#yes i am going to continue ranting about that point momentarily because i will never shut up about disability themes and pjo

[aroaceleovaldez]

i see haikubot found me

[yungbud]

Silent Treatment+X

Req? Yes! @madonnasinn said: Can you write a smut about Dom ignoring y/n over a petty fight they had a few days ago, and y/n parades in a very tiny skirt around him when they go out to have dinner with his friends (to get his attention). He then gets really mad because all the guys keep eyeing her, which she knows he hates so she tempts him and fuck in the restaurant bathroom 🤭 just a lil idea i had LOL

Word Count: 2.4K

Tw:Light choking, semi-public sex acts, a little bit of thigh spanking/smacking, idk smut obviously.

A/N: Feast

—

You sat in the kitchen with Dom. Well, Dom sat, you stood, washing the dishes as he talked to you about how the album was going.

“I’ve just been so stressed for the past three fookin weeks trying to get this done. I just want it to be perfect, you know? And I keep wanting to go back and tweak it but Gav tells me not to.” Dom ranted, absentmindedly picking at his nailpolish while he did. 

You reached for the knob of the faucet, turning the water on to rinse off the dish in your hand, accidentally turning it too high and ending up being splashed with water, soaking the bottom half of your shirt.

That reminded you, tomorrow you had to do the laundry, then clean Dom and your shared room, then you’d have to shower– No, that wouldn’t work. You’d have to shower then do laundry before you leave, or else you’d end up being late for your appointment.

God, these last few weeks had just been so stressful. You felt like you barely had a chance to breathe, you’d finish one thing and up would pop the next. Oh, and you couldn’t forget lunch right after your appointment. You hoped there wouldn’t be traffic, you can’t be late because (Y/B/F) would only be visiting you on their lunch break, they’d have to go back to work straight after. 

Who were you kidding, it’s LA, of course there’d be traffic.

Should you reschedule? You were both so busy as is and this was the one time your schedules had allowed you to meet up in what must’ve been months. 

Shit, you thought, how long had it been? You began replaying the last few months in your head as you absentmindedly scrubbed at the plate in hand.

“And you’re not even listening.” Dom pouted.

“No, no I am. That’s great sweetie.”

“What’d I just say.” He tests, looking at you, his raised brow doing very little to hide the fact that he’s annoyed.

“You were talking about the uh- The uhm,” You paused, mustering all your brain cells to remember what he had just been talking about. The towel squished between your hand and the counter as you leaned against the sink, your fingers coming up to stroke the bridge of your nose as you thought “The drums, you just finished the last of it, right?” 

The oven dinged, signalling the food needed tending too. Your mind flipped as you searched the kitchen for the oven mit.

Where could you have possibly put it if not right next to the oven where you could’ve sworn you left it. You spun, searching the other counters, even going as far as to look in the sink before realizing it had slid to the floor right below where you put it. Sighing, you leaned down to grab it, pulling open the oven to tend to tonight’s dinner.

“Uh, what else happened today?” You ask, trying to keep your mind on track. You were careful not to burn yourself as fussed with the food

“Shit, babe can you hand me the tongs?” You ask, reaching a hand out behind you. That’s when you realized he hadn’t responded.

“Babe?” You try again, turning around only to realize he’d already left. You scoffed, grabbing it for yourself before leaning back. Standing straight, you take a moment to bask in the warmth of the oven before closing it. 

*~Three days later~*

Dom raised his head to look at you, your spoon clinking against the side of your bowl signalling your entrance of the living room. He looked back to the TV just as soon as he had looked over, obviously too invested in whatever he was watching to acknowledge your existence. A sigh of relief left your lips when your butt hit the cushions, leaning back into the inviting, cushiony supports.

“Ugh, this week has been so stressful. I feel like I haven’t had the chance to sit in like… forever.” You say, your eyes focusing on what was playing in front of you. It was an old episode of the great british bake off. 

You laughed a bit, but it came off more as a hum.

“You know, I heard when contestants would cry, Mel and Sue would stand by them and use un-airable language so the footage wouldn’t make it to the final cut. Isn’t that so thoughtful?” You say, trying to perk some conversation out of the boy sitting next to you. 

He wasn’t responding. Your eyebrows furrowed as you searched through anything you might’ve said to upset him recently. You couldn’t think of a single thing, come to think of it, what was the last thing you had said to him? Hell, when was it?

You realized quickly your last exchange was in the kitchen, and even that had been cut short by him leaving. 

Yes, that’s right. When you had crawled in bed with him that night, he had been asleep and you were in such a rush the next morning you couldn’t remember if he was awake next to you when you woke up. He wasn’t exactly avoiding you as much as he was not talking to you.

Had he seriously been giving you the silent treatment for that long? 

“Is everything okay?” You tried, sure you were only getting in your own head. Your eyes had completely left the TV at this point, focusing solely on the quiet boy next to you. There was no response, not even so much as a nod.

“You haven’t talked to me in almost a week.” You continued

“Doesn’t matter. Even if i did, you wouldn’t be listening.” Dom retorted

“I’m sorry i made you feel that way. It honestly was not my intention, i’ve just been so caught up this week.” You were sorry, but it seemed awfully ridiculous to have gone this long giving you the silent treatment just because you had been distracted.

The conversation ended entirely there.

Dom hadn’t said more than two words to you since your argument, doing everything in his power to avoid you. It wasn’t hard, after all he was a very busy man. Especially with the release of his new album coming up, there were interviews and meetings to be had, but at a certain point they became less of a responsibility and more of an excuse.

You were on twitter, you had seen his fans practically begging him to take a break, but taking a break would mean seeing you, and that just wasn’t something he had been in the mood to do recently. It was bad enough already that he had to go to dinner with you.

That was okay, you would help him get in the mood. Or, rather, out of his mood. If Dom wanted to be petty, fine, you could be petty.

You slipped the soft material up your legs, admiring your reflection in the mirror. If Dom was going to ignore you, you were going to give him something to ignore. 

You knew this skirt would do the trick, every time you saw another girl or, fuck it, boy, prouncing around and one of these skirts even you nearly fucked them. Everybody looked good in these, it was a fact of life, you’d decided. You knew you definitely looked good, you almost had to stop for a moment and touch yourself to the sight, but glancing at the clock you realized you didn’t have nearly enough time for a bit of self pleasure.

You were practically already running late, spending all your time getting yourself ready to grab Dom’s attention. You added some finishing touches before heading out to the living room where Dom sat, waiting for you patiently. 

Any other time Dom would’ve been right next to you in the bathroom, admiring your work on your makeup, outfit and hair, but today he stayed in the living room

You tried not to smirk as you made your way into his line of vision. The look on his face was completely worth the hours of tireless work, though. He’d turned his head to look at you, a distinct glare replaced by shock, his eyes widening a bit as they landed on your outfit. It was tight and loose in all the right places and only added to your stunning features. 

“What?” You teased,

He tried to recover quickly, returning to his pouty state, not even bothering with a response as you followed him out the door.

You were sitting at the table, surrounded by you and Dom’s friends when someone finally made a comment on your appearance.

“You look really good, (Y/N).” Tom commented, everyone nodding in agreement as the conversation momentarily shifted to you.

“Thank you! I thought so.” You praise yourself, smiling down at your outfit.

The conversation drifted off again, a newfound confidence bubbling up in your chest. You reached over to Dom, grabbing his hand and placing it on your thigh. It stayed there for a moment before he moved it, and it continued on like that. You did everything in your power to remind him of how good you looked and how short your skirt was until he motioned for you to stand. A couple eyes turned to you as you walked off, but no one asked any questions.

Dom was practically dragging you, your feet fumbling as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. When you realized where you were headed you glanced at him, eyes wide, but he wasn’t looking back. His eyes were focused on the bathroom doors ahead, his jaw clenched, gorgeous green eyes shadowed by his black eyeliner.

“Dom, what are you doing?” You began to plead, uncomfortably aware of the fact that you were about to walk into a bathroom with your boyfriend in front of the whole restaurant. You glanced around, checking for any cameras or onlooking eyes. There were none in sight, but you knew that didn’t mean much.

Your head clobbered light as he pinned you to the stall, his eyes burning into your own. Your gaze faltered, looking everywhere but him. Normally sex with Dom never made you nervous, he had always managed to make you feel safe and comfortable, but going from complete silence to being pinned against a stall in The Olive Garden so abruptly made you timid. His hand pressed down on your shoulder, your legs bending until your knees hit the tiled floor, staring up at him through your lashes. Dom hastily unbuttoned his pants, maintaining his gaze, er, glare on you. Your eyes flickered from his own to his hard dick springing from its constraints, watching as he stroked himself achingly slow before his tip slid past your lips, sliding himself across your tongue a few times, his head leaning back as he felt the warmth of your mouth surround him. 

You hollowed out your cheeks, eyes remaining on his expression. When you reached up to replace his hand with your own you felt a harsh tug on your hair. It took you a moment to realize what he wanted from you, but when you realized you let your jaw go slack. Dom’s hand remained wrapped around the base of his cock, shoving it down your throat unexpectedly, causing you to gag.

Your mouth hung open, weary not to let your teeth scrape against him as he thrust into your mouth. You pulled back a bit as you gagged, your head lightly hitting against the wall behind you. Dom continued to push forward, his hard cock pushing farther and farther back in your throat. You were pinned between his thrusting hips and the bathroom stall, you had no choice but to let him fuck your throat.

Not that you were complaining.

Well, you couldn’t.

You gagged around him, hands coming up to grip at his hips as he continued to use your mouth to get himself off, angelic moans falling from his plush lips.

Dom finally took mercy on you, pulling away and grabbing your chin with his thumb and forefinger, staring down at you.

“You look so pretty gagging on my dick.” He says, wiping the tear coming from your eye. His hand makes its way down to your neck, wrapping around it and pulling you to your feet.

 “Or maybe it’s just that fucking skirt.” He adds, slapping your thigh before lifting the skirt up to reveal your lace underwear. A groan slips past his lips, bringing his fingers against your core. You let out a sigh of relief as his fingers rubbed against your clit, glad to finally get some relief after all this time. It was short lived, though, as he pulled you to your feet using the grip he had on your throat, tilting your head up to look at him.

The air around you seemed to freeze, your eyes roamed eachothers faces, desperate for one another. His lips came against yours slowly and then all at once, his hand remaining around your throat as his tongue slipped its way into your mouth. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat remained between your legs, working steadily at making your legs shake for him.

It was almost embarrassing how ready you were for him, so needy that the slightest touch beckoned a whine. Things became heated again quickly, his hands moving from your neck to your thighs, a quick hop before you wrapped them around his waist. 

Dom reached between your legs, trying his best to move the material without dropping you, eventually giving in and letting you do it instead. Reaching between your legs, you wrapped your hand around him, lining his hard dick up with your aching core. He paused there for a moment, enjoying the feeling before pushing himself in. His lips reconnected with your own, thrusting into you a few times before sighing and setting you back to the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed up at him, unsure what to do before he was spinning your around, pinning your face against the wall. You felt him slide between your lips once more before pushing in. It took him a moment to find his rhythm, but soon you were being pounded against the bathroom stall, pathetic moans falling from both your lips, Your senses clouded by pleasure leaving you completely lost to your surroundings.

You would have to be petty more often.

[spicycreativity]

Yooo I’ve been reading your fic Intertwined and it is super good and giving me major moceit brain rot! Since you’re thinking about taking prompts, mayhaps moceit with something enemies-to-lovers and/or secret relationship?

Ah yay my first ever request! I wrote this as a series of vignettes because I knew if I gave myself half a chance I would go waaay overboard with it. Thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺❤❤❤

Length: 3.5k

Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag

Oh also I did try to make it obvious, but just in case it isn't, I is post Can Lying Be Good, II is post SvS, III is post DWIT, IV is immediately post PoF, and V is later after PoF

I.

Some nights, Patton's head felt like a pressure cooker with no vent valve. The weight of his covers seemed to crush his chest, forcing him to hyperventilate as he desperately tried to pull in a full breath. Emotions swirled in his head like hot steam, a sickening mix of betrayal and shame, anger and guilt and fear. The knowledge of what Deceit had done, had tried to get Thomas to do, sat heavy in his stomach and brought the temperature up, up, up, until Patton was forced to move. He had to do something, dispel some of the steam before it boiled over into-- Well, something. Sometimes he felt on the verge of something scary and wholly out of his control, some kind of terrible explosion that would liquefy the support joints in Thomas' psyche and send all of them crashing down.

But not tonight. Tonight, Patton would scream into his pillows or pace the halls or talk to the mirror, anything to slow the roaring boil in his mind. He threw himself out of bed, bare feet touching down on the carpet, and was out the door before he could even think of grabbing something to cover up with. Not that the others had never seen him in boxers and a T-shirt, but Roman preferred to sleep in the cold and dropped the temperature accordingly.

Patton had smiled when Virgil had pulled him aside to explain what had happened. That Deceit had impersonated him and, like the Pied Piper, paraded the others behind him with a beautiful song. Thinking about it made the world tilt a little, but Patton had smiled and would have ruffled Virgil's hair if he'd thought Virgil would let him. Because it had turned out okay, hadn't it? And Patton was stupid for still feeling the way he felt. It was stupid to feel hurt that the others hadn't noticed right away. Deceit was a good actor and they had eventually noticed anyway. It was stupid to be scared. Thomas had rejected Deceit's temptation.

And then all Patton's thoughts vanished like a bursting soap bubble, because Deceit was in the hall. His look of wide-eyed astonishment was already morphing into a much more familiar expression of contempt.

"Oh," said Patton, once he'd recovered his own wits.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Deceit, who, Patton noticed with a jolt, was also in his pajamas. It was hard to be scared of someone wearing sweatpants decorated with little cartoon snakes, but it didn't entirely ease Patton's trepidation. It certainly didn't slow his pounding heart.

"What are you doing up?" Patton asked.

Deceit rolled his eyes like Patton's question was unprecedentedly stupid. "I was on my way to kill you in your sleep so I could take your place permanently." He shifted awkwardly as he talked, and Patton realized he was trying to gesticulate with his hands jammed deep in his pockets.

Patton didn't know what to say to that, so he did what he did best and smiled. He needed a way out. Forget feeling like a pressure cooker, he wanted to run back to bed and hide under the covers. He wanted Deceit to go away.

"Anyway," said Deceit, glaring, "I could ask you the same question."

Evil. He was evil. And here was Patton making small talk with him. Abiding him. "Are you sorry?"

Deceit's snake eye caught the light and almost seemed to glow under it. "Am I sorry?"

"For doing wrong." Patton scrambled to find confidence, find righteousness, conviction, faith. Anything he could use to keep Deceit at bay. "For encouraging Thomas to do wrong."

Deceit smiled, but not the way Patton had. This was cruel and mocking. He shook his head slightly as though in disbelief and almost seemed to laugh, his hands drawing the fabric of his sweats tight as he clenched them into fists. "Oh, yes, Patton, I'm so very sorry for trying to help. Yes, I repent! Shall I get down on my knees for you so you can forgive me for looking after Thomas? Hm?"

"I…" Patton took in a shaky breath. "I don't think we have anything more to say to each other. And I don't think I want to see you again."

"Don't worry," said Deceit as Patton turned his back on him, "you definitely won't."

II.

"I'm not angry," Janus said for what felt like the billionth time. He adjusted his arms where he had them crossed over his chest, huffing out a breath through his nose.

"You," said Remus, pointing at him, "have been throwing a tantrum ever since you got back. 'They're too stupid to manipulate, Remus! They didn't even listen, Remus! You're so sexy and well-hung, Remus!'"

"The are too stupid to manipulate! Is that my fault?"

"I'm just saying, you're kind of harshing my mellow."

"You've never been mellow in your life and you know it."

Remus only grinned and shook out the contents of another matchbox to add to his pile. He was planning on building a life-sized Roman out of matches and burning it in effigy. Janus remembered with a twist of guilt that Remus had seemed remarkably at ease in the two seconds before Janus had popped up and started ranting.

"Alright, since you're such a zen master," Janus huffed, "what do you suggest I do? Burn Patton in effigy?"

"I mean…" Remus held out a matchbox. "We can take turns with the Krazy Glue."

"Oh, forget it." Janus took the matchbox more by instinct than anything. "I'm going for a walk."

"You could burn down Virgil's door," Remus suggested.

Janus just shook his head and continued to stalk away. A few hours had passed since the courtroom disaster. It was now early evening and the matchstick of rage still burned quietly in Janus' chest. They were all so stupid! So naive. And it was all Patton's fault.

Janus turned the matchbox over in his hand, careful not to drop it. Scorched earth had never been his preferred modus operandi, but if Patton kept pushing back at him like this, Janus was going to shove, consequences be damned.

Oh, and speak of the angel. Janus didn't much feel like playing it coy, but he forced himself to. He leaned because against the wall, the matches still in his palm, and looked Patton slowly up and down. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Deceit!" Patton stopped dead, the smile sliding from his face. "What are you doing here?"

Janus brandished the matches, barely controlling the furious hiss building in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped once today, lost control of his temper. He couldn't allow that to happen again. "I've come to burn it all down."

Patton's eyes went wide, his gaze hot on the matches. "You should know better than to play with fire."

The knowledge of Patton's fear burned hot and triumphant in Janus' veins, filling him with the idea that he could still win something. He got closer to Patton with measured steps, slipping behind him when Patton tried to back away. "No, Patton," he purred, silky and cool in Patton's ear. "You're the one who's playing with fire."

"What…" Patton's voice shook and he cleared his throat, turning his head to try to look Janus in the eye. Janus was momentarily distracted by the freckles' on Patton's neck, the soft pulsing of his jugular vein. "What do you mean?"

Annoyed at himself, Janus backed up. The paper matchbox felt feeble in his grasp now, as feeble as his pathetic little display of power. He could bully Patton all he wanted and it wouldn't change a thing. "The Duke and I, we're the one thing you can't control," he boasted. Might as well see this through, since he started it.

"I have to try," Patton said. "My friends trust me, Thomas trusts me to keep him safe from the likes of you. I won't let you make Thomas into a liar. I won't let you lead Roman astray. But Deceit?"

"What?" Janus growled. His frustration was directed inward now, that he had thought any of this might make him feel better. Right. He should just go read Hobbes in the bath with his fire extinguisher handy.

"If you ever decide you want to… Well, be good. There's room for you at my table."

Janus crushed the matchbox in his clenched fist. If Patton applied his arbitrary standards fairly, he would see that Janus was good. But no, he was quite content to wear the blindfold of his own hypocrisy and leave Janus out to rot. "You're impossible," Janus said through clenched teeth. Before he could change his mind, he palmed the ruined matchbox into Patton's hand and turned to go.

"What's this for?" Patton asked.

Janus paused and gave his well-practiced supervillain smirk. "A promise."

Time to unleash the beast.

III.

Now more than ever, Patton was certain he was in over his head. He sat on the kitchen floor, hot chocolate untouched beside him, and stared at the crumpled matchbox in his palm. 'A promise,' Deceit had said. Patton hadn't been sure what to make of that, but he had an idea now.

Deceit was right. Patton couldn't control Remus. But that just meant he had to try harder. So now what was he supposed to do? Thomas was looking at him for guidance, but… He was supposed to ease up on judging Thomas for having evil thoughts, while simultaneously not letting Thomas be evil. Was he being too harsh or too lenient? And why did it feel like both?

"Well, well, well." Deceit's voice grated on Patton's ears. He made no effort to bolster himself, no effort to look anything other than despondent. Deceit must have been feeling truly bold to venture so far into enemy territory.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Patton asked, still staring at the matchbox. He didn't want to see that smirking face.

"Obviously not," said Deceit. "Chaos for chaos' sake was never the endgame."

"Then why are you here?" Patton asked, finally looking up. The angle and the brim of Deceit's hat kept his eyes in shadow, so all Patton could see was the mouth housing that forked serpent tongue.

"I'm here to offer you one last chance, Patton. Get out of my way."

"You can't put this on me," Patton said, looking again at the matchbox. "You said you were going to burn it down. If you're willing to hurt Thomas to get your way, then you shouldn't get your way."

Deceit twitched slightly and Patton could tell he was rolling his eyes even if he couldn't see it. "Have you heard of prescribed burns?" He didn't wait for Patton to answer. "It's when humans deliberately set fires to destroy some of the forest underbrush. Now, it seems counterintuitive, but regularly burning parts of the forest actually prevents wildfires from raging out of control. Does it hurt the underbrush? Yes. But sometimes things that seem harmless or even good are actually quite deadly if left unchecked. So a little bit of destruction actually serves the greater good. Do you understand?"

Patton furrowed his brow, trying to navigate this. "So you are willing to hurt Thomas to get your way."

"Why," said Janus, flexing his hands, "do I even bother?"

"Why do you bother?" Patton asked. He had never thought to wonder before. Evil was just evil and there was understanding it. But something in him had broken a little today; he could feel the edges of it poking at his chest.

Deceit sighed and shifted his weight. For a moment, Patton thought he might sit or kneel so they could talk at eye level but no, of course not, Deceit would never give up an advantage like that. "Because!" he said, agitated. "Because I know I'm right. I know Thomas needs me. I can help."

"If you truly loved him, you wouldn't be willing to hurt him," Patton said with conviction. That, he could be sure of.

"This is precisely why I've had to take such drastic measures!" Deceit actually stamped his foot, and Patton watched as he balled his hands into fists, the knit of his gloves straining at the knuckles. "None of you ever listen to me! You decided what I am long before I made my entrance and you only hear what supports that illusion." He took a slow, deep breath, and his voice was back to its usual silken glide when he spoke again. "I am asking you, one last time, to get out of my way."

"And I'm telling you" --Patton got to his feet so he could look Deceit in the eye-- "no."

IV.

They found each other in the aftermath, both their worlds shattered and still on fire. Janus, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. The walls around them flickered from the force of their combined imagination, showing crumbling drywall and collapsed framing, the smoldering ruin of everything they could have sworn was truth.

Janus had known that Patton was wrong about him, but he had never suspected that he might be wrong about Patton. The realization buzzed through his veins like electricity, along with a fatal determination that he and Patton were inexorably linked now.

Janus never thought he would say the words now coming out of his mouth and mean them, but Patton's magnetic draw seemed to pull them out as it pulled Janus closer and closer. "I was wrong, Patton. Maybe not about everything, but I was wrong about you."

"I did this," Patton said, gesturing at the broken-down walls. He seemed to feel the pull, too, if his gentle shuffle toward Janus was anything to go by.

Sarcasm seemed far beyond Janus' reach tonight, but perhaps not a few well-placed lies. "It's okay, Patton. Everything is okay." The flames moved in closer, consuming some of the wreckage, but Janus knew they were safe. It was all made-up, all of it. He could put the fire out if he could just focus on something other than Patton's tear-streaked face and oh, they were still getting closer and closer together. They'd be chest-to-chest soon. "I think…" said Patton. He wasn't crying now, thank God, because Janus didn't know what he would do. "Is it bad to find something beautiful in all of this?"

And there it was. The contact. Their foreheads touching, their hands intertwined. The two survivors of the wreck, drawn toward each other like magnets. "Very bad," Janus murmured, and he knew that Patton knew he was trying to talk himself out of what he did next.

He kissed Patton.

It was a terrible thing to do, probably his most selfish act to date. Here was Patton, devastated and willing to take whatever comfort he could find, and Janus was taking advantage. Even he had morals, but, oh, this was nice. He hadn't realized just how tense they had been with each other until it all suddenly snapped. And Patton was kissing back and had released his grip on Janus' hands so he could wrap his arms around him. Janus pulled away. "I shouldn't have done that," he said. "You don't need that. "

"Am I that bad at kissing?" Patton asked innocently.

"You didn't want that," Janus explained. "You're upset and you're not thinking straight." Patton was still holding him and despite the tear tracks still gleaming on his cheeks, he looked amused. Something ached at the back of Janus' tongue. "You don't want me."

Patton kissed him again, sweet and chaste this time. "Tell more about how I feel, Janus."

"I--" Couldn't think, couldn't think. "You--" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Short-circuit. "But I-- You don't--"

"I didn't learn anything today," Patton said, "but I think I realized something that I've always known. Does that make sense?"

"This doesn't solve all our problems," Janus said. This couldn't be real. He couldn't allow himself to delight in this, not when it was going to go away. "You still don't approve of my methods and I don't agree with yours. We're going to disagree."

"You think I don't disagree with the others?" Patton asked and was that hope in his eyes. Here in the fire and ruins, here at the end of the world, Patton had hope. "I want to make this work."

Janus kissed him. This felt like less of a decision and more of a necessity, like breathing.

"So you believe me?" Patton asked when they parted. "You trust me?"

The answer was already yes despite the fear eating away at Janus' insides. It was more like a thrill than existential terror, and on some level he knew he must have been high on endorphins and adrenaline. "I trust you. But Patton?"

"Yeah?"

"What do we do now?"

"We make it work."

V.

There was something undeniably thrilling about seeing Janus in secret. But mostly, Patton just felt awful about it. Sneaking out of his room at night like a teenager was fun, tip-toeing down the hall to hide away in Janus' room definitely had a sort of teen movie appeal to it. It was the pretending that made Patton feel all sick and guilty.

"You look tired," Roman said. He still wasn't back to his vibrant self, but Patton had vowed to be gentle with him until he found his footing again.

Patton was tired. He and Janus had spent most of the night just talking, innocent as could be, both tucked beneath the covers of Janus' bed. He tried and failed to think of a good pun, something that might distract Roman. "I was up kinda late, I guess."

Roman nodded. It was just the two of them that morning, Virgil being a late sleeper and Logan having been increasingly reclusive as of late, despite his reconciliation with Patton and the others. "I'll make you a coffee. Something fancy. Dare I say, the best coffee you've ever had."

"Oh," said Patton, cheeks heating up. "You don't have to!" Guilt flooded his chest at the idea of taking advantage of Roman.

"I'm offering," said Roman. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll make one for myself, too."

That did make Patton feel better, if only a little. He sighed as Roman got up from the table and started bustling around in the kitchen. These days, Janus was always on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to risk ruining Roman's good mood by bringing up such a painful subject, but… Patton couldn't keep going like this.

Hiding the relationship had of course been Janus' idea, but Patton couldn't deny the safety of it. For the first time, he realized how Deceit and Self-Preservation could share an identity. And while Patton knew his reasons were noble, he also understood that lying hurt. His friends would be devastated regardless of how they found out, but the destruction would be much worse if they found out accidentally.

"Something's bothering you," Roman said when he got back, holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream covered in chocolate shavings.

"I don't want to talk about it," Patton said.

"C'mon, Padre, we've talked about this. Sharing your feelings doesn't make you a burden. Especially if I'm asking."

Oh, Patton really didn't deserve Roman. "I know, kiddo, I just-- I'm not ready yet."

"Is this about J-- Him? Because I swear, if he hurt you, if he did something--" Roman cut himself off, and Patton appreciated that he looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I promise I'll tell you when I'm ready," Patton said.

"I suppose that's all I can really ask," Roman said with a nod. "Well, I'll be here when you're ready. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks, Roman." He was still having issues with negative self-talk, but Patton didn't feel like nagging him about it today. So he smiled and picked up a spoon to scoop up some whipped cream. "You're a good friend."

When Roman wandered off to go work on a new creative vision for Thomas, Patton booked it to the Other living room (he was no longer comfortable thinking of it as the Dark Side). While he wasn't exactly on friendly terms with Remus yet, he might be able to navigate a conversation with him if required.

But thankfully, Janus was sprawled out on the couch reading a book of blank verse poetry and Remus was nowhere in sight. “Everything okay, angel?” he asked, tilting the book down so Patton could see his eyes. He sat up so Patton could sit next to him, cuddling closer when Patton put an arm around his shoulders.

Patton fidgeted with the hem of Janus’ capelet. “I’m thinking I want to, um���” He paused, looking for the right words. “Bring you up? See what the others think about you coming around every once in a while. Or all the time.”

Janus stiffened. Patton rubbed his arm. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled at the idea of having me around.”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with them!” Patton said. He had learned, more through hints and inference than anything Janus had outright said, that Janus was deeply afraid of rejection and guarded his heart closely. “I just want… I want to stop lying to them and I want to stop sneaking around.”

“It’s safer this way,” Janus said, nudging Patton.

“But it’s not fair to them or to us to keep going like this,” Patton said. “I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Janus asked archly, one hand inching up Patton’s thigh. “You’ll be my hero?”

“You don’t need a hero,” Patton said, putting his free hand down on top of Janus’. “If you decide to go off on them, what you’ll need is a referee.”

“That is true,” Janus said, and Patton noticed with a rush of affection that he was trying not to smile.

“So can I?”

Janus turned and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Yes, angel. But only because you’re cute.”

[izzielizzie]

Hey you know how I’m At Last it’s mentioned that Skye went to prom last minute in a lab coat? Maybe could you do a fic where Skye goes with Melissa?

yes i do remember that! fic under the cut

"Skye?" somewhere in the world of microbiology - a world Skye isn't very fond of but has to explore for her semester's grade - she can hear a voice calling her. If it's a sister she's ready to stab her with a pen.

Fortunately, it's not a sister. Unfortunately, it's Melissa Patenaude. Skye pulls her goggles off her head and smiles at Melissa, who's leaning casually against the doorframe of the school's lab, already in her soccer uniform.

"Oh, hey," Skye says, nervously tucking a lock of choppy blonde hair behind her ear.

"Hey Penderwick," Melissa uncrosses her arms then crosses them again. "You're going to be late for soccer."

Skye glances at the clock and - rats - she is going to be late. The being late part isn't that bad, she's good enough that the coach won't yell at her or make her do extra drills. No, the real problem is Jane. After becoming captain, Jane made it a point to make an example out of Skye, and Skye is ready to accidentally push her sister out their bedroom window.

"Okay, yes, give me a moment," Skye says, pulling the goggles back on to gently put the petri dish back in the incubator. Once she's done, she wipes off the bench and pulls off her goggles and gloves. She's acutely aware of Melissa watching her, and for the millionth time, she's frustrated by the blush creeping up her neck. It's not like she doesn't know why - Skye's had a girlfriend before - but she really doesn't know how to deal with liking a girl she was once willing to pitch off the school roof. Not that she'd do that now.

"Science looks confusing," Melissa says as Skye pulls off her lab coat and hangs it on a hook.

Sky tugs her soccer bag out from under lab bench and loops it over her shoulder. "Says the girl who was in a play," Sky counters. After the whole Sisters and Sacrifice debacle, Melissa realized that she not only really likes plays but is good at acting. She’s even taking a stab at producing, and her show is playing this weekend.

“Oh speaking of,” Melissa says, reaching out and grabbing Skye’s arm, pulling towards her. “You’re coming on Saturday right?” She looks up at Skye pleadingly.

“Just as long as you don’t make me act in it, I’ll be there in the front row.”

Melissa grins at Skye as she adjusts her soccer bag. “Good. Now hurry up your sister’s going to kill us.”

The girls don’t talk again until the next day at lunch. “Penderwick, what are you wearing to prom?” Melissa asks as she drops into a seat next to Skye.

“Prom?” Skye asks, munching on a carrot stick. Melissa takes one from Skye’s tray and mimics the way Skye chews on it thoughtfully. Skye sticks out her tongue and Melissa laughs, pulling her dark hair into a bun, directing Skye’s attention to Melissa’s earrings. “Hey we match!” Skye says suddenly pointing to her own ears. Skye had never pierced her own ears since she hates earrings, but she deigned to wear clip-ons after Lydia enthusiastically gifted her shooting star earrings. 

“Yeah, I saw them at the store and they made me think of you,” Melissa says casually, like she knew that Skye would point out the earrings, but she looks secretly pleased. 

“That’s nice,” Skye says helplessly. After the surprise wore off, she now has no idea what to say to something so sentimental. Melissa snorts.

“You look so lost.”

“I am,” Skye says truthfully. This makes Melissa laugh a loud laugh.

“Shall I call Jane?”

“No, it’s fine,” Skye says, laughing along with Melissa. “So anyway, what were you asking?”

“What are you wearing to prom?”

Sky shrugs. “I don’t plan on going.”

Melissa sighs. “I knew it. Well, there goes my fallback.” Skye politely tilts her head, waiting for Melissa to continue. “Well you know how Genevieve and I broke up?” Skye nods. After years of listening to Melissa, she’s learned that trying to talk mid-rant doesn’t work with Melissa. She’s like Jane in that way. “Well obviously I needed a prom date so I asked Jane’s friend Artie - I mean he’s cute right?” Skye makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. She’s never thought of boys as anything other than someone to be friends with. “Well he can’t go, I think it’s because he likes Jane. And so, pride ruined, I asked Pearson and he’s going with Genevieve can you believe it?” 

Skye shakes her head as she chews meditatively on a celery stick. 

“So this brings me back to the only other person I’d like to go with.”

“Who’s that?” Skye asks as she swallows. Melissa stares at Skye for a moment as their friends groan around them. 

“I’ll figure it out.” Melissa says, disappointed. 

“Cool!” Skye says brightly before turning to Molly to ask her about the passing drills they did the day before.

It takes Skye three days - the morning of prom night to be exact - to realize what Melissa had been saying. She sprints down the steps to the kitchen, jumping fully over a tottering Lydia. Iantha, Rosalind and Mr. Penderwick look at her, startled, as Skye barrels into the room. “I’m an idiot!” she announces to the room at large. 

“We already knew that,” Jane says casually as she cuts waffles into pieces. 

“Why?” asks Batty more politely as she leads Lydia into the room. Iantha quickly bends down to put Lydia in her high chair. Ben follows, looks Skye’s face, and skirts around her, heading straight to the pile of waffles in the middle of the table. 

“Melissa was asking me to prom!” Skye cries, clutching at her cropped hair.

“We already knew that too,” Jane says as she takes a sip of orange juice.

“Jane,” Rosalind says in a warning tone. It’s a miracle she’s awake this early. Usually she sleeps late during vacation. If Skye believed in fate she’d pin the presence of her entire family on it. But she doesn’t so it’s all her fault. 

“Iantha what do I do?” Skye asks pleadingly to her step-mother, who’s looking at her with a sympathetic albeit resigned look. 

Iantha purses her lips as she hands a fussy Lydia her recently dropped crown. “I’m not sure honey. It’s too late to get you a dress or a suit isn’t it?”

“Rosy? Do you have your dress?”

Rosalind nods. “I do, but Skye will it fit?” 

Skye heaves a dramatic sigh. No, it won’t. Skye and Rosalind are built differently enough that none of Rosalind’s dresses will fit Skye. Skye turns to her father, always a steady ship in times of crisis. “Dad? What do I do?”

“I’m sorry filia mea but I don’t know. Perhaps just try speaking to her?”

“Speak. That’s a good idea. Thank you,” Skye says mechanically as she turns towards the front door, marching towards it with determined strides, pausing momentarily to grab her car keys before leaving. 

“What about breakfast?” Iantha calls after her. She turns to Jane who sighs. 

“I’ve got it,” she says, secretly pleased at this turn of events as she packs some waffles for Skye. She’s always thought Skye and Melissa had potential. 

Jane’s good mood dissolves, however, when she runs into Skye standing on the front steps looking dejected. Jane, who was ready to trek the mile to Cameron High School, stops short. “What’s wrong? Do you have a headache? Shall I bathe your forehead?”

“Stop with the headache,” Skye says, waving away Jane’s hand. “I just realized I’d promised my science teacher I’d work in the lab tonight, help her clean it before school ends.”

“On prom night?” Jane asks.

Skye throws her hands in the air. “I hadn’t planned on going when I’d accepted!”

Jane doesn’t say anything to Skye, who’s stomping around the front yard trying to find a tree she can kick while she rants about the pressure of school dances and dumb crushes. “Some maidens may balk from the fear, but Sabrina Starr never wavers in the face of pressure.”

Skye stops her pacing. “What?”

“Nothing! Get in the car, we’ll be late.”

As seven in the afternoon draws closer, Skye’s mood worsens, until she nearly stomps into the lab. She’d sat through an entire day of school with Melissa, who seemed glowing as Skye’s heart sank. Now, she feels even worse as she sees Jane fiddling with the rack of graduated cylinders. 

“Jane what are you doing here?” Skye asks as the science teacher steps out of the back room. She catches sight of Skye and grins as she puts the box in her arms on a dry bench. 

“Hello Skye, why aren’t you getting ready to go to the dance?”

“Dance?” Skye asks.

“Yeah don’t you remember? You mixed up the dates when you agreed to help tonight. You thought prom was next week, not this week,” Jane jumps in, making her just go with it face. Skye had seen that face enough times to know nothing good came out of it. “So I offered to help instead.”

“You’re cleaning a lab?” Sky clarifies. She’s pretty sure Jane would rather die than go near anything science related.  

“Of course! I mean who wouldn’t want to wash one hundred graduation cylinders?” 

“Graduated,” Skye corrects.

“From what?”

“Never mind. Jane may I talk to you for a moment?”

Skye not-too-gently takes her sister’s arm and drags her towards the rack of lab coats. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning gr-”

“Graduated cylinders I know. Jane this isn’t gonna work.”

“Why, it’s just in the gym. That’s a three minute walk.”

“I have nothing to wear!”

Oh. Right. How had Jane forgotten that? She looks around and catches sight of the coats. “There,” she points.

“You want me to wear a lab coat?”

“Yeah. Or you could just stay here and let Melissa go to the dance on her own.”

Skye sighs. “Fine. Help me put it on.”

Ten minutes later, after donning the coat and letting Jane twist her hair this way and that way until her eyes are uncovered, Skye slips into the gym. She looks around for a moment to get her bearing, and instantly someone is wrapping their arms around her. Skye turns to see Melissa grinning at her. Skye steps back and does a double take when she sees the blue gown Melissa chose.

“It matches your eyes,” Melissa says. 

“Yeah,” Skye says, smiling a little.

“God you really don’t know what to say do you?” Melissa asks with a grin. 

“No I do not.”

“Then why don’t I save you the trouble: ‘I, Skye Magee Penderwick, formally apologize to Melissa Patenaude for being dense and not realizing that she’s been asking me to prom for three months’.”

“That works,” Skye says, silently thanking Jane for cleaning the lab so Skye can be here, burning up under the gym’s bright lights in a lab coat as the prettiest girl she’s ever seen teases her. 

“Good. Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Skye asks, doing as she’s told. She looks down to realize that Melissa has tied a white rose corsage around her wrist. 

“Here. To match your lab coat.”

“Thank you,” Skye says softly.

“I assume there’s a story behind the coat?”

“Obviously.”

“And it has to do with Jane?”

“The one and only.”

Melissa links her arm with Skye’s. “Tell me all about it.”

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch44: Peanut Butter And Poop

Introducing: Baby Rogers!  

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut! (NSFW) No under 18s. Teeth rotting fluff…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Yeah, I love this chapter. I hope you all do too. And thank @angrybirdcr​ for the edits. They melted me.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 43

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 March 2020

“Is everything ok?” Steve asked, tiredly. For the fourth time in about two minutes Katie had shifted, next to him, rubbing her hand over her distended belly. She was fed up now, and he wished he could help her get comfy, he really did. But until their baby decided to make an appearance, there wasn’t much more he could do. She had been feeling crappy all day and had thrown a spectacular tantrum at the fact Steve had shaved his stubble. His reasoning being that although she technically had another four weeks to go, she was already at full term size, and if their son arrived, who knew how long it would be before he managed to shave again, but she was having none of it. Steve had simply stood there, calmly whilst she’d ranted and raved about that and everything else she was pissed off about before she’d broken down into tears and apologised, falling into his arms and going on another rant about how shitty she was feeling.

His wife was such a strong person normally, the strongest person Steve knew in fact, but over the last week she’d been up and down mood-wise more than any other time during her pregnancy, and he hated seeing her so uncomfortable and upset. And tonight, she was physically the most uncomfortable he had seen her yet. “Yeah, he’s just kicking.” She sighed, rolling over to face him. “Really hard, Steve. It fucking hurts.” Steve gave her a sympathetic smile as he reached out and pressed his hand to her abdomen, waiting, and then he felt another sharp dig, Katie hissing air out through her teeth.

“Maybe he’s gonna be a footballer.” Steve yawned, attempting to make light of the situation. But it didn’t work. “Well I’m not a football.” She grumbled, pressing her hand to her stomach just above Steve’s. “Pack it in, Buddy, please.”

Co-incidence or not, their baby stopped kicking, but Katie was still restless. She moved again, and again, until finally Steve sat up, flicking on the lamp, his face silently asking her what the issue was. Katie had to smile, there wasn’t a shred of annoyance in his face, despite the fact it was almost one in the morning thanks to her sleep patterns being all over the place. Instead, there was nothing but love and genuine concern across his handsome features and coupled with the fact she was hormonal and just felt a bit shit, she started to cry.

“I’m fed up Steve.” She sniffled. “I’m fat, I had to get Natasha to shave my legs yesterday, I can’t see my feet, I need to pee all the time and…” “Sweetheart,” he chuckled, softly looking down at her, taking his face in her hands, “first off, you’re not fat, you’re pregnant. Very pregnant. With our baby.”

“I know but,” she continued to cry, “I just…”

Whatever it was that she just, Steve never found out as she simply sniffed again and moved so that her head was lay across his lap over the covers of their California king, and he gently stroked her hair. And for a moment he thought he’d managed to sooth her until she gave another groan.

“For fucks sake, I just can’t get comfy.”  She sniffled, her sobs coming again as she sat up. “My back and my shoulders…”

Okay, this he could try and help with. Smiling to himself he looked at her. “Assume the position, Doll.” She gave out a watery laugh as she heaved herself over so she was facing away from him. Steve shuffled down so that he was led right behind her and doing the one thing he could to try and get her to feel a little relaxed, he slid his strong hands up her top, his deft fingers gently massaging and rubbing at the spot he knew was sor in her lower back.

“You still feeling funny?” He asked, his fingers working the tight and aching muscles and she nodded.

“Have been all day, but it’s not uncommon apparently. Pepper said she felt iffy for the last four weeks of her pregnancy.” “Four weeks.” Steve mused, his fingers stopping momentarily before he started again. “As if he’s gonna be here in four weeks.” “Well, it could be any time technically. And I hope it is, because frankly, I can’t wait to get him out.” She sighed, as Steve’s hands gently guided her top, well his shirt, over her head so his hands could work at her shoulders and her upper back.

“Hmmm,” he gently swept her hair off her neck so he could plant a soft kiss there. “I can’t wait but I’m gonna miss your bump.” “I’m not,” she scoffed, as his hands crept round to cradle her distended stomach, “and stop feeling him and carry on. Until he’s here this is all about me, remember.” She shrugged her shoulders, emphasizing her message, and he chuckled. “Sorry doll.” Relaxing into his touch, Katie felt herself leaning back against him and then Steve made the best suggestion he had ever made to her in the history of suggestions.

“Why don’t I run you a bath? I know it’s late but Emmy’s at Brooke’s for the evening and it might help.” Katie groaned “God, yes.”

He kissed the back of her neck and threw back the covers, climbing out of the bed, not an inch of tiredness displayed in his body. Despite herself, Katie had to bite back a laugh. He was like a coiled spring at the moment. He had told Rhodey a few weeks ago that he wasn’t travelling anywhere now until the baby was here for fear of missing anything, but as a result that relentless energy which normally went into his work was bubbling inside him, and even his runs every morning and night were doing nothing to help.

Laying back she closed her eyes until she heard him calling and she heaved herself up, taking a moment to steady herself before she rather ungraciously waddled out of the room, one hand pressed to her lower back, the other clamped under the bottom of her bump.

“Give me a hand when you need me to lift you out.” Steve chuckled as he passed her on the hallway and she spun round, glaring at him. “Like last time.” “That’s not funny.”

“No, but it will give me the chance to eye up your naked pregnant body, something I intend to make the most of as it won’t be around for much longer.” “You’re a piece of work, Steven Grant Rogers.” She huffed, as she turned and headed to the bathroom.

Steve settled back on the bed and flicked on the TV. There wasn’t much on but in the end he logged into Netflix and settled for a few re-runs of ‘Brooklyn 99’. The show was absurd, but it was easy watching and he quite liked it, Jake Peralta reminded him in an odd way of a cross between Tony and Thor with his incessant energy and ridiculousness. About halfway through an episode, he was struck with another good idea, and he headed down into the kitchen to make them both a drink, cocoa for him and a ginger and honey tea for Katie. He carried the mug into the bathroom where his wife was slumped in the tub, surrounded by lavender and camomile bubbles, her eyes closed. She looked up at him, one eye open as he walked in, handing her the mug and she let out a soft groan.

“My hero.” She smiled as he dropped a kiss onto her lips before heading back into their room.

It was about another thirty minutes or so when she did call him. He knew she hated this, needing his help, but getting out of the huge tub on her own was simply a physical impossibility.  Once he’d helped her out and she was wrapped in a robe, she dropped on the bed, seemingly pacified for a moment until she suddenly wanted peanut butter. Heading into the kitchen, he opened the cupboard and a cold feeling of dread washed over him when he realised they were out.

Fuck, fuck!

He was certain there had been three jars in there this morning. He frantically searched the rest of the kitchen, just in case Katie’s baby-brain had meant she’d stashed it somewhere else, but there as none to be found. Grimacing, he took the stairs two at a time and winced at the look on his wife’s face when he told her she must have eaten it all, before hastily placating her as her eyes watered, reminding her that the twenty-four hour mart was only a five minute drive away.

Which was why he found himself there at twenty-seven minutes past two on a Sunday morning buying six jars of the damned stuff.

Captain America, buying jars of peanut butter at half 2 in the morning for his wife.

Steve smiled to himself, he didn’t give a shit.

“Missus is Pregnant.” He nodded to the man behind the counter, who gave him a look of confusion as he dropped the jars onto the side by the till. The guy laughed, and nodded.

“It was chow-mein with my gal.” He chuckled as Steve handed over the cash. “That was a pain in the ass at four am on a Sunday. Trust me buddy, you got off lightly.”

Thanking his lucky stars that his wife’s craving was, indeed, relatively simple, Steve headed back home and she nearly cried when she took a jar off him and dug in with a spoon. They sat still for another hour, at which point Steve really was ready to fall asleep, and after eating half of a jar in one go, Katie screwed the top back on and set it back on her nightstand, her eyes drooping slightly.

“Think I’m okay now.” She nodded softly and Steve hummed into her hair, reaching up and turning the TV and lamp off and settling them down. She managed about half an hour before she groaned again and heaved herself off to the bathroom, this time for a pee. When she came back she lay facing him, her fingers gently tracing his jaw and he cracked one eye open and they just lay there, watching one another in the dim light.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

“What for?”

“Keeping you awake.”

Steve chuckled and leaned forward to give her a soft kiss “Honey, it’s fine.”

And it was, it really was. He would be tired tomorrow, he knew that, but he didn’t care.

He closed his eyes and he was on the verge of sleep, teetering between dozing and being fully under when…

“Steve.” Katie whispered softly, and he grinned as he knew that suggestive tone way too well. “I’m horny, now.” “You really know how to pick your moments, Mrs Rogers.” He sniggered a little, opening his eyes,  as his mouth met hers again, the slight taste of the peanut butter made him smile even more as both his lips held her bottom one as the kiss lingered.

“Blame your son.” She murmured as she kissed him again, her hands creeping into the back of his hair, eliciting a soft moan from him.

And that was all it took.

Steve was obliging, and kissed every part of her body he could, taking care to avoid the rather tender chest area. It was slow, soft, as their bodies joined in the ever so familiar dance, tangled in the sheets of the bed. As his wife rode him, her large bump not allowing for any other position, Steve’s hands never left the side of her hips, the pair of them groaning loudly as her release took her over the edge and he followed shortly after. They lay there, gently on the bed together, Katie’s back pressed into his chest, for half an hour or so afterwards. Steve’s hand was strong yet gentle over her waist, his hand caressing the place his son was currently dwelling, thumb stroking her stretched skin in soft arcs. And when he felt her finally relaxed, he took a quick glance at the digital clock on the night stand, giving a slight roll of the eyes as he saw it was almost half four in the morning.

****** Katie woke later that morning at little after eight, trying not to groan at the now quite nasty pain in her back. She didn’t even try to go back to sleep, knowing it was utterly pointless. Instead, leaving Steve flat out, exhausted from the nights activities, she headed into the kitchen to make herself a peppermint tea and stuck a heat pack into the microwave, grabbing another jar of peanut butter.

The pains in her back and lower stomach continued to get progressively worse through the morning and along with them so did Katie’s mood. Emmy had called asking to stay at Brooke’s for a bit longer, which suited Steve as it meant he could give Katie his undivided attention, so he agreed and promised to collect her later in the evening.

As they both stood in the kitchen, Katie trying to decide what she wanted for lunch, eventually settling on meatball subs. They began to cook together, something to take Katie’s mind of feeling so uncomfortable, but as she turned to pass Steve the cheese so he could start loading the bread up, a searing pain flashed across her abdomen causing her to give a loud exclamation and clutch at the counter edge with one hand, dropping the packet of grated cheddar from the other.

“Katie?” Steve turned to face her, frowning “Sweetheart?”

She turned into him, curling her fists into his shirt, pressing her head against his chest, with a groan, her forehead digging into his collarbone. He gently held her back, supporting her as she breathed through the pain.

“I - mm.”  Katie’s voice was trembling, a combination of fear and excitement. “I thought it was just cramps but now I think…”

Steve understood immediately. And despite all the classes, all the prep, everything, he suddenly felt really, really nervous “What? Now?”

She looked up into his eyes which were wide, in a combination of anticipation and trepidation and laughed. “I think so, yeah.”

Steve went straight into Captain mode. The maternity bag was loaded into the car, Dr Kellet was called who told them to monitor the contractions in frequency and duration, and a bath was run to try and make Katie more comfortable but it didn’t work.

Neither did a soft walk round the block with Lucky.

Four hours later, Katie was stood, bent over the back of the sofa as Steve rubbed her back, helping her breath through another contraction. They were now coming every thirteen minutes and getting far more painful (thanks to Steve’s impeccable time keeping skills for that one) when Katie noticed him step back slightly as she felt a dampness spread across her legs.

Her waters had gone.

“Baby, I think-“ “I know,” she grit her teeth as the pain subsided again. Steve was already on the phone to Dr Kellet and as he thanked her and placed the phone into his pocket he gently placed his hands on the side of his wife’s hips as she straightened up.

“She’s told us to go in.” A smile flickered on his face and despite the pain and stress she was feeling, Katie couldn’t help but find her heart swelling at the excitement on his face.

Steve called Tony, asking him to collect Emmy, then rang the girl herself who squealed with excitement at the fact her brother was on his way. A quick chat to Jennifer’s mum to explain, the woman wishing them both luck, and Katie was in the car and they were off, making quite possibly the most important journey of their lives. Steve drove carefully but determinedly to the Birthing Centre, his thumb tapping out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel, casting glances at Katie every chance he got, and by the time they had arrived twenty minutes later the contractions were arriving five minutes apart.

He helped her change and got her settled in their airey room, his hand curling round hers as she lay back on the bed, both of them pleased to see the familiar face of Dr Kellet as she walked into the room just as another contraction hit Katie. Once it had subsided, Dr Kellet smiled moved to examine her.

“Yes, you’re in active labour Mrs Rogers.” The Doctor smiled. “You have a little while to go yet though so, we’ll try and get you a little more comfortable, okay?”

Katie nodded.

“And you still don’t want an epidural?”

“No.” She shook her head firmly, and Steve raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. She’d been adamant that there were no needles going anywhere near her back, not after what HYDRA had done to her, which broke Steve a little when she’d said that to him, not only at the memory of what she’d been through, but also a the fact she was going to be giving birth with little relief.

Three hours later, however, Katie was seriously questioning her decision. She was on all fours on the bed, desperately trying to find some release that the gas and air wasn’t really providing anymore as Steve rubbed her back, feeling utterly helpless.

“I don’t like you-” Katie groaned, her voice cutting off as another wave of pain washed over me. “I don’t you seeing me like this. I don’t like it, you should go”

Go? Not a chance, Doll, he thought to himself as he glanced up at the midwife who simply smiled at him. He leant down so his lips were by Katie’s ear and she turned her head, burying it into his shoulder, as his arms supported hers. “Katie Marie Rogers, I have seen you throw tantrums that rival the ones a two year old could produce, I’ve seen you with a face full of blood and a broken nose, I’ve watched you crawl through a dirty hole in the floor to disarm a bomb, and come out trembling. I’ve seen you scream the house down after spotting a damned spider, I’ve seen you half dead,” the words caught in his throat at the memory, “I’ve seen you shit faced to the point of puking, not to mention that I’ve seen you in every single position going.”

Katie snorted loudly, before gripping at his arm as another wave crashed over her.

“None of that could ever make me love you any less. And, seeing you here now, about to give birth to our boy, well I couldn’t love you anymore if I tried. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

She looked up at him through her tears and he wiped at her face with his thumbs, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, before she let out a gasp.

“I need, I need to push.” The panic tone in her voice made Steve glance up at the Doctor as Katie grabbed athis arm. “Steve, I…oh shit, I want to lay back, please, I need-“

“Okay, okay, I got you.” Steve assured her as the Doctor nodded at him to oblige. He gently helped her onto the back as Dr Kellet stood forward.

“You good?” She asked Katie who shot her a scathing look and Steve had to bite back the snort at the fact the Doctor merely raised an eyebrow whereas most people would be quaking in their boots at that infamous Stark glare. Instead, she merely smiled. “Let’s have a look.” Katie grabbed Steve’s hand with a force he didn’t think possible, and it almost made him wince slightly, but he was damned if he was showing her that she was hurting him. As far as he was concerned, she could break every damned finger he had if it meant she was okay, that their son was okay.

“Yep, we’re in business.” The Doctor said, nodding to the midwife that was in the room. “Okay, Mrs Rogers, next time you feel ready to push I want you to do so gently, follow my lead, Steve is gonna help you with your breathing okay?”

And Steve tried, boy did he try. But after twenty minutes of pushing, Katie was pissed off, tired, in agony and just wanted it all to be over.

"You’re doing so well, Sweetheart.”  He smiled gently, as he brought her hand up to his lips.

“You are NEVER touching me again.” She grit her teeth and he let out a chuckle, wiping her clammy forehead with one hand.

“Alright, Katie.” The midwife looked at her from the foot of the bed. “Next time, I want a big, strong one. He’s crowning. Chin into your chest…”

“Fuuuuuck…” Katie screamed, another contraction hitting her and she let out a yell, gripping Steve’s hand as she pushed with everything she had.

You’re doing amazing, Katie. Just one more.” Steve dropped a kiss to her forehead, his heart was beating so loud he was sure she would hear it. “Come on, you got this, and I’ve got you, okay?” Another yell, one final push and then…

A piercing scream hit their ears as Katie sagged back on the pillow panting before she looked up, relief crashing over her. Steve was beaming from ear to ear, his eyes wet as he looked at his wife, in awe at how simply amazing and strong she was.

“You did it.” His voice cracked as he kissed her head. “Oh, Baby Girl, you did it.”

“He’s here?” Katie asked, dazed slightly as their baby was placed straight onto her chest, where the buttons at the top of her gown were undone, and instantly the warmth she felt was like nothing she had ever experienced before, her chest filling as she held their baby boy tenderly, tears pouring down her face.

“Oh God.” Steve breathed, his voice cracking, as Jamie was covered with a towel, resting on his wife’s chest, his piercing cries subsiding at the skin to skin contact. Steve rest his head against Katie’s, wiping the tears that had pooled at the end of his nose away, and the pair of them looked down getting their first glimpse of their son.

“Hi, baby!” Katie finally managed to speak, looking down through her tears at the tiny bundle in her arms as his head lay against her chest, making little snuffling noises. “We waited so long for you!”

She finally tore her eyes off the precious bundle and looked up at Steve, his eyes swimming with tears of joy as her own continued to fall down her cheeks. "It’s our boy, Steve.”

“He’s perfect.” Steve whispered again and gently smoothed down the towel with a trembling hand so he could see their baby’s face clearly. Steve instantly noticed he small spattering of dark blonde hair on his head, and there was something distinctly Stark-like about his nose. Then his eyes barely opened, but through them he saw a sliver of beautiful baby blue. 

The Soldier’s heart instantly swelled so full he thought it would bust from his chest. He already knew this, but as he looked down at his son, it simply solidified the fact that he would take on the world to protect that little bundle in his wife’s arms, shield or no shield.

They remained wrapped in their own little bubble so much so that neither of them knew what was going on around them. Eventually, their baby was gently taken to the opposite side of the room whilst Katie was cleaned up. He was weighed at 7lb 4, which was, given Steve’s size, rather small but still perfectly healthy. Steve couldn’t help but hover, watching what they were doing with his boy, wincing as they gave him a shot of vitamin K.

“Does he have a name?” The nurse recording his AGPA scores looked up. Steve looked at Katie and she nodded at him.

“James” Steve spoke, his voice croaky. “Jamie.” “Alright.” The nurse scribbled something onto a band which was placed around his wrist before he was wrapped in a clean towel and the midwife looked up at Steve.

“Would you like to take him, Dad?”

Steve nodded, swallowing.“Yeah, yeah I would.” “Okay, well if you’re comfortable doing so, open your shirt, he’ll appreciate the skin to skin contact…”

Steve did was he was told, undoing the four buttons on his dark green Henley and could do nothing but gasp as his son was laid in his arms, tears once more forming in his eyes as he cradled their child to his chest for the first time, awestruck as he brought his lips down to drop gently on his head.

“Hey, Pal.” He whispered unsteadily. “I’m your Dad.”

Katie watched the two of them, more tears springing into her eyes as Steve sat down on the chair next to the bed and she just watched the pair of them, Steve’s eyes not once leaving his boy, who Katie noticed was now trying to burrow into his chest face-first.

“What are you doing, lights too bright for you, Buddy?” He asked softly.

“It’s called rooting.” One of the nurses looked over “He’s wanting to feed. Are you ready to try Mrs Rogers?”

Katie nodded and sat up slightly, as Steve gently handed him over and the midwife helped Katie position him correctly. It took a while, but when he finally latched on and began to suckle, Katie looked down into her baby’s face, trying to memorize the way the tiny hand curled against her skin. Steve leaned close, simply watching, his heart full of a love like nothing he had ever felt before.

“You’re beautiful,” he told Katie suddenly, and she laughed a little, because it was anything but true at that moment in time.

“I think the serum is failing as your eyes are clearly not working properly.” She retorted, glancing up at him.

“I mean it,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss her temple. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And look what you made!”

She glanced down at Jamie, who was feeding enthusiastically and smiled. “What we made…” “Yeah but you cooked him.” Steve’s finger slid under her chin so that she was looking back up at him, and he held her gaze, driving his words home. “Thank you.”

Katie leaned into his touch as his palm caressed her cheek. Carefully, he moved to sit on the bed beside her, guiding her head against his shoulder and gathering his family into very gentle embrace, his eyes not once leaving his baby.

"I love you,” he whispered into her hair - and he didn’t budge from that spot until Jamie was done nursing and Katie was then escorted to the toilet. In there she changed out of the gown and into a pair of pyjamas and returned from the en-suite of their private room, with a tired smile on her face to see that Steve, had dug out a baby grow. Katie watched as he placed their son in the cot by the end of the bed, with infinite tenderness, and the new parents dressed him for the first time.

“I suggest you both get some sleep whilst you can.” Dr Kellet smiled, peering into the cot where Jamie was now yawning, eyes drooping. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you. If you need anything though, just hit the call button and one of the Midwives will come in. Congratulations.” Steve and Katie both thanked her as Katie headed over to the bed, dropping exhaustedly onto it.

“You should go get some rest.” She yawned and Steve shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you.” Steve snapped a quick photo of the sleeping baby before settling on the bed as Katie lay her head on his chest. “Not a chance.”

It wasn’t long before she had fallen asleep, exhausted, and Steve sat up slightly, firing the photo off to Tony, Emmy, Nat and Rhodey. The replies of congratulations flooded in, along with a selfie of Tony, Pepper and Emmy on Tony’s sofa with their thumbs up. Steve snorted, it was almost two am now, but he knew that Tony and Emmy would be too excited to sleep. He placed his phone back on the night stand and settled down next to his wife, his hand straying into her hair. A little sniffling noise came from the cot at the side of the bed and Steve sat up, to check on him, but Jamie was sleeping soundly so he relaxed back, taking a deep breath.

He was in way over his head, and there was no planning for this mission, not one bit. But Steve found he didn’t mind. As he dropped a kiss to Katie’s head, he closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh knowing full well that the 7th March 2020 was a date he was never going to forget.

****

Katie opened her eyes and stared around the unfamiliar room which was lowly lit from a chink of light flooding in under the door. She sat up so quickly that her head spun, and she dropped back against the pillow, taking a deep breath. Then her eyes caught the man in the chair by her bed, and the memory of the night before came back. At some point in the night Jamie had woken for a feed but post it wouldn’t stop fussing and Katie’s half-conscious attempts to soothe him had failed. Steve had at that point stepped in and taken him, insisting that she get some rest as he paced the room with his son, gently rocking him to and fro. Her husband was now leaned back in the chair by her bed fast asleep, their little boy slumbering on his dad’s chest, secured by Steve’s large, gentle hands. Katie felt her heart swell and she grabbed her phone, noting that the time was only a little after 6:30 am, meaning that it was only two hours or so since his feed. She took a quick snap, contemplated taking Jamie back to his crib before she decided he was fine where he was. Steve wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Glancing at her two boys, she sank deeper into her pillow, quietly satisfied, as she drifted back off into a light sleep.

Steve was woken by a soft cry about forty-five minutes later, and despite his best attempts Jamie wouldn’t settle.

“Sorry, Doll.” he looked at Katie as she woke, blinking as she pushed herself up. “I think he’s hungry and I can’t help him in that department.” With a smile she took their baby and began to nurse him again, something Steve didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing. Once he was fed, the midwives appeared and offered them breakfast which they gratefully accepted and then Katie positively moaned when she was told she could shower. She was dried off an and in a clean set of Pyjamas just in time for visiting hours which started at ten.

At one minute past there was a knock on the door to their room.

“Hey Mommy and Daddy!” Pepper peering round the door clutching a huge blue balloon as Tony followed, Morgan in her stroller. The tot squealed when she saw Steve who stood up to greet them as Emmy flew into the room, locking her arms around Steve’s waist. He dropped a kiss to her head and looked up as Natasha stepped in hot on their tail.

”Congratulations Cap.”  Tony beamed, shaking Steve’s hand before he pulled him into an embrace. Katie smiled up at her family, Jamie clutched in her arms having just been fed again as Tony moved and stepped up to the bed, kissing the top of his sister’s head as he peered down at his nephew.

“Well done, Kiddo.” he whispered softly and she smiled at him. 

Pepper was next to congratulate her, then Natasha and finally Emmy who gave her brother an appraising look. “Hmmm takes after you, Dad.” She smirked up at Steve. “Where else is he gonna get a face like that?” Steve rolled his eyes as he stood up from where he had been crouched saying hello to Morgan. He glanced at Tony who was peering down at his nephew, a huge grin on his face.

“He’s beautiful, guys.” Tony said and Katie smiled up at her brother and he made a gesture with his arms. “Can I?”

Katie nodded, and moved to gently pass him over, and Tony took him in his arms with a soft chuckle.

“Hey, Champ.” He beamed down as Jamie moved softly in his arms, kicking slightly. “How’s it going?”

“How are you feeling?” Pepper asked, looking at Katie.

“Tired but, I’m good.”

“So, does he have a name yet?” Tony looked at Katie and Steve took a deep breath, his arms crossing over his chest. If truth be told, he was a little nervous about revealing the name they had chosen, Bucky wasn’t Tony’s favourite person, but before he could answer he spotted Katie giving Emmy a small wink.

“Horatio Montgomery Rogers.” Katie nodded. “Monty for short.” There was a pause whilst Pepper, Tony and Nat all exchanged a look and Steve bit on his lip.

“That’s…” Tony began, searching for words as he glanced down at the baby in his arms before he finally settled on, “…unusual”

Emmy looked at Katie again before they but out laughing.

“I can’t believe you fell for that, Uncle Tony!” Emmy cackled. “Such an idiot.”

“I resent that.” Tony pouted and Natasha cleared her throat.

“So what is his name?” Nat pressed. Katie looked at Steve and gave him a nod.

“James Anthony Samuel Rogers” Steve took a deep breath as Tony blinked. “Jamie for short.” “James Anthony Samuel.” Tony whispered looking down at Jamie. “James. Anthony?” His eyes locked onto Katie’s, then Steve’s, before they flicked back down to his nephew. “You actually named him after me?”

Katie smiled. “Yeah, guess we did”

“And I was only joking too.” His voice choked as Natasha, stepped forward to peer down at the baby in his arms. “But the James is after Barnes, right?” She looked up. Steve took a deep breath, his eyes flickered to Tony who was simply gazing down at his nephew with adoration as Katie answered.

“There’s so many people we’ve both known or know with the name James.” She shrugged. “Rhodey, half the Howling Commandos, but yes, Bucky was one big reason, another was Grandad Jim.” Tony looked up at her, smiling, his eyes wet. “Yeah, Grandpa Jim was pretty awesome”

“And so is his uncle-slash-grandpa.” She smiled and Tony gave a loud sniffle.

“Wrap it up Kiddo, you’re killing me” He shook his head as he turned to Natasha. “We’ll call that one a draw.”

Steve rolled his eyes, as Natasha shrugged. “Suppose you can’t be wrong all the time, Shell-Head.”

Jamie was passed around, and Emmy finally got to have a hold as she sat in the chair, Steve crouched by her side as she peered down at the baby. But when it was Natasha’s turn, the red head grew almost as emotional as Tony as she held him and he curled his tiny hand around her finger.

“Good job he likes you.” Katie smiled at her, “you know, seeing as you’re gonna be his god-mother and all…” “Me?” Nat’s head whipped up and she looked at Katie, then Steve, her eyes full of tears. “I mean…” “Well, there’s no one else for the job so it kinda falls to you by default.” Steve teased from where he was perched on the arm of the chair.

“You’re such a douche.”  Emmy muttered, elbowing Steve in the ribs and Tony’s face split into a grin.

“Kid, you have no idea…did you know his nickname is Spangles?” “Spangles?” she grinned and Steve groaned

“No one calls him Spangles other than Tony, because Tony is an idiot.” Katie shook her head.

At that point, Jamie let out a huge shriek and Natasha promptly crossed the room to hand him back to his momma, who placed him over her shoulder and he nuzzled into her neck, his nose brushing against her jaw line. As she looked around the room, her eyes locked onto Steve’s and he gave her, quite possibly, the most affectionate look she could ever recall him giving her. And at that moment, although they were surrounded by their friends and family, she felt like the only woman in the world.

*****

Thankfully as everything had gone as well as expected they were discharged later that day and they could go home. Steve, having practiced about a billion times, expertly clipped Jamie’s car seat into the base of the Porche SUV they had borrowed from Tony a few weeks ago (the Camero just wasn’t baby friendly) and Katie climbed into the back, positioning herself in the middle seat so she was by their son for the drive home.

Emmy had gone back to Tony’s to give them the evening to settle in, and with Lucky also with them, when Katie and Steve walked into the house, Steve carefully carrying the car seat containing the most precious cargo he had ever carried, it struck them that they were suddenly on their own.

With a baby.

Steve set the car seat on the coffee table in the lounge and the two of them sat on the couch, looking at their baby before they looked at one another, neither of them having a clue what to do next.

Thankfully, a piercing scream from Jamie jolted them out of the stupor and dictated exactly what they needed to do. As Katie set about feeding him, Steve headed into the kitchen to make them something to eat and by eight pm the pair of them were whacked and ready for bed but Jamie had other ideas. It took a lot of pacing, frustrated sighs and prayers but he finally settled a few hours later and the new parents crawled between their sheets, exhausted, frustrated and feeling like they were embarking on a mission which was far bigger than any they had faced before.

*****

Steve heard his wife get up, but didn’t register why. Not at first. He dozed for another half hour or so before he heard a cry and he sat upright, looking around. He blinked, saw the empty crib at the side of the bed and smiled to himself. Swinging his legs out of bed he pulled on a t-shirt and grabbed the bag he’d had waiting for weeks out of the back of his closet before he headed down the stairs.

Katie was sat on the sofa in one of his button downs, her bare legs crossed, munching on a piece of toast when he paused in the door to the lounge taking in the scene. The domesticity of it all hit him for a moment and he felt himself welling up, he’d never in his wildest dreams dared to imagine he would ever be this damned lucky. But here he was, gorgeous wife, beautiful baby…

At that point, Jamie started fussing and she instantly placed her hand on his tummy whilst he lay in the wicker Moses basket in front of her, gently hushing him, all the while a look on her face of infinite tenderness. As he settled she smiled, simply gazing at their boy for a moment before she looked up and smiled at Steve. He walked over to her and dropped a soft, lingering kiss to her lips and she smiled.

“Morning.” She whispered and he smiled against her mouth, kissing her again before his attention turned to his boy and he gently reached into the basket, his finger softly running down his son’s cheek.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” “Could you feed him?” Katie grinned and Steve let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

“No, suppose not.” He looked at Katie and nodded to Jamie “Can I?”

“Steve, honey, he’s your son. Of course you can.” He placed the bag he was holding on the coffee table, Katie still not noticing it, as he reached into the basket and gently picked his son up, cradling him to his chest as Jamie buried his face into his neck, still sleeping. Steve gently moved to sit on the couch and Katie watched the pair of them, smiling softly.

“That’s for you.” He nodded to the Tiffany bag. Katie glanced at, blinking in surprise before she frowned slightly.

“What for?”

“Well it used to be a tradition to buy your wife something after your first child and Tony assured me it still was so…”

She beamed at him and reached over for the bag. As Steve cradled his boy close he watched his wife pull out the blue ring box and open it, her mouth dropping open as she looked at the platinum Eternity band which was studded with sapphires and diamonds.

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered, turning to him and leaning over to give him a soft kiss. “Thank you.” Steve beamed at her and watched as she rejigged the rings on her wedding finger so she could place it in between her wedding and her engagement ring. She flashed her hand at him to show him what it looked like on.

“Looks good.” He smiled “I clearly have good taste.” “Of course you do, you chose me.” ****

“Come here.”

Steve turned to look at Katie who was on the other side of their bedroom and he frowned. “What?”

“Just come here.” 

Steve crossed the room towards her where she grabbed the bottle of his aftershave and sprayed an amount to his neck.

“What are you…” he frowned as she stood up to take a deep sniff.

“Oh thank God!” She groaned. “I can sniff you again without feeling sick!”

Steve snorted, and shook his head, a grin on his face as Katie began to spray the Hugo Boss around the room, sniffing and smiling to herself before she stopped and grimaced.

“Oh, that’s…” She looked down at the crib and Steve did the same.

“Oh.” Steve wrinkled his nose

“Your turn, Daddy.” She patted his back. “I’m going for a shower.” Steve looked at her, slightly panicked as Jamie began to let out a soft cry “What, alone?” “Don’t tell me Captain American can’t deal with a bit of poop.”

“It’s not that. I might do it wrong or…” “Steve, relax, what’s the worst that can happen?” She eyed him, as he bit his lip, watching his reaction carefully. Whilst he had been amazing that night in the hospital, once they had gotten home and away from the safety net of midwives, she had fast realised that Steve had suddenly grown incredibly nervous when it came to their baby, asking permission to pick him up, wind him, cuddle him and Katie was keen to nip that in the bud right away. She knew he wanted to help as much as possible and she didn’t want him to constantly be second guessing everything he did.

“I err…” Steve stuttered and she cut him off. “You saw me before.” She shrugged, heading into the en-suite. “You’ll be fine.”

Steve watched her go and then peered down at his son, swallowing slightly before he picked him up and took him into the nursery. As soon as the baby-grow was off, Jamie still crying slightly, Steve suddenly felt completely inadequate. Cursing to himself, he laid Jamie gently on the changing mat, wrinkling his nose and trying to shut out the scream that was ringing round his ears. At that point he was seriously starting to believe that this was worse than facing off against thirty HYDRA agents single headedly. Taking a deep breath and telling himself to get it together, he managed to clean Jamie, get a fresh diaper on, and then once he was dressed again, he picked the baby up.

“Come on, Pall.” He soothed softly, his large hand gently smoothing his son’s back as he walked over to look out of the bedroom window “You know, that there is the best city in the world,” he glanced over the Brooklyn skyline, “one day I’ll show you all the places I used to go, tell you all about my life and the Rogers clan, and who you’re named after. Take you to meet your Grandma…”

He stopped talking as he realised Jamie had fallen silent, and was now relaxed completely against him, his face gently pressed against his shoulder.  “Thass ma boy.” He whispered, dropping a kiss to his head. He turned to see Katie was stood in the doorway, her hair damp as she was wrapped in a towel gown.

“See.” she smiled as she crossed the room towards them both. “I told you it would be okay.” She gently smoothed a hand over the baby boy’s head before dropping a kiss to his crown.

“Should I put him down to sleep now?” Steve asked and Katie looked at him.

“Do you want to put him down?”

“Not really.” Steve admitted, with a little smile. “You gonna drop him?” “Shut up.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” “Then no, you don’t have to put him down.” Katie smiled “He’s your baby, Steve. If you wanna cuddle him, cuddle him.” “Sorry, I’m fussing again ain’t I?” Steve sighed.

Katie gently stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to her husband’s lips. “Fussing is fine, just don’t doubt yourself. I don’t know what I’m doing any more than you do, but we’ll figure it out.”

Steve smiled, as he gave her a soft kiss. “I still swear you can read minds.”

“No, I can just read you.” She corrected. “Now, before you go get Emmy, can I leave you whilst I take a quick nap? He’s gonna want a feed soon and I’m so tired. ”

Steve looked at his wife, then to his son who was perfectly content, his little nose and mouth now resting firmly against Steve’s collar bone. He smiled back at Katie and gave her another soft kiss.

“Think we’ll be okay.”

 **** Chapter 45

**Original Posting**

[seraphdreams]

First Fight & Family Secrets w/ CB Keisuke

When Baji said that he’d be working late canceling yet another date,she’d decided to take the girls (i.e Ken’s girlfriend and her only female friend Kira) up on the offer to go to the club and let loose a little. University life wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns especially when you had to work to ensure that you could finish your degree and maintain decent grades.

It had been almost two hours since they got to the club and one since they started feeling the buzz. When Con Sus B by Arcángel,De La Ghetto, Dalex and Elian Bless comes on Kira is on the table in their section singing and dancing sensually. Hyping her up and dancing along with her they continue having fun until a familiar dark haired male is pulling her off the table.

“Is this what you guys do for girls night?” Manjiro huffs tugging his jacket off and pulling it over Kira’s frame. Mikey’s so deep into the lecture that he’s giving them that he doesn’t notice the drama his barging over was about to cause.

Long tuned out of Mikey’s overprotective rant her eyes focus on the head of raven hair pulled back into a man bun with a few loose strands framing his face. She’d know that fucking smirk and side profile anywhere and boy was he in deep shit.

“Working late my ass!” She grits out grabbing the bottle they had ordered continuously sipping as she pushed her way through the crowd to get to their section. Mikey mutters an ‘oh shit!’ when he notices where her attention drifted and is trying to signal them but no one’s paying attention given that none had seen what Mikey saw.

Saccharine smile on her full lips she saunters into their section. The blood red satin spaghetti strapped dress with the slit on the side left nothing to the imagination and was something she’d picked out especially for her boyfriend. The deep v-cut of the backless ensemble and it’s plunging neckline that displayed the gold that littered her neck especially the thin Cuban link with ‘Keisuke’ resting pretty in the middle was enough to garner the attention she wanted from the men in the booth.

Keisuke looks over briefly and turns his attention back to the woman next to him only to do a double take because he knew he had to be seeing things. She takes a seat between the brothers she notices as Ran and Rindou. Both momentarily speechless because fuck she looked like sin incarnate. Her usual curly hair was now pin straight -due to the silk press she’d gotten for her date - and flowing down her back. Minimal makeup with bloody red lips to match had both brothers eating out the palm of her hands.

Soon after Mikey and her girls are joining and instantly they follow her eyes to the female draped up on Baji. Mikey shoots an almost apologetic look to Baji but the little chaotic fucker lowkey wanted to see how this would play out. From the moment he’d told Baji about the job and the role he’d be playing he had warned him about the consequences if he didn’t tell his girlfriend what was up.

Purposely she leaned in closer to Ran just to get a rise out of Baji but also because she couldn’t hear him well over the bass in the club. “Are you here alone?”

“I’m with my girls, needed a break from life. Also just found out that my boyfriend’s been meeting roblox built bitches under the pretense of working late.” She says loud enough for Baji to hear, a pout on her lips as she bats her eyelashes at Ran.

“He must be one hell of a fool if he’s entertaining others when he’s got you at home.” At this point if steam could escape from Baji’s ears and nose it would because he wanted nothing more than to break Haitani’s fucking hands and nose. He’d deal with Sanzu, Rindou and the consequences of those actions later.

Ran has one hand on the exposed skin of her thigh and the other draped behind her as he leans in closer to her. Baji barely registers that he’s moving until he’s grabbing her by her upper arm, pulling her away from Ran and towards the exit.She roughly shrugs him off and the entire section falls silent when he turns to look at her.

“Peach, I am not in the mood to deal with your bratty ass tonight. Tell your girls goodnight and let’s go,now!” He spites out sharply.

She rolls her eyes at him and scoffs. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to like that? Check ya fucking tone pendejo. I was having a conversation and if you’re ready to leave yuh know where the fucking door is.”

Baji’s jaw ticks and at this point everyone is silent waiting to see what’s about to play off.

“Tsk, insolent whores will never learn their place will they?” A voice that she wanted to never hear again speaks up. The clicking of heels indicates the person’s movement and when they finally stand in front of her, she feels her blood boil. Given the dim lighting of the section and the fact that she was focused on Keisuke she didn’t pay attention to the the bitch hooked on his side like a clothes rack.

The look she gives Baji is one he’s never seen before. It’s like he was looking at a completely different person. “Outta all the bitches to hoe around with, you chose wreck it Ralph over here?”

“Aww c’mon is that anyway to speak about your sister Naleya?”

“Blood will never be enough to make us sisters Niana. Just because my father couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and decided to knock your money hungry slut bag of a mother up doesn’t make us family.”

Everyone is shocked silent except for Ran,Rindou and Sanzu who were highly entertained by the turn of events. The cartel life wasn’t what Naleya wanted for herself and despite her protests it wasn’t enough to stop her father from training her to one day take over.

“I was trying to be nice,” Niana speaks while pointing a gun at her. “I really was but you always have to fuck shit up don’t you! You ruin everything!”

“Ohh boohoo, do you really think papa sent you here to close a deal with Mikey? That deal was sealed the moment your “man” decided my cunt was his favorite meal. You’re here because he’s testing you, testing to see just how far you’re willing to go to take over his empire. Just because I don’t want it doesn’t mean it’s not mine.” Naleya smirks knowing that she struck a nerve. She used that momentary lapse to swipe the gun and turn it Niana.

“You were always a bit slow, that’s why you could never beat me. Your greed and anger holds you back and that’s why he’ll always have you second.”

At this point Naleya knows she’s being a bitch by throwing salt on her sister’s wounds, poking at all her insecurities. She sees the exact moment Niana snaps and easily sidesteps as she charges at her. Gun tossed to Rindou she prepares herself for the fight she knows is coming. This isn’t how she wanted Baji to find out but it was already done but he still wasn’t off the hook.

Niana charges at her again, fist raised and out for blood. Naleya tackles all her weak spots and has her on her knees in less than five minutes. With all the commotion in their section it’s a miracle that security wasn’t called in as yet.

“Finish it! You spineless bitch. I did everything right and yet still it was always about you. The ungrateful bitch who ran away from home.”

Back turned to her as she heads for the exit, Naleya stops, barely looking over her shoulder. “If I wanted you dead Niana, you would be. You’re alive because I allow it. La sangre es la sangre but we are not sisters.Escort her home and let father know that I won’t be visiting for a while.” She speaks to Rindou and Sanzu.

“Ran you’re with me, come take me home please. Mikey, Ken make sure my girls get home safely.” Barely two steps out of the section and Keisuke is on her again.

“We need to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about Baji. You and me are done.”

“The fuck we aren’t. You don’t get to break up with me without letting me explain when you been keeping secrets as well.” There was no way Baji was about to let you end it like this.

“Yes I kept shit from you but I’ve never lied to you. I told you that the shit my family has been doing for generations wasn’t what I wanted so I left. You…you’ve been running around with her for weeks now and lying to my face every time telling me that you’re working late and like a fucking lovesick puppy I believed you. I believed you because I didn’t want to believe that the lipstick stains and the cheap ass perfumes I could smell on you were true. All I’ve ever asked of you is to never lie to me and have me looking stupid in these streets but you couldn’t even do that.”

“Baby…”

“No! Fuck you and that bitch too. Ran we’re leaving, now!”

“Back the fuck up off my woman Haitani.” He grits out. She wasn’t leaving here with that fucker.Ran is ready to throw hands but stops on her command.

“Leave him. I want to leave.” Everyone can hear the way her voice cracks.

“Peach…”

“Don’t come home Keisuke.”

-CB anon 🤍

OH? OH WOW? OKAY SO OOOOO NAMES AND NOT THE WHOLE BONTEN BEING HERE AND AND THE PLOT TWIST OF THE AND THEN OMGG???? BAJI IS SO *climbs over the table and punches him* WHY IS HE???? this is why we shouldn’t fight over men🙄

[violetlunette]

All Might and Bakugou Rant Chapter 8-11

Okay, before I start this rant I want to say that I LOVE All Might; he is a sweet sunflower man and I love him! He is in my top 3 favorite BNHA/MHA characters. HOWEVER, just because I love and adore him doesn’t mean I’m not going to get upset when his actions, or in actions in this case, potentially cause serious harm!

As for Bakugou--I like him when I’m not forced to like him if that makes sense? He has a lot of good qualities and I love that he has a unique backstory for rivals. There’s no angsty reason for his assholeness he’s just a brat who got a big head from being praised all the time and for actually being talented. I really want to see him grow which is why I get super angry when the story ruins his potential growth moments.

The rest of my thoughts I’m saving for a future post.

For those who are confused, I started a post series where I’ve been collecting every image I can find to explore Izuku and Bakugou’s relationship because it’s a big thing in the BNHA/MHA community and I wanted to judge myself. This rant is about Chapters 8-11 and how All Might handles things. Spoilers ahead! I should also warn that this is also very, very Bakugou critical as we are dealing with early gremlin Bakugou who goes overboard with Boom-boom. Also this is a rant, so things might not be very coherent and may repeat.

Oh and this is a LONG rant so I wouldn’t open on tumblr search. New tab suggested.

And finally; no beta reader. We die like dumbasses. Enjoy if you like rants.

The set up;

So here’s the stage; Bakugou vs Izuku. All Might tells Bakugou to adapt a villain mindset, and BOY

DOES

HE

EVER

Because of Bakugou’s temper he unleashes an explosion that both he and All Might admit could kill Izuku. Not just injure or maim, but KILL. And this wasn’t a small attack ether;

Look at this;

A large chunk of the building was taken out and the structure on the rest was damaged and cracked. I don’t think the building will collapse, but I’m not an architect and this is still serious damage.

And in this test run the area is supposed to be a nuclear plant. I’m not going to say too much considering Japan’s history with nuclear stuff, but I will say that if this was a real run Japan would be in serious trouble all because “King Explosion Murder” is having a hissy fit!

But this is a test, so I’m just going to focus on the fact that Bakugou used a literal killing move on Izuku and All Might did nothing!

Remember this part? “I will stop you if you take things too far?”

How

is

THIS

NOT TOO FAR?!

Is it just me here? I get we’re dealing with some value dissonance /blue and orange mentality as this world isn’t like ours, but come on!

YES!! Listen to Kirishima, the only one in the whole class that seems to care about the potential death of a classmate!

Even if Bakugou wasn’t intending to kill, he was going in to severely injure and maim Izuku. And what if Izuku tried to dodge the wrong way and it was a direct hit? What then? The only reason Izuku’s blood isn’t everywhere is because in anime world people are durable as fuck.

Isn’t it their job to teach these kids not to use moves that could kill someone, or at least be responsible and not use said moves on classmates during a training course?

Yes! You should!

Okay, to be fair to All Might it’s clearly stated by everyone around him that while All Might is smart and knows how to hero he doesn’t know how to teach very well at this point, though he does improve later on. And I do understand his thinking; if Izuku told him about the bullying then this is Izuku’s chance to get back a little at Bakugou and show him what he’s made of. That’s what he’s thinking here;

Yeah, that’s one way to describe it.

It’s also shown very clearly that Izuku wants this fight, to finally be able to challenge Bakugou on equal ground for once in his life.

I also understand that the UA teachers are getting these kids ready to fight real villains, so they are pretty lax on things to help them. That’s why I give Aizawa a lot of slack with his teaching methods.

And All Might does warn Bakugou not to do it again;

Also calm? Petty? Really? THAT’S what you see? Yeah, he’s “calm” and thinking clearly (which makes everything worse, btw), but “petty?” The word is genocidal, All Might. Bakugou does use the attack again! RIGHT ON IZUKU’S FACE.

Even if this was a different attack, how is this not too far? Okay, I guess Izuku blocked it as we see below;

But Bakugou didn’t know he would block and look at Izuku’s eye; did that attack do eye damage?

And what really irritates me is that All Might wasn’t going to do shit until he saw that Izuku was going to use OFA.

So, explosion fist that took out part of a building was fine, but using OFA that’s just too far!

Kirishima has to plead with All Might to stop things before he starts to give in. (And seriously? WHY IS HE THE ONLY ONE?! Does no one else care??)

But I’m not even that mad that he allowed the fight to continue. I wanted Izuku to have a chance to prove himself and beat Bakugou’s ass (he deserves it here. FIGHT ME). I also like that with Izuku’s hard earned victory Bakugou is momentarily humbled.

I agree that for both Izuku and Bakugou this fight needed to happen (but only if Izuku won). Bakugou needed this moment for character development.

He really needed this.

No, what I’m mad about is that BAKUGOU WAS NEVER SCOLDED FOR HIS ACTIONS. Hell, All Might goes the opposite way and tries to comfort Bakugou as we see here;

which okay, maybe he needed a little. He needed to hear these words, but he also needed a major scolding! But he never got that.

Izuku was carried away on a stretcher and severely damage, but does he care? No! What does he care about? Bakugou’s fragile ego!

Yeah, I know Izuku’s body is broken, but poor Bakubabe’s not feeling very confident. SERIOUSLY ALL MIGHT?!!

Why is this a big deal? Why am I so mad? Same reason why I was mad at the other teachers. By not telling Bakugou what he did was wrong and making him listen he did what every. Single. Damn. Teacher. Has done so far; taught him there was nothing wrong with his actions; it was okay that he unleashed an attack that could KILL on someone, especially on Izuku. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. Because no one ever tries to correct Bakugou he keeps acting this way, losing his temper and hurting people, mostly Izuku. And it doesn’t just hurt Bakugou, the inaction of no one ever scolding Bakugou teaches Izuku that it’s okay for him to get hurt. It’s okay that others hurt him, no big deal. It’s no wonder Izuku is always breaking his bones! Why would he listen to others telling him to to take better care of himself when the world keeps saying that it’s okay for people like Bakugou to hurt him?

There’s also the fact that Izuku was severely hurt here;

These are not comical anime wounds, these are serious, oh shit wounds so bad he has to be carried away on a stretcher.

No. Don’t laugh it off! You are hurting Izuku and Bakugou for reasons I already stated.

Even Recovery Girl tells him that what he did was stupid!

See what a good scolding can do? All Might made a mistake and he’s being called out on it.

An ego trip does not make this okay. Just like All Might needed to be told that his actions were wrong, so does Bakugou. Hell, Bakugou needs it even more!

I love RG. If she was there I’m willing to bet Bakugou would have gotten at least a time out. She’s the best teacher. She knows when to be kind, when to bee strict, and when someone needs to be called out. LEARN FROM HER All Might!

Bakugou’s quirk is EXPLOSIONS. It’s just as dangerous as Thirteen’s Black hole, or Shigaraki’s dissolve quirk and just as deadly! He needs to be taught to understand that along with controlling his temper especially because he’s going to be a hero, but he’s not going to learn if his ego is always babied and never faces consequences. I’m not asking for All Might to turn Bakugou over his knee or anything, just to tell Bakugou that what he did was wrong. Especially since he’ll be dealing with civilians in the future.

But no, instead of focusing on the fact Bakugou needs to control his temper All Might decides he needs to nurse Bakugou’s ego. I highly disagree because in addition to everything I stated above. Bakugou’s case a little ego bruising might teach him some humility which he SORELY NEEDS. He needs love and care, but when he does something dangerous and deadly, he needs a kick in the pants or at LEAST a strong NO, DON’T DO THAT.

How is he going to learn otherwise? Seriously, does anyone ever scold Bakugou for his temper? His ego is always called out, but what about his temper?

Again, I adore All Might. He is a great hero and he gets better, but I wish he bought that teacher’s hand book before his first class.

Rant finally over, I swear I didn’t intend for it to be this long, but oh well.

[istgimamess]

Moodboard Ship(s): NCT and TXT...

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

"...hiii my love !! how are you ? i hope you're well ashaja it is now my turn to threaten so yes you better be well or else 🔪 aahha.

may i get a moodboard ship with nct and txt please ? if not two then either of them is fine love !! thank you so muchh you're absolutely an angel and im so happy to have you as a friend. we need to talk more truly..."

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In NCT I ship you with...

Jaehyun!

Your moodboard:

“Why do I get the feeling our relationship is backwards?” he asks as he wanders into your room, shrugs his jacket off, and hangs it over the back of your desk chair. You stare at his back, perplexed. Why was he here? “Isn’t it usually the girl who always wants to talk about feelings and the guy who bottles everything up inside?” he continues, his words finally catching up to you. Relationship? Feelings?

“I don’t bottle things up,” you shoot back, unable to clearly process the deeper meaning behind his words. Well, there is an imaginary box you like to hide things in, but that’s different—you think, in afterthought. “Right.” he responds, concurring. You can practically taste the sarcasm, his usual honey-like voice dripping with it. 

“Why—” you clear your throat, “Why are you here?” There’s a brief pause—not too long, but still long enough for your palms to begin to garner sweat. “Give me the setting sun, and I’ll be a richer man than most.” his voice is soft, almost as if he’s whispering. His hand reaches back in a swift motion, and he’s pulling off his shirt. As pure reflex you lower your gaze, but not before catching sight of his wings. They flutter momentarily, the sheer pink reflection catching in the setting sun. “For never have I seen gold like that which glows above the earth. Give me the night sky, and I’ll be the richest man for sure. For never have I seen diamonds like those that dance beside the moon.” he continues, back still facing you. You just barely recognize the scripture, fae are an ancient breed who take tradition very seriously. They have scriptures for everything—some more important than others. Your gut tells you this specific scripture is important. You begin to panic, wracking your brain for any clue as to what he’s saying to you—what he means.

And that’s when you see it, tucked beneath his left shoulder blade, almost hidden by his wing. A tattoo. Tattoos, to fae specifically, are much more than body art. They’re not meant for fun, they’re a declaration. A promise. A vow. You swallow your shock, narrowing your eyes to get a better look at the art. It’s small, delicate—but it also sticks out amongst his smooth, wide back.  You open your mouth to question him but your words die in place, your tongue suddenly feels thick, heavy in your mouth. It’s your name—the intricate design, the complex lines. This was more than a friend showing another friend some body art. This was a confession of the highest degree. A confession a fae of royalty should not be making to a simple human.

 “That’s incredible, Jaehyun. It is. But—" you swallow loudly in the quiet room, your heart jumping erratically in your chest.

“No." He turns around. "No buts. You think I'm going to hurt you? You think I'm going to get bored and run off with some undergrounder, some fairy, the first chance I get?” his eyes are piercing, dark with frustration. “You obviously have no idea how amazing you are. You are incredible, and I want you.” you take a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by his proximity, what he’s saying. “Every part of you. I want your stubbornness and your sarcasm and your competitive spirit. I want you challenging me and fighting beside me.” His large hands settle around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You resist—holding your hand on his chest—keeping him at a distance. What if one of the guards saw? “I want to hold you and kiss you and so much more because there's no one else in the world who knows me like you do. You have always been the one for me, even when we couldn't stand each other.” he lowers his voice, and suddenly everything becomes much more intimate. “You're beautiful, and you're more intelligent than any fairy I've met. It just feels right when you're beside me. It feel like I've been lost in the desert for years, and...I've finally come home.” he finishes, winded like he’s ran a marathon.

His dark eyes trace your features, gently removing your hand from his chest, closing the distance between you slowly. And, instead of fighting it like you should, you close your eyes and let yourself go. You feel the muscles of his shoulder beneath your hand. The frame his arms create is strong, secure, but you want those arms tighter around you. You want there to be no space at all between you.

As if reading your mind, he closes the distance. Tilting your chin up—his lips drawing you in—your breath becoming one. You want him so badly. You want to kiss him, laugh with him, cry with him, share every waking moment of your life with him because no matter how many awful things he's done in the past, you can't shake the undeniable feeling that when his arms are around you, you’re home.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In TXT I ship you with...

Beomgyu!

Your moodboard:

“I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trelon. I have spent the night with the Duke of Death and left with both my sanity and my life.” he’s ranting now, his wide eyes holding you in place, hands frantically waving about. “I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during the day. I have talked to gods, slept with sirens, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.” you cock your eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to get to the point. 

“You have to have heard of me.” he balks at your impassive expression. 

“Your highness,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I know who you are, I just don’t care.” The absolute shock that momentarily paints his handsome features has you holding back a laugh. “But—” now you do roll your eyes, already bored with the conversation. 

“Your highness, I’m here to teach you—not indulge your ego. You’re going to be king soon—” he cuts you off, abruptly. “I do not wish to be king.” there’s an edge to his voice, a hard set to his jaw. You take a deep breath. “That doesn’t change the fact that you will be.” There’s a dark, forlorn and almost heartbreaking look in his eyes—it’s sudden and it’s gone as fast as it appeared—but it’s enough to stop you in your tracks. You swallow down the insult that was steadily making its way up your throat and you look at him, really look. Despite all of his accomplishments, if you wish to call sharing a chamber with a siren an accomplishment, he still just a kid. And suddenly your heart hurts for him,

“I once knew a troll who was heir to the throne of a great kingdom, he lived as a ranger and fought his destiny to sit on a throne but in his blood he was a king.” you say offhandedly, gazing out the large window to the east woodlands. You can feel the snap of his gaze on you. “I also knew a fae who was the king of a small kingdom, it was very small and his throne very humble.” you smile to yourself, remembering how delighted you were to meet such a respectable court. “He and his people were all brave and worthy conquerors.”

He takes a step towards you, you feel his eyes settle on your own—but you keep your gaze resolutely out the window. “And I knew a vampire who sat on a magnificent throne of a big and majestic kingdom, but he was not a king at all, he was only a cowardly steward.” you confessed quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of such a cruel ruler. Your eyes must reflect your feelings on the matter because the prince steps in front of you, cutting off your line of sight to the great woods.  “Why are you telling me this?” he questions, his tone lowered to match yours. 

You finally concede, looking up and catching his eyes. “Because I want you to know. You will be the king of a great kingdom, human or not—whether you want it or not—you will be the king, even if you live in naivety.”  His gaze darkens as you turn around and reach for a book on the 9 woodland kingdoms, the kingdoms you’re meant to teach the prince about, thoroughly; the book is old and worn, it smells like burnt leaves.  “My lady, I did not think you could answer it.” his voice cuts through the sudden silence. You tilt your head in his direction, for the first time, curious. “Answer what?” you voice, confusion etched in your features.

“Your calling, of course. When my father took you from your home without your leave—and set value only on your gift—I questioned your knowledge on the subject matter at hand.” he rounds the table, holding your gaze hostage. “But I am answered truly. You have given fair return for insult thrice over and set your worth: higher than my life and all my kingdom and all who live therein.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, yet again, this time much closer than before. “And though you can send my people to the fire, I can claim no debt to repay. It would be justly done.” his whispered words catch you off guard—the implication, the suggestion of a confession. You drop the book you’re holding, the noise echoing through the barren halls. 

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

@urirealvibekiller​ omggg you're sooo sweet 😍😭 I'm going to cryyy. But also? That knife threat sENT ME hahhahaa 😂

And no, YOUR an absolute angel! I can't get over how pretty you areeeee! Teach me your ways! 🥺

Lol I hope you like your moodboard ship(s) — It started out one way, and then I randomly got inspired by a fantasy cottage-core advertisement lmfaoooo sorry! 🥰

[etherian-affairs]

Please, you have to write Hordak's rant, get him drunk or just really mad at seeing the false sun. Let my boy vent about this backwards planet. Heck, if he has images of space, let Hordak show them to Entrapta, just so he can show her proof about there being things called suns and stars.

She-Ra's sword turned, and reflected the light right into Hordak's eyes. Momentarily he is blinded and only manages to catch and crush the incoming arrow by the sound of it whistling through the air.

Then he yells.

"I HATE THAT THING!" He points up at the glowing moon in the daytime sky.

The battle stalls as everyone gets a little confused.

"Uh..." She-Ra begins.

"That stupid glowing moon is the worst thing I have ever seen!" He continues. "What idiot designed it?! For what conceivable purpose!?"

"It's a moon." Bow comments. "No one built it..."

Hordak's angry gaze turns to the Archer. "Moon's do not GLOW. Stars Glow! Not moons!"

"Oh! Maybe it's a star!" Entrapta pops up from the hole she was taking cover in.

"it is not a Star! It's too close and too small! I have done the measurements! I thought it was a star when I first arrived here. Because that would make sense! Etheria's parent star! But no! It is a moon! A ridiculous glowing moon created by morons!"

"Wait how do you know so much about stars?..." She-Ra asks.

"Hordak is from space! He's been to other planets!" Entrapta chimes in happily.

"And I have never encountered a ridiculous artificial glowing moon!"

"well maybe the First Ones made it to light Etheria..." Bow offers. This battle has really ground to a halt.

"Why?" Hordak snaps. "Why would they do that? All of the data we have suggests this planet is not supposed to be in Despondos. Which means that when they constructed the stupid glowing moon it was POINTLESS!"

"you can't know that. Maybe there was no star?" Adora chimes in.

"What?! They terraformed a rogue planet? They turned it into a starship? Why?? What an astounding waste of resources! No. No you know what? I'm done. I'm done with all of this backwater idiocy." He gestures over the group. "We are all going back to the Fright Zone and I am going to give you all a LECTURE on Astronomy AND Orbital Mechanics!"

Entrapta claps her hands together in excitement! "Ooh! Oh! That sounds really fun! Oh yes let's do that!" She climbs out of her hole.

"We're FIGHTING you right now!" Glimmer finally shouts.

"I do NOT care! I HATE THAT MOON and by the time I am done you will all hate that moon as well!"

And so began Professor Hordak's Astronomy 110 class.

[ourownsideimagines]

The Eye of the Storm (Crowley x Fem!College Student!Reader)

Characters: Crowley, fem!reader, reader’s asshole ex boyfriend, a friend named Raul.

Requested: Yes 

Requested by: Anon

Point of View: Second Person

Summary: When your ex won’t stop bothering you, your boyfriend Crowley takes it upon himself to help you.

Warnings: Stalking from an ex, harassment from ex, unwanted touching from ex, minimal editing. I might have cursed???

Words: 1436

A/N: I sprinkled in a thing from the book where when Crowley is under stress his eyes go red.

---

You’d never exactly thought of school as a safe haven - especially not now.

You’d been going to the same university for a number of years now, and in that time had met and dated a young man named Steven. The relationship had only lasted a little under a year, and ended when you’d realized just how controlling he was.

He’d never let you go out with friends, especially not other male or masculine-presenting friends. He had to know where you were at all times, and if you couldn’t talk for a certain period of time (like during tests or going to the cinema) he threw a fit. The last straw was when he began to track your phone.

After the initial break up he continued to show up after your classes, and he’d follow you around like a lost puppy begging for forgiveness. He even found your new place of work, much to your dismay. But now it seemed like he was finally leaving you alone. It had been months since your last encounter with him, and you had happily began to date the demon Crowley. You’d known him for a while, having met him your freshman year when taking a trip to A. Z. Fell and Co. Bookshop in Soho with your sister. You couldn’t remember just how you’d become friends, let alone how you’d figured out what he was, but you could remember every moment of falling in love with him.

In fact, he’d been the one to finally convince you to dump Steven. You’d neglected to tell him about the harassment that had followed, not wanting to get him all mixed up in your affairs but when your relationship developed you became nervous - you knew you’d have to tell him at one point or another. When it came to an end, it was a relief.

At least, you thought it was.

As another class came to an end, you exited the classroom with your friend, Raul, who was excitedly blabbing on about his plans for the next essay. You were only half listening, and your eyes wandered down the hall. You felt your blood run cold when you spotted Steven waiting by the exit route you usually took. You grabbed Raul’s arm and he came to a halt.

“Let’s take the other exit.” You said. Raul gave you a funny look.

“Is something wrong, (name)?” He asked. “You look white as a sheet.” You took in a deep breath.

“There’s just someone I’ve been trying to avoid over there.” You tugged him back in the direction of the other exit. It would mean more walking to get to your class, but you’d take that over Steven any way.

“Okay, okay,” He laughed nervously but allowed you to guide him. You weren’t sure if Steven saw you, but at that point you didn’t much care. Maybe if he saw you with Raul, he’d have the brains to keep away. Sure, despite his height and his muscles, Raul wouldn’t hurt a fly. But Steven didn’t know that.

“Oscar’s waiting for me in the cafeteria,” He told you. Oscar was his boyfriend. “Do you want to join us?”

“Can’t.” You sighed. “My next class starts in ten minutes.”

“Oh, then you better run.” Raul laughed. “Don’t want to miss Mr. Gibson’s lecture.” Raul had taken Mr. Gibson’s class last semester and would often listen to you rant on about it. And to be honest, a part of you couldn’t wait to get to the class. You weaved in and out of foot-traffic, head down as you texted Crowley, asking him to come pick you up. Typically you’d take the bus and then grab a taxi to Aziraphale’s shop, but you didn’t want to risk being stuck on public transport with Steven. Crowley texted you back almost immediately, saying to meet him out front when your class let out.

Your mind couldn’t help but wander during Mr. Gibson’s lecture. Typically you’d be able to at least scribble down a word here and there but all you could think of was the fear that Steven was waiting for you.

And he was. You didn’t notice him at first because he was unusually blended in with the crowd. It didn’t take you long to spot him, though, and your feet instinctively began to carry you a bit faster away. If there hadn’t been such a crowd flooding out of the classroom with you, you had no doubt he would have tried to make a scene - then make it look like you had started it. He was good at that kind of stuff, and it was another one of the many reasons you’d broken things off.

You were halfway to the meeting point with Crowley when he’d finally caught up with you. You tried to ignore him, each gentle call of your name. And you tried not to flinch at the more aggressive ones.

“Love,” He grabbed for your wrist, which you quickly yanked away, turning finally to face him.

“Don’t touch me.” You snapped at him. A few people nearby turned their heads, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from snapping at them as well. “Don’t call me that. I don’t want to talk to you, leave me alone.” You began walking again, and Steven followed.

“Love, c’mon I haven’t seen you in ages.” He didn’t make an attempt to grab you this time, to your relief. But he wasn’t slowing down. The cars were coming into view. A part of you hoped Crowley had decided to stand outside his car - the other part worried momentarily what might happen if he was.

“That’s why I broke up with you.” You were almost there. You began to walk a bit faster, but Steven sped up to keep pace.

“C’mon, I’ve learned my lesson, this really isn’t funny anymore.” To anyone, his tone would have sounded playful. But you knew better. He was seconds away from snapping, and that terrified you.

“You’re right, it’s not funny, so stop following me.” You all but spat. Just when you thought you were in the clear Steven seized your wrists and pulled you to him, face to face. “What the hell, let me go!” You cried out.

“Look at me,” He demanded. “Look at me.” You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. “Come on, love, let me see those pretty eyes-”

“Pardon me,” A wave of relief crashed over you when Crowley’s words hit your ears. “But I’m gonna have to ask you to get your hands off of my partner.” He said, and you could hear the low hiss in his voice.

“(Name), who the bloody hell is this?”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Crowley put an arm around your waist and pulled you away from Steven, who had fought to keep his hold on your wrists, but you jerked both arms back quickly. Steven was flabbergasted. “And who might you be?”

“My ex,” You mumbled, remembering that they had never met during your period of dating. “Steven.”

“How… How could you do this to me?” Steven put a hand over his heart. “We had something, and you’re gonna throw it away for this…” Steven stopped mid sentence as his gaze came back to Crowley.

“This what?” Crowley hissed. Steven said nothing. You could see a faint glow of red beneath Crowley’s sunglasses. “What am I, Steven?” Said man opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat dry. “That’s what I thought. Now, how about you go back to your normal, boring classes? And how about you start leaving (name) alone? Because if I ever hear you’ve bothered her again you’ll have much more to worry about than failing the semester.”

There was a split second between the end of Crowley’s words and Steven making a mad dash back towards campus. The red from behind Crowley’s glasses had yet to fade, and you took it upon yourself to calm him down. You took his hand gently, and his head snapped in your direction. You brought his hand up to your face, placing a gentle kiss to his palm before pressing your face into it. You nuzzled his hand for a moment before reaching up your other hand to caress his face. The red began to dull, and if the two of you hadn't been standing out there in the open you might have dared to try to remove his glasses. You would have to settle for gentle touches though, which you didn’t mind.

Crowley rested his forehead against yours.

“I hate men.” He murmured.

“Yeah,” You replied. “Yeah, I know.”

[polkahotness]

SHORTAKI WEEK, DAY 4

FFN // AO3

                               Switch

Adjusting to Freshmen-life at Hillwood High School had proven to be more difficult than either Arnold or Helga had anticipated. As they watched their friends thrive in their new environment, both felt as though they were still struggling to find their place within clubs, classes, and cliques. Each day during the first few weeks was a rush to navigate through the unfamiliar hallways that were filled to the brim with bustling students who had long since learned the various shortcuts and routes to most effectively get to their next hour's class.

Arnold and Helga on the other hand, were still taking the less-direct paths which led them around corners and into one another on a semi-frequent basis. And while this collision was not something that the pair had never accidently done before, on this particular afternoon, it would prove to be an encounter that would forever change their young lives.

SMACK!

Right around the corner of the 500 and 300 wing, Arnold Shortman ran directly into Helga G. Pataki, both of their armfuls of textbooks, notebooks, pens, and other high school essentials scattering around them like confetti from a canon.

"Seriously, footballhead?!" Helga exclaimed as she began collecting her various items that had mingled with Arnold's on the floor of the hallway. "Personally, I would have thought that by now, you'd know how to use your own two feet properly!"

"Sorry, Helga," Arnold grumbled as he too began feverishly gathering his things as quickly as possible. The warning bell had already rang, and both he and Helga were sure to be late if they didn't hurry. "I guess I was just in a rush."

"I'll say," the young blonde responded while glancing up to sneak a glimpse at the boy who had stolen her heart ages ago and still possessed to this day. Her eyes lingered on the boy with the oddly shaped head for a long moment as he picked up his belongings, though her gaze brought heat to his skin causing him to look up and meet eyes with his feisty classmate.

"What?" the boy asked her while pausing momentarily mid-reach for his phone which lay face-down in its black protective case.

"What, what, Arnoldo?" Helga spat back at him while maintaining their eye-contact and reaching to grab her own phone.

"You're staring at me," Arnold noted while finally palming the phone and reaching back to shove it into the pocket of his jeans. Without leaving Helga's eyes, he reached towards the next item on his horizon—his Algebra 2 textbook, which he needed for the class that he was nearly positive he would be late to after his run-in with Helga.

Out of everything she had dropped, Helga's own cellphone was the least of her worries—her focus instead on the notebook that lay just head of where Arnold was squatting before her. Inside the pages of that notebook were some of Helga's deepest thoughts and strongest feelings regarding him and their complicated relationship.

He could never find out what was written on the lines of the papers inside.

Taking the phone she'd grabbed to cram it into the side-pocket of the zip-up sweater she was wearing, she soon snatched the notebook while silently breathing a sigh of relief that Arnold was none-the-wiser as to what lay inside. "Uh, newsflash—it's not me who's doing the staring here, it's you." Her retort merely triggered Arnold to exchange a blank look with the quick-witted blonde before he picked up the last of the items he had dropped.

"Whatever you say, Helga," he recited—a typical ending to a typical conversation with the girl he still harbored feelings for even after all of these years. Oftentimes he would lie awake until the early hours of the morning while staring ahead at the stars that shone brightly above him through his skylight. His mind would endlessly replay moments the two of them had shared since their fifth-grade trip to San Lorenzo and wonder where it was that they went wrong.

Could it have been that they were too young?

Had they simply not been ready?

And more importantly, was there still a chance to remedy what the pair had seemingly lost?

For Arnold, the answers to his questions lay trapped inside the mind of one Helga G. Pataki; the object of both his desires and absolute frustration. He could never seem to wiggle himself back into her thought process, no matter how hard he tried—and he had certainly tried.

As the two parted ways for the next hour that would begin in less than a minute's time, neither realized that the phone in their pockets could hold the key to unlocking the mysteries that either teenager ruminated over time after time. Perhaps it was in their accidental switch that they would find their answers after all.

----------------------

DING. DING. DING. DING.

Just as the bell let out its final ring, Helga slid into the seat of her English class. Panting from her jog after her crash with Arnold, Helga tossed the things she'd gathered in haste onto the top of her desk. Glancing her way, Phoebe immediately knew that something was troubling her best friend.

"Is everything alright, Helga?" She asked as their teacher continued talking in the opposite corner of the room to one of their fellow students. "You seem to be… discombobulated today."

"That's the understatement of the year," Helga answered while sorting through the compilation of things she'd gathered in haste just moments ago. "I swear to you, Pheebs, if I run into Arnold one more time, I might kill him. This is the third time in two weeks that he's almost made me late for class."

"Considering how often the two of you run into one another, I think it may be improbable to expect it won't happen again," Phoebe mused with a soft smile. She knew of the mutual feelings that Helga and Arnold shared for one another. She herself had engaged in dating shortly after the infamous trip to San Lorenzo, however for Phoebe and Gerald, their partnership had proven to be successful in all of the ways that their best friends' relationship hadn't.

Despite this, both Phoebe and Gerald never let go of the hope that their friends would one day reconnect in a way that would work out for the better. From their objective points of view, Helga and Arnold were perfect for one another. To them, it seemed that their friends merely lacked the motivation at being truly honest with one another; the real kryptonite that plagued and stood in the way of their seemingly imminent relationship.

"I don't know, Phoebe," Helga finally said as she softly traced the cover of her precious notebook that Arnold had once again almost seen the contents of. "You'd think the way the universe keeps shoving us together, something would have happened by now."

"But something did happen," Phoebe offered, though Helga was less than receptive.

"Yeah. In the fifth grade," she sneered before rolling her eyes and leaning back into the chair of her desk while crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Maybe it's time to give up and face the facts. Arnold and I are just… never going to work. We'll be forced to run into each other for the rest of our lives… our feelings littering the floor in a mess of emotional debris we keep having to pick up and hide away like some kind of… goddamn racoon, or something. A crow, maybe. They collect things, don't they?"

The question confused Phoebe who was accustomed to Helga's nonsensical rants that typically revolved around Arnold only to jut off in another direction entirely by the end. "Y-Yes, they do, but Helga—"

"Honestly, it's fine, I guess," Helga continued as though she hadn't heard a word her friend had said. "So, we collect our feelings like objects. Big deal. If he isn't willing to show me his, then I sure as hell am not willing to show him mine." Seeing that their teacher was still conversing with someone across the way about what appeared to be a previous assignment, Helga snuck her hand into the pocket of her sweater to grab the phone that lay inside.

"That's all there is to it," she said while pulling out the phone and clicking the button on the side to illuminate the screen. "I'll keep my feelings to myself and Arnold—" Helga stopped mid-sentence as she stared down at the screensaver that looked back at her.

"Helga?" Phoebe called her friend's name with a twinge of fear beneath her voice. "Helga, what is it? Is your phone alright after your hallway mishap?"

"I don't know…" she uttered before holding up the phone for Phoebe to see, "because this isn't my phone. It's Arnold's."

Meanwhile, a hallway over, Arnold Shortman had yet to notice that the phone residing safely in his pocket was not that of his own.

Slipping into his seat at the moment the bell chimed it's final chime, he too was glad that he hadn't collected another tardy slip like he had as a direct result of previous run-ins with Helga. It always seemed that the two of them found one another at the intersection of the 500 and 300 wings—Arnold silently wondered why he kept taking that route when he knew their colliding was almost fated to occur.

Perhaps he did it because he wanted them to bump into each other.

Maybe he secretly hoped that one of these times, just once, Helga might not snap at him and instead spill her feelings rather than her notebooks, pens, and papers.

"Hey, Arnold!" Gerald whispered out to his friend from the next row, and Arnold turned his head to direct his gaze towards him. "Did you get my message?"

"Huh?"

Pulling out his own phone and holding it out underneath his desk, he wiggled it back and forth as if the action would further illustrate his question. "Your phone! Did you get my text?" His voice was barely a whisper and more of a calculated soft-shout. It was a good thing their teacher spent the majority of his time playing Sudoku behind his desk rather than paying any attention to the going-ons of his classroom.

"No, why?" Arnold responded while fighting with his jeans to take out his cellphone.

"Just check it, man," Gerald instructed before continuing to explain what the message said; alleviating the need to read the text in the first place. "We're meeting at Gerald Field after school today for baseball. You in?"

"Sure. Sounds like fun," he remarked before furrowing his brow. "But why didn't I feel my phone vibrate? You must have texted me right when Helga and I ran into each other."

"Ah man, again?" his friend said with mock surprise. "Mm mm MM. Arnold, I think the universe is trying to tell you something and you'd better start listening. Next time it may do something more drastic than ramming you into each other."

As Arnold finally freed the phone from his pocket and looked down towards the screen, his eyes widened in horror. "Uh… about that…" he muttered as Gerald eyed him curiously.

"What, the universe or baseball?"

"Both," Arnold answered before holding up the phone in his possession. "This isn't my phone."

"Then who's is it?" Gerald soon asked; Arnold clicking the button on the side to light up the screen which revealed a lockscreen with the image of a pink neon heart against a dark backdrop.

"Helga's."

"No…"

"Yes," Arnold insisted with a shake of his head. "Maybe the universe already took it up another notch…"

"Yeah, maybe," Gerald affirmed before shrugging his shoulders. "Or maybe it just doesn't want you to play baseball this afternoon."

"Gerald…"

"What?" He exclaimed as their teacher rose from their desk to finally make their way towards the front of the classroom to begin the hour. Apparently, he'd finished his latest Sudoku puzzle. "So, you gotta exchange phones with Helga. Big whoop. Use it to your advantage."

"Alright class," the teacher addressed the class. "Take out your textbooks and flip to page 2-0-2," he instructed as Gerald and Arnold followed suit; the football-headed boy setting Helga's phone carefully down to rest on his lap.

"What do you mean to my advantage?" Arnold whispered over while pulling out his algebra book and turning the pages to find the appropriate number.

"You know," Gerald muttered back while flipping through his own book. "Maybe we can hack in or something."

"To her phone?!" Arnold said loudly; a few stray eyes glancing in his direction at the minor outburst. Quieting himself, he leaned over to whisper back, "I'm not breaking into Helga's phone, Gerald. That's a breach of privacy. If she ever found out, she'd kill me."

"Yeah. If she found out," he soon responded. "And she won't."

"Oh yeah? How do you figure?"

Gerald shrugged his shoulders while thinking for a moment before saying, "I don't know. I'll talk to Phoebe."

"No. Absolutely not, Gerald," Arnold insisted as silence fell over the classroom at his words. Suddenly feeling a heat surround him at the countless eyes resting on him, their teacher included, a dark-red blush filled in Arnold's cheeks as he realized he'd been caught. "Sorry," he sheepishly told the teacher, who proceeded to begin explaining the latest in their mathematical lesson-plan.

Midway through his explanation, a wad of paper landed on the top of Arnold's desk; his eyes shooting over in the direction from where it came—Gerald. Picking it up and unfurling it, his eyes scanned over the words his friend had scrawled down for him to read.

After class, meet me by my locker. I know a guy.

Frowning at the two sentences staring back at him, Arnold turned to shoot his friend a glare before shaking his head and mouthing the word, 'No.' But even though he had no intentions of breaking into Helga's phone, a part of Arnold couldn't help but wonder what lay behind the screen and inside Helga's mind.

Could the secrets Arnold seeked really be locked away inside the phone precariously perched on his lap? And to what lengths was he willing to go to discover them?

----------------------

"Gerald, I really think this is a bad idea," Arnold stated as he walked by his side from their lockers in pursuit of the 'connection' that awaited them.

"Relax, man," Gerald reassured his nervous friend while giving him a slap on the back and using it as a way to continue pushing him forward on their mission. "Fuzzy Slippers knows a guy who knows a guy who's cousins with this girl who knows how to hack into anything. They call her 'The Giant.'"

"The Giant?" he repeated with heavy skepticism. "I'm assuming that means they're tall or something?"

"No clue," the tall-haired boy admitted. "All I know is we're supposed to meet her in the 100 wing by that cluster of lockers nobody uses."

"The 100 wing?" Arnold intoned with obvious bias. "Gerald, nobody uses that hallway except to go into the wrestling room from the side door. Well, and the cafeteria, I guess. And to do shady things…"

"And just what is it you think we are doing? We're breaking into Helga G. Pataki's phone. What's shadier than that?" he emphasized. "Besides, wrestling doesn't start until after school PLUS we've already had lunch… so right now during sixth period with two more hours to go before school's done… Man, it is the perfect meeting spot."

Not wanting to argue about whether or not they should follow through with his insane plan, the flaxen-haired boy moved on to ask a different kind of question just as they rounded the corner that led to the entrance of the 100 wing. "How long do you think it'll take?" he paused as though waiting for Gerald to tell him he understood what he was saying. To be more direct, Arnold reiterated himself. "You know, the hacking-in part."

"Shh!" Gerald shushed. "Keep your voice down, alright? We don't need everybody knowing that we're over here."

"Why not?" Arnold reacted right away. "We're not not allowed to be in this hallway. There's a bathroom down here, we could always say we're going there or something." The pair continued to walk in silence for a moment as the slowly made their way down the infamous wing.

"I just can't be late to last period, again, Gerald," Arnold let out and he dropped his head back in annoyance while he continued to talk. "Mr. Nelson is a stickler for being on time—do you know that he locks the door when the bell rings?"

Perking his head up, Gerald said, "You've gotten yourself locked out of History class?" before letting out a jealous scoff. "Man! I wish I could get myself locked out of that class. History blows and Nelson's tests are impossible to pass."

"I knowthat," he replied blankly before going on to stress, "That's why I don't think this is such a good idea! Who knows how long this is going to take."

"Shouldn't take longer than a couple minutes," A shriek called out; both Arnold and Gerald looking around themselves to find the source of the high-pitched voice. Emerging from behind the grouping of unused lockers, a small girl who barely stood at five-feet-tall approached the friends while pushing up her large glasses which were sliding down her nose. "Of course, that's all depending on the make, model… year."

"Oh, uh…" Arnold stuttered while fishing out the phone from his pocket once more and holding it out for the unassuming girl in front of him. "I don't know. It's just a phone. I think it's like mine… so—"

"Hold up," Gerald interrupted as the girl took Helga's phone from Arnold's hand to begin inspecting it. "You mean to tell me that you're 'The Giant?' The school's best hacker AND Ralphio's seventeen year old cousin?"

"Wait, who's Ralphio?" Arnold questioned, though his inquiry was lost in the girl's answer.

"All that you need to know, Gerald Martin Johanssen," the girl called him by his full name which immediately made him flinch with frightening surprise, "is that I can do exactly what you're looking for and I can do it for a small, minimal, and inconsequential fee."

"If you're looking for money, we don't have any, so—" Arnold began to tell her, though 'The Giant' was quick to dismiss him.

"I'm not interested in money," she stated before looking between the both of them. "I'm far more interested in secrets."

"Secrets?" the teenage boys repeated in unison as 'The Giant' nodded her head while gently tapping the back of Helga's phone against her hand.

"There's nothing more elusive than a good secret," she explained with a mischievous smirk. "And, as a hacker, secrets are a large part of my work. So. What secret do you have for me? One secret for one code, that's the rules."

Gerald and Arnold exchanged a look for a moment before the blonde softly muttered, "Gerald… I don't know if this is worth it."

"C'mon, man! Don't you want to know about the inner workings of Helga's mind?" He whispered back as though the girl ahead of them wasn't actively listening to their every word. "What happened to the bold kid running through the jungle to save his parents or fighting the man to save the neighborhood? Huh? Where's that guy, right now?"

"It just seems… wrong," Arnold replied while reaching up to rub at the back of his neck and stealing a glance at 'The Giant' who looked on in curiosity. "I don't think I should break into Helga's private property."

"Arnold," Gerald stated blankly. "You and I both know that she's probably doing this exact thing to your phone right this minute. I'll bet you twenty bucks that she's standing in the hallway, talking to Phoebe and trying to guess your passcode so she can look at whatever secrets you've got hiding in there."

He thought this over while trying to imagine what Gerald had so precisely described for him.

"And you know what?" he went on to say, Arnold's eyes shooting back over to his friend as he continued. "With how smart Helga is… I would also bet that she doesn't even need a secrets-dealing hacker to do it either."

As Arnold considered Gerald's point, across the school and downstairs in the 600 wing Helga was staring down at the locked screen of the phone she'd mistakenly grabbed nearly an hour ago. "Stupid football-head losing his phone…" she muttered before huffing out a deep breath and dropping her arm while still holding the cellphone tightly in her grip. With exasperation, she rested her head against the metal of the lockers she leaned against while waiting for Phoebe to finish grabbing her books for their next class.

"I'm going to need a hacker if I ever want to get into Arnold's phone."

"Helga!" Phoebe scolded before shutting her locker with the appropriate book she needed in her grasp. "You can't break into Arnold's phone. It's his personal property."

"So what?"

Phoebe frowned while knitting her brows together in an expression of great concern towards Helga's judgement. "It would violate his privacy."

Helga remained in control of her tone as she brushed off the objection. "He's not going to find out. This is Arnold we're talking about, here. The kid barely knew I existed up until that nonsense on the roof of the FTi building."

"I'm not so sure that I would agree with that, Helga, but to break into Arnold's phone is another issue of which I wholeheartedly disapprove." She shook her head more to herself than to Helga before softly squeaking out, "What about his trust?"

"What about his trust?" Helga repeated while emphasizing a different part of the sentence entirely which gave it a distinctly sour aftertaste.

With a tired sigh, Phoebe said plainly, "Mutual trust is something that, once broken, is nearly impossible to repair. Suppose that Arnold didn't find out right away. Helga, I know you are smart enough to realize that Arnold would discover it eventually. It could hinder your relationship should you already be engaged in one, or… think of the damage an exposed secret of that magnitude could have on a potential relationship between the two of you. Is that something you're willing to sacrifice so you can snoop through his phone and perhaps find nothing of significance?"

Groaning at Phoebe's opinion on the matter, Helga shot her a hopeful, yet irritated look. "You could get me in though," she stated rather than asked. At Phoebe's lack of response, Helga went on. "Arnold's phone. Hypothetically speaking… you could hack into it. Am I right?"

Chewing over Helga's assumption, she decided to hint rather than answer. "Possibly."

"And you really won't help me out with this?" Helga begged yet again, an ace hiding up her sleeve as she spoke. "You'd really make me sit in the library and skip my next class, OUR next class that WE SHARE together? Hmm?"

Trying to walk away from Helga as she grew more and more persistent, Phoebe couldn't escape her longer strides that allowed her to catch up with ease. Just within reach, Helga called out as they walked, "You want me to have to watch some long parade of videos which frustrate me SO BADLY that I end up going back to you and EXPLODING like some kind of wild ape?"

"Helga, please," Phoebe ordered from over her shoulder. She was angry at how right Helga was. Maybe it would be the smart thing to skip what was implied and simply unlock the phone. At least by doing that, Helga would leave her alone with all of this nonsense.

As she thought this over with each step she took, Phoebe continued to listen while Helga kept painting the grim tale of her eventual compliance. "Picture it. There you are. You're right there in the middle of the hallway while I'm bugging you even worse than I am now. And what do you do, Phoebe?" Helga moved from talking to one side in lieu of the other. "What can you do when I'm just jib-jabbin' away like a bird on your shoulder squawking and pecking at you as I chirp, 'Help me, Phoebe! Help me! Open the phone and help me!'"

Stopping mid-stride, Phoebe pivoted around to face Helga with an angry albeit bored expression dusted over her features.

As if silently telling her to continue, Helga took the imaginary cue and began speaking to the dark-haired girl with a mock sympathy so sweet, it could cause cavities. "I'll tell you what you do, Pheebs. You, being the kind-hearted, good, and true-blue friend that you are… you give in. And I'm sorry, but you know you will, I'm not wrong, am I?"

Phoebe knew she was right. Phoebe also knew that it didn't matter. Helga would find a way regardless of her assistance or not. Helga herself went on to express her exact thoughts, but with her own words. "The only person I know better than me… is you."

Catching the glare that was sent her way, Helga soon held her hands up in defense. "It's not a bad thing, I mean, criminy! I'm pretty predictable too, we both know that."

"I guess so…" Phoebe quietly agreed, and Helga swooped in to play her final card—the ace she'd been saving for this very moment.

"Look. Phoebe," the teen began before giving her friend an exaggerated shrug. "I'm just trying to give you a shortcut here-a one-way ticket to jump you and I to the end of this headache."

"But Helga—" she tried to stand her ground, the foundation feeling flimsy beneath her weight as she began to faulter under Helga's towering presence.

"Please, Pheebs? I'm so, so close here and if you do it now, you'll save us both a stupid-long process," She paused for dramatic effect while holding out her one hand as though using it to weigh the choices she was presenting, "OR, we can give it a go and do this pointless dance which, worst case scenario, you still don't help me and I just go reach out to the depths of the 100 wing and hire someone to do it for me."

Phoebe eyed the pleading young woman who stood before her. She didn't want to give in to Helga's cries for help, but she knew in her heart of hearts that by refusing to help, she was merely prolonging the inevitable. What were the ethical ramifications of denying her friend and forcing her to find another way? Could the method that Helga ultimately finds lead to something far worse than imagined? Worse yet than any threat the consequences of Phoebe helping right away may pose to the universe?

The scowl on Phoebe's delicate face hardened as she prepared to hold her stance. "Helga, I'm sorry, but I must refuse to parti—"

"Wait, hang on a sec, Pheebs," Helga stopped her from finishing as she held out Arnold's phone to look down at the bright screen. "Arnold just got a text message," she reported flatly, and Phoebe arched her brow.

Without thinking, she blurted out, "From who?"

Flipping the phone so the screen could face her four-eyed friend, Helga replied, "From me."

----------------------

"I can't believe you told her about the dress-up thing," Arnold noted with a small smirk. "Honestly, I'd forgotten about it."

"As you rightfully should have," Gerald countered with a lone shake of his head. "I mean, we looked fabulous—"

"Right?!" the blonde agreed with excitement before toning down his demeanor. "But, you know… not everybody needs to know about it."

"I just hope that those pictures never see the light of day… ever." The two shuddered at the thought, though Arnold maintained his for a few seconds longer. Turning to look his way with worry, Gerald crossed his arms over his chest before saying, "You don't happen to have copies of those pictures on your phone, now do you, Arnold?"

Swallowing hard, he merely grimaced while managing, "Well…"

"Arnold!" Gerald shouted while throwing his arms up into the air. "Come on, man! That was like… our secret! We don't need to advertise that little experiment."

"It wasn't that bad," Arnold insisted.

"We put on make-up."

"And it looked good,"

"I know that, okay?" Gerald stage-whispered back to his unphased partner-in-crime. "Don't you think I know we looked great? It was disturbing."

"Eh," he sounded while tilting his head back and forth to weigh out his answer before speaking. "I thought it was interesting. Kind of cool, actually. You really didn't think it was fun?"

"Sure, but I'm not admitting that!"

"You might have to, now," Arnold teased while receiving the other end of an intense glare. "Why be ashamed when we looked so good?"

"Because it was last month that we did that," Gerald explained while using his hands to wildly gesture about himself. "Maybe if we were six it would be cute but we're almost sixteen now and—"

"And we put on dresses that we found in the crawlspace at the boarding house," Arnold continued to say as Gerald desperately tried to hush him without success, "and then Grandma gave us her make-up which we then used to—"

"Arnold…"

"—make ourselves, as you even described with your own words—"

"C'mon!"

"—as 'fabulous.' We were fabulous and we were wearing dresses with make-up on. What's the worst that could happen?" He patiently waited for an answer that never came. After a moment, he gave Gerald an answer of his own. "The worst that happens is Helga finds them, or 'The Giant' leaks them and then everyone can be jealous at how good we looked. I'm not ashamed."

Slowly shaking his head back and forth, Gerald watched Arnold while humming his usual song. "Mm mm MM. Arnold, I've said it once, and I'll say it again—"

"I'm a bold kid?" Arnold offered, though it wasn't what had been on his counterpart's mind.

"Nah, we established that a while ago," He said before handing over Helga's phone which he'd been holding since 'The Giant' had returned it to us opened and free from a passcode. "What I was going to say was that this is your dad's fault." Waving a hand over where Arnold stood, he continued while contorting his mouth into a twisted sneer. "All of this? I blame Miles. Dude has no shame and neither do you."

Taking the unlocked phone and easily swiping his way to the 'messages' menu, Arnold let out a single laugh. "I may have no shame about wearing a dress, but I have plenty of other kinds of shame, and those are thanks to myself."

Opening his mouth to argue, Gerald stopped when he saw his friend's fingers begin tapping away on the screen. "What are… what are you doing?"

"I'm texting Helga," he responded, then paused to look up and out thoughtfully while musing to himself, "Well, I guess I'm texting me, but, you know…" Arnold's voice trailed off as his attention returned to the message he had been feverishly typing.

"Why?" Gerald asked. "I thought we were going to explore the inner workings of Helga G. Pataki's mind!"

"Maybe that's what you would do," Arnold retorted before hitting the send button and lowering the phone altogether. "I told myself that the only way I would go through with this was that when the phone was unlocked, I would text Helga so we could arrange a switch. That's all."

"Okay, so what did you text her?"

Helga:

I know you have my phone, Helga. And I know you're probably reading this right now. Guess I'll find out in a minute when the 'read' receipt comes back.

"Would you look at that," Helga remarked, "he just has me labeled by my first name in here. The only other contact like that is Gerald's. And his parents, I guess."

"You already looked through his contacts?" Phoebe asked while looking over at the screen she'd helped to unlock.

"Doi," was all she said before beginning her own message to send back to the name she recognized as her own. All the while, she imagined Arnold receiving her text and smiling that dopey grin at the words she'd carefully typed.

Footballhead:

Took you long enough to get into my phone. Geez, Arnoldo. I take it your giant-head didn't come with an equally giant-in-size and freakishly-shaped brain, now did it?

"That Helga," Gerald commented while looking over Arnold's shoulder as he began wording his reply. "Always the clever one, isn't she."

"Always," Arnold affirmed before tapping send once again; the two-minute warning bell resounding through the 100 wing that the two still lingered in.

Helga:

No such luck, I'm afraid. But how do I know that you unlocked MY phone before I unlocked yours? After all, it was ME who texted YOU.

DING. DING. DING. DING.

"Two minutes," Helga noted while looking up to the air above her as if the noise had come out of the atmosphere rather than the speakers in the hallway. "We don't have to switch back yet…"

"Why wouldn't you want to get your phone back? I thought you didn't want Arnold looking through your things."

Helga's fingers danced across the keyboard of the screen as her body instinctively began walking towards the destination of her next class. "Because, Pheebs, he's already in," she clarified before hitting 'send' and sliding the phone safely into the pocket of her sweatshirt. "Now, we're just playing a little game."

"And where does that game end?" Phoebe probed as they took off down the hallway towards the end of the wing where the science rooms were located.

"I'm not sure yet," she responded just as they passed the threshold of their biology classroom. "Probably in us switching our phones back and going our merry way. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Footballhead:

You may have texted me first, Hair Boy, but that doesn't mean I didn't have PLENTY of time to peruse your contact list, messages, emails, and of course, your many, MANY pictures.

Both Gerald and Arnold widened their eyes at the message that stared back at them from the bright light of Helga's phone.

"So, that's it," Gerald stated in defeat. "We're officially screwed."

"She's bluffing," Arnold immediately announced before zealously concocting his next message. "If she got into my phone, she got into it because of Phoebe, right?"

"Probably, yeah. Why?"

"If she got in because of her," he theorized, "then that means she's with Phoebe."

"So?"

"So," Arnold reiterated, "there is no way that she would let Helga go through my all of my stuff while she's still around." Clicking 'send' with a light tap of his fingertip, he added, "I think I can keep her distracted through the next couple hours until school is over."

"Why wait until school's done?" his childhood companion wondered. "You two can switch phones back after this period is over, no harm, no fowl! Why wouldn't you do it right away?"

"Because," his words were slick with amusement at the question, "I'm kind of enjoying this."

"Enjoying it? What are you, crazy, Arnold?!" Gerald practically shouted as they started on their way to the period that they may be late to after all, though Arnold hardly seemed to care anymore, despite the constant warning from his friend. "You're playing with fire, man!"

"Not fire, Gerald… only Helga."

"Which is worse," he argued; Arnold instantaneously disagreeing.

"It's all going to be fine, Gerald, I promise," he tried to reassure with a confident upturn of his lips and a light pat on the back. "Trust me."

And so began the exchange of a century.

----------------------

Helga:

I don't have anything to hide, Helga. If you want to go hunting through my phone for some kind of blackmail-material, you won't find anything.

She stared at the words of Arnold's latest message that shone from under the table she sat at in the back corner of her biology class.

Footballhead:

Who's to say that I haven't already FOUND all of your dirty little secrets and am currently planning to expose you for the weird, football-faced dingus that you are?

Arnold suppressed a laugh before replying while typing with one hand at his side and out of his teacher's sight.

Helga:

I have nothing to be ashamed of that you can find on that phone, Helga. The things I'm ashamed of are words that were never said and feelings I never acted on.

Mouth agape, Helga fought the urge to let out a loud gasp in reaction to the words Arnold had so boldly sent across the airwaves.

Footballhead:

And what words and feelings might those be, exactly?

A half-smile curled up at the corner of Arnold's mouth. This was his chance to use an inconvenience as a blessing—a way to reach out to Helga by using the only means that she seemed to understand: written word.

Helga:

You know.

"Two words?" Helga muttered to herself as she finally was able to read the message that she'd had to ignore for nearly thirty minutes to do some lame science experiment. The bell would ring any minute and she would be free to roam the halls with Arnold's phone still in tow.

Footballhead:

Why no, genius, I DON'T know. Why don't you and your dumb head enlighten me?

Walking slowly out of his class at the bell's chime, Arnold seized his moment in the back and forth he'd been enjoying—a back and forth that he knew Helga was enjoying, too.

Helga:

I guess I could do that. Only on one condition, though.

Footballhead:

Name your price.

Helga watched the bubble on the message screen appear and disappear rapidly as Arnold worked out the perfect reply. Her hands sweating, Arnold's phone became slippery no matter how tightly she held onto it, and she waited with bated breath until his message at last appeared on the screen.

Helga:

Slausen's. Today, after school. You can even order whatever you want.

It was Arnold's turn to wait anxiously as Helga typed her reply, though she didn't make him wait quite as long for a response.

Footballhead:

And what is it that YOU happen to be getting out of this little, late-afternoon ice cream social? Besides your phone, that is.

Trying to hide his growing smile, Arnold knew exactly what it was he wanted to say next.

Helga:

I get the chance at trapping you in an honest conversation with the bait of free food. You get to eat, and I get to tell you how I feel and HAVE felt since that Summer of 6th grade when we grew apart.

Chewing on her lip, Helga debated her next choice of words before sending one more question that she knew she wouldn't be getting an answer for. At least not by way of text.

Even so, she knew that she had to try.

Footballhead:

Just how was it that we grew apart? Why DID you stop talking to me? Did I scare you off?

Sighing at the words he knew Helga had struggled to successfully send, Arnold decided to give her just enough information that it would only make her want more.

Helga:

Absolutely not. It was ME who scared MYSELF off. I chickened out.

Intrigued by his vague explanation, Helga wasted no time in answering.

Footballhead:

Why?

The one word that Helga had sent brought butterflies along with it. They gathered inside of Arnold's stomach to flurry and flutter in circles as he sent her what he hoped would be an invite she would finally accept.

Helga:

Meet me at Slausen's after school and I'll tell you.

Before she could tell him that she was interested in his proposition, another message popped up on the screen.

Helga:

And make sure you bring my phone. As fun as this has been, we should probably switch back before we go home for the night. What do you say?

The 'typing' bubble didn't have to float for long before Arnold received Helga's reply; the message once again containing only one word.

Footballhead:

Deal.

[skznct127treacting]

My Stalker Bang Chan 2/4

And so, just as the end of September bled into the start of October, your friendship with Chan began to escalate and grow. The weather became cooler in temperament, as skirts became accompanied by tights and your t-shirts by jackets, seasonal drinks came in with pretty pictures taken on the gram with equally pretty orange nails. Dark lipsticks and warm tone eyeshadow, pumpkin patches, Halloween displays in the shop windows and a general cosy warm feeling in the pit of your stomach that this time of year brings.

Only the weather and the festivities of the season weren’t the only thing leaving you feel light and reinvigorated. You and Chan had established a strong friendship, which while only classroom based, it was definitely a noticeable change from before. He sat next to you every class, and teased you for being such a nerd (even though he was totally one himself), sulked when you didn’t use the pencil he fixed, complimented every little change in your appearance, you gossiped and joked in person and soon turned to social media when a friend request from Chan popped up. He constantly poked you for details about your life, who were your parents, what job did they do, where you lived - sometimes you felt as though you were on a date with him and that you were playing 21 questions. You treated it as such, taking more care in your appearance and constantly fixing yourself up in whatever reflection you could find. When he asked whether you were in a relationship and you replied no, you swore you saw him breathe a sigh of relief.

And of course he constantly badgered you to hang out with him outside of class for a study date, where he promised he’d buy you food in turn for you teaching him, but you turned him down - always having something that busied you. He’d shrug it off though and laugh “another time maybe Y/N?”

Through all the questions he asked of you, a number of which were personal, he never answered himself. Not that he would shut himself off or anything he was just very good at deflecting the conversation. Of course in your eyes this just made him more alluring. The one thing he did love to talk about was the scare house and about the carnival and how when you came down he would love for you to visit him. His character was a white masked character in a red jumpsuit that eerily followed people around one of the rooms, and snuck up on them as opposed to jumping out on them, it was more a B side character, but he seemed content with the role. He’d often talk about how he loved to scare people and how the role was fun because it didn’t require that much theatrics, just stealth. You often pulled a face when he became so excitable about such a thing, but he ignored your discomfort and continued to ramble.

Eventually the general small talk and memes on messenger became deep conversations that lasted until the early hours of the morning. This was another huge turning point in your relationship, and perhaps cemented him from just being a petty crush to somebody you had fallen deeply for - he could hold deep conversations on the world and people and on you and your problems and simplify them in a way which only drew you to him more. He made you feel safe. 

“You’re seriously not talking to him are you?” Eve grimaced as you were all at your local coffee shop one weekend - you had tried to be subtle to replying to his texts but you had been busted. “He’s creepy as fuck. Cute, but creepy.”

“He’s a nice guy okay?” You shot back rather defensively.

“Hm nice guys don’t pick up broken pencils and slowly glue them together… or talk about how much they enjoy scaring people,” Josie said as you gave her a frustrated glare, regretting telling them about some of the conversations you two had, had.

“I think he’s just a bit socially awkward,” You replied as a new message shot up on your screen. You had just told him that you were bored in the coffee shop listening to your friends rant about their relationships and this was his reply-

Chan 10.51 am - Oh my god I’m literally here myself.

“Yes he’s very socially awkward and that means he’s clinging to you because he knows you’re a nice person and will put up with his bullshit.” Eve said in between sips of her drink

“He hasn’t done anything bad you guys are acting like as though he’s killed somebody.” You shot back exasperated as you darted round the coffee room trying to find him until you noticed in the back corner a man doing work on his laptop. Quickly you lowered your voice “Shit guys he’s here!”

“What the fuck do you means he’s here?” Eve said widening her eyes and glancing around the room as you just had. Until she spotted him. “Oh shit.”

“What do I do?” You asked trying to pull your chair further behind a column and out of his sight.

“You run.” Josie said as Eve nodded, pursing her lips together.

Chan 10.53am - Are you going to come and say hello then?

“Fuck he’s seen me I’ve got to go, you guys can go into town and I’ll catch up with you later.” You said grabbing your bags as you pulled the chair out of the table.

“And leave you alone with him? No chance in hell, we’re staying here.” Josie said, a defiant look in her eyes as Eve nodded. 

Flustered you did little to argue and walked over to Chan who got up and pulled the chair out for you, you didn’t have to see Eve and Josie to feel the full force of their cringe.

“So those are the boring friends,” Chan said nodding over to the conspiring duo across from you.

“Well they’re not boring, it’s just the conversation was, y’know, because I can’t relate,” you laughed awkwardly as Chan placed down his half empty cup and looked up at you, that intense look in his eyes again that you hadn’t seen since you first spoke to him. He looked more intimidating out of school, having shed his boyish presence for something that felt more serious. 

“Well let me go and get you another drink,” He said getting up despite your protests.

“Oh nononono it’s fine I have to get going,” You argued but he brushed you off and walked over to the counter anyway, completely ignoring the presence of your friends who rushed over to you.

“Y/N is that you staying here with him then?” Eve asked as she shared a concerned glance between her and Josie, and one of normality between yourself.

“I think so..” You replied watching the barista begin making your drink. “You shouldn’t stay though guys really.”

“We’re just worried about you Y/N, we just don’t want Chan to take advantage of you in any way,” Josie said flicking her dark hair over her shoulder.

“It’s fine guys really just go I’ll catch up later,” You said, and sensing that you would protest and really begin to argue with them if they tried to stay they both vowed to keep in touch with you, darting off before Chan brought a hearty mug of hot chocolate back for you.

He laughed as he noticed you eyeing up the squirted cream and the tiny marshmallows.

“What? I figured you’re too cute to be drinking coffee, and also who dosen’t like hot chocolate,” He said as you smiled and cupped the drink in your hands. “I get the feeling that your friends don’t like me.”

“What? Nooo.” You said, confused as to how he had been able to so easily infer such a thing. “Their just protective of me.”

“Let me guess, they think big bad Chan is going to steal you away and corrupt you,” he said, the tone of his voice sarcasm, but the look on his face notably irritable. 

“I’m not sure, I’m sure they’ll come round once they realise just how much of a cool person you are,” You said which lit up his face instantly into that smile as he shut his laptop lid and cupped his mug as well and leaned over, making the coffee shop setting seem more intimate all of a sudden.

“I can’t believe I got the Y/N to consider me as a cool person. My life has been made,” He teased back as you just shrugged, the smiles still clinging to both of your faces. “Well it’s nice to have finally dragged you out from school and the books.”

“I didn’t know you were so intent on hanging out with me,” You joked rolling your eyes.

“More than you know,” He said, letting his stare falter for a second as he looked past you momentarily. “Anyways I wanted to ask you something Y/N. Will you go with me to the monsters bash?”

“Yes I’d love to, but it’s not really like people go with each other, it’s not like a ball or anything like that if you get what I mean,” You said tripping over your words, trying to establish both for him and yourself the expectations - you weren’t a couple, it wasn’t a date. It hurt but you had to pinch yourself a few times around him, almost to remember it was a dream, and not real, you weren’t together, no matter how forward his advances were.

“Oh okay I see,” was all he said, as he showed no sign of annoyance or relief. The conversation continued to flicker between you to for what must have been a couple of hours until the sky began to darken, in such a way that is common in October. Towards the end of your coffee visit, just before you got a text from Josie and told him you had to leave he reached forward and touched your hand - still resting on the luke-warm mug.

“Y/N, we have to do this some other time, or something. I really like hanging out with you,”

“I like hanging out with you to.”

It was as if in that moment you had both admitted in code that you liked each other, although not far enough to confess, this filled him with a new form of confidence as he got up and hugged you before you left, telling you to take care on the walk home. He wanted to walk you back but had a family event which inhibited him from doing so. Even so, when you left he texted you, telling you to tell him to text when you’re home safe. All of the points made up by your friends disappeared into vapour. Bang Chan was perfect, he was so chivalric and such a gentleman from pulling your chair out to buying your drink to wanting you to get home safe.

Walking home you put your headphones in and found Chan in the lyrics, you found him in your reflection in the shop windows - having dusted your cheeks a glisten of pink, you found him in your pocket where your pencil still remained, but where you didn’t find him was a couple of metres behind you watching your every move, following you in his car from the bus station, to your friends meeting up with you, to the bus ride to finally your home. Delighted with the fact that he finally knew where you lived he grabbed his red notebook and scrawled the address down, as pages and pages were littered with facts about you from your favorite food to notes about your personality to even bullet points on your biggest fears, wedged in between the pages were the receipt he had just gotten from the café, a tissue you had dropped from your pocket, even your perfume which he had taken out of your bag and sprayed the pages with so that even from opening the book it embodied you. He smelled the scent and hugged the book close to him, as though for a split moment, it was you in his embrace, he still remembered the way you felt in his arms, small and weak, like a baby bird in the claws of a cat. Meanwhile the funnel of grey clouds slithered across the sky, drowning the moon out into obscurity. Time was running out . . .

So begins the first week of October and things were going great, you and Chan, had, had more outings together, they had just been usually study based or casually drinking coffee but tonight he had invited you out to a movie, and as typical of October - a horror movie. For some reason this felt way more like a date setting and so you were now fawning over your clothes trying to not be too casual… but also not too dressed up… but also not like you were making an effort… but also not like you were making too much of an effort. The only off putting thing was that throughout these outings you had been getting these phone calls every couple of days, nothing happened during them, but you could just hear somebody breathing for around a minute before they would put the phone down. This was incredibly creepy, and while you would have turned to Josie and Eve for help you had grown apart from them as you grew closer to Chan. They strongly disapproved of him and shut down any conversation with him in, this in turn made you feel like you couldn’t talk about your other problems, and so you turned to Chan. Who came up with the logical explanation that it’s October, and kids do fucked up pranks during this time of year. This logical explanation led you to ignoring the calls until they disappeared entirely, perhaps you should have reported it to the police but Chan was probably right, it would just be kids.

Finally you settled on an outfit that you felt comfortable in and waited on Chan’s text that he was here to pick you up. He should be only 15 minutes away. You sat on the end of your bed impatiently, adjusting this and that, twiddling with your fingers, and checking your phone every few seconds.

Meanwhile, Chan’s car hummed along the side roads leading up to your house, despite being only 5pm the sky had already bleakend, as all that illuminated the night were the soft orange hues of lamp-posts and that of Chan’s blinding headlights. Tonight was the night he thought to himself. Deep breaths. You liked him didn’t you? He knew that much from your body language, the way you’d tilt your neck towards him, the way you’d touch him without apprehension, your subtle flirting and the way you looked at him with dilated pupils - as though trying to swallow his reflection. . So why on earth was he so anxious? Oh well.. Tonight’s the night… tonight’s the night… all the while the little red book sat in the glovebox, well thumbed and beginning to tatter, the newest edition a log of all of the times he had called you and how long for, those breaths he may have brushed off as that of teenage delinquents, was actually that of a desperate man in longing. He wasn’t a psychopath.. n o! He couldn’t be!  He was a poet, a dreamer, a true gentlemen who wished to court rather than engage in society’s tinder culture where romance was merely a commodity. No , he smiled, tonight’s the night.

“You look great,” Chan beamed as you slammed the car door and sunk into the seat, your nerves and anxieties of the night instantly fading away once you were in his presence. 

“Thanks..” You said a small smile on your face as he started the car up again. The radio in the background played at an almost muted volume, to the point where it was hard to work out what it was. You strained forward trying to make out the words. Noticing this Chan turned the dial up ever so that you could make out your favorite musician playing.

“Wow I did not not know you were the type of guy to be into ___.”

“Yeah there’s a lot you’d be surprised at Y/N.” 

“Well tell me your favorite song then?! What did you think of their latest album, I like the transition in style but at the same time I’m not sure,” 

“I like their first album personally..”

“Oh my god I’ve never met somebody with an appreciation for that!”

“I know right?? It’s such an underrated record.”

Outside the first of the evening’s promised showers began, hitting the windshield at a furious pace, until your view became a  watercolour view of the town’s urban lights. Lost in the kaleidoscopic illumination the song drew to a close.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 35 Review: In Which Matt Calls Out Jean Paul

{ Not available on YouTube }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

Welcome back to Maljardin, the beautiful tropical “paradise” that is, in reality, a deadly prison for the guests of Jean Paul Desmond and his demonic lookalike ancestor Jacques Eloi des Mondes. Tensions mount as more and more characters realize that the island’s multimillionaire owner god refuses to let them escape and pushes for a séance in order to contact his late wife. One, Reverend Matthew Dawson, ex-minister and current stalker of one Holly Marshall, has reached the breaking point and now dares challenge Jean Paul.

Now, I know that I briefly compared and contrasted Matt with Reverend Trask (specifically, the second Reverend Trask) from Dark Shadows in my Episode 10 review last year. There are a handful of similarities--including both running boarding schools of questionable ethics (which I forgot to list in that review)--but they remain characters with fundamentally different personalities at their cores. In spite of this, Matt does share one of the favorite hobbies of the men of the Trask family: YELLING in an exaggerated Mid-Atlantic accent in long and emotional speeches! That’s what happens for a good portion of the episode, and I can’t deny that I find this sort of soap opera shouting match highly entertaining.

We open with Jean Paul descending the Great Hall’s staircase while wearing the Blue Suit of Sexiness, which he will continue to wear for the next few episodes. He sees Matt staring at the portrait of THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES and asks him if he’s “mesmerized by” him. (How could anyone not be, I wonder, before reminding myself that Matt is straight.)

“It seems everyone is, or at least the evil Raxl fears he’s spreading,” is the Reverend’s response.

“And you?”

“There is evil here, Mr. Desmond, but I don't believe in devils. I attribute it more realistically to a live, active human being.”

And then they exchange pissy faces to dramatic music.

I’ve noted before that I didn’t expect a minister like Matt (especially one who believes in other supernatural phenomena) to admit that he doesn’t believe in devils. Still, even if he did, that’s no guarantee that he would make a distinction between Jean Paul and Jacques or think anything of his sudden switches of personality beyond grief and/or mental illness.

The first shot of the glass-top table set up for the séance. Kind of odd that Jean Paul just happens to have a table with astrological symbols on it just lying around.

Just then, Raxl and Quito enter, and the former announces to Jean Paul, “It is foretold that the Conjure Woman one day will find death on Maljardin!” Jean Paul ignores this and tells Vangie (who also conveniently just entered) that she must hold the séance and he must speak to Erica.

Some Jean Paul crazy eyes. Shades of Gérard “Crazy Eyes” Berner, discussed in this entry.

“Master! In the Temple of the Serpent, the Conjure Woman was told that this séance must not take place! The spirits have spoken!” Raxl protests, but he ignores her. Remember, this is a man who announced three episodes ago that he is willing even to perform blood sacrifices to get his Erica back. He is crazy in love--literally. His obsession with Erica makes Matt’s decision to quit his ministry to stalk Holly seem sane.

“On Maljardin, only I speak!” Jean Paul declares, eyes wide and burning like the blue flames on a gas stove. He uses his “on this island, I am God” tone of voice, but sadly Jacques isn’t cheering him on this time. Speaking of Jacques, he immediately storms over to the portrait and shouts, “I must have contact with my darling!” as though he thinks that Jacques will willingly provide that. Oh, Jean Paul, my sweet summer child, if only you knew that he has no intention of resurrecting your dear, sweet Erica.

Alison arrives just in time to overhear him tell Matt that, as an “undesirable element that would ensure its failure,” he shouldn’t take part in the séance. He starts to ask Alison to join him, but then decides he would rather make a passive-aggressive comment about how Matt probably doesn’t believe in souls (WTF?), which triggers the following argument:

Jean Paul: "And the theologian, not because he believes in the soul, but because..."   Matt: "Because he is tolerant, Mr. Desmond!" Jean Paul: "Tolerant of what? My madness, perhaps?" Matt: "I did not say that!" Jean Paul: "Are you prepared to face the dead?"

He tries to get Vangie to let him choose who will participate in the séance, but she refuses because she understands spiritualist matters better than he does. (Also, she can teleport to and from Maljardin, so it’s not like she’s trapped on the island like the other guests. This means that she can stand up to Jean Paul without the risk of him imprisoning her.)

Raxl brings up the missing notes about Erica. Alison demands to know how she knows about them, and she claims that she knows because of how often she and Dan discussed them. Raxl accuses Alison of trying to hide the notes in the cove (but why would she store them so far from the lab?). Matt has a point when he says the following line:

I am accused of pushing Holly Marshall down the stairs, Dan Forrest is accused of tampering with the cryonics capsule, Mrs. Marshall is accused of trying to kill her own daughter, and you are accused of concealing Dr. Menkin’s notes that might bring Erica Desmond to life again!...Now, a séance. Who knows what new accusations we will hear and against whom, and I wonder who will make them?

Raxl, Vangie, and Quito visit the temple to pray for the protection of everyone during the séance. This is probably the point where Tarasca would have appeared and vanished for the first time in the original draft, but we may never know for sure. Meanwhile, Jean Paul brags both to Jacques’ portrait and to my hysterical laughter that he is now in full control of himself. Sure, Jan Jean.

I really like this shot of Jean Paul with his arms outstretched in front of Jacques' portrait. Taken out of context, it looks like he’s trying to hug Jacques. "Caressing" evil, indeed.

Matt approaches the stairway to the crypt, but Jean Paul stops him. Matt then remembers that he threatened to kill anyone who trespassed into the crypt, which shocks Alison. “Does it upset you that I want to protect your sister’s return?” he asks her, and this triggers a second, much longer argument between Jean Paul and Matt. As usual with long conversations on this show, I will only include the highlights and summarize the rest.

It starts out with Matt repeating that everyone on Maljardin is Jean Paul’s prisoner. He accuses him of making them all suspect each other as a deliberate act of divide-and-conquer. I think that, in order for that to be true, it would require Jean Paul to be both omniscient and omnipotent, neither of which he is. (Even his hidden camera system only covers certain rooms.) Matt also accuses Raxl and Vangie of “seeking guidance for further accusations,” whatever the hell that means.

“Do you fear to face your judgment day?” Jean Paul asks him, which momentarily shuts him up. He stares at Jean Paul, stunned at the thinly-veiled threat.

Meanwhile in the temple, Raxl and Vangie decide who should and shouldn’t attend the séance. In short, neither Holly nor Dan should attend, but Quito should.

When Raxl asks if Jean Paul should attend, Vangie faints onto the temple floor!

When Matt recovers, he makes a whole list of over-the-top accusations against Jean Paul: "Hear me! Be a little god on your insane Island, manipulate our lives, play games with our reason! Be both judge and jailer! Yes, raise the dead, walk on water! That will be next. Crucify yourself, but remember, you, too, will be judged!"

Matt trying to look intimidating.

Jean Paul (thinking): “Please. When I said I was God on this island, I didn’t mean it in that way.”

You know, Jean Paul’s behavior this week reminds me of someone--and no, I’m not referring to whom you probably think I’m going to. I’m thinking instead of Jerry Layton, the show’s co-creator, producer, and “so-called production expert” who apparently shared some notable personality traits with early Jean Paul. According to the show’s floor director, Bob Wilson:

To be honest with you I always thought, and I’m not the only one who thought this, that the Jean Paul Desmond character was really Jerry Layton.  Oh yes.  He was mad.  He was crazy.  He would rant and rave about the simplest thing.  And we would all stand around and wait until he did his little thing.  And it was almost like an actor taking his lines and just running amok with them.  I recall that--it was very easy to be intimidated by this character.   I remember [technical producer André “Andy” Moujean] and I coming away from that dinner and saying to each other--What are we getting ourselves into?[1]

According to StrangeParadise.net, Layton insisted on running the show on next to no budget, which earned him the nickname “Mickey Mouse” among the production team. There’s a hilarious photo on there of Colin Fox with a Mickey Mouse pin pinned on one of Jean Paul’s dressing gowns and a mischievous smile on his face. There’s also this one in the website’s archive of the wall where John Pashley, one of the cameramen, wrote the comment “While my prose will not compare with Proust, thank f.....g Christ for Mickey Mouse.”[2] Notable examples of Layton’s mismanagement of the show include the lack of air conditioning in the studio while filming in August (as noted in this quote on Fox’s IMDb page) and the grueling schedule for the cast and crew, which Wilson also mentioned in his interview:

We all put in horrendous hours, not only in the production, but in getting the thing together.  ...  There were an awful lot of people who stayed [in Chelsea, at Crawley studios] overnight.  I was not one of them, but I can remember the sound guys staying overnight, trying to meet deadlines, with their effects.  I can remember the lighting guys staying overnight, trying to get the right look on a particular scene. [...] The bus would deliver, say, 25 people, and at night, maybe 17 would go back, because the other people were staying overnight to try to make deadlines.[3]

Despite these similarities, however, I doubt that Jean Paul is based on Jerry Layton. First, there is no evidence that Ian Martin actually ever visited the set, despite his position as headwriter. In fact, according to Wilson, he never did:

SRS: I was curious whether you ever met Ian Martin--he was the guy who wrote the first seven or eight weeks.

BW: I did not. To the best of my knowledge, I don’t believe--which is an unbelievable statement to make, but I’m pretty sure I’m right in saying this--I do not believe that any of the writers ever attended a production meeting, when we were at the studio. Now if Ian Martin was there, it would have been fleetingly, and he was the initial writer. The reason I’m even bringing this up is it was the bane of the actors’ existence that this didn’t happen. Many times they would say, “How can this guy continue writing [the show]--he hasn’t even been here to see, to get the feel of the set, of the ambience...”

SRS: He was writing it, but you were taping at that point well in advance of the broadcast--I see on this plan [of the set, which BW had] here, there’s a date--”August 11, ’69, programs number 2 and 3”--I’m taking from this that the original production of the actual show began in August of ’69. I don’t believe it began running on Canadian television until October of ’69.

BW: That would be correct.

SRS: So Mr. Martin is happily writing his scripts, but he’s not viewing any of the episodes... So he’s just spinning it off in his little room.

BW: Which was a sin, because we could feel the way it should have gone, we could feel where it could go--we weren’t writers, and when I say “we” I include cast and crew, because we were a family, we were very much a family.  ... Had any one of the writers, Ian Martin or any one of the writers after that come out and even just spent some time, it would have paid so many dividends. As I say, I stand to be corrected, but to the best of my knowledge, that never took place.[4]

Second, such megalomaniacal types tend not to have a sense of humor regarding their own shortcomings. If Layton had even suspected that Jean Paul was supposed to represent him (assuming that he behaved as Wilson claims he did), I think that he would have insisted on changing his characterization earlier on. Most likely, Jean Paul’s characterization derives from the archetype of the Byronic lord of the manor, an extremely popular character trope in Gothic literature. Examples include Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, Nicholas van Ryn from Dragonwyck, and (eventually) Richard Morgan from Martin’s 1979 novel Shadow Over Seventh Heaven. Despite this, I have to wonder if, when the actors were rehearsing this script, they were thinking of Mickey Mouse and his own so-called production expertise and putting their feelings about him into it.

Some delicious Raxl scenery-chewing in the Not-So-Hidden Temple after Vangie faints. “It is the prophecy,” she recalls in reference to Vangie’s prediction that she will die on Maljardin. “MUST IT BE NOW?”

Returning to our recap, Alison tries to shut Matt up because “Jean Paul is under a strain,” but he won’t have it. He proceeds to criticize Jean Paul to his face, and one has to wonder if some of these lines reminded Dan MacDonald of Mickey Mouse:

Why is it that no one’s feelings are to be considered, only his? There is no one, it seems, in all the world that has ever suffered except Jean Paul Desmond! No one has ever lost a loved one, only Jean Paul Desmond and his unique sorrow for his beloved Erica!

Colin Fox doing some literal backacting.

Jean Paul getting pissy.

We wondered whether we had seen him change into another man, one man one moment, another man the next! Now we are seeing the real man…A man who ignores the suffering of others, who is indifferent to the pain he inflicts upon them, who is willing to imprison them for all their lives for the sake of an impossible experiment in bringing back the dead, in getting what he wants because he suffers, because he is willing to punish the whole world in order to get what he wants out of blind selfishness masquerading as strength, this selfish thing! So great is his love of himself, which he calls love for his dear Erica!

 For the most part, he’s right about Jean Paul, save for the part about him being indifferent to others’ suffering. He’s indifferent to the detained guests’ wishes to escape the island, yes, but not to Alison’s mourning of her sister or Holly’s of her father. He just doesn’t want the tabloid press to find out about the cryonics situation and spread scandalous rumors (or, perhaps, a scandalous truth) about him and Erica. Matt thinks that the whole cryonics experiment is just as blasphemous and ridiculous as Jean Paul’s insistence that he is God on his island.

Jean Paul’s anger is so intense that it’s starting to mess up his shellacked hairdo.

Now it’s Jean Paul’s turn to fling accusations at him: "I did not pursue a young girl in the name of God and good works. I did not beset and harass a mere child out of a sick desire. And I did not strike the girl unseen and secretly fling her down the stairs because she knew, knew what you were!" A reminder: Holly is almost twenty-one, and yet Jean Paul refers to her as not just a child, but a young one. The way the characters keep talking about Holly like she’s seventeen is just baffling. Like I’ve said before, Matt’s attraction to Holly is already creepy enough without those kinds of implications, simply because of the former captor/former captive power dynamics involved.

Just after Jean Paul says that he is responsible for everyone on the island, Quito arrives, carrying Vangie. “Your responsibilities grow,” Matt tells him. “Now you have the soul [line flub for “blood?”] of Evangeline Abbott on your hands.” However, it turns out he spoke too soon, for Vangie soon recovers, albeit with a vision of death!

“Jean Paul, I saw death!” she says upon recovering. “The death I saw was not my own ending. A figure--it wasn’t clear.” And then she points to Jacques’ portrait and shouts, “That man! The Devil!”

This leads Alison to beg Jean Paul to cancel the séance. Jean Paul is surprised that "now the scientist believes in the devil." Jean Paul, being extremely stubborn, insists again on going through with the séance. But what unholy death and destruction will this séance wreak on Maljardin?

Jean Paul sitting down at the séance table during the credits.

Coming up next: The séance and a return to the YouTube episodes. (Am I the only one who’s been missing the ridiculous automatic captions? I hope not.) Shortly after that, the next part of my review of Shadow Over Seventh Heaven, which I would have posted before this one, but I was so much farther along with this one that I decided to post it first.

{<- Previous: Episode 34   ||   Next: Episode 36 ->}

Notes

[1] Bob Wilson, interview with S. R. Shutt, Ottawa, October 15, 2002. Wilson is also the one who called Layton the “so-called production expert,” which reminds me of David Benioff, the “so-called production expert” behind Game of Thrones whose mismanagement of that series is well-documented on the YouTube channel The Dragon Demands. In a sense, Benioff and Weiss wrote it like a soap opera, changing characterizations and “subverting expectations” at will with random plot twists--which is fine until you remember that they were running a high-budget adaptation of an unfinished book series.

[2] Another funny photo of the wall can be found here, On this one, someone dubbed the show “Canada’s own all-American T.V. series!” and used the Mark of Death (from a future storyline--not saying any more about it until later) as an unofficial logo.

[3] Wilson.

[4] Ibid.

[itsclydebitches]

Title: No Harm to the World

Summary: When Aziraphale's birthday comes around he expects a book from Anathema. Perhaps a bottle of wine. Or even some nice socks. He does not expect a series of ballroom lessons with London's rudest instructor.

Fandom: Good Omens

Words: 4,461

Warnings: None

Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley

Author’s Notes: "Let us read, and let us dance — these two amusements will never do any harm to the world" - Voltaire

Written for Cademon who doesn't actually know me, but managed to chuck out a prompt I just couldn't resist: "Dance instructor/student AU with slow burn and slow dancing and kissing and bonus points for smutty goodness." I'm bad at writing kisses, even worse at smut, and I don't think 4k counts as a slow burn... but it's an instructor/student AU! Woot woot let's count that as a win.

Where to Read it: AO3 or below the cut 

Anathema, he decided, was going to hell.

Certainly there was no other option for the poor girl. Sad, but true. What else could Aziraphale assume given the sin she’d committed?

“It’s not right,” he told the server, a young woman with pink hair and an expression bordering on awed. “You don’t just give someone that sort of gift. It’s not a gift at all! Gifts are books, my dear. Or an excellent bottle of wine. Perhaps a decent pair of socks if we’re getting intimate. But to foster off something with such requirements attached to it, particularly on someone who is and should be treated as a loved one... it doesn’t bear thinking about. I cannot possibly express my disappointment in her.”

“Really? ‘Cause you’ve been doing well so far.” The server pointed at Aziraphale’s empty plate. ��You want another slice or what?”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you. Now see, cake. That is an excellent gift.”

“Uh huh.”

With those words of wisdom she left Aziraphale to his thoughts, his still growling stomach, and the letter he’d propped up against the salt and pepper shakers. Lesley had delivered it this morning, no doubt because Anathema was too craven to give it to him herself. At first Aziraphale had been rather touched by the gesture, sure that she was embracing his love of sophistication—not archaism, thank you—on the day of his birth, foregoing all that horrible, digital nonsense to send him a proper letter instead. How inspired! Ha. More fool him. What Aziraphale found was not the opera ticket he’d expected, or a monthly wine subscription, or even just a personal account of all that he meant to her...

No. Fifty years old and she got him dancing lessons. A month long, twice a week, fully paid for trap that Aziraphale either needed to suffer through or risk offense, to both her and the instructor. Someone who, Anathema had made quite clear, was already expecting him. Tonight. On his birthday. Had he mentioned that yet?

Outside of her instructions the rest of the so-called letter was a single line written in viscous, glittery pen:

You need to get out more ;)

Love,

Anathema

“Poppycock,” Aziraphale muttered. “Oh. Pardon my language.” His server gave a snort as she laid down the second slice of strawberry shortcake. She skipped off before he could start another rant, though Aziraphale was happy enough to continue glaring at his ‘gift.’

Get out more? What rubbish. Aziraphale certainly didn’t need to pepper his time with dance lessons, of all things. He lived a perfectly healthy, happy life and didn't need a woman half his age saying otherwise. Why were they friends again? He hardly knew.

Aziraphale stabbed his fork straight through the slice. Not even buttery cake and macerated strawberries could cheer him though. The letter remained in view, taunting him.

As did the knowledge that he was expected at this studio come 7:00pm sharp. He, Aziraphale, was meant to spend a full hour in an organization titled Dancing With the Devil.

It was with a sigh that he slipped whipped cream past his lips and raised his hand. “Miss! I do believe I’ll be needing a third slice.”

***

Six and a half hours later found Aziraphale outside an apartment complex, the top of which clearly housed the studio in question. If that absurd name didn’t give it away—displayed in red, looping letters against the old stonework—then the music thrumming all the way down to the sidewalk would have done the trick. Aziraphale might have thought the place a disreputable club if not for the fact that the music was Sinatra.

...Not entirely horrible then. Not quite.

“Though by no means a redemption either,” he muttered, waiting for the elevator. As he did, Aziraphale took a moment to examine himself in the reflective surface, rather pleased with his choice of outfit. He’d gone with a blue vest tonight, a periwinkle that matched his bow-tie perfectly, and brought a spot of color to the browns and beige he’d otherwise donned. He wasn’t entirely sure what one was meant to wear to a dancing lesson, but surely you couldn’t fault style? He looked quite spiffy, all things considered. Besides, Anathema’s horrid little note had specified ballroom lessons. Not the sort of thing that involved traipsing about on the ground or attempting anything as unnecessary as a jump. And if it did? Aziraphale would leave. Simple as that.

“Quite,” he told his reflection and stepped inside.

The music grew louder as Aziraphale ascended, until he could feel the vibrations through the soles of his shoes. When the elevator opened on dim lights and smiling people, he was momentarily taken aback.

Some day, when I'm awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight

They must have just started this song because people were still coming together, men and women alike extending hands to partners, walking side-by-side to the outskirts of the room. To be entirely honest, most of those smiles seemed to stem from embarrassment. Aziraphale watched the couples—perhaps six of seven in total—fumble arms for a moment or come dangerously close to stepping on toes. A few individuals were so intensely focused on their feet he didn’t think they’d react if the whole studio came crashing down around their ears. None of it was very... good, per se. Aziraphale had seen just enough old films to know that the awkward gaits and simple steps he was witnessing weren’t much to write home about. But the attempts were charming in their own way and he was all too aware that it was more than he was able to do.

Suddenly, Aziraphale felt rather out of place.

The exception to stiff movements and lowered heads was the man who cut through the middle of the floor, the only one without a partner. He wore slacks, but short heels that appeared to be dance-specific; a collared shirt, but with red hair that fell down past his shoulders. Perhaps the most notable accessory though was a pair of dark glasses perched on his nose, entirely unnecessary in this lighting and thus looking rather absurd. No doubt he thought himself one of those cool men who could never pass the age of twenty-five. Aziraphale didn’t need any official introduction to know that he was the instructor though. The way he moved said it all.

Like liquid. Like grace incarnate. He put more hip action into walking than Aziraphale could ever manage in a Salsa and it was, to be frank, bordering on obscene.

The man was also heading his way.

“You must be Zira!” he called, loud enough to turn every head. Aziraphale shrunk, his hiding spot obliterated. “Beginner’s class? 7:00? You’re late. Can’t have that. First day here and you’re already slacking? You’d think a guy dressed like you would want to make a better first impression.” The man grinned.

Of all the—!

“It’s Aziraphale,” he hissed, the first and most important thing to tumble out of his mouth. “I don’t do that nickname nonsense. And I’m not late. I’m not slacking! I’m not—oh. Well I suppose I am here for the beginner’s class. But that’s the only thing you got right and one out of four is nothing to be proud of.”

He could feel the heat in his cheeks and the arrogant, downward turn to his mouth. Aziraphale had been told on more than one occassion that this was why he so rarely got customers (not that he particularly wanted them...) and why he had so few, close friends. Thus it was more than a bit surprising to find that his default state didn’t immediately get him chucked out of the class. What a pity. Rather, the man seemed to enjoy his ire. He continued grinning, quite manically, finally throwing out a hand with purple, painted nails.

“Name’s Anthony Crowley, but everyone here just calls me Crowley. I am about the nickname nonsense. Sort of, anyway. Let’s see...” Crowley’s fingers tapped the top of Aziraphale’s hand, sending a jolt all the way up through his arm. “I own this studio. Own the flats downstairs too. Guess that doesn’t make me much of a slacker, but I enjoy a good TV binge every now and then. And you’re right.”

“Right?” Aziraphale parroted.

“You’re not late. Fifteen minutes early, in fact. This lot,” he jerked his head at the dancers. “Have just been with me before. Know to leave time to warm up.”

Crowley finally released his hand and Aziraphale immediately plastered it against his thigh, trying and failing to be inconspicuous about wiping the sweat away. Crowley eyed the movement, lips twitching. “Well. You’re gonna be rubbish at this if one handshake gets you all nervous.”

Aziraphale gaped. “How rude!”

“Anathema said you’d be a handful.”

For a moment surprise warred with offense. The surprise won. “You know Anathema?” He’d been under the impression that this little ‘gift’ had no further strings attached. How foolish of him.

“Sure!” Crowley waved a hand. “We’re old girlfriends. She talks about you some. I’ve been telling her to get you in here for ages. Never said how you two know each other though.”

Aziraphale drew himself up. “Anathema is a frequent visitor to my shop. Over the years I’ve been able to procure a number of rare books for her. Our love of literature all but ensured that we would be fast friends.”

“Huh. Cool. I hit her with my car a few years back. Anyway, c’mon!”

Aziraphale was left, open-mouthed, grappling with the image of an Anathema three years ago with bruised face and a broken arm. Apparently Crowley wasn’t one for explanations though, as he was already striding back across the room, clearly expecting Aziraphale to follow. Obeying such a high-handed command was a horrible thought.

...standing there awkwardly was worse.

“Excuse me, pardon me, ah...no, no, go on as you were!” Despite their slow movements and few numbers, getting past the dancers was a surprisingly difficult task, those capable of dancing and looking up simultaneously casting him amused smiles. By the time Aziraphale reached Crowley—now standing beside a row of chairs on the outskirts of the room—he could feel the heat in his cheeks and the slight dampness beginning to consolidate beneath his shirt. Hardly his fault. It was so dreadfully hot in here.

Crowley eyed him up and down once more, that smirk too knowing for Aziraphale’s tastes. With a huff he straightened his bow-tie with one hand and thrust out the folder he’d been carrying with the other.

“I've done research,” he announced. “Quite extensive. Not to speak too highly of my own abilities, but it’s rather a talent of mine and one that I put a great deal of stock in. Thus, after much deliberation I have decided that if I am to learn any formal dance is should be the gavotte.”

Seconds ticked by. Aziraphale shook the folder in the air between them. Crowley failed to take it.

“I’ve done research,” he repeated, just in case that first part hadn’t been clear.

“You’ve really got no idea how this all works, do you?” Crowley asked. To Aziraphale’s great relief he finally took the gathered materials—

—only to toss it all right over his shoulder.

“How dare you!”

“Jeez, you’re a sensitive one. How dare you this, how rude that. We’ve got to loosen you up a bit first. Everyone, watch your floorcraft!”

The students behind them dutifully maneuvered around the now scattered collection of papers, a few giving audible laughs at the turn of events. Aizraphale felt that blush creeping down his neck and instinctively bent to gather them up.

Crowley intercepted, taking him into his arms.

He might have struggled. Perhaps he should have, the shock of someone touching him in such a manner without permission just the sort of thing Aziraphale normally would have riled against. But when Crowley dipped his glasses also slipped, and for a moment (a moment was all Crowley needed) Aziraphale was left breathless and rather easily swayed.

It was his eyes. They were...well, quite stunning. If he was entirely frank. A brown that appeared almost gold in the right light, but more distinctive were the pupils that bled downwards into his iris, creating a surprisingly oval shape. The effect was akin to a keyhole. Or, if one were being fanciful, something not quite human.

Crowley, of course, noticed him staring. His grin was slow. Like he had to pull it into being one muscle at a time. “Coloboma,” he said, the word sharp and quick. “I was lucky enough to get it in both eyes.” Crowley briefly removed his hand from Aziraphale’s to push the glasses more firmly onto his nose. Then they came back together, the movement almost unnoticed. Aziraphale was still peering closely.

“Is that why you wear those?” he asked. “Even inside? In this lighting?”

“Mm-hmm. Tends to freak people out. Sometimes. Enough times. Need to get used to it first.” Crowley’s head titled to the side, red curls falling between them. “Does it bother you?”

Aziraphale was aware that he owed this man precisely nothing. Certainly not honesty for the sake of honesty. And yet, he found it slipping out nonetheless. “Not at all, dear boy. In fact, I think your eyes are quite beautiful. Rather like a snake’s.”

As soon as the words hit the air Aziraphale stumbled, the compliment his mouth had seen fit to give suddenly catching up with his brain. Crowley went rigid too, though because of the “beautiful” or the “snake” part Aziraphale couldn’t be sure. Because a second later he murmured,

“People normally say 'cat.'” His voice was rough and rather...shaky?

“...Ah. Of Course. Logical.”

"Yeah."

Well. That had gone swimmingly! Yes, old boy, insult and act inappropriately with your instructor five minutes into the lesson. What a positively perfect way to begin a month-long course. Not that Aziraphale cared if Crowley decided to cut him. Not at all. Hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place.

Funny thing though, it was a lesson and not a bad one at that. All at once and without Aziraphale’s knowledge they'd fallen into their respective roles. While they’d been speaking, Crowley had taken the hand he’d snagged and the underside of Aziraphale’s shoulder blade, just sort of... steering them around the room. They weren’t doing any of the fancy footwork that the rest of the group was immersed in. Just a little shuffle there and back, like one might see during a slow dance at senior prom. Yet it was steady, and soothing, and all at once Aziraphale was hyper-aware of exactly how close they’d gotten. He tried to ignore the smell of Crowley’s cologne—delightfully spicy. He’d have to ask his barber for something similar—and how soft his hand was, palm pressed to palm and fingers cupping fingers. His brief faux pas was quickly forgotten. When Crowley seemed content to simply sway and hum along to the music for some undetermined amount of time, Aziraphale finally cleared his throat.

“What, if I am ask, are we doing?”

Crowley blinked. “Dancing.”

“I would hardly term this dancing.”

“Well that’s because you’re the ignorant student and I’m the former Blackpool competitor.” He spoke right over the protest. “What’s the best kind of learning? The kind that doesn’t feel like learning. Duh. Look at you go. Walking backwards like a champ.” Crowley suddenly stopped, Aziraphale stopped too, and somehow his gaze seemed more shrewd, even behind the glasses. “Why?"

“Why? Why what?” Aziraphale tried valiantly to regain his balance.

“Why did you stop?”

“Because you stopped.”

“No, no, no, stupid answer. What bearing does me stopping have on you stopping? You could have just kept going, straight out the door! Anathema said you were smart. Where’s that now? One more time...” They started moving again, parallel to the line of chairs, and this time when Crowley stopped—

He hummed in the back of his throat, catching Aziraphale’s expression.

It was hard to explain though. The fact that he was literally connected to another person obviously played its part, but there was more to it than that, what Aziraphale suspected his teacher was trying to convey. Something about how the hand at his back had pressed suddenly, becoming a barrier he didn't want to push past. The hand in his had tightened, almost pulling in the opposite direction. Something else about the feeling of Crowley’s body so near to his, subconsciously picking up on the change in his weight...

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to articulate any of that though. What came out was a disgruntled noise that made Crowley laugh.

“Connection,” he said, clearly taking pity on him. “You know where and how far I want you to go because of how closely connected our bodies are. From here,” he shifted them to the right. “To there.” Back to the left. “The slightest touch, just a little, tiny press—” Aziraphale suddenly knew that he was to take a step backwards and when he did Crowley’s smile was magnificent. “It can accomplish a shit ton.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Is that a technical term? 'Shit ton'?”

“Oh yeah.” Crowley suddenly grew serious. “But if you don’t have that connection...” His arms went limp, his chest pulled back, and Aziraphale hadn’t the slightest clue where he was meant to go now. When Crowley suddenly stepped backward he was scrambling to catch up. “See? All falls apart. It’s about balance. Push and pull. Like you’re standing on the edge of a knife and the both of you have to maintain perfect position so that neither of you falls...You manage that and you can manage just about anything.”

"A relationship," Aziraphale said, his mouth once again running away with him. No reprimand came though. Just a quick squeeze of his hand that felt like praise.

Crowley had taken him in his arms again—what he referred to as the frame a few moments later—and with the careless delivery of someone commenting on the weather, told Aziraphale to step back, back again, and then side together, off to his right. No, not quite that fast. Yes, that’s better. A slow, a slow, quick-quick pattern. Again and again until Aziraphale realized, with no small amount of shock, that they were mimicking the other couples around the dance floor.

“See?” Crowley said. There was only a bit of smugness seeping into his voice. Already Aziraphale counted that as a win. “You’re a natural.”

He thought of long-ago gym classes and his brother Gabriel’s attempts to take him jogging. “You’d be the first to think so.”

“Or I’m just that good a teacher. Hmm. Might be leaning towards that one. But the fact that you can take two steps without panicking or tripping over your own feet is a major plus.” Crowley leaned in close, sharing a conspiratorial whisper. “Most of this lot still don’t know their right from their left.”

It should have been cruel coming from their instructor, but Aziraphale had the distinct sense that Crowley meant it in only the most loving way possible. A chuckle wound its way up his throat because yes, what just fifteen minutes before had seemed so out of reach now appeared... quite simple really. Whatever had he been worried about? Across the ballroom some poor chap was nearly trampling another—who astoundingly managed to keep a polite smile in place—while two women behind them were taking each step with an agonizing slowness that had thrown them off beat. Aziraphale had never considered himself to be terribly adventurous, never quick to embrace any change, but even that was a bit slow for this tastes.

With Crowley, the room spun at perfect speed.

“It’s all that stuffiness,” he was saying, oblivious to Aziraphale’s thoughts. “You’re all,” and Crowley drew his shoulders up to his ears, miming someone overly stiff with a pursed lips and squinty eyes. The display fell apart with a laugh at whatever expression Aziraphale pulled. “Nah, nah, it’s good. Gonna have a devil of a time with you in the Latin styles, but smooth? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

“I like lemons,” Aziraphale commented, unsure how else to respond in the face of more unexpected praise.

“Please don’t tell me you just... eat them.”

“What? No! I mean lemonade. Or squeezed over veal with capers.”

“Okay good because I once knew this guy who’d just fucking peel them—”

So it went, with Crowley rambling on about, apparently, whatever popped into his head each moment, all while leading Aziraphale round and round the room with an ease that spoke of years of practice. He was far less graceful, stumbling now and again, but largely able to move and hold a conversation simultaneously, which was far more than Aziraphale would have assumed himself capable of, especially after such a short period of time. In fact, with Crowley’s arms a warm press and those absurd opinions filling his ears, it was all almost a bit... fun.

Damn it all. Anathema could never find out.

The song—another of Sinatra’s—finally drew to a close and with it the lights rose, shaking the group out of their daze. People put distance between their partners, thanking one another, laughing over perceived faults, and Aziraphale felt a pang when Crowley moved to do the same.

That is, until he ducked into a low bow, brushing a kiss against the back of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said, tone overly formal, eyes alight with mischief. Aziraphale might have called him out on the contradiction if his thoughts were even in the vicinity of coherent.

Oh dear.

Crowley left. Or rather, rejoined the rest of his class. Which honestly felt to be much the same thing. Aziraphale had to tramp down on the absurd burst of jealousy that flared when Crowley briefly took another man into his arms, leading him through a slightly longer, more complicated step. Thankfully though that stint of madness was brief. With a self-conscious cough Aziraphale smoothed down his vest and joined the others in front of the mirrors. They were all lining up, seemingly expectant, and all at once Aziraphale was the odd man out again. Unsure of where to stand; overly dressed next to the others' jeans and t-shirts.

Then Crowley paced before the lineup and tilted his head just so, allowing the light to reflect through his glasses. Aziraphale could have sworn he dropped him a wink.

“Welcome! Excellent warm-up, all of you. Though I could have done without so many feet watchers.” A few titters flowed through the group. “Seriously, are your shoes really that interesting? Because if they are I want to know where you got ‘em. Drop me a brand name after class. All right, all right. Enough of that. Good to have you all back. Good to see some new faces too. This is Bronze One, Smooth Dancers for Beginners, and today we’ll be learning the Foxtrot... though I’ve already gotten the sense that you lot won’t be beginners for long.”

His gaze was definitely on Aziraphale and he burned for just a moment, caught. As Crowley began his lesson, Aziraphale straightened his bow-tie one more—just for luck—and vowed that such a complimentary statement would not be said in vain.

A minute later, as Crowley helped him partner up with a lovely young woman looking similarly unsure, Aziraphale quite forgot that he’d never wanted to be here in the first place.

***

July, one year later.

“Honestly, I don’t know what that girl is thinking! It’s an insult, my dear. Plain and simple. I hope as you grow you’ll develop better manners than my supposed friend has.”

“I’m thirty-five, sir.”

Aziraphale sat in the same café, at the same table, with the same waitress listening to him rant about the misuse of birthday presents. The only true changes were that he’d since learned her name was Amber and Amber now sported green hair instead of pink (with blue and orange somewhere between the two).

This was old hat by now. “Two slices of the key lime pie then?”

“Three.”

“Three?"

Aziraphale’s lips twitched. Amber only just caught it. “Relax, dear. I’m not quite as stressed as that.” The ‘Not yet’ was muttered into his water glass. “I’m merely expecting company.”

Which was the cue for the door across from them to open, Crowley sauntering in with sundress and hat, heels and $200 shades. Amber huffed out a laugh, allowing her hand to briefly clasp Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Three slices it is then,” and she wandered off.

Crowley took her place.

“Angel.”

Aziraphale scowled. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

“Hey, if the shoe fits... speaking of,” Crowley slouched in his chair and stuck one long leg out from beneath the table, showing off his yellow, strappy heels. “You like?”

“Your continued obsession with footwear that now eats a hole in our joint bank account? Never.” But Aziraphale nevertheless eyed the new addition with admiration. “Can you dance in those?”

“Nah. Not enough traction. You’re due for a new pair though. Can’t go competing in those worn-out practice shoes.”

The mere thought of his first competition nearly undid Aziraphale’s appetite, but for now at least anger overrode the fear. “I was under the impression that Anathema was buying some for my birthday!”

Crowley blinked. “She’s not? It’s what she told me she was getting you.”

"Oh no, no, no. I received a package this morning that was most certainly not shoes..."

As Aziraphale leaned across the table, nearly upending water and silverware in his haste to share the news, Amber returned with three plates of pie and some complimentary mints. She arrived just in time to see Aziraphale whisper something into his partner’s ear that turned his cheeks roughly the same shade as his hair. The grin though... there was nothing self-conscious in that.

“That sly girl,” she heard, aiming to remain professional even in the face of Aziraphale’s angry huff. “Can’t say I’m surprised. When was the last time she gave you the present you were expecting?”

“I am this close to murdering her, Crowley.”

“Sure you are.” Amber’s last glimpse was of the two of them tucked together, sunlight streaming across the table, heads bent so close in conversation they nearly touched. Crowley took a bite of the pie as Aziraphale quite obviously watched his lips.

“I'm sure we'll figure out some use for her generosity." The sarcasm was apparent, even from across the room. As was Crowley's amusement.

"Besides, I’d say her last gift turned out just fine.”

Fin.

***

Important note: The most AU aspect of all this is that both of these bastards can actually dance

Less important note: You decide what Anathema got Aziraphale for his bday ;)

[honeyjaez]

Maze of Miroh- Chapter 10  “The End of a Family”

Hyunjin sprinted up the stairs, his face being overshadowed by his damp hair that fell in front of his eyes. He was being chased. By Dogs. By Agents. He didn’t exactly know, but needless to say things weren’t going exactly according to the plan.

As he reached another level he busted through the door and slammed it shut behind him, falling onto the ground in a heap of panting mess as he reached inside his jacket pocket, pulling out his cell phone.

“Channie hyung….” he breathed after a few more moments. “We have a problem.”

Minho and Jisung sprang themselves into the small room, wanting to waste no time. The younger boy jumped towards the Master Computer which sat near the front and threw his laptop out on the table, immediately clacking away on its keys.

“What are you doing?”

Jisung didn’t stop typing at Minho’s question but momentarily looked back towards him by throwing his head in his direction.

“I’m looking for anything in their files that will tell me how to shut off the Electric field.”

Minho nodded “Good. While you are at it, see if there is anything about reversing what they did to him.”

Minho heard Jisung’s furious typing cease abruptly and he looked over to see the boy now standing still, his head facing straight ahead.

“Minho…” Minho heard Jisung’s voice trail off, detecting an unexpected uncertainty in his voice. 

“There has to be a way” he interjected, knowing full well what was going to be said.

“…and what will you do when there isn’t?”  

»»»»»»»

 “I swear to fucking god Hyunjin if I hear that one more time …..”

“Channie hyung” the tall black haired boy interrupted “This is serious”

He knew his own voice was exposing his panic and his leader Chan picked up on that almost immediately.

“What is it?” he asked seriously.

“I know we said I would be the one to shoot the bombs off as a distraction” he started “but it would seem The Order is taking matter into their own hands. I witnessed their lead head of security start the fail-safe program.” Hyunjin’s voice trailed off as he continued to catch his breath on the floor. Chan hadn’t said anything so Hyunjin opened his mouth again, his voice genuinely concerned. “Hyung….this building is coming down, along with anyone still inside.”

»»»»»»»

“…and what will you do when there isn’t?”  

 Jisung’s words were so quiet that Minho had barley heard the words escape the younger lips. But sure enough, he caught them and he felt anger surge through him once again.

 “Is there something you’d like to share with the class Jisung?” he spat 

Jisung spun around as Minho’s tone struck a chord within him and glared daggers into the elder. His brown eyes narrowed in annoyance and ….. Was that worry?

“Well if it’s sharing time then yes! Yes I do have something to say to you!” Minho watched as the boy placed his laptop on the table next to him, never once taking his eyes off of his own. 

“You!” he started while pointing at Minho “For starters are an idiot with a death wish! I mean honestly! Why could you have just gone to the safe house like you were told? No you had to be an idiot and stay in the city. You had to be best friends with a fucking Miracle and YOU had to be the one to “tag along”” he emphasized those words by air quoting “Do I have something to say to you? Yes! Because of you, Changbin almost died! Hyunjin and Seungmin were taken hostage! They could have died! And now we are in so much shit! But all you can do is hide right? You are such coward letting us do all your work for you! Chan, Woojin and Innie, they are up there risking everything to get us out of here! But do you care? No! You don’t care about them, all you care about is Jeongwoo! Well I’m sorry to be the one that says this, but this single Miracle isn’t worth it!” Minho had gone frozen stiff during Jisung’s rant, but noticed that tears were flowing down the younger’s face as he yelled, almost as if the words he was saying hurt him too. Jisung knew this but made no attempt to hide it. “He isn’t worth them!” he managed to choke out.  

Minho watched with slightly wide eyes as Jisung wiped his eyes, trying to calm himself down. The younger let out a few shaky breaths before raising his head turning his gaze back on towards Minho’s.

“You need to stop being such a coward and prepare yourself for the inevitable.” He growled softly “Jeongwoo isn’t going to survive this. Realize that now before it breaks your heart later…”

Minho knew it deep down. He did. Just one look at the younger boy could spell out his fate to anyone and even if they do manage to get him out of here, unless they magically found Jeongwoo’s DNA again, the boy was still going to change. That or die.

Minho knew that. Of course he did. 

But he couldn’t accept it.

Slowly, lifting his head, he turned his gaze to match the intensity of Jisung’s, feeling his fist tighten up into small balls. He could finally feel the weight of the day crash onto his whole body and he suddenly felt as tired as he should have been at the moment. He didn’t have much strength left in him and that spelled danger if they didn’t get out soon. Minho gave the younger boy a small sad half smile, his eyes brimming with unspoken sorrow.

“If…..” his voice choked up as he could feel tears threatening to fall “If it was one of them….if it was someone from your family” he started, staring directly at Jisung “Wouldn’t you do anything in the world to save them? Even if you knew it was a lost cause?”

Silenced filled the room as Minho watched the younger boys eyes widen, something obviously running through his brain.

But before he could ask, a loud ring echoed throughout the room and Jisung slowly went into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“Chan?” Jisung’s voice broke slightly as he answered the phone and Minho was caught off guard at how frail and small he sounded.

Minho watched as Jisung’s eyes narrow, his face now grave. 

“Understood”

Minho watched as Jisung hung up the phone, closing his eyes. After a few more moments, let out a shaky breath. 

“ Whatever.Be useful and look for something like a switch. None of this will matter if we don’t get him out.”

Minho narrowed his eyes at the younger boy who now turned his back towards him, something not settling right in his gut. There was something he wasn’t telling him. 

“What did Chan have to say?”

Jisung was as frozen as a statue, the only sound being that of his fingers on the keyboard typing more furiously than before.

“Nothing. Now hurry up. The sooner we free him the sooner we get out of here.” his voice was cold, his voice was hard. Minho knew right then and there that Jisung hated him more than anything. And for some reason the thought of that made him sad.

Minho nodded, feeling the tears forming in his own eyes. He spun back around and begun his search around the room, wanting to forget about the conversation all together. The room they were in was smaller than that of the main room the cages were staged in, but cluttered with various objects. Farther down the room from Jisung and the Computer were multiple panels that Minho noticed had some on, and some off. Minho walked closer and realized that the panels functioning had various readings on them that were reports on the state of the Miracles bodies that were still locked in their cages. His eyes searched for Jeongwoo’s name, but was stopped when his eyes noticed something in the corner.

It was a small touchscreen sitting on top of a pedestal like statue nearby. A switch sat underneath with the big letters that read electricity. There was an outline of a hand sketched out on top and Minho realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that the only way to deactivate the shield was by hand print. An Authorized hand print at that.

Slowly, he laid his hand over the outline, hovering slightly above. After a few more moments he sighed and retracted his hand back. No way was his hand print going to work.

“Jisung” he called. “I found the switch but we have a slight problem.”

 He heard footsteps coming up alongside him and could feel Jisung’s presence next to him. Minho heard a small audible gasp escape the Younger boys lips as he registered what he was looking at, and placed his laptop down on the ground examining the pedestals base.

“Can you break it?” Minho asked quietly.

There was a few more moments of silence as Jisung’s eyes darted around the contraption before he let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “Maybe…. But I need time”

Minho felt his body temperature rise and he tensed his fists up.This was it. This was his one chance to rescue Jeongwoo.

You are such coward letting us do all your work for you!

Jisungs words ran through his mind and he stood back up, a few found determination in his eyes

He wasn’t going to let this moment slip from his fingers.

“What do you need?”

Jisung momentarily stopped fiddling with the base and looked up at Minho’s intense gaze, something flashing in them. But it was gone before Minho knew it and he watched as he reached behind him.

Jisung ripped something out of his backpack and unrolled it to reveal various tools . “Keep watch for me. With that alarm, we are sure to have company. Make sure no Agents get in here. If I can do this, and that’s a big IF, my computer will need to uninterrupted for at least 10 minutes.” His voice trailed off and was quiet for a few moments before continuing fiddling with his tools.

“Chan called” he said suddenly, not looking up. “It would seem The Order plans on blowing this place off the map……Chan…he ordered me to retreat….told me to take you back even if by force….and yet here I am.” he paused letting out a small laugh as if his words triggered a memory within him and looked up at Minho finally, eyes narrowed “Do you understand that? If my laptop get interrupted even once then that’s it. We’ve lost. Jeongwoo will die down here as the building collapses.10 Minutes Minho….. that or its game over.” he said, unscrewing the back panel.

Minho nodded, wasting no time in turning around towards the door. He was going to do this. Sure, he was terrified. The thought that the building could come down any second didn’t help his nerves much. But he was going to do this. He wasn’t going to let the fear overshadow him again.

All of a sudden it was then that Minho could hear a strangled noise coming from the main room. He shot out the door and rushed forward in the direction of the noise, realizing with horror that it was coming from Jeongwoo’s cage. As he rushed forward, he managed to catch glimpse of the boy, and what he saw, broke his heart.

Jeongwoo, still on the ground, was dry heaving and his whole body was juddering violently as he coughed up splatters of blood. He let out a shriek of pain as his hand went to his chest.

“Jeongwoo! Jeongwoo!” Minho shouted landing as close to him as possible without touching the cage. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at his tiny little boy suffering.  Jeongwoo didn’t respond, but looked in Minho’s direction. The whites of his eyes now a sickly yellow color and he was sweating profusely as his chest rose up and down viciously.

“J-Jeongwoo” Minho never felt more hopeless than he did now. That split second of determination now washing away with Jeongwoo’s pained cries.

“H-hyung” his voice was so small, almost like a whisper as tears fell down his face. “D-Don’t-“

But his last words were drowned out by Jisung yelling at him from the doorway.

“Minho! Look out!” 

It all happened so fast.

He heard Jisung’s shout a second too late and the next thing he felt was a pair of boots hitting him straight on his face. His body rolled violently in the air and he on the other side of the room, crashing into the bars of a cage and feeling the surges of electricity pulsating through his body again. All of his senses were lost to him as the pain took over. He landed with a dull thud, his body unmoving.

»»»»»»»

Chan chewed his bottom lip as he overlooked the scene below him. Agents flooded the entire area, guns at the ready as they ran about trying to evacuate the area. Their group had ditched the van in an attempt to flee before being surrounded, and now stood on the top of a roof nearby. Felix and Seungmin had managed to find them in the chaos and Woojin was off to the side examining Changbin’s wound while the younger boys watched over Innie as he slept nearby.

Chan was left alone to worry as fires erupted down below and more agents filled the streets.

“Dammit Jisung….” He said quietly “Where are you?”

»»»»»»»

Everything in Minho’s world was dark. A never ending tunnel. Slowly he regained his senses and could vaguely hear someone yelling his name. He tried to move but his body screamed at him in protest. His eyes fluttered open and through half opened lids, he could see the outline of someone standing nearby Jeongwoo’s seizing body. He blinked a few times as he regained control of his body more and more and noticed the stranger was wearing black from head to toe, his face fully covered by a black mask and hood. At his sides sat two twin daggers. Minho’s eyes widened as his eyes opened fully and he looked at the man who looked like he was straight out of a video game.

“W-Who are you?!” Minho weakly demanded, struggling to stand up.

But the masked man did not answer him, and chose to just stare down at Minho’s weak attempt to stand up, a near silence filling the air. Minho could still hear the pained wheezes coming from Jeongwoo and realized with horror that this stranger was the threat he had to face. He was here to stop them, and Minho couldn’t let him.

Minho shook off the pain as best as he could and slowly stood up, not taking his eyes off the masked man who in turned continued to look down at Minho’s injured form in silence. The alarm continued to blare, but all Minho could hear was the pounding of his heart in his chest and the blood roaring in his ear. His thoughts were running in circles as he tried to size his new enemy up. Fight someone? Sure! Shoot Agents with guns? Okay?  But nobody said anything about swords! His hand went down to touch the cold steel of his gun. Guns won in sword fights right? His eyes flashed down to the twin daggers that sat on either side of the man’s hips. Even from here he could see the sharpness of them and audibly gulped.

“Go home”

The voice snapped Minho out of his thoughts. Something about his voice took him off guard. Whether it was the dark cold tone he used, or the way it trailed off at the end after he told Minho to go home. Something about it resonated with him but he didn’t know why.

Nor did he have no time to worry about it because suddenly and without warning, the masked figure rushed forward, not waiting for Minho’s answer and hit him with inhuman like speed. For a second time Minho felt a blunt force hit him square underneath his jaw, and he was launched in the air. He gasped out in pain as his back crashed into the wall behind him, bringing some of the dry wall with him as he fell.

“Weak”

The voice was so cold, so emotionless. Minho didn’t like it one bit. He looked up to saw the black figure standing over his own body now. Minho knew he needed to defend himself, he knew it, but the reality of being much weaker than his opponent set his fear into overdrive and Minho began to feel overwhelmed. His body was frozen on the stop as his eyes locked into the black eye holes. He could feel the fear flowing through his veins almost like a drug. He could vaguely hear Jisung yelling at him from afar to fight back but it was useless.

His body refused to move despite his fight or flight instincts and he knew he was in trouble.

Next thing Minho felt were a pair of hands encasing themselves around his neck as the masked man picked him up. He squeezed Minho by his throat as he lifted him in the air. He tried to fight back as his arms began to flail around desperately, the lack of oxygen waking him out of his frozen state. But he couldn’t get a good enough grip on the man’s arm and he knew he was losing oxygen quickly.

“You are too weak.” the voice said again, muffled slightly by the mask. Minho desperately grabbed for anything he could get a grip on but failed as he felt his body giving up.  The blood roared in his ears, and he looked down at the stranger who was strangling him with one arm. He was relentless in his grip, and Minho could feel his eye lids grow heavier as the need for oxygen became too great.  Soon, his desperate attempts to knock himself free of his grip began to cease and he felt his eyelids begin to close, the last bit of light landed on Jeongwoo’s still body.

…

.

…

And then just like that, the pressure on his throat was gone, his body slumping to the floor.

Minho let out a few strangled breaths as he regained his oxygen levels and looked up, letting out an out of breath gasp.

There. Standing in front of him. Clashing weapons against the masked man, was none other than Han Jisung, pushing hard against the man’s daggers.

Minho blinked a few times and realized that Jisung was wearing what he could only describe as brass knuckles on each hand. But unlike the normal gang related weapon, bolts of electricity shot out from their tips. If they weren’t in a life or death situation he would say it was rather cool looking.

“J-Jisung!” he choked out while trying to stand up. But pain shot through his side once again and he fell back on one knee.

“Tch!” he could hear Jisung click his teeth in annoyance while pushing harder against the villain. “What are you doing you idiot?! What did I say? This is out only chance! If he gets his hands on my computer then we won’t be able to save Jeongwoo! Why aren’t you fighting?!”

The two fighters continued to clash their weapons against each other, and Jisung grunted as he pressed back the masked man with one final push. The man stood still as he looked in Jisung’s direction. With a blink of an eye the man quickly sheathed one of his daggers and took fighting stance against the slightly out of breath Jisung. 

“You’re too weak. You won’t win.”

Jisung let out a tired laugh and mirrors his stance, ready to charge. “At least I’m not wearing some stupid Halloween costume in June”

Minho watched as the two fighters stood at a standstill, neither of them moving.

“This place is already a goner” Jisung finally said, his tone calm. “The Order won’t miss one missing Miracle….especially not when they have sentenced the rest to death.”

The masked man flipped his sword around so that it was facing the other way. “I don’t care about the Miracles. Take them all for all I care. But he” he said while pointing his sword back at Minho “I’ve been given strict orders to take him, and I can’t fail.”

“Me?” None of this made any sense Why did they need him? Was it because he was a wanted man? Maybe that was it.

This caught Jisung off guard as well and his eyes flashed behind him towards an unsuspecting Minho “Orders? What were your orders?”

The man nonchalantly shrugged and took up stance again against Jisung, a dangerous stillness radiating off his body “If you manage to beat me, maybe I’ll tell you. But that won’t happen. I’ll kill you and then take your friend here to my boss.”

“Tch” Jisung spat quietly “You aren’t going to do either.”

The Minho stared at Jisung’s back, eyes narrowing in worry. The boy he thought was nothing but a brat was now risking his whole life, credit for himself, but Minho couldn’t help but think it was also for him and Jeongwoo as well. Up until now, Jisung had done nothing but pick fights with him, abet Minho didn’t help their situation either but his first impression of the boy was nothing good.

Now, eyes resting on his back, noticing the strong set of shoulders he carried, Minho couldn’t help but think that there was more to this boy. Something courageous. Something honorable.

His fists tightened.

But that only made it worse.

As if on Que, the masked man rushed forward, dagger poised and ready. But Jisung was ready for him and aimed one of his electrified fists to parry against the incoming dagger with unsuspected force. The masked man stagger back a few steps and Jisung used the opening to aim his other fist towards his stomach. Unfortunately the masked man predicted that and easily dodged it to the side, rushing back at him, this time with both daggers poised. His inhumane speed catching Jisung off guard just enough to where he was unable to dodge and had to meet the daggers head on.

There was a loud screech that echoed throughout the room as Jisung’s electric volts clashed against the hard metal and both fighters seemed to be expending most of their strength as they both panted hard. They were at a standstill, neither giving up. Finally the deadlock was halted when the masked man used one last act of force to push Jisung and monetarily confuse him enough to kick in squarely on his side. Minho watched, frozen, as Jisung’s body was flung off to the side but before he could do anything about it the man came at him again, this time wrapping his arm around Minho’s neck and getting behind him in the process, using his arm to push Minho farther into his chest, choking him in the process. Minho was stunned and he could feel a dagger up against his side.

“Now come with me.”

Minho tried to fight, he did, but his inexperience with this world, and the overall exhaustion was finally setting in, and he could barley manage to push the deadlocked arm away before securing it once again around his throat. His eyes flashed towards Jeongwoo’s still body. He knew the boy was still alive, he could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, but Minho knew he didn’t have much longer.

“J-Jeongwoo” he coughed out.

This seemed to catch the masked man’s attention and he made Minho take a few steps towards the cage, pointing a dagger at the small boy.

“Give up on him. He is a lost cause”

Minho violently shook his head, trying to rip himself free and away from his captor.

“What can you do?” The voice jabbed “You can’t save him. You can’t save anyone!”

The pressure around his body vanished and Minho spun around to see Jisung latch himself on the older man’s side, ripping him off of Minho and off to the side. Now Jisung stood in front of Minho, blood smeared around his mouth from the impacted into the ground. He gave a smirk to the masked man who staggered backwards.

“Don’t sell me out just yet you Halloween freak. He may be a bit useless, but I still have much more fight left in me.”

The masked man stared at Jisung, and even through the mask Minho could tell he was annoyed by Jisung. Once again, Minho felt a dangerous stillness radiate off the strangers body, but this time there was something more menacing to his stance compared to last time.

“Jisung” Minho tried warned, not taking his eyes off the powerful masked stranger.

“Shut up” Jisung spat back, causing Minho flinch. “You get no say here. Not unless you fight ba-“

Jisung was cut off with a grunt in a flash when suddenly the masked man appeared in front of him, almost like teleportation and jabbed a dagger into his stomach.  

Minho’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening to call out the younger name but finding it dry. Jisung, who hadn’t moved yet, slowly looked down at the dagger impaled in his body.

“Jisung!” Minho cried out. 

As if he heard his name, Jisung’s head slightly turned and locked his eyes with Minho’s desperation in his face as if he knew. “Idiot” he breathed quietly. “What are you doing? Protect the computer. Save Jeongwoo.”

Minho was about to respond, but almost as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone as the man pulled it out. That’s when Jisung crumpled to the ground in agony, the pain being too much. But he wouldn’t get a chance to rest because Minho watched with horror was the masked man kicked him when he was down – literally, sending him into the cages nearby. Minho could only watch as Jisung’s blood stained body erupted into sparks of electricity, as his whole body was electrocuted. After a few more painful moments, Jisung’s body peeled itself off from the cage and crumbled to the ground, motionless.

Minho could only stare on frozen stiff as the scene just replayed through his mind over and over again. The masked man seemed to stand back up from where he kicked Jisung and turned towards Minho.

“Now see what you did. He’s dead because of you. Come with me before anyone else kills themselves for you.”

If he was saying something, Minho didn’t seem to hear him, or rather couldn’t. All of his senses were focused on the motionless body that laid on the ground.

He was dead. Somebody good was dead. And not just anyone, but Jisung. Jisung was dead. And it was HIS fault.

 It doesn’t matter if you do not want to be a part of this. The fight is coming. The fight is coming whether you want it or not.

Jisung’s words rang clearly though his mind as he stared wide eyes at the corpse. He was right. I didn’t want this fight. I just wanted to save Jeongwoo and Hyunjae. But now….

He clenched his fist and seethed in anger, his body shaking violently as he continued to star down at Jisung’s lifeless form, blood staining his shirt.

Who was this boy? This boy who would sacrifice everything, his family, his life, for something like him? And who was Minho to use this boy as a human shield? Why couldn’t he be bit braver? A bit more valiant? Why couldn’t he be more like Jisung? Like Felix?….like Hyunjae hyung? He wanted to be. He HAD to be.

Minho’s eyes landed in front of him, where Jisung’s knuckles landed after being flown off from the kick.

He was going to be.

As if the masked man could read Minho’s thoughts, he could see the figure rush towards him, but Minho was faster and managed to grab the knuckles, throwing them on and activating their electric currents just in time to hit the man directly in his neck area.

He stumbled back towards Jisung’s body, coughing up blood as he did so. His hand shot towards the place of impact and stared at Minho as he rubbed the area.

“So now you fight?”

Minho narrowed his eyes, the shock of losing Jisung clearing the fog of fear that had infected his mind. There was something about him, something about his voice that was achingly familiar.  

He stared back, blood dripping down his face as he tried to copy Jisung’s battle stance from before.

“I may be weaker. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try”

This seemed to rouse the man and Minho swore behind the mask, the guy was smiling. He let out an amused huff and copied the battle stance.

“Then fight”

He rushed forward towards Minho, but Minho was quicker. Something about this reminded him of all those times he ran with his hyung and he quickly caught on to the fact that he had speed of his own. Minho ducked out of the daggers way and jabbed a fist forward into the man’s stomach, but missed by a hair when he took a step back and out of the way.

The man utilized Minho’s position and tried kicking him off his feet, but Minho acted quickly and placed a foot behind him, spinning back up and out of the man’s reach. Minho took the opportunity and rushed forward only to see the man vanish in a flash and appear beside him, punching him in his side.

Minho’s eyes widened as he felt the full punch but quickly recovered himself, using his hands to push himself back up, expecting the next wave of attacks.

But it never came.

Minho looked up to see the masked man standing still. He seemed to be observing Minho and Minho thought he could almost see a smile through the mask.

“You certainly are funny.” He almost laughed

Minho narrowed his eyes at this, but before he could ask what he meant his body went back into overdrive, sensing the dangerous aura the man was once again radiating.

“But you as you are now isn’t enough”

Next thing Minho knew was being pushed hard into the ground, a knife on his throat. Minho tried to slip out from under him, but the man pinned him down with his thighs. There was no escape.

Nevertheless. Minho tried.

“Stop Squirming!” he growled.

Minho did not stop.

“For God’s sake Minho, stop squirming or else you’ll open up you wound!”

The concerned tone is his voice made Minho freeze in his spot, as did the masked stranger. Minho looked directly up him, eyes widening.

“Who-“

Before he could finish his question, Minho’s vision of the man above him was interrupted by a large metal pole being hit directly on his face followed by and a rather loud cracking sound. The weight above him vanished and Minho’s eyes locked onto Jisung’s, a metal pole in his hands. 

“I told you” the younger boy heaved in pain “Don’t count me out just yet”

Minho’s body relaxed in relief slightly before tensing up again seeing Jisung’s current state.

He was up. He was alive. But the knife still went into him He was hurt, and badly. Minho shot up, immediately place on the younger, wanting to get a closer look at his face. Jisung looked back at him, a little tired, face sweating from the pain, but he was alive. And Minho felt a great sense of relief at that.

A groan interrupted the two boys, and Minho spun around, standing protectively in front of Jisung as the masked man cradled his head in pain. Slowly the man lowered his hands and Minho let out an audible gasp.

This masked man……...those beautiful brown eyes. Agonizing familiar voice. He most certainly knew who this person was. 

And it shattered what was left of his world. 

“H-Hyunjae…..Hyung?”

Minho’s voice was so small, was as frail, almost like a little child being scolded for the first time. But what else was he supposed to do as he stared down at the person who was most definitely his best friend, dressed up ready to kill.. His best friend that absolutely tried to kill Jisung. His best friend that was supposedly working for The Order. His b-best friend w-who knew about…. Who knew about Jeongwoo….

Minho bottom lip began to tremble.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

He was trying to keep it together. He really was.

He looked back up and locked eyes with Hyunjae’s immediately, silent tears rolling down his face.

“H-hyung” he slipped out, voice cracking and eyes begging “….please”

Hyunjae’s eyes tore themselves away from Minho’s, almost in shame. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but immediately closed it as a banging noise could be heard from the stairs. Hyunjae locked eyes with Minho’s again, but this time they were hard and cold. Something he never once witnessed in his eyes.

“I’m sorry Minho. But I have to do this.” Minho shook his head, this was not his Hyunjae hyung. This was not his….his…..

“No!”

Jisung yell snapped Minho out of his thoughts and realized with horror that Hyunjae now had his gun. His gun which had just now shot through Jisung’s computer, directly through its core, and causing it to shut down.

Hyunjae turned back towards Minho, a flash of guilt crossing his face before vanishing back into his calm facade.

“Good bye” he whispered, before turning back around and vanishing without a trace, leaving Minho with a badly wounded Jisung, and a broken heart. Jisung lurched forward towards his broken computer, his own despair written on his face. After examining it, Minho watched Jisung throw the broken toy in a fit of rage.

“Well?”

Minho winced at how broken and defeated his own voice sounded.

Jisung looked up from where he was on the ground, shaking his head in sorrow.

“I-I’m sorry Minho….. “

No. This couldn’t be happening.

He wasn’t about to lose Jeongwoo too.

He couldn’t lose both of them.

His brain was unable to compute the situation, nor any words for that matter and he just stared at Jisung, tears flowing down freely as the weight of Hyunjae’s betrayal finally hit him.

Hyunjae knew Jeongwoo was a Miracle. Hyunjae knew where they were keeping him. Hyunjae tried to stop Minho from saving Jeongwoo and succeeded.

None of this was supposed to happen. Minho knew that going in. They were going to rescue Jeongwoo and they were going to wait their days at the safe house until Felix found his Hyunjae hyung. Then they would live out their days quietly, but together.

That’s how this was supposed to happen.

He slammed his fists on the ground, falling to his knees. Tears splashed down on his arms and hands as he stayed there.

“No….” he choked out “No…..”

“Go hyung”

Jeongwoo’s voice was still so small, so frail, but rang clear through Minho’s mind. The elder turned to the little boy in his cage. He still was lying down, but his body had stopped shuddering and he was no long coughing up blood. He stared at Minho with a sad, knowing smile and he reach out his hand towards the elder. Minho jerked forward, tears still fresh on his face.

“Y…..you need to go” Jeongwoo continued and Minho found himself shaking his head from side to side violently as if the very idea burned his skin. 

“Not without yo-”

“I’m already gone hyung” he whispered, his words causing Minho to flinch. “Even if you could save me…..I’m already changing...and you can’t stop that” his breathing started heave as another wave was about to hit him “….I don’t…… I can’t.........” sobs now could be heard from the small boy, as he laid on the ground, unable to move. 

“Please Hyung” he cried “...I….I don’t want to live like that…...I don’t want…..I can’t become one of those things… You’ve done enough for me….you’ve always done enough for me……but this time…. Let me go“

Silence filled the room as Jeongwoo turned back to look at the ceiling of his metal prison. Minho stared at him, once again not being able to find the right words to say to him. He was never quite good at that.

“Promise me something hyung”

Minho winced “Anything” he managed to choke out.

Jeongwoo turned his head and looked back at Minho, tears strolling down his face as he gave his elder a wide toothy grin like he used to.

“Stay a family. You and Hyunjae hyung….Grandma Yoo ….live a life worth living….never settle for anything less than a perfect life….. Promise me hyung…..do it…..for me” the last part was cut off as another spasm hit his body.

Once over, fresh blood now coated his mouth and he looked back at Jisung, who now stood over Minho, starring sadly at the broken Jeongwoo.

“T-Take care of my hyung” he coughed out “he doesn’t think very highly of himself and likes to always put the blame on him. H-He needs someone….needs someone to watch over him.”

Jeongwoo’s words shattered Minho’s resolve and he broke down again, sobs racking his chest.

“You have my word.” Jisung’s voice was genuine. “On my life Jeongwoo, I will watch out for him.”

“My Hyunjae hyung too” he added with a warm smile. Minho felt sick to his stomach and he knew Jisung was making a face as well. Jeongwoo must had been so out of it with pain that he didn’t know Hyunjae’s current situation.

“H-Hyunjae too” Jisung lied.

Jeongwoo gave him a toothy grin and turned his head back towards the ceiling. “Thank you. I’m glad I got to make another cool hyung before…..well you know…” he added the last part with a small laugh.

“Jeongwoo…”

“Im not afraid hyung. Of dying I mean….” He clarified “I’ve never been afraid…..I knew I would die one day….so why waste my life being fearful of it?”

Minho let out a muffled cry, rubbing his face free of tears.

“Don’t forget hyung. You still haven’t promised me”

Jeongwoo looked down at Minho, eyes turning into crescent moons as he smiled. “Now promise me. Promise me to live every day like it’s your last. Never settle for anything less than a perfect life.”

Minho stared helpless at the dying boy, his heart both being broken and mended by this little boy words. He nodded once, tears still streaming down his face but his sobs quieting down. This single nod seemed to satisfy Jeongwoo as he gave another toothy grin.

“Good! Then get out of here. You don’t have much time before the building collapses.”

Jisung’s eyes widened slightly and he eyed Jeongwoo curiously. “How do you know about that?”

Jeongwoo let out a quiet chuckle.

“Funny thing about Miracles and their DNA. I guess even if you remove the DNA from our bodies…part of our power still remains within our body. It’s a fraction of it, but our power nonetheless. In my many seizures, I saw it……I saw the building collapsing….I saw how I would die.”

“Precognition” Jisung breathed

Jeongwoo nodded, not looking at either of them.

“Now go!” he suddenly yelled “You don’t have much time!”

Jisung grabbed a hold of Minho’s arms, pulling him up.

“N-No!” he protested “ Jeongwoo….Jewongwoo I still have so much I want to say to you” he cried.

“I know hyung” Jeongwoo smiled sadly at him, pain etched into his own face. “I already know it all.”

Minho couldn’t believe this was happening. He thought back to just last week when the 3 of them, he, Jeongwoo, and Hyunjae were sitting at home, tears in their eyes as they made from of Hyunjae’s cooking. He thought back to that fateful day when he and Hyunjae watched Jeongwoo skip off happily at the thought of seeing his sister again.

Jeongwoo. Hyunjae. Minho.

They were a family. A family not by blood. But by heart.

A now his family was gone….just like that.

“Jeongwoo!” he called as Jisung continued to push him towards the stairs. Memories of their time flashed before his eyes and he took one last turn around and stared at his little brother who was drifting farther and farther from consciousness.

“I love you.”

 »»»»»»»

 The alarm blared throughout the compound as Minho and Jisung made their way back up towards the entrance. The entire building had been already been evacuated minus the other Miracles so no Agents were about to stop them. Minho had Jisung, who was still rather wounded wrap an arm around his neck like he did with Changbin and together they made their way up in silence, the weight of the day finally hitting both of them. Minho’s face was covered in dried up tear stains, the pain of losing both Jeongwoo and Hyunjae in one day being too much for him. He turned and looked down at the live person next to him, unexpectedly grateful for Jisung, for Jisung being alive.

“Thank you….” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. 

Jisung didn’t say anything but glanced upwards at the taller boy in question. Minho sighed and took it as a sign to continue. 

“For saving me. I would have been as good as dead back there if not for you.”

“And I would have been dead myself.” Jisung muttered. When Minho looked down at him he rolled his eyes, turning away and puffing out his cheeks in embarrassment Hyunjae knew exactly where to strike me, and if you weren’t there I would have died from blood loss…..So I guess I should thank you as well.”

Minho smiled softly at the younger boy, a sense of fondness hitting him as he watched the embarrassed boy. But his words reminded Minho of another heartbreak he has yet to deal with…

Hyunjae.

“One more thing” Minho voice was so calm, so cold, that it caught Jisung off guard and he looked up at the older boy in question.

“I know I shouldn’t be asking this” he started “but I will anyways” Minho let out a shaky breath “I’m going to ask that you don’t tell the others about…..about Hyunjae hyung…..” he paused, looking down in shame knowing that this was a lot to ask “I just…...I need to talk to him…..I need to find out for myself…I need to know Why” 

“I’m pretty sure him almost killing us was a clue” Jisung muttered. Minho nodded, his lips quivering knowing the younger was right.

“But…” Jisung continued “I get it…..”

Minho’s head snapped up and he looked towards Jisung, who was staring straight ahead, not looking at him. Feeling his gaze, Jisung turned his face slightly to face back at Minho, his expression sincere 

“I promise”

 »»»»»»»

 »»»»»»»

 »»»»»»»

 The night sky was dark and heavy as rain pounded down on 6 small silhouettes. When they had returned to the top he was amazed to find The Order had gone, but when he asked Chan how that was possible, he was met with quiet faces. Chan had his secrets. 

Woojin and Jeongin had gone back to the hideout with Changbin to get looked at but the rest of them stayed to wait for them. Minho, who had never been real touchy with people outside of Hyunjae grabbed hold of Felix, hugging him as tightly as possible, needing someone to hold him. Felix, slightly caught off guard welcomed it however and hugged back just as tightly.

True to their word, The Order made the building collapse in on itself, and already news outlets were reporting the ’abandoned area’ as a freak cave in, that no one had luckily been hurt.

Of course these were all lies.

But Minho now knew that lies were the only way The Order controlled things. And he could not stand for it. Not anymore.

Now Minho stood still over the pile of rubble that was once The Order’s secret hideout. Felix and Jisung standing at his side, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Chan off nearby. His wet hair clunged to his face and he was soaked to the bone. But he didn’t care. Not anymore. 

Jeongwoo was dead. 

Hyunjae. HIS Hyunjae Hyung was gone……

Just like that. His family was shattered. Never to be together again. Now Minho was left on his own and his own internal struggle. Should he fight? Should he die? What should he do?

He felt his mind race as he stared down at the crumpled building. He was not the same Minho that went down there. He was not the old Minho that avoided. That ran. That hide. That Minho died with Jeongwoo.

And then he thought of Hyunjae. And his betrayal.

He thought of his promise to Jeongwoo as the last of his life breathed out of him.

“Promise me to live every day like it’s your last. Never settle for anything less than a perfect life.”

Minho felt his hands ball up into tiny fists. 

“Chan….” Minho suddenly spoke out, knowing the blonde heard him. “I know you’ve asked me this once before and I turned it down. But-”

He stayed still for a few moments before spinning around and facing the rest of the group, his eyes falling directly onto Chan’s. 

“Let me join your group. Let me be a member of SKZ”

[tkl-tee]

Like A Caged Animal (Ash, Eiji, Shorter)

Like A Caged Animal (Ash, Eiji, and Shorter from Banana Fish)

A/N: I’m so glad to hear that you like my stuff! Thank you so much for this prompt, it was so fun to write Shorter! And of course Shorter is the tickle master! He has that perfect Ler personality :))

Disclaimer: This is a tickle fic.

Summary: Being cooped up in the safehouse has caused Ash to get on Shorter’s and Eiji’s nerves a bit. Shorter knows the perfect way to get back at him and recruits Eiji to help. The Lynx is ambushed and Shorter teaches Eiji everything he knows about pushing his buttons.

Word Count: 2031

“...ASH. WHAT THE HELL!” Shorter’s sudden, angry voice echoed throughout the safehouse, startling a tired Eiji from almost falling asleep into his book. He bolted upright, taking a second to remember where he was, before setting the book next to him on his bed and rubbing his eyes.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep lately thanks to a certain… troublesome guy. Last night Ash had kept him up late by insisting they watch a scary movie and he wasn’t able to sleep well after it.

Then, this morning, Ash “needed” to be woken up early to catch a special broadcast on the radio. Of course, Eiji was the friend he turned to, to ensure he got up in time.

Oh, ALSO, the night before last he was up late mediating a dumb argument between Ash and Shorter! He couldn’t even remember what it was about. All he knew was that he was tired, that Ash had been antsy due to having to hide out in the safehouse for a while, and he was really getting on everyone’s nerves!

By the angry tone in Shorter’s voice, it sounded like he had found trouble yet again. Eiji sighed deeply with his face in his hands before standing up and shuffling out of his room into the living area.

There he found Shorter waving a half-empty bottle of clear liquid and shouting at Ash, who leaned against the counter lazily with his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face.

“I don’t see why you are so upset,” Ash yawned out, unimpressed by Shorter’s display.

“You don’t- I have to get this baijiu imported! I left it here so we could all drink together! You drank over half of the fifth, when did you even do this?” Shorter was still shouting, but Ash blatantly ignored his ranting, walking away once he noticed Eiji enter the room.

“Hey, Eiji. Tell Shorter to go scream at a wall or something, it’s troublesome,” he said as he threw an arm around Eiji’s shoulder. He faced Shorter with his other hand on his hip and a smirk on his face.

Shorter’s face went blank and Eiji swore he could see actual steam coming from his ears. He was waiting for an explosion, but Shorter simply turned on his heels and marched into the kitchen. Eiji sighed and faced Ash.

“Ash… you shouldn’t be such a jerk to Shorter. And you shouldn’t have drunk his alcohol without his permission!” Eiji scolded him, but Ash just rolled his eyes and ruffled his hair, causing Eiji to scowl.

“What are you, my mom?” Ash asked and began walking away to exit the room. He stopped in his tracks when Shorter reappeared in the doorway, now empty-handed.

“You’ll pay,” was all he said, his tone foreboding.

“Don’t be such a drama queen…” Ash replied, assuming a defensive stance.

“Ash, Shorter, come one,” Eiji attempted to intervene, but as soon as Ash turned to address him, Shorter charged, tackling him to the floor. Eiji jumped at the sudden turn of events and stepped well out of the way of the conflict.

Shorter had landed on top of Ash and was sitting on his thighs. Ash had a tight hold on Shorter’s wrists, and the two fought intensely for control of the situation. Eiji could see that Ash was trying to knee Shorter in the groin, but was unable to in his position. Shorter, on the other hand, seemed to be reaching down towards Ash’s middle rather than any vital spots.

“Guys! Come one, knock it off! I don’t want anyone getting… hurt…” Eiji quickly went from concerned to confused as Shorter was able to overcome Ash, but instead of hurting him Ash began to… laugh?

“Sh-shorter, you don’t wahan’t to do thihis,” Ash struggled to keep his composure as Shorter’s hands, still held in a death grip by Ash, had found purchase on his sides.

“Yeah no, I really do,” Shorter replied with a smile, enthusiastic to get his payback. Ash didn’t stop fighting but could do nothing to stop Shorter’s eager fingers from spidering under his loose-fitting shirt and across the sensitive skin of his stomach.

“Shihihit, knohOHock it ohohfff,” Ash tried to sound threatening but the giggles flooding the room made him much less convincing. Shorter smirked as he saw him glance out of the corner of his eye at Eiji and turn a bit red, probably out of embarrassment.

“Pay close attention, Eiji, because I am about to impart upon you some crucial knowledge about our good friend here,” Shorter said with a smug smile, his voice wavering only slightly as the blond beneath him fought aggressively to dislodge him.

Ash laugh-shrieked before dissolving into nonstop laughter as Shorter squeezed his hips then kneaded them with his thumbs relentlessly. He had abandoned his pointless grip on Shorter’s wrists and instead flailed his hands, grabbing at the floor and nothing in particular.

Now it was Eiji’s turn to blush, both due to being called out by Shorter, as well as due to the unexpectedly cute reactions from Ash.

“This~ is~ a bad~ spot~ right, Ash?” Shorter singsonged, squeezing the poor blond's hips a couple more times. Ash arched his back and twisted desperately to get away from the unbearable feeling.

“FUHUaa- nyahahAHaha!” He wasn’t even able to form a response, and Shorter soon relented, instead walking his fingers up Ash’s torso to his neck.

“And here too, see Eiji?” he asked, turning his attention to Eiji rather than his victim who was taking the opportunity to catch his breath, but still giggling helplessly and twitching as the sensitive skin of his neck was targetted.

“Come and help me! Don’t you want payback as well?” Shorter continued, raising his eyebrows at the nervous looking man.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Eiji fiddled with his hands at the thought- it would be fun to get back at Ash but he wouldn’t even know where to begin. Shorter noticed his hesitance and paused his assault momentarily.

“I told you, I’m bestowing my knowledge unto you,” Shorter said in a silly voice, urging Eiji to join him. “I can show you how to make him forget what it’s like to not be a laughing mess,” he continued, returning his gaze to Ash who stared back nervously.

“Eiji, I s-swear to god I wihill kill you if you come anywhere near me,” Ash tilted his head back to glare at Eiji from his position on the floor. Again, he meant to be threatening, but his breathy voice and flustered face only made Eiji want to join in even more.

“After everything I’ve done for you lately, you’re threatening me?” Eiji asked with a hurt expression on his face and made his way over to where they were, kneeling next to them. Shorter smiled at him excitedly. Ash just stared incredulously.

Eiji gave Ash an almost apologetic smile before looking at Shorter hesitantly. Shorter gave him a thumbs up and grabbed Ash’s wrists. The blond’s struggling began anew as Shorter tried to lift his hands above his head.

“Help me with these please~,” Shorter said casually, and Eiji obliged. It took the both of them to pin Ash’s hands. Eiji held on tightly as Shorter sat back, contemplating where to strike next.

“Hmm… Let’s see, let’s see. We’ve already tried here,” Shorter accentuated that last word by poking Ash’s stomach with each of his pointer fingers, causing him to flinch.

“And we’ve already tried here,” this time pokes to his hips, and again Ash jumped, biting his lip to hide his growing smile.

“Eiji, where else have we tried?” Shorter gave his accomplice a quizzical look, and Ash groaned at the teasing. It was really making everything worse.

“Damn it guys, let me goOO,” Ash demanded, though it turned squeaky as Eijii used one of his hands to scratch at his neck and collar bones.

“Here?” he asked, laughing softly as Ash tried to trap his hand.

“Yes, yes. Next, I will show you a spot that will always make him squirm and giggle like a dumb kid,” Shorter said, sticking his tongue out at Ash. The latter grew a bit more panicked as Shorter scooted down from his thighs to sit on his calves.

“Shorter no, SHORTER,” Eiji nearly lost his hold on Ash’s hands as he began rolling back and forth as much as his current position would allow. Eiji solved this by half sitting-half kneeling over his hands to better pin them down.

Shorter, meanwhile, had begun squeezing up and down Ash’s thighs, from the tops of his knees, up to his hips, and back down again. Ash was laughing heartily now, squirming and kicking his legs as much as possible with Shorter sitting on them, which wasn’t much.

“Now, it’s all about technique here. And that technique is, Ash is a super ticklish mess and anything you do will work! Right, Ash?” Ash just shook his head in response. Shorter’s embarrassing teasing never ceased to make the feelings all the more sensitive. Tears teased at his eyelashes as he blushed and gasped and laughed.

“Ehehjihi, plehease hehehelp,” he attempted to plead with the less malicious of the two. Eiji felt a little guilty, but still wanted his turn at payback.

“Yeah Eiji, please help!” Shorter agreed happily.

“Okay,” Eiji said quietly, smiling down at Ash as he swept messy hair out of his face, before returning to tickling his neck. Ash had only a moment to look betrayed before his laughter became more giggly and he tried fruitlessly to shake off both Eiji’s and Shorter’s hands.

“Nearly, but no,” Shorter said, seemingly critiquing Eiji’s technique. Ash and Eiji both looked to Shorter who had stopped tickling him.

Shorter hummed as he moved his hands and pointed at his own neck, similar to where Eiji was tickling Ash. Shorter than moved his hands in a slow circle before stopping to point at his own underarms. Ash blushed deeply at his display, then shot a nervous look up to Eiji.

Eiji nodded at Shorter in understanding and mouthed ‘sorry’ to Ash, though the apology seemed insincere as he slowly dragged his nails from Ash’s collar bones to his underarms, causing the blond to jerk. He didn’t start tickling him right away, leaving his fingers pressed into Ash’s underarms.

Ash kept twitching from the slight tickly feeling of Eiji’s nails, as well as the anticipation. He let out a frustrated groan and hid his face in his arm.

“Damn it you guys, just- ohohohOH SHIHIT,” Eiji finally dug in, causing Ash to jolt and arch is back, nearly knocking a highly amused Shorter from his perch. His desperate laughter was gaspy as he shook his head back and forth.

“You’re better at this than I thought, Eiji,” Shorter said around a delighted smile. Rather than full tickling Ash again, he simply poked randomly across his stomach and sides.

“How does it feel, Ash? Was my baijiu worth it? Hm?”

“P-Please stahahap,” Ash gasped, twitching from every poke.

“Say you’re sorry for drinking my alcohol,” Shorter demanded.

“And for being an asshole the last few days,” Eiji added.

“I-I’m sohohorihihiy,” Ash apologized around tired laughter. Shorter stopped his pokes and folded his arms across his chest.

“For?”

“Drihihinking ihiHIHIT” Ash jumped when Eiji tested out his ribs with a couple squeezes.

“And?”

“Behehe- behehing an- ahahHA I cahahahan’t!” Ash stopped trying to speak and his struggling was weak as he laid there and laughed freely. Eiji tickled his ribs for a few moments longer before slowing his attack to a stop.

“Good enough,” Eiji said, releasing Ash’s hands. Ash immediately pulled his arms down and hugged his torse, still twitching and giggling slightly.

“I hope you have a change of attitude from here on,” Shorter said, also moving off of Ash. “Then again, if you don’t we will get to do this again~.”

“I’m gonna destrohoy you bohohoth,” Ash wheezed out, his voice cracking slightly.

“Now now, that not a good start,” Shorter scolded, moving towards Ash again with threatening hands. Once again, Eiji had to become the mediator so his friends didn’t destroy each other. How troublesome.