#*three to four months later receives an update*

[gottagobuycheese]

why.

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | Javier Pena x reader

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summary | this is my own entry for the summer lovin' challenge, somehow torturing myself further by writing a fic amongst all my other wips and helping organize this challenge. there's sweaty javi p and office sex, that's all you need to know.

content warning | heavy smut, teasing upon teasing upon teasing, lots of mentions of heat/sweat, perfect use of ice in a situation like this, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, public-ish sex

word count — 5k

You curse quietly over your second paper cut of the day, nursing your pointer finger between your lips and silently reprimanding yourself for agreeing to help Steve—he was good at begging, you could give him that, and a hell of a sweet talker when he wanted to be. He always wore you down, a promise of coffee every day for a week on him, or lunch the following day, anything to sweeten the deal. This time it was neither.

“I rescheduled twice already,” He’s pointed out the reasons on his fingers, extending them out as he numbers them and using his finger to add emphasis as he pressed down on them as he went, “we finally have someone to watch Olivia for us this evening, and you know, you won’t even be alone—Pena’s staying late.”

He wiggled his three fingers like it was the best deal you’ve ever been offered, a smile growing on his face as he attempted to pass over the file that you took with reluctance, blowing out a puff of air and clutching it to your chest, arms crossed over the manila folder as you glance at your dainty watch—four in the afternoon. Not bad. Not great, either. You’ve stayed later—given your commute is only about five minutes. You tended to pick up the slack, for everyone, but mostly those boys. You weren’t sure how it ended up this way, but even Carillo acknowledged it. 

You did grunt work, small and miniscule things in the lives of two DEA agents who were out in the field hunting a notorious cartel leader every day—but you, you were dealing with papercuts and carpal tunnel, it wasn’t nearly as comparable.

And Javier Pena made sure to remind you every chance he had.

You pluck at the group of files labeled La Quica and El Limon, a hefty collection of data that has been compiled for the past several months and felt never ending—you were nearing the point of understanding every piece of information in this room back to front, knowing far too much about the cartel than you originally intended. It was terrifying; even seeing the look on either of the men’s faces when they returned back from a hard day of busts and undercover work.

And, maybe Javier just figured you didn’t care or wouldn’t be able to comprehend half of what was stored away in these files—but he sure wasn’t quiet about it.

It’s been around an hour now, tearing through the unorganized mess that the file room had become.

Mumbling the names under your breath as you drag your finger over the sticky note and kneeling down until your practically on all fours, digging through a box on the floor with your head tucked and oblivious to Javier as he rounds the corner to the secluded room, heavy footsteps falling on deaf ears, too entranced in the task to notice him.

He clears his throat with distinction and your head snaps up, looking clearly disturbed and annoyed—Javier offers a superficial smile and points a finger at the pile on the floor, his shoulder leaned against one of the tall shelves holding boxes upon boxes of crucial information.

Your eyebrows raise in expectation, head shaking slightly at him as you urge him to speak and get on with whatever comment he was dying to make as he continued to stare down, licking his lips briefly before they finally part and—

“Those the files we’ve been asking for?”

That Steve has been asking for—Not Javier, never Javier. He’s too macho and mighty for paperwork and sitting at a desk all day.

“It is part of them,” You say with emphasis, “I still have an entire section to go through. Steve asked me to pull everything we have on those two.”

“Well, everyone’s leaving—and I know where most of the shit is. I got it, you can head out.”

You seethe, jaw clenched and your eyebrow furrows as you stand, a pile of strewn papers in your arms.

“You know, instead of going through Steve to have me fetch the stuff you need—I don’t know, you could just man up and ask me directly.”

He has no idea what you’re talking about.

Except, he does.

He’s shoved off work to Steve who was enough of a pushover for his friend and partner, to pick it up when he had time, but this time it had landed on a busy day, a busy weekend, there just wasn’t enough time for him to handle it. 

“La Quica, El Limon—Carillo was talking to you about them this morning. What’s got you so tied up that you couldn’t handle it yourself?” You ask accusatory, back turned to him as you walk toward the table in the center of the room.

“We’ve got leads to check out, muñequita.” 

Out of your wheelhouse. Yeah—Okay, that explains it.

You roll your eyes at the nickname and drop the stack with a distinct thunk before moving past him, narrowly avoiding his broad shoulders as you walk past him, through the half-open door as you grab for one of the styrofoam cups on the water dispenser before spooning the ice into it and filling it with water, sipping with a distinct look of disdain as you eye Javier up and down, seeing that he’s followed you over, half in the doorway and half out.

“If you’re going to stand there the least you could do is help me,” You tell him, “that way we can both get out of here faster and not have to spend any more time together than we need to.”

“It’ll be faster if I do it myself,” He tells you, a metaphorical shoo-ing away as he nods toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, “I know this room like the back of my hand.”

“Have you been in here lately? It’s a mess. No one ever puts anything back in the right spot.” 

Javier’s got his signature pout on, looking downtrodden and pathetic behind his thick mustache perched on his upper lip, the constant look of being unimpressed by everything.

“I’m not leaving, Javier. You’re welcome to help, stay late, whatever—but I’ve been in this room, in this heat for an hour already and you’re not about to swoop in and snatch the credit for something you couldn’t be bothered doing yourself in the first place, alright?”

Javier looks surprised at that, not as much by the bite in your tone but the lack of snide comment, not calling him an asshole or a prick and storming off. Again, you brush past him with your drink in hand and take your seat, feeling the thin layer of sweat covering your body—it wasn’t that unbearable, but another hour and you would be a hell of a lot more crankier.

“Fine—” You respond, eyes tracking elsewhere as he moves form his place against the open door, only catching the lingering shadow of the door as it closed until it was far too late, “fuck, Javi! The—”

A loud click and Javier’s reaction time, given his ability to pull out a gun and have it propped at the ready in half a second, is far too slow. He turns, seeing the now closed door and turns back to you.

“Door,” You say, voice falling flat.

Javier backtracks and heads for the door, hoping and praying this was one of the days it wouldn’t lock—it was a tricky thing. Only working half of the time. Luckily, any other time it was during the day, surrounded by people who could help. But, now—it’s the two of you and no one else.

If you were pissed at Javier before, you were fuming now.

He jiggles the doorknob. Nothing. Fist pounding against the door. Nothing.

A quick shout out to anyone. Anything. Hoping someone would still be near.

Nothing. Not a sound.

“We’re stuck,” You sneer at him, “—sit down or that jiggling is going to drive me insane.”

He kicks the door for good measure, hoping by some miracle it might actually pop open.

You huff out an exhausted laugh under your breath and spread your hands out over the files, sorting out the important information and pictures from the notes and extra files that weren’t really needed. Javier approaches slowly and you take a sip of the water, thankful that you were at least able to reward yourself with that before you ended up in this mess.

Javier takes a look at his own watch and clicked his tongue before resigning to the fact that things weren’t going to go his way, dancing his fingers along the edge of the table as he took a seat, fingertips pressed into the surface as he settled, watching you casually under the flickering overhead light.

A few minutes slowly turn into several, quiet aside from the occasional shuffling of paper or sips of your water and you find that when no one else is around, Javier isn’t a total asshole. There’s no harsh quip or snide comment being lobbed your way but you can also tell that he’s just as frustrated as you, knowing that he needed to sift through this intel too.

But, the heat was sweltering—so distracting and despite the setting sun outside, had you reaching for a few buttons on your blouse as you leaned back, sighing as you picked up an empty file folder and fanned yourself in earnest, exposing your neck as you hung your head back.

You don’t hear Javier, but you feel him. His eyes on you as you lift your head back up.

Bewilderment. Annoyance. You can’t place it in the moment, he doesn’t even speak. But, you find yourself responding anyway.

“What? It’s hot.”

Javier throws a casual hand up in defense but his eyes follow your hand as they descend into your styrofoam cup, water long gone but the ice standing strong. You take a piece and cup it in your palm before rubbing it over your neck, instantly sighing at the crisp cold touch of it against your skin and aptly ignoring how it drips down the valley of your breasts, looking up to catch Javier at just the right time, his eyes looked on your movements and more pointedly—your chest.

“Here, try it,” You tell him, noticing the sheen of sweat on his neck, “it helps.”

He plucks a cigarette out of his half-empty pack and places it between his lips.

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, “ You shrug, but quickly lean forward to pluck the cigarette from his mouth and place it down on the table, “–hey, can you not?”

Javier looks at you in disbelief, snatching the cigarette off the table and tucking it away anyways.

“You smoke in this place all day, you can at least wait until we’re out of here.”

“Do you ever loosen up?” Javier pokes at you daringly, “I mean, what does it really take for you to pull that skirt out of your ass?”

“Not you,” You reply sharply, a smile spreading across your face, “but, putting away the cigarette is a start.”

Javier leans back in the chair with a dignified sigh, scratching at his forehead in frustration at the lack of progress and the fact that he literally has no way out of here.

“You know, he’s been off the grid for three weeks,” You speak out loud, knowing that Javier is well aware, “is there really anything in here that is going to help? Or is it just that all of the leads are dead?”

His demeanor breaks slightly, a shuffle in his shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Both—maybe. This shit is probably pointless.”

“And that’s why you wanted me to take care of it,” You respond conclusively, “but you’re impatient—you don’t have to argue with me, I know you are.”

“Really, muñequita, you think you know me so well?” Javier asks testingly, tongue swiping over his bottom lip, “What else do you know about me?”

“That you like your ego boosted,” You retort, “and I’m not about to do that. So—”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Javier says with a smirk, eyes glinting with a faint, creeping darkness.

“Shut up,” You say in a clipped town before looking around curiously, “and what are we supposed to do now? Sleep here? I really can’t believe you fucking locked us in.”

“No, no—” Javier's finger wags in a motion that makes you want to bite them off, jaw clenching forcefully, “if you hadn’t wasted so much time then maybe we could have flagged down someone.”

“Okay, but you still let that door close.”

Once again, both arms crossed over your chest, a staredown is initiated. 

It wasn’t the first, it wasn’t the last, but you wanted to ruin him.

Knock him down a beg—hell, kick him off the pedestal and wipe the goddamn floor with him.

That stupid smirk, the boiling tone of cockiness wrapped in self-righteousness.

“Don’t think too hard, cariño.”

You huff out a half-impressed laugh and organize the files after a moment, stacking them to the side and reaching into your cup for another piece of your melting ice, repeating the same motion as earlier as you slide the ice between your breasts, but with the immense amount of eye contact you didn’t give Javier the first time.

Stubborn girl. He knew that much about you.

Javier doesn’t break immediately, but the small flex in his jaw, the slightest of cracks in his hard exterior.

Attack. Attack. Attack.

You wipe your arm against your sleeve, subconsciously pressing your breasts together in the process and Javier looks like he might keel over, eyes flicking up to meet your gaze now—he’s been caught. Gazing. Admiring. Seering to his memory for a later time.

You’re not really sure but you’re not going to let him off easy either.

“Now, Pena—Don’t think too hard.” You tell him in a sickly sweet tone, “It’s just a pair of tits.”

I don’t bite—you want to add. But, you don’t.

Because even if you found Javier attractive…there was just no way. 

No. Not possible.

“What is it?” Javier asks curiously, seemingly snapped out of his stupor, and meeting your gaze like he hadn’t just been staring directly at your breasts for far too long. “About me, I mean?”

You raise an eyebrow, finger circling the styrofoam cup as you center on the table.

“What?” You ask with a soft laugh of disbelief. “It’s—it isn’t your looks, Javier. It’s all of you. You undermine me, you treat me like a fucking lap dog. I might be a bitch but—I am not your bitch.”

He wasn’t expecting that intense of a response, it felt even more eerie as your tone continued on steadily. He considers interrupting but you continue, holding a finger up to stop him.

“You know—I transferred here to help with the assignment, collect the intel and take down Pablo Escobar just like you, but for some reason, you seem to think I’m just a personal assistant. Or one of the few receptionists who all want to throw themselves at you.”

“There something wrong with that?”

You roll your eyes in silence, but the gesture is loud.

“Did I say there was?” You counter, “I think the problem for you is that it isn’t me. That someone might actually find you repulsive, right?”

Javier only looks slightly dumb-founded, following your movements as you stand and fetch the stack of files, returning them to their make-shift home for the moment, buried away on a shelf that could be reorganized later—he turns in his chair, glaring right back at you when you turn on your heels. 

“Your legs don’t work?” You ask him, nodding toward thfew smaller stacks of files scattered about the table, “If you want to get the work done so bad, clean up—or do you want me to—”

“I. Got it.” Javier responds stiffly, standing on his own two feet. He scoops up the remaining files and puts them away opposite of the shelf you had, resting a palm on an empty spot as you lean back to pick up a stray piece of paper. “But, don’t act like I don’t see you kissing Carillo’s—”

You stand and shove the paper into his chest, “Finish that sentence and you will regret it, Javier.”

“It’s alright. No shame in your game and all that.”

Fuck this.

You reach for the cup of melted ice, splashing it promptly in Javier’s face before crushing the cup in your hand out of frustration, a moment of frozen realization coming to you.

Had you actually just done that?

Javier blinks, looking down at his soaked front before promptly removing his jacket in haste watching as you slowly back away, slightly disturbed by his calmness until he’s rearing on you.

Slowly—oh, so fucking slow. 

Your chest rises in slow, deep breaths and is nearly hanging off your shoulders by now, riddled with red, hot rage.

“Tell me I don’t make you even a little bit nervous, muñequita.” 

Is this a challenge? Is this what he’s worried about?

“You don’t.”

Your response is quick, but you find yourself pressed against a file cabinet and a few inches of free space before he’s right there—so close you can feel the heat of his body, your heart races slightly.

Okay, maybe just…a little.

“Again,” Javier beckons, a sneer to his tone as he crowds you in—“Look at me and say it.”

And for the love of god, the words never come.

“You let me flirt with you because you like it. Never correct me when I give you those little nicknames—look at you, you can’t even deny it.”

A half-truth. You didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t some sort of sustenance keeping you alive. Besides, it didn’t make up for half of the times he’s belittled you in front of your shared boss.

The heat is suffocating now and Javier’s eyes follow the trail of sweat down your neck, over your breasts, watching your fingers twitch at your side because—

Why do you feel the need to touch him so badly now?

To receive that touch in return and tenfold. 

“¿Qué pasa, pobrecita?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of the file cabinet behind you, barricading you between the wall and him and if you decided to show any signs of discomfort you knew Javier would back off in a heartbeat—you didn’t even need to say anything.

“Is that what it took?” You ask, voice soft in the small gap he’s created, eyes softening slightly as he hears you speak, “Being locked in here with me, nothing else to do—that’s what it takes for you to see me as anything other than some lowly little assistant to you?”

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” Javier says fondly, holding back a chuckle in his throat before his free hand is reaching for your neck and forcing your chin up and back, his thumb rubbing into the soft spot where your jaw twitches under his touch, swallowing hard.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I can say the same for you,” Javier responds, tilting his head slightly.

You’re so hot under his touch, skin clammy and wet from the ice and broken AC.

“I’m not saying I don’t.”

Javier presses his body against you slowly, your hands reaching for his shirt instinctively, curling into the fabric and feeling it stick to his skin, feel the weight of his chest against yours, and the very obvious strain of his slacks against your thin pencil skirt.

“And I never said I did,” Javier counters, “doesn’t change the fact that you get under my skin, querida.”

Javier leans in slow, that heavy eye contact never breaking until he’s there—nose pressed against your own and you sigh, breathing into his mouth as your eyes fall closed and he knows.

His lips are soft, careful. It feels like a test.

Your resolve melts in an instant, damning Javier for whatever spell he’s placed on you but you want more, hands skirting slowly up his front until they’re molding around his neck, kissing back with a similar eagerness, still laced in trepidation.

Things ramp up quickly, Javier’s fingers finding the edge of your shirt where it’s tucked into your skirt, pulling it free and squeezing at your sides, forcing your ass down against his knee from where it's tucked between your legs, somehow finding its way there in the chaos.

“Jav—Javier,” You breathe, pulling away, “maybe—maybe this isn’t the best place…”

Your eyes trail toward the camera tucked away in the corner of the room, knowing that it had to have some pretty damning evidence by this point—the list was long and you tried not to think about it for too long before Javier’s voice is pulling you back.

“That thing hasn’t worked in weeks,” He reassures and the flickering light above dims slightly, almost on cue, “are you scared of getting caught?”

You shake your head slowly and his smile grows, lips pressed against your own as he speaks and his hands tight at your hips, pressing your core right at the center of his thigh and pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched over your ass. You throb at the pressure, breathing out shakily.

“Then let go, muñequita,” He coos.

You hum, breath catching as he pushes his thigh up, your hips instinctively rocking against the pressure and if the heat weren’t already overwhelming, you would’ve passed out from that alone.

“It’s cute,” His hands aid your movement, a slow but steady rock of your hips as you furrow your brow at his voice, “—yeah that, you do that little thing with your brow whenever I talk to you.”

“Because I can’t s—stand you,” You voice falters, feeling him pick up the pace slightly to match your sudden eagerness, months without a proper sexual partner outside of yourself and you couldn’t help but be just a little bit more open to the idea of fucking someone who wasn’t your first option, or second—not even your last. Javier was nowhere on your list, actually. 

But, here he was. Offering himself over to you.

Besides, you had an entire night stuck alone with him—it wasn’t the worst way to entertain yourselves.

“Doesn’t seem that way right now,” Javier counters, his ego shining through.

“Stop. Talking.” You plead, hands pulling at the seam of buttons on his shirt, pulling at it roughly in two quick, forceful movements until it splits open, mangling some of the buttons in the process but if upsets him, he doesn’t say a word.

Instead, he rips it away just as quick, pulling his leg away to descend to his knees, pushing your blouse up your chest until he can reach bare skin, mouthing at the soft skin of your stomach and—christ, it’s distracting. He yanks at the short zipper on your skirt, making a small noise of happy acknowledgement when he’s able to get it undone and pull your skirt down the rest of the way, breath hot over your underwear as he stares up at you, fingers curled around the thread at your hips.

You nod silently and he presses his mouth against your center, teasing kisses along your inner thighs that slowly turn into playful bites until you’re nearly squirming, begging with a softer version of his name that you never tried to let him catch you using.

“Javi, please.”

He pulls your panties down your legs, over your heels and to the floor with little care, too focused on settling your leg over his shoulder before a hand is curling over the top of your thigh, fingertips digging in as he licks a broad stripe through the center of your pussy, his other hand balled into the fabric of your shirt and you need less—less clothing, less restriction.

You fumble with your buttons, head falling back against the metal of the filing cabinet with a sigh as the tip of his tongue slides over your clit and down, a motion he repeats several times in your poor attempts to undress and chuckles against you when you curse, finally getting your top unbuttoned and letting it sag at your shoulders, your fingers buried in his hair as he groans, lapping at you eagerly as his hand rises blindly until he can squeeze at your breast.

You moan loudly, instinctively covering your mouth at the sound as Javier pulls back in subtle shock himself, surprised that you allowed yourself to be so vocal about how he was affecting you.

“Not a fucking word, Javi.” You berate him, pushing a finger into his forehead gently which he takes in stride, laughing quietly.

“No one is here.” He reminds you, “Listen.”

And you do, Javier slowly rising to his feet and pressing his lips against the side of your neck, working at his belt in time, shucking his pants open just enough for you to slip your hand into his boxers, gripping his cock tight in your hand—still, absolute silence.

“Let me fuck you,” Javier begs—begs with fervor, his breath hot against your ear, “please?”

You nod jerkily, feeling him settle his slacks just low enough that they aren’t a nuisance and pulling the thigh that was resting over his shoulder around his hip, his fingers digging into your ass as you tug at him testingly, enjoying the look on his face when you squeeze a little harder than he’s expecting, enjoying the heavy weight of him in your hand.

“Oh, I can fuck that hate right out, querida ” Javier admonishes, “don’t try me.”

“I dare you,” You challenge him, using your free hand to pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a soft grunt in return, “—just remember to pull out, yeah?”

Javier full on snorts at that, a noise muffled into your neck when he leans forward, guiding himself to press against your cunt before he sinks in, both of your momentary hostility turning to full bliss.

His hand curves around the back of your head, a simple gesture but maybe more of a warning, his hips snapping into you suddenly, quickly, jostling you against the hard surface. He was protecting your head from the sharp edge of the cabinet and you almost laughed at the thought, but his impatient, fevered movements are sending you into a spiral, eyes rolling back.

“Stay with me,” He teases softly, lips at the base of your neck,  “want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

And you do, boldly, despite how your heart races. You let your body do the work, shutting your mind off for the moment—the hesitation, the worry, the regret that would hit you five minutes after this was over. 

You don’t remember it feeling like this, either. The full body sensation, his gaze heating you from the inside out, your thumb slipping over his bottom lip curiously, his teeth biting down gently on the digit as he fucks you deeper into the surface of the cabinet, if that was possible. 

There are no words, just sounds—moans that could be heard across the bullpen if someone was close enough and Javier, who is plenty vocal and has shown himself to be, can’t even form words, grunting with every few sharp snaps of his hips, fucking you so thouroughly it aches.

“Touch yourself,” He instructs, “let me see, muñequita. Wanna know.”

It doesn’t matter if he’s thought about it before—or, if somewhere in the deep, dark shadows of your mind that you might have had the same thought about him too.

There is no convincing, feeling yourself so on the edge already that it wouldn’t take much. And it doesn’t, your hand descending until your fingers graze over your clit, steadily bringing yourself closer and closer, legs shaking under Javi’s grip until he has to bear most of your weight as you come, blunt fingernails digging into his shoulder as you cry out. And he’s there too, so close and hanging on by a thread, the unsteady thrust of his hips a tell-tale sign.

Your heart is racing, mind too, and the words that come out aren’t anything of rational thinking.

“In my mouth,” You tell him, sounding more earnest than you ever have.

“You sure?”

You laugh through the exhaustion.

“Are you really questioning that?”

He shakes his head in amusement before he’s patting the back of your neck gently and urging you to your knees, jerking himself into your open mouth a few seconds before he’s coming, somehow managing to keep the moment tender as he holds your chin and squeezes gently, watching you swallow down the heady taste of him with your eyes locked on his.

“So, what now?” You ask jokingly, taking the hand he offers to you after a moment of him tucking himself back into his jeans, cursing when you shoulder bumps a stack of files on the way up, dropping them to the floor in a pile. 

Javier fetches your clothes and hands them over, redressing himself before plucking at the files hastily.

You’re nearly dressed when you hear him curse behind you.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Hm?” You turn on your heels, busy tucking your shirt back into your skirt when you spot the item in his hands—a small gold key. “Well—don’t fucking stare at it. Try it.”

Javier approaches the door with quick footsteps, followed by your softer ones as you slip on your heels, gasping as the key turns in the lock and suddenly—the past couple of hours dissipates in an instant.

“Look at it this way,” Javier says lightly, “we’d still be stuck in here otherwise.”

Being that, if he hadn’t fucked you against the filing cabinet you’d be spending your night sleeping on the murky carpet of the file room floor—so, as usual, Javier Pena saves the day.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Javier suggests, “it’s the least I could do.”

“I live like three blocks away from—”

“Humor me?”

You chew at your bottom lip hesitantly.

Javier reaches forward suddenly, soothing the worry with his thumb.

“Pobrecita, if it isn’t all gone, we can try again?”

You slap his hand away gently, wordlessly taking his offer as you step past him, watching as his smile grows to a satisfied grin.

“You didn’t say no,” He adds.

Maybe he hadn’t fucked all of the hate out of you, but it was a start.

↝ special thanks to @undercoverpena for taking a look over this for me <3

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 6 | M

Title: Eastern Arrivals and Unwanted Doubt

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel's here for the week and you couldn't be more excited!! Jungkook's another story though...

Warnings: M, fluff, smut, swearing, drinking, pining, angsstt, slight boundary pushing (not sexual), unwanted/ unneeded overprotectiveness, jealousy, lying, [reader eats bacon and eggs but it's not specified what kind or where it's from, just bacon and eggs, so whether that means veggie, vegan or normal is up to you], intentional pissing off of Nel, a little spat between major characters, sex as a plot device.

Mature warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 6,945

Release Date: April 20, 2:00PM

A/N 1: 6 months later and we have chapter 6! slow updates, but they will be written and they will be posted. I have no plans to abandon this, I just, very unfortunately, have a bit of an outernet life now. So not a lot of free time to be creative which I hate. But it's here!!

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Mature Warnings: Consensual sex x 2, both reader with Nel and JK with Ady -> sorry not sorry cuz it's plot sex. We got us some: kissing, protected sex (as we should), missionary, fingering, oral (f. rec), tiny bit of groping (consenual), multiple orgasms, loud sex, like annoyingly, sex as a terrible coping mechanism (imo), fantasizing.

Bouncing lightly from foot to foot, you’re buzzing after finally receiving the text you were waiting on a few minutes ago.

Nelly <3 [10:10pm]: Landed. See you soon 😘

He’s almost here. He’s almost here!

Just a few more seconds until—

The gates slide open. A flood of people in a mixture of sweats and business casual wear with luggage of all sizes and neck pillows walk through. You hold up the sign above your head with both hands, a smile that could outshine the sun plastered on your face, and search.

Where is he? Where is he, where is he, where is he, you think as you scour the bodies filing out of the automatic doors. You can’t see him. He’s none of the nameless faces that pass you by as they find their family, friends or rides. 

Is this even the right group of people? What if his luggage got lost and he won’t be out with this group. What if he got taken aside for some reason, and now he’s being held in some dusty room being asked a bunch of stupid questions he doesn’t know how to answer? What if he’s fig—

But then there’s a gap in the crowd, and the boy you’ve spent the last half decade of your life with comes into perfect, crystalline view. His lips pulled taught, teeth beautifully bared as he sets his sights on your sign high in the air, then down to you.

And you're running. 

You’re running and dodging and swerving until you’re jumping into Nels arms as he abandons his suitcase in favour of keeping you both up right. He buries his face into your neck, holding you so tightly you think he’ll never let go. And that’s just fine with you as you hold on just as tight, taking in a big breath of him too. 

He smells like airplane and coastal breeze and most importantly, home. 

Nel smells like home.

A muffled, “Ohhhhhhh, I missed you,” greets your ears, and you melt into him even more if that's even possible.

“I missed you too,” you say, pulling back and kissing him. You don’t really care if there’s an audience or not right now. Not when Nel’s here, and he’s in your arms, and he’s yours for a whole 9 days and life is as it should be once again.

He releases his hold slightly, but your arms don’t leave his shoulders. The sign still clutched, now crushed and crinkled, in one hand. 

“Car?” he asks, a kiss to your nose.

“This way,” you lead, releasing your hold.

Luckily, his suitcase is small, so he forgoes rolling it, instead gripping the handle at the top and carrying it in one hand. Your own reaching for his other and not letting go. He’s going to have to peel you off him if he wants space right now. 

Nel’s wearing his usual fall attire; a dark green school sweater that has ‘ECAD’ written over the chest in a large, academic looking mustard yellow font, regular old blue jeans, and dark brown lace up boots. His short, dirty blond hair's covered by a hat you’d gotten him as a highschool graduation present, and his ocean blue eyes remain as gorgeous as they were the day you met. 

Passing through doors to the outside and back to lot J, you hop in the car as he puts his bag in the trunk.

“How have you been? What’s new? What’s not? Tell me everything,” he asks as he climbs in and sits beside you, hand finding yours again. 

Never gone for too long. You relish in the comfort and happiness that alone brings you. 

He’s finally here. You finally have him back.

“I’m great. Yuri’s still Yuri, classes are only a little more challenging this year, but I’m still at the top of them,” Nel slips in a ‘not surprised’ and you smile brighter as you continue. “They’re already telling us to start brainstorming ideas for our thesis show next year,” you have no idea what you’re going to do, but you’re working on it. “Campus is the same, dorms are the same, the cafe’s the same. Though, they have the egg tarts I like in more, which is awesome for my taste buds and terrible for my bank account.” 

Vivian stayed true to her word, and now they had the tarts in every week. 

“I can only imagine,” Nel jokes.

“Uhhmm, what else…” a thought pops up, and you guess you can tell him. It doesn’t reveal anything the whole world doesn’t already know. “The prince is dating Adaline Dupree.”

His eyebrows raise, remembering, “Oh yeah, that’s right, the prince goes to your school now.”

“Yep.”

“Have you met him?”

Is he seriously not completely shocked at the prince dating Adaline? You only bitched about her to him all the time.

“Uhhh… yep, once or twice, I guess.” 

You hate it. You hate lying, especially to Nel. You hate it so much, but it’s for the greater good. It’s to keep the peace. But that doesn’t stop the burning feeling in your chest nor the roil in your belly.

“The day he arrived Yuri dragged me down to see him speak. She made us sit front row because Yuri,” Nel nods, knowing exactly what you mean. “He had everyone assemble to hear why he was at school and tell us not to treat him like a prince. He wants to be able to study without his title getting in the way.”

You hit your blinker, making a one handed left turn. 

“Makes sense. Is he nice at least?” Nel doesn’t sound at all suspicious, and why should he? You’ve never given him reason to not believe you at your word before. Never lied to him before.

Fuck you hate this so much. It was so much easier when he was 5000 miles away. But now that he's right beside you? This week may end up being more difficult than you thought.

“He was very princely. Tried to kiss my hand like he did like every other girl there, but I made it a handshake instead. Figured if he wants to be treated like everyone else, I would liste—Oh!” you laugh before you can even get the words out.

“What?” he asks, intrigued but confused.

You can barely speak coherently. “You should have seen Yuri’s face when I called him Jungkook and not Prince or Your Highness...her eyes nearly fell out of her head,” tears are starting to form from laughing so hard. “It was great.”

“He didn’t mind?” Nel asks and you shake your head. Yuri’s face that day will forever be seared into your brain for whenever you need a pick-me-up. 

“No, he was grateful actually. I was the first person that had addressed him like that, the way he’d asked to be.” Stopping at a red light, you're finally regaining yourself.

“Well,” he squeezes your hand, “you always were good at first impressions,” and looks at you so softly you can’t help but smile into the kiss you give him. 

He remembers that school art fair just as fondly as you do. 

Nel pulls away first with a thought. “Is Yuri with us this time?” 

Yuri hadn’t been able to go home last year, her parents too busy on a work trip, so she stayed back and kicked it with you two, but also gave you your space when needed.

Lots and lots of space.

“Nope! Parents welcomed her with open arms this afternoon, I’m sure. They’re all on some tropical island down south. She’s bringing me an ocean bottle though, so I’m excited for that. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to add a new one.”

Everytime you travelled somewhere with a beach you got a glass bottle and filled it with half sand, half water, added in some shells or rocks and labelled it. Instead of towels, keychains, or magnets, you did ocean bottles. They lined a shelf in your room back home. 

You probably have at least fifteen of them by now. Your mum likes to travel and make sure you experience the world around you, not just your little corner of it.

“Oh that’s great babe! I know how much you love those.”

“Yeah, it is.” You lean your head on his shoulder, basking in his presence for as long as the light remains red. 

He’s here. He’s yours. 

You only have to do this for a couple more years and then you’ll be together all the time. God you can’t wait. But you are nothing if not disciplined. 

And it’s going to be so worth it in the end.

The rest of the ride to your dorm goes by quickly. 

Some more red lights, some more kisses. You point out the same things you always do on the way back, and Nel acts like it’s the first time he’s seen them, just like he always does.

His hand never leaves yours over the center console. 

Soon enough, you find yourselves flopping down on your bed. Bags, jackets and shoes, scattered. Nel pulls you into him, his head on your pillow, yours lying on his chest. True peace settling in for the first time in months.

“I can't wait until we’re done school and I have more than four and a half months with you a year,” he sighs.  “It’s not enough. I want more. Need more.”

“Me too. But good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah…I’m just really sick of waiting.” 

“Me too,” you repeat in a yawn. 

Nel’s breathing slowly evens out as you lie there, content to be in your arms again. And you look up to see his eyes closed, warm exhales brushing over your face from his nose. 

You can’t blame him for being so tired. He’d had an early morning exam before flying out, even brought his suitcase to it so he could leave the second he was done. Then, the flight alone was ten hours, plus travel times to and from the airports was about an hour each way, and the wait time before boarding was another two. 

Shit, he’s probably been awake for around eighteen hours straight at this point because he’s also the type that can’t sleep on planes no matter what he tries. 

Oh, Nel...Of course he’s exhausted.

Giving him a squeeze before getting up, you take off his socks and jeans carefully, then tuck him into bed as much as you can. You’d try the sweater, but it involved too many working parts and you didn’t want to wake him, so you figure it’s best to have the window open tonight instead. 

Grabbing your phone, you tiptoe to the bathroom and do your night time routine. It’s not an overly complicated one, just brushing your teeth, washing your face and a simple 3 step skincare routine of cleanser, toner and moisturizer. Short and sweet, but it does the job. 

Halfway through brushing, you do your friend due diligence and send Yuri a ‘back safe’ text, just like she’d sent you her own ‘here safe’ when she’d landed.

You spit and rinse, moving onto washing your face and applying cleanser.

Teeth clean and face moisturized, you sneak into your room again. Nel's still out cold. 

You sneak out of habit—your mom wakes at the sound of a pin dropping. But absolutely nothing could wake Nel now outside of his mother’s voice and his morning alarm. It’s a talent of his you’ve always been jealous of.  

Removing today's clothes and tossing them in your overflowing hamper—reminder to self: do laundry—you slide on your pjs and climb into bed beside him, plugging in your phone and setting it down. 

A thought pops into your head and you pick it back up, shooting a quick text before you can think twice. 

You [11:26pm]: home safe

It pings not seconds later.

PJK [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso  PJK [11:27pm]: glad ur home safe

Your heart beats a little louder at the nickname, and you chalk it up to the excitement still in you at having Nel here and being tired. 

But you sleep better that night than you have in a long time. 

A short, repetitive, rhythmic vibration. 

Picasso [11:26pm]: home safe

Jungkook is still standing in the same corner by the wall, Adaline somewhere in the crowd in front of him dancing with her friends. She asked him to join her, but he declined. He doesn’t need to see himself more than half drunk and dancing on the cover of tomorrow’s news cycles. Not to mention his security team would shut the party down the second a camera flashed.

His guards are carefully stationed throughout the house, all dressed down in casual wear, a few with empty cups in their hands. One is watching some sort of beer pong like game in the corner, another is mingling with some guys over in the kitchen. Three he can’t immediately see. And he knows his head guard is outside in a black car ready to get him out at a moment's notice.

Nobody can tell they aren’t here for the party, not unless they’re sober enough to notice watchful eyes continually making their way over the crowd as the night goes on. 

Your text woke him from the stillness he’s adapted from standing so long, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. 

You were home safe. Home safe from the airport. Home safe from picking up Cornelius. 

Your boyfriend. 

Cornelius, your boyfriend. 

He doesn’t acknowledge his teeth grinding.

You were home from picking up your beau but even then, you’d texted him to let him know you were back on campus safely. To let him know you were okay. 

It’s the first thing that makes him smile all night.

So he sends back, a bit to quickly: 

Me [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso Me [11:26pm]: glad ur home safe

Because it means something to him that you deem him close enough to send a ‘home safe’ text too. 

That you want him to know you’re back.  

Want him to know you’re safe.

Whether you know it or not, your safety means a lot to Jungkook, so that little two word text makes his heart lurch. 

He needs to leave. 

He needs to get out of this fucking house and back to his dorm. He came, he drank, he observed, he fulfilled his boyfriend duty.

That’s enough for him. 

He shoots Adaline a text that says he isn’t feeling well and gets out as fast as he possibly can, dodging bodies left and right and doing his best to hide his face. 

Once he’s out, security team in tow, the cooling midnight air does him some good. 

“Someone make sure she gets back to her dorm safe,” he says in their general direction, brain too muddled to be polite in this exact moment, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before. 

This is going to be such a long week.

He can’t wait till it’s over. Till he doesn’t have to share anymore. 

He was never very good at it anyway. 

The smell of bacon wakes you. 

And toast, and…

Eggs? 

You think, at least. Since when do you have bacon? Or eggs? Toast is a given, it’s part of your life’s blood.

Opening your eyes, you blindly reach for your phone, successfully unplugging it and bringing it to your face.

The screen is too bright but you suffer through it, squinting.

9:27am. 

9:27? 

You slept for ten hours!?

You can’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 consecutively, aside from recovery nights, and even then it was fitful.

Nel comes in with two plates, his full with a very Eastern breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Yours with two pieces of toast, lots of bacon, a bit of eggs and some fruit. Where did he—?

He smiles at your confusion, “You have a cafeteria that sells breakfast food, you know.”

You know that.

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because the look on your face says otherwise.”

You flop back down and pull the pillow over your head, mumbling incoherent nonsense. You rarely used the dorm cafeteria for breakfast. Much preferring the greenhouse cafe or simple toast and juice that you can make in your dorm.

He chuckles. “Two breakfasts for me then, okay, if you insist,” Nel moves to leave but you screech, uncovering your face.

“Noo! I want it. Please, sweet nutrition,” he hands the plate over when you sit up, arms out stretched, and you dig in. 

After a piece of bacon, you ask, “How long have you been up?”

Nel’s sitting with his legs crossed at the end of your bed, munching away, “Long enough to get changed, grab my wallet, get food and come back.”

The bacon is really good. You’ve never been so glad he knew you so well as you grab another piece from the dwindling pile.

“You slept well then, too? That’s good, I’m glad. You needed the rest.”

“Having you around always makes it easier to fall asleep,” he nudges your knee with his elbow.

Even after five years he can still make you blush.

“I know the feeling.”

You two fall into step, starting your weeks in advance prepared plans, the rest of your day passing quickly. 

Too quickly. 

And so does the next day, and the next, and the next. 

All of your activities are going great. The zoo, picnics, study dates, restaurant dates, historical, artistic and architectural museum tours. Even a swim at the school’s indoor pool, and there’s plenty more to come. 

Things slip back into being easy, just as they always have been with Nel, ever since that first day back in tenth grade. 

He knows you like the back of his hand and predicts your moves before you make them, just like you do for him. 

You know his favourite foods, and where he prefers to park when driving—always avoiding open curbs—you know his dream travel destinations, and who his favourite musicians are. You know his favourite pencils to design with and his favourite pencils to shade with, that he always put on his right sock first, then right shoe, then left sock and left shoe. You know that his drink order is an iced coffee with two cream and two sugar, that he prefers loose shirts over fitted ones, and that his favourite colour is orange.

It’s a pretty orange too, not just any orange. You wonder if it’s anything like Jungkook's–

Wait. 

You search your memory for the information, going through favourite foods, drinks, music—all discussed previously, because you know their answers. But colour?

Nothing.

How have you never asked what Jungkook’s favourite colour is?

Isn’t that usually one of the first things people ask when they’re trying to get to know one another? Funny. Guess you’ll have to inquire the next time you see him. 

Anyways, just like you know everything there is to know about Nel, he knows everything about you too, including your routines. 

Which is why at twelve noon every day, he starts getting ready to go to the greenhouse for your afternoon study session.

Including today.  

Your week’s already half over and you hate it. Time always moves far to fast when all you want it to do is slow the fuck down. 

You only have five days left. Five days.

You’re lucky the greenhouse cafe is open during break, some places on campus are required to stay open for the students who can’t make it home, but greenhouse chooses to. 

As you and Nel turn the corner you see a familiar figure sitting in his old spot at the back of the patio. The same hat, mask and hoodie, now paired with a leather jacket on top due to the weather starting to cool down.

You can tell Jungkook wasn’t expecting to see you by the way he stiffens before those all too familiar brown eyes of his meet your own. Which is fair, your schedule shifts a bit when you’re on break, he isn’t used to you being here at twelve on Wednesdays. 

But as quickly as he sees you, his gaze is back on his laptop, like he never saw you in the first place. 

Like you asked him to do. 

And a sharp pain stings inside your chest.

When you and Nel get to your table, he sits in the seat opposite to where you always do, leaving where Jungkook usually sits beside you, empty. 

A part of you is grateful for that, though you can’t figure out why and table that self discussion for a later date. 

Setting down your things, you ask Nel if he wants coffee. He answers yes, like always, and after a quick visit with Viv, you're pulling out your chair and setting down your cups. Your back faces Jungkook. It’s a small mercy you can’t see him. Maybe you can forget he’s here and actually focus on your work. 

But it’s also exactly because of your position, that you can’t see as Jungkook subtly watches you over the rim of his laptop while you and Nel talk quietly and study. 

Nel can though. 

It feels weird to ignore him. To pretend you don’t know one another when for the better part of the last seven weeks all you’ve done is talk, hang out, study or a mixture of the three, every day. 

When having him sit behind you and not beside you feels so wrong and so foreign. 

But this is your own doing, you caused this. So you need to suck it up and get used to it. 

This is exactly what you asked for all those weeks ago. The perfect solution to your problem. 

No one can know. 

Not Nel. 

Not anyone. 

But fuck, if it didn’t absolutely suck in practice. 

Setting some of your books out around you and on the table Jungkook usually uses, you dig into your business homework. Having a major and a minor are great for job prospects, on paper, and in practice after you’ve completed them.

But getting them? It takes years of hard work and dedication with no distractions. 

None.  

You spend almost every free moment you have doing homework or practicing, trying to get ahead, trying to stay on top.

…Trying to beat Adaline. 

But you just use that as fuel for your drive to be better. To be the best. 

Competition is healthy. Especially when you’re winning against the rich brat who’s used to getting what she wants. 

Not that you're petty.

Ehh…You are. But only a little bit. At least you can admit it.

Nel gets to work as well, the sunlight from his spot is great for drawing. He’s working on a rough version of his thesis project that’s due at the end of the year. He has to have multiple completed renderings as well as a scale model, and he’s been brainstorming since last year about what he wants to do.

Currently, he’s drawing up an airport, trying to design so that it’s not confusing and complicated for first time users. 

However, his occasional swearing and muttering to himself makes you think he’s having a tough time with it. 

You try not to laugh, but a small giggle slips out. 

“What,” Nel asks, a little distracted.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what’s up? I could use a laugh right now,” he insists, eyes on you at first. But then something behind you steals their attention every few seconds. 

Someone. 

“You just…you still make funny sounds when you're frustrated with a drawing. It’s endearing.” You reach to place your hand on his knee, trying to gain back his full attention. 

Ignore him, Nel. Please ignore him. 

“Yeah...” he exhales. “I guess airports are out,” his hand covers yours quickly and you hear a faint chair screech from behind you. Nel doesn’t miss it as he says. “But I do have a much bigger appreciation and understanding for all those who came before me,” pupils now unmoving from their target behind you. 

Fine. 

You’ll acknowledge it. 

“Is everything okay? You keep looking at something? Is there an animal or…” You know what he’s looking at, but go so far as to turn anyway, playing up the ‘confused girlfriend’ role. But Nel squeezes your hand, stopping you. 

He leans in, placing a fake mask of serene on and lowers his voice. “That guy keeps looking at us, moreso you. And he looks pissed off.”

Fuck, think of something.

Anything. Anythi—Oh!

You lean in too, so close your noses almost touch. “He’s probably just upset we’re talking. The greenhouse cafe is usually a quiet place to work,” good enough, you think. That’s believable, right?. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just ignore him and get back to work.”

You place a quick kiss on his lips but Nel isn’t letting up on his unnecessary vigilance. But then again, he doesn’t know that Jungkook is the opposite of a threat to you. So you reassure him, in your own way.  

“Babe, seriously. If you’re going to be all protective or whatever, don’t. I come here everyday when you're not here and I’m still alive and unharmed. Go get a sandwich or a refill to get your head off of it and say hi to Viv. She’s still here, and I’m betting she remembers you. You’re kinda hard to forget.” 

You can tell Nel’s about to reject the idea when you insist. “I’ll be fine, Nel. Promise. Three years and not a scratch on me.” 

He sighs through his nose, but relents. 

Placing his drawing pad on the table, he gets up, but not before placing another kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “Scream ‘cumquat’ if you’re in danger and I’ll come running, okay?” 

You laugh outright at that. “Will do.”

You watch him as he goes, and the second he’s inside, you’re racing for your phone, typing at an astounding speed.

You [1:45pm]: Didn’t your royal upbringing teach you not to stare so blatantly!??? Nel caught you

You hear a quiet ping from behind you followed by a small exhale that sounds more like a disguised chuckle. 

PJK [1:45pm]: Yes.  

You [1:45pm]: So you intentionally got caught?

PJK [1:45pm]: Maybe

You [1:45pm]: Shithead

PJK [1:46pm]: Rude

You [1:46pm]: You deserve it

PJK [1:46pm]: I know. I’m just making sure he’s treating you right.  PJK [1:47pm]: and trying to see if he acts differently when he knows he’s being watched. He’s very protective you know 

Jungkook saw the second Nel noticed he was watching you. 

His posture changed from easy going to on alert. His hand went so quickly to yours on his knee and his public displays of affection increased significantly. 

It was pathetic, really. It went above a normal amount of protection. Nel was claiming his ‘property’, making sure Jungkook knew not to touch. 

And the nasty look Nel gave him as he entered the cafe—gratefully still unrecognizable in his disguise—was another silent way to say back off, stay away, and don’t try anything or you’ll regret it. 

It was a red flag in Jungkook's mind. A small one, but it’s still there because his efforts are completely unneeded. After five years together, Nel should know that you can handle yourself. 

Hell, Jungkook knows that and it’s only been two months. 

You [1:47pm]: yes I know he is, and I already told you he treats me well because he always. Does. Not just in public or under watchful eyes  You [1:48pm]: and since when does my boyfriend of half a decade need your ~princely~ seal approval?

He ignores the small jab. You only ever brought up his title when you were mocking or upset with him. And he knows that in this case it's the latter.

PJK [1:48pm]: Since now PJK [1:49pm]: And it’s not that I don’t trust you at your word, but I usually like to decide for myself

That has you reeling. 

Where does he get the audacity to think he has any say in or about your relationship? Your very solidly built, five years strong, healthy, happy relationship?

Because he’s the Prince? You’re pretty sure you established on day one that you didn’t and still don’t give a fuck about his birthright. 

If he thinks he gets an opinion on any of this he’s got another thing coming the second he asks you anything about Adaline again. 

You’re in the middle of typing out a paragraph explaining all of this when another text comes in.  

PJK [1:49pm]: Because I’ve seen far too many women in love who are blind to certain things PJK [1:50pm]: And far too many hurt in the end because of it. 

You pause. Fingers frozen mid swipe.

Blind to what?

How many women did he know that were in love but missing something about their partner? Surely there couldn't be that many. Right? 

But this was Jungkook you were talking to, he’s lived numerous lifetimes already. That fancy birthright of his you don’t care about having given him far too many life experiences to have at his age. And they’re only going to increase from here.

So instead of hitting send and cursing him out quite spectacularly, you stop and think for a moment. 

What did he see that they didn’t? 

That you might… not?

You’re a decent judge of character if your record tracks. And it does. 

So your curiosity gets the better of you as you delete your rage paragraph and settle for a simple two word question instead. 

You [1:50pm]: Like what?

You can see that he’s typing out a response but the bell on the cafe door rings and you put your phone down. It buzzes with his response a few seconds after. 

You’ll check it later.

Nel takes his seat again, and you notice he has his sandwich, but also that he’s moved his chair and starts sketching from the new position giving him a direct eye line with Jungkook. 

You internally scoff at that. 

Nel has always been protective. But he was raised that way and you don’t mind too much. You don’t expect him to change his core values for you, just like he never expects you to change yours for him, even when a couple of his are just the slightest bit overbearing. 

But that’s part of a relationship. Give and take and compromise. No one person is going to be perfect for another. It’s healthy to have differences. 

That being said, Nel doesn’t change positions for the rest of the hour. Even as Jungkook packs up and leaves, Nel eyeballs him until he’s out of sight. 

That night while Nel is brushing his teeth and you're lying in bed, you check the text from Jungkook. 

PJK [1:51pm]: Like if they’re getting treated the way they should be or if they’re settling for the best they think they can get or for the first guy that showed interest. The one who hasn’t grown up even though time has passed. The one who’s holding her back by not setting her free

You stare at your phone. At the text. At his words. 

And dismiss it. 

You aren’t one of those women. 

You know yourself. 

You know what you deserve and how you should be treated. You didn’t settle, you just happened to find your love at a young age. That’s something special and rare and should be protected. And Nel has most certainly grown up as time passed. 

Jungkook is being ridiculous for absolutely no reason. Surely he’ll have seen that today. Seen how Nel loves you, treats you how you deserve to be treated, holds you up. Supports you. 

You’re confident he’ll be eating his words soon enough.

Finished brushing, Nel comes back to the bedroom and snuggles up behind you and you put down your phone. 

He cuddles you for a minute before placing a kiss at your neck. Then another. And another before he’s mouthing up your neck, and sliding a hand up your thigh and to your waist. It pauses on your stomach with teasing caresses, before dipping lower and lower, beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and under the elastic of your underwear. 

A small moan sounds in your throat at the touch. His fingers meeting your folds and the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex.

You wanted this. 

Need it. 

He’s grown, you think; as a finger slips in you and you gasp at the stretch, legs opening wider for him. A second finger plunges in and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Just like you can feel a bulge forming behind you. 

You know what you deserve; as he uses them to scissor you open, making sure you’re ready. You roll over, now on your back with Nel over you as he pulls your shorts and underwear down to get better access, your own hands removing your shirt.

You’re not settling; as Nel moves down, tongue making a couple swipes at your entrance and you hiss in pleasure before he’s reaching over, grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer and sliding it on, length hard and dripping at the sight of you bared before him. 

Nel wasn’t the first guy who’d shown interest, just the first you’d said yes to; and he slides in. Both of you moaning at the snug fit.

“Fuck...” he says and you nod, agreeing, before pulling him down into a deep kiss.

He eases into a slow, steady rhythm that has you breathy and his abs tensing. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to erase these past two months without him, and take enough to last for the next two. It’s never enough, but you try. 

“Faster baby,” you beg, “Please…faster.”

Nel isn’t holding you back. Jungkook doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. 

Nel picks up the pace and you start moaning, louder like you know he likes. Likes to hear he’s doing a good job. He’s grabbing your breast and sucking in a nipple, tongue swirling and you're bringing your hips to meet his with every thrust. 

It feels good. It always feels good with Nel. 

He was your first everything. First kiss, first intimate touch, first love. 

Only love.

And he makes you feel good with that love. That touch. His kiss.

He makes you feel safe, inside and out. 

Jungkook can go eat grass. He doesn’t know your relationship. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. 

“There, right there!” you whine as Nel hits your sweet spot once and you arch. He tries again but misses, continuing faster, his peak coming quickly. 

Jungkook can never understand what you two have. What you two have built in these five years. The understanding and security that comes with it. 

He’s being an unrightfully opinionated ass on something he knows nothing about and— 

Fuck! Why are you thinking about Jungkook? You’re having sex with Nel. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything or anyone other than that. 

Than him. 

So why can’t you get what Jungkook said out of your fucking head?

“Ahhh… oh fuck. I’m cumming.” Nel’s hips stutter, his face contorting in pleasure as he releases, filling the condom.

You kiss him passionately to rid yourself of your princely plagued thoughts, the ones filling you with unwanted and unnecessary doubt. You want them gone, gone, gone. Nothing but Nel in their place. 

And you slip an, “I love you,” in between kisses for good measure. 

Jungkook could never understand. 

Nel kisses you back just as hard, dramatically slowing his thrusts, drawing out his high for as long as possible. 

“I love you too.”

Jungkook doesn’t know anything. 

Nel groans into your lips when it becomes too much and pulls out. 

Removing and tying off the condom, Nel goes to the washroom to throw it out and starts the shower he knows you’ll be joining him for when you're done. 

A routine you’re all too familiar with. 

One you created. 

He knows you need a few minutes to get yourself off. 

You’ve never been able to cum from sex with a partner. No matter how hard you tried. No matter what you did. 

Most would think Nel wasn’t a good lover or wasn’t trying enough, but it was through years of constantly trying anything and everything that you learned you just…couldn’t. 

No amount of fingering or oral or penetration from your partner could make you orgasm. 

So Nel knows to wait for you in the shower as you finish yourself off, your own fingers making quick work of it, because you always could for some reason. 

It isn’t your ideal situation, and it isn’t anyone’s fault. But it works. You both get the intimacy you crave and you accepted a long time ago that you were just one of the unlucky few. 

Screams fill Jungkook’s ears as a hand finds his hair and nails rake against his scalp. 

Adaline isn’t a quiet receiver. 

“Ohmygod!” She shouts for the twentieth time. “Yes! There…so goo-oohhhh,” the last syllable turning into a loud moan. 

He’s holding her downwith a forearm by her pelvis, mouth full as he brings out her third orgasm of the night, juices flooding his tongue. 

He’s working out earlier frustrations and proving a point to himself in this fucked up version of self therapy. 

He shouldn’t be. 

But he does.

Has to.

Seeing you today with Cornelius spurred feelings within him that he didn’t know he had. Sure, there were bits and pieces of something stirring he refused to name, but today? 

They were in a whole different ballpark. Different than anything else he’s ever felt before, brewing inside him, bubbling up to the surface even though he’s been trying his best to pop them and shove them down.

Anger? 

Feelings he doesn’t want to have. 

Jealousy? 

Does have. 

Wanting you to look at him the way you look at Nel?

Can’t have. 

Not for… 

He admits he provoked Nel because he could. Dick move, but it was because Jungkook knew just by looking at him that giving you any form of attention would piss him off.  He seemed the type. 

Overly possessive, overprotective. 

Overbearingly so. 

Suffocatingly so. 

Because Nel knows how lucky he is. That you chose him. That you still choose him. 

He knows he has to keep others away. 

Knows he isn’t good enough for you, holds you back. But keeps you anyway.

The selfish prick. 

So Jungkook eyed you up and down, leisurely, and for as long as he wanted. Purely out of the need to prove to himself he was right about his little assessment of your boyfriend. At least that’s what he told himself. 

Was it childish and unnecessary? 

Yes. 

But he was right. And that felt good. 

He could see in your posture and your hushed words you didn’t want Nel’s protection, didn’t need it, and that Nel ignored that wish of yours. Did what he wanted to instead of respecting your ability to make decisions for yourself. Bulldozed your opinions. 

It pissed Jungkook off. 

He’d left a little while after sending you that text to read, but you never did. At least not since the last time he checked. And so he’d made plans with Adaline the second he was out of your earshot. Calling her up and setting a time for what’s currently taking up his primary focus. 

Because even though it was Adaline underneath him, for the very first time, that’s not who he imagined it was. 

Not who he just dragged a fourth orgasm out of with his fingers because he could. 

Because he would. He would be so much better. Give so much more. If only… 

Fuck.

Jungkook stands and drags his cock over Adaline’s entrance, whacking it against her clit a couple times before running the tip through her folds and pushing in. He hisses at the feeling. At who he was sinking into in his head, splayed out in front of him. Skin glistening with sweat mixed with arousal. Mouth open, slack jawed in pleasure. 

Adaline moans loudly and it dissolves his visual. 

His tattooed hand moves to hold her hands above her head, the other silences her mouth. 

“Quiet now,” he whispers, low and deep. A bead of sweat dripping off his brow, hair sticking to his neck and temple.

He intends it to be sexy for her, but in reality, he’s just sick of hearing her. It’s ruining his mental image. Not that she’ll ever know that though. 

To Adaline, this session is all about her and making her feel good. 

But constant screams and loud, pornographic moans aren’t appealing to him in the slightest. They're taking him out of the mood. Making him soft. 

Once or twice when it’s genuine? Sure. But the constant assault she loves to give his eardrums? Not even a little bit.

He sets a fast, rough pace, and Adaline’s eyes roll back in pleasure, screams finally subsiding in white hot bliss, replaced by bitten lips and smothered whimpers.

He is going to prove this point to himself over and over again. All night if he has to. 

And he has to.  

To get whatever it is he’s feeling for you out of his system.

To keep his sanity. 

To forget. 

And while it’s Adaline’s name is on his lips when he cums. 

It’s not the name he repeats in his head like a prayer. 

Chapter Seven: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

A/N 2: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'll try my best to have 7 out as soon as I can get it. I promise.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[penkura]

last forever [1/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Notes: Hello, this is a fanfic I've been working on for a few months now. I'm still not done, but I figured I would go ahead and start posting it here as a cross post with Quotev and AO3. Sometimes I find this, Zoro and the story, hard to write, but I'm trying. This will NOT be a one-to-one rehashing of the arcs but will have more focus on Zoro and Reader's relationship as it progresses. The first two chapters are written in past tense, everything afterward is present tense, sorry about that. I've been having more fun writing present tense instead of past tense. I have the first three chapters completed, I'm still working on chapter four, but hope to have it done for Monday, and I intend to update mostly on Mondays for this one. Zoro and Reader call each other husband and wife at times, it's in italics on purpose. Hope you enjoy this one.

[Ch. 2]

Never did you think or imagine your wedding day would be like this. In a courthouse in a backwoods town with no real witnesses, to someone you'd only known for about a year and a half now. This wasn't even out of love for him, he'd only agreed to prevent you from being legally forced into marriage with a man several years older than you who had two other wives already.

No, you and Roronoa Zoro weren't in love, but he was trying to help you out so you didn't end up in a bad situation or with bodyguards chasing you down to force you back to your home village. When you had told him the story, he was honestly disgusted hearing how your family was treating you like an object to be sold, instead of as your own person. The whole reason you'd run away from home was to avoid this, but a letter brought to you by your family's personal carrier bird a few weeks ago changed that. As soon as you turned eighteen, if you weren't married or engaged to someone else, you'd be forced into marrying the creep that agreed to this when you were just fifteen. While you broke down in tears out of fear, Zoro told you he'd marry you to keep you from being taken back home. You told him he didn't have to, but he brought up that after your family heard, if they dropped the arranged marriage, you could get an annulment and it would be like this marriage never happened. You'd be free from your family and the creep, still able to travel and live your own life.

You were so grateful you couldn't stop crying and thanked him numerous times, never once telling him you hoped you'd never have to get an annulment with him. Your feelings for him were still new, he was a year older than you, but he'd protected you well in the time you knew each other. Of course, you could hold your own as a swordswoman yourself, but Zoro always tried to leave the recon to you while he took out your bounty targets.

So, a week after you turned eighteen, once you reached a small town with a courthouse, you both immediately went there to get this sham of a marriage completed. The clerk looked you both over several times, asking your ages and you lied, claiming you were both twenty-one when she said you'd need parental approval if you were younger than twenty. She didn't ask for proof, instead mumbling something to herself about how it seemed people were getting married younger and younger every year. No more questions about witnesses, parental approval, or identification to prove your ages, the older woman just filled out the paperwork and had you two sign it for processing.

While it was being processed, she sent you to the other side of the room to sit and wait.

"Thank you."

Zoro just shrugged, wishing the old bat would hurry it up so you could find a hotel and get a room so he could go to sleep. "You don't have to keep thanking me."

Nodding, you bit your lip. It was weird to think you'd legally be husband and wife, despite not being in love with each other, but part of you hoped that maybe over time Zoro would come to love you, and you him, so you'd be a few steps ahead of the curve.

The clerk called you both back over a few minutes later, stamping the papers in her hands and pulling a few more. "You're legally married now, congratulations. I've given you an extra copy since you requested it, and here's an annulment form if you've decided you made a mistake. You have six months to fill out and submit it, at any courthouse, otherwise you'll have to get a divorce."

You nodded and thanked the old woman, who told you two to be careful as you both left. You weren't entirely sure why, but if Zoro knew, he kept his mouth shut about it. Once you left, Zoro started looking for a place to stay while you found somewhere you could have dinner. Neither of you planned to stay in this town for more than a night, so you weren't worried about cashing in any bounties that day.

After finding a place to eat, you stayed nearby while you wrote a brief letter to your family and sent it to them, with your marriage certificate, by your family carrier bird. You really just hoped and prayed that they would accept this information and not still demand you return home, whether they wanted to meet Zoro because they believed your letter, or they wanted you to annul the marriage immediately to marry the creep that agreed to it first. Either way, you had no plans to follow their demands or return home.

You and Zoro didn't meet up until it was about dinner time, not a word about your marriage being spoken but your plans to leave the next morning and head to the next town were the main subject. You split off again after dinner, Zoro giving you the second key to your hotel room while he took a walk, in case you wanted to go and shower or go on to bed. You did so, taking a long shower to keep yourself distracted before choosing one of the two beds as yours for the night, laying face down with your face in the pillow. By the time Zoro did return, you were nearly asleep until he woke you when he opened the door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine…I wasn't sleeping yet."

You weren't sure if it was just you, but things felt awkward with Zoro now. It probably was just you, because he went to bed like nothing was different, telling you that he wanted to leave as soon as possible in the morning. Shells Town was the next destination for the two of you, since a Marine base was there you figured new bounty posters would be available.

You spent the night half awake, unsure of what you were feeling anymore, but you knew one thing.

It was definitely not the kind of wedding day you ever expected to have.

+!+

What do I do, what do I do??

Pacing around the Marine fortress, you didn't know if you should even try to break in and free Zoro or just wait for the month he agreed on with Helmeppo to be up. All of this because he protected a little girl from the brat's dogs and punched him in the face, the spoiled boy using it as an excuse to bring Zoro in like a criminal, and you just weren't sure what you should do. He'd told you not to interfere and when Helmeppo tried to include you in it, you were surprised Zoro threatened him further and said you had no part in the matter.

Stopping, you sighed and crouched, holding your head in your hands and whining. "What do I do…?"

"Hey, you okay??"

The voice above you sounded kind, and you looked up to see a boy with a straw hat and a scarf under his left eye, with another young boy who had pink hair and glasses. Both looked concerned, wondering why you looked like you were fighting a headache outside of the Marine fortress.

"I'm fine…"

"You sure?" The boy in the hat grinned at you, wanting to really make sure you were fine, getting eye level with you while the other boy looked nervously around. "You don't look fine!"

"Luffy!"

You laughed, sighing a bit and standing up, the boy called Luffy following suit. "Yeah, I'm…I'm sure. My friend just…the Marines got him, I'm not sure what to do."

Luffy and the other boy, Koby you learned, both questioned you until you revealed it was Zoro that was your friend, causing Luffy to get excited as he climbed the wall to look into the yard, while Koby was even more nervous than before. He couldn't even believe that you were friends with the notorious pirate hunter Zoro, let alone traveling with him.

"Hey so that's him??"

Koby climbed up with Luffy and nearly fainted, almost falling off the wall when he saw Zoro. You were so focused on the two boys you didn't notice the little girl, Rika, climbing in and over the wall with rice balls in hand. You could hear her offering them to Zoro despite him telling her to scram, before Helmeppo showed up and had her thrown back over the wall, Luffy catching her and surprising you.

"Hey, I'll take her back to her mom's place!"

Luffy nodded and gave Rika to you, letting you run off with her. You got Rika back to her mother's restaurant, making sure she was alright when Luffy and Koby arrived. Luffy told Rika that Zoro actually ate the rice balls Helmeppo ruined, which didn't really surprise you. He had a soft spot for kids, you'd noticed over time, and always tried to help them if he could.

When Helmeppo came back around and started bragging that he was going to have Zoro executed in a few days, Luffy did the same thing and punched him in the face. The three of you ran off, Luffy jumping over the wall to tell Zoro that if he helped him out, he had to join his pirate crew, but Zoro didn't get a chance to fully agree or deny before Luffy ran off to the fortress to find his swords. Koby and you attempted to untie Zoro, but he was arguing against this due to the deal he made with Helmeppo.

"Come on, I only have to last a couple weeks more!"

"He's not gonna let you go! He's gonna have you executed tomorrow!"

"What?!"

Zoro looked at you, wondering if you had heard that or if Koby was lying to him, even though the younger boy had no reason to lie to him.

"I heard every word, that's exactly what he said."

The Marines, including Axe-Hand Morgan, came after the three of you and attempted to fire at you and Koby, but you knew how to use your sword well enough to block them from hitting Koby or you with their bullets.

Luffy returned finally, blocking another set of bullets about to hit the three of you, showing off his rubber powers which actually kind of freaked you out. Zoro, finally having his three swords back, was able to get free and stop the Marines from attacking all of you any further, calling Luffy Captain after agreeing to join his pirate crew. Another shock for you, one that you'd have to deal with later on.

Luffy was the one to beat Morgan, the other Marines all cheering once they realized they were free from the tyrant's reign.

The whole thing made you smile, glad things had worked out, even as Zoro nearly passed out from hunger, making you laugh and shake your head.

"You're so lame sometimes, husband."

+!+

"So why'd you call him husband earlier??"

Face turning red, you looked at Zoro who sat next to you in Luffy's small boat that just barely comfortably held the three of you. Your husband was fast asleep, arms behind his head, but you waved your hand in front of his face to make doubly sure he was asleep, before hearing a light snore come from him.

Scooting across the boat, you sat right next to Luffy who gave you a confused smile.

"Look, Luffy…you can't tell anyone else you recruit."

"Huh?"

You were trying to keep your voice down so Zoro didn't wake, but Luffy acted like he couldn't even hear you.

"Zoro and I are married."

"You're WH–"

You threw your hands over his mouth, looking over to Zoro barely moving, but still fast asleep. You'd quieted Luffy just in time so he didn't wake your swordsman.

"We're married, but it's only because he's helping me with something. We're not in love, we're not a couple. It's…a marriage of convenience okay?"

Luffy nodded, like he understood everything you just told him. He didn't really, but he at least understood you and Zoro weren't in love, just married.

Weird, but he thought he got it.

"Please, don't tell anyone. I'm waiting to hear from my family before we annul the marriage."

That part confused him, but Luffy decided to agree and promised he wouldn't tell anyone, he didn't question you further. He thought you and Zoro were close, he wouldn't have been that surprised if you said you two were in love and together, but if you said you weren't, that this was just a friend helping another friend, he'd believe you.

That, and as soon as his stomach started growling he forgot anything else he wanted to ask.

"Do you have any food, Luffy?"

"Nope!" Luffy grinned and your face paled, looking at Zoro who just snored again and you had a feeling of dread.

"Oh lord what have we done?"

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Emergency Roof Repair and Storm Cleanup Commissions

As mentioned in previous posts and pinned @anotherdayforchaosfay , we have just been through a natural disaster. Please read the pinned post on that blog. Updates will be added once we get outside and photograph the damage for our insurance claim.

I have opened commissions three months earlier than planned because we need to raise money to cover our insurance deductible as well as hiring someone to remove the tree from our roof and yard. The tree is owned by a lazy landlordlord who owns the property next door. We have told him repeatedly it needs to be trimmed or there will be damage. His property got a quick install sunroof.

I have four slots available across the board and prices start at $150 USD.

I have made the option of commissioning me for a quilt available. Three finished quilt tops are listed as commissions because they're ready for handquilting. Several people have inquired about one of the tops, so now's your chance to have it done sooner than later.

If you can do only a partial payment right now, DM me. I'll write up a contract for payments, and will require 50% upfront and weekly/monthly installs after that. You will then receive an invoice.

Commissions will begin immediately because we now have power.

I will close commissions when all slots are filled or June 1st, 2024. Whichever happens first (hopefully the former). If slots are filled, I will reopen them again after I finish all the commissions. I work fast and may complete six quilts netween now and then.

Donations are accepted,and there are four listings available in my shop with the option to pay more than my asking price (if you add an extra zero, I may very well cry).

Samples of my work below as well as in my gallery.

[jozor-johai]

Days, Moons, Snow, and Letters: Proposing an new timeline for the ADWD North

The timeline you think you know around Jon's death is wrong, and this post is to show you why. Every discussion about who really wrote the Pink Letter is missing a crucial detail: Jon dies a month before Tycho Nestoris even reaches the Crofter's Village.

Yes, I am aware this sounds like an unbelievable claim. I would love for someone to convincingly prove me wrong, and if you believe you can, please let me know. However, I am reaching this conclusion using only the facts, which I will break down for you here.

Based on Asha's careful count of the days in The King's Prize and The Sacrifice, Jon's account of the moons from Jon VII onward, and Asha's, Theon's, and Jon's account of the snowstorm around Winterfell, I believe I can convincingly argue that by the time Tycho Nestoris arrives at Stannis' camp at the end of The Sacrifice—before any battle has taken place at all—Jon has already been dead for a month.

Very long (and dry) explanation below the cut. Please enjoy.

At the end, there's a Timeline breakdown illustrating the rough outline by the day, so don't worry if my tally of the weeks starts to get confusing, there is a clarifying list at the end.

The intuitive version—where George is giving us helpful hints

Jon VII, The Prince of Winterfell, and The King’s Prize. 

In The King’s Prize, Stannis’ host sets out from Deepwood Motte. Because this is important for timing everything else, let's call this Day 0.

In Jon VII, during a new moon, Jon receives a letter informing him of this plan ("we march against him")—I believe we can sync these events as occurring roughly contemporary to one another, with Jon VII happening a few days later. For ease later on, let's say Jon VII happens ~0.5 weeks after Asha departs Deepwood; this is ~Day 3.

Very shortly after that is Prince of Winterfell and Jeyne’s marriage: during this chapter, Roose receives word that Stannis has left Deepwood Motte. Allowing for just a bit more wiggle room (for Arnolf Karstark to have received a similar update as Jon did, and then to forward that information to ahead to Roose) we can place Prince of Winterfell fairly soon after Jon VII, itself after The King’s Prize begins. Let's call this ~Day 6.

Theon in Winterfell

Thanks to Asha keeping track of the days to the number, we know that Stannis' host spends at least 34 days on the march (Asha notes that "On the thirty-second day" grain ran out, at least two more days pass—the day "Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen" and "The next day the king's scouts chanced upon an abandoned crofters' village") and then Stannis' camp spends an additional 19 days at the Crofter's Village before Tycho and Theon arrive ("they had been three days from winterfell for nineteen days"). Therefore, we can almost exactly place Theon's arrival at the Crofter's Village no sooner than 53 days from the time they left Deepwood Motte. (It's possible, but not necessary, to insert more days between 32 and the Peasebury day, and we're trying to keep this march as short as possible.)

Therefore, the entirety of Theon’s Winterfell arc occurs during this time, since Prince of Winterfell starts right after the announcement that Stannis has begun to march, and because accounting for a ~3 days' ride between WF and the Village, Theon I occurs ~3 days before The Sacrifice. We can actually reasonably sync these chapters, but for the most part we don’t really have to—Ghost of Winterfell begins four days prior to Theon I, so that only needs to align with Tycho's arrival, and the Turncloak can just happen somewhere in between. But:

The one interesting thing to note is the snow in The Turncloak, when snow begins to fall heavily ("by nightfall snow was coming down so heavily"), and the snowstorm begins. However, it is also in this chapter that two scouts return to inform Roose that Stannis’ host has begun to break apart in the snow and had "slowed to a crawl". Comparing that to Asha's updates, this is at the earliest ~1 week into the march by Asha’s count, or anytime afterward ("fourth day of the march... snow began to fall" + "third day of snow, the king's host had begun to come apart"). So, by the time it starts snowing at Winterfell, or Asha, it's already been snowing a few days, at minimum. Accounting for additional travel time back to Winterfell from wherever Stannis is, and considering that this report comes just as Winterfell is getting snow, that means Stannis’ host got the snow roughly over a week before the snow reached Winterfell.

Almost like the snowstorm is following Stannis there. ;)  

Asha's Days

As for Asha and Jon’s storyline—where it actually matters here—it appears remarkably easy to compare time:

I believe Asha counting the days must be an exercise with narrative importance, and it's incredibly useful. As I said above, we can pin nearly to the day how much time elapsed from the beginning of Stannis’ march from Deepwood Motte until their arrival at the Crofter’s Village (no less than 34 days, cited above) and then add another 19 days at the Crofter’s Village in advance of Tycho’s arrival.

Together, the time from the beginning of The King’s Prize to the end of The Sacrifice is, at minimum, 53 days. Let's say Theon and Asha reunite on Day 53.

TWOW Theon appears to occur just before dawn the next day, and since The Battle at the Crofter’s Village appears to begin immediately after TWOW Theon ends, we’ll say that the Battle, therefore, is Day 54, or 7 weeks and 5 days following Stannis' departure from Deepwood Motte.

Jon's Moons

Meanwhile, every subsequent Jon chapter gives us either a moon phase or an account of days past:

Jon VII occurs during a new moon ("They had no moon to guide them home, and only now and then a patch of stars.") The weather is notably clear, clear enough that it's a plot element: this is the reason for heading to the weirwood grove now. When Jon returns he get the news of Stannis’ departure from Deepwood. We've allowed for some raven time, so we're calling this ~Day 3.

(As an aside, it’s been storming the last seven days, so the latest Mance could have left is a week prior, though obviously since we’re syncing this with Prince of Winterfell, Mance likely left earlier than that.)

Jon VIII occurs just before the half moon, about a week later. A moon "but half-full," to quote the text exactly. This is when Val departs to find Tormund. I interpret "but" to mean just before half-full, so we'll say this is 6 days later: ~Day 9.

Val says she will return on the "first night of the full moon." No one ever says she’s late, and Jon never worries about her being gone too long, so we can assume this is true—Val returns on the first night of the full moon, with Tormund, in Jon X. We can even be generous and say this is ~9 days later, and say Jon X occurs ~Day 18.

Since Val leaves in Jon VIII and returns a week later in Jon X, then Jon IX has just over a week’s period to occur. If we’re being generous, we can say this occurred only a few days after Jon VIII, around the actual half moon. Let's say Jon IX happens ~Day 11.

In Jon IX, Selyse arrives and declares she intends to stay “no more than a few days,” and while this prediction is not a trustworthy source, it might give us some kind of ballpark. Jon also notes the weather is clear in the morning for once, calling it a “respite.” He thinks the snows have "moved off to the south" (to Stannis?) but by the evening, the snow is "coming down more heavily". The next day, Tycho appears to be gone, and Alys arrives. 

So: Tycho appears to leave just over 1 week after Jon VII, when Jon received word that Stannis planned to march on Winterfell. This way, it makes intuitive sense that Jon sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte—barely any time has passed. It seems entirely possible that Stannis had yet to leave, or at least that Tycho could catch up with him on the march. So far, this feels entirely believable and logical.

In Jon X, Alys weds. Flint and Norrey have "hied" (hurried) to Castle Black for the Wedding, which is possible if we've said that Jon IX was ~1 week ago. The snow is still falling "heavily". Jon receives a letter confirming that eleven ships have left Eastwatch for Hardhome (likely a few days prior). Val arrives that night—our full moon, we presume. Again, this is Day ~18.

Jon XI begins the next morning. ("that day" until "finally, as the shadows of the afternoon grew long"). There is no place to fit any time in between here and Jon IX, because this chapter includes Jon showing Val her new quarters ("I've had the top floor made ready for you"). This is ~Day 19.

Also in Jon XI, Jon notes that the snow has finally stopped after two weeks ("a fortnight"). The last time we know the weather was clear for more than a few hours (so clear it was a plot point!) was Jon VII, when Jon went to the weirwood grove. By our count of the moon, Jon VII was two weeks ago, so this lines up exactly.

Tycho

So: we've said Tycho leaves in Jon IX, which is just over a week since Jon VII. If, at an estimate, we're saying Jon VII probably occurred about a half a week after Stannis actually left, Tycho departed Castle Black 1.5 weeks into Stannis' march. Again—he could catch up here, so makes sense that Jon sends Tycho to Deepwood Motte first.

Meanwhile, thanks to Asha, we know Tycho makes it to Stannis’ camp 7.5 weeks after their departure, on Day 53. If we are roughly syncing the start of The King’s Prize half a week before Jon VII, and seeing Tycho set out from Castle Black only a week later, then Tycho takes ~6 weeks to reach Stannis, and he’s not a teleporting banker at all. ~42 days is plenty of time to reach Deepwood Motte, negotiate the exchange of hostages, travel to Winterfell in the storm, grab Theon, and then make it back to Stannis’ camp. Again, this makes sense.

Jon X—Jon XIII

However, we now run into the problem of how much time has passed since Tycho left.

We said before that Jon X and Jon XI (the next day) occur ~1 week after Tycho departs. Jon XI is ~Day 19.

After that, Jon XII occurs exactly three days following Jon XI—there’s no space to add any extra time here. In Jon XI, Tormund and Jon agree to let the Wildlings through in three days' time, and Jon XII follows that event proceeding as scheduled. We can safely place Jon XII ~1.5 weeks following Tycho’s departure. Jon XII is ~Day 22.

Jon XIII is the only remaining Jon chapter without a moon phase or a clear date. However, there are a number of events that demand it be soon after Jon XII.

First, there's Tormund's return. Back in Jon XII, Jon says Tormund will take men to Oakenshield in “within a day or two.” In Jon XIII, Toregg returns in the morning to announce that Tormund has settled his people at Oakenshield and is returning in the afternoon. Tormund arrives that afternoon.

Then, there's the matter of Hardhome. In Jon XII, he recieves news of the disaster at Hardhome ("Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead"). Jon XIII begins with Jon and Selyse discussing Hardhome, seemingly for the first time; Jon later discusses a Hardhome ranging with Marsh and Yarwyck, also for the first time; Melisandre also tries to stop Jon from leaving for Hardhome, also for the first time. Jon XIII occurs as soon as Jon makes the plan to leave for Hardhome. He sounds hurried; he says "they are starving at Hardhome by the thousands," and he makes a plan with Leathers to arrange the meeting in the Shieldhall in time for Tormund's return from Oakenshield—the only thing holding them up from leaving is Tormund's return.

Up to you how long you think Jon would have waited to discuss this—I don't think very long. In order to argue that more time passes between Jon XII and Jon XIII, we need to argue that Jon hears of the starving Wildlings eating their own dead and waits for weeks before acting.

Additionally, Cregan Karstark is taken out of the Ice Cells in Jon XIII after having been imprisoned there sometime before Jon X. Considering Jon X and Jon XII have to be four days apart, that's fine, and we might imagine that Cregan has been there for maybe over a week, or more. However, Jon spent four days in an ice cell in ASOS Jon X and in this time Alliser Thorne threatened that Jon would "die in there." With that comparison, we're limited in the timeline by imagining how much longer than ~1 week we can keep Cregan Karstark alive in the ice cells prior to his release in Jon XIII without him freezing to death first.

Soon after, the Bastard Letter arrives, and Jon is killed.

Personally, I think it’s most likely that Jon XIII occurs only a few days following Jon XII. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say we can put Jon XIII ~1 week following Jon XII, and being generous we’ll say that Jon dies ~2.5 weeks after Tycho departs Castle Black. That is, therefore, 3.5 weeks after Jon first heard word that Stannis was leaving Deepwood Motte, and (we're guessing) ~4 weeks after Stannis actually left.

So Jon dies on ~Day 30. By this count, Jon's dead, and Tycho Nestoris still won’t arrive at the Crofter’s Village for another ~3.5 weeks—he can't come any faster, Asha's been counting.

Next, I'm going to propose (and acknowledge) the ways that other versions of this timeline will fix this problem, though I don't like them exactly. Then, afterwards, I'm going to give a last piece of evidence why I believe in the version of events I've just described.

If you're unintersted in "what-ifs," scroll down to "The Snowstorm"

The Less Intuitive Version—where George sneaks in "The Mystery Month"

Because I'm arguing that Jon appears to die on ~Day 30, and Tycho doesn't even reach Asha until Day 53, in order for us to believe Jon XIII happened after TWOW Theon, we’d need to invent a month to add in to Jon’s storyline. Jon XIII has to occur after Day 60, at minimum.

I call this the “Mystery Month”—is there a missing month in Jon’s storyline, or isn’t there?

There a couple ways to make this happen, and I'll explain why I don't believe them.

The trouble with slow ravens

Number one, across the board, it feels very tempting to add buffer time by imagining that Stannis left Deepwood Motte even earlier than we estimate—maybe a whole week, or even longer, before Jon hears about it in Jon VII. The main issue with this strategy is that Stannis has to send the letter, so the raven leaves at latest when Stannis does, and so now we're arguing that a raven takes over a week to fly to reach Jon .... which means that now we're also adding additional estimated time for how long it took a raven to deliver the Pink Letter, and everything has to be pushed even earlier.

That is to say: if we said it takes two weeks for word to reach Jon before Jon VII, I would say now the "battle" in the Pink Letter has to happen weeks earlier to account for this extended raven time.

The long wait before Jon XIII

The first, simplest way to add a month, is that we say this: Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII. It took Jon a month to plan for and to bring up Hardhome to Selyse, Selyse has waited over month to plan her weddings with Gerrick Kingsbloods’ daughters, and Tormund has been at Oakenshield for over a month. The Letter arrives a month after the Wildlings come through, and so long as the King’s Prize also began over a week before Jon gets the Letter about it in Jon VII, we can make this work. Tycho arrives on time, we skip ahead a month before Jon XIII, and then Jon dies after the battle.

Yes, this could be how it happens, No I do not think that it's convincingly possible that Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII.

If we don't want to try to force in a lot of time between Jon XII and Jon XIII, there are a few other ways to attempt to solve this (though these are still three timelines of entirely my own invention):

Skipping a moon before Jon VIII

We could add a month in between Jon VII and Jon VIII, where Jon VIII is not the waxing half moon following Jon VII’s new moon, but the one after that. We're locked in at the moon cycle, so instead of one week, this has to be a ~5 week gap. The major issue with this is: we’ve lined up Jon VII roughly with the beginning of Stannis’ march, and Tycho still hasn’t arrived at Castle Black yet. If we place Jon IX right after Jon VIII again, we'll add a month to our previous estimate of Jon IX can say that Tycho leaves ~Day 39.

With this timeline, Tycho has ~2 weeks to catch up with Stannis’ host, reaching both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell along the way. This seems unbelievably fast (considering that Deepwood to Winterfell alone was over two weeks in good weather).

The thing is, that doesn’t even matter: since this doesn’t change our earlier estimate of how long Jon has left to live after Tycho’s departure (~2.5 weeks), that still means Jon dies roughly around the same time Tycho arrives.

There's an even bigger logical issue here: in this scenario, that means Jon, who heard five weeks ago that Stannis is marching on Winterfell—which is apparently a two-week march ("fifteen days")—still sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte to catch Stannis. Why would Tycho go to Deepwood first, and not Winterfell, if Jon learned Stannis marched five weeks before Tycho left? It's true that it happened to work out, but Jon wouldn't have known, at this point, how snowed in Stannis is.

The Val takes three weeks version

Alternatively, here everything is spread out more, which is closer in spirit to what the Unofficial Timeline suggests.

We can try to give both Val and Tycho a little more time before Val's return, but we’re always trapped in a moon cycle between Jon VIII and Jon X because otherwise Val’s promise to return at the full moon doesn’t make any sense. The best way to do this is to imagine that Val leaves on a waning half moon, rather than waxing half moon. This means that Val has three weeks to travel, and it also means we have move Jon VIII to three weeks after Jon VII (and therefore ~3 weeks into King’s Prize). Here, Jon VIII is ~Day 24.

(However, this is counterintuitive—it’s more natural to imagine that being shown a half moon following a new moon would mean the waxing half moon. Also, I believe it goes contrary to the actual description: Jon notes the moon was “but half full,” and the “but” makes it seem like it will be half-full soon, not that it just was. Again, we can allow it. This also means that when Val looks at the half-moon and says: look for me at the first week of the full moon, she doesn’t mean next week, she means in ~3 weeks from now—after the moon has gone to new and then back to full again. Once again, this feels very counterintuitive to say, but it will give us more time.)

In this version of events, Tycho and Alys can still arrive as early as right after Jon VIII, and therefore that Tycho left Castle Black ~3 weeks after Jon VII, roughly around ~Day 26. (Once again, this doesn’t make too much intuitive sense to me: why would Jon send Tycho to Deepwood Motte three weeks into a two-week march?) 

This doesn’t change our count of time from Jon X—Jon XIII (a generous ~1.5 weeks) but now we’re saying say that Tycho left Castle Black three weeks prior to Jon X, so this gives us 4.5 weeks between Tycho’s departure and Jon’s death.

This solves the issue of the teleporting banker: Tycho leaves ~3 weeks into Stannis’ march and has ~4.5 weeks to make the trip, so he’s faster than Stannis but not impossibly fast. However, because the moon phases are still locking our ability to only month here for the moon to align, we still have Tycho arriving roughly the same time Jon dies.

Mystery Month+

Since we're trapped into a vague schedule by Jon's noted moon cycles, the only remaining option is to assume that one of the above is true, and that Jon XIII happens at least two weeks after Jon XII. That would also make the timeline work.

However, to me, this all seems highly counterintuitive and unlikely…

And that’s before we factor in the accounts of the weather. 

Yes, I have one more piece of evidence to propose, and although this is a bit more debatable, I believe it corroborates my initial timeline.

The Snowstorm

Asha sets out from Deepwood Motte, and four days later, the snows begin. By a week into the march ("third day of snow"), the host has begun to separate, and slow to a crawl.

Around this time, or a little later, we imagine the Bolton scouts see the Stannis host struggling, and turn home to report back. Several days later, accounting for vague travel time (because Stannis is less than halfway to Winterfell by this point), they report this to Roose, and it begins to snow in Winterfell, too. Let's say, roughly, it begins snowing at Winterfell around ~2 weeks after Stannis departs, maybe adding a couple days. This is when The Turncloak happens—let's say ~Day 16.

Remember what I said about the snow in The Turncloak being interesting?

In Jon VII (at my estimate, ~Day 3) the weather is clear—clear enough that Jon heads north of the Wall. If we're aligning these moments, this seems to be true for Stannis, too.

The first we hear of snows to the south in Jon IX ("moved off to the south"), and in Jon X, we hear that south of Castle Black the "kingsroad was said to be impassable" from snowstorms. In Jon XIII, Yarwyck points out that the Wall is getting snow blown against it because the "wind's from the south". This is three different accounts of harsh weather to the south, and all of this points to this being the storm at Winterfell. 

If we go back to my original timeline, Stannis leaves Deepwood Motte a little before Jon VII, and Jon X occurs two weeks later around ~Day 18. In that timeline, then those reports of impassable snows to the south line up exactly with when the snows appear to have hit Winterfell, from our estimation of the sync between King’s Prize and Turncloak. Snows hit Winterfell roughly ~Day 16, Jon gets reports that the Kingsroad is impassable ~Day 18. That lines up.

According to my proposed timeline, this is still four or five weeks before Tycho Nestoris arrives. A week later, in Jon XIII, when the winds from the south are only getting worse… that fits, because Asha and Theon have another three or four weeks of snow to go. And Jon is dead.

The End

TL;DR: Comparing Jon’s tracking of the moon, Asha’s tracking of the days, and accounts of the snowstorm around Winterfell all lead me to believe that Jon dies four weeks before Tycho Nestoris reaches the Crofter’s Village.

In my proposed timeline: Tycho leaves ~1 week after Stannis does, he takes ~6 weeks to make it to the Crofter’s Village, and Jon’s already been dead for a month. So, there's been a month since. This way, Jon sending Tycho to Deepwood makes sense, and Tycho taking 6 weeks to make the journey makes sense. The accounts of the snowstorms line up.

What doesn't make sense is: the Pink Letter arrives over a month too early to be real.

Implications

But what could I possibly be saying? I don't even really know. This is such an unusual conclusion that there is very little theorizing in the fandom about what this would mean.

.... Although, I do have a pet theory for this: it does feed into my desire for the Wildlings to make a surprise appearance in TWOW.

Take this with a grain of salt. BUT. We know from AGOT that it usually takes ~3 weeks to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell. That means that a Wildling host would have a month, or even five weeks, depending on timing, to have marched from Castle Black to Winterfell afterward, and could arrive at Winterfell right on time for Stannis to advance. If that were the case, it could explain why Stannis seems so unhurried at the Crofter's Village. Maybe he's waiting for them to arrive. It could work that way. I'm not getting into any other logistics here, because this is a tall tale to defend.

On the other hand, as much work as this was, I’d love to be proven wrong here! It's all in the name of science, if by science I mean obsessive analysis of fiction. If someone has a detail I’ve missed, please let me know.

TIMELINE

Day 0: King's Prize: Stannis Marches. The King's Prize begins.

Day ~3: Jon VII: New moon, word from Stannis.

Day 4: King's Prize: Snow begins for Asha.

Day ~6: Prince of Winterfell. Word from Arnolf that Stannis marches on Winterfell.

Day 7: King's Prize: Stannis' host begins to break apart in the snow.

Day ~9: Jon VIII: ~Half moon, Val departs and will return in ~a week.

Day ~11. Tycho Nestoris arrives and Jon sends him to Deepwood Motte. Jon notes it seems there are snows off to the south.

Day 15: King's Prize: Stannis has moved less than half the distance.

Day ~16. The Turncloak. It begins to snow heavily in Winterfell.

Day ~18. Jon X. Val returns, new moon. It's snowing heavily in Castle Black. Word comes that the Kingsroad south of Castle Black is impassable from heavy snow.

Day ~19. Jon XI. Jon meets with Tormund, shows Val her new quarters. Wildlings cross in three days.

Day 20. King's Prize: Asha loses her ankle chains because her horse dies.

Day ~22. Jon XII. The wildlings cross. Clear in the morning but Tormund notes snow will start again overnight. Tormund plans to go to Oakenshield in a day or two. Word of the Hardhome disaster.

Day 26. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of vegetables.

*Day ~30. Jon XIII, by my estimate. Jon plans to leave for Hardhome. Strong winds blowing snow from the south. Tormund returns from Oakenshield. Bastard Letter, Jon dies.

Day 32. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of grain.

Day 34. King's Prize: Stannis' host reaches the Crofter's Village.

Day 45. The Karstarks arrive at the Crofter's Village. (The Sacrifice)

Day 47. The Ghost in Winterfell: Ryswell man-at-arms found dead. Snow makes visibility outside Winterfell near-zero.

Day 48. Ghost in Winterfell: Aenys Frey's squire found dead in the morning. Flint crossbowman found dead in the afternoon. Stable collapses at night.

Day 49: Ghost in Winterfell: Yellow Dick found dead in the morning. Visibility so low Theon cannot see "three feet in front of him." Confrontation about whether Theon is the killer.

Day 50: Ghost in Winterfell: Theon stays up all night; just before the dawn the sounds of horns and drums outside wakes everyone Winterfell. Theon is found in the godswood by three of the spearwives and taken to meet Mance in the Burned Tower. Theon I: A raven arrives (from the Karstarks) informing Roose of Stannis' location. Theon and Jeyne escape and are found my Mors.

Day 53: The Sacrifice: Tycho Nestoris arrives with Theon, Jeyne, and the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte.

*Day 60: At minumum, earliest time Jon XIII can occur for the Pink Letter to be accurate.

[firstdragonlady]

What we've learned about the Fine Line Universe so far

The Reaping: Annual event for the month of January in which one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen are randomly selected from the twelve Districts to go through a series of three tests in order to determine who will win a full-ride scholarship to Capitol City's best schools (Panem Middle [extremely rare], Panem Academy, and Panem University). Upon graduation from University, the Victors then are required to serve the Capitol in whatever career the Sponsors decide as gratitude for the Capitol's generosity. - Most often the career is in line with gifts and penchants the Victor leans toward in their aptitude test in Test Three. Sometimes it involves their talent from Test Two.

Each Reaping results in one male Victor and one female Victor. The exception was Haymitch Abernathy's and Chaff McKinley's Reaping.

The Victors must be from separate Districts. The exception was Haymitch Abernathy's and Chaff McKinley's Reaping. - For this Reaping, the Sponsors decided they were going to choose a boy and girl from the same District (this was a PR response to the accusations of "fixed" wins after Gloss and Cashmere Gild from District One won in consecutive years). This allowed the winning District to receive twice as much reward funding. Likewise, the Victors would receive twice the winnings. To double the chances, the Sponsors requested four Tributes from each District (two girls, two boys). - After Maysilee's death involuntarily disqualified Haymitch Abernathy (a favorite amongst the Sponsors during the Reaping, although that was unknown to the Tributes), the Sponsors deemed it unfair to require him to go home when such a tragic happenstance wasn't his fault. Additionally, they needed to cover Maysilee's death as an accident and redirect the attention of anyone following the Reaping updates from Caesar Flickerman. - In an attempt to rectify this, the Sponsors agreed that the winners would ideally be of the same District, but if the pairs did not meet the Sponsors' expectations of Capitol City/Panem standards, they would settle for two winners of the same gender. The District would still receive twice the funding, but the Victors would receive the normal amount of winnings to compensate for the expense. Thus Chaff and Haymitch's unusual win.

In-depth Reaping proceedings will be explained/posted in a later chapter and updated here accordingly.

Victors are chosen by Sponsors. Snow does not have a say, although he reserves the right to expel at his discretion regardless of how much the Sponsors favor a particular Victor (Two exceptions: Finnick Odair and Cashmere Gild since they bring in the most money, and Snow is a businessman).

Sponsors are primarily members of the elite Capitol society (the ten families in the hierarchy), but anyone with enough money for a session may buy a Victor. This includes celebrities, politicians, wealthy members of society who aren't in the elite, or any regular person who saved up enough money and knows about the Reaping. These non-elite Sponsors tend to have close connections and moral attributes of the elite Sponsors.

Knowledge of the Reaping is typically gained in University (Beetee thinks there's a secret society at Panem U that helps to filter this, but he hasn't spoken to anyone about it except his cousin)

The Reaping and its philanthropic propaganda is a smokescreen for an underground human trafficking ring, going on its seventy-fifth year by the time Fine Line begins

There are rules and procedures regarding the sessions. This will be detailed in a later post and updated accordingly here.

Each Victor has a Victory night with the Sponsor who is "randomly selected" amongst the pool. Sometimes it's genuinely random (Johanna's Victory night). Most of the time, Snow will offer the night if he noticed a Sponsor taking an extra special particular interest in the Victor for an exorbitantly high price even for an elite (Finnick, Cashmere, and Gloss's nights). Other times Snow will "randomly select" a Sponsor for a Victor if he feels it will serve his own purpose (Haymitch's night, a former Victor rarely Sponsors another Victor and Snow was too sadistically curious to turn it down)

Victors are declared on January 31st, regardless of the day of the week.

The Victory nights are always held on January 31st and February 1st, regardless of the day of the week.

The Victor's Ball occurs two weeks after the Victors are declared on February 14th or the Saturday following (So if January 31st landed on a Thursday, the Victor's Ball would occur on February 16th). The exception was Haymitch Abernathy and Chaff McKinley's Victors Ball since Haymitch sustained serious injury during his Victory night that required hospitalization. The Ball to be delayed for an entire month. [The cover that Snow gave the students was a sudden bout of appendicitis from Haymitch Abernathy])

More will be updated as the story progresses. Feel free to ask any questions in my inbox or under this post and I'll tag you with the answer.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Pan Says... (8/?)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: Look at me getting another chapter up within a month of the previous update! I can't tell y'all how much your replies, reblogs, comments, likes, kudos have meant to me.

I have plotted out the remainder of this story and I believe we'll have 2-3 more chapters. It all depends on how wordy I get, lol. The muse has been very generous as of late, so fingers crossed that I can wrap this up before I need to work on my supernatural summer fic in earnest.

Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills!

Rated E /Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six  / Part Seven

Chapter Prompts: I received a couple of prompts asking for the scenarios I've mentioned in this update. I have glanced over them a bit, though. I hope the prompters won't mind.

Warnings: Mentions of anal sex, edging, mutual masturbation, exhibitionism and voyeurism.

Part Eight

Killian collapsed back onto the bed, thoroughly spent and utterly exhausted. The mattress shook from the way Emma’s legs were quivering, her knees and upper body anchored to the bed with her ass in the air, still presented. The ass he’d just taken as a way of technically complying to Pan’s most recent command without actually doing the thing he knew Pan had meant for him to do.

Pan Says… come inside her this time.

The command had only been issued to Killian; a new twist to this particular round of the game. Instructions were given to only one of them at a time, usually when the other was in the lavatory or still asleep, and no longer delivered audibly. They were not permitted to share what the exact instruction was with each other, and had to therefore trust that their compliance to the other’s words was what Pan required.

The morning after their reunion was when it had all started. He’d come back from relieving himself to find Emma awake and looking slightly confused and distressed.

“Swan? What is it? What happened?”

“I… I can’t tell you,” she said. “He said I’m not supposed to tell you I just have to…”

Killian climbed back into bed and took her hand in his. “It’s alright, love,” he assured her. “Whatever it is he’s told you, you won’t have to go through it alone.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, swirling with contrition and a sense of determination. “I know,” she replied. Pushing against his chest, she forced him to lay back as she began to peel his pajama pants down his legs. “I need you to pay attention, because” she paused, swallowed hard, then wet her lips. “Swan says… everything I’m about to do to you, you will have to reciprocate in kind.”

Those next two days they had licked and kissed and sucked and branded and tongued every inch of each other. Exploring one another’s body with nothing more than their mouths.

The third day of Round Three had them experimenting with various toys and apparatus. He’d been told to edge her all day with the various wands and vibrators as she lay tied up from the four corners of the bed. It had been torture. Reducing her to a whimpering, begging, desperate collection of moans, tears, and sobs when all he wanted to do was alleviate the torment. But he’d dared not. Not after the last time they had disobeyed.

He was certain he would get his comeuppance on day four, especially when they woke to a basket of anal toys, in an assortment of styles and sizes. All Pan had required of them that day, however - delivered through a Swan Says… - was to shower and then fit each other with a plug, presumably to begin the process for more anal play later on.

Knowing they both had to be live wires of pent up sexual frustration by this point, day five had been mutual masturbation day.

“Your Captain says… touch yourself, love,” Killian instructed, stroking his cock as he watched Emma pleasure herself.

They had shared a total of eleven orgasms that day, and had become further acquainted with the various toys and butt plugs Pan insisted not go to waste.

Now, day six, Killian was allowed to penetrate his Swan with something other than his tongue or his fingers or a bit of vibrating silicone, but only under one condition… that he finish inside her.

Pan never said anything about it having to be in her cunt, so he’d taken advantage of the ambiguity by taking her ass instead, since they’d both been stretching and preparing themselves for anal play.

And fuck him if it hadn’t felt amazing - the defiance and the tight, forbidden depths in which he’d just spilled himself. Glancing over at Emma, her face shimmering from a sheen of sweat with an expression of sated and elated ecstasy, he knew she had enjoyed it too… but then of course, she did not know the full reason as to why he’d taken her ass and not her pussy.

She was no longer protected from the threat of an unwanted pregnancy.

“Wow,” Emma exhaled. “That was…”

“Don’t try and move too much,” he told her as he reached over and helped ease her into a more comfortable position. “Just rest. I’ll go get something to clean us up.”

“And some water,” she called out after him.

“Aye. And water,” he responded, as though he needed reminding.

He didn’t.

A week into Round Three and they had already settled into a routine. A week-long marathon of teasing, edging, training, and orgasms. A week of them taking orders from one another, of placing a new form of trust in the other’s hands. A week of them not talking about what had happened in the weeks before, or more to the point… the moments before this round had begun.

Swallowing thickly, he pulled back and softly whispered, “I love you, Emma.” Then captured her lips before she could reply.

“I think that’s enough sharing for one day,” Pan’s curt tone crackled over the speakers, forcing them apart. “In fact, Pan says no more talking until Round Three begins… which shall be first thing tomorrow morning. Sleep well.”

Killian’s jaw tightened as he watched Emma open and then close her mouth with longing and uncertainty swirling in her gaze. Squeezing his hand, she rolled off the bed and padded her way to the lav. Afterward, they both got dressed and curled up next to one another in bed, the silence between them deafening.

In the past week, she had not reciprocated those words and he had not uttered them again. Not because he hadn’t meant them, because he had. He did. He does. He regretted saying it, though. Regretted giving Pan more ammunition to use against them. Regretted having the memory of those words first said here, in this setting, under these circumstances. Regretted putting her on the spot when he knew, even if she felt the same, she couldn’t possibly be ready to say it back to him. And that was okay. He never wanted to push or pressure her, they had enough to contend with from the outside demands of their ‘host’. So, for now, all he wanted was to try and make things as easy for her as he could. To protect her and safeguard her to the best of his ability… even if that meant not talking about it and fucking her in the ass in order to keep her from getting pregnant.

“I have something special planned for you,” Pan said, startling him as they finished their aftercare routine. “But it requires a bit of a field trip.”

Confused, they both looked at one another then towards the door as it opened. Killian took her hand as they stood, placing himself in front of her as he always did when they were instructed to leave their cell.

“Pan says to follow the purple line until it ends, then wait for further instructions.”

The purple line? That was a new one. They’d never been instructed to follow that one before. He knew blue led to the showers, green to the rooftop terrace, and yellow to the room where he’d been injected with supposed poison after disobeying Pan’s rules. Emma had told him that she thought the Lost One had carried her along the red line when she’d been taken after their night of lovemaking, so Killian had deduced (and kept the knowledge to himself) that it had led to the medical procedure room.

Following the purple stripe to its unknown destination, Killian made a mental note of the route and cataloged it alongside the other colors. Of course, there was still an orange and black line. Their destination was also a mystery to him, which made making a mental map of the facility difficult, but he attempted to do so nonetheless.

The path ended in a narrow passageway in front of a pane of darkened glass. A hidden panel behind them slid closed, shutting them inside the dead end. Before either of them could question what was happening, the pane in front of them lit up. It wasn’t just glass. It was a window, looking out onto a circular room with tiers of seats that were shielded by thin, see-through screens, their occupants only noticeable in silhouette.

Emma reached out and banged on the window, trying to get someone’s attention, but her efforts were ignored. When someone did pass by - a woman donning an elaborate mask that hid her identity, but not her vanity - and paused to check her red hair, Killian realized…

“It’s a mirror,” he murmured. “A two-way mirror. They can’t see us.”

“Not yet, anyway.” Pan’s voice echoed through the small room. “Besides… their attention is focused elsewhere at the moment.”

Emma gasped, pulling Killian’s focus to where her wide eyes were trained. In the center, lowest level of the room was a rotating platform, and on that platform were two people engaging in various sex acts whilst the spectators behind the screens watched.

“What the fuck is this?”

“An intimate gathering I host one weekend of each month for like-minded friends. Three days of exhibitionist delights and debauched voyeuristic entertainment. This is the second night.”

He paused as dread rolled through Killian’s stomach. His next words made bile creep up his throat.

“You two will be night three’s entertainment.”

“Fuck that!”

“You can’t be bloody serious!”

“I am serious enough that I’m willing to offer you your reward before you meet the terms of my… request.”

Emma scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “There is nothing you could offer that would make either of us--”

“Not even a chance to reach out to your friends and family so you can inform them that you are not only alive, but also in need of their help?”

They both balked then stared at one another. He couldn’t be serious.

“Why would you let us do that?” Killian inquired.

“Because I require your full compliance so that my guests get the experience they’ve paid for. I am, therefore, prepared to compensate you accordingly.”

“In advance?” Emma clarified. “You’d risk us agreeing and notifying our loved ones of the truth only to back out later?”

Pan’s tone sent a chill up Killian’s spine and he knew Emma had been affected by the hushed warning as well.

“I would advise against such schemes. You do not wish to fathom how far I will go in punishing those who embarrass me in front of my guests.”

“What if we simply refuse all together?” Killian asked, knowing there had to be a penalty of equal weight to the reward being offered.

“Then your association with one another is of no further use to me, and I shall reassign you to partners with whom you might be a bit more agreeable to my requests.”

Emma pressed herself into Killian’s side as he protectively wrapped his arms around her waist. They clung to one another, each of them eyeing the door with the fear that it might open and Lost Ones would be waiting to pry them apart.

“The choice is yours,” Pan said. “I’ll give you some time to consider your options.” The panel slid open, revealing the corridor beyond. “Pan says to return to your room. Further information regarding tomorrow night’s entertainment will be waiting for you.”

~/~

Emma couldn’t stop the tremors coursing through her body. She wasn’t sure how she had made it back to their cell on such shaky legs, and the items awaiting them once they’d returned had done nothing to help alleviate her body’s physical response to the dread and anxiety overwhelming her.

In the center of the room was a table that held an old fashioned, corded phone. It had only three buttons on the dial panel; one labeled Nolan, one labeled Liam, and one labeled Decline. Next to the phone was a binder, and within it were the rules, expectations, and procedures for the night of entertainment she and Killian were meant to supply to Pan and his perverted guests.

A note also accompanied the binder. It read, Pan says to discuss the instructions in full before making your choice. Should you choose to comply, make your calls accordingly. Should you choose to decline, press the appropriate button and my Lost Ones will see to your reassignment.

“Say something,” Killian pleaded. Having read through the binder aloud, he’d tossed it over his shoulder then slumped forward with his head in his hands and his elbows braced against his knees.

“What is there to say?” she said, on the edge of panic. “We can’t refuse him. I can’t… I can’t lose you. I can’t let someone else… I can’t--”

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, gathering her in his arms and cradling her against his chest. “I know.” His lips brushed the crown of her head and his chest rose and fell from a deep, fortifying breath. “But we have to discuss it. We have to talk it through. I won’t give him any reason to separate us. No loopholes.”

Emma nodded and pulled back so she could stare up into his face. “You’re right. We have to follow his instructions to the letter if we want to avoid penalty or punishment, and as much as I really don’t relish the idea of having to” -she gestured towards the binder- “do that. The idea of being forced apart makes me…”

“Aye. Me, too.” Reaching back he picked up the binder and opened it across his lap. “The good news is… none of the spectators are allowed to touch us or participate physically in any of the acts we perform on one another.”

“Yeah,” Emma groused. “They just get to dictate what acts we perform.”

Pan’s guests essentially got to be him for a night. Each of them would be able to make suggestions and vote on what sort of acts they wanted to see their entertainment perform on one another. Those requests would then be relayed to them through an ear bud or in some other manner.

Requests involving excessive violence or anything that might leave a permanent mark would not be permitted. She and Killian would have their identity obscured through the use of a domino mask and could opt to have an alias used in lieu of their actual names as well. Of course, they both had distinguishing features that could give away their identities, but what were the odds of them ever encountering these people again?

“Do you want to fill out the form first?” Killian asked, referring to the questionnaire Pan had provided, allowing them each to select up to ten items they absolutely would not consent to. “Or we could go over it together, if you’d prefer?”

If she’d prefer? Did it even matter anymore as to what she would prefer?

Emma’s chest tightened and her stomach dropped as the periphery of her vision darkened and blurred spots floated in her vision. A dull ringing began to develop in her ears, strengthening in its tone, pitch, and volume as the pressure in her lungs grew critical and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Rage bubbled up from her stomach and despair stung the corners of her eyes.

This was it, she realized. This was her breaking point. Emma had absolutely had enough.

Launching herself off the bed she stomped to the center of the room and rounded on Killian. “No! I don’t want to go over the questionnaire! I don’t want to discuss everything involved with tomorrow night’s entertainment! I don’t want to do any of this! I want to go home!”

Hysterics overtook her and she crumpled to the floor, but not before Killian wrapped her up in his arms to help break her fall. Clinging to him, she wept into his shoulder, her body practically convulsing from the release of pent up emotions and strain.

“I know, love,” Killian murmured, his voice tight and gravely from his own held back emotions. He continued to comfort her with soft words of nonsense as his hand caressed soothing circles over her back. After several long minutes, she could feel dampness against her hairline and when she pulled back to glance up, she found it was because Killian had started shedding tears of his own.

A few hiccups escaped her as she tried to calm herself. Killian’s hands cupped her face and he brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs before pressing his forehead to hers.

“Just you and me, love,” he whispered. “We will face this new degradation as we have all the others. Together.”

Pulling back, he brushed her hair away from her face, carding his fingers through the long strands and gently scratching her scalp in the way he knew she liked. “We will forget about Pan and those who have come to witness our debasement and focus only on one another. Aye?”

“Aye,” she replied in a sorry attempt to mimic his accent, which pulled a small smile from him. Flicking her gaze up to meet his, she said, “I’m sorry. I--”

“You never have to apologize to me, love,” he replied, wrapping her in his arms again and holding her tightly to his chest. “It’s a wonder we’ve both gone this long since our last breaking point.”

Emma laughed mirthlessly. He had a point. This certainly wasn’t the first time one of them had fallen to pieces and thrown a well deserved tantrum, allowing the homesickness, injustice, and despair to spill over from their boiling points. Allowing him to pick her up off the floor, she tried to bury the worry about whether or not it would be the last.

“What would you say,” Killian began, leading them back over to the bed and sitting them on the edge, “to us choosing our false names, our aliases as it were, and proceeding in those personas as a way of distancing ourselves from it?”

“You mean like… pretending this is all happening to someone else?”

“In a way.” Killian took her hand and threaded his fingers between hers. “It might allow us to… dissociate from having to fully experience it ourselves if we think about it happening to… The Captain and… whatever pseudonym you might select for yourself, instead.”

Emma rolled her bottom lips between her teeth and considered the suggestion. It would be like role play. The audience wouldn’t be seeing them, wouldn’t be controlling them, they’d be witnessing two characters crafted to play out a role that was separate from the actors themselves. The thought of that released a bit more of tension she was holding onto and an exhale passed over her lips, carrying her agreement.

“Yes. I like that idea.” Cocking her head to one side, she looked up at him with a teasing smirk and taunted, “The Captain?”

A blush bloomed across his cheeks and tinted the tips of his ears as he reached up to paw at the patch of skin behind his jawline. “Aye. Uh… I thought it might serve as a fitting moniker.”

“Hmmm,” Emma hummed with a coy glint in her eye. “I like it.” Wetting her lips, which almost always centered his focus on her mouth, Emma dipped her gaze then flicked it back up, peering at him from beneath her lashes as she sultrily inquired, “Would the Captain be agreeable to having a naughty Wench at his side for tomorrow’s night entertainment?”

A wicked smile stretched across his lips, and she could see the gleam of relief and pride flicker in his eyes before they turned dark and heated. “Oh, aye,” he replied in a deep timbre that damn near made her toes curl. “I think the Captain would enjoy a naughty Wench’s companionship very much indeed.” Plucking a paper from the binder, he held it out to her and with his Captain’s voice ordered, “Be a good little Wench and fill this out so your Captain knows all the deplorable things he’ll get to do to you.”

“Aye, aye… Captain.”

Part Nine

[mariacallous]

In the days since four Tajikistani citizens were arrested in connection with Friday’s terrorist attack at a Moscow concert hall, people with Central Asian ancestry, already frequent targets of racism in Russia, have been facing a new wave of hatred and aggression. The country’s security forces have reportedly begun treating people with “Asian features” with increased suspicion, while some Russian citizens have started refusing to ride with taxi drivers from Tajikistan. Meanwhile, according to the Telegram channel Baza, Tajik community leaders have advised diaspora members to avoid going outside at night for their own safety, and employees of a barbershop where one of the alleged terrorists worked for less than three months have received a flood of threats. Meduza shares examples of this unwarranted hostility.

‘I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do’

On the day after the terrorist attack at Moscow’s Crocus City Hall concert venue, Telegram channels began posting the names of suspects who had been arrested while allegedly trying to flee to Ukraine. One of them, 19-year-old Muhammadsobir Fayzov, had worked for several months at a barbershop in the town of Teykovo in Russia’s Ivanovo region. As soon as town residents learned of this, they began bombarding the barbershop’s employees with threats.

Screenshots shared by the Telegram channel Baza show users calling on people to storm the shop and burn down the homes of its employees. It’s unclear where these messages were left, but they appear to have been posted on an unofficial community page for the barbershop and later deleted.

On Sunday, the barbershop’s official page on the Russian platform VKontakte posted a message saying that a “wild hatred” had been “unleashed” on the establishment. “The manager and the owner are getting threatening phone calls, and people are leaving bad ratings and writing awful reviews,” read the post. According to the shop’s employees, Fayzov only worked there for a few weeks before he disappeared and stopped responding to its management. The message was later deleted, and the page is now private.

The barbershop’s director, Yamina Safiyeva, told journalists that its managers’ phones have been “ringing nonstop” with people calling with threats. “People are calling and wishing for my death. I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to go outside,” she said. Safiyeva also said the shop’s employees didn’t notice anything unusual about Fayzov during his time there.

‘I’m not going with you’

In Yekaterinburg, according to the local news outlet It’s My City, police have begun conducting routine stops of men with “Asian features,” and the administration of at least one shopping center has asked its tenants for information about store employees from Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Kyrgyzstan.

Additionally, some taxi service users have been refusing to ride in vehicles with drivers from Tajikistan. Telegram channels and social media pages have published screenshots from taxi apps in which customers tell their assigned drivers to cancel the ride if they are from Tajikistan. “Hello, if you are Tajik, cancel the order, I’m not going with you,” reads one message.

The Telegram channel Baza has reported that Tajik community leaders in Russia have been advising diaspora members not to go outside at night and to avoid large public events. At the same time, according to the channel, some employers have asked workers from Tajikistan to provide them with updated personal information, including their passport data and residence.

On Monday, Kyrgyzstan’s Foreign Ministry issued a statement warning citizens against traveling to Russia and recommending that citizens currently in Russia keep their documents with them at all times.

Russian State Duma deputy Konstantin Zatulin has said that anybody calling for “pogroms and lynching” in the wake of the terrorist attack should be prosecuted for “provoking destabilization inside the country.” He warned that “dealing with migrants in this way” will “inevitably lead to escalation.”

[silverdune]

dental floss | three (ii). concurrence

"why must it have been you?"

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked. <- previous | dental floss masterlist | next -> character(s): park seonghwa, ??!twice members, jung wooyoung, kim hongjoong, jeong yunho tags: emotional angst, existential crisis, slight altercation, misunderstandings word count: 3.3k summary: seonghwa struggles with the plight of reaching out to his first cousin. meanwhile, in gwangju.. a/n: um surprise? it's been so long since i last updated, so sorry to anyone who's waited; i hope you enjoy;;

1st December, 1883 Dear. Park Seonghwa, Forgive the shakiness of my penmanship, my hands are trembling as I write this letter to you.

I understand it has been many months since I last heard from you, but not a day goes by that I do not think about you, dear cousin. I do not know why our correspondence ended so abruptly, but I must admit that I did begin to fear the worst. I stopped sending letters when I realised that you were no longer replying to me, sometime in the winter of 1882, and I began to mourn what I thought was your passing, at the very least your absence. I suppose you could say this letter comes from a place of desperation, of wanting to know what happened to you, if anything at all. Some part of me always hoped that someone would come across those letters and open them if they found no recipient, that they would notice those letters had been sent to a dead end and reply in your stead. Alas, that never occurred, and so I write to you again, a whole year later, after many months of mourning, praying that I receive something, anything at all. A single indicator that you are still alive. In any case, this letter comes from a place of hope. No part of me can believe you are truly gone from this world, dear cousin. My mind has skipped to bargaining and yet my heart has not left denial. Please, let it just be that you went away and that you are due back soon. Perhaps you were called away unexpectedly and could not tell me in time. Please, Seonghwa. Please find this letter, read it, and remember there is someone on the other side of the country awaiting your response with a heavy heart. Your dearest cousin, P. Jihyo

× December, 1883 ×

Seonghwa knew this was an absolutely insane idea.

Despite knowing who could still be living in Gwangju, he had no way of verifying whether or not she was still there, or at the same address, or if she was even still alive.

That last thought made his gut twist in a way it hadn’t done since he first transformed into a vampire.

Vampyre. The word ticked in his head like a broken clock. It did not seem real at the best of times, even after almost two whole years of this life and everything that came with it, including the fact that it was something he was going to have to tell her.

The person in question was his dear first cousin, Jihyo.

He knew exactly why he stopped sending her letters. Ever since he packed up his life and left it behind for eternal immortality, there had been no time to return home and write her a letter, nor retrieve any letters she may have sent in that time.

Seonghwa froze in the middle of his room. He had never thought about that possibility.

Not before long, his legs turned to the kind of cold dessert jelly he’d only ever learned of the rich aristocrats enjoying after their four courses. He descended onto the bed and clutched the thin sheet in his palm until the sharp corners of his nails started digging into the flesh. He screwed his eyes shut and began to weep silently.

He then heard footsteps behind him. Wooyoung had just passed by the open entryway to his room, then stopped short of going to his own room when he noticed Seonghwa’s slouched figure and clenched fist.

“Um, Seonghwa? Are you okay?”

Wooyoung’s voice had always been a calm current in the roughest seas. A sign that just for a short while, everything would be okay.

Seonghwa smiled despite himself but didn’t turn around. “Yes. Yes, I- Everything is absolutely fine.” He hoped it could subtly convince Wooyoung to abandon his worry and carry on with his day, but at this point, he knew Wooyoung better than that.

Wooyoung immediately detected how brittle Seonghwa’s voice was, a glass on the verge of falling off the table and shattering into a million pieces. He took one polite step into the dark corner, and instantly flooded Seonghwa with light.

The minute gesture overwhelmed Seonghwa to the point he sobbed unabashedly into the sheet. The faint squeak of Wooyoung’s foot on the floorboards made him remember he had a new family he could talk to, and that he shouldn’t keep this from them, as it could help all of them all at once.

Wooyoung sped up and sat beside Seonghwa, placing an arm around his shoulder and encouraging him to turn around. “Oh.. Dear Seonghwa, what’s the matter?”

Seonghwa eventually found enough resolve to shift until their two pairs of knees were parallel. He didn’t let go of the sheet, but he found respite in Wooyoung holding his other hand, which was just as comforting.

It took some time for Seonghwa to scramble the words together, as though the letters were a jumbled mass in his brain he had to reassemble himself. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. A teardrop fell from his chin and onto his wrist. Seonghwa briefly looked down; if it had splashed onto Wooyoung’s skin, he didn’t make a comment about it. His full attention was on Seonghwa, to the point he was more concerned with wiping the tears away.

Wooyoung didn’t press him to give an answer. He allowed Seonghwa to take all the time he needed.

Gradually, Seonghwa mustered the courage to tell him.

“I..” - exhale - “Do- Do you remember when I told you that I had family in Gwangju?”

Wooyoung squeezed his hand tightly. He remembered that conversation well. “I do, yes.”

“I- I think I know who could still be out there.”

Wooyoung pulled back, his eyes going wide. “You- You do?” His voice was filled with genuine curiosity, not a single hint of eagerness for Seonghwa to get to the point where all of this became a part of the plan.

Seonghwa nodded his head. His eyes were so vulnerably soft, something that Wooyoung had never really seen before. “Her name is Jihyo. She is my first cousin. We sent letters to one another for many years, always concerned with the idea of us seeing each other again, though it never worked out since we were both young and couldn’t travel by ourselves.” Wooyoung continued listening attentively. “The last time I sent her a letter was almost two years ago, January, 1882, to wish her well on her birthday, which is in February. I imagine if she ever sent a reply, she would have wished me well on my birthday in April.”

Seonghwa paused long enough for Wooyoung to respond, but Wooyoung was slightly taken aback by all of this information. He stuttered over his words as he looked up at Seonghwa. “I- I don’t know what to say except, first, I am so sorry that you couldn’t continue your correspondence with her after the transformation.” Wooyoung placed a hand on his chest, feeling its distant, heavy beat, full of sadness and latent regret. “I can only distantly remember what it felt like to leave so much of my prior life behind, as well as my family and all of my friends. On occasion, it keeps me awake for maybe a mere hour at a time before I let it pass. I understand why you’ve never spoken of her or your family. Knowing that Gwangju is where we all wish we could go to meet with our friends must have brought back some painful memories.”

Seonghwa closed in on himself ever so slightly. “I wish I had spoken of her sooner. I wish I had told you of her. I wish I could go back to my old home and see if she sent any more letters over the last year. I suppose she reckons that I am no longer here to receive them, which is not the furthest thing from the truth, but if there was a way to, I would go back and find them.”

Wooyoung tapped his chin lightly. “Well, why don’t we do just that?”

Seonghwa stared at him, completely befuddled. “What do you mean?”

“Why don’t we go back to your old address and see if there are any more letters?” Wooyoung’s voice grew increasingly convinced of the idea. “Oh, Seonghwa, you absolutely should!”

Seonghwa turned away from him. “It is futile. There is no way I could go back to my old village and see all of the people that I once knew and spoke with every day and pretend that I do not know them. Besides, the minute they see me they will know something has changed. I am not the person I once was. Everything is different now. I cannot go back there.” His throat constricted and his tongue sharpened. “Absolutely not.” He stormed from the room and descended the staircase.

“Seonghwa!” called Wooyoung, but there was no use.

Hongjoong and Yunho caught him as he was about to leave the house.

“Hey- where are you going, the sun’s about to rise!” warned Hongjoong.

Seonghwa stilled at the front door, his palm on the handle.

“I am leaving for a quick hunt.”

Hongjoong drew back in horror. Yunho stopped what he was doing instantly.

From the base of Seonghwa’s gums came the most wretched feeling imaginable. He left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Wooyoung fled down the stairs and stopped just as he was about to reach the ground floor. “Did- Did he-?”

Hongjoong stared at the door. Never before had Seonghwa willingly gone out to hunt.

“Yeah. He did.”

×-×

I must return. I must apologise.

Seonghwa continued walking through the forest that surrounded his new home. Hongjoong was right, the sun was merely an hour shy of rising above the clouds to welcome a new day, but Seonghwa was determined, committed in a way he had never been before up until now.

He didn’t know where this surge of hunger came from. His teeth wouldn’t even protrude; it was as though there was no hunger to begin with.

Perhaps a hankering of a different kind.

Seonghwa came to a stop amidst the taller trees in the forest. They encircled him like hunters waiting to catch their prey. He glanced up at them and noticed their height, realising in that moment just how small they made him feel.

His teeth were stubborn in his gums and the throbbing was hellish. Helplessly, he fell to his knees in the clearing, paying no mind to the rays that threatened to shed the skin off his neck.

There was no hunt in him. Just the illusion of a threatening exit.

Seonghwa drew his knees close to his chest. Distant voices called from all around him, familiar and filled with worry.

“Seonghwa!” they called. “Seonghwa!”

His three friends were concerned for his safety, of course. The defenceless fledgling, too scared to extend his canines even with the advent of silk thread. Too full of heart to give it up to inertia. How did Wooyoung manage it? How did he manage to retain so much of his fondness and tenderness where so many would lose all sense of compassion? How did Hongjoong and Yunho still manage to live on only with phantoms of solicitude and the distant swell of a beating chest?

Seonghwa could not bear this life of eternal wastage, of menacing platitudes and the danger of never being able to look at his dear first cousin in the eyes and see a relative with whom he shared so much heart and earnestness.

The fear consumed him. He was bound to this life. There was no way he could return.

Seonghwa knew it was an absolutely insane idea.

It was also quite inane.

“Seonghwa!” called Hongjoong from behind. The clouds were steadily beginning to clear, the chances of a clear, brisk winter’s day all too promising. Hongjoong skidded to his knees beside Seonghwa, wrapping him up in a shawl to protect him from the sun while he yelled to the other two, “I got him! Get back to the house you two, quickly!” Wooyoung and Yunho scurried away, the sound of their feet quickly becoming light rashes in the wind.

Seonghwa didn’t move for a time, even as Hongjoong coaxed him to his feet rather aggressively. It was all out of care, Seonghwa supposed, though he could never see deep into Hongjoong’s mind, and he guessed it wouldn’t matter if Hongjoong meant some malice in the end.

As they turned to go back to the house, Hongjoong used the shawl to brush some dirt away from Seonghwa’s person. “You’re a fool, Seonghwa, my God..” he muttered beneath his breath, the thin veil of his sharp tongue coated by a caring demeanour.

Seonghwa mumbled something that Hongjoong didn’t hear quite catch, despite their close proximity, and Hongjoong craned his ear to Seonghwa’s lips just so he could repeat it once more.

Seonghwa exhaled, shallow and frail. “I never claimed to be smart.”

Hongjoong listened, then shook his head, dismissing the statement as one born from embarrassment and guilt. Two emotions Hongjoong knew were just byproducts of an overwhelming sadness Seonghwa felt. The decision he made to leave at such a time did not come from a genuine thirst to hunt, but a genuine prayer that something would make sense for a change.

Hongjoong held him close and said, “I refute that remark, but we’ll talk about it when we get back.”

Seonghwa smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “You are too kind to me, mentor.”

Hongjoong wanted to stop and look at him, but the sun was reaching their shoulders. They were so close to the house that to stop now would be ridiculous, so Hongjoong just bit his tongue and waited until they were safe at home.

With the door closed firmly behind them, and the shawl now back on the coat hook, Hongjoong faced Seonghwa head-on.

Seonghwa gazed back at him. No ice or fire, nor spite dipped in a two-faced plea to make better decisions next time, but distress.

“You put yourself in serious danger going out there,” said Hongjoong, his tone slow yet slightly wavering. “This- This is so unlike you, I- I’ve never seen you act in this way, we’ve never seen you act in this way.”

Wooyoung was sitting on the stairs. A cursory glance to his right meant Seonghwa locked eyes with him for a brief second before Wooyoung looked askance. Surely, something was telling him that he had said something to make Seonghwa act out in this way.

Seonghwa swallowed the lump in his throat and nearly burst into tears. “I- I am so-” He hiccuped on the word and placed a hand on his chest. Wooyoung looked over, then stood up. Despite everything, he still reached out a hand. Despite everything, he never wanted Seonghwa to feel alone.

Hongjoong braced, taking a step forward. “Wooyoung mentioned to us that something happened, that- That you-”

Seonghwa looked up, then over at Wooyoung, whose glassy eyes were reflecting Seonghwa back at him in a way so crucially visceral. “Wooyoung, I am so sorry, I should never have lashed out like that. You said nothing wrong, you did nothing wrong, my emotions overwhelmed me and-”

Wooyoung left the staircase and moved to stand before Seonghwa. “I know.. I know things are terribly difficult, trust me, I just.. I truly thought we were on the same lines.”

Seonghwa breathed out, the weight of which made him imagine his lungs had begun to work again. “I- I understand why you thought that. I know I made it seem like I wanted to go back, I- I do, a real, true part of me wants to go back, I just.. I just do not think that I can..”

Wooyoung read between the lines and placed a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “I understand now, believe me. Your idea was to send a letter out to see if you got a reply.”

Seonghwa nodded, “Yes, that is where I was going. I am so sorry I lashed out.”

Wooyoung smiled. “I forgive you, truly.”

Hongjoong and Yunho exchanged glances. They had been following this exchange, but only partly. Yunho then spoke up, “May we be filled in on the subject of this conversation?”

Seonghwa glanced at the two men opposite. “My first cousin, Jihyo. She might still be in Gwangju.” Hongjoong and Yunho briefly looked at one another, shock taking over their countenance, before looking back at Seonghwa. “And I plan to send her a letter.”

×-×

1st December, 1883

Dear. Park Jihyo,

Dear cousin, please allow me to apologise for my long term silence with regards to our correspondence. It was never my intention to cease communication so suddenly, but I hope that with this letter, I can both bring ease to your heart, and an explanation for my absence.

I know you will not recognise this address. I had to move last year, shortly after I sent you the letter wishing you well on your birthday, for reasons I will explain shortly, but please trust that I am still alive. I met three new people, and I have lived with them since the spring of 1882.

Now that the easier explanation is out of the way, the much harder one is afoot. Dear cousin, do not fret, and do not be alarmed, but I suffered an altercation so tragic in the spring of 1882 that it has firmly changed the trajectory of my life. I have been transformed into a vampyre.

To write the word so plainly on a page, knowing this could certainly find you, fills me with an emotion I cannot describe. Please, cousin, receive this and me with an open heart. I do not lie, nor do I jest. This has truly been my life for the last almost two years. I tremble so to imagine your response, and my hands do quiver as I write these sentences, praying that you read my message and still have space in your heart to regard me.

I pray that you write back to me, even if you say we must never speak again. I understand if that is the case, but forgive me for having hope that I remember your heart well enough to imagine it not so.

Your dearest cousin,

P. Seonghwa

×-×

Jihyo folded the paper in half and dragged her forefingers outward from the centre of the crease to the edge. From one motion, the crease was pristine and crisp.

She ran her tongue over her teeth. Stress had driven her canines through before she even realised.

She folded the paper again, this time bringing the two outer thirds into the centre before holding it in place with a wax seal.

Jihyo had to physically stop herself from piercing her lips with her sharp teeth. The tips of her fingers shook with anxiety as she stared into the middle distance.

Footsteps sounded from behind, the distinct click of court shoes.

“You have written a letter to the fledgling, I take it?”

Jihyo turned her head to the side. “Yes, ma’am.”

The woman in the doorway turned to the side, preparing to leave Jihyo in her own candle lit cavern. The scent of smoke made its way into the room, bleeding into the painted walls Jihyo could only admire from a distance for their great detail. No warmth emanated from those walls. Only illusion.

“Good. The council will be pleased to hear about this.” The woman departed without another word, her pipe between her right fore and middle finger, the smoke of which still dissipated in Jihyo's airspace like an intrusion.

Jihyo looked ahead and closed her eyes. The council. The fucking council.

She opened her eyes. Tears had begun to well up in them.

Seonghwa.. Dear Seonghwa.. Why must it have been you?

taglist: @hyungseos-cafe × @namjooncrabs × @bikerjongho

× silverdune (ave). do not repost. ×

[beardedmrbean]

A highly anticipated report from the United Nations’ top investigative agency is poised to shed new light on Israel’s allegations that U.N. workers participated in the Oct. 7 Hamas terror attacks, with the fate of the U.N.’s aid agency for Palestinians hanging in the balance.

In the weeks since Israel issued the shocking allegations, key donor nations including the United States have suspended funding to the U.N. Relief and Works Agency, known as UNRWA, whose role providing food, water, medicine and shelter in the Gaza Strip is a critical lifeline for civilians. Yet the allegations have fueled a raging debate about the limited evidence Israel has produced.

The allegations were conveyed in Israeli officials’ public statements as well as a diplomatic document known as the “UNRWA File,” which was not distributed widely but was given to NBC News.

They center on the claim that at least a dozen UNRWA staffers took part in the Oct 7. attacks and that 1,468 employees — or more than 11% — are “active members” of Hamas or Palestinian Islamic Jihad, the second most prominent militant group in Gaza. NBC News can’t verify the identities of the staffers Israel says participated in the attacks, or the veracity of the claims about the evidence.

An initial report from the U.N.’s Office of Internal Oversight Services, which investigates wrongdoing by U.N. staff, is expected in the coming weeks. The U.N. secretary-general’s spokesperson said late last month that the office was still waiting for Israel to hand over evidence and expected to receive it “shortly.” No further updates have been released.

“The investigation remains ongoing,” said U.N. spokesperson Stéphane Dujarric, adding that investigators planned to visit Israel “soon.” The U.S. State Department, meanwhile, says it’s waiting for that report before deciding whether to restore badly needed funding to UNRWA.

Yet some experts doubt the U.N. can competently investigate itself.

Peter Gallo, a former OIOS investigator, said that the agency’s authority is limited to investigating and punishing U.N. employees and has no mandate to force broader UNRWA reforms. In this case, UNRWA has already terminated the staffers initially accused by Israel.

“So they have no control over them,” Gallo told NBC News. “They can’t require them to turn up for an interview. They can’t threaten them with anything, because they’ve already been fired.”

The UNRWA allegations mark a new low in a fraught relationship between Israel and the U.N. that has further deteriorated since the start of the war.

Israeli officials have long campaigned for UNRWA to be disbanded. A recent UNRWA report also alleged Palestinian detainees were physically and sexually abused in Israeli custody, while a separate U.N. report found “convincing” evidence that Israeli hostages in Gaza have been raped.

NBC News takes a look at the UNRWA allegations:

Israel’s allegation: Staffers participated in Oct. 7 attacks

In late January, Israel accused 12 UNRWA staffers of involvement in the attacks, according to UNRWA and Israeli officials’ public statements. In the following days, UNRWA said two of those 12 were confirmed dead, although it’s not clear how they died., although it’s not clear how they died.

The number later grew to 13, according to a diplomatic memo known as the “UNRWA File,” first referenced by Israeli Foreign Minister Israel Katz during the Munich Security Conference in February.

According to a copy of the 13-page document, Israel alleges that six staffers infiltrated Israel on Oct. 7, while another four are said to have helped kidnap Israelis. The memo alleges three employees were summoned by text message the day before the attacks to “arrive armed at the assembly point.” 

In addition to those 13, the memo says that “at least one UNRWA employee supplied logistical support to the infiltration attack and an additional employee was directed to establish an OPS room on Oct. 8,” referring to an operations room.

Israel’s defense minister later raised the number of those allegedly involved further, saying more than 30 UNRWA employees either killed Israeli civilians, kidnapped soldiers or helped detain them.

What Israel says: 

In mid-February, Israel’s military identified the 12 staffers initially accused of involvement, including their photos, dates of birth and job titles. Israel named two that it said were found or arrested inside Israel.

The disclosure included a photo and CCTV footage Israel said showed one of the staffers, an UNRWA social worker, inside Kibbutz Be’eri on Oct. 7 helping move the limp body of an Israeli into a Jeep.

NBC News verified the location of the CCTV footage as Kibbutz Be’eri, but can’t independently confirm the identities of the staffers named by Israel.

An intelligence dossier containing what Israel says is additional evidence was also transmitted to the U.S. and other allies, but has not been made public.

Last week, Israel’s military also released two phone recordings it says further prove UNRWA staffers’ involvement.

In one, a man Israel says was an UNRWA teacher says in Arabic, “We have female captives” and “I captured one.” In the other recording, another man also identified by Israel as an UNRWA teacher says, “I’m inside with the Jews.” 

NBC News can’t independently confirm who is speaking in the recordings, or whether these were edited.

What the U.N. says:

On Jan. 26, U.N. Secretary-General Antonio Guterres said he was “horrified” by the allegations and immediately launched an investigation.

UNRWA said it immediately fired 10 of the 12 staffers initially accused by Israel who were still alive. It has promised that anyone involved in terrorism “will be held accountable, including through criminal prosecution.” 

UNRWA said Israel hadn’t presented it with any evidence substantiating that more than 30 staffers were involved. It noted that this number would be a tiny fraction of the agency’s roughly 13,000 staffers in Gaza.

Israel’s allegation: UNRWA’s staff is filled with Hamas operatives

In addition to having an armed wing, Hamas is a social movement and the governing authority in Gaza.

Last week, Israel said 450 UNRWA employees are military operatives enrolled in Gaza terror groups.

What Israel says:

Israel has not publicly provided evidence documenting large numbers of UNRWA employees being members of Hamas or Palestinian Islamic Jihad.

What the U.N. says:

UNRWA says it first learned about this allegation in the media and has received no evidence from Israel or any other nation to support it. It says it has zero tolerance for terrorism and that the “overwhelming majority” of staff adhere to U.N. principles.

The agency says it conducts “detailed reference checks” on recruits and regularly provides lists to Israel of all its staffers, including their names, job titles and I.D. numbers. UNRWA says Israel has never previously voiced concern about anyone on the list — including the 12 originally accused of participating in Oct. 7.

Last week, UNRWA alleged in a report reviewed by Reuters that some UNRWA staffers, while in Israeli detention during the war, were coerced by Israel into falsely confessing ties between the agency and Hamas, and the involvement of UNRWA staffers in Oct. 7. 

UNRWA spokesperson Juliette Touma confirmed to NBC News that UNRWA collected written testimonies from previously detained staffers released into Gaza that included those allegations, but said it was unclear whether those testimonies will be made public. Israel has not responded specifically to those allegations other than to say that its military follows international law regarding detainees.

Israel’s allegation: Hamas uses UNRWA facilities for terrorism

Israel says that UNRWA schools, aid depots and headquarters throughout the Gaza Strip have been used by Hamas to launch rockets, store weapons and plan operations.

What Israel says:

Last month, Israel said its forces found a tunnel underneath UNRWA’s main Gaza headquarters containing large quantities of weapons and explosives. Israel said electrical lines directly connected to UNRWA’s headquarters above provided the underground Hamas facility with power.

The Israel Defense Forces released drone footage, video of the weapons it says it found, and video of its troops conducting the operation. NBC News can’t independently verify what the IDF presented. 

Israel has also released videos it says show rocket launches from inside an UNRWA school in Beit Hanoun. 

NBC News geolocated the video to an UNRWA primary school in Beit Hanoun, but cannot confirm who launched projectiles seen in the video provided by Israeli officials or when it was filmed.

What the U.N. says:

UNRWA’s commissioner general, Philippe Lazzarini, did not dispute the Israeli allegations about the tunnel, but said UNRWA “did not know what is under its headquarters in Gaza.” He said that during peacetime UNRWA inspects its facilities quarterly, but has been unable to access the site since abandoning it on Oct. 12, when Israel ordered that the area be evacuated.

Lazzarini did not specifically address the allegations that the Hamas underground facility was receiving electricity from the UNRWA headquarters above.

UNRWA has said there have been instances since the mid-2000s, when “armed actors from both sides” have violated the agency’s neutrality, including rockets placed in its schools. The agency says it has “systematically condemned” those violations, protested to Gaza authorities and informed Israel when it occurred.

The agency also said that when it finds suspected tunnels, it seals them by injecting cement and discloses the discoveries publicly.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Midnight Blades {17}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: The day of the prophecy arrives and Aemond leaves against your wishes. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, birth, gore, death - (part 17 is hurt, part 18 is comfort - so stick around) WC: 2803

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

The journey from the temple back to the palace had been in silence, but you could practically hear his thoughts as if they were your own and he planned to fly straight to Rook’s Rest. The door to the empty council room closed behind you and he faced the tapestry that had been draped over the table, various items marking positions as representations. He studied the image that had been updated daily from the reports sent from King’s Landing but nothing indicated that there would be a battle at Rook’s Rest.

“I understand you have spent your entire life protecting your family, I really do, but rushing across the Narrow Sea is not the answer,” you said quietly as he stared a hole in the map. “Prophecies are fickle things, I wouldn’t put much weighting on it. My mother received a prophecy that it would rain blood in a drought, and that most certainly has not come to pass in the years since she spoke it. A battle in Rook’s Rest might take place two hundred years from now.”

“It did not feel that way,” Aemond murmured. “It felt urgent.”

“If you must, send correspondence to Ser Criston and have him look into it. There is no reason to panic.”

“I am not panicking.”

“Of course, my mistake,” you said with a shrug before wrapping your arms around his waist, missing the feel of his skin now that he was clothed again. “Word will come back soon enough and this worry will all be for nought. I know you miss your home-”

“You’re my home.”

You smiled into his tunic at the sincerity before looking up at him. “As I was saying,” your words were lost to a yawn and Aemond pressed his finger to your lips.

“Tell me on the morrow when you are rested.” 

Aemond did not join you in bed after bathing, a single candle burned through the last hours of the night as he sat at the desk with parchment, quill and ink. You had fallen asleep before he could even dip the nib into the ink, not knowing what it was he sent out with the first ship at dawn.

Three Months Later

Word had arrived. Ser Criston Cole was to march on Rook’s Rest with the army you had left in King’s Landing. Aemond had been watching the pieces on the map move for the last three months, waiting for this moment. He had warned Cole that the coastal fort was to be monitored and you couldn’t help thinking that it had been a mistake. It wouldn’t have been the first time a prophecy came to fruition because of the fear of the prophecy itself.

Aemond stormed into the chambers with the parchment in his fist, and kicked his trunk open. “It’s time.”

You struggled to stand from the chair you had been reading in, the ache in your back paining you at the effort it took. An uncontrollable groan creaked out of you as braced your hands to your back and felt the need to visit the privy yet again. There was not much more growing your body could do, the babe would be born all too soon.

“Please, don’t go,” you asked as he pulled his riding gear out and an arsenal of weapons after. “I need you here.”

“I’ll be back before she enters the world,” he said with a brief kiss to your forehead. “There is no match for Vhagar.”

“That is your arrogance talking, do not let it be your downfall.”

Aemond placed his palm atop your belly and felt the strong kicks that only added to your discomfort. “I will come home, my oath to the both of you.”

You fought the urge to knock his hand away in anger but you let him indulge a while longer as you muttered, “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.” 

He pulled a dagger from his hip and took your hand, flicking the blade quickly across your forearm, a bead of blood welling along the shallow cut. “Now I have no choice but to return so you may take your revenge.”

You smiled at the thought and grabbed a satchel so that you could fill it with rations of breads and cheeses. He finished changing into the riding leathers and pulled his cloak on, despite the heat that left the air arid and sweat clinging to your skin. He strapped Dark Sister to his hip but you shook your head and threw him the scabbard holding DragonBane. He know how precious the sword was but before he could give his gratitude he was distracted by your laboured walk back to him. 

“I’m going to miss that when she is born,” he teased gently, trying to draw a smile to your face before he left.

“You only say that because I can’t outrun you like this.”

“Like you ever could.” He pulled you as close as your belly would allow and pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you.”

“Gah,” you groaned with a slap to his chest as tears pricked your eyes, “you sap.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding very apologetic at all. “I hate you, I hate you more than I have hated anyone before.”

“That’s better,” you said with a smile as he wiped away the wayward tear that escaped. “I hate you too, Aemond, so fucking much.” 

–

The eroded stone of the spiraling stairs to the watchtower were smooth beneath your slippers. Each turn left you dizzy as it carried you up the one and one thousand steps and you placed a steadying hand to the wall as you continued the climb. From the watchtower, you took the smaller offshoot of stairs to the turret that reached the highest point in the castle. 

You avoided the looks of pity from the guards stationed at the top, they had watched you struggle to the top each morning in the hopes of spotting Vhagar on the horizon. With each passing day you felt the changes in your body as it prepared to welcome your daughter and you prayed to the stars for Aemond’s safe return in time. 

You opened your mouth to ask the question but the guard was already shaking his head and you gripped the brick railing as you reminded yourself that deep down you would know if he were dead. Whatever trouble he had found himself in, he would surely send word soon to explain his tardiness or swoop down from the skies and tell you himself. Perhaps that is what you will find on the morrow. 

You took the steps down much slower, the large swell of your belly wreaking havoc on your balance and compressing your lungs until you were panting from the exercise. He should not have left you in this state and he should not have taken so long to return.

“Princess!” You turned to look up at the soldier who was racing down the stairs, hope fluttering in your chest. “The Prince’s dragon was spotted, on the plains east.”

A giddy laugh filled your lungs and your strength was renewed as you hurried down the stairs to meet Aemond. Unable to make the journey on foot anymore you used the stairs, normally reserved for children and elderly, and mounted a kind natured mare that the kitchens used to haul supplies and she set off at a slow gait. 

“I thought we had a deal, sparrow,” Ser Negan said as he blocked the gate out of the palace. “No travelling alone.”

“Get a horse then, Aemond’s home,” you said with a grin. 

Ser Negan was quickly saddled on his stallion and your old girl picked up the pace, flicking her tail at the stallion as you pushed her faster. The city was used to seeing Vhagar pass overhead as Aemond flew her almost everyday, so the children chattered excitedly about the dragon all along the outer wall of the lower town. They were waiting to see the prince too, eager to hear stories of the battle he faced.

The moment you passed the city wall you knew something was amiss, Aemond had reached the wall yet and Vhagar was clawing at the earth beneath her, her throat glowing red as her fire simmered. 

“Stay back,” you told Negan, carefully sliding down the horse until your feet were on the ground and passing him the reins. “Stay quiet.”

You walked towards Vhagar from her side so she could see you with her wild eyes and held a hand out to her. “Gīda ilagon, Boots, ziry iksos sepār nyke,” you murmured softly, “Skoriot iksis aōha kipagīros?” [High Valyrian: Calm down, Boots, it’s just me. Where is your rider?]

Vhagar threw her head to the sky and roared, a harsh cry that shredded the hope you had held. Sagging to the ground, she curled her head under her wing and whined, each of the sounds breaking something precious inside you. The pain wracked your body until you could no longer stand and fell to your knees, a flood of fluid wetting your skirts. 

“Sparrow!” 

Ser Negan began to rush forward but Vhagar reared her head and bared her teeth. “No, I’m f-fine, stay back.” Vhagar looked at you for a long while, her nostril flaring as the long sharp whiskers beneath her jaw nudged your skirts. “Kessa, se rūs iksis māzis.” [High Valyrian: Yes, the babe is coming.]

Aegon had once argued with Aemond about how much dragons could understand, his impression that they were unintelligent, mindless beasts. Aemond had given up trying to convince his brother otherwise and just pushed a bottle of wine over to him, knowing it would at least shut him up for a while. You knew Vhagar understood more than just words, she felt you.

Vhagar nestled to the earth at your feet and sheltered you with her wing that held new tears and holes that reminded you of the moth ridden clothes you found in the back of your armoire when you returned to Scythe. She had seen battle and returned without Aemond, he would not have let her leave without him unless there was no way he was dead or gravely injured with no hope of survival. Vhagar was his message - a final goodbye.

 “I can’t do this without him,” you whimpered and collapsed against her side on your knees as your stomach clenched with another contraction. Sobs were only silenced when the muscles of your abdomen forced your babe deeper into your pelvis and you had no energy to scream as it felt like you were being ripped in two. Would there be no end to your suffering?

Sweat drenched every inch of you, your mouth was dry and your voice hoarse. The sun had reached its peak and passed but still you laboured beneath Vhagar’s wing, gripping the spikes at her side when the pain grew unbearable. Suddenly she looked away from you and growled deep in her chest.

“Pipe down, Beastie, I’m here to help,” the High Matron hissed back before ducking under the wing and you sobbed at the sight of your granddam. “Shhh, little one, Grammy’s here now.”

She knelt before you and dropped her satchel to the dirt, reaching inside to grab a skin of water. “Small sips, sweetie,” she said as she lifted it to your chapped lips, “that’s it.”

“Aemon-” you choked trying to speak the words but the heart wrenching cry said enough for you. Her frail arms wrapped around your shoulders as you shuddered with the pain erupting from your body and your soul. “These are going to be the hardest moments of your life, but you are not going to be alone. You hear me?”

You nodded weakly and she released you before she tossed your skirts back. You were so exhausted you couldn’t think to be embarrassed, especially since she had been the royal midwife for many, many years. 

“Oh my stars…”

“What?” you asked, panicked.

“She has a head of white hair,” Grammy said with a chuckle. “Let's get you into position, this little one is as impatient as her mother.”

Grammy was surprisingly strong as she helped you onto your hands and knees, her presence calming and sure as she spoke to you through the breathing exercises. The pressure grew with each contraction and your screams echoed across the plains. 

“Good girl,” Grammy praised. “The head is out so I need a really big push with the next contraction.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t, I’m too tired,” you panted, but your body had other plans as the longest and strongest contraction squeezed your stomach and a guttural roar erupted through your gritted teeth as you pushed. With a sudden rush, the pressure popped and a shrill cry pierced the air. “Is she…?”

“She’s perfect,” Grammy reassured you as she wrapped her in a clean cloth and helped you sit against Vhagar’s side before placing her in your shaking arms. “What shall be her name?”

You looked down at your daughter and felt fresh tears build before rolling down your cheeks. Her damp hair was so fine it was almost translucent, it was just like his. Every feature hurt to look at, she was a softer copy of her father and even the scowl on your tiny forehead was something you had seen often on his. You would teach her to be fierce like he was, strong in nature and conviction.

“Aedira,” you murmured as you brushed your lips to her forehead. “You will be my strength.”

Seven Days Later

A ship had mysteriously been left in the harbour during the small hours of the night and no one seemed to know where it came from aside from the fact it held the House Velaryon flag on its mast and appeared empty. Two long boats had rowed out to the ship and, after confirming it was safe, they sailed it into the docks with varying masks concern. 

“My dear, you should not have to bear witness to this atrocity,” your father said when he heard the news and set off to the docks. 

“He was my husband, if indeed that is who lies in the ship, the men said it was impossible to tell from how burned the body was.” You felt ill even speaking the words aloud but you knew him best and would only trust yourself to determine the truth. Placing Aedira in the kind hands of the nurse maid, you gathered a cloak and ignored the pain of your recovery as you made to follow. 

Your father sighed and nodded reluctantly, offering his arm as he saw you flinch with every step you took. What had been rocky between you two had passed with time and tragedy, and he was making amends the only way he knew how, by supporting you even when he felt differently. 

“Have the carriage called,” he ordered a servant boy who rushed off ahead. 

The ride was quiet as the carriage rattled down the streets that were slowly awakening to the new day. You wished you could be like them, blissfully unaware of the horrors outside the city. 

Thoughts of the citizens were forgotten as the carriage stopped and you found yourself frozen. You hadn’t known you still held a kernel of hope until you were faced with the likely possibility that it was going to be dashed against the rocks. You wanted to hold onto that hope just a moment more before stepping out.

The deck was silent as the soldiers faced away from the body out of respect and it took a moment to even comprehend what you were looking at before you rushed forward.

Bile rose at the charred flesh that had begun to decay on its journey across the Narrow Sea, but it was the cracked sapphire in his eye socket that had you lurching to the side of the ship and emptying the contents of your stomach. You couldn’t stomach another glance and the sound of a crisp snap had another dry heave bend you over before Negan held out his hand.

“For Aedira.” You looked at the ring Negan placed into your palm, the ring Aemond had worn, the stamp of the Targaryen crest covered in soot. “My deepest condolences, my princess.”

You squeezed the ring tight, the ash dirtying your hands as rage chased away the nausea, and turned to look at your husband one last time. “Dragonstone will burn for this.” The ring cut into your palm from the harsh grip you held and three droplets fell to the deck.

“What have you done?” your father gasped as he saw the blood that you had not noticed or felt.

You opened your hand and stared at the half moon cut with a detached feeling, it could have belonged to someone else for the numbness you felt. It was too late to take back, the oath had been made and sealed with blood. Dragonstone would burn…or you would.

Click here for Part Eighteen.

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @eddiemunson17 , @ninjabritches , @solacestyles , @hideing , @missusnora , @marrianena , @jonsncws , @dudfahsn , @queenofterrasen418 , @naeviahope , @averagethottie , @evilcherries , @delusionsofnostalgia , @le-who-zer-her , @readsalot73 , @thewew

[bizarrequazar]

GJ and ZZH Updates — November 5-11 (nice)

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This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

11-05 → 361° posted a commercial featuring Gong Jun.

→ It came out that the Chens' physical teashop in Shenzhen is closing.

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted four photos of Gong Jun with dogs on the Rising with the Wind set. Caption: "Some bosses, as well as the boss 🦮"

→ Gong Jun posted a compilation video of Xu Si. Caption: "Pay attention, this man’s name is…"

11-06 → ELLE posted a video of Gong Jun from the day of their award show the previous weekend.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video from Rising with the Wind. Caption: "Mr. Xu @ Gong Jun Simon’s weekly project report has been delivered, please check it out!"

→ Gong Jun's studio made a post promoting a song he did for Rising with the Wind. Caption: "Mr. Xu sent out a sweet song and said, please eat candy! Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon's character song is now online! 'The eyes are sending signals, the atmosphere is becoming subtle, I think I may have no way to escape…'"

→ Gong Jun posted nine photo ads he did for 361°. Caption: "Accompanying @361 degrees for three years , this time, we encountered a warm winter adventure together."

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video from Rising with the Wind.

11-07 → 361° posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ The Instagram posted two photos of an apparent workout video and two of very bad drawing pages. (Part of the scam's current plot arc is that Zhang Sanjian is taking art lessons.)

→ Deeyeo posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ 361° posted two photo ads featuring Gong Jun.

11-08 → 361° posted a photo ad announcing a livestream for 11-09, later followed by a commercial (1129 kadian) and two more photo ads.

→ Gong Jun posted a music video/trailer for True Warrior, a military variety show he filmed in August. This was later taken down, reason unknown.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video of Gong Jun spinning things on the Rising with the Wind set. Caption: "Spin candy, spin money, spin circles, Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon's life is not just as monotonous as 'making money', come and 'spin' luck with Mr. Xu!"

→ The Rising with the Wind Weibo posted a video of Gong Jun talking about Xu Si's characterization.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a douyin using footage from Rising with the Wind. Caption: "Fastball players apply to play! @ Gong Jun Simon teaches you step by step how to take the initiative in the heart-pounding game~" BGM is Galaxy by BOL4. They posted another one (flashing lights cw) soon after of behind the scenes footage from one of the show's photoshoots. Caption: "It’s not the wind that’s moving, it’s not the flags that are moving, it’s…"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted three photos of Gong Jun recording the song. Caption: "'Be passionate and responsible. Go in the direction of victory!' ✊ @ Gong Jun Simon, who was recording the song seriously, put his hands on his hips and was filled with vigor! A true warrior will move forward indomitably~"

→ A birthday event was held for Gong Jun (pre-recording for the end of the month), organized by his studio, fans, and several sponsors. A big-name toxic solo who attended made a post claiming that at the event Gong Jun cried about how Rising with the Wind is being received (which makes no sense because the show is doing very well.) Others who attended have refuted this. Various tabloid accounts ran with the claims, adding also that he was bashing the show; this ended up on Weibo hotsearch.

Reportedly, Daxiong and (possibly) Ma Xin (two of Gong Jun's staff who are rather incompetent in their jobs) also wrote a long speech for him that was intended to appeal to solo fans, which he declined reading.

→ Louis Vuitton posted a photo of Gong Jun presenting at the previous week's ELLE Awards.

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted another three photos from the song recording. Caption: "You are not only good at singing sweet songs 🫡"

11-09 → Rare posted two fansite photos of Gong Jun wearing one of their new sweaters. They later also posted a photo ad featuring him.

→ Condé Nast Traveler posted the cover of their November/December issue, announcing a feature of Gong Jun in Chengdu. This was reposted by Gong Jun's studio.

→ 361° posted two photo ads featuring Gong Jun, [here] and [here].

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video of the scene where Xu Si gets punched. Caption: "Whose boss’s mental state is far ahead? Mr. Xu @ Gong Jun Simon, if you are kidnapped, just blink!"

11-10 → 361° posted four photos of Gong Jun. Gong Jun posted two of these to his Xiao Hong Shu, caption: "New trajectory I can’t help but want to show off"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a commercial he did for 361°. Caption: "Snowy, handsome, and feeling the romance of winter with @ Gong Jun Simon."

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a douyin of footage from a Rising with the Wind photoshoot. Caption: "Trekking across the country and fighting fearlessly. Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon demonstrates his extraordinary charm with his multi-faceted self."

→ Gong Jun attended a livestream for 361°.

→ Gong Jun's studio posted six photos of him from the livestream. Caption: "Comfortable and straightforward, we meet again on the same track! @ Gong Jun Simon loves once more and find a sense of freedom!" This was reposted by 361°.

11-11 → Gong Jun's studio posted a video using clips of Xu Si (and one from Dream Garden for some reason.) Caption: "Okay, okay! Everyone else is celebrating Shopping Day, but only Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon is celebrating Singles’ Day, right?"

→ Gong Jun's studio posted a behind the scenes video from Rising with the Wind of Gong Jun with a kid. Caption: "So focused and perfect on every detail. Hidden cameras are out and about, let’s take a look at how serious Xu Si @ Gong Jun Simon is at work!"

→ Gong Jun posted a clip from Rising with the Wind and two memes of Xu Si. Caption: "Oops, I was taught how to be a good person by my kid brother😓"

→ Addition 11-25: Yang Yang posted four photos of Gong Jun from the 361° livestream.

→ Addition 11-25: Gong Jun's studio posted six photos of him with a samoyed from the 361° livestream. Caption: "Comfortable and straightforward, we meet again! @ Gong Jun Simon loves once more and finds a sense of freedom!"

Additional Reading: → A video of well wishes is being prepared by fans for Gong Jun's birthday at the end of the month, info for joining can be found [here]. → I have given up on keeping up with the stuff that the Rising with the Wind Weibo posts because there is too much and I haven't had the time, thanks for understanding. ✌️

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This post was last edited 2023-11-25.

[seriousposting]

Editor's note: This story has been updated. It contains descriptions of violence against a nonbinary person.

Nex Benedict, a nonbinary high school sophomore died on February 8, the day after reportedly being beaten by classmates in the bathroom of their high school in Owasso, Oklahoma.

An anonymous source who identified herself as a friend of Benedict’s mother told local news outlet KJRH that the 16-year-old was attacked by three older classmates on February 7, adding that she believed Benedict died from “complications from brain trauma.” The source claimed that although Benedict couldn’t walk to the nurse on their own following the incident, school staff did not call an ambulance. According to KJRH, Benedict’s grandmother brought the student to the hospital after the altercation.

"I know at one point, one of the girls was pretty much repeatedly beating [their] head across the floor," the source told KJRH.

The Owasso Police Department (OPD) told KJRH that they were called to Bailey Medical Center on the afternoon of February 7. When they arrived, Benedict’s parents told police their child had been involved in a fight at school. OPD provided a statement saying that the cause of death has not yet been made public.

Since Benedict’s death on February 8, they have been repeatedly misgendered and deadnamed in media reports.

“As many are learning of the horrific news out of Owasso, OK, many news outlets, and therefore, many of you, are using their dead name,” the official X account for Oklahoma County Democrats wrote in a February 19 post. “Their name is Nex Benedict. They were a 4.0 student. They liked cats. They deserved to live. May they find peace now.”

Benedict’s grandmother, Sue Benedict, told The Independent that other students started bullying Nex at the beginning of the 2023 school year. The Independent notes that the 2023 school year started just four months which was a few months after a bill requiring public school students to use bathrooms that matched the sex on their birth certificates became law.

The LGBTQ+ advocacy group Freedom Oklahoma, as well as numerous progressive and LGBTQ+ media outlets (such as the Los Angeles Blade, Daily Kos, and LGBTQ Nation) pointed out that Benedict’s death comes as Oklahoma’s head education official, state superintendent Ryan Walters, continues to embrace anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric and policy. In January, Walters pushed an emergency rule to prevent students from changing the gender listed on their school records. Last month, he also appointed Chaya Raichik, the woman behind the virulently anti-LGBTQ+ platform Libs of TikTok, to the Oklahoma State Department of Education’s advisory council overseeing the state’s school libraries, despite Raichik not even living in Oklahoma. Last year, a Tulsa elementary school received a bomb threat after Raichik shared a video with the name and school of a local librarian. In 2022, Raichik similarly targeted a teacher in Benedict’s school district for openly supporting LGBTQ+ students who weren’t accepted by their families. The teacher later resigned following harassment.

Freedom Oklahoma remembered Benedict in a February 19 social media post, writing, “We wanted to reach out to our community grappling with this horrific harm, and the grief we all share as we reflect on the growing anti-2SLGBTQ+ sentiments out youngest community members are facing more often, fueled by state law and the rhetoric around it, words and actions of our state elected officials, and the growing platforms those in power are giving to people like Chaya Raichik who continues to use her platform in a way that leads others to threaten real harm at Oklahoma kids.”

In the post, Freedom Oklahoma also shared memories of Benedict from people who knew them. They described the 16-year-old as an unfailingly kind person who “always searched for the best in people.” Benedict, who The Independent reported, is of Choctaw ancestry, is described as a lover of rock music, who often bonded with others over headbanging. A post from Pittsburgh Lesbian Correspondents says that Benedict loved The Walking Dead, playing ARK and Minecraft, drawing, and reading. During the funeral, their family said they loved to cook and would often make up their own recipes. Nex was also a straight-A student.

A previous version of this story said that Nex was a member of the Cherokee nation. They were of Choctaw ancestry. We regret the error.

[vendetta-if]

Hey guys 👋 I just notice that I should probably start making posts updating on the exclusive content that I made on Patreon whenever I finished them 😅

So, I decided to make two posts to let you guys know all of the exclusive side stories and the spicy ones that I currently have up on Patreon so far. In this post, I'll exclusively focus on all the side stories and give out a little sneak peek of each of them. For the spicy side stories and Q&A sneak peeks, click here.

If you guys are interested in supporting me and getting access to all of these exclusive side contents, please check out my Patreon page 🥰💖 I currently have a monthly-subscription-based payment set, so you don't have to worry about getting charged twice when subscribing near the end of the month.

Other than weekly progress update posts, here are currently all the exclusive side stories that are up by the end of November 2022:

Vendetta Halloween Interactive Side Story

Around 19K words, it's a really cute and wholesome and fluffy story about little MC, Ash, and Rin celebrating Halloween together with Viktor, Takashi, Luka, and Cara. You'll have three Halloween costumes to choose from, which will also affect Ash's and Viktor's costumes. There will also be four different activities to choose from for the Halloween Fair and a bunch of smaller interaction options!

Check out the little snippet/sneak peek of the story in this post!

Dead Man Walking (Part 1 & Part 2)

An angsty AU where MC is the one who dies instead of Viktor that night in the alley. Written in Viktor's POV. Around 6K words long.

You’re not sure how you even got into this mess in the first place, but you should’ve known that this day would come, sooner or later. You can only run away for so long before the consequences of everything you’ve done catch up to you.

Any other day, or maybe when you were younger, you would have turned back and tried to face them head-on. But now, you have something special—oh, so very special and dear to you—and you won’t risk harming him; his safety is the only thing on your mind right now.

You are running through a maze of deserted and dank alleyways on a cold winter night, and beside you is your son, his little hand is engulfed in your bigger one as you hold on tight. Sasha has just turned ten today and even though this might not be the best birthday he has had so far, you are planning to make it up to him in the next few days during the weekend.

Vodka Misadventure (Part 1 & Part 2)

A wholesome side story featuring young MC and Ash regarding the vodka incident that they talked about at the party in Chapter 2 😂 Written in MC's POV and a little part in Ash's POV. 6.5K words long.

It’s far from your first time stepping foot in his office. You’ve spent a lot of time with Ash here when you were both younger, hanging out with each other while Uncle Luka worked on some stuff on his desk. It’s certainly a spacious office with a plush carpet and sleek and elegant furniture. There is no window in the room, but it doesn’t feel suffocating at all.

In one corner of the room, there is a full set of sofas, armchairs, and a low and wide coffee table made out of black marble. It’s where you often spent time with Ash and also where your Uncle would receive guests. You know your uncle always makes sure to lock his office whenever he’s not using it and the fact that you’re both in here right now without him even knowing makes you nervous a bit as if you’ve done a crime.

“We have tunnels?” you say in awe.

“Cool, right? Uncle Luka showed this one to me, like a few days ago. He said he’ll give us a thorough tour soon. Said it’ll be useful for us to know, in case of… Well, never mind that. I still have one more thing to show you!” Ash gushes.

They set down the pizza box on the coffee table before moving towards Uncle Luka’s big desk and you trail after them gingerly.

A Fateful Encounter

A Yvette backstory on how she first met Viktor. 6K words long.

Yvette’s heart rate skyrockets as panic starts to sink in. Thankfully, she had taken advantage of the man’s momentary distraction to grab her phone. She quickly taps it to unlock it, only to find out that the phone is… dead. The electricity…

“Well, I think it’s enough chatting. Now, what should I do with you, huh, missy?” There’s a slight edge of excitement under his tone. “If you really are a hero like you said, then maybe it’s a good idea to kill you and make you an example. Or maybe maiming you to the point where the agency wouldn’t want you anymore will be a better fate? Hmm… I like the sound of that. I can already see the headlines: ‘Tragedy strikes as a young superheroine’s career got cut short,’” he says to himself almost dreamily before turning back to her, electricity charge building up in his palms.

He takes a step closer to her and Yvette scrambles back futilely. She feels her scalp tingling as strands of her hair start floating from the static electricity building up in the surrounding atmosphere. This is it… This is the end of my career, my life, she thinks one last time before bracing herself for the agony. However, the man stops at the last moment and turns his head towards the entrance. Yvette hears the crunching glass chimes for a split second before the man in front of her is tackled away.

Patreon Link

Spicy Side Stories and Q&A Sneak Peeks Post

[mangoshorthand]

Before A Fall [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch 5 (Hard Feelings Part 2)

SUMMARY: As your life begins to grow around Five's, his attitude becomes a little sinister. When does protection become suffocation and when does taking matters into your own hands become betrayal? (weekly updates) Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

Five has a complex plan to communicate to his siblings...just not to you. Perhaps if he had, he might have been able to do less damage.

Chemical testing below. Proceed at your own risk

Chapter 5: Mess Spectomentator

“-And once it’s through this column, the separated components go through an interface to turn it into something the vacuum in the MS device can deal with. After that it’s through the mass spectrometer and that’s how we detect substances. At that point, I need the software to actually analyze it.”

Luther is clearly lost. Klaus watches with polite, dreamy interest and Viktor’s forehead is wrinkled with concentration Only Sloane looks like she’s following him. Five stands by the blackboard still frozen in a gesticulation towards his ridiculous diagram.

“How long does it take”, asks Viktor, clearly not sure if this is the right question.

“If I were a real chemist- probably a two month study- but I don’t have that time and this is just a pilot- a primer to get public attention. If I had the solvents at home I can probably knock myself up the HPLC device with all of Dad’s old shit, but maybe not the mass spectrometer…”

“Uncle Viktor!”

Five is gone when you wake up. No morning training today, apparently. You shower, dress, put on makeup and still see no sign of him. Downstairs, you stick your head round Santi’s bedroom door. He’s still asleep. Five has usually got him up for school by now. You gently wake him.

“Where’s Uncle Five?” he yawns.

“He must be making breakfast, come on buddy, let’s get dressed.”

You help him choose an outfit for school that’s partway appropriate, vetoing his initial choice of Bermuda shorts and dress-shoes.

Together you head downstairs, hearing voices from the living room.

“Uncle Viktor!” gasps Santi, recognising his voice. He runs through the living room doors and you follow.

It’s more than Uncle Viktor: he, Klaus, Luther and Sloane sit on one of the sofas. Five is standing before them, clearly paused in the act of explaining something to them.

On a blackboard beside him is an incomprehensible diagram drawn with coloured chalk. Arrows attach a crudely-drawn jerrycan to a complex machine upon which two bottles stand. The output of this first machine filters into one arrow, flowing into a box full of what looks like test tubes. SAMPLES is scrawled next to these. The arrow then follows on from a vertical tube (labeled HPLC) to a horizontal one, by which is scrawled something that looks like MESS SPECTOMENTATOR. Finally, the arrow leads to a box reading DETECTION/ANALYSIS. 

When you enter, Five is still pointing his chalk at the ‘mess spectomentator’, but he hastily drops his arm. Santi receives quick hugs from all while you address the adults.

“Hey, you guys are here early." you turn to Five, “I didn’t know Santi needed getting up.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I can see that. Is this about the soda?”

He nods but doesn’t elaborate. He looks at you and jerks his head a little. A dismissal: Once you’re gone, I can continue.

His brothers and sister-in-law notice his attitude. You see Klaus look from you to him and Sloane shifts uncomfortably. When you don’t obey his looks, he says:

“Can you get Santi breakfast and walk him to the bus stop for me today?”

You know you’re being dismissed, but you don’t have to like it.

“Yeah.” You say, stiffly, “Catch me up later, ok?”

“I’ll tell you what’s necessary.” 

His tone makes it clear that this won’t be much.

“Ok”, you respond. 

You’d given him an out that allowed you to retain at least some dignity in front of his siblings, (some sort of illusion of equality). You're good enough to suck his dick but not to tell his plans? You feel absolutely no guilt in being passive aggressive now. Fuck him.

"I’ll just keep my eye on the domestic matters and then I'll sit by the door waiting for you to get home. Like a faithful labrador, yeah?"

The sting lands. You see the darkness flash in his eyes as he remembers your comments on the night of your fight. He's hurt and angry. And you're glad.

Smiling at him sarcastically, you summon Santi with an outstretched hand and leave the living room.

Klaus makes a noise of mock-horror.

“Oooooh you’re in trou-ble.”

Five exhales, “I’m used to it.”

“Maybe be less of an asshole then?” Luther mutters, just as Klaus says:

“Oooh! Are you doing the whole,” (he puts on a staccato Christian-Bale-batman voice) “‘Uhhhhh you don’t understand the burden of my power. I was in the apocalypse forever and nobody understaaaands- thing? I love that look on you!”

“No,” says Five, clearly annoyed but keeping his voice in check, “I’m doing the: Don’t want to drug myself to stay awake for several days -thing.”

Klaus smiles and gestures as if Five agreed with him.

“Exactly!”

Five ignores this and turns back to the group, his forbidding tone clearly conveying that the interruption is over. 

“Up until the detection phase, the process takes an hour at most but that’s where it slows down. I need the proper software and it could take hours to produce the chromatograms. Once I have those it's a matter of interpreting them and then cross-referencing them with the compounds that are actually listed on the ingredients list.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, brow furrowed, and stares contemplatively at the diagram.

Luther, not entirely sure he’s getting this, ventures a question:

“Where can you access the software and get the…chrom-to-grams?”

“I was thinking the Chemistry department at the college. I’m going to have to break in.”

“Ooh, I’m coming!” says Klaus, eyes aglow.

“No,” says Five “I don’t need someone trying to smoke anything not nailed down.”

“But you never did any of this before, right? What if there’s some old ghostie chemist dude we can pump for information?”

This is revelatory to Five.

“That’s…actually not a bad idea…” 

He considers and then discounts it.

“But I’m banking on getting in by stealth. I have the advantage of at least looking like a student.”

Before Klaus can protest to this implied slight, Sloane speaks for the first time:

“I don’t understand why you’re talking about building a device when you’ve got to be in the college lab for hours anyway. Why not just use theirs? Won’t it all be hooked up together anyway?”

Five points at her, “True. I'm overcomplicating it. What’s eight hours instead of seven?" 

 He exhales and sags a little, hips canting backwards and foot tapping as he thinks.

"So this meeting is more of a…reconnaissance thing?” His hands dart into his pockets again, “Has anybody got any contacts at the college?”

They all turn to Viktor, the only one of them who had been to college.

“There wasn’t exactly much need for a chemistry department at the School of Music.”

“Okay. So, I’m just going to have to go in blind. I’ll do what research I can about the building layout, but I go in tonight.”

“Can’t you just…blink right in?” asks Sloane.

“Not when I can’t see where I’m going. I don’t know the rooms well enough.”

“What do you need from us?” asks Luther

“To be honest, I just wanted to run it past you. I didn't want to go maverick and not keep you guys informed. If anything happens, you’ll know why and you’ll be able to pick up where I left off.”

Five did not tell you the necessary. Unless you count a hastily scrawled note stuck to the front door before you took Santi to the bus stop.

The asshole.

Now, with Santi asleep, you and Klaus are sitting in the living room sharing a couple of drinks. He’s so understanding, so good-humored and so effortlessly beguiling that you forget he’s Five’s brother. Though you tried not to confide in him and tried not to cry, it had happened anyway. 

He looks over at the now-erased blackboard and lays his head back on the sofa. 

“He’s a prick.”

You nod.

“What’s he doing?”

Klaus waves an airy hand.

“Chemistry stuff. Dressing as a student, breaking into Colombia's labs and doing experiments on two cans of JUICED. One from the school, one from the store. He's trying to work out whether there are funky ingredients in there that aren’t on the label- you know, the sort of thing that might cause kids to sprout tumors. Then he's maybe going to a frat party for all I know.”

“Why couldn’t he tell me that?”

“Because he’s a prick.”

You raise your hands in a gesture of angry disbelief, “I have a friend who’s a PhD chemist there!”

Klaus breaks into giggles “Oh that’s too perfect. That asshole’s probably staking out, stealing keys and you could have got him in fine all along. He really is a prick.” 

When he calms down, he becomes uncharacteristically serious: 

"You know it's because he loves you, right?"

"Of course," you reply, laying your head back too, "I just wish he didn't show it by being so...patronizing."

"He used to be the same with me. When I was 'over-medicating',” he air-quotes, "He kinda still is. He can be mean. It's how he deals with wanting to protect someone he thinks is..." he trails off.

"...A liability?" you finish for him. 

"Yeeeah."

 He turns to look at you and his eyes fill with sympathy. Then, tenderly he asks:

"You wanna go take a shit in his underwear drawer?"

You laugh for the first time in a while.

"Y'know Klaus, if we didn't share an underwear drawer, I might take you up on that."

Klaus clasps both hands to his heart.

"You share an underwear drawer? Awh! That is too sweet... And it's so convenient for his panty-stealing thing!"

You both enjoy the hilarity for a few moments, you unsure how he knows about the pair of panties Five had 'liberated' from your apartment that time. Then a thought seems to strike him and his eyes glint with more mischief.

“Did you see the papers today? I usually don't but I saw the headline and I had to get it.”

“No.”

He jogs from the room and returns with a newspaper which he throws onto your lap.

“They’re all like this, but I think this one got his good side.”

'UMBRELLA ACADEMY: MYSTERY MAN IMPERSONATES MISSING MEMBER,' screams the headline.

Beneath this is a picture of Five, looking surly, captioned: 'The public is warned to approach with caution: the man claiming to be Number Five, spotted in a Manhattan bar'

You look up at Klaus and he nods towards the article itself:

'NEW YORK- A man claiming to be the Umbrella Academy's lost Number Five has shown 'disruptive and antisocial behavior in a recent incident at Holbrook elementary school A witness claims that a young man disrupted a meeting held by the school's principal to inform parents about student support measures. "He was crazy," says David Wilson, father of a third-grader, "[he was] talking about pedophilia in the Catholic church, getting my kids tested for all kinds of illnesses. I think he's one of those flat earth nuts. He certainly said the name Hargreeves to me." Reports suggest that the unknown man attended the meeting at Holbrook Elementary and caused disruption with 'unhinged' behavior. A source close to the Hargreeves family has confirmed that this man has been seen entering and leaving their New York City-based compound, but no verified members of the now-disbanded Academy have been reached for comment...'

You've read enough and look up at Klaus. 

"What the hell is this doing on the front page?"

He shrugs. You furrow your brow and look back at the paper.

“You think this is the soda company?”

“I guess so." says Klaus, "Looks like they got their tentacles in a lot of pies. It shows he’s at least onto something while being an asshole.”

Luckily for Five, the plans and blueprints of the chemistry building had been available via public access. Even more luckily for his purposes, the specifications had to be detailed due to the nature of the experiments that needed to take place there.

He sat in the library poring over these until he knew them by heart. He was hoping to simply hide in plain sight and be a student doing an experiment. He had been to a convenience store on the way to the college, grabbing himself a second can of JUICED. 

It was easy getting into the lab. All he had to do was lurk until he could follow someone in, walking with the confidence of someone who knew where he was going and had, of course, been here many times. Now he knew the floorplan well, he could have blinked in, but didn’t want to startle any unsuspecting students. Staying under the radar for now, at least, was paramount. 

Instead, he kept close behind a scholarly-looking girl as she used her swipe card, simultaneously trying not to spook her by getting too close. As they stepped into the elevator together, she looked him up and down.

He had changed into a pair of Viktor’s jeans and a flannel shirt open over a t-shirt. He carried a backpack containing the two cans (provenance labeled). He feels awkward, as usual, but the outfit helps him to look the part. Or at least more like the part.

“Hey,” says the girl.

“Hi.” 

He nods a little tersely, placing his hands into the jean pockets. He tries not to engage in conversation but she’s inconveniently loquacious.

“I’ve not seen anyone else in the labs at this time of year.”

This is great news for getting in and out undetected, but the fact that she’s taking such an interest is inconvenient.

 Who’s your supervisor?”

“Professor Kaufman,” he says, his cursory faculty research allowing him to choose a plausible name.

“Cool. I’m under Doctor Evans.” He nods as if he knows who she’s talking about beyond a name printed in the department prospectus. 

The elevator reaches the right floor and he’s thankful to be leaving her presence, although he knows from his research that they will likely be going the same way. He follows her into a PPE room, where they both don protective equipment. Inconveniently, she continues chatting to him.

"I'm Sarah, by the way." 

She gives him a small, cheery wave. 

"Nice to meet you Sarah.”

It's all he intends to say but she smiles at him expectantly until the awkwardness gets to him.

"I'm Kieran,” he says.

He has no idea why he chooses this. Though, while he thinks this, he realizes it wasn’t entirely random. It was one of the names Grace gave him to choose from when he was young: Kieran, Michael, Shane, Daniel, or James. All were common in Ireland, his birth country, but he’d never connected with any of them. 

He sidelines the memory and hurries on. 

"The HPLC is down the hall and to the right, right?”

“Um- I think so.”

“Thanks.”

Now he sits in front of the computer screen as the machine hums and purrs with his two sets of samples. He brought Persuasion with him to pass the time but he hasn’t yet touched it. It’s coming time for the long detection and analysis phase and he didn’t think about logins. Logins! So simple but so frustrating. He's tried all the tricks he knows, but he simply doesn't have the requisite knowledge of the college intranet. He drums his gloved fingers on the work surface.

His mind revolves to the only solution. 

He pops his head around the door of the neighboring lab-space, wishing the PPE had pockets he could put his hands into.

“Hi again Sarah”

“Hey Kieran”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I’m a transfer here from University of Chicago and the IT guys never really got my login to work. It's a real pain in the ass. I can’t login to the computer to analyze my results…could I maybe borrow your login?” 

He gives her his fake, shark-like smile and she eyes him suspiciously. She's too clever for her own good.

“I’d- if you don’t mind, I’d rather not.”

“It’s just,” he tries, “it took me so long to prepare my samples. They’re in the machine now and they’ll be wasted if I can’t produce output.” 

“I can find you the number of the IT desk if you like?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give me the login- I’d ask you to type it in.”

“Still…”

Five sighs. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this but, since it has, he may as well turn it to his advantage.

When Sarah comes round, face down, Five is bending over her. He has her arms and legs tied together and behind her with wires he’s pulled from lab equipment in the room she was in.

“I’m sorry about this,” he says to her struggling, terrified figure, speaking as if he’s accidentally nicked her car in a parking lot, “I don’t want to hurt you but I really am going to need those logins.”

Her cries would be noisy but for the gag he fashioned from the flannel shirt extracted from beneath his PPE. He gives her a while to calm down, trying not to show any impatience.

She tries to talk, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Promise to be quiet?” he asks. She nods vigorously and he loosens his shirt.

She doesn’t even attempt to dissemble, telling him her login without him having to ask again, tears streaming all-but silently down her face. Once he’s in, he opens the software and sets it to analyze the output of the spectrometer. Thankfully, the machine he’s using is fairly intuitive to the impression he’s gained from research and a little prior knowledge.

“Can…can I go now?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. I’m going to have to keep you here for a few hours. I may need your help interpreting the output once I’m done.”

“Please!” she seems to cast around, desperate for an out, “I-it's not a specialism of mine!”

“It's identifying compounds. You could do it in your sleep. Hell, I could probably do it in my sleep but I want another opinion. I just want to cross reference them with an ingredients list to identify anything that shouldn’t be in there. In one or both of the cans I'm using.” 

He tries to give her a friendly smile, but it doesn't have the desired effect. She sobs a little, but not loudly enough to make him reattach the gag.

While the software does its thing, he picks up Persuasion and begins to read.

After nearly two hours, he notices her shifting. His eyes dart upwards from the book, suspicious that she’s attempting to escape her bonds, but she’s just uncomfortable having been in the unnatural position for too long.

He marks his page, jumps down off the work surface he’s perched on and pulls over a sturdy lab stool.

“Let me fix that.”

She shrinks from him as he bends over, but he ignores this, loosening the wires so that she can move her legs. He pulls her upwards and lifts her onto the stool as gently as he can. He leans her against the work surface so she doesn’t topple over and then reties her ankles to the stool’s legs and her wrists behind her back.

“Better?”

“Yes.” She whispers. 

She looks terrified. He doesn’t like to see this. He regrets that he’s probably giving this bright young academic the crowning trauma of her short life. He sighs.

“Sarah, I promise you I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. In case you haven't guessed, I'm not a student. I think the soda I’m testing is giving children brain tumors. Four so far. ”

She doesn’t reply, starting to cry a little again.

“Just a few more hours,” he says, picking up his book again. 

At hour four, her stomach rumbles. He reaches into his backpack, which makes her panic until she sees he's only holding a party size pack of Ruffles. These, he shares with her silently, freeing one of her hands. He makes sure that she has over half the pack, (it only seems fair given the circumstances). Afterwards, he pours her coffee from his Thermos too.

When at last the software is ready to produce output, he drags her beside him, both hands retied, being careful to support her on the stool.

“So: here’s our ingredient list and here’s our two sets of output. Some of these are easy to check off and are in both cans.”

They work through it together; Sarah co-operating better than he could have hoped. At last, they have identified all the ingredients save one, present only in the sample he gathered from Holbrook Elementary. 

“So…what is it?” says Five, squinting at the screen, “This must be the thing I’m looking for.”

Sarah leans forward, “I think…it should be pretty accurate but I think the software has…guessed. Like it can't recognise the compound. It's indicating ethylmethane but that error margin is huge."

“What can you tell me about ethylemethane?”

“Erm…I think…I think...if we're talking cancer then...it's a mutagen.”

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh,@nevbrooke-555

Masterpost Alternatively, join me on AO3.  Here is a link to the whole series