justice system, including instances of parole and probation, releasing prisoners to community-controlled support and peer groups on a case-by-case basis instead. The writers advocate that instead of serving the rest of their sentences, former prisoners should be involved in restoration processes. The strategies mentioned above are intermediary steps towards prison abolition. The authors note:

“We caution strongly that all interim as well as long-range strategies be considered only after conferring with knowledgeable prisoner and ex-prisoner groups. Interim policies crucially affect the lives of prisoners still inside the system and many ex-prisoners on the streets. What seems a paltry and therefore unacceptable change to those outside the wall, might be a highly significant and desirable change for those who are caged or under control in the streets. If there are differences in strategies between prisoners who have experienced the day to day reality of prisons and prison changers who have not, take the time to hammer out differences and reach agreement. Strategies and tactics that are not in unity weaken the total movement toward systems change.”

People interested in building a truly revolutionary movement should study the principles and histories of anarchism, the Anarkata turn, Black radicals, and anti-state communism within groups. White organizers need to step back and follow the lead of Black radicals or get out of the way. Deprioritize the visibility of individual organizers and the mindset of individualized leadership or hierarchies. The aim should be an anonymous and autonomous mass movement of free association that centers issues of the most oppressed, the most marginalized, the problems of the lumpen/lumpen-proletariat (Black, QTGNC folks, those living with disabilities, the poor, the houseless, etc…). The organizing methodology outlined in Move Like Mycorrhizae from Afrofuturist Abolitionists of America, demonstrates best practices. Organizing in this way provides a layer of security and protection from opportunists, clout chasers, and potential informants or state agents.

We can’t tell you what to study, what to do, or how to organize. We can only suggest that anyone who reads this zine study past and present liberation movements of colonized people, both within and outside of the United States. Learn where others have failed or succeeded. If the conditions are right, repeat what has proven successful and try not to repeat mistakes. It's the principle of Sankofa; meaning “go back and fetch it” - take what is useful, leave behind what is not. Studying, organizing, and remaining principled in the liberation struggle is a lifelong commitment. We’ll never stop learning; movements will change, tactics will change. New theories and organizing methodologies will need to be established from the foundation of what previous Black radicals left behind. Studying and organizing alongside BARs (Black Anarchic Radicals) and the Anarkata turn guided us to our current political trajectory. We don’t believe in authoritarian methodologies, cults of personality, or that Black people need a “leader” to effectively organize and win. There will be no vanguard to lead the masses to revolution, nor is it the role of the political theorist.

Frantz Fanon stated,

“To educate the masses politically does not mean, cannot mean, making a political speech. What it means is to try, relentlessly and passionately, to teach the masses that everything depends on them; that if we stagnate it is their responsibility, and that if we go forward it is due to them too, that there is no such thing as a demiurge, that there is no famous man who will take responsibility for everything, but that the demiurge is the people themselves and the magic hands are finally only the hands of the people.”

As the tide of fascism rises, as climate change accelerates, as technocratic corporations advance, as living conditions under capitalism worsen - political and state repression will become more visceral. We saw it in 2020, with state agents snatching protestors off the streets in unmarked vehicles. We saw it in Kenosha when local law enforcement stood in league with fascist armed militias. We’re seeing it in motion with the development of Cop City in Atlanta, a project with international implications to further militarize the police, preparing them for urban warfare with citizens. If there is any time to gain urgency, to connect and organize within your community, it’s now. The politics of capitalism, of fascism, is ultimately a politic of slow death and suffering for the many in exchange for short-term gain and excess for a few. We hope to see the end of this fetid, vile system in this lifetime or the next.

[missmeikakuna]

Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 6- Karen x Manager [END]

The sixth and final chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Description: After being denied a discount at a supermarket, single mother Karen demands to see the manager. Much to her horror, the manager is hot enough to be her first woman crush. But Karen would rather join a pyramid scheme than deal with her feelings, much less admit them.

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 6: Karen and The Manager vs Society

Kyle, Sharon and Carol sat by the dining table. ‘What’s up with mum?’ Carol asked, stirring the chocolate powder in her cup of milk.

It was nighttime and Karen had already gone to sleep. The three children were lit by the flashlight feature on their phones, unwilling to turn on the kitchen lights and risk awakening their mother. The room still reeked of lavender and honey, which would be nice if it wasn’t so potent. Karen had a habit of leaving the oil diffuser on for hours.

‘It’s that dumb business she’s started,’ Kyle answered, slamming his fist against the table.

Sharon nodded. ‘She tried to put oil in my ear last night. Claimed it could help me get to sleep. As if I could sleep if I’m worried about getting shit poured in my ear.’

‘So… what do we do?’ Kyle asked. The other two shrugged, then Carol took a sip of her homemade chocolate milk. Sharon absentmindedly tapped the placemat in front of her. They collectively sighed.

The next day, Karen came home from work with bags under her eyes. She collapsed on her bed but forced herself to take out her phone and check her WonderLiving page on Friendful. 

Kyle, Sharon and Carol burst through the doorway to her bedroom and Kyle stood in front of the door to block Karen from leaving. Carol and Sharon swooped to Karen’s side.

‘What are you guys doing?’

Sharon ‘Well… you see, we’re concerned about-’

‘Your new business sucks,’ Carol interjected.

Sharon slapped Carol’s shoulder. ‘Carol!’

‘What? It’s true. Mum, you keep saying you can’t buy us stuff because you’re trying to get your business off the ground. Why do you even need it? What are you even selling?’

Karen started her rehearsed spiel about the benefits of WonderLiving essential oils. Kyle’s eyelids quickly began to lower.

‘Are you making any money from these oils?’ Sharon asked.

Karen paused, then shook her head. ‘But I’m sure soon the money will start pouring in!’

Carol groaned. ‘Why did you need the extra money? We were fine before you joined this Wonder… whatever.’

‘Well, you know how expensive groceries are now, since I had to change where I shop.’

‘Just apologise to the supermarket,’ Sharon suggested. ‘That was ages ago.’

Karen crossed her arms and was silent for a moment, her face a blank slate. ‘I may or may not have had another… outburst… in front of the same manager.’

‘Then apologise to that manager.’

‘No way am I talking to that temptress Frema again!’

Carol raised an eyebrow, noting the redness of Karen’s cheeks. ‘Temptress?’ The memory of Karen’s behaviour upon first meeting Frema lit up like a lightbulb in her mind. She held in her laughter and looked at her siblings to see if they had any clue what was going on. 

That question brought Karen to her feet. ‘Get out of my room,’ she said as she reached past Kyle to grab the doorknob. Kyle stood resolute, not budging an inch.

‘It’s okay,’ Carol said to Kyle, who moved on command. Despite Karen telling her children to leave, she was the one who exited the room.

Sharon sat down on the bed. ‘What was that all about?’

Carol paused to think. Was she crazy? ‘Temptress… did this manager tempt mum? Into what, exactly?’ She looked to her siblings to see if they picked up on her cues.

Sharon lifted her legs until she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her eyes grew three sizes and her jaw hit the floor.

‘But Mum’s not a lesbian!’

‘I never said she was.’

‘Wait, Mum’s a lesbian?’ Kyle asked with the face of an F-grade student given the Mensa test.

‘Either way, we need to talk to this manager,’ Carol said, her eyebrows low with determination.

Sharon pointed out, ‘And get her to do what? Even if Mum goes back to the supermarket, she might still want to stay in that company.’

Kyle looked at his hands like they were fading away. ‘Woah, woah, woah. But if Mum’s a lesbian, then how was I born?’ He patted down his body to check it was still there.

Carol ignored him to continue discussing with Sharon. ‘Well, if my deduction’s right, then this manager might be the last person left who can talk some sense into her. She might listen. Or hell. She could be tempted to leave Wonder-whatever.’

Sharon shook her head. ‘We don’t even know when this woman’s on her shift. How do we find her and convince her to help?’

‘Listen to me!’ Kyle yelled. Carol and Sharon turned their heads. ‘Is Mum a lesbian?’

The twins shrugged in perfect synchronisation. ‘Anyway,’ Carol said. ‘Time to make a plan.’

Frema pushed the trolleys into each other, struggling to get all of them to fit. A single drop of sweat slid down her forehead. After wiping it away, she smiled at customers and began visiting each aisle to inspect the employees’ recovery work. 

A bland and repetitive but vaguely upbeat pop song played through the speakers. This should have been fine, as Frema was no music snob despite her personal tastes. That being said, hearing it for the fifth time in an hour would turn anyone into a hipster who funnel-chugs lowercase ambient albums.

Sunlight burst through the windows and glass doors but the building was still a little chilly, thanks to the frequently opened but rarely closed fridge doors in the frozen produce section. As she made her way through the aisles, she made sure she closed every single one of those fridge doors.

This was a rather average work day.

The company phone buzzed in Frema’s pant pocket. She immediately took it out. ‘Welcome to Wilco’s. Frema speaking. How may I help you?’

‘Oh, you’re there,’ Carol said. ‘How long will your shift last? We’ll be there as soon as possible.’

Frema’s eyebrows met in confusion. ‘Could I have your name? I’m afraid I don’t recognise your voice.’

‘Oh, you probably don’t remember us.’

Kyle had to butt in the conversation. ‘We’re Karen’s kids.’

‘I see… is there anything you need?’

‘Nope!’ Sharon replied. ‘We’ll see you soon.’ She hung up.

Frema stared at the phone in her hand, dumbfounded. She released a quick chuckle before pushing the phone back into her pocket and continuing her inspection.

It wasn’t long before the three kids arrived. Carol asked a staff member where Frema was. Frema wound up recognising the three pretty quickly. They were the spitting image of Karen.

‘Can I help you?’

Kyle said, ‘Maybe.’ His face was still shocked as he tried to understand what his mother’s sexuality was.

‘Yes!’ Carol yelped, stepping on Kyle’s foot. Kyle yelped even louder at the shoe on his foot. He glared at her but she ignored him. ‘We need you to get Mum to leave a company she keeps spending money on.’

Frema raised a single eyebrow and wore an awkward grin. ‘I’m not sure I’d be much help with that. I doubt she’d-’

‘But you have to try-’

‘I did. I can’t deal with her anymore.’ She pulled a line of items forward on the shelf. ‘She doesn’t listen to reason.’

‘But you’re a temptress!’ Sharon argued a little too loud. She lowered her head as shoppers turned theirs. ‘I mean, that’s what Mum said. Can’t you tempt her to leave the pyramid scheme she’s in? She won’t hear what we have to say.’

That word shot into Frema’s brain like a pinball, bouncing around it faster and faster. Temptress. What a word. Frema’s heart couldn’t help but grow wings and gently fly up. She closed her eyes and thought.

Following half a minute of deliberation, she spoke. ‘Fine. I’ll give it one more shot. Where’s your mum? My shift ends in a few minutes.’

Once her shift was over, she drove the kids to Karen’s home. They walked up to the front door and Carol knocked on it.

When Karen opened it, her face went through the entire spectrum of emotions. She eventually settled on fear and began to close the door. Frema held the edge of the door with the grip of a coconut crab. Karen may have been an unstoppable force, but Frema was an immovable object. The result turned out to be an explosion.

‘Leave me alone!’ Karen screeched.

‘Not until I have a good talk with you!’

‘And what? Judge my life while you live the worst possible lifestyle?’

‘Coming from the woman who called me a temptress!’

Karen gulped. She sighed, looked at her feet and opened the door. A voice unfamiliar to Frema entered her ears from behind Karen.

‘Oh, is someone late to the party? You’re not going to give the whole presentation again, are you? That’s a common rookie mistake.’

Something about that voice and its platitudinously plastic tone ground against Frema’s ears. It was a sensation akin to hearing the familiar squeak of a roller shopping basket scraping against the floor. She looked up and saw a middle-aged woman, taller than even Frema herself, with a blonde bun whose tightness highlighted her extensive use of botox.

Behind her, a gathering of similarly aged women stood in the living room like they were surrounding a water cooler at work, wine glasses in their hands. Most of them had a haircut eerily like Karen’s.

The bun-wearing woman, herself holding a wine glass in one hand, shook Frema’s with her other. Her smile was positively Stepfordian. 

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Brenda. Did you want to try some of Karen’s products?’ Her wine flipped like a pancake in her glass as she swung her arm towards a full table of WonderLiving products. ‘There are still some left to buy.’ Despite keeping the same plastic smile, her voice smirked when she said that last part. 

Frema finally stepped through the door, inadvertently pushing it into Karen. ‘Frema. You must be Karen’s upline.’ The air between Frema and Brenda was like the surface of still water. Karen’s shoulders felt much the same way. She smiled big enough to show her teeth but not enough to be convincing. The only movement she could make was turning her head from Frema to Brenda and back again like she was watching a tennis match.

Brenda blinked her wide but dead eyes. ‘I see you’re already familiar with network marketing. How wonderful! You seem like you’d be a good fit as a distributor like Karen.’

‘Oh, no, I really couldn’t-’

‘Anyone can! That’s the beauty of working at WonderLiving.’

Frema laughed but its lack of ugliness caused Karen’s body to clam up even more. ‘Well, you know the saying. Just because they can doesn’t mean they should.’

‘Where do you work? I’m sure you could use some extra cash.’

‘I’m a supermarket manager.’

The smirk transferred from Brenda’s voice to her face, finally showing itself. ‘Well, you definitely sound like you should work at WonderLiving,’ she said as she took another sip of her wine. Her words cut deep, surprising Frema. She should have been used to this kind of thinking by now, and yet-

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

The two battlers turned their heads towards Karen, who looked akin to a deer angry at the headlights.

Brenda swallowed the wine in her mouth. ‘Well, who would want to work at that kind of place when you could be your own boss and earn a lot more? A supermarket manager…’ Brenda shivered before stepping towards a finger food table. She wiggled her fingers but decided not to eat anything Karen had prepared. ‘Though I guess you can tell a lot by the company you keep.’

Karen’s shoulders rose, she spluttered drops of wine left inside her mouth and she began lending a magpie’s eye to the nest that was her table of essential oils.

‘A supermarket manager is a perfectly fine job!’

‘Do you really believe that?’ Brenda asked.

‘Of course, I do! Frema works hard and is making a life for herself, unlike SOME people! You don’t know her, so stop talking shit!’

The crowd of bob-haired women gasped. Even Brenda was taken aback. ‘How dare you talk to me like that. Let’s not forget who helped you gather people for this Pharaoh’s Court. You couldn’t do it without me.’

Karen looked down in shame. Then she felt Frema’s comforting hand on her shoulder and looked back up with fire in her eyes.

‘Yeah, you’re right, and I think it’s time for them all to leave! Go! Shoo! Shoo!’ She stormed into the middle of the gathering and shooed them away just as she said. She looked at the essential oil table and raised her arm to push them all to the ground. She saw Frema’s embarrassed stare and brought her arm back to her side.

After closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, Karen said, ‘I’d rather not share my home with someone who doesn’t appreciate hard workers like Frema.’ 

Brenda glared at Frema before grabbing her purse and shutting the front door behind her. Frema opened her mouth but Karen held up her pointer finger with her eyes closed again and her lips pursed.

She said nothing but led Frema to the study. There was no way in hell she was going to take her to her bedroom.

Naturally, once the kids finally walked into the house, they kept their distance from the study but listened in. Karen, to their luck, didn’t notice. ‘What do you want? Did you enjoy ruining my party?’ she asked Frema as she plopped down onto the swivel chair.

‘I want you to be honest with me.’ Karen swirled in her chair until she was facing away from Frema. ‘I’d also like you to be more mature, but we can’t have everything, can we?’ A groan jumped out from Karen’s lips. ‘Why did you join a pyramid scheme?’

Karen whipped back around to face Frema. ‘It’s not a pyramid scheme! It’s network marketing. Pyramid schemes are illegal!’

Frema considered arguing over this point but decided to move on. ‘Okay, then why did you join a network marketing company? And don’t give me a sales pitch.’

Karen started to turn back but Frema grabbed the top of the chair and pulled it towards her. She leaned down until their faces were inches apart. Karen couldn’t form words when confronted with Frema’s horrifying beauty. All she could do was stare silently at Frema’s lips.

Frema’s whispers tickled Karen’s own lips. ‘What changed in your life to make you decide that?’

Before Karen could think, she kissed Frema. The other woman’s lips were soft and the kiss was delicate, as if they both feared the other would disappear if they went too hard.

Frema broke the kiss almost immediately. ‘Nope. Less kissing, more talking.’

‘I knew it!’ Carol exclaimed. Karen’s eyes popped out of her sockets. Frema slid open the door fast enough to make a thud against the frame.

‘Shoo! Get outta here, you weirdos!’ The three kids obliged. With a sigh, Frema shut the door again and rubbed the side of her face. ‘Your kids are… something else.’

Karen nodded, her head hung in the greatest shame she had ever felt. ‘They know… they can’t! I’m not even…’

Frema kneeled down and placed a soft hand on Karen’s. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to come out as anything if you’re not ready.’

Karen shook her head. ‘I was supposed to forget. I was supposed to do something, anything, to forget about you.’

‘What makes you think you could forget this ugly mug?’ Frema’s gorgeously awful laugh returned.

Karen gradually joined in despite disagreeing, then gradually stopped. ‘I haven’t known you very long. I barely-’

‘And that’s completely fine,’ Frema replied, slowly sliding her hand up the other woman’s arm. ‘We can get to know each other over dinner, maybe. Just, please leave that company. I beg you. Your kids are so worried and I hate what it turned you into.’

Karen pushed Frema’s hand away. ‘Turned me into? You already had every reason to hate me. I’m a mess who can’t handle any change. All I can do is knock things over and leave.’

‘Can’t argue with that. But you know what I discovered when you complimented my jacket?’ Frema brushed some of Karen’s hair behind her ear. ‘Even the worst customers can change, and maybe that means I’ve been able to change myself. Trust me, you’re not the first bad customer I’ve run into. When they left, I always saw them as complete scum who could never be redeemed. But you listened to me when I was complaining about my life. No one’s really done that for me before. Hell, look what you did just now at your party!’

Tears rolled down Karen’s cheeks and Frema wiped them away. Karen asked, ‘But what about all the stock I bought? No one wants it.’

‘I’m sure we can figure something out. But buying more stock won’t solve the problem.’

Karen nodded and wrapped her arms around Frema’s neck, pulling her closer. She continued sobbing as she whispered thank yous and sorries into her shoulder.

She could not sell the stock, but she concluded that the essential oils smelled nice enough to use in moderation. She diffused a bottle of oil every couple of days, enough to lessen the stock without polluting the air her children breathed.

Every weekend or so, she and Frema would go on a date. They spent a chunk of their time together whining about their lives, but they both listened to each other intently. By the end of the date, they had moved on to chatting about anything that brought them joy, from a new tv show to a series of photos Frema was proud of taking. It was as if they had forgotten what they had whinged about at the start.

After seeing sparkles in Karen’s eyes when she talked about the things Carol and Sharon had built, Frema suggested that she try woodworking again. At first, Karen shook her head and laughed awkwardly.

‘I couldn’t.’

‘But do you want to?’

Karen couldn’t help but nod.

A few days later, she invited Frema over without telling her what she wanted to do. As soon as she came in, Frema was greeted by the smell of wood chips. Karen handed her a hammer and led her to the backyard, where the whole family was building a dollhouse.

‘If I sell these, I can make back the money I spent at that....’ Karen’s words trailed off and a blush appeared on her face.’

‘That pyramid scheme?’ Carol asked with a chuckle.

The blush got redder. ‘Yes, that pyramid scheme. Now quiet down and do your job!’

The three kids snickered. Frema chuckled and gave Karen a comforting kiss before joining her in hammering nails into the dollhouse. It took a couple of hours, but they eventually created a little home for themselves.

[crow-rodriguez]

Chapter Two: I'm Fucking Gay

A few years later, we entered Junior High School which was going to be two of the most traumatic years for all four of us. I was so nervous as we walked through the doors to the Junior High wing of our school. “It’s so big…” RaeLynn said, sounding very nervous as she looked around. Her beautiful green and blue eyes darted around like lasers. 

“That’s what she said,” KelHani said, laughing as she made her crude joke. She had developed a very perverted sense of humor over the years, I always found it hilarious. “Kel!” RaeLynn said, “the sisters will hear you!” she scolded, pushing her big, nerdy glasses back up as she looked for her locker. She eventually found it and smiled, “Rosa! We’re locker neighbors!!” she squealed as her and Rosanna did a little dance.

I chuckled as KelHani and I kept walking down the hallway, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that KelHani was trying to pull the skirt of her uniform down, “you struggling?” I asked her.

KelHani nodded, “yeah, I don’t know why Mrs. D thinks I fit into the same size as RaeLynn, she’s so short and I got my dad’s height” she said as she took her blazer off and tied it around her waist, she had been working out with her aunt a lot lately and had developed some muscles that made my heart start racing.

I nodded, laughing a bit. “Selena has always been strange, give her a break… the lady has cancer” I said, trying to keep from showing how nervous she sometimes made me. I had developed a crush on her which was a strange thing for me since I didn't know if something was wrong with me, especially since I also had a crush on RaeLynn. 

KelHani shrugged and nodded, “I guess you're right. Honestly, I was thinking of just wearing Dya's uniform since he still has it stashed in his closet somewhere…” she told me, her eyes looked ahead with the same cold, piercing glare she always had. 

I blinked, “I don't think that's allowed, Kel” I said, thinking a bit. 

KelHani smirked and pulled out the fucking student handbook from her backpack, turning to the dress code, “paragraph three, subsection two: ‘students must where the school uniform.’ It says nothing about which uniform. It just says the school uniform, so I could wear Dya's uniform if I wanted to” she explained, her smirk turned into a smile that I didn't see often. She was always cold and distant which was understandable, she had a difficult life before she started living with her aunt. Fuck, she was nearly pull into the foster system until Kyren, her dad's older sister, swooped in and took full custody of KelHani and Dyamond when KelHani was three and Dya was ten. I'd never known the extent of the things she suffered when she lived with her parents or the extent of how much she still suffered, but I knew she still suffered and it broke my heart to think she thought she had to suffer in silence and all alone. 

I nodded as I found my locker, “then I better see you in that uniform tomorrow, Kel” I told her as I stopped walking in front of my locker. 

“oh, don't worry, Sweetheart. You will,” she told me as she walked away, leaving me stunned and flustered as I blinked while looking at my locker. 

I calmed down then opened my locker to put my bag into it. I looked at the bracelet that Tia Isabel bought me, hoping it would bring me luck like she claimed. I was minding my business when I heard a familiar, grating voice next to me.

“Wow, did she just call you ‘sweetheart’? That's so disgustin’!” Erika Artois said, making me look up from my list to glare at her. 

I glared at her, scowling as I rolled my eyes, “she was joking, Erika. Calm down” I said bluntly. 

Erika scoffed, “not only does Kelly, Kelsey, whatever her name is, look like a freak but she's also a sinner! She's definitely not getting into Heaven!” She said, looking disgusted. 

I'd be lying if I said that her words didn't make my jaw drop, I felt my blood boiling and quickly slammed my locker shut as I started walking to get my schedule. I felt like I was going to deck her in the face if I didn't walk away from her. 

Lunch finally came and I was already exhausted. I sat at a table in the courtyard, waiting for KelHani, Rosa, and RaeLynn. I looked at Rosa and RaeLynn when they walked over.

Rosa sat down and smiled, “guess who has a crush on a rich boy?” She asked, having a shit-eating grin on her face. 

“You?” KelHani asked as she sat down next to me.

RaeLynn sighed and gestured to herself while her cheeks flushed pink, “and it's not a crush, I just said that Danyol is kinda cute” she said, nudging Rosa with her elbow.

I blinked, “Danyol Williamson?” I asked as I started eating the leftover Pork Ropa Vieja that Ethan packed me for lunch. “I think he's in my math class, I don't see what's so cute about him,” I said, feeling a twinge of jealousy.

Rosa gestured at me like I was the smartest bitch in the room, “thank you, Drake is way cuter right?” she asked me.

“Who?” I asked through a mouth full of food.

“Danyol's brother, he's in 8th grade” KelHani told me, “he runs with the Bloody Birdseyes, I think” she added. 

We were talking and laughing when Erika came up and ‘accidentally’ spilled her tray all over KelHani which made her stand up, completely pissed.

“Oops! I'm sooo sorry, I totally didn't mean to!” Erika said in the most sarcastic and bitchy voice ever. I could tell she was trying to hide her evil grin.

KelHani looked at her and glared, “yeah, you're totally fucking sorry” she spat.

“Hey, back off my girl” Erika’s boyfriend said, stepping up and standing toe to toe with KelHani, “you worthless ni-”  before he could finish speaking, KelHani’s fist was pounded into his face and he fell backwards.

Rosa and RaeLynn stood up as I watched in both horror and amusement, watching KelHani pummel the idiot before she was ripped off by Danyol, who I thought was trying to play “hero”.

KelHani was sent home and suspended for a week after she beat Erika's white trash boyfriend in the lunchroom, the day went on though. I got home and collapsed onto my bed, not caring about my shrieking mother who was screeching Because my father had slept with his television daughter who was fourteen. 

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? YOU LET THAT LITTLE SLUT SEDUCE YOU!?” I heard my mother screech from downstairs, feeling disgusted that she was actually blaming the girl who was only a year older than me. 

I laid in my bed, looking at the ceiling for a bit before I went to the kitchen to get some food. I grabbed a soda and a mini bag of chips then slumped down on the couch as I started eating.

“You have a dance competition in two weeks, Valentina. Don't be gaining weight, your costume needs to fit,” my mother told me as she walked in and saw that I was snacking.

“I'll be fine, Mami. It's just a bag of chips,” I said, looking at her. 

“Don't back talk to me, Valentina. I'm not in a good mood. Your sister has already gained two pounds and now she won't fit into her outfits for her fashion show next week!” She vented, “and your brother keeps canceling his photoshoots so he can take more acting opportunities, so I'm not happy right now!”

“E is nineteen, Mami. You can't boss him around anymore,” I muttered, not understanding why I was the one she was venting to like this.

She looked at me before she walked over and smacked me across the face, “talk back to me again and we're sending you to boarding school, Valentina Rodriguez!” She scolded me.

I nodded as I got up, “I'm sorry, Mami” I said as I threw away my chips and walked out the door with my soda. I waited until I was a block away to start crying while I walked to KelHani’s house.

I arrived at her house and just walked in, suddenly feeling so safe and wanted the second I walked through the door. I could hear Eminem playing as I made my way through the house to the living room.

“Ayooo!! Valentina is in da house!!” Dyamond said as he saw me, making Rylyn and Ethan look over their shoulders at me. Ethan got a concerned look on his face when he saw my puffy eyes and the red handprint on my cheek.

“H-hey, guys…” I said as I walked over to sit down, seeing Ethan's boyfriend, Andy, was asleep on his lap. 

“What's wrong, Mija?” Ethan asked me as I sat down, signaling for Dyamond to turn the music down. 

“Mami smacked me for talking back to her,” I said as I instantly began to relax.

Rylyn looked at me as she let her daughter, Violetta, waddle around happily, “damn, need an ice pack?” She asked.

I shook my head, jumping a bit when KelHani came up behind me and scared me as a joke, “gah! KEL!!” I said, glaring at her “asshole!” 

KelHani was laughing as she sat next to me, noticing the handprint on my cheek, “Who the fuck did that to you, Val?” She asked, her eyes became piercing and angry. 

“My mom, it's nothing, Kel,” I said, looking at my hands. I blushed as she grabbed my hand and pulled me with her.

“V and I are going to my room!” She said as she sneakily grabbed two beers from the fridge then walked to her room with me following. 

“Are we supposed to have those?” I asked, sitting on her bed.

“Who cares? I assume you're staying here tonight anyways and it's one beer. My aunt won't give a shit as long as we're being safe” KelHani told me as she opened one of the beers and handed it to me, I took the beer and took a sip. I heard her laugh as I made a sour face.

“What the fuck? This tastes like shit, Kel,” I told her, finding myself taking another sip. 

KelHani nodded as she took a swig from her own beer, “I know. But it's fun shit,” she smiled as she sat next to me.

“How long did you get suspended for?” I asked, looking at her.

She sighed, “a week, and Matthew didn't even get any reprimand for almost calling me a fucking slur. Probably because the headmaster didn't want to upset his precious princess Erika,” she rolled her eyes as she spoke, sitting back a bit.

I blinked, “that's so stupid. She literally poured hot-ass soup on you! That's literally assault. You should report her!” I said, starting on a tangent without even realizing it. I was rambling for a while before I realized that KelHani was just staring at me with a smile on her face, “what?” I asked, feeling confused. 

“You're just cute when you ramble,” she said, cupping my face and kissing me which caught me completely off-guard. 

I froze for a second, my face becoming very red as I melted into the kiss and returned her passion. 

The kiss lasted for several moments, becoming quite heated until someone knocked on KelHani’s door and we quickly separated from one another. 

KelHani cleared her throat “wassup?” She asked, looking at the door as Kyren, KelHani’s awesome aunt, walked into the room. 

Kyren looked at me then at KelHani, “this is about the social worker, you ok with her being here while we talk about her?” She asked.

“Yeah, I'm ok with V being here. I trust her,” KelHani said, smiling at me with the same, rare smile. 

Kyren nodded, “Sarah wants us to schedule an appointment to talk about you seeing your mom again. She's outta rehab, she's wanting to reconnect with you,” she said, looking at KelHani. “I told her that I'd talk to you about it, you're thirteen and you're old enough to know your own choices. So what do you think?” She asked, letting KelHani Think.

“I'll go to the meeting, but I'm not going to decide anything yet,” KelHani said, her smile faded as her voice seemed to fill with venom. 

Kyren nodded, “got it, Kiddo. Also, hey, Val. Having fun kissing my niece?” She asked, smiling a bit.

I blushed, seeing that KelHani also blushed brightly,“ummm… y-yeah…”  I said, knowing that lying was pointless. 

“Good, I'll let you two lovebirds get back to cuddling. Just no funny business,” Kyren said as she closed the door when she left.

KelHani sighed and laid back against her back, looking at me, “can we cuddle?” She asked.

I nodded and crawled over, laying against her as I looked at her, “your mom's in rehab?” I asked.

KelHani nodded, “yeah, or well, she was apparently. She was addicted to Cocaine for a while when Dya and I were kids. My dad was a gambler and an alcoholic, he was often violent and abusive. He almost killed Dya and I one day. I found my mom's cocaine and I copied what I saw her do, ended up overdosing and my dad beat Dya and I after we got home from the hospital, for being stupid apparently. Then CPS took us and that's when we started living with Aunt Ky. Haven't seen my mom or dad since. I don't want to see my dad, but I don't know how I feel about my mom yet” she explained, looking at the ceiling.

I looked at her, my heart breaking for her as I heard the pain she suffered through. I wanted to say something but I had no idea what to say, “Kel…” I said, My voice was  barely above a whisper.

KelHani put a finger to my mouth and shook her head, “just cuddle me,” she said softly as she cupped my face to kiss me. I nodded, snuggling her as I finally admitted to myself silently. I'm fucking gay…

[alpacaparkaseok]

If You’ll Have Me || KSJ

➣pairing: Jin x reader (established relationship)

➣premise: Kim Seokjin. The love of your life. Your boyfriend of three years. The man who insists on taking you to the zoo for every milestone in your lives together. There’s just one thing...you have no idea what you’re celebrating this time.

➣warnings/tags: fluff, SFW, we live for Jin in this household if you haven’t noticed

➣word count: 4.3k

➣commissioned by @delacyrose224 as a part of army for AAPI! thank you so much for requesting this, I loveddddd writing this little story. I’m so soft for this man. you always have the best ideas!!

“We look like idiots.”

“Yeah, well,” Jin shrugs, handing you yet another t-shirt to try on. “That can’t be helped.”

You gasp, snatching the shirt away from him and heading toward the fitting room. “Rude! I meant with all of these ridiculous clothes!”

Jin’s laughter follows you as you close the door and throw on what feels like the thirtieth gaudy t-shirt from the zoo’s souvenir shop. This one is vivid blue, which you suppose is an upgrade from the caution-cone orange Jin had you trying on a few minutes ago.

“Ok,” you call out, “ready?”

“Ready!”

Peeking out of the little room, you notice Jin sitting on the little sofa in the waiting area. He grins up at you, already wearing a matching shirt.

“Do you like it?” He asks, lips pouting out a bit as he waits for your answer.

Avoiding looking in the mirror for too long, you manage a feeble, “Yeah…it’s not as bad as the others, I guess.”

That’s all Jin needs to hear. With a clap of his hands he’s jumping up and herding you toward the front of the shop. You don’t miss the amused glances people are giving you and your boyfriend, who pauses to grab a couple of baseball caps.

“Let’s see…” he brushes some of your hair back before sliding the cap onto your head, stepping back to get the full effect. “Perfect. And, it’ll protect your scalp from the sun!”

Like a couple of walking mannequins, the two of you head up to pay for the clothes you’re now wearing. Jin has a backpack on hand for your other clothes, which you unceremoniously shove inside before zipping it shut.

The cashier offers you a wide smile as she assists with the transaction. You know what she’s thinking:do I pity or envy her?

Honestly, it’s a toss up. Of course, there’s the fact that Jin often makes you do ridiculous things (exhibit A, bright blue zoo t-shirts with roaring lions on the front and waddling penguins on the back), but then again, you don’t stop him.

Rather, you egg him on. There’s something just so adorable about the way he gets so excited for such simple things. And for today, it’s over a trip to the zoo.

Of course, you’re excited as well. Mainly to see the meerkats, which Jin will never let you live down. When you told him that the meerkats were your favorite animal, he stopped and stared at you for an unnervingly long amount of time. You had begun to wonder if you’d somehow upset him when he burst out laughing, claiming that he could see it.

“See what?” You seethed.

“The resemblance,” Jin choked out between laughter. “You’re basically a meerkat in human form!”

With a smack to his chest, you glared at him and said, “Yeah well…you’re a walrus! Yeah, a walrus!”

Needless to say, he was extremely offended and didn’t speak to you for hours. In fact, the only thing that had brought him out of his misery had been you dragging him to the souvenir shop and giving him permission to get whatever he wanted. That apparently included getting you some items as well.

“Ah, it’s such a nice day,” Jin remarks the second you step outside. His hand slips into your seamlessly, a testament to the countless times you’ve repeated the action. “Perfect day at the zoo.”

Indeed it is. The sun is shining, there’s a cool breeze licking at the nape of your neck, and there’s fewer people than you’d expected to be here on a day like today.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it’s Tuesday morning. It would appear that most people – the sane ones, at least – are busy with work and other weekday obligations. Neither of you are, though. Jin has a rare day off and he’d had the day circled on the calendar for well over a month at this point. You had made sure a long time ago to have this day off.

“When’s the last time you went to the zoo?” You ask, glancing sidelong at your boyfriend.

Perhaps it’s his undeniable good looks or the fact that you hardly get to see each other due to your hectic schedules, but you can’t help the little sense of wonder that comes over you as your survey him in the morning sun. Somehow, you really have no idea how he does it, he manages to pull off the shirt and hat. Sure, he looks silly. But he owns the look.

It’s a wonder that he’s yours.

“Hmmm…” Jin ponders for a moment. “I think it was the last time we went together.”

You gasp. “That was like…three years ago! You seriously haven’t been since?”

Laughing at your shocked expression, Jin shakes his head. “Nope.”

Three years ago, close to the time when the two of you had first started dating, Jin wanted to take you out on a special date to celebrate the beginning of your relationship. Without telling you where you were going, you had assumed there would be a nice restaurant, maybe some sort of play or whatever else it is that fancy people do when they first begin to date.

Oh, how wrong you’d been.

Assuming that just because Jin was…well, rich, you couldn’t be more wrong about his taste in dates. When he had parked in the zoo lot and led you through the entrance, you had been waiting for the punchline.

There wasn’t any. No, he had simply wanted to spend the entire day with you. Walking around, having an “excuse to hold your hand” in Jin’s words, and somehow making you believe that crocodiles’ tails could change color when it danger. (don’t ask)

“I still think that it would be so cool to live up there,” you point to the houses in the distance, overlooking the zoo. There was a neighborhood of stately homes just a little way’s away which the two of you had snooped on after your date to the zoo all those years ago.

Jin chuckles quietly. “What if a tiger escapes and ends up in the yard?”

You shrug. “I guess it makes for a good excuse to always keep a steak in the fridge. I’ll lure it away with that.”

“Absolute genius,” your boyfriend hums, making you scrunch up your nose at his obvious sarcasm. “So, where should we begin?”

“At the beginning?”

Laughing jovially (honestly, the best thing about Jin is the fact that he thinks you’re funny), the two of you set down a little path which will take you to a butterfly exhibit.

“Agh, I forgot how hot it is in here,” you mutter the second you step inside. Plants of all different shapes and sizes loom over and around you, home to several different kinds of butterflies. A few stray butterflies flutter overhead, making you temporarily forget the humidity of the greenhouse.

Jin ooh’s and ah’s over the bright yellow butterfly that brushes past him. “Did you see that? It nearly landed on my nose!”

“Aw, it recognizes a Disney Princess when it sees one,” you coo, earning a half-hearted glare from Jin.

“I thought we discussed this,” he grumbles. “I’m Flynn Rider.”

“Right. My bad. Who am I again?”

A giant grin splitting his features, Jin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Mother Gothel, obviously.” The slap to his right butt-cheek echoes through the greenhouse, quickly followed by his yowl of pain.

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jin limps after you as you continue through the greenhouse.

“You’re lucky nobody was in here to see that,” he says. “They could send you away for treating me so horribly. I mean, look! I bring you to the zoo, I buy you a nice shirt, I let you choose where we go first-”

Whirling around to face your boyfriend only to find a knowing smirk already on his face, you glare up at him. He knows that he won.

“Yah! What do you want?” You ask, exasperated. Limping forward, clearly milking this for all it’s worth, Jin pouts down at you with big, brown eyes.

“Just one kiss.”

You gasp, feigning horror. “A kiss?! In this sweaty, public greenhouse?!” You frantically point at the butterflies which are your only witnesses in here. “In front of the innocent butterflies?”

Jin looks at you and shudders. “Wow. I think it’s official.”

“What?”

“We spend way too much time together. You’re impersonating me right now, aren’t you?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah. But I still stand by my condition.” Finally taking one final step, Jin towers over you. With a playful wink, he puckers his lips.

“Ugh, I hate you sometimes.”

Jin peeks one eye open. “You just said you loved me earlier.”

“Is it too late to change my mind?”

“Sorry, no refunds.” Then, taking things into his own hands, Jin cups your cheeks and swoops in for a kiss.

On your nose.

Sputtering as he steps away, you glare at him. “What was that?!”

Turning on his heel and heading toward the exit, you notice that Jin’s over-exaggerated limp is long gone. With a devilish grin over his shoulder, Jin says, “You were taking too long. But you still owe me a kiss, whenever I ask for it. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, ok?”

You can recognize a trap when you see one. However, you’re left with no choice. Grumbling out a “yeah, whatever” you follow after him.

After the butterfly exhibit you make your way to the reptile house, opting to get all of the hot and humid indoor places out of the way while it’s still morning. The Gila monsters make you laugh as Jin takes a video of the tongue flipping in and out of its mouth and sends it to Hoseok. The two of you know full well that the boy in question will no doubt scream in horror as he watches the video.

Hand in hand, Jin finally swerves off the path toward one of the final indoor exhibits: Animals of the Savanna.

Once you’re inside, you pull and tug at Jin until he’s relenting and allowing you to find the meerkats. To onlookers, you’re sure you look like a child dragging their disgruntled parent to and fro. However, once you spot the meerkats, any thoughts of maintaining your dignity in front of these people eddies out of your mind.

“Jin! Jin! Seokjin!” You hop up and down on the balls of your feet, completely missing the tender look Jin sends your way as you drag him closer. “Look at them! Woooow there’s so many! Aww and there’s little babies, too!”

Jin just hums along, smiling as he watches your wide eyes. You get as close as humanly possible, grinning at the creatures that occasionally look your way. Through it all, he maintains some sort of contact. Giggling without knowing what you’re laughing about. Just laughing for the sake of it.

He just…loves the zoo. Yeah, that’s it.

It had been a silly idea, to bring you here three years ago to celebrate the beginning of your relationship. In fact, you had looked at him like he was already bordering on crazy when he had brought up the idea of doing something special now that you had agreed to be his girlfriend.

“Don’t people usually do something special for anniversaries?” You had asked. Your hair had been longer then, a tell-tale sign of your youth.

Jin shrugged, completely under your spell without your knowledge. He found it nearly impossible to look away from you at times like these. “We can do that, too. Next year. But for now, why don’t we just celebrate the beginning?”

“Sure,” you mimicked his shrug, snuggling into his side on the couch. Despite his unaffected demeanor, he wondered if you noticed the way his heart was pounding as you rested your head against his shoulder. “I’ll do whatever, as long as it’s with you.”

So, after discussing it with his best friends, he decided to take you to a beautiful dinner looking over the Han river. There was a new restaurant that was outrageously fancy and delicious, and he wanted to treat you to the best.

When he arrived at your apartment that evening, just in time to hopefully catch the sunset on the Han if all went according to plan, he overheard you talking on the phone. Your window was open, and like the snoop that he was, he waited to listen in on your conversation.

He wouldn’t have it he hadn’t heard your mentioning his name.

“I don’t know what we’re doing tonight,” you admitted. You were quiet for a moment while listening to the other side of the conversation. “You think so? I don’t know, I’ve never dated someone like this. You know, like…rich. What do rich people do on dates? I’m a little out of my element here, I just hope I won’t make a fool of myself.” Your laugh had him hurtling to reality, and he realized in an instant that he couldn’t take you to that restaurant.

A part of him knew in that moment that you were going to be the rest of his life. You were it for him. And if you want something to last, you treat it differently.

A perfectly forgettable meal surrounded by gossiping netizens wasn’t what you deserved.

So what did you deserve?

That had been the question on his mind as he tried to hide just how sweaty his palms were when he knocked on your door.

“Oh, I think he’s here. I – yeah, I’ll call you after. Ok, bye.”

Seokjin has always been good at pretending that he has a plan even when he has no idea what to do. Which is exactly what he did. You had been absolutely adorable, bouncing in your seat as he set off down the highway, begging him to give you a hint.

When he’d seen the exit for the zoo, he turned down that road without a second thought. You looked utterly confused when he pulled into the parking lot, and little did you know that he was just as confused as you were.

He just prayed that you wouldn’t think he was the dumbest person ever for letting those reservations slip through his fingers for the fanciest restaurant in Seoul. Perhaps a date to the zoo wasn’t the right idea, perhaps it wasn’t romantic at all, perhaps-

Perhaps you were happiest with his hand in yours and a meerkat a few feet away from you.

He’s so tempted to cash in that kiss right now, with how adorable you look. But he bites his tongue, reminding himself that he has to save it for later.

Once you’re loved of meerkats is sated enough for you to be herded away, Jin leads you to a street vendor. “Eat up,” he says as he passes the bread cone filled to the brim with macaroni and cheese to your outstretched hands. He’ll never understand your love for the little abominations, but he caves and orders one for himself as well.

“Don’t you want to sit and eat it?” He asks as he spies you wandering off. You twirl around, licking the cheese off of your lips. And stupid as it is, his heart skips a beat.

“They’re gonna feed the penguins in ten minutes!” You respond, clearly expecting that to be enough of an explanation. Again you turn to wander away. You’re not worried about leaving Jin behind, though. His long legs catch up to you within a few seconds.

The two of you eat in relative silence as you watch the penguins waddling around. Once you’re finished with your food, you spend a good hour sitting in the amphitheater watching the penguins and wondering which ones the two of you would be.

“I’m that one,” you point to a particularly fat penguin attempting to get out of the water. “That looks like me trying to get out of my chair whenever I eat.”

Jin nearly chokes on his water at your remark, squinting at the penguin that has yet to be successful in getting out of the water. “How pitiful. Oh, that’s me.”

Another penguin appears on the ice, looking down at the fat one.

“Oh, have you come to rescue me?” You ask, sitting forward and resting your chin on your hands. Jin immediately begins massaging the small of your back, knowing that it’s a troublesome spot for you most days.

“Probably- oooh down he goes!”

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter as the penguin pears down into the water only to lose its footing and slip in alongside the previously struggling penguin.

“Yeah, that’s us,” you confirm, still laughing.

“Definitely us. We’re a mess most days.”

You lean back, taking up your usual spot on the crook of his shoulder and resting your hand on the inside of Jin’s knee. “At least we have each other.”

You say it with a teasing tone, but Jin can’t help the way it goes straight to his heart. Sneakily planting a kiss atop your baseball cap, he squeezes you a little tighter. “Yeah, that’s true. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Probably still on land,” you remark slyly, peeking up at him. With slightly pink cheeks and zero hesitation you utter out, “I love you.”

He’ll never get used to you.

“Love you, too.”

From there you head over to the polar bears, which appear to be largely unimpressed by your presence. Jin drags you to see the hyenas, sporting some strange interest in the creatures. It only makes sense to sit and stare at the large tigers after that, your mouth ajar as you marvel at its size.

Then it’s the elephants and rhinos.

“Ugh, it smells like your fridge that one time,” you joke the second to get a whiff of the rhino’s habitat.

“It does not!” Jin shouts, drawing the attention of some of the other visitors. “My fridge smelled much worse.”

You can’t help but cackle at his remark. “I stand corrected.”

Toward the end of your visit you pass by to visit the monkeys. “If you squeeze my hand any harder, it’ll fall off.”

You try and fail to relinquish your grip. “Sorry, they just freak me out.” As if on cue, a monkey swings by in front of the tall glass window, making you jump and squeal in terror.

“Should we leave?” Jin questions, hiding his laughter.

You bury your head in between his shoulder blades, squeezing your eyes shut. “No, just go fast.”

He does just that, speeding through the exhibit until he’s announcing that you’re nearing the end. Slowly you look up, blinking at the now dark sky.

“Have we been here all day?” You ask in wonder. Checking the time, Jin nods.

“Yep. It’s about time to head home.”

Languidly making your way back up the path to the zoo entrance and exit, you swing your hands back and forth. “That was so fun.”

Jin raises his brows. “Really? I thought you were a goner back there with the monkeys.”

Faking a shiver, you revel in the way Jin falls for it and automatically pulls you in closer. “I thought I was, too. But I just thought of the meerkats, and I made it through.”

Snorting, Jin waves goodbye to a few of the staff members the open the gate for the two of you to leave. “Is that so? It had nothing to do with your big, strong, boyfriend protecting you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh really.”

“No. Why? Did you think we had something going on?”

Rolling his eyes, Jin bumps you with his hip, making you giggle. “If not, this has been the most dedicated friendship I’ve ever experienced.”

“Dude, you have six best friends-”

“Ok, first you say I’m not your boyfriend, and then you stoop so low as to refer to me as dude?!”

Your laugh rings out loud and clear in the evening air, followed by Jin’s stupefied laughter. “You’re so dramatic,” you accuse, reluctantly freeing yourself from his grip as you near the car.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me. It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.” Still bickering back and forth, Jin starts driving and heads off to the right instead of the left.

“Woah, where are we going?” You ask, frowning out at the night.

Jin shrugs. “Let’s go snoop around those houses again.”

“The ones by the zoo?”

“Yeah.”

You’re all too happy to go along with it. Clutching your hand atop the console, Jin maneuvers his way to the small hill overlooking the zoo.

“Wow,” you breathe out. “I forgot how beautiful this view is.”

Indeed it is. The city lights glow and glint in the distance, creating a warm blanket of familiarity. The zoo lights are shutting off, only a few left on here and there. The sound of music from floats up toward you as you roll the window down, drinking it in.

“The residents always hear the closing songs each night,” Jin supplies, somehow reading your mind as you wonder about the music coming from the zoo. “It turns off by ten on weekdays and eleven on the weekends.”

“How��d you know that?”

“I have some friends that live up here.”

You turn to look at Jin, eyes wide. “You do? How come you never told me?”

“They just moved,” he explains with a forgotten smile. “You wanna see their house?”

“Yes!”

Jin turns down a different street, slowly stopping before a beautiful home with colonial style columns in the front. Sure enough, there’s a sign in the front of the house with a red sticker stating SOLD for all to see.

“Should we look around the lot?” Jin asks, turning off the car and taking off his seat. “It looks like they’re not home right now, but they said we could look around if we wanted.”

“You told them we were coming?”

He shrugs, hopping out of the car and hurrying around to open up your door. “I mentioned that we’d be in the area.”

“Who are these friends of yours, anyway?” You ask, stepping out of the car. The house quite literally takes your breath away, and you turn around to capture the full view. The city is still visible, the zoo and its music appearing more like a memory than a reality. “Wow, this is amazing.”

“Uh,” Jin scratches the back of his neck. “Their names should be on the sign right there.”

Frowning, you ignore his avoidance of the question and skirt around him to walk up to the edge of the lawn. Crouching down, your eyes scan the sign for any names you might recognize. There’s a small paper, almost like a receipt, hanging from the sign. Smoothing it out from where it’s flowing in the breeze, you squint at the names that appear.

Sold to Mr. Kim Seokjin and –

You know that name. You know that man.

And the name beside his…

“It’s our names…?” You breathe out, not quite understanding. Straightening up, you turn to face Jin with a confused expression. “Why does it-”

There’s Jin, but he’s not where you left him.

He’s down on one knee, looking up at you with the expression he gets when he holds his breath. Behind him the city gleams as bright as ever, however it somehow dims in the face of what you see before you.

Jin, opening up a small box. And inside the velvety interior, a ring shining as though it were made of stars.

Suddenly, it clicks. The date to the zoo, where you’d first officially began this relationship. The house with your name on it, the way Jin had this day circled on the calendar for longer than you care to remember.

Jin can’t breathe, and he can tell by the way your chest has stopped rising that you can’t, either.

“I- I’d like to cash in that kiss now,” Jin stutters out.

In a rush of limbs and a mixture of laughter and sobs, you find yourself kneeling across from Jin and kissing him hard enough to bruise his plump lips. You’d feel bad, except for the fact that he returns the kiss with just as much fervor. When the kiss begins to taste of salt, you pull away to discern of those are your tears or his.

It’s both, you realize as Jin gazes at you, completely oblivious to the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“O-oh!” He exclaims, staring down at the ring box in his shaking hands. “Will you marry me?”

Without a single ounce of hesitation, you laugh, voice thick with emotion. “Yes!”

That’s all it takes for Jin to pull you in close again, attacking you with kisses at a speed you can’t keep up with. He pulls back, panting and eyes alight with pure elation. “And do you want to live here with me, then?”

You choke on a laugh, still crying and on your knees. “Of course I do, Seokjin. You- you bought me a house.”

“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I did.”

Then, gasping with wide eyes, Jin snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot!” Jumping up to his feet, he runs back to the car. You watch after him, too in shock to stand at the moment. Your glinting rings on your hand catches your attention, making you wonder when exactly he put it on. No doubt it was sometime in the midst of his breathless kisses.

Jin returns a moment later, dropping to his knees again. Nevermind the fact that there are plenty of places to sit. He has a lanyard around his neck, and he places another around your own.

“What’s this?” You ask, grabbing the little card hanging off of the end. Once you catch sight of it, you begin to laugh (and somehow cry) even harder.

Season passes to the zoo.

masterlist

[sleepy-belphie]

I have a request if you’re up for it. An MC who just arrived in the Devildom who’s lover just dumped them the day prior. The bros know MC isn’t emotionally or romantically available at the time but the bros still fall in love regardless. How will the bros handle the situation? Thank you! 🙏💗

Hi! I sort of took this idea and ran with it and wrote basically a headcanon short story for each bro lmao. Sorry I got a bit carried away but I hope you like this and it satisfies you! :) 

Also thank you so much @midnight-dome for the help with Asmo, you’re a lifesaver

Tags: @kawaiiblack

~~~~~

Lucifer:

The success of the program depends on your wellbeing

So he checks in on you every other day like clockwork 

“Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable?”

You always say no

At first, he’s glad you’re staying in 

Because it means less trouble for him

But when you skip all of your classes one day, he comes to your room ready to give you a firm reminder of your tasks here

He’s about to knock when he hears you sob 

Now, Lucifer has heard a lot of crying in his life

But he’s never heard someone sound so completely broken

He shocks himself when he turns on his heels and walks away

He shocks himself even more when he texts the group chat and demands everyone leaves you alone for the day

That evening he comes into your room with a small plate of food

By then you were are least on top of your sheets

You knew he was gonna ask the same question as always

But this time, his words were different

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Help?” 

He simply nods

And though he didn’t outright say what he meant by help, you knew

“I...don’t know?”

“Hm, okay. I’m going to listen to some music in my study. The door will be unlocked should you wish to join me.”

Then he’s gone

The few precious moments Lucifer isn’t working, he prefers to not be disturbed

So why on earth did he invite you to join him in his study?

He doesn’t have time to ponder it because the door opens and you come in with a blanket wrapped around you

The first night you both listen in comfortable silence

A few nights in, you start asking Lucifer about the records he puts on and he has no qualms educating you on it

On night 10 you tell him about the breakup

Once you’re done he, again, asks the same question

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

‘You’ve done more than enough to help me Lucifer, thank you.”

He finds himself blushing from the sincerity in your eyes and the warmth in your smile

That night you fall asleep before the record finishes

Surely you’d wake up aching if he left you in a chair

So he picks you up, carries you to your room, and tucks you into bed carefully

He tells himself he’s doing it for Diavolo

It’s for the program, this is his job

He’s gonna need time to accept his own feelings before he can tell you anything

For now, he’ll keep doing his “job” and spending evenings with you

Mammon:

He didn’t want to be your babysitter

He was a busy guy! He had stuff to do, money to make, things to steal

Some days he gets Beelzebub to keep an eye on you so he can do what he wants

One night in particular he heads to your room to make sure you won’t interfere with his plans

“Yo! The Great Mammon has things to do so don’t-”

He pauses when he sees you sitting on your bed with your headphones plugged into your laptop

He would have assumed you were just watching a sad movie by the tears streaks on your face

But the pain in your eyes…

He’s seen that look before

His brothers held that same look the day they fell from Heaven and lost Lilith

Mammon sits on the bed and you jump, finally noticing him

You expected him to make fun of you but instead, he grabs the tissue box on your bedside table and hands it to you

He glances at your laptop to see what you were watching and sees a paused video of you and someone else

You tell him about the breakup and Mammon listens closely

“What a jerk! Ya deserve better than that! I’d teach ‘em a lesson if they ever showed their face around here!”

You smile for the first time since he came in the room and he feels like he’s done something right

“How about we get some late-night food? I know a 24-hour restaurant with the best baked newt ever. Your treat.”

He’s shocked when you agree

He makes a point to hang out with you more often

He can’t recall exactly when you went from “a human” to “his human” 

Maybe it was when you held his hand while you erased all your photos and videos of your ex from your computer

Or when you texted him at 3am because you couldn’t sleep and before he could even think about it he was up and on his way to your room

Or when he spotted you in one of his jackets while walking home from RAD

But his greed was kicking in and he wanted you to be his and only his

However, much like he puts himself first, he knows you need to do the same

So though his nature and mind wants to kiss you silly and have you for himself

Part of him knows he’ll ruin things if he lets his greed take over

So he’ll fight his nature and try his best to be patient

Leviathan:

He had been playing one of his games online

He’s on a big winning streak and feeling a bit cocky

He sees he’s been matched with someone else so he gets into gamer mode 

Then he loses the first round

He’s a bit shocked and pissed that his streak was now broken but he has to prove his superiority to whoever this opponent was

So he rematches them

And loses again

And again

He loses 7 rounds in a row

By this point he is fuming

So like any salty gamer he sends a very lengthy, angry message to their inbox

Accusing them of using cheats and hacks because there was no way anyone was more skilled than him at this game

He gets a reply a few minutes later

“Um.....is this Leviathan? Avatar of Envy? It’s MC…”

You knew it was Levi because his username is the same across all his social media platforms

Cue Levi barreling into your room a minute later

“How are you so good!? You’re cheating, aren’t you!? You cheater!’

You weren’t cheating, you just had been playing games day in and day out to distract yourself so you got really good at it

Levi all but demands you to come to his room and show him what you know

You were already playing all night anyway so why not play with someone? 

Initially, Levi would have you come over just to show him your tactics 

(Also to get some team wins on his stats because he never has anyone to play with)

But you were actually pretty chill for a normie

Maybe if he exposed you to his otaku ways you would take to them and he wouldn’t be the only one in the house anymore!

You don’t become an otaku but you do get invested in almost every anime he shows you

He starts inviting you over for midnight premieres of new episodes

He starts buying extra merch because what if you wanted one?

He was used to disproving looks from his brothers when he mass buys stuff from Akuzon

But you only smile and listen when he tells you about his new special edition item

You never once judged him and his unconventional ways

This epiphany makes him extra nervous for your weekly hangouts

It was only a matter of time before you came across a break up in an anime

When the episode ended you told him about your break up and how the protagonist reminded you of yourself because they also were taking a break from love

Levi has seen this anime before actually

He remembers how the protagonist reacted to a side character confessing to them and it went bad

So while he knows he likes you, he holds off on saying anything because the last thing he wants is to be a bad story arc in your life

Lucky for him he’s always a flustered blushing mess so you shouldn’t suspect a thing

Satan:

He is the Avatar of Wrath so whenever there is rage, he is aware

He feels anger radiating through the house one day and thinks his brothers are just fighting again

Imagine his surprise when he realizes the source of the anger is coming from your room

He walks in and sees you throwing things around and screaming, your room was destroyed

He sees you’re about to step on some glass and instantly swoops in and picks you up so you don’t hurt yourself

But then you curl up against him and burst into tears

He stands there, not quite sure what to do 

He ends up sitting on the bed and letting you cry for a while

You word vomit about your break up and he listens carefully and notes the anger welling up inside you as you speak

He knows all too well what anger can do to someone and a fragile human shouldn’t have to go through that

“Would you like some tea?”

He can spare 30 minutes for some small talk with the human if it meant that you wouldn’t be left in your thoughts

You look at him like he has three heads but agree because your room is a mess and you don’t wanna deal with it right now

Tea time becomes a daily occurrence and soon enough it escalates to full-on hangouts

Going to the bookstore, going to cat cafes, going wherever you wanted to really

One time you both took a day trip to the human world

Lucifer wasn’t happy to find out his brother and you were gone for an entire day but he lets it go when he sees that you’re smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks

What Satan didn’t expect was how these outings made him feel

He finds himself distracted from his books because he can’t stop thinking about how cute you looked holding that black cat at the cafe

Or how happy you looked when you took him to that ice cream shop in your hometown that you really love

He wakes up and you’re the first thing to pop into his mind

He’s not dumb, he knows he’s fallen in love

But he also knows this isn’t the right time, you aren’t ready

So he’ll keep being there for you as a friend

And if you ever want him to be there as something more, he’ll happily oblige

Asmodeus:

There was a movie night at the House of Lamentation

Today’s movie was an action movie, courtesy of Mammon

Amidst all the face punching and explosions, there was a budding romance between the main characters

After the third obnoxious makeout scene, you leave the room claiming you need to go to the restroom

But you leave just a *little* too fast and Asmo can feel something is up

And he thrives on gossip so he intends to find out what is it

He leaves the room a few minutes later and catches you in the hallway, determined to get you to spill the tea

You tell him about the breakup

He wasn’t prepared for the tea to be so bitter

“Oh. Well, you know what’s good for that? Face masks!” 

He had to save face somehow and beauty was his default

He’s a bit shocked when you agree but you both ditch movie night to do face masks and talk a bit

He decides to share a couple of bad date experiences he’s had to make you feel better

“Trust me, you haven’t felt embarrassment until you have someone vomit Enfield brains on your new pants and shoes while at one of the hottest clubs in the Devildom.”

You spent the entire night giggling and listening to his stories

Devildom products are surprisingly effective on your skin so you keep asking Asmo to show you new products

Plus his company is nice

Self-care days become a common occurrence

Then those self-care days become self-care sleepovers

He starts intentionally waiting to try anything new because he wants you to be there when he does

He buys more of those scented candles you told him smelled nice

A few weeks later you’re having a self-care sleepover again and you have this really cute focused look on your face while painting your nails

He knows he likes you, but this was different than his usual attraction

He didn’t want to fuck you

Well he did but not just fuck you

He wouldn’t mind if there was something more

But you routinely ended your self-care nights by yelling ‘Fuck love!’ at the top of your lungs and laughing

So he knows now isn’t the time and he’s actually okay with that

You were a sight to behold regardless of his relationship status with you

But he hopes you’ll indulge in him one day

Beelzebub:

Mammon keeps pushing his human watching duties on Beel

But he doesn’t really care because he’s being paid in cheesecake

After his third day of keeping an eye on you, he notices you aren’t eating much

Being the Avatar of Gluttony, this is basically a crime

He starts bringing extra snacks with him when he hangs out with you

“I think the chocolate flavor is better than the vanilla. What do you think?”

He actually doesn’t have a preference 

He just wants to know which snacks you like more so he can bring more of them

He makes a game out of it so you don’t think about how much you’re eating

“It motivates me to work out longer when I get a snack, could you help me?”

You sit on his back and after every pushup, you both eat a bit of whatever snack he has

He keeps going until he thinks you’ve eaten a decent amount

Or you say you’re getting full

Belphie notices that Beel is refilling his snack stash more often but he doesn’t say anything

Beel feels an immense sense of accomplishment when you finish your plate at dinner a few days later

Soon after you tell him about the breakup

“It hit me hard but you made it easier to cope, Beel. These hangouts are the highlight of my day so thank you.”

There’s a certain pang Beel gets in his stomach when he’s really hungry

Somehow your words made that pang happen in his chest

But this didn’t hurt him, quite the opposite actually

He felt good, he felt happy

It was strange for his stomach to be the quiet one while his heart went wild

But this wasn’t a change he minded too much

He wasn’t sure what to make of it but he knows he wants to figure it out with you

And he’ll take his time doing so because he liked how things were now

Belphegor:

He’s intrigued by you after the first week of your stay

He’s never seen a human who slept as much as he did

Frankly, he was impressed

Until Lucifer informed everyone about your recent breakup and made it clear to not upset you

That’s when Belphie realized these were not the leisurely naps he takes, but depression naps

One day he sees you sleeping in the living room and you looked so distressed

Sleeping was meant to be a peaceful state but you looked so unhappy

So he wakes you up

“You’re in my sleeping spot.”

You weren’t in his sleeping spot.

“Oh sorry, I’ll move-”

“You’re already here. We can both fit.” 

Before you can protest he’s all comfy next to you and falling back asleep

Having another person next to you was kind of comforting so you let it go and go back to sleep

What you didn’t know was Belphie could partially influence your dreams

He can make them more pleasant but he can’t control what you dream about

He knows it works when he wakes up and you have a relaxed expression on your sleeping face

You wake up soon after looking confused

“Good dream?”

“I think? I had a dream I rode a unicorn to the moon then carved my initials into it?”

Napping together in the living room becomes a routine

And every time you woke up you told him about the dream you had with a small smile

A few weeks later he notices he no longer has to influence your dreams for them to be good

So he leaves you be and instead curls up in the attic for his afternoon nap

He wakes up a bit when he feels someone lay down next to him

It’s probably Beel

“Why didn’t you tell me you moved napping spots?”

His eyes open and he looks over to see you pouting at him

“I just sorta ended up here.”

“Well, I can’t nap without my cuddle buddy now can I?”

You’re teasing him and he should be annoyed

But he’s blushing

He spoons you to hide that fact, resting his forehead on your shoulder

But while your dreams were getting better, it didn’t mean you were ready to move on

So he just enjoys his intimate cuddling sessions with you and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he really likes how your body fits against his

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 28: Summer Changes (School)

AO3

Prev

A week after the Disney movie marathon, Marinette was finally back on patrol. No thanks to her dad though. If it was up to him, she’d probably never patrol again. Luckily for her, (unluckily for him) her brothers were adamant on her coming back to the field. Which led to her current problem. Hanging upside down from a gargoyle near Wayne Enterprises.

“Ukht, what have you done?” Damian asks, and though she can’t see his face, she can tell by his voice that he’s exasperated. Join the club, she thinks, at least you’re not upside down.

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asks, trying desperately to turn around so that she can talk to him. It was really awkward talking to someone when you couldn’t see them but you knew they were near you.

“Because you are the one hanging upside down,” Damian says flatly. She huffs.

“It’s not like I want to be, Robin. It just kind of happened,” She says.

“And how exactly did it happen? I have never seen your yoyo betray you like that before. Not even in the videos when you were still very new.” Damian says, and she swears he’s smirking. He’s definitely laughing at her on the inside, and as much as she wants to be frustrated, she can’t. It wasn’t easy amusing her little brother (unless you were an animal) so she wasn’t about to ruin it.

“Hood made a bet relating to this exact gargoyle and I’d never been this way before and I just, I don’t know. Somehow I misjudged where my yoyo was going and next thing I know, I’m tied up and Hood is gone.” She says, sighing.

“Where did he go?” Damian asks.

“Over here so I could record the dumbass trying to untie herself.” Jason says with a snort, she manages to turn just enough so she can see him and stick her tongue out at him. He chuckles. “You’re the one who somehow tied herself up with a magic string, I’m just getting the proof so I can show Wonder Woman.” He says and Marinette’s jaw drops.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She screams, struggling against her yoyo, finally able to get the string to loosen slightly.

“Oh, I’d dare.” Jason says and Marinette just knows he has a huge smirk underneath his stupid helmet.

“But Wonder Woman is the coolest person ever and she can’t see me like this!” Marinette complains, trying not to grin when she feels the string start to move the way she needs it to. She ignores Jason’s next remark, instead focusing on the string and- yes! She free falls for a moment, laughing at her brothers’ panic before she swoops up and jerks Jason’s phone away from him.

“You little shit!” He calls after her, starting to chase her.

“You’ll get it back once I delete the videos!” She calls back, laughing as she continues swinging through Gotham, a warm feeling in her chest as she looks over the city that has quickly become her second home.

---

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A voice screams, making Marinette jump out of bed with a yelp. She clutches her hand over her heart, glaring at her oldest brother.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t make it past my fifteenth birthday?” She asks with a huff. Dick just grins.

“Happy birthday kiddo! I can’t believe you’re already fifteen!” He exclaims, picking her up in a giant hug. She wants to complain, ask him to let her down, but it’s nice, so instead she returns the hug the best she can. Until she glances out the window.

“Richard Grayson.” She says in a tone she usually reserves for enemies. She feels him stiffen, the hug turning into more of a restraint than a cuddle.

“Yes?” He says.

“Did you honestly wake me up, before the sun, because it’s my birthday?” She asks.

“Yes?” He says, his voice cracking slightly. She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh.

“Dad has a no killing rule.” She says, and suddenly she’s back on the ground.

“Oh would you look at the time, Mar’i needs another bedtime story loveyousomuchgottagobye.” Dick rushes out, practically sprinting out of her room. She just smiles and shakes her head. She’d learned intimidation tactics from Jason and Damian, who both claimed her size made her an easy target against bad guys. They were right, of course, so she was fine with a few extra lessons. Seems they were working. Deciding to call her Maman and Papa since she’s already awake, she frowns as it goes straight to voicemail. It would be nearly eleven in Paris, so the bakery shouldn’t be too busy. She quickly checks the Akuma Alert App to make sure she hadn’t missed anything while she slept. Nothing. So why weren’t they answering? She had assumed they would be waiting for her call since it was the first birthday she’d spent without them. Sighing, she lays back down on her bed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

As she lays there, she frowns as a realization hits her. This was the anniversary of her birth mother’s death. Her mood instantly sours and her stomach churns. It was the first year that she could do something about it, the first year she could visit her grave. Quickly making a decision, Marinette throws on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Hopefully no one would spot her.

“Kaalki.” Marinette calls out quietly, not wanting to wake Tikki (who had somehow slept through Dick’s intrusion).

“Oooo, Guardian, are we sneaking out?” They ask, an amused smile on their face. Marinette frowns.

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason.” She says, and Kaalki snorts.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be of assistance.” They reassure her. Marinette smiles and calls the transformation, opening a portal in the cemetery where her birth mother is buried. Her Maman had taken her once, right after telling her she was adopted. It was extremely hard to avoid being akumatized that day, and Marinette steels herself before dropping Kaalki’s transformation. Today would probably be even harder. Pulling the hood over her head to try and hide her identity, she glances around the cemetery, unsurprised to see the small place empty. Despite its small size, it was well taken care of, with beautiful trees adding shade and creating a melancholy feeling. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the tombstone in the far corner, underneath the Willow tree. Bridgette Le. Died July 9th. Marinette barely notices the tears that start to form as she sits down, tucking her knees into her chest.

“Hi Mama. I-I’m sorry I haven’t really been by to see you much. Did you know I’ve been spending the summer with Dad? Sometimes, I wonder if you would’ve been okay with that. None of us really know why you left, why you didn’t tell him. I’m not blaming you, I just wonder if you would’ve been okay with me knowing him.” She talks, though she knows she’ll never hear a response. And she tries to pretend that fact doesn’t hurt her. “I have brothers. Four of them. They’re all great in their own ways, but they all also make me want to rip my hair out. Three of them are older, Damian’s younger than me. He kinda acts like a big brother at times though. And I have a big sister, Cass. She doesn’t say much, but she’s awesome. She’s in Hong Kong right now, so most of our conversations have been video calls. I have a niece, too.” Marinette stops, wiping furiously at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. At all. But knowing her birth mother would never be able to be part of her life, would never know any of these people like she did- it was hard.

“Guardian, please breathe.” Kaalki says, floating up to sit in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette blinks at the Kwami before listening to them. If they were worried, then Marinette was more lost in her head than she originally thought.

“And today’s my birthday. I was excited at first, and then I remembered the other thing that this day was. Remembered that it’s also the day you-” Marinette pauses, and grits her teeth. “I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry that I caused your death.” She chokes out, dropping her head onto her knees, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to break out of her chest.

“We need to go. Marinette, we need to go.” Kaalki urges, patting her cheek urgently. Marinette calls the transformation and falls through a portal, closing it quickly to keep the butterfly that was surely after her from following. She definitely didn’t need to test how far the victim had to be to be akumatized. The second she lands, she lets the transformation drop and the sobs break out.

“Shit Pixie.” Jason curses, and suddenly she’s wrapped in a warm hug, sobs tearing through her as she continues to apologize.

---

Jason Todd had been through a lot of weird shit. Waking up in a pool of green water after being fucking murdered by the Joker, was weird. Emotional baby sister falling through a portal into the room and sobbing? Also weird. But also heartbreaking. He grabs onto her and just holds her, desperately trying to give her some type of comfort.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Pix. I got you.” He mumbles, holding her close. Damian rushes in, sword drawn, face scrunched up when he sees them. Jason shakes his head, this wasn’t something that they could fix with a sword. He wasn’t exactly sure why his baby sister was crying so hard, but he had caught a couple of muffled apologies, so whatever it was, he didn’t think it was something that he (or Damian) could kill. Or, rather, maim, since she was against murdering people that were against her for some reason.

“Has anyone seen Mars, she’s not in her room-” Replacement starts, freezing as he walks into the room.

“Excellent situational awareness, Drake.” Damian mutters, glaring at him. Jason shoots both of them a glare, now was not the time to be fighting. Especially since the kid’s other parents were on their way to celebrate her birthday. If they showed up and she was sobbing, they’d take her home and never let them see her again. And Jason was NOT going to let that happen.

“Anyone know if M’s decided to not kill me yet?” Dick asks, walking into the room with a huge grin that falls the second he sees what’s happening. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently none of his brothers could read a fucking room. Instead of staying at the edge of the room like Damian and Tim, Dick walks over.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay. We’re here.” He says softly. The kid pulls away from him, though he can tell it’s a little reluctantly, before launching herself at Dick, her sobs starting to die down. Jason lets out a short huff, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of what could have set her off. There were no akuma alarms, but she fell out of a portal. Which means she was out of the manor when she got upset. He watches as Dick pats her hair gently and whispers to her. God, he’s such a dad. Then again, he’s been mother henning him and their other brothers for years, so it’s not really a surprise.

“I’m sorry guys.” Marinette says suddenly, her voice small as she stays hidden in Dick’s arms.

“No need to apologize, Pixie Pop.” Jason reassures her. She finally pulls away from Dick and Jason’s heart, honest to god breaks at the broken look on her face.

“She died in childbirth, you know.” She whispers, and suddenly it makes sense. Why she was sitting there sobbing on her birthday, why she’d fallen out of a portal.

“That is not your fault.” Damian says firmly, walking over and standing face to face with Marinette, something Jason knew annoyed the girl. Damian was two years younger, but a little taller than her. She didn’t seem to mind now, though.

“But it was. If I hadn’t been born-” She starts and Jason frowns at the thought.

“The world would be a much shittier place.” He says with finality, not leaving room for her to argue. “Pix, you’re amazing, and the world would really suck without you. Never be sorry you were born.” Jason says firmly, stumbling slightly when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you Jay.” She mumbles, and he can tell she’s crying again, but this time it’s not sobs, so he thinks it’s fine.

“Come on, let’s all watch a movie.” Repla- Tim suggests and Jason raises an eyebrow at the idea, briefly wondering what kind of movie he’d pick. They all pile on the giant sectional that Bruce had bought specifically for impromptu movie nights as Tim sticks the DVD in. Jason just snorts as the title card for “The Addams Family” comes on, settling back in the couch, ready to watch one of the greatest movies ever.

---

“Thank you again for flying us out here for her birthday.” Sabine says, smiling at him. Bruce returns the smile and nods.

“Of course, thank you for letting her spend the summer here. I know she’s appreciated the break from her classmates.” He says, his smile quickly fading at the confused look on both Sabine and Tom’s faces.

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“Marinette hasn’t told you?” Bruce asks, suddenly regretting bringing it up. Why hadn’t she said anything? They were her parents too. Sure, she’d made it clear they couldn’t know about Ladybug, but her class wasn’t a hero problem. They were a civilian problem.

“We knew that she wasn’t hanging out with them as often, and that she didn’t talk about her class as much as she used to. We just assumed that she was busy.” Sabine says, her face a mixture of sadness and anger.

“My apologies, I assumed she’d talked to you.” Bruce says, feeling as if he had crossed a line. Would they be mad at him, for her telling him something she hadn’t told them?

“She’s always looking out for others first,” Tom finally sighs, a tired smile on his face. “She probably thought she was saving us from being akumatized.” Bruce’ jaw clenches. Had Marinette really suffered in silence to avoid being forced to fight her parents?

“We can continue this conversation later, right now we should focus on her birthday.” Sabine says, placing a hand on Tom’s arm. He nods and Bruce makes a note to talk to the two about the possibility of her switching schools.

“She’s probably in her room.” Bruce says, leading the two towards the stairs.

“Actually, Master Bruce, the children are all in the informal sitting room. I believe they snuck down to have a movie night after Master Dick woke Miss Marinette to wish her a happy birthday.” Alfred says, Bruce watches his face and knows that’s not all, but doesn’t press. It had to be something that he couldn’t talk about in front of the Dupain Cheng’s.

“Of course they did. Thank you, Alfred. Alfred, this is Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, Marinette’s parents. Tom, Sabine, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the man who raised me.” Bruce says, smiling at him. The three exchange pleasantries and soon Bruce is leading the two to the sitting room. He pushes the door open gently, careful not to let it slam. He spots a sword on the floor near Damian and quickly grabs it, moving it away. If he was woken up suddenly, he would still panic and attempt to fight his way out.

“She looks so peaceful.” Sabine whispers, and Bruce smiles, a genuine smile, he didn’t have to fake a smile when most of his children were together and safe and happy. Or, quiet, at least. It was rare.

“I’ve found them like this several times.” Bruce admits, pulling out his phone to show the two all of the pictures he’d taken of the kids piled together sleeping. Sabine and Tom smile widely at the pictures and Bruce quickly sends them their favorites.

“B, I swear to god, I can sense you in here. Let us sleep.” Jason mumbles grumpily.

“Sorry Jason, Marinette’s parents are here so it’s time to get up.” Bruce says, amused at the way his son’s hair was attempting to defy gravity. Jason looked around sleepily, waved lazily at Sabine and Tom, and then collapsed back on the couch. Bruce sighs. “Would the two of you like to have a cup of coffee while we give them a few more minutes to sleep?” He offers.

“That would be lovely.” Sabine says, and Bruce leads the two to the kitchen, hoping Tim (who had sat straight up after Jason flopped down) would take the hint and wake up the others.

---

Marinette sighs happily as everyone sits down at the table for dinner. The day had been amazing, despite the rough start. And her Dad had even flown her Maman and Papa out to spend the day with her. They couldn’t stay for long, they had the bakery to run after all, but it was still nice to see them. Marinette glances at the end of the table where a place was set, but no one sat.

“What’s with the extra plate?” Jason asks, turning to Alfred who was sitting in the chair next to it instead of his regular seat.

“It is for Miss Le.” He says, and she can almost feel everyone freeze. Her throat tightens, but she still smiles at him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says quietly. He nods.

“You are quite welcome, Miss.” He says. She clears her throat and looks back at her Maman, noticing that her smile was also a little sad. It had been all day, but Marinette was certain it wasn’t anything to worry about. Bridgette had been close with her Maman, surely she was just mourning her today, openly for the first time in a long time.

---

Marinette groans at whoever is trying to wake her up.

“Five more minutes.” She mutters, burrowing deeper under the covers. It was summer break, why wouldn’t anyone let her sleep?

“Come on sweetheart, your Papa and I want to talk to you and Bruce.” Her Maman says, and she immediately sits up. Was she in trouble? Had her Maman figured out the whole Batman thing? Had she figured out the Ladybug thing?

“Uh, okay.” She says, sliding out of bed and stepping into slippers. She wasn’t sure how serious the conversation was, but since her Maman didn’t stop her from walking out of the room in her pajamas, she relaxed slightly. It couldn’t be that serious, right? She follows her Maman into her Dad’s study, glancing wearily at the clock in the corner. Her Maman was often too observant. Hopefully she didn’t notice anything odd about the clock. They all sit in silence for an entire minute until Marinette can’t handle it anymore.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks hesitantly, looking between her parents’ faces.

“Of course not, we just- We noticed how different you are.” Her Maman says and Marientte frowns, furrowing her eyebrows. Different? She was different?

“How?” She asks.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months honey. Your smile reaches your eyes, you talk freely, you seem peaceful.” Her Maman says softly, and Marinette blinks in surprise. Had she really been so easy to read in Paris? Had her parents really been able to tell? She’d wanted to hide it from them, not let them see how everything was piling on her, crushing her. She didn’t want to worry them.

“What do you- how-” She stumbles over her words, trying to figure out where she messed up.

“We didn’t know why until we talked to Bruce.” Her Papa says and she turns to glare at her Dad, feeling a little betrayed. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Marinette, you didn’t tell me not to tell them about your class.” He reminds her, and she huffs.

“Guess we can cross mind reader off the list of things you can do.” She mumbles, making her Papa snort.

“It wasn’t just that though. We’d seen how restrained you had become, how you never went out with friends and you stopped talking about them.” Her Maman says softly. Marinette grits her teeth, hugging herself to try and hold herself together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” She says, her voice barely audible. That wasn’t the main reason though. She didn’t want to fight her parents, and if they knew everything going on with Lila, they’d definitely be akumatized. She couldn’t fight them. Not if she could help it.

“What would you say about transferring schools?” Her Maman asks suddenly, and Marinette jerks her head up, looking at her with wide eyes. Transfer schools? It would be great, amazing, fantastic, but- but her classmates would still come to the bakery. Still give her the same odd looks they’d been giving her since they found out that she’s a Wayne.

“What school?” She asks, because yes, that makes a difference. Chloe had transferred schools not long ago, and Marinette did not want to trade Lila for Chloe. She’d rather not deal with either of them, if she was being honest.

“Gotham Academy.” Her Maman says, and Marinette feels lucky that she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have definitely done a spit take. Gotham Academy? As in, live in Gotham year round? What-

“Are you giving me up?” She asks, suddenly hurt. Her Maman’s eyes widen and her Papa pulls her into a giant hug.

“Of course not honey.” He says, rubbing her back gently and squeezing her lightly.

“We asked Bruce if he thought Gotham Academy would be a good school for you. He offered to let you fly home some weekends, and any of the breaks you want. Or to fly us out here if you have time off school. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to make a decision right now.” Her Maman reassures her as her Papa lets her go. Marinette turns to look at her Dad, his face unreadable.

“Would you really be okay with that?” She asks, and he nods.

“We all just want you to be happy, Marinette. Wherever that may be. And we’re all willing to work together to do that.” He says and she smiles, letting out a soft sigh.

“I- I’d need to think about it a little more,” She says, running through the idea in her head. It seemed perfect, besides the whole ‘bouncing back to Paris for attacks’ thing. But she’d been doing it all summer, it had been fine so far. And maybe, maybe, Hawkmoth would even be defeated by the end of summer. No matter what, things were changing and Marinette was trying her best to keep up.

Next

Tag list:  @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

[ghirahimbo]

for the writing prompts, 30 with revalink maybe? It's perfectly fine if you skip this. Good luck finding inspiration!!! I love your writing <33

30. Saving them before they drown

Pre-Calamity. Link finally speaks, but they're not words Revali wants to hear.

(not angst. so very much not angst.)

--

The upside to ignoring Link was that he made it so easy to do. 

It wasn't as if he did much to call attention to himself, after all, trailing quietly after Zelda with all the expressive personality of a plank of wood. Revali had even started to suspect that the princess had forgotten Link's presence entirely, distracted as she was by the ancient shrine tucked to the side of Rito Village, which he couldn't help but envy her for. He himself could never seem to forget Link's presence, though he was content enough to pretend that he had right alongside her. Anyone who could so thoroughly ignore the majesty of Revali’s Gale deserved the same regard in turn, and Link would know that by the time Revali decided he was done ignoring him.

The downside was that neither Revali nor the princess noticed right away when Link slipped over the cliff's edge, his moment of idle curiosity turned abruptly deadly as the turf crumbled beneath his feet and he hurtled towards the lake below. Revali did hear Link's startled gasp the moment that he fell, which came out as a breathy 'hup!', but by the time Revali had connected that ‘hup!’ to Link and turned reluctantly to see what might have inspired such a 'hup!', the Hylian Champion was already halfway down the cliff.

Revali watched him fall, and felt his stomach swooping after him.

“Damn it,” he said once, and then again as he saw Link’s head bash against the rock on his way down. "Damn it!" 

"Revali!" Zelda gasped, though whether in response to his mild profanity or because she'd noticed the same thing he had, Revali didn't have time to discern. Revali was too busy throwing himself off the edge of the cliff after Link, summoning a burst of wind to speed his own descent even as he watched Link finally hit the water below, disappearing quietly beneath a churning spray of white.

All this undue hubbub over Hylia's appointed hero, and placid Lake Totori was going to defeat him before Calamity Ganon even had the chance. Worse, Link was going to die before Revali could ever prove himself superior.

"Damn it!"

Later, when Revali recounted the story of his daring rescue to captive audiences, he would leave out most of the swearing—and the flailing. Swimming was not considered one of the great skills of the Rito, after all, even if they were prodigious fishers. That was more a matter of skimming the surface of the lake with their talons, rather than fully submerging themselves beneath the water and… flailing. Still, some undetermined amount of flailing wings later, Revali had a sodden, unconscious hero of legend clutched awkwardly in his talons. Flying him up to the nearest outcropping of rock, Revali dumped Link unceremoniously onto his back, leaning in close to listen for breathing.

Nothing.

"Damn it," Revali whispered, thinking that the village elder would be washing his mouth out like a fledgling before long if he kept this up. He had no idea how to save a drowning Hylian, but... maybe it wasn't too different from saving a drowning Rito?

Pressing down on Link's chest until his ribcage creaked beneath him and certainly not panicking, Revali decided to give it a try before he wasted time flying up to ask. The rhythm of his pulses matched his litany of swears.

"Plucking Hylians… no wings… no gills. What are they plucking good fo—"

A spray of water erupted from Link's mouth, and Revali jerked in surprise, leaning back as Link proceeded to cough up half the lake beside them. He'd done it. He'd saved the idiot Hylian's life.

He felt what he decided was a normal amount of relief over this.

"You absolute twit," Revali said by way of greeting as Link's heaving finally settled down, and he stared up at Revali weakly. "What under Hylia's wings happened back there? Are you trying to make Calamity Ganon’s job easier?? Because I can't think of any more pointless method of throwing away your life than—"

"Revali," Link whispered, and the words vanished from his throat so quickly that his chest felt deflated. Over his own abrupt silence, the hammering of his heart felt abnormally loud.

"What?" Revali said eloquently.

"Revali," Link said again, or… slurred, maybe? His glazed eyes squinted up at Revali, not quite focusing on his face, and—okay, so maybe Link had a concussion. There was a rather large knot on his head—bleeding sluggishly, now that Revali noticed it, which would likely require attention. Still, Link could speak, and he was speaking to him. "Revali, there's… there's something I need you to know. I've… I…"

Revali leaned in close to catch his breathless whisper, feeling a bit breathless himself. Were these words of thanks? Of concession? Of…

"I think I've fallen for you, Revali."

Revali blinked, and leaned a precise three inches back. Maybe he had water in his ear. He must have misheard Link somehow, because his first spoken words couldn't possibly be a—

"Get it?" Link said, and Revali breathed in deeply. A pun. "Do you—"

"I get it," Revali said, his voice kept utterly neutral. Link shook his head, struggling to sit up.

"No! Actually, you're going to have to save my life again, because…" Link carried on relentlessly, his gaze slightly fevered now. "Because I'm drowning in your eyes."

Revali felt an unspecified muscle in his aforementioned eyes twitch, and he started to count backwards from ten.

"You have a concussion, Link," he said carefully—a reminder for them both. "It's best if you just—stay quiet. I'm taking you back to the village, where—"

"Hey. Hey, is your name Lake Totori?" Link asked, leaning further into Revali's space with a grin turned unbearable. "Because you just took my breath aw—"

Later that night, Revali would swear before the village elder that he did not push Link back in the water, whatever anyone else claimed to have seen. Link had clearly wandered back off the edge himself, still disoriented from his fall. Why would Revali push him in, after expending so much effort in saving him?

Zelda backed up Revali’s story, pretending a greater viewpoint on events than her position from above had actually afforded her. Privately, she held her doubts, but… well, all was well that ended well, right?

And Link, who remembered almost nothing aside from falling, but who couldn't help but wonder why his own cheeks flushed and Revali's feathers fluffed up strangely whenever their eyes met... he, characteristically, said nothing at all.

[caffeineforbucky]

As Time Goes By...(Chapter three)

A/N: This one took a while to write. I've just been so busy doing absolutely nothing all while procrastinating, so special thanks to that. No, but I really hope you like this, fellow reader. If you like the series, let me know if you want to be tagged!

(Side note: I've been playing RE8, thirsting over lady D, and dying over and over...it's going great! It's part of the procrastination...)

Also, has anyone seen the Bridgerton musical tiktoks? I swear I've had the 'burn for you' song in my head all last month and if you've been living under a rock...here's the link:

https://youtu.be/EwY9_m5qeow

Word Count: 2,299

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I don't know....angst? As always, John Walker!?! AKA; Fake Cap. Umm...If I missed any let me know.

(A little PSA: I don't hate John Walker: or the actor. John is a well-written character. This is just strictly for the purpose of where my story is going. I'm more reiterating how Bucky treats him in the show. Thank you!!)

You groan, rolling from your left side to lay flatly on your back, arms spread out beside you. You inhale deeply, becoming aware of the moistened dirt and crushed wildflowers beneath you as they release their aromatics. Birds chirped around you, the busy sounds of traffic fading away while you lie still in the field, oxygen feeling heavy in your lungs.

"Y/N?!"

You barely heard the worrisome calls of Sam over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You lift your head, the view of icy mountains in the distance, blurry figures making their way towards you while you somehow managed to sit up. Your head was spinning, a sharp ache on the side of your thigh.

Your eyes flickered down, taking note of the small paring knife lodged in your thigh. You exhaled softly, nodding your head at the sight of it. "Okay," You grumble in agreement. With shaking hands, you wrap your fingers around the handle, bracing yourself by taking intervolved breaths before carefully pulling it from your thigh.

You worked fast, ignoring the crunch of rocks and dirt under the acknowledgeable footsteps of Sam and Bucky. Taking babochka, you cut off the end of your pant leg, wrapping the spandex around your wounded thigh before securing it with one of the holsters, tying the ends into a knot. You remain quiet, carefully pushing yourself up to your feet, transferring all of the weight to the opposite leg, eyes drifting up to meet the guys. "Are you guys okay?" You murmur, dusting off the clumps of dirt and dead leaves from your jacket.

"Are you?!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "You're bleeding!" He points out, gesturing to the bright red staining the skin of your calf as it dripped down to your boot. The wrap might've held the wound shut, but that didn't mean blood wouldn't have soaked through.

"Oh, this?" You ask, glancing down at your leg, the wound throbbing in agony, but you did your best to avoid it. "I've had worse." That was true, from all those years fighting as an avenger. Getting shot, kicked, stabbed, beaten until you were purple, and undergoing mind control. This tiny stab was the least of your worries. It still hurt like hell, and you couldn't hide the discomfort in your features.

"Do you want a piggyback?" Bucky asks suddenly, slightly annoyed at your nonchalance and still concerned nonetheless. You weren't expecting it, the odd but kind offer, especially from the menace himself. Though you weren't one to pass up being carried. With a hesitant nod, you agree, watching Bucky crouch just a bit, allowing you to climb on his back.

The position was awkward for both of you. With his hands tightening on the back of your knees and your arms wrapped around his neck, neither of you could think straight. Yet, you were still thankful. The road to the airport was a long one, and you weren't sure if you could make it in your state. Bucky held you as if you weighed nothing, his super-soldier strength showing off while he carried you on his back, footsteps matching up with Sam. He didn't mind doing it, especially since he was the one who offered, and the proximity was just a bonus.

"Sorry about Redwing," Bucky muses, breaking the silence while the three of you sauntered down the empty road. There was nothing for miles, only empty plains of grass and dirt. Young trees scattered, lacking the greenery around them, evident of the cold weather in Munich.

"No, you're not," Sam remarks, narrowing his eyes to a pinprick at the winter soldier. "You've always hated Redwing."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry about it," Bucky grumbles, tightening his hold on you as he felt you slipping. You gasp at the sudden strength, clinging better to his shoulders as well. "How're you doin' up there?" He asks, jaw clenching from your touch.

"All things considering," You sigh, pushing aside the butterflies in your tummy at how close you were to Bucky. "I've been better. We've gotta find out where that super serum is coming from."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, glancing at you. "-And how the hell after 80 years are there eight super-soldiers runnin' loose?"

Loud honks of a horn ring in your ears, tires treading on the gravel as an army jeep slows down beside the three of you. "So, that didn't go as planned, huh?" John chuckles, pushing the door open only for you to keep walking, paying no mind to the man in stars and stripes.

"Okay, keep going," John utters, signaling the driver to keep up as he pulls the door shut. "Look, at least we know what we're up against, huh? And I'm pretty sure it's one of the big three...so,"

"Aliens, androids, or wizards," Lemar comments as John nods his head in agreement.

"There's no such thing as wizards!" Bucky grunts, keeping his eyes forward, hands on the back of your knees.

"Fine, aliens or androids," John settles, sharing a look with his best friend beside him. "Look, it's 20 miles to the airport, and you guys need a ride. Gary, stop," He instructs, the wheels slowing down. John opens the door once again. "Get in," He sighs, motioning all of you inside the jeep as Bucky and Sam's footsteps came to a halt.

Bucky gently sets you down, taking note of the small whimpers falling from your lips. No matter how tough you appeared to be, you still carried so much vulnerability. "You okay?" He asks, eyes filled with so much concern it almost scared you. He hadn't looked at you like that in a while. "Do you want any help?"

With a soft nod, you oblige to Bucky's ask, needing more help than you anticipated. You didn't want to add any strain or force to your injury. You didn't even realize it happened, and that part of it was Sam's fault for swooping to grab you while you had a knife in hand, but you weren't going to start pointing fingers. You wrap your arm around Bucky's shoulder, using him as support while he boosts you up on the jeep after Sam climbs up first, helping you settle beside him.

"Woah!" John exclaims, almost rising to his feet at the sight of your thigh, your hands stained with blood. "Are you okay?"

With a curt nod, you adjust yourself to relieve some of the pressure while Bucky takes a seat on your left, leaving you to be right smack dab in the middle as he pulls the door shut. You blow out a breath, knowing damn well if it hadn't been for the mishap, you would've walked the damn 20 miles.

"Lemar, hand me the first aid kit," John instructs, pointing to the steel case beside his friend. You wanted to protest, but even you knew that the strap wasn't going to work. Mouthing a thank you, you take the case from Lemar's hand and clip it open.

"Okay, so we got eight super-soldiers on a bulk supply run," John continues, the jeep beginning to roll down the road. You hand the case to Sam, asking him to hold it while you searched for gauze, medical tape, and butterfly bandages, you were probably going to need stitches, but you'd worry about that later. "Why?" John asks, watching closely as you patched up your wound.

"They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during the blip," Sam answers, handing you another strip of tape. "Maybe they're just tryna help."

"They had a funny way of showing it," Bucky adds, his eyes trained on you, a hiss slipping through your lips as you roll down the remaining spandex. You sigh in relief, the ache becoming dull as you shut the case, giving it back to Lemar.

"Better?" John asks, earning a single nod as a response. "I don't think we've properly met. John Walker," he smiles, offering a shake of his hand, but you didn't move, only staring at the outstretched palm in front of you. "Does she talk?" John mumbles suddenly, looking to Sam or Bucky for a reply.

Your eyes cast down, gaze hardening at the sight of the shield in his grasp. Flashes of Steve running through your mind, the many times he'd catch you trying to throw it like he would. Steve Rogers meant a lot to you, having joined him in not signing the Sokovian accords, being an outlaw, and helping to clear Bucky's name with Sam. So, seeing a man who wasn't Steve hold the shield awoke something in you. Something unkind and hateful.

"When she wants to," You claim, John squirms in his seat, sensing the tension as your eyes flicker to his. "And frankly has no desire to speak to you."

"You don't even know me," John defends, glancing at Bucky, a sly smirk on his lips, and Sam, who rendered quiet, his eyes looking elsewhere. John sets his attention back on you, lips razor thin.

You scoff, shaking your head softly as you fold your arms over your chest. "Jonathon F. Walker," You begin, leaning back in your seat, your eyes never leaving his. "Former Captain of the U.S Army's 75th Rangers Regiment. Graduated at the top of your class from the United States Military and the first person in American history to receive three medals of honor, ran RS-one missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue."

John's tongue darts between his lips, a frown spreading throughout his forehead at the information you were giving him. Either you did research on him or, you just read his file, which you had done both. You were not one to go into a mission without potentially knowing who you were up against. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"So you saw the news?" John chuckles, the frown falling from his features while he shrugs. "Big deal, so did the entire world."

"Custer's Grove High school alumni."

John's smile falters.

"There you met, Lemar Hoskins and your current wife," You tilt your head in curiosity. "Olivia, right? Or am I getting it wrong?"

Clearing his throat softly, John broke eye contact with you. So you did know him, and you probably knew more than you led on. "Do they always just stare like that?" He gestures between you and Bucky, who had displayed the same distaste for him.

Sam glances beside him, observing the matched body language you shared with Bucky, its no wonder Bucky had taken a liking to you, even if he'd never admit it. "You get used to it," Sam smirks, turning his head back to Walker.

"Okay..." John drags, eyes flickering to the more sensible one of the trio, and that was Sam. "Look, that serum doesn't have the greatest track record, no offense," He waves his hand, dismissing the insult directed towards the only super-soldier in the car.

"We need to figure out where they're going. How'd you track 'em here?" Sam asks, "The flag smashers."

"Uh," Lemar murmurs, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't track them. We tracked you through Redwing."

"You hacked my tech!?" Sam gripes, straightening out his back as he sat up.

"Sorry," John laughs, "It's not exactly hacking. It's government property...kind of the government. Alright, you know things have gotten kind of..."

"Chaotic," Lemar adds.

"Yeah," John nods in agreement. "The GRC, they're doing their best to get things up and running smoothly post blip. If you guys teamed up with us-"

"No." Bucky interrupts. He couldn't let Walker finish that sentence.

"I've got mad respect for all of you," Lemar praises, looking between the trio before him. "But you were getting your asses kicked 'til we showed up."

"And who are you?" Bucky bemuses, cocking a brow at the man next to John.

"Lemar Hoskins," You mention, "I could've sworn we've been through this." You shake your head at the old man, for being 106, he couldn't hear a thing.

"I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear," Sam shrugs, "I'm gonna need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins."

"I'm Battlestar, John's partner."

"Battlestar?" Bucky repeats, narrowing his eyes at Lemar as he nods, confirming his alias. "Stop the car!" Bucky shouts suddenly, brakes screeching as the wheels come to a stop in the middle of the road. Bucky pulls open the handle, ducking, as to not rail his head on the bar-frame above him before hopping off the jeep.

"Look, I get it, okay?" John sighs, calling after Bucky. "I get the attitude, I do. You didn't think the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky. And I'm not trying to be Steve!"

"Good," You interject, rendering John to settle his eyes on you. "Because you will never be. And just because you're the one wielding it..." You grab the bar above your head, using it to pull yourself up. "It doesn't make you Captain America." And with that, you carefully jump off the jeep, following after the heated super-soldier.

Sighing in frustration, he rips his eyes away from your retreating figures. "I'm not trying to replace him either. I'm just trying to be the best Captain America I can be." He explains to Sam, hoping the falcon would cut him some slack. "-And it'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingman on my side."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise, his tongue darting between his lips. "It's always that last line," He scoffs, shaking his head as he jumped off the car, following you and Bucky.

John's lips thin out, face scrunching in a scowl. "Let's go," He instructs. The sound of the jeep leaving making its way to your ears.

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

Whumptober No. 3: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But...

Taunting | Insults | “Who did this to you?”

Summary: Nothing could’ve prepared Geralt for Jaskier being brought to Kaer Morhen, nor for the sight of the bandages on his injured hands. Despite what happened on that mountain, Geralt wants to know who did this - who took away something so integral to the core of Julian Alfred Pankratz. But he doesn’t get the answer he thought he would.

Words: 2k

A/N: DAY THREE LET’S GOOO! And after two and a half months, I’ve finally gotten another witcher fic out! It feels good! I missed writing for this fandom so much (and it’ll help me ease back into Spider’s Thread), and this was SUCH a fun prompt fill for today. This was inspired by some of That Jaskier Content from the latest s2 trailer, and it’s... implications about the state of his hands. I hope you enjoy!

[CW: Hurt/No Comfort, Torture Aftermath, Hand Injury]

--

Nothing could have prepared Geralt for this.

No, there was nothing in this world - not even a miracle - that could’ve prepared Geralt for the moment he sensed a portal - one of Yen’s portals - outside the keep.

For the moment he ran out to a balcony and saw her there, having somehow - despite everything he believed, everything he thought he knew for certain - having survived the Battle of Sodden Hill; for the moment he’d lay eyes on a very much alive Yennefer… with a bard’s arm drawn over her shoulder to support him.

His hair was longer now, down to his jaw, and a burgundy leather jacket - adorned with ribs and folds just like that red doublet he wore as he looked down at him on that mountain, heart shattered - lay in tatters on him, bandaged hands peeking out of it’s sleeves…

He didn’t look the same - Gods knew he didn’t look the same - but Geralt still recognized Jaskier.

He was shuffled into one of the many, many spare rooms almost immediately, and Geralt tried talking to Yennefer. Of course, she’d been tense with him, but that was alright. At least she was alive to be tense with him. He’d take that over a particular alternative any day.

Speaking of tense...

The keep had never felt so cold as right now, when Geralt of Rivia stood in the doorway of Jaskier’s impromptu room. Here, the bard sat in an old chair, in front of a desk he did not look like he’d use to write on anytime soon. No, he looked at the wood slab despondently, not even seeming to notice Geralt.

So, he spoke up, speaking to Jaskier, his companion of twenty years, for the first time since that mountain.

“Jaskier… you’re here.”

Jaskier didn’t look at him, but he did speak.

“Wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know where else to go, and even if I did, Yennefer insisted - didn’t think I’d be safe anywhere else. Can you believe that? Yennefer of Vengerberg has a soft spot for me. The end of days may very well be upon us.”

His voice was hoarse. Geralt knew it must have been from screaming. His eyes drew down to Jaskier’s hands, where patches of horrendous blue and gods-damned purple peeked out from slivers of space between the bandages that showed his open skin.

“Your hands…”

“Oh, these old things?” Jaskier looked down at them,  “Well, Yenny did her best, but they still hurt like a bitch to play with. I won’t bestow new ballads on the world for a while yet. Sorry if you expected me to sing your praises…”

But his tone made it clear that he wouldn’t do that even if his hands were as good as they were that day in Posada, or in Cintra, or on that mountain…

Geralt pursed his lips, trying to hold back his question. He didn’t deserve to know, he knew that, but he had to…

“...Who did this to you?” he spat out.

Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet the Witcher’s, and he laughed. It wasn’t like before - like the sunrise in the spring, like the bloom of buttercups, like love and joy and all the things he came to equate with Jaskier’s laughter, however unconscious, unadmitted these comparisons were. No, it was an empty, sardonic, quietly angry thing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“And for what?” he asked, “So you can tear some fucker to shreds for laying a hand on me? Because you think I’m still your naive companion that would swoon at the thought of you exacting revenge on him for my sake? So you can make some grand gesture of brutality?”

“I’m not the one of us enamored with grand gestures.”

Jaskier tilted his head back and huffed. The shift in his movement made his hair move a bit, and Geralt realized he missed that little swoop - the little… floof, even - of hair that went down his forehead before, when his hair had been shorter.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said “us” about me and you.” Jaskier remarked, “Twenty years, and you acknowledge that I was something to you. Not sure what, but something.”

“You were…” 

Jaskier’s eyes widened as if he remembered something, “Oh! Right! I remember - a shitshoveler. The catalyst for all your plights, something life would bless you by taking off your hands.”

Guilt sliced into Geralt like a kikimora’s claws.

“Looks like life heard “taking” and “hands” and went straight to me…” Jaskier huffed with the ghost of amusement with himself, looking down at his hands.

“Of course you can still joke.”

Jaskier shrugged, “Not much else to do. They took my lute, and my ability to play it, but they haven’t taken my wit.”

He crossed his legs.

“The funny thing is…” he said, staring down at the cracks in the table in front of him, “There was a little bit there where, if you’d apologized, I would’ve forgiven you. But… there wasn’t a trace of you to speak of after that hunt. Nowhere I went. Not that I went looking.”

“I didn’t have time to look for you, either.” Geralt said, “I was with Ciri.”

Jaskier snapped his gaze up.

“Oh, come now, Witcher.” he said with venom Geralt only ever knew from bigoted villagers that Jaskier had tried to change the minds of with his songs before, “Does your prolonged lifespan render you timeblind, or has your head been so far up your ass for so long that you can’t even properly tell time anymore?”

“I-”

“Two years, Geralt.” he said, “A blink of an eye for you, maybe, but that’s how long it was between that damned dragon hunt and the fall of Cintra. Two years you could have found me, before Cintra fell, before-”

He snapped his jaw shut.

“Before who?”

“No, Geralt!” he snapped, slamming his hands on the table to help him stand up. It seemed that his anger stopped him from realizing how bad that would hurt, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Geralt tried to step forward, but it was like the ground between them was covered in hot coals, and Geralt’s feet couldn’t have been more bare.

Once the pain seemed to quell, Jaskier’s eyes opened, and he glowered at the Witcher.

“You don’t get to know. You don’t get to make that bastard beg for mercy and act like that fixes anything - as if it does anything but conflate your ego that is so, so massive despite how much you hate yourself. You don’t get to take revenge on my behalf. You don’t get to act like this,” he held up his hands, “is anything compared to what you did to my heart.”

“I’m sorry-”

“And you DON’T GET TO SAY THAT NOW.” he screamed, killing Geralt’s words before it could leave his lips.

Geralt saw tears in his eyes as he huffed shaky breaths.

“You don’t get to say it like some off-hand statement, only brought up since it’s relevant.” he said with a wavering voice, “You don’t get to only say it now that I’m here, fallen right in your lap because Gods knew where else Yennefer could take me. And you don’t get to say it like it means anything now.”

“Now?”

Jaskier lowered his gaze.

“...I sort of figured you were embarrassed. That you were too scared to get your head out of your ass, like you are with a lot of things, but once you did, I would’ve…”

He sighed.

“But I heard you went to Cintra. Heard you went to claim your child-surprise.”

“What does Cirilla have to do with this?” he asked.

“Who do you think he asked about with each bone he broke?” Jaskier asked, snapping his gaze back to Geralt, “You? If it were just you, I would’ve…”

He sighed.

“That isn’t the point. When I heard that after twelve years of running from your claim, you hauled your arse to Cintra to protect her, I realized that you were always capable of going back to unfinished business, to scorned places of the past - you could always do it, if it was for the sake of something important enough to you.”

Jaskier lowered his gaze again, smiling sadly - smiling bitterly. It was an odd thing, a bitter smile, but Jaskier, like a fine doublet, wore it well.

“I just wasn’t.” he said, “I’m not your destiny, or your djinn-bound soulmate. I was just a bard.”

My bard. Geralt wanted so badly to say.

“What could I have said?”

Jaskier’s lower lip quivered as he looked at the Witcher near-dumbfounded, as if his incredulousness were a dagger that cut him deep. He leaned back against the table.

“You tell me.” he shrugged, “For those two years, I was still stupid enough that anything would have worked. Really, I wished some of my eloquence rubbed off on you, and I could’ve gotten a plea that, in a spur of irony, I was one of the few blessings life ever granted you, but anything that sounded remotely like an apology would have worked.”

He put his hands on his hips. Geralt could tell how hesitant he was.

“...At least, it would have made me think I was worth an apology in your eyes, and I was worth all the work it could have taken, tracking me down to say it.”

He rubbed a patch of cloth on his trousers with his thumb. Geralt didn’t miss how the corner of his lip twitched.

“At least, I could’ve known that what you said really was just a product of the heat of the moment, sprung forth by a misplaced attempt at levity, and there was no truth to it. I was so desperate that I would have taken anything if it meant I’d stop missing you.”

“You obviously stopped missing me eventually.” 

Jaskier threw his head back again, “Wrong again, Geralt.”

He stood up straight again and walked across the floor, which, to Geralt, was still littered with hot coals he couldn’t dare step over.

“Do you really think that the venom in your words - the spit from your lips - the fury in your eyes could clear you from my mind? From my heart?” he walked right up to Geralt, though the space between them felt like it was pushing the Witcher away from Jaskier like a magnet.

“Do you really think that anything but the Gods themselves could’ve made me stop missing you?”

Geralt couldn’t say anything. Hearing Jaskier’s words… it was like a vocal hex, like someone had sewn his very lips shut.

(Perhaps if he had done so himself before that day on the hunt, things wouldn’t have gone so bad…)

(No, no, he still would’ve found a way to ruin things. He was Geralt of Rivia, after all.)

Jaskier was only inches away from him now - a distance like something from a dream, after they’d been distant for so long… but even though this was the closest their bodies had ever been to one another, the Witcher knew that Jaskier’s mind - his heart - was as far away from Geralt as it could ever get.

Jaskier was the one to break eye contact - as if he was still terrified of giving the Witcher the chance to break anything - and he looked down to his feet.

“...If you want to know who broke my hands, Yennefer knows more than I.” he said, “She’s the one that found me, told me more of who he was. All I have is a name for a face.”

Geralt turned to leave. Jaskier grabbed his wrist.

The touch burned.

“But…”

Jaskier lifted his head and looked Geralt in the eye.

“...You want to know who did this to me? Who ruined me? Who broke me?”

Jaskier’s eyes bore into Geralt’s soul, the ice blue of his irises piercing him like shards.

“Go look back on that mountain.”