#I started this AGES AGO but only just managed to nail the colours i like

[jayceart]

Book 3 was so wild everyone was having such a bad day and then they're just-

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

140 of 2022

Created by chasingghosts

Does your middle name begin with letters A-G?

No, it starts with J.

What is your state's largest city?

Sorry, Europe is calling. We don’t have states here.

Pick your three favourite vegetables.

Cauliflower, broccoli, bell pepper.

Have you ever broken a movie or game disc?

I don’t think so, but certainly I’ve tried.

What colour are your brother's eyes?

I don’t even have a brother.

What are you feeling right now?

Annoyed.

Do you watch Law & Order: Special Victims Unit?

It’s the first time I hear this name in my life.

How many flights of stairs are in your house?

Just one.

Have you ever played a drinking game? Which ones?

I have, not sure which ones anymore.

Do you often feel excluded?

Not often, but sometimes things happen.

Are you good with managing your finances?

I don’t have a choice, I’m an adult living with my partner.

Do you have an accountant?

No? I don’t think so.

Did you ever play Neopets when you were younger?

I didn’t.

Have you ever been to Mexico?

I’ve never left Europe, but I’d love to visit Mexico anyway.

How big is your bathroom?

Very tiny. There’s no bathtub there, only a shower.

How many friends do you have on Facebook?

I don’t use Facebook at all.

Do you regularly check anyone's profile online?

No, I don’t. Only if I have a purpose in it.

What is the closest pizza place to your house?

I guess this place is called Pizza Talia’s Concept, so either this or Pizza Hut in Sint-Kruis.

What age did your mum stop helping you clean your room, if she ever did?

She still would love to do it, thankfully I live with my husband on our own now.

What colour is your toothpaste?

Light blue.

Have your parents ever worked in medicine?

No, they haven’t. My grandma was a nurse, though.

Do you have any silly nicknames or pet names?

There’s a whole “mandarijntje en suikerklontje” thing going on, but it’s a long story. XD otherwise my friends and family call me Jelle-tje.

Are you any good at drawing?

Nah, I gave up on it over 10 years ago.

Is there anything unusual about your house?

It’s tiny.

Can you maintain a text conversation or do you run out of things to say?

Depends on a person. If we get along, we can go on for hours. Otherwise I am the one who keeps quiet.

How old will you be turning in 2020?

Lol this survey is old. I was 30 then.

Have you ever met anyone with Multiple Personality Disorder?

Yes, my sister’s ex boyfriend. He was diagnosed with it and I’ve learnt a lot about this disorder from his stories.

What is your favourite type of cookie?

Oat cookies, but I don’t eat cookies that much. I like oat cookies because they’re not sweet.

Do you spell things the way I do? (colour, favourite, flavour etc.)

Yes. British spelling feels more natural to me.

When was the last time you painted your nails?

Probably 15 years ago when I was “that goth dude”. Never again.

Do you like word or picture tattoos better?

Both can be pretty, if they have a meaning.

Does taking surveys make you sleepy?

No, watching TV makes me sleepy, though.

How many vowels are in your mother's full name?

Not gonna count.

Do you find it hard to talk to strangers, even people who work in stores?

I do. Pretty much actually.

Have you ever tasted goat's milk?

Yeah, and the goat cheese is a thing here.

Are you a fidgety person?

Very much so.

How many serious relationships have you been in?

Three, but maybe actually two, because my first relationship clearly hasn’t been serious to him.

Did you ever take classes for a musical instrument when you were younger?

I didn’t, but my sister did. Now her profession is related to music.

Is there anything going on outside your window?

Yeah, life is going on. It’s a very quiet street, all we can expect is the neighbours’ cat trying to get into her house and meowing loud for someone to let her in.

What was your favourite board game as a child?

I guess Monopoly, but I’ve never been much into games.

Do you listen to Rise Against?

You’ve just reminded me that there are two songs of them I like.

When was the last time you congratulated someone?

Last week, one forum I visit has a new moderator.

Have you ever taken care of a newborn baby?

Not really taken care, but I was always present when my mum was taking care of my sister. I was just 5 years old, though.

How old were you when you got your ears pierced?

15 I think, I had five holes done at once. No kidding.

Do you snore when you sleep?

I don’t hear myself, so.

Have you ever been 10-pin bowling?

I don’t think so.

Do you have your own bowling ball and shoes?

No. Never needed it.

What was the last type of burger you ate?

Fish burger, I think.

Have you cried in the past week?

No. I don’t cry, I can’t. I don’t even know how to do it.

What will you rate this survey?

Don’t expect rating from me.

[sopxhiea]

Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Alfie finds himself in a party thrown in a finishing school that teaches ladies how to be proper in all senses of the world but a rare jewel of a wild young woman catches his eye.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?”

Gold and silk.

It’s on the walls, coated in layers of sparkly paint as light reflects to the silk curtains. It’s on the tables, dozens of champagne bottles resting on top of the finest silk material while the sweet classical music fills the marble walls. The place reeks of the posh and their extravagant perfumes.

Alfie’s forcefully brought to the occasion.

Miriam, the old woman who’s appreciative of Alfie’s donations to the community, had decided that it was time for the man to make more public appearances. She’d forced the grumpy man into the crowd and the fancy outing as a way of branching out to the rest of the community for the Jews.

The night is organised by a bunch of English community elders for the new women’s school opened up right around the corner. It’s easy to recognise their pupils, all of them dressed properly as they greet as many guests as they can. Young ladies are all over the room, their lavish dresses flowing around their legs as they flash their kindest smiles to the people around.

Except you.

Accident, fate or bad luck. It was one of the three that had caused you to end up in the said school. Apparently, you weren’t a proper lady and also happened to lack the ability to act your age, or so you had been told after climbing a tree with your friend to get your hands on the fruit it so graciously had blessed you with.

It didn’t bother you in the slightest but there you were now, standing in a room full of bourgeoisie in a slim dress tailored by one of the maids who worked for the house you stayed in. Unlike all your other classmates, your face is absent of any smiles and the only thing that leaves your lips are snarky remarks.

Annabelle, who also happens to be your etiquette teacher, pinches your arms every now and then to either get you to act properly or to shut you up but it doesn’t work. You know her harsh movements are bound to create bruises on your arms but you don’t care, you hate every moment of the forced event.

You’re the odd one out, naturally.

Although you’re dressed properly with fine jewels and silk gloves, your fake laugh does not fill the air. You’re sulking, almost, as you listen to one of the elderly man talk about his business to your friends and you while you stand around. 

The crowd is made up of women with rich men on their arms, just what your uncle wanted you to be when he had put you in the school two months ago. They’re wearing their finest dresses, most of their hairs are kept in a short form as they plaster smiles on their paint covered faces, nails painted with vibrant colours while they laugh at a stupid joke the rich makes.

And there’s him.

He doesn’t stand out per se, just when you manage to observe him for a while. He’s wearing a suit much like everyone else in the room but there’s something rough about him, something rugged as you stare at the broad man. He has an elderly woman on his arm, she’s talking his ear off while his eyes roam around the spacious room. 

You don’t look away when his blue orbs meet yours.

He’s watched you all night and although you’d been sulking for most of the time, he still thought that you were the most beautiful woman he’d seen in a long while. He’d seen you make smart remarks towards some of the gentlemen, putting them in their place before you would walk to the bar to get some relief.

But this time, there’s a gentle smile on your lips.

He feels his breath get caught on his throat but he’s quick to recover while your gaze returns to the boring old man in front of you. Your dress is similar to the ones the girls are wearing but it hugs your body a little tighter, a fine pearl necklace graces your neck. Your hair is not short, opposed to most of the women around, but kept in wavy shape as it creates a frame around your soft features.

You seem like the youngest of them all.

But you also happen to be the wildest. In the last two months of you being there, all you’d caused was trouble. You’d not sleep and climb out of windows to disappear for a day or two. Your uncle would bring you back with a frown on his old face but you’d find a way to make trouble and piss the ladies off again. It was the only fun thing to do around the house you were kept in.

“It was very lovely to talk to you about your boring business.” you speak to the elderly man who’d been talking for the past hour with you and your friends, a smile rests on your painted lips. The man frowns at your words and is about to speak up when you wave at him and disappear towards the bar once again.

Alfie watches you as you move.

Your painted lips that had just been faking a smile now greet the transparent material of the crystal that holds the liquor you so badly need. You take a couple sips, a sheepish smirk on your lips as you feel someone approaching you from behind. You can tell who it is, his steps aren’t the most subtle or rhythmic.

Your small figure turns around swiftly turns around to face the pleasant stranger, a contagious smile on your lips as you look at him from head to toe. He sees the glint of wickedness swimming around in your orbs and he’s sure you’re the girl every cockney has been trying to get their hands on.

Alfie’s heard of a young woman who just won’t behave. As far as he’s concerned, most people think she should be married off to some boring bloke but the uncle won’t let them do it and he’s the only family she’s got. He’s heard of the wild dancing, the kind of moves that are nothing but filth and also the countless times of the escapes she’s made.

And there you are, the infamous wild lady, standing right in front of him.

“Hello, Mister.” you say, amused as you giggle at him. He copies your expression, a low smile on his lips while you feel his smell take over you, vanilla and rum.

“’ello to yourself, Miss.” he speaks, accent dripping from each word as you watch him, he’s even more handsome up close.

Your eyes drift along his tall form, he’s still tall even though you have your heels on. Your gaze lingers on his white shirt, it’s not as smooth as it was when he came in, or so you figure. He’s dressed sharp, his facial hair kept in a nice shape as the golden wires glisten underneath the many candles and chandeliers around. You don’t bother and be subtle as your eyes drink him but he’s doing the same to you.

You chuckle lowly as he takes a sip of the drink you’re holding, it’s much too strong but you’re only getting started.

“You, yeah, are makin’ quite the noise today.” he speaks, not a swear word within the sentence since he’s being proper for the occasion.

“As per usual.” you say, a sweet smile on your lips while you lean on the wall and he hovers tall above you, his face inching a little closer each time he speaks. “Interested?” you speak, wanting him to say yes because he seems to be the only one worth spending time with around here.

“I ain’t answering to that, love.” he says, head shaking at his own words and you watch him under the pleasant light as they create shadows around his face, he’s far too good looking for a bloke with his reputation.

Your eyes drop to his hand, decorated with lines and bands of rings and a crown tattoo, the rough skin makes you smile as your soft fingers trace his. His eyes flutter, the slow song filling the night and flowing out of the spacious house you’re both standing in. You blink a few times, seeing the glint of thrill in his eyes as you stare and stare, the night is long.

But your patience is non-existent.

“You’re no fun, Mister.” your words are barely audible as they leave your lips and he knows you’re teasing, his eyes flutter once more as a small whine leaves your lips and it’s all it takes for him to be envisioning your naked frame, although he’s already done it multiple times up until that point.

You try to be sweeter, appeal to his good nature to get what you want. You know that if a lady from the school is to leave today, with a gentlemen on her arm, it is allowed and you see it as your exit ticket to never return to the hell of a place. Your hands trace the head of his cane, feeling the cold material contrast the warmth of his hands. “What shall I call you?” you ask, danger swimming in your orbs.

“Name’s Solomons, luv.” he speaks, knowing that he needs to be proper and that means saving his name for the more intimate part of the conversation but you don’t seem pleased with the consideration from his part.

“No.” you speak, like a whiny girl and he thinks you’re the most charming whiny girl he’s seen but he waits for your painted lips to part and the sound of your sweet voice. “I knew that. Tell me what you like to be called.” you speak, voice smooth as silk as it delivers the words. He wonders what your voice would sound like if his head was between your soft legs.

There’s evident evil in your eyes but he’s drawn to it, like moth to a flame.

You half expect for him to tell you something absurd. This isn’t something you ask other people but in the rare occasion that you play with fire, the answers have been nothing but disappointing. They’d told you to call them baby, husband or sweetheart.

How pathetic, you thought.

“Alfie.” he speaks, voice low as his eyes don’t leave yours. A smile finds your lips and he stops himself from leaning in and kissing them.

“That’s a very good name.” you speak, satisfied for the first time in a while with a man’s answer. They seem too dull to you, most men are shallow and simply daft but this one seems to shine on you. 

“Fuckin’ flattering old me.” he speaks, amused as he shakes his head and clicks his tongue. You’re far too young for him but that doesn’t seem to occur to you as you ogle him.

“Old?” you speak into his face, your perfume surrounding him as you play with his crisp shirt. He’s close to kissing you senseless but he figures Miriam wants him to act proper for the event. “I don’t think so.” you speak again, answering your own question and he watches the light flicker on your face.

“What is a pretty little bird like you doin’ in the corner?” he speaks, breath almost fanning your face while you almost lose yourself in the smell of him. He seems promising thus far.

You look up at him with an open mouth, seeing as he’s interested. Your agape mouth turns to a smile soon after, this victim of yours seems like a proper gentlemen. The truth was, you didn’t really belong there from the start, it was your uncle’s masterplan since your deceased parents were far too gone to do anything. You’d be a proper lady and the school would tame you down, get you a goodie two shoes husband and let you be on your best way.

But you weren’t the little gentle kid they were expecting.

Trouble made life worth living, there was no fun in the four walls you slept in most days and occasions like these were your ticket for the exit. You knew you’d have to tell the head of the class that you’re leaving with a gentlemen but that’s the point of the occasion, to make sure the girls get to know the people around and maybe even snag a husband of their own.

“Talking to you.” you speak, eyes looking up at the tall, handsome man as he sizes you up. He’s already made up his mind to donate a good amount of money to your school solely because of you.

“Ya’ know who I am, lass?” he speaks, no swearing induced with his words because he sees just how young you are, even though you look younger than you are.

“You just told me. Mr.Solomons.” you whisper against his face, voice breathy as his eyes threaten to flutter. 

But you barely have a clue.

“I, yeah, am a bad fuckin’ man, luv.” he speaks, eyes locked into yours as his face moves. You watch the way his lips shift with each word and a blush rises on your cheeks. You giggle against his face this time, the music in the room constantly changes its melody.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?” your voice is filled with amusement and laughter. It’s not like you’ve asked him to fuck you or take you home, not just yet. 

He looks at you with wide eyes, taken aback by the bravery of such a little thing. You don’t have an ounce of fear in your eyes as you smile up at him and he speaks before you can.

“I don’t think, right, you want to be seen with me, luv.” he says, very aware of the fact that half of the room have been watching you and Alfie for the last hour. But you’ve already been seen with him, so you see no sense in what he’s saying.

“Nonsense.” you speak, the reply is almost automatic and you don’t break eye contact.

He chuckles, it’s low and you’re sure it would be impossible to hear if you weren’t standing so close. You hear his deep voice as he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“You’re the only one worth talking to in this goddamn party.” you whisper without realising it. You don’t intend on telling the gentlemen that but the sparks in his eyes when you change your mind.

Fancy events like this did not interest you, you wanted something real. It didn’t excite you that the carpets in the venue were brought from Milan or that the fine silk curtains were hand-made, you wanted things to be real, raw and not pretentious like all the posh souls were making it out to be. Alfie saw that, mostly because he felt the same way.

You wanted to run away from this place, to talk with someone about the possibilities of what the night had in stock for you and walk on the pavement with bare feet and listen to their laugh and ask them what they really thought of the place they were put in.

Alfie saw that in your eyes, you were young after all.

While you fiddled with your freshly painted nails and tried to ignore the obnoxious color the maid had chosen for you, you let him size you up. You were dangerous in the most complex ways but he liked that, he worked inside danger anyway.

“Say, luv..” he spoke, the pet name making your eyes flutter as he looked down at your small form. You didn’t look out of place here in the fancy venue but it was clear to him that you felt that way. “Do ya’ dance?”

Alfie didn’t dance, that was easy to tell and you weren’t a big fan of slow dancing either, too much intimacy was packed up in it for you. “Only If I like the gentlemen who asks me.” you spat out, true and honest as he watched you like a hawk.

But before he could even get to say anything, Miriam appeared out of thin air. She had been watching Alfie for the past hour as he made conversation with the one girl Miriam hoped he’d stay away from. Her eyes were glistening with excitement and anger, all packed up in giant orbs as she stared at you with a smile.

Alfie cleared his throat when he realised the lady had come in and needed to be introduced. Your posture clearly straightened while he started to speak, uninterested but the deed had to be done so she would leave.

“This is Miriam.” Alfie muttered, almost like a little kid who didn’t want to do it but he soon realised you hadn’t told him your name. His eyes met yours as you looked at the lady next to him and she spoke up at last.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Miriam spoke, voice a little deeper than you’d expect but it suited her. You smiles and took her hand, shaking it like how businessman shook each others’ hands and Alfie smiled at your tomboyish attitude.

“Y/N.” you spoke softly, subtly looking at Alfie direction when he muttered your name under his breath. It sounded right.

“Oh! What a lovely name!” she exclaimed, making you giggle at her excitement for such a normal part of the conversation. You nodded at his words and thanked her like you’d been taught to do.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.” you spoke, a fake smile plastered on your lips while Alfie watched you under a heavy stare, you were perfectly conversing with the lady but it was obvious you wanted to be your own self.

“You two have been talking for quite a while. You don’t mind if I steal Mr. Solomons for a while, do you, dear?” she spoke, almost testing you but you had been trained by the best to not show any emotion. You nodded and smiled, realising that you were a little further down from the bar.

“Of course not.” your words were forced but the lady wouldn’t notice. You shot Alfie a charming smile before the lady dragged him to meet a couple new investors for the Jewish community. It wasn’t like they needed them, but Miriam thought that it was only natural for him to meet people who’d do the same thing as he was doing in terms of donations.

------

The venue was now filled with music, the lively kind. All the couples were tired from the endless slow dancing with the music they had put on so you had finessed the perfect plan to seduce the man who handled the live musicians and although all you had given him was a precious smile, he had started playing tunes you could easily dance at your request.

Most of the girls from your class were now on the dance floor, dancing the day away in the most proper way possible with more than two dozen young men around. No matter how big the opportunity was for them, most of them looked stiff as they moved to the music. They didn’t quite know how to move their bodies in a way that would make men their slave yet and seeing as that was what you were currently doing, you grabbed one of the girls and began teaching her slowly.

Alfie had been talking to a businessman who owned a few casinos up town. He was new to the world of being a gangster but the man seemed speakable enough for him to endure a fifteen minute conversation before he heard familiar giggles overlapping with the music that was being played.

And there you were.

You were an expert at getting yourself in trouble as far as Alfie could tell and the way you moved to the music was the sole proof of the fact. Your body moved to the rhythm, the kind of sways coming from your hips that would be enough to have any man floored if only you’d ask. Miriam watched as Alfie gulped at the sight, he was in deep trouble.

But one tug at his sleeve and he was back to normal.

He ignored the smile on your lips as your drunken state moved to the upbeat song, you were a little too fragile for any man around that night. Tonight was supposed to be about everyone getting to go home with a man on their arm, the sole purpose was to find the grown girls someone to tie their knot with so that the school could invite younger ones.

But you were sure you’d be the last to go.

Men liked to look at you, there was the innocence of a doll mixed with the deadly sins inside your small frame and that was enchanting but it wasn’t enough to keep them interested for the rest of their lives. You were stubborn and didn’t behave like a proper lady should, or so that was what you’d heard since you were a small girl. 

So you found no point in trying to act like one.

An hour passed in what felt like the blink of an eye and you stumbled on your way to the big sofa in the corner of the room. Some of your classmates were already gone with men in their arms to keep them company through the night and you had a look around to see who you could entice.

And to your surprise, the pleasant stranger was still here.

He had been watching you for the last hour with the old lady in his arm. She usually talked about giving back to the community and Alfie was all for that but there was something that kept pulling him to you. He had watched as you eyed every person in the room until your eyes landed on him, a small smile playing at your lips and he realised you weren’t as drunk as he thought you were.

That wasn’t you being drunk, it was you being nothing but trouble.

“May I?” your voice was soft against the air while you tried to get to the whiskey on the table but Alfie was blocking your access. You had walked graciously towards him before that and he was sure you wanted something.

“No fucking way.” he spoke under his breath and your eyebrows shot up at the words. He was amusing after all. 

While he blocked your hands from reaching the whiskey bottle, you shot him an innocent look and he felt as though he was playing with something a little bigger than himself.

“Why?” you asked with a dash of threat lying under. You could make this moment very difficult for him but it went both ways. 

“You, yeah, are too fuckin’ young to even be here, luv...” he speaks and you watch the way his eyes drink you up. You’re too young for drinking but now young enough to keep his eyes to himself, apparently. “...let alone be dancin’ the way you were.” he finishes his sentence and your amused chuckle fills his ears. It’s not what he expects to hear.

“Liked something you saw?” you ask, daring as you look into his eyes. He chuckles, he’s clearly taken aback.

He shakes his head instead of answering. Most of the people around are gone with their gentlemen and the party will be over soon, you figure you’ll be going to the cold bed you woke up in. He catches the faint sign of disappointment on your face and he’s smart enough to put two and two together.

But you seem far too dangerous for a man like him, he thinks.

Before he can answer your question, Annabelle comes around with a plastered smile and starts speaking in the tone you hate so much.

“Y/N! The party is over, dear. You best be on your way to your room.” she speaks, sizing Alfie up along the way. You huff and stare at the old lady. You didn’t think the party was a grand idea anyway.

“Alright.” you speak, knowing she won’t like it and Alfie enjoys the way a hint of smile plays on your lips while Annabelle turns furious for a second.

“What have I taught you?” she says, composing herself in front of the guest and Alfie watches the whole thing play out.

“Yes, Miss.” you say with a fake smile but you’re far from done. They both hear the words as you mutter them under your breath. “Your wish is my command.”

Alfie can’t help but laugh.

You know Annabelle won’t let this go but she smiles at the guest as a sign of kindness, something she hasn’t shown you in your time around here. Alfie turns to you to see the horror in your eyes and he can tell it’s because of the old grumpy lady who keeps bugging you.

And he decides to be the gentlemen.

You’re about to say goodnight and go to your room but he speaks up first to Annabelle, you don’t protest when his hand grabs your small one and caresses it while speaking.

“Actually, this one right here, yeah, will accompany me for the rest of the evenin’..” he speaks and catches the way your eyes light up but he’s composed while the old lady looks at you first and then looks at Alfie.

She’s sure it’ll be a disaster.

“Of course.” she says, wanting to get rid of you as fast as she can.

You watch her leave and Alfie’s hand engulfs your small one in the process. With stars in your eyes, you return to the kind gentlemen but he’s fast to speak before you can thank him. “We best be on our way, lass.”

And he leaves with you on his arm, unaware of the things the night has in stock for the both of you.

----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

a/n: I know i have been inactive but i have one more week of school before the winter break so i’ll be better, I promise!! and please let me know what you thought or/and if you’d like to be tagged!! <3 Happy december!

[nalgenewhore]

promise me your heart

elide x lorcan, alternate canon au, word count: 2458

Night had fallen hours ago, but still they did not sleep. 

A fearsome fire roared and danced in the pit they had built, encircled with marked stones. On the other side, he sat. 

The demi-Fae’s dark eyes were wide and could not stop moving, always looking at something new. The witch laughed into her mug of honey ale and drank deeply, the slightly sweet drink cool and refreshing. 

When she put her mug down, his eyes were on her. 

Elide felt her cheeks blush and turned her face away, cursing him for having this- this foolish, lovesick spell on her. No male made her blush. Not even this one, with his long, long hair and his black tattoos that wrapped around bronze skin rippling with muscles every time he shifted. 

She bared her iron fangs in annoyance, at no one in particular. Elide Lochan was almost six-hundred years old. She was the leader of the most feared witch clan in the world. She had killed men, women, males, and females with her bare hands and teeth. 

As for the beasts she’d slain, well, she kept their skulls as trophies in her vardo*, the white bones gleaming and shining, fitting in with the colourful drapes and carpets and adornments she had collected over the centuries. 

Elide tipped her cup up, only to find that she’d finished her drink. She grumbled and tapped an iron nail over the rim, stewing in silence. Her quick eyes glanced at the male again and her cunning mind wondered what to do with him. 

Three weeks ago, she’d found him. At the base of one of the towering and foreboding peaks of Morla. He’d hardly been breathing, curled into a tight ball, his weapons askew in the snow around him. Death had seeped from him, shadow-like strands skittering across the ice and snow covered ground. 

They’d seeked her out, herding her towards him. 

Elide had managed to drag him back to their camp and tended to him in her caravan, not letting another witch see him, not even her second, Manon. When the moon-haired witch had teased her, telling her she had gone soft for him, Elide had snarled in her face and gone back to his side, until the fever broke. Until he stopped having those… those terrible nightmares, she assumed. 

The ones where he thrashed and pleaded, speaking in an ancient warrior language, one she had not heard in ages. Once, tears rolled from his narrow eyes, screwed shut tightly, spilling down his high cheeks. Not knowing what to do and having the undeniable urge to soothe him, Elide had held his face and kissed his brow, whispering a soft prayer. 

She was startled from her musings when the very subject of them sat down next to her. He was so large that their shoulders, arms, hips, and legs were pressed together. Elide could feel his enticing warmth against her. 

“Are… are you the one who saved me,” he asked, his voice low and grating. 

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him. Maiden, Mother, and Crone save her. He was too tall. “What of it?” 

The male arched a brow and shrugged a large shoulder up, “Where I come from, it’s customary to thank one for doing you a favour. You saved my life and I should owe you a great debt.” 

“I have zero want for a foolish and young male’s debt.” 

“Young?” he choked, then chuckled. “I am anything but young. I’ve lived more than my share of centuries.” 

Without thinking, Elide replied, “As have I.” 

Shocked that such words and such information about herself had slipped from her round lips, Elide snapped her eyes to his. They surveyed each other in turn and the witch was the first to look away, a soft smirk curling the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.” 

He looked at her again and Elide clarified, “For saving your life.” She leaned just the slightest of bits into him. “You may call me Elide. Whatever do they call you, in your strange land?” 

“Lorcan.” 

Elide hummed and they both stared ahead. The heavy, booming drum beats slowly died and the witch looked around. Surely her fleet could not be tiring yet. Many, many a time their festivities raged on for days. 

Her worries were soothed when it began again and almost immediately, Elide glared at Asterin and Manon. 

Their fiddles, well worn and well loved, were nestled comfortably on their shoulders and tucked beneath their chins. They played a delicate and sweet tune and a loud cry of approval swept through the camp. 

Almost instantly, witches were surging to their feet and grabbing their loves, dancing around the fire. And then, the most golden of witches opened her mouth and pure heaven spilled from it. Asterin’s sun-flecked eyes sparkled, “I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning…” 

She looked to her cousin and Manon rolled her eyes of pure gold before singing in her rasping voice, “And gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me…”

For the next lines, they sang together, a perfect harmony. Elide’s second stared pointedly at her, subtly tilting her head. Elide scowled as her face heated. Never.

Stop being a wee witchling. I know you fancy him. 

How dare you, Blackbeak?

Manon’s satisfied grin, the fangs she wore on proud display glinting in the firelight, told Elide she’d let too much of herself show. And what are you going to do about it?

She fumed, but knew in her gut that Manon was right. 

“No scorching heat nor freezing cold will stop me if you will promise me your heart…”

Darkness, how Elide loathed it when Manon was right. And Manon was right all the time. 

Before she could do a thing, Lorcan was standing and his hand extended to her. She looked at it, her mouth popping open, her eyes widening. Elide snapped her head up to look at him, “What are you doing?” 

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. She could’ve sworn she saw red stealing across his cheeks. “Oh, well- I just- the others are- is–” Lorcan cut himself off, thinning his full lips in self loathing. “Would you like to dance with me, Elide?” 

“Yes,” Elide said, her response quick and rushed. She primly cleared her throat and stood. Before Elide placed her hand in his, she retracted her iron nails and gathered the skirts of her red dress in hand. “Shall we?” 

“Certainly, witchling.” Lorcan looked to the fire and smirked, awaiting her reply. 

She clicked her tongue, “Shut it, faeling.” 

“Oh, how you wound me,” he chuckled. 

Elide narrowed her eyes at him and sharply tugged him into the dance. She held their hands up and quirked her brow, “My waist, Lorcan.” 

His large hand curled around her waist and he pulled her closer, so that she was forced to crane her head up to meet his eye. “Now what?” 

“We dance, of course!” she laughed, dancing nimbly on her feet. Elide let Lorcan follow, his footsteps slightly slower. His head was bent, his brow furrowed as he watched her steps. With a surge of confidence, Elide leaned up, kissing the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Lorcan inhaled sharply, his eyes wide as he looked at her. She swallowed once and said, her voice far more unsteady than she liked, “Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” 

A large, booming laugh burst from him. Lorcan quickly picked it up and danced with her, urging her faster and faster. When he spoke, he spoke as if they were taking a leisurely stroll, “I’m six-hundred years old, Elide, I am not worried about wrinkles.” 

“Aha, I am six-hundred and one years old which means I know more than you,” she boasted. Elide squealed when Lorcan abruptly spun her out and snapped her back into his arms. Her hand came to rest on his chest and she could feel his heart beating against her palm, “Oh.” 

He smiled and she noticed the deep, dishy dimples on his cheeks, “Don’t fall behind, Elide.” 

She frowned in offence and switched her steps to something complex and beautiful. Lorcan only slowed for a moment before he matched her, step for step. Elide laughed then, her head tossed back as a pealing sound escaped her. 

Lorcan looked down at the ethereal beauty he spun, her cheeks rosy and eyes closed in delirious joy. 

As the music picked up speed, they went faster and faster and faster still. Elide’s blood-red skirts spun and flashed and twirled with her hips. Her hair shifted like dark waves of a troubled ocean and Lorcan was utterly, utterly bewitched by the divinity of it all. By the divinity of her.

That quickly, in such a flash, they tripped and stumbled, rolling to the flattened grass. They tumbled over each other, until finally coming to a stop. Lorcan was pinned beneath Elide, her knees bracing on either side of his hips. 

Their chests heaved and the off-the-shoulder sleeve of Elide’s dress slipped. Lorcan reached up, as did she, to push it back. When their hands touched, the both of them froze and looked at each other, analysing what they saw. 

Slowly, Lorcan sat up and Elide slid her fingers through his. He graced his fingertips over her regal cheekbone and felt her breath fan over his face.

He thought she might kiss him, her breath fanning softly over his face, but she didn’t. Instead, Elide shifted to sit next to him, “You must be hungry.” 

Lorcan was about to say, no, but his stomach protested and he cracked a grin, “Starving, but I do have to tell you, I don’t care for virginal sacrifices or young men. They scream far too much.” 

Elide stood up and offered her his hand, “The virgins or the men?” 

“The men, obviously,” he scoffed. He accepted her hand and stood.

She laughed again, that bright, warm and golden noise stirring something in his chest. “Right answer.” They walked to a large tent, one with beaded fabric walls. The tent’s entrance was pinned open, showing the glowing oil lamps and low tables laden with food and drink. 

Elide practically pranced in, holding her large skirts in her hands. She sat down and patted the space beside her. Lorcan walked in and took his seat, looking around him at the array of colourful, aromatic choices. “What should I choose?” 

She hummed, her sharp eyes searching the options. “Hmmm… try the saffron rice first, to start. Nothing too rich, your body is still healing.” Before she ate, she took a metal bowl filled with  water and gestured for him to do the same. Then, Elide took a stuffed pepper, its skin blackened by flame. She deftly scraped the burned skin off and began to eat. 

Lorcan scooped some of the yellow rice onto his plate and ate with his hands, not seeing any utensils. Elide didn’t seem to even notice, so he assumed it was customary. It was all very well, this was how he ate as a child, before everything, with his mother and his sisters. 

His throat ached with tears for a moment and Lorcan ate slowly, knowing that his stomach would ache if he went too quickly. 

The rice was gone quickly and when he reached for more, the witch stopped him. “Now try this.” She put a bowl of rabbit stew in front of him and his nose twitched, scenting the myriad of spices all melding together. Elide put a round piece of bread beside his bowl. “You need to eat more, you’re too skinny.” 

“Well, yes, I nearly froze to death,” Lorcan said drily, frowning when she patted his cheek a touch too hard. 

“Don’t be contrary,” Elide said. “Eat your stew.” Her hand rested on his cheek and Lorcan snapped his teeth towards her fingertips, laughing when she shrieked and snatched them back. “Devil Fae.”

“Devil witch.” 

Elide hummed in appreciation and they ate until their bellies were warm and full. 

Outside, the fiddles still played and the witches still danced, bright and merry. Elide and Lorcan took their plates and bowls and walked to the river behind her vardo. They washed in silence and stacked their dishes beside them. Warm and sated, Elide leaned against Lorcan and he wrapped his arm around her. Elide sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. She tipped her head to the side and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “Will you be leaving soon, then?” 

His arm slipped from her shoulders and his warm hand fit into the cradle of her waist. The demi-fae’s voice was soft and low, his head leaning against hers, “Do you wish for me to leave soon? Your witches must not care for males.” 

“I do not care what my witches think about this,” she whispered, her hands finding his free one. “And I do not wish for you to leave.” Elide looked up at him, his face bathed in the light of the moon. Like she could not help herself nor control herself, Elide reached up and marked those beautifully untameable features of his. She ran her fingers down his cheekbone and dragged one down the ridge of his brow, following the path it made to his straight nose. 

Lorcan simply watched her, his eyes soft and dark as he surveyed her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the corners of his mouth. He hardly dared to breathe. Elide swallowed once before she pressed her lips to his, forced to rise onto her knees. 

He lifted his hand to cup her face. She sighed softly and leaned her cheek into his palm. When Lorcan tangled his hand in her hair to kiss her fully, Elide shifted to straddle him, her knees bracketed on either side of his hips. 

When he had woken in that foreign, vibrant and colourful carriage, Lorcan had not been scared. Something had settled in his chest, something he hadn’t known he’d been aching for. He had been too tired, too weak to explore it, to reason it. Too safe. 

“Don’t leave. Please,” Elide whispered, pulling back slightly. “Won’t you stay?

“I will,” Lorcan swore, for he had found it. 

He had found his heart, ancient and wicked and his in every way possible. And Elide, she had found the one to protect her, in this life and every life after. 

Even after the world went to ruin and damnation, they would remain this way, for they were finally home.

☽ ☼ ☾

*vardo: traditional romany wagon 

@mythicaitt​ @werewolffprince​ @schmlip-scribble​ ​ @the-regal-warrior​ @ladyverena​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​  @flora-and-fae​ @thesirenwashere​ @queenofxhearts​ @maastrash​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @cursebreaker29​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm​ @hizqueen4life​ @silversprings98​ @amren-courtofdreams​ @minaidss​ @superspiritfestival​ @sanakapoor​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @spyofthenightcourt​  @thegoddessofyou​ @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​ @claralady​ @neonhellas​ @darlinminds​ @readingismyonlyhobby​ @autophobiaxx​ @silversprings28​ @myshadowsingeraz​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @elriel4life​ @always-in-a-daydream​ @jlinez​ @ladywitchling​ @mariamuses @darklesmylove

[atiny-ahgase]

A  Promise And A Stray Pup (Part 1 of 2?)

Title: A Promise And A Stray Pup

Chapter 1: Pinky Promise 

Author’s Note: Hi hi, it’s Gabby here. Hope that you all are doing well. I thought about the idea for this fic for a really long time so I hope that my planning and attention to detail shines through. 

Disclaimer: This fic starts off with a flashback to when Y/n was really young, nothing weird or bad happens but I just wanted to put this out there in case it makes anyone uncomfortable. It’s just a simple fic about a kid and a stray dog.

Summary: Y/n returns home in search of a hybrid friend that she had left oh so long ago. Will she be able to help him? Did their friendship withstand the hands of time or did it crumble from the pressure? 

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

Pairing: Hybrid Yunho x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 6.4 k (Or something like that...)

Genre: Hybrid au, Fluff

Contains: Hybrid Yunho, Gender Neutral Reader, Fluff, Slight Angst, Suggestive, Mentions a dead relative

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

Tagging: @sangie-baby​

Props to @yungidreamer​ for helping me out with proof reading and reviewing. Thank you for making sense out of my nonsense lol.

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

“Mom I don’t wanna go to big kid school,” you whined as you walked alongside your mother, your rubber boots splashing in the puddles beneath you. It had been pouring rain but your mother was determined to get you to school as it was your first day. You on the other hand were less than thrilled to be there. You wanted nothing more than to sleep in, wake up late and play with your toys every day. But apparently “big kids” had to go to school and learn things. Holding onto her hand helped you keep up with her fast pace until you arrived at the school that you would be attending. You didn’t know what jail looked like but if you had to imagine it in your 6-year-old brain, this would be it. You squeezed your mother’s hand even tighter. She couldn’t just leave you here, could she? Your question was later answered when an adult who you assumed to be your teacher swept you away from your mother’s grasp. You hated it here.

You had been homeschooled till now and by homeschooled you meant that you stayed at home and learned your Alphabet with your dad. But after your dad had passed there was no one to supervise you at home since your mom had to work extremely long hours just to make ends meet, hence how you ended up here. You were grumpy for the entire day, ensuring that your teacher knew that you didn’t want to be there. Even at 6 years old you were a force to be reckoned with, you were stubborn and not afraid to show it. 

Thankfully the day flew by and before you knew it, it was time to head home. Finally, you’d be able to leave this hell and retreat into the four walls of your comfortable home. Your mother had contacted the school beforehand informing them that she’d be running a little late. You knew that you could walk home on your own; you were incredibly independent for your age. There was this one time where you had walked home from the park after being separated from your parents. You still remembered the look on their faces when they found you seated on the wooden rocking chair in the front porch, your little legs not even touching the ground as you waited for them. Even after all of that she still said that you couldn't walk home on your own; something about bad men stealing children or something like that. So you had to stay in school until your mother came to pick you up. Until then you just walked along the inside of your school fence, hand brushing against the cold metal. 

Your fingers bumped over the wires as you walked, aimlessly running your hand over the chain-link fence. You followed the fence bordering the school which eventually lead you to the back of the school yard. There was a dark and dismal alley behind the school, it seemed to be the place where the neighbourhood gathered their garbage to be later collected by the garbage trucks. Raising your head you saw a pile of clothes pressed up against the cold concrete wall. Not paying it any mind to it you continued walking until you noticed the pile slightly moving. Looking closer you realized that what had originally appeared to be a lump of discarded clothing was actually a boy, he didn’t seem to be that much older than you but a hood concealed most of his face. You stared at him for quite some time, trying to understand what was going on, did he not have school? Mom said that all big kids had to go to school. Why wasn’t he in school? 

Your hands grasped onto the metal wiring of the fence as you peered at him, your mother had always said that it was rude to stare but you couldn’t help it, he was so fascinating. Without warning his head shot up, eyes immediately finding yours. You jumped back in shock, your heart racing in your chest as you fell unto the floor, your hands grazing upon the heated asphalt. He seemed to be just as surprised as you were, his eyes blown out in surprise as he looked at you. There you stayed staring at him from your spot on the floor, his head slightly tilted as he crawled a little closer to the fence, seemingly examining you. Now that he was no longer masked by the shadow of the alley wall you could see his face more clearly. He had bright yellow eyes along with a warm brown puff of hair on his head. Under his hood, you could clearly see the indent of two ears protruding through. He was a hybrid. Your mother had told you about hybrids before, she said that they were scary individuals that didn’t deserve to be treated as humans, she said that they were bad and dangerous and you should stay away from them.

But he didn’t look dangerous nor scary at all, he looked...startled. You stood up from the floor taking a tentative step towards him. With every step that you took, he stepped backwards, eyes never once leaving yours. “Ahchoo”, you heard him sneeze in front of you. “Bless you,” you laughed before smiling brightly at him. There was no response, he just looked at you with the same shocked expression that he had before. “Maybe he was just shy,” you thought. “Do you like chocolate?” you asked excitedly while bouncing in place. Surely he did, everyone did. You placed your lunch kit on the floor before rummaging through it to find your chocolate chip cookies. Finding the bag you attempted to push it through the holes of the fence only to realize that the bag was too big. You frowned slightly, saddened by the fact that you couldn’t share your cookies with him. You stood for a moment pondering about what to do before a light bulb came up in your head.

Grasping the pack you opened the top before taking a cookie in your tiny hands and sliding them through the fence, offering the snack to the boy. He looked at it for a moment before grabbing it from your hand and consuming it in one bite. “He must be really hungry,” you deduced. You took another cookie from the bag giving it to him and watching him eat cookie after cookie. “I’m sorry, it’s all finished. I’ll be sure to bring more tomorrow okay?” you said to him; expecting a reply you looked at him but he just ran off. You looked into the alley as he sped away, blending into the darkness. “He seems fun,” you thought as you smiled widely.

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

“Mom may I please have an extra bag of cookies today?” you asked your mother as you ate your breakfast.

“You know that you can’t eat too much sweet hun,” she stated while packing your lunch kit.

“It’s not for me. I made a new friend so I wanted to give one to him,” you replied while smiling brightly at her.

“Oh well that’s great sweetie,” she stated while finding another bag of cookies to place into your kit “, What’s his name?”

“I’m not sure; he’s really shy,” you replied, a hint of sadness clearly in your voice as you looked down at your plate of scrambled eggs.

“Don’t worry sweetie, I’m sure that he’ll love the cookies,” she smiled at you before patting your head. 

Your mother dropped you off at the school, waving you goodbye as you walked into the building. The day was a little more manageable but maybe that was because you were so excited for school to be over so you could see your new friend again. Well, at least the person that you wanted to be your new friend...if he wanted you to be. The bell rang through the hallways of the school and you found yourself running to the spot where you had first seen the little hybrid boy. Stopping at where you felt was the same spot, you looked into the shadows of the alley; your face sinking when you didn’t see him. You dropped your bags on the warm asphalt and stooped down; waiting for him. “Maybe he was late,” you thought while aimlessly playing with your nails. You felt like you were there for hours but in reality, it was probably only a few minutes.

“H-hi,” you heard a voice speak from in front of you, you didn’t jump or even flinch at all; it didn’t seem the least bit threatening. Looking up from your spot on the floor you notice the hybrid boy from yesterday. You smiled brightly at him before going into your bag to retrieve the bag of cookies. You both stayed silent as he ate. You thought that maybe he’d open up a little today but you were wrong, he didn’t even tell you his name.

This cookie exchange carried on for the duration of the school term and you still didn’t know anything about him. But that didn’t deter you one bit. Even though he had never really said anything with his words you felt as though you told you so much with his eyes. They weren’t the typical brown, blue, grey or any of the usual colours that you noticed the other students in the school had. His eyes were a bright yellow, they shone like the sun, radiating warmth straight into your little heart. And they spoke straight to your soul, thanking you for being with him, for staying with him. Thanking you for being there.

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

You wiped your tired eyes as you trudged through the bleak school halls, heading to your classroom. Your body felt drained from all of the tears you had shed the previous day . After arriving home from school, your mother had informed you that she had just gotten a new job which meant that you had to move away. She said that it was really far and that you’d have to change schools.

If you had gotten this information at the beginning of the term your little heart would have been elated; overjoyed that you’d be leaving the confines of these bleak school walls, but that wasn’t the case. What would happen to the little hybrid boy that you had befriended? How would you both eat cookies together if you left? The very thought of leaving him left an aching feeling in your chest, it felt as though your soul was being ripped out of your body.

The immense feeling of sorrow which washed over you brought with it a flood of tears which you could not control. The salty liquid filled your eyes before cascading off of your cheeks and dampening the plush rug beneath your feet. It was as though the floodgates had opened as water rushed through without any indication of stopping until the river was drained of every last drop of water, your body releasing every last tear that it could muster up. Every comforting word that your mother had attempted to provide being drowned out by your wails of sadness. The next morning you woke up to the bright morning sun shining through your window, casting a golden glow across everything that it touched. Your mother had tucked you in, wrapping your body in your woolen blanket after finding you asleep on the couch.

Walking into class you took your seat and waited for your teacher to begin their lesson, their voice drifting further and further away until you couldn’t hear it at all, your own thoughts drowning out the world around you. Your mind was filled with so many other things, so many different emotions. You didn’t have space to even think about what was going on around you, all you could think about was him.

Opening your sketchbook you began to aimlessly doodle, in an attempt to distract yourself from the aching feeling that had never left your chest. Everything that you saw, everything that you did, reminded you of him. The sunflowers that you had mindlessly scribbled were his eyes, the faded black of the chalkboard; his washed-out jeans, even the deafening silence of during naptime reminding you of the comfortable silence that you both had shared so many times before. You wished that you had started attending public school a little earlier, then maybe you could have held onto him a little longer, make him smile a little brighter.

Your teacher had decided for the entire class to do a craft that day, sort of like a going-away present. So, all of the students made 2 friendship bracelets, one for themselves and one for their friend. You spent the entirety of your evening constructing 2 little bracelets each of different colours. Crafts have always been one of your favourite things, what could be more fulfilling than having an idea and bringing it to life? Of course, this activity would serve as a great distraction from the aching feeling which inhabited your heart.

After completing your bracelets you gently placed them on the table in front of you; the silver pendants glistening in the afternoon sun. “Oh these are lovely Y/n,” your teacher commented from beside you “, Are those your favourite colours?” Looking down you admired the bright blue and yellow bands of the individual bracelets. “Umm no,” you replied in an almost puzzled tone. You didn’t really have a reason for choosing those colours, they just sort of came to you. “Well maybe they remind you of something that makes you happy,” she smiled before slightly ruffling your hair. Your teacher had expected you to give your bracelet to someone from your class but you never did. You held on to that bright yellow bracelet for the rest of the day.

When the class had finally ended you walked over to your usual spot for the last time, your feet dragging on the asphalt as you slowly made your way to the back of the school. He was already there, leaned up against the wall; his grey oversized hoodie and black pants hanging off of his slightly smaller frame. You had never seen him in anything else and at first, you would often question it but now it gave you some sort of comfort; it was your constant in this ever-changing world. He smiled as he saw you approaching, his bright eyes lighting up as his tail wagged energetically. You loved how even when he said nothing you could still see his true emotions, they shone through like sunbeams through a glass window. He didn’t have to say anything to you, you knew that he was happy to see you. 

“That’s okay,” he said; your head shooting up at the sound of his voice, that was the most words that he had ever said to you. “We can eat them next time right Y/n”, he continued. Maybe he knew that something bad had happened and this was his way of trying to cheer you up. You knew that he meant well when he said “next time” but in your book, there was no next time because you were moving soon. “Momma said that we’re moving away so we can’t eat cookies together anymore,” said as your voice trembled. You tried your best to hold in your tears but you were really going to miss him, there was just something about him that you really loved, you loved spending time with him. 

With everything that had happened yesterday you had forgotten to bring him cookies, hopefully, he wouldn’t be mad. You hurried to meet him, your little feet scurrying to the fence. You were now facing him, your head tilted up slightly to look him in the eye. They reminded you of a Sunflower field, bold, bright and beautiful; you could get lost in them for hours, you were going to miss that. His head tilted slightly as he pushed his hand through one of the holes in the fence and patting your head; probably sensing your melancholy mood. Clearing your throat you opened your mouth to speak.

“I forgot the cookies today. Sorry,” you stated before looking down at your feet; you couldn’t bear to see sadness form in his eyes. You both couldn’t even eat cookies together for the last time and that was your fault, too. Today was the last day that you were going to be seeing him and you couldn’t even share that together. Your stomach churned at the feeling of disappointment that welled up inside of you. The tears in your eyes already prepared to break through your calm exterior.

“We’ll see each other again though right?” he inquired, his ears sitting flat against his head, his cheerful voice in direct contrast to his saddened appearance; you wanted nothing more than to hold him in your arms and give him a big hug. But you were separated by the fence, this physical barrier blocking out the emotions that you both had felt. “Yeah...I’ll come back, I promise,” you said while wiping away the tears which had managed to escape from your eyes. “I don’t know when I’ll be back but I will come back okay, um,” you began but he still hadn’t told you his name. “Yunho,” he said, his yellow eyes searching yours for any sigh of deceit. “I’ll wait for you forever okay Y/n, pinky promise,” he said as he held out his pinky finger to you. You couldn’t help but smile at the act, this was the most sacred of promises, but you knew that you’d keep it with all of your heart. You crossed your significantly smaller pinky with his own, promising to return to him someday.

“Oh. I made you something,” you chimed in; just remembering about your friendship bracelets. Pulling away you dig into your bag in search of the yellow sunflower friendship bracelet you had made in class. Finally finding it you pulled it out of your bag and showed it to him. “It’s yellow just like your eyes,” you said with a big smile plastered across your face. His expression changed from one of confusion to pure joy, as his face broke into a bright smile to match yours. Placing your hands through the fence you secured the bracelet to his wrist before placing your blue iris bracelet. “These are a sign of our friendship okay? So no matter how far away we are from each other we will always be bonded by these bracelets,” you explained while looking into his big bright yellow eyes.

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

“Is this the last box?” your mom asked as you loaded the moving truck. “Yeah that’s the last of it,” you replied while drying your sweaty palms off on your jeans. She had never understood why you wanted to return to your old home for university. It wasn’t like you had that many memories there anyway, you moved away when you were six. This was your new home, filled with the friends that you had acquired for the past 12 years. And of course, you would miss them but you had all of their numbers and you could drive now, the city is only a few hours away so you knew that you’d see them again. You had to go back, you had made a promise and you were determined to keep it. You wanted to keep it, you wanted to see him again, your first-ever real friend.

A lot has changed in the past 12 years. Hybrids have become more accepted by the overall community, of course, there are people who still hold a negative prejudice towards them but those people are few in numbers and far apart. Even your mother had changed her outlook on hybrids which you were so incredibly grateful for. “I’ll come to visit you when I can okay mom; so try not to get too lonely,” you smiled at her before pulling her into a hug. “The house is gonna be quiet without you Luv,” she replied while hugging you tightly. You said your final goodbyes to your friends before hopping into your car. One of your friend’s parents actually owned the moving company so his brother volunteered to drive the van and help you move-in some of the heavier boxes. You were grateful that he did because the only form of exercise that you partook in was jumping to conclusions; that didn’t grant you with the muscle mass that was required for this job. 

The drive back home, well to your previous home that is, was pretty peaceful. You broke the silence by listening to some of your favourite songs until you arrived.  With the distraction of music, the drive went by incredibly fast. You were now placing all of your boxes into your apartment. There were a lot of boxes; who knew that you had so much stuff, but thankfully you had some help so it didn’t take you too long.

“Thanks for all of the help,” you said, “I don’t think that I could have done all of this without you”.

“It’s cool and good luck at university,” he replied. “Don’t forget to make good choices,” he continued while pointing a joking finger at you. You laughed along with him before waving him goodbye. 

“Now I just have all of these boxes to sort out and I’ll be done,” you thought. Easier said than done. You practically spent the entire day organizing your stuff but at least now you could sleep in tomorrow. School didn’t start for another week, but you had moved in early to make sure that everything was sorted out. At least that was the excuse that you used, in reality, you just wanted some extra time to search for Yunho.

However, that task was easier said than done. You had not even the slightest idea of where to look; you didn’t know his last name, address, phone number, nothing. How on earth were you supposed to find him? Where were you even supposed to start looking? You opted to go to the local university with the hope that maybe he would be a student there but that possibility was highly unlikely. You didn't realize back then but as you grew older you finally understood why Yunho was always in that alleyway, he was abandoned. You were so nieve to the struggles that hybrids had to face on a daily basis. It was extremely difficult to parent hybrids, they had to go to separate schools than others; almost all of the schools were private schools, so if you couldn't afford it your child just wouldn't be educated. This law has since been revoked due to its unfair nature, it made education unreachable for most hybrids who could rarely afford such luxuries. You were just sorry that those changes did not happen earlier, maybe things would have been different.

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

Although you had planned to sleep in, your stomach had other plans. Dragging yourself out of bed you went to the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal while mentally reminding yourself to go shopping later that day. Most of your morning was occupied by organizing school stuff on your laptop to ensure that everything was finalized. It was now around lunchtime and your stomach once again reminded you that you had not bought any groceries yet. Releasing a loud sigh you grabbed your wallet and keys before heading out the front door. You hopped into your car searching for a grocery store of any kind. The place looked so different from the way that you remembered it, new buildings had replaced the old ones and so many of the places which you had enjoyed going to as a child had been closed down. “I wonder where else has been closed down?” you wondered as you took a left on a rather familiar road.

Looking through your car window you try to spot your old school, remembering the pale green walls and rusty fence which bordered it. Your facial expression sinking as you soon realized that it had gotten closed down. In its wake was a large grocery store and parking lot. You couldn't hide the disappointment on your face as you swung into the parking lot. Although you hadn’t spent very long there it held some of your sweetest memories, your memories with Yunho. Walking into the store you were immediately hit with the savoury smell of freshly baked bread. Grabbing a shopping cart you walked through the aisles collecting everything that you needed which was literally everything because this morning you had dry cereal since you hadn’t even bought milk yet.

You were almost finished with your grocery trip, only needing a few more items. Walking down the last aisle you realized that you didn't have any paper towels. Looking through the aisle you released a loud sigh as you noticed the paper towels on the top shelf. So what, do short people not use paper towels in this town? Standing on the tip of your toes you tried your best to reach them but it was to no avail, your fingertips couldn't even touch the plastic packaging. You tried again jumping slightly in an attempt to at least knock it down but still nothing.

“Do you need some help,” you heard a voice giggle from behind you.

“I don't think that it's good customer service to laugh at your customers,” you chuckled before turning around.

You were immediately greeted by two bright yellow orbs; he was a hybrid. Before you could say anything further he stretched above you, effortlessly retrieving the paper towels for you. You retreated slightly, back hitting the edge of the shelf, you felt shy due to your close proximity. You noticed a sunflower pendant hanging around his neck, the sight of which tugging at some distant memory in your mind.

“One pack of paper towels for the lovely customer,” he spoke, his voice as sweet as honey, warmth dripping off of every word that he said.

“Thank you,” you replied, blushing slightly at his compliment. Taking them from his grasp your fingertips lightly brushing against his ownYour eyes flicked to his chest, expecting to find a name tag, but to your surprise, you found nothing there.

“Yunho,” he said, his words catching you off guard.

“Yunho? It couldn’t possibly be that easy,” you thought, a shocked look covering your face as you stood frozen, staring.

“Did you need anything else Luv?” he inquired, his head tilted to the side as his ears twitched in an inquisitive nature.

How could he stand at what? 6 feet and still look like an absolute baby; a puppy. You shook your head in an attempt to get rid of your initial shock. You smiled brightly at him, your cheeks slightly pained due to the intensity of your smile, you couldn't help it; you had honestly missed him so much. 

“And here I thought that I needed to bring you cookies for you to tell me your name,” you joked, a slight smirk on your face. Now it was time for him to be shocked. You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped your lips, his facial expression was hilarious. Was that what you looked like a few moments ago?

You opened your mouth to speak again but this action became futile as you felt the air burst from your lungs as Yunho engulfed you into a hug. His back slightly hunched as he rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Twelve years later and you're still a puppy huh?” you stated while tangling your hands in his hazel brown hair.

“You came back,” you heard him state; his voice sounding slightly broken as his muffled sound reached your ears. “I told you I would,” you replied before pulling away from him, your eyes immediately meeting his. They had somehow seemed to brighten throughout the years, the yellow hue seemed almost blinding.

“People lie. I thought that you were another one,” he confessed, his eyes shooting to the floor, “No one had ever really come back for me.” You couldn’t stop the shattering feeling from flooding your heart, your tightening as you looked at his golden eyes; so bright despite everything that he’d been through.

He didn't deserve that, no one deserved that; being discarded because of something that you couldn't even control. Being deceived as they waited hopefully. What kind of person would allow such a sweet individual to endure so much?  “I came back every day because I didn't know when you'd show up and I didn’t want to keep you waiting. I tried to stay as close as I could but sometimes it was really hard. But then when the grocery franchise bought the school I couldn't really show up anymore; the construction workers kept on chasing me out,” he said while scratching the back of his neck, his tail waving frantically behind him.

“I eventually got this job with the hope that I’d be able to see you again but to tell you the truth I didn't expect you to really come back for me,” he continued.

“I missed you,” he said before smiling slightly. How could someone ever leave someone as precious as him? You'd only reunited for what 5 minutes? And you couldn't even think about leaving his side.

“How could I not come back for you? You’re such a good boy,” you said while reaching up to pet his head; heat flooded your face. What were you thinking? What if he didn't like his head being patted? He was a dog hybrid but that didn’t mean that he was a dog. You quickly pulled your hand away before attempting to apologize, but your words stuck in your throat as he gently grasped your hand. Bending slightly and placing it back on his head before looking at you hopefully. He's adorable. He's absolutely precious and you knew that he wasn't a pet but that didn't stop your brain from thinking about how badly you wanted to keep him.

“Yunho I need you to help me stack the shelves on Aisle 9 please,” you heard a voice speak from a few steps away. Looking over you noticed a short black-haired man carrying a box; he was a cat hybrid, the shape of his eyes mimicking that of a cat’s as his tail hung effortlessly behind him. I thought that cats and dogs didn't get along. “I’ll be right there Young-ah,” Yunho replied.

“Okay just hurry up, I’m not missing my lunch break because you decided to flirt with the customers,” he replied; a mischievous smirk on his face. “It’s not like that,” Yunho began as the male began to walk away; from your spot near the shelf you had the perfect view of the blush that ever so slightly crept upon his face, “they’re an old friend”.

“When do you get off work,” you asked.

“Oh..um around 6 I think,” Yunho replied, his voice laced with light uncertainty as he glanced at you. 

“Okay well then I’ll pick you up at 6,” you chimed, “oh and don't have too many snacks. I'll make dinner.”

“How many cookies am I allowed to eat?” he playfully inquired while slowly exiting the aisle. “None! I'm the only one allowed to give you cookies,” you playfully replied while stomping your feet on the ground and crossing your arms. Yunho had said something back but he was too far for you to hear it properly. It was so strange; he was the same boy that you remembered from 12 years ago while simultaneously being someone completely new. You knew one thing for sure; you love that you had for him so many years ago still remained.

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

“This tastes amazing Y/n!” Yunho basically yelled from across the table. You were never really one for extravagance nor were you in the habit of keeping up appearances. You had prepared burgers for dinner and by the glistening smile that plastered Yunho’s face that he enjoyed it. “Don't talk with your mouth full Yun, you'll choke,” you scolded him before reaching over to the table to whip the sauce off of the corner of his lip. He may be a dog hybrid but he eats like a pig. “Sorry,” he replied. “What did I just tell you?” you jokily asked. After you both ate Yunho insisted on helping you with the dishes before you both sat on the couch talking about nothing at all really.

“So what has Y/n been up to these days?” Yunho enquired from his spot on the couch; which was basically your lap because that was where he rested his head while you gently ran your fingers through his hair. You responded to his question; telling him about your friends back home, the major you were going to be studying in university and all of the little things you like to do in your free time. 

“My brother goes to that school,” he stated rather consistently. Brother? He has a brother? 

“Oh, I didn't know you had a brother,” you replied to his rather shocking statement.

“Well, he isn't my real brother but that doesn't really matter much. A few years after you left I got caught by the Hybrid Division of Animal Control, that was where his dad found me. They aren't hybrids but you're really great people, he's a few years older than I am so he treats me like a little brother,” he stated, “it’s nice. You should meet him some time”. You hummed at his statement as your hand continued to aimlessly play in his hair. 

You had no idea when you had fallen asleep but you were awakened by the sun shining through your bedroom windows. Releasing a loud groan you mentally punched yourself in the face for forgetting to put up curtains. Rolling out of bed you trudged your way into the living room; only for your eyes to fall on the figure of a rather comfortable sleeping hybrid. It was in moments like these that you could really see his 6-year-old self, he was rolled in a ball, mouth slightly open as he faintly snored. You tried your best to enter the kitchen as quietly as you could but he and his dumb dog hearing still heard you.

“Morning little Iris,” he sleepily said as he rubbed his tired eyes. You couldn't help but smile at his statement; 12 years and he still remembered the flower on your friendship bracelets.

“Good Morning you giant sunflower,” you replied while grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge. 

“Yeah,” he replied while aimlessly playing with the sunflower pendant around his neck; it looked like it was the same one from the bracelet you had made.

“My bracelet fell apart a few years ago. Seonghwa said it was because I never took it off,” he chuckled before continuing, “I was going to make another one but it just never felt the same. Oh umm...Seonghwa is my brother by the way,” he quickly added.

You couldn't help but smile at his words; he had kept it on all this time. Where did this incredible sense of loyalty come from? “Hey Yunho, have you ever gotten tested to find out what type of hybrid you are?” you inquired.

“I’m a dog hybrid...duh,” he stated before laughing at your question.

“I mean what breed of dog Mr Know it All,” you replied while pointing a teasing finger at him.

His face looked slightly confused at your out of the blue question but he replied none the less. “No. My dad said that we didn't need to because he already had a pretty good idea. But he never told me so…” he replied before shrugging and plopping himself back down on the couch.

“Yeah, I can see that happening,” you chimed in while walking towards him to play with the tip of his ears. He welcomed the interaction; pulling you to sit on the couch with him.

“What does that even mean?” he groaned playfully while placing his head on your shoulder. His body basically engulfed your but you didn't mind it at all, you felt safe in his arms.

“Isn't it obvious?” you questioned, but when Yunho simply shook his head against your neck you realized that he was completely oblivious to his breed.

“You're a Golden retriever you dummy,” you continued before giggling slightly as his hot breath fanned your neck.

You stayed like this for a while before you decided that it was about time that you had breakfast; Yunho, however, seemed to have another plan. As you tried to get up he just gripped you tighter, sandwiching you between his body and the arm of your couch. “Yunho I need to eat,” you informed him.

“You can eat later,” he whined into your ear causing goosebumps to awaken across your body. 

“Yunho,” you whimpered as he pulled you even closer to him, your body fully pressed against his own. Your arms subconsciously gripped onto the back of his t-shirt, nails slightly digging into his back. You had only just become aware of how increasingly hot you felt. Was it always that hot in your apartment or was it Yunho? Were hybrids supposed to be that warm? You weren't sure and you would have tried to ask Yunho but he was either not hearing you or completely ignoring you. You tried slightly tugging at his ears but even that seemed useless.

Since playing with his ears haven't worked you opted to target his tail next. What was the harm in that right? Using the limited mobility that you had left you placed your hand at the base of Yunho’s tail before gently tugging at it. Yunho released a muffled moan before an airy whimper, his ears slumped down against his head as he nuzzled his face deeper into your neck. You could feel his plush lips press against your pulse. “Yunho?” you calling to him one more time, your voice quivering slightly. You placed a tentative hand on his head before gently tugging at his hair. That seemed to have done it; Yunho all but flew out of your grasp. His face was flushed, breathing laboured and his pupils dilated; looking into them you could only spot the slightest hint of his yellow eyes. “Are you ok-” you began to ask before he interrupted you. “I forgot that I have an early shift today. But I’ll stop by sometime during the week okay,” he sped through his words before he practically sprinted out of your apartment.

What the hell just happened?

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader | purge!au ⚬ word count: 15,728. ⚬ warnings: weapons, death, drugs, blood. ⚬ genres: ANGST, spicy/nsfw scenes, fluff to mend the heart, romance, action, and whatever else you could fathom lol.

✧✎ synopsis: the annual purge was a system of purification, alleviation, a supposedly psychological device in which people found a moment to unleash their indignation. you never purged until you met mingyu, a boy whose warmth was just as palpable as his darkness. you begin to fall for him, which means involvement with the evil he’s managed to attract.

✧✎ a/n: longer note at the end of the fic! sorry i’ve kept this in the vault for AGES bc i couldn’t figure out how to write in the ‘twist’ or whatever the fuck. you’ll know when you get there. anyways this is for @mihgyu (sorry it freakin took so long!) and @solgyus​ as they are my Resident Mingyu Stans. i also changed the title bc i thought... yknow... it fits better!

You had always wondered what life was like for the previous generation, the generation who grew up without acquaintance to the annual purge. It was an alien concept if any concept at all, one so foreign and inexplicably bizarre that the cogs in your mind would start jamming against each other in a struggle of comprehension. The education system had groomed its pupils into believing it was the only plausible way to recover from an economic collapse, feeding into gullible and malleable minds the possibility of clearing rage through bloodshed.

When your parents disappeared at dawn, leaving nothing behind but the sound of a lock clicking shut and a note advising you to stay away from the windows and doors, it could be assumed they’d return at morning with crimson-stained clothing, crusted lacerations, and heavy weaponry sealed taunt to their hands; or maybe they wouldn’t return at all. Yet you were taught to believe that was okay. At least if you didn’t have your family, you had your friends. 

At least if you didn’t have your family, you had Mingyu. 

As much as you despised admitting to yourself, Mingyu meant to you what the moon meant to the tides, what the sun meant to the meadows. He kept you in perpetual motion, allowed you room to recuperate and blossom into a much stronger version of yourself after your father never came home. When he lost his job your family lost its momentum. The last you ever saw of the man was his backside as he slipped through the door frame, a chortling in the evening air, a black revolver clasped to his hand.

He seemed to disappear alongside your mother’s sanity. She isolated herself and pushed everyone away, even you, the only person capable of nurturing her. In school you’d learned that the purge was supposed to bring purification, it was responsible for cleansing humans of the everyday stresses that slowly crushed them flat. Purging allowed them happiness; a twelve hour capsule to unleash what the law prohibited three-hundred-sixty-four days a year.

Yet when you looked to your mother, you didn’t see any traces of happiness or fulfillment, just an empty shell that sat with sunken eyes in her rocking chair, mumbling to herself like a toddler. Before you even had time to find closure after your father’s disappearance, your mother suffered a similar fate, abducted through the windowsill by a maniac who sought vengeance for the crimes committed beneath your father’s hand. He was a stingy businessman who often scammed to make his money, therefore collecting a myriad of enemies.

Notably, you didn’t start purging until you met Mingyu. The first time you’d ever used a gun with malicious intent was when you ran into the man responsible for abducting your mother. The kick-back from the trigger had you stumbling across the watered asphalt, the silver slick rain that caved down from the clouds washing away the minuscule spatters of his blood that blew onto your face. As he slumped down against the red bricks, the animation draining slowly from his eyes, he spluttered,

“S-She’s dead, she payed for your father’s incompetence, his greed.”

In complete lifelessness you lowered the weapon, not realizing how close the  distant gunfire sounded until Mingyu had to drag you away by the wrist. He murmured his condolences to you when the air was tinged with less bloodshed, carefully nuzzling you into his chest when the reality of what you’d just done had come spiraling forth, leaving a slap so brutal across your face the burn seemed more realistic than the raindrops hitting your skin.

You felt disgusting, enclosed in a body that had been consumed by the purest form of hatred, and there was nothing you could do to evade the feeling of that ugly gun pressed into your hand. But within that same moment, hot tears pumping onto Mingyu’s shirt, you understood a certain satiation that tempted so many people to do what you had just done.

“We can’t stay here,” You felt the vibrations from his deep voice against your cheek, coolness stinging the heated flesh of your face when you lifted your head to meet his gentle eyes.

“Gotta keep moving, alright? It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

Mingyu’s composure was definitely an admirable trait. But then again, he’d been exposed to this environment long before you ever questioned purging. At that point you had felt completely numb, allowing him to wind you through the crevices and shadowy tunnels building the foundation of the city, your vision blurred by a mixture of salt and rain water. You felt safe with Mingyu, though it hadn’t always been like that. Before your friendship you were an outsider to the boy, harbouring nothing but a tiny crush toward him and his handsome face.

In fact the first time you’d ever spoken to Mingyu, it was after his fight with Wen Junhui, one of the most infamous, cynical purgers you prayed to never meet.

Two Years Ago –

“I’ll kill you if you come near her again!”

“Is that supposed to scare me?!”

You’d never seen a fist fight in real life before, and you were positive that was a good thing. A large crowd steadfastly increased around two tall, venom-eyed boys caught up in their alcohol. They were spitting profanities, threats, and whatever else their clouded minds could formulate within the gap of the other’s speech. The party had been rather lackluster before that point anyways, so like the congregation swarming to the centre of the room, you etched into the crowd and managed to stand just inside the inner circle.

“Shit – sorry,” you squeaked as you were suddenly shoved into the girl beside you. Your face became hollow like a crater on the moon when you saw that it was Mingyu’s girlfriend.

“What am I supposed to do?” She mumbled whilst biting her nails, “I didn’t know how to stop it.”

“Stop the fight?”

She continued babbling, “Junhui kept coming on to me and Mingyu saw. They’re both competitive, boggle-brained idiots when they’re drunk. I don’t know what to do.”

Her name was Yang Yeeun, born and raised by parents maintaining such wealth that rumours began circulating their bloodstream was crushed rubies. You could see her pearl earrings flashing behind the straight black locks framing her small face. You don’t think she ever took them off. Her father manufactured security systems for the purge; however, the most recent release had been proven to bore many defects and flaws. She didn’t care, as long as she got a slice of the wealth.

In the beginning, Yeeun and Mingyu’s relationship came as a slap to the wrist. How could two people reaping such difference in personality become so close? Yeeun was frank and staid, with cold, cindered eyes that never displayed an eclipse of emotion. Her complexion was just as pale as the pearls she wore and her heart swam darkly.

Mingyu was her polar opposite. 

Sure he was intimidatingly tall, but any menace he constructed with his height was easily derailed through his bubbly nature. He was what you call, “a gentle giant,” and anyone who contacted him for more than a brief period understood this. The warmth was in his honey-brown gaze, the velvet of his tanned skin, the sepia tones that were shaggy in his hair. When he spoke you could feel the gravel roll beneath your feet, and when he said your name heat would flood your face like steam throughout a hot spring. 

Again, Mingyu and Yeeun made a bizarre couple, yet he loved her so deeply you swore the dark coverings in her heart had peeled back a little.

You kept in mind, a little.

“They’re fighting over you?” You questioned carefully, trying not to exaggerate your words so that it seemed utterly impossible for her to be worth fighting over.

“Yes,” Yeeun gritted, her eyes darting around the crowd, strangers pressing into the circle, allured by drunken shouting, “can’t they wait until purge before they start ripping into each other?”

Wouldn’t it be best if they didn’t rip into each other at all?

“Like you said, they’re drunk and stupid,” you opted for the latter choosing.

Mingyu’s mellow stare had been licked over by enraged flames, the remaining liquor still pumping through his system and warming his blood until it sizzled. His fists were balled tightly, fangs peeking past the taunt snarl on his lips. Junhui appeared calmer, though the bar of composure was quite low to begin with. The unkempt ends of his midnight black hair were shaking, his sharp nose crinkled, and his stare so impossibly intense that you were nauseated a vein on his neck might become engorged and pop. 

As interesting as it would be for you to witness your first fist fight, you knew it wasn’t a wise idea for these two to start swinging at each other.

You set a hand on Yeeun’s shoulder, “maybe you should stop thi—,”

Suddenly, her palms encased her mouth as the last few words of toxicity were spat between Mingyu and Junhui, the crowd erupting in brazen cheering as the two lunged for one another in a flash of blurred colour. Your jaw was permanently unhinged, your body set in stone, attention completely spellbound under the boys who were viciously entangled. The world seemed to spin at a snail’s pace whilst the fight flickered faster than lightning. At one point Mingyu had Junhui shoved up against the wall, one hand nearly ripping through the boy’s black-collared shirt as he tore his free fist back and swiftly launched it forward. The hard ridges of Mingyu’s knuckles connected with Junhui’s eye, his head smashed back into the drywall so that an indentation remained.

“G-Get the fuck off me, Mingyu!”

“You fucking asked for this, dumbass!”

In another fuzzy whirlwind of movement, Junhui managed to push Mingyu backward and onto the snack table, bowls and bottled alcohol spilling across the floor with jade shards of glass scattering in flurries. Junhui drew his fist into Mingyu’s face, the collision splintering against Mingyu’s brow bone. You could see the speckles of blood flying off Junhui’s hand as he curled his fingers into another ball, preparing to throw once more. Panic encompassed you from every angle; it drowned you above your head until the crowd’s bellowing became a muffled choir to your ears. 

You could hardly breathe as your sights shifted to Yeeun, the girl with her hands still clasped to her mouth, doing absolutely nothing.

Was that a smirk hidden behind her hands?

She really did have a dark heart. By the looks of it no one was going to intervene. You were most likely the soberest person in attendance. Even if it downright petrified you, letting those two get their hands so bloodied it would look like they doused their arms in red paint wasn’t a viable option.

“Hey!” You barked, slowly etching your way into the clearing, “what the fuck is wrong with you two?! Get off each other!”

Mingyu and Junhui were still a violent mass now buckled to the floor, anger and alcohol swelling through their bodies like a drug. You felt your knees wobble, as though a tight fist had an ironclad grip on your entrails and was squelching them around slowly. Junhui had Mingyu pressed to the floor, and raised in his arm was a sparkling shard belonging to a smashed bottle. You didn’t know what it was, but something inside compelled you to react. In a mere instant you were ripping the shard from Junhui’s hand and screaming at the top of your lungs, the crowd’s cheering turned to hushed whispers.

“Enough!”

Your chest was heaving, fingers grasping the glass piece tightly enough that thin lines of red began dripping down your hand. Junhui and Mingyu had peeled themselves apart, the deep marring of hatred etched so profoundly into their eyes you’d never be able to forget it. Yeeun suddenly blossomed with emotion after standing on the outskirts smirking into her palm, the girl bounding toward Mingyu and snaking her arms around his neck like she’d been downright sobbing with worry the whole time.

“C’mon, Gyu,” she gritted, “we’re leaving.”

Thanks for the help.

You were tempted to call.

The fight between Mingyu and Junhui might have stopped, but the party continued to thrive. You were wandering through the upstairs hallway as the wooden floorboards jolted beneath you, driven by incessant music that became a furthering echo. Fresh blood had yet to stop streaming down the grooves between your knuckles, pooling from the lacerations of that jagged, glass shard and wetting your warm skin. You continued seeking for a bathroom, any room really that might contain a first aid kit, or at least some water and tissues that would help to clean your hand.

Each room was either occupied or locked. A defeated sigh ghosted from your lips as you stood at the end of the hall, weakly knocking your healthy hand against the last door. Scarlet drops were creating a puddle on the wood whilst you waited, until the brass handle jiggled and you were stepping back in shock that someone had actually acknowledged your presence.

Of course, the person doing the acknowledging had to be Yeeun.

“Oh! It’s… you.” She murmured. Behind her slim frame you could see Mingyu sitting on the sink, holding a cloth to his eyebrow.

“It’s me,” you replied, desperately wanting to skip the small talk and use the first aid kit. Didn’t she say she was leaving?

Yeeun finally noticed the red pathways on your hand and nodded, “I see you need to get yourself bandaged up.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You hummed, trying not to sound impatient but utterly failing.

“Well… I’ll be right back then. Just so you know there’s no gauze left.”

“That’s okay, I don’t think I’ll need an—,”

“I’m going to look for some!” Yeeun called as she squeezed her way past you and began trudging down the corridor, “be back soon!”

Mingyu tossed you a lopsided smile when you entered the bathroom. You kicked the door shut with your foot to drown as much noise as possible. Though the small barrier didn’t do too much in regards to sound, it certainly made the bathroom feel one-hundred times smaller. Or maybe it was solely Mingyu and his gargantuan height. Perhaps it wasn’t any of those factors and you were just feeling nervous to be enclosed in a private space with him. Either way, your face turned into magma and you felt like swallowing sand. Without saying a word you turned on the sink and let the cold water stream between your fingers.

“Hey.” He began.

Oh no. If you initiate conversation with me there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’m going to fall in love with you.

“Thanks for intervening. You kinda saved my life there.”

You scoffed whilst scrubbing the dry scarlet from your wrist, “I think you could have taken him.”

Mingyu took the wet cloth from his brow and folded it over before reapplying pressure to his own wound, sighing deeply. “Fuck this. I hate getting drunk.”

Fastening your teeth into your lower lip, you remained silent and continued swirling around the bloodied skin until the red currents seemed to all drain away, down the white porcelain. You winced a little because there was indeed a stinging sensation, but it was better than allowing the cuts to get infected. Mingyu’s curious gaze was watching the scene intently, and with his body propped right next to the sink, there was really no easy way to avoid your feelings other than to talk with him.

“How’s your injury?”

“I don’t know, how is it?” He peeled the damp cloth from his brow bone. You could see that directly in the centre the skin had spilt, a little ways above the brow and a little beneath it, bright pink flesh gleaming from between the dark hairs and tanned skin. It would definitely leave a scar.

“I’m no doctor, but you might need stitches.”

“Seriously?” Mingyu grimaced. “That fucking sucks.”

You scoffed. “That’s funny. The same kid who socked Junhui in his eye is afraid of getting a few itty bitty baby stitches.”

Mingyu pouted, his thick brows then slanting downward which made him wince petulantly. You couldn’t suppress your chuckling, turning off the sink with a coy smile playing along your mouth.

“I’m joking.”

“I know.” Mingyu said. “I’m sure everyone’s gonna start saying he’ll rake my eyes out at purge.”

You laughed at that too, though deep down you both knew it wasn’t anything flowery to laugh about. Junhui was the definition of nefarious. Similar to Yeeun his family danced in riches, their security systems were top-notch, and his access to weaponry and blueprints of the city could be in his hands within minutes. People worshiped the ground he walked on, but it wasn’t because they liked him. It was only sensible to play nice to the person capable of taking your life away in a single breath. 

Of course, Junhui’s reputation made him a prime target, yet despite all the people who secretly wanted him dead, it was difficult to even lay a scathe on his amber skin.

In your eyes it was better to avoid the boy altogether. That way you never gave him any reason to seek out your oblivious-self during the annual purge. Mingyu had crossed that line to the fullest extent. He laid more than an innocent scathe on Junhui; the boy had given him an entire fist to his pretty, supposedly untouchable face. Feeling your heartbeat thump widely, you quickly willed to change the subject.

“Do you see any cloths? Or Kleenex? Anything?”

Mingyu frowned. “Sorry, nothing.”

You shook your arm out over the sink to shed some water droplets, yet the blood still continued to bead. Mingyu looked sympathetic. He presumed it was his fault you were even injured in the first place.

“Yeeun’s getting gauze.”

“I think I’ll be okay—,”

“Wait!” Mingyu suddenly piped. “This might be super awkward but—,” the boy’s tongue peaked out between his pink lips as he gripped the end of his white t-shirt and gave it a tear, pulling off a strip of fabric.

Your cheeks began crackling and your palms felt oddly clammy, “M-Mingyu, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the boy said, “this shirt’s old and busted anyways. It’s better than walking home, dripping blood everywhere.”

You smiled softly and stared at the floor.

“Here! I’ll even wrap it for you.” He purred, gently reaching for your arm and twining the white material like a roll of bandages around your hand. 

Forgetting about his own spilt brow that began clotting with blood, Mingyu finished his dexterous work with a tender glance that made your stomach flip, his chocolate bangs falling endearingly before his eyes. After shaking the fringe away, he gave you a thumbs-up.

“Now you look like you just got into a fight.”

“Right, because I’m the first person everyone suspects to start a fight. You hit the nail on the head with that one.”

Mingyu chuckled at the heavy sarcasm, blinking his pretty lashes at you with such warmth you keened to melt like an ice cream cone. You supposed after that moment, Mingyu might not be nearly as brutal as his drunken, love-induced mind influenced him to be. For a fleeting moment you even doubted that this was the same boy with his own kill-list. His eyes glimmered like diamonds catching a shaft of light.

“That’s something only time can tell.” He purred

Two Years Ago –

When Mingyu and Yeeun broke up, it was like the universe took its cue to make everything in life feel unreal. If their romance was nothing more than a mirage, then had romance ever existed in the first place? At least to you, it routinely appeared as though Yeeun’s heart had never been within the same realm as Mingyu’s. There was always an island of separation between them, one little ploy that prevented the couple from truly clicking like puzzle pieces. That ploy was exigent in the form of onyx hair, a sultry voice, and bottomless eyes.

In other words the obstacle was Junhui. Yeeun started dating him no less than a month after the break-up.

Mingyu, he was crushed; taking the point of devastation and expanding it an extra nine yards. In contrast with Yeeun’s heart, his was always wide open, warmer than a summer fire and more embracing than sun rays. You swore she would be the girl he took to meet his mother, the girl whose finger he delicately touched to slide upon a silver loop. A part of you crumbled each time you saw them together, before the break-up, and even more so after the party.

Remembering how his rough fingertips skimmed the wet (and surely burning) skin of your hand as he wrapped the cloth around it did something peculiar to your mind. Reminiscing on the soft timbre of his chuckles made your head spin, and replaying the manner in which his eyes twinkled as he gazed at you through his thick bangs brought forth fluttering in your stomach. It was what you were daydreaming about even after their infamous break-up, fingers clacking against the keys on your laptop whilst you finished an essay in the library. To your dismay, the thoughts were scattered by conversation at the table behind you.

“Think Junhui is gonna gut Mingyu at purge?”

“Probably not, Mingyu would be expecting it. And it’s not like he’s hopeless. Did you hear about how he stabbed someone to death in the tunnel last year?”

“Yeah. But Junhui’s clique practically owns the purge. They’ll tear your fuckin’ house down if they can find it.”

“…True. Those two seriously have some bad fucking blood. Do you remember the rumours about how Junhui sho— ”

Unable to listen any longer without this horrendous churning against the walls of your stomach, you shoved your laptop into its carrying case, swung it over your shoulder and began shuffling between the book shelves. Your stare traced the floor whilst a pummeling sensation thundered into your ribcage. Mingyu didn’t seem like the type to kill, though you didn’t know him personally, and perhaps he had matters of vengeance that crooned for redemption. This tiny hope inside you flickered, prayed that Mingyu was unlike Junhui, the kind that tortured for torture’s sake, the kind that shoved a pistol beneath your jaw because you looked at them funny.

Suddenly, you collided with someone. Blinking upward, you gazed at the body you’d walked into, Mingyu, who was in the midst of pulling out a book.

“Sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You apologized.

You hadn’t seen him for a while, but he looked healthy, a bit tired perhaps, but mostly healthy. Dressed in comfy clothing, a grey hood drawn with his earbuds plugged in, he popped one of the speakers out and lent a small smile. His eyes were slightly veiled by his earthy bangs, the coarse fronds wavy in front of his forehead. His scent was a concoction of something tropic mixed with cannabis, and when he spoke his voice was lower than usual.

“Were you leaving?” Mingyu asked.

Yes.

“No, no. I wanted to finish my essay somewhere that wasn’t... back there.”

“Oh,” he sighed, “seemed like you were in a rush.”

“I was just thinking.”

Mingyu stuck the book back into its gap and smiled, “about?”

You sniffled. “What?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Obviously you were not going to admit that you just overheard conversation about Mingyu being gutted under Junhui’s hand, about Mingyu supposedly cramming a knife through whoever’s chest during last year’s purge, about Mingyu’s history of participation in the annual mayhem that plagued the country like a sickness each year. Now that the purge was on your mind, a dark worry skulked in the shadowy crevices of your brain, yet it seemed to dissipate just as quickly as it arrived when Mingyu stared at you so gently.

“How much I hate essays.”

He nodded. “That must be it.”

Without thinking, you blurted, “what happened with your eyebrow? Did you get a scar?”

He simply carded back the bangs covering his forehead and poked at the nick with his finger. It would have been courteous to receive a warning that he was going to reveal his forehead. He had no clue how powerful a mechanism it truly was, how badly you wanted to kiss that tiny scar after seeing the slit through his brow. Swallowing the flushed heat that arose in your throat, you grinned with a closed lip.

“Well, it makes you look like a badass if that’s any comfort.”

Mingyu let his hair flop back into place and laughed quietly. “What’s up with your hand? That cut looked so nasty.”

Looking down at your fingers, you probed the faint lines of where the glass had sliced your skin, engraved almost, like a stone carving.

“Kinda. It doesn’t look as cool as your eyebrow slit though. And you’re way less busted than Jun. His eye is still purple.”

For a brief ellipse you simply embraced the opportunity of being alone with Mingyu. That some higher deity had taken pity on your life barren with romance and granted you this precious exchange to add to your vault of daydreams. The more his hoarse voice lapped at your ears, surely roughened yet equally soothing, you felt your chest create a burrow for him, a gap that only he could fill. It baffled you, that Yeeun could break his heart. But it didn’t surprise you. She was built from titanium, similar to Junhui, and together they were hawks that would make prey of everyone.

“Trust me,” Mingyu said, “it wouldn’t make me feel any better if we were matching.” 

His jaw clenched, and his stare slipped to the floor for a transient moment. A nearly imperceptible breeze tickled up the back of your neck, causing you to rub at the fine hairs as Mingyu’s usual aura slowly dissipated into a much darker nuance. You gulped, attempting to laugh something of comfort back into the air.

“There’s a lot we could match in, like... bracelets! Or a necklace! Or one of those couple t-shirts... Not that we’re a couple,” stuttering helplessly, you felt electricity tingle in your cheeks, “I was just thinking about matching stuff and that popped into my hea—”

“It’s fine.” Mingyu responded, the storm clouds cast in his gaze finally ebbing away. He smiled, and a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“You’re pretty cute y’know? I don’t think I’d mind.”

1 year ago –

You never spoke commonly to Mingyu about the idea of purging until you were thrust into the political nightmare on a whim, a stupid, stupid, moonstruck whim.  The few times the morbid topic arose seriously, neither of you had enlightening stories to exchange. A bitter knot lodged itself into your throat the night you reiterated to Mingyu about the tragedies concerning your parents; the disappearance of your father and the abduction of your mother, a tearful lining glossy in your eyes.

You’d never seen Mingyu express such grief when he returned the storytelling.

He moved out from his parent’s house when he was eighteen years old, his best friend, Minghao, making the journey alongside him. Faintly, you remembered Minghao, more or so from your high school days when you shared the same last period art class. He had always been rather subdue, never really speaking with anyone apart from Mingyu, though there had was a handful of times where you caught him and another boy, Wonwoo, skipping class together. Apparently Wonwoo didn’t have a very good home life. He’d supposedly been forced into purging since middle school, and his psyche never quite recovered. 

You never even saw Wonwoo smile apart from when he was with Minghao. 

However, one day that boy from your art class just disappeared, and the rumours hadn’t stopped swirling since. It was a common fact that Minghao never purged. He didn’t have any bad blood with anyone either.

Not that you were aware of.

In the beginning stages of Mingyu’s purging he used to commonly venture with a group of three friends. Wonwoo happened to be one of them, plus another named Jihoon (who you could recall dawdling around in the background of the party) though Mingyu never named the third. He described it as being pure, inexplicable dread. They were constantly finding themselves in gruesome situations that forced their true colours from camouflage, how they stole burning glimpses of the other when the night came to an end and blood was caked to their clothing. The purge had tainted all of them, some more than others, whether it be with drug addiction, eternal madness, or an unhealthy fascination to mend so seamlessly with the evil that they personified it.

However, genuine fear pitted in the core of your stomach when Mingyus’ fists had clenched in his lap, his features distracted by a look of anguish as he sucked in a breath and spoke in an unsettling, distant tone.

“It was four of us in my car. I was driving, Wonwoo and Jihoon were in the backseat, and he... he took up the passenger seat. It was different... How he reacted to the purge... The rest of us were still somewhat fearful of it but he almost thrived in all the destruction. We were even talking about going purging without him the next year, but...

Mingyu had to clear his throat.

“I guess Minghao was waiting for me to come back to the house. He probably wasn’t even waiting on me specifically, he had this little crush on one of my friends, Wonwoo. They were always messing around together. Minghao probably got excited when he heard us, so he came outside, onto the grass... But then I heard the pop of the gun out the open window... I just... I don’t fucking know if he thought Minghao was a maniac or... If he was on drugs or something... But, God... He just —“

You didn’t allow him to say anymore when his words became warped, when his voice cracked and his eyes split like a sheet of broken glass. Minghao didn’t just disappear - he was killed, and Mingyu knew who was responsible. Instead of pressing him for details, you reached for his hand, rubbed your thumb along his knuckles, made sure he knew that you were there for him. 

And yet you had been thrust into the setting of the same picture during your first purge, the first time you had ever experienced what it was like to harm someone, turning their existence into an irreparable patch in the universe.

This is your emergency broadcast system, announcing the commencement of the annual purge.

At the siren, all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve hours.

All emergency services will be suspended.

Your government thanks you for your participation.

“This is going to be your entire fault if I die tonight, Mingyu! I just want you to know that!”

“Relax. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

It was nothing short of chaotic. Pitch blackness shrouded the skylight like a heavy cloth, the distant rattle of gunfire and screams sitting heavy in the air as you raced down the street. The horrendous acts were most commonly centred to the city’s heart, where prime businesses, rich corporations, and notorious killers congregated to create havoc. Still, that didn’t make you any less petrified, your nails sinking into Mingyu’s hand like dog’s teeth. Fights were slowly beginning to litter the sidewalk, a store going up in orange flame and hissing embers now glinting behind you.

“I knew that we weren’t going to make it back to your place on time. I knew it was stupid that we even questioned going out on purge in the first place - Ah!”

You shrieked at an unprecedented decibel as two men came tumbling out of the alleyway only meters away from your feet, your body slamming into Mingyu’s backside when he cemented himself to a halt. The men payed no notice to you, entirely engulfed in their own world of vengeance through bloodied fists and messy punches.

“This way.” Mingyu’s words were like a breeze in the midst of a hurricane.

You hardly registered he’d even said anything until his grip lurched you forward and you were stumbling to the opposite side of the street. Then, your jogging pace skyrocketed into running, the breaths just squeezing from between your lips and the pain in your chest aching so potently you felt like vomiting. Your stamina was breaking faster than glass. You couldn’t afford to run any longer.

“M-Mingyu, can we please stop?”

The boy didn’t seem to have a choice as your fingers began unclasping from his hand, your body collapsing on the concrete staircase belonging to the city bell tower. Mingyu anxiously carded his hair back, his eyes moving hyperactively down the street only to be greeted with more and more violence consuming his vision. Gunshots seemed to thunder from every direction, splintered shouts joining hymn. Large trucks blared down the black pavement with ominous members hunched in the open cap, holding weaponry and wearing masks of painted wood.

The boy squatted down, his palm firmly encasing your cheek and keeping your head up.

“I’ll give you a minute. But then we have to keep going. It’s too dangerous to stay in one spot.”

You stared into Mingyu’s face with a tiresome expression, the bronzed and gleaming hue of his skin reflecting the fire that crackled in the distance. His touch became sterner as he moved in closer, his eyes no less than a few inches from your own.

“Trust me, I know you’re exhausted. We’re gonna be at my place soon though, okay? You just gotta hold tight for a little longer.” He pressed his forehead against yours, and met your gaze head on. “I’m going to keep you safe, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

An intruding shout echoed a little too closely down the street, engendering you to choke on your own heartbeat. Mingyu growled in irritancy, pivoting his head and glaring at the stranger who stepped from an alleyway. Rather than looking frightened (you were on the verge of sobbing bullets), Mingyu’s forehead crinkled angrily, the tiny scar that cut through his brow beginning to slant.

“Stay put.” Mingyu commanded you.

There was a colder lining to his tone that you’d never heard before, malevolent and icy. As soon as his touch fell from your cheek, you knew his hands were about to tend to a much different matter. Your mind implored for you to look away, yet your heart waned for the exact opposite. The man was scraggly and a bit stockier than Mingyu, a mischievous intent welling in his movement as he seemed to dance back and forth like a hummingbird. He wore a smooth, white mask and a heavy brown coat that bore many unidentified stains, a long, curved blade in his hand.

“You’re just a kid,” the man taunted, “it’s always the younger crowd that get so riled about the concept of murder, think they’re all that, but they drop faster than flies when it comes down to it.”

Mingyu didn’t waver. “You should keep talking if you want that knife poking through the opposite side of your throat.”

You inhaled stiltedly. This was definitely not the same Mingyu who smiled with the power of a burning star, his mannerisms filling your chest with laughter and his golden eyes bathing your face with heat. You thought back to the library, the conversation that drawled behind you. This was the Mingyu they were talking about. You had a feeling that the innocent projections in your head were close to changing.

The man chuckled and pointed his knife, shaking it at Mingyu, “you’ve got the same cockiness as that rich China boy’s little clique. I’m sure you’ve heard about them. They’ll be flocking to the streets any minute now.”

Mingyu spoke gutturally in response, the disgust and repulsion so thick in his voice you almost couldn’t recognize it. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him.”

The man chuckled darkly, “hit a nerve, did I?”

You weren’t sure what happened next, mainly because it all happened so fast, a series of swift movements (on Mingyu’s behalf) that resulted in your pulse fizzling like hot oil. Ultimately you were going to be exposed to murder one way or another, though watching it reflect in the glassy curve of your own eyes left behind a deep scarring. The man lurched at Mingyu with his hefty blade slashing for the chest, most likely assuming that because of Mingyu’s height he would be quite slow and lack agility.

However, that was severely not the case, to the man’s dismay more than anyone else’s. Within the span of sixty measly seconds Mingyu had tripped him onto his back, snatched the blade from his grip and wedged the knife directly into the man’s windpipe, exactly as he said he would do.

At that point you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. Mingyu’s breathing was level as he rose from the man’s waist, a burgundy pool of blood bubbling at the neck where the blade had punctured skin. Mingyu lifted his jacket, pulled the knife out, and attached the weapon through his belt. He spent an extra few moments patting the fresh corpse down until he uncovered a small revolver hidden in the inside pocket on the man’s coat. When Mingyu handed you the revolver in means of protection, you didn’t realize you were shivering.

“Now,” he pronounced, “we’re going home.”

And at the time you believed him. 

Until thirty minutes stretched into an hour, an hour into two hours, three hours, four hours. The chaos that was the purge had encompassed you both. This supposedly psychological device controlled you like a ventriloquist. Violence sneered at every turn and eventually an unspoken conclusion emerged; that it was easier to join chaos than it was to run from it. Later that night everything came full circle. 

You were the one pointing the weapon, aiming the silver barrel into the face of the man who had broken in your home and abducted your mother last year, on account of stupid, petty crimes your father had committed in the past. Seconds before touching the trigger, all you could picture was his face swathed in moonlight, the horror that clawed in your stomach when you ran down from your room that night to see him yanking her out the smashed window. 

And when you felt the release of the bullet, it became emboldened that it truly was a small, cruel world.

Present –

Squeezing one eye shut, you held the black gun with both hands and aimed the muzzle toward a tree stump that acted as your target, a cheek pressed into the taunt muscle of your shoulder as you inhaled a steadying breath. Delicate winds blew across the meadow, each strand of grass rippling in a hypnotic wave. The horizon lay beyond the tree trunk, a bleeding yellow sun submerging quietly behind the endless terrain, casting a honeyed glow to speckle like rain droplets upon your face.

There was not a single sound apart from the grassy fronds tickling against each other, your concentration solidifying to a mar in the tree bark. Then, your finger ghosted over the trigger, a sharp burst echoing into the pale yellow sky and causing a distant congregation of birds to take flight. The bullet struck the wood, right where you had envisioned the lead entering.

“Look at you,” the tension keyed into your bones drifted away, exiting your body in a shallow exhale once Mingyu’s prideful tone filled the spaces between the winds, “your shot may be even better than mine now.”

After lowering the firearm to face the earth and switching the safety on, a demure smile danced across your lips. Mingyu’s arms were strong and looping carefully around your waist, hauling you back into the broad expanse of his chest. He buried his face into the smooth plane where your shoulder met your neck, his soft locks feathering along your jaw. You giggled the second his lips kissed your shoulder, evening sunlight spilling across the meadow and encouraging heat to caress your skin.

“The student becomes the teacher,” you purred, “I even remembered to turn the safety on this time.”

“You’re damn right you remembered to turn the safety on,” the boy quipped sternly, his palms gliding downward to grip your hips and spin you around, “you almost took my kneecap off the last time.”

Furrowing your brows, you pursed your lip at him petulantly, “can we stop talking about that? It was a mistake you big idiot.”

“I know, I know,” Mingyu cooed, “a very, very, very dangerous mistake.”

You rolled your eyes as he unwound the black firearm from your fingers. He walked toward his jacket that sat on the blanket you’d strewn across the grass, making sure to place it back inside the pocket.

“You still need some more practice, but I think for today we can call it quits. How does that sound?”

The boy then fell back onto the blanket with his head titled to the side, his eyes staring up at you winsomely. With the sun flaring behind you, the vibrant streaks set the grass aflame, making it appear as though Mingyu was sitting in the centre of a fire. His skin twinkled like golden silk and his canines peaked between his lips in a smirk. Shrugging your shoulders impetuously, you stumbled toward the blanket and fell into the boy’s lap, squirming against his broad body until he became pinned beneath your weight. As though he were a glass vase, you gingerly swept your finger along his scarred brow.

“Sounds fine,” you hummed, “since I kinda wanna makeout with you right now.”

“I love how straightforward you are, baby.” Mingyu confessed with his intoxicated gaze drinking in your image, already imploring for a taste of the strawberry balm that defined the pretty arches of your mouth.

Unable to quell how your body yearned for him, you gave your eyes a toss and pressed your lips to his. Mingyu craned his neck forward in immediate desperation to feel more pressure against his mouth; however, he soon gave up his craning and allowed his elbows to give out beneath him. His hands snuck beneath your shirt, to which he placed soft squeezes against your ribcage, fingertips skimming lower and lower until they were running along the back hem of your shorts. You continued to straddle his waist as the kiss drawled further, rhythmically slow and sweet.

You didn’t think it was humanly possible for your chest to be so encompassed with fondness, yet here you were, brushing your digits through Mingyu’s tresses, pressing your forehead to his, encasing his lower lip between your teeth to experimentally tug until the flesh swelled and glistened in garnet. You weren’t really sure how you started dating, it just sort of happened. It was perhaps an escalation of lingering touches, infatuated glances, and hot, fever dreams that kept you both slamming awake at blue midnight.

After your first purge together, the connection between you strengthened, like welding two pieces of molten iron into one. It was an experience that ruined you, stripped you of any innocent fragments still clinging to your bone, and once the night came to an end and you were sitting on Mingyu’s bed with blood spatters sopped into your cloths, you burst into tears. Strangely, you weren’t sobbing out of pain, mortification, you were sobbing because you could. It was the only accurate way to depict the weird melancholic, hopeless lump in your throat.

You squeaked as Mingyu grew impatient of your slow kisses. His want was increasing and he couldn’t bear to hear the quiet mewls that kept slipping from your mouth. His strength effortlessly allowed him to flip you on your back, his mass keeping you slack against the blanket as his lips dotted your jaw, your ear’s cusp, until he craved to taste more of the natural salt on your skin and his kisses ventured further down your throat.

Mingyu began suckling at a sensitive patch near your pulse. The warmth of his tongue combined with his teeth, and you felt him scrape his canines sharply against your skin. It wasn’t until the boy nudged his thigh between your legs that your fingers lurched into his scalp, tugging the earth fronds tightly. You couldn’t help but buck up against him, summoning a growl from his chest that only made him press his fangs into the soft skin with more force; not enough to actually break the petal-thin flesh, but enough to leave deep, possessive indentations. The ecstasy drumming in your veins was insatiable.

And yet, you knew it couldn’t progress.

With a fragile whine you placed your hands against Mingyu’s chest and gave the giant a small push, his mouth regretfully detaching from the beautiful marks he was intent on leaving all over your body. He spoke coarsely, breathlessly, when his rosy face surfaced from your neck, though the glaze in his eyes had quickly softened out of fear he’d made you uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong? I wasn’t being too rough, was I?” He gathered your hand in his and kissed along your knuckles apologetically.

“No, not at all,” You mumbled, still dealing with the blare of crimson running through your veins, “I just… Don’t think we should, do it, in a field.”

The hollow grooves in Mingyu’s features immediately flushed with solace, a large sigh escaping from his chest as he allowed his head to tumble into your shoulder.

“Thank God, I thought I hurt you or something,” he heaved in relief.

Your heart sang wildly, knowing that he truly was a boy gentler than butterfly wings and softer than cotton. It was difficult to imagine him as the same boy who ruthlessly shoved a blade through a man’s windpipe, allowing thick trails of blood to slide from the open wound and create morbid puddles on the hard cement. The evening air seemed to turn cooler, the wind’s peaceful lilting now picking up with more vigor. Mingyu collapsed at your side, one of his long legs still tossed over your waist as you stroked his hair.

With the sun halfway behind the horizon, you gulped whilst watching the yellow sky fade into watered, fierce shades of orange.

“Mingyu?” You hummed.

“Yeah?” His warm breath scattered in a ticklish manner against your neck.

“What’s going to happen with you and Junhui?”

Mingyu stiffened instantly. Nibbling on your lower lip, you watched with sincere eyes as the boy lifted into a sitting position. You joined him, closely monitoring the contours of his face that had surely twisted at the mention of the sinister purger. There was no room to blame Mingyu for harbouring such distaste toward the boy. Junhui did swoop in and steal his ex-girlfriend fresh after the breakup and run purge night like he invented the device himself.

Still, you wondered if there could be something more. If there could be a more profound explanation for why the air was so stale between them.

“Nothing is going to happen,” Mingyu said flatly, “are you scared?”

Caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you stumbled over your syllables for a painful second, his gaze turning back to wrack you curiously.

“N-No, I was- I just- I was only wondering.”

“He’s too obsessed with himself to care about me. Don’t worry, okay? Nothing is going to happen, baby.” Mingyu said in a much lighter tone, his signature, canine smile quirking along his lips. 

Despite his calm protrusions, you could sense that something murky was swimming behind the curve in his eyes. The boy leaned backward and planted his lips against your forehead, leaving a small, adoring kiss. Shaking away the ominous tension that came with simply speaking the purger’s name, you grasped for Mingyu’s hand and smiled.

“Let’s head back into town.”

He set his jacket as well as the blanket in the backseat and climbed to sit at the wheel.

“Don’t forget about that, y’know,” you reminded him whilst gesturing to his jacket, “it’s not like there’s a gun in there or something.”

“A gun with the safety on.” He replied sheepishly, to which you simply huffed and stared out the window.

You stopped Mingyu when you were no less than a block away from your new apartment building, the tires crunching to a halt beside the common coffee shop.

“I’ll get out here,” you told him, “I’ll be fine to walk back to the complex. I just really want caffeine.”

Mingyu leaned over and pushed the car door open for you, his palm tenderly grazing your thigh as he found your lips. He gave you a quick goodbye kiss, and you felt flowers bloom between the bones of your ribcage.

“Text me when you get home, alright?” He reminded when you slid from the passenger seat.

Scurrying into the coffee shop, you already had an idea of what drink you’d like to get. As you stood off to the side waiting for an employee to call out your coffee, you fell into a slight trance, your eyes casting mistily across the cozy atmosphere whilst the sky began darkening beyond the clean window panes. You thought about Mingyu, how laughable it was that you were dating, and yet you knew you loved him like ink loves to kiss paper.

Hm, you chuckled inwardly, that girl sitting in that booth by the window, she looks like Yeeun, and that guy beside her really resembles Junhui. That’s funny.

That’s funny.

That’s… funny…

“Order 24, half decaf, two sugars one cream.”

To your inexplicable terror, heart-twisting dread, and every other repulsive emotion that could have cloaked you in that moment of realization, the couple sitting at the window booth was indeed Junhui and Yeeun. The employee called out your order again, this time a little louder, drawing customers to look left and right with puzzled glances. The nefarious couple was sitting across from two familiar faces, one with jet black hair brushed away from his forehead, the other disquieting with how vacant his face appeared, a grey beanie pulling back the fronds from his porcelain features, and a lollipop shoved between his lips.

It took you a minute, but you eventually recognized the lollipop boy as Wonwoo. He looked insanely different compared to your outdated, high school memories, where he was just a scrawny, fox-faced boy with the straightest black bangs you’d ever seen, always running around next to Minghao, getting pink in the face when the younger so much as smiled at him. It was evident that purging had completely hardened his face, his aura, to which he developed an almost sinister light. Whoever he was now, he definitely wasn’t the same boy. Jihoon sat next to him, impatiently spinning a stir stick between his fingers.

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving. Mingyu’s words rang in your head.

Are you scared?

Craving nothing more than for a sinkhole to form beneath your feet and swallow you whole, you did the sole thing your body permitted you to do; walk sternly out the coffee shop and pretend you never ordered a single thing.

God - I hope they didn’t see me. That would be the last thing I want, for Junhui and his purging buddies to have anything to do with me.

Jihoon and Wonwoo with Junhui was odd. Had they always been friends? Junhui never attended your high school either, rather he used to be a student at a prestigious private school you couldn’t ever dream of getting into.

Your apartment was close. You could distinguish its height amongst the low-cut buildings lining the sidewalk. If you just walked a little faster, you could be up the cement staircase, swinging open the glass doorway, and be safe within the front lobby. Titling your head back you quickly ogled at the sky. It wasn’t completely black yet, but there were distant tinges of dark, oily colours that pressed down like a heavy thumbprint amongst the grey. The wind picked up behind you, slamming into your backside in menacing howls.

Finally, you’d reached the cement steps—

But it was too late.

His tone was smoother than a crystal ball, lower than baritone, and incredibly seasoned at feigning genuineness. Hearing your name cascade from his mouth that was deceivingly shaped as a heart made your breath flatten. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but it was too late to pretend you never heard his chant. Unwillingly, your body pivoted like a stone statue, your foot taking that one victorious step back as it left the staircase.

“You walk so fast, you could have been sprinting.”

“Exercise is good.” You nearly wheezed.

For the first time, you realized just how tall Junhui was, his body appearing as a shadowy mass as the wind blew the tails of his trench coat. His brows were slanted, lips quirked, his irises so rounded you could hardly see the white bits. He was handsome in the way that some people found graveyards entrancing. It was the eeriness that allured you.

“You left your coffee.” He stated.

“I realized I had somewhere to be.” You tried to hold his gaze, but it was impossible to evade the nervous eye fluttering.

“As anyone would, it’s getting late.”

The wind whistled between you, dark clouds swirling above your head as though the sky were a witch’s cauldron.

“I think it might rain,” you said meekly, “are you looking to ask me something?”

Junhui took a step forward. He’d never been this close to you before, maybe a few inches away from the tip of your nose. Your gaze tripped to his eye, the eye that Mingyu had driven his clenched fist into that one night, causing Junhui’s head to thrust back against the plaster. You swallowed the salty brick in your throat.

“I heard you like to purge now.” Junhui said with a smile. You swore his caramel gaze glinted with excitement.

Your blood froze. How did he know about that? Junhui saw through you like a translucent piece of plastic. He saw how you inwardly panicked.

“I was surprised,” he cooed, “you don’t seem like the type… But I suppose all that running around with Mingyu changed your morals.”

Your heart was beating at such a frantic pace you feared it may dislodge itself from your chest and land in your mouth.

“I’m so elated you found purpose,” his midnight fronds then fell mischievously before his eyes, keeping the candor of his secrets hidden from you, “the purge is a time of cleansing intended to help people like us find a little alleviation in the world. That one person whose been causing you grief? You won’t have to worry about their disgusting discrepancy that makes you so infuriated. It’s quite healing,” Junhui purred, “if you ask me.”

It felt as though someone just ripped your tongue from between your teeth. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to. A splash of rain thumped your forehead, and yet you allowed the cold bead to trickle along the side of your nose and run onto your cheek. Junhui’s hand delicately raised, his thumb caressing the droplet away. He stood closer now, eliminating any room in which the wind could whisper through, his bangs tickling your forehead as his onyx pupils bore through your heated face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking toward your lips through his heavy lashes, his fingers pointing your chin upward, “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt just because Mingyu can’t take care of you.”

“I-I trust him,” You managed to squeak, though it required every bone in your body to summon equal modicums of courage.

“C’mon,” Junhui seemed to taunt, “you know who I am, right? I can have any weapon, any blueprint, any ctv footage I want directly in my hands, and all it takes is a single phone call.” He grinned wolfishly. “Besides, Mingyu doesn’t have the most durable history of looking out for others.”

His grip on your chin hardened like steel, heart-shaped lips pressed lightly to your ear’s cusp, “you do know what happened to Minghao, don’t you?”

Your body turned more frigid than ice, the warm blood that pumped beneath your skin running colder with every second that Junhui stood, seeing straight through you and to his old friend he’d hurt so dearly. You instantly grew sick to your stomach. The universe beyond Junhui’s shadow was spinning wildly, darting in nauseating circles like a carousel. The images came in flickers; the truck pulling into the driveway, the window cranking down, the crack of the gun as its bullet pierced a shape in the darkness. No wonder Jihoon and Wonwoo were friends with Junhui. He had been the other person in Mingyu’s car.

You felt lightheaded, like you were going to faint.

“I’ll let you go, but just consider your options. Really, truly consider them.” Junhui murmured. “I’m sure you have some personal contentions kept covert beneath that kind tongue of yours. Given your participation, I know you can upheaval your need to feel purification. If you’re wise, you’ll cleanse with us, with me, as you are entitled to.”

Without a single ripple Junhui broke away, his touch drifting like the edges of a silk blanket from your cheek. Immediately afterward, a disturbing burst of wind whipped between your bodies, inducing a long shiver that crept down your spine and fizzled at your fingertips. Your throat felt like cracked sandpaper and your chest bottomed out with a horrendous, wrenching fear.

Junhui knew that Mingyu didn’t fear him, but he knew that you feared him, and he knew that your fear would grow to consume you now that you’d been introduced to the devastating truth. 

The radio was on, high-pitched static and monotonous advisement rasping through the car’s sound system. It was clear that in time, there would be a chorus of other harsh noises leaping to fill the sky, any pockets of oxygen, and the spaces that lingered between your hazy breathing. Yet in the dense heat, you could care less.

This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of The Annual Purge, sanctioned by the government.

It was hot, burning. The air felt like scorching linen that pressed fire into your skin. Mingyu’s teeth scraped along your collarbones, the thin layer of flesh that mapped over them singed with bruises and bites and kisses that still glistened.

Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.

The radio continued to blip. Your fingers tangled through his earth-toned tresses, gripping the thick strands and tugging on them as your throat started to ache. The windows were splotched with oily fingerprints that had been left earlier, when you first climbed onto his lap.

Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Your legs quivered over his thighs, his hands guiding your hips with such a brute strength that the pain welled into numbness and everything that surrounded you seemed nonexistent, save for where your bodies connected like a jewel to its staff. His forehead fell on your shoulder, groans muffled as they brushed your hot skin. He continued to hit deep, and you knew you couldn’t hold on for much longer, the sparks catching a foreshadowing flame 

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.

It was then, when your weight came down on his lap for the final time, his hips stuttering upward at the perfect moment, that your head tossed back and you felt the energy rip from your body in a single scream. Mingyu wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you flush against him, working the pleasure for all its worth. You then buried your face into his neck, a soft sea of your whimpers filling the thick air whilst Mingyu emptied inside you, filling you with warmth.

Police, fire and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7am, when the Purge concludes.

For a moment, you just needed to close your eyes and breathe in his scent, hear his heartbeat, feel the familiar heat spread throughout your abdomen. He squeezed your hips tight, and his words were barely audible, attempting to drown over the radio’s static as well as the heavy breaths from your lungs. You heard them, even if your ears really had to strain to decipher the syllables whispered at the peak of his sensitivity. Mingyu said he loved you, and he meant it with every ounce of his soul as he felt your body shake in his arms.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and a nation, reborn.

And you would have meekly hummed the words in return, if the sudden cacophony of a siren didn’t shred the air like pastry, startling your system that had just come down from the best cloud nine experience you could ever fathom. It would have been wondrous to bask in the afterglow, to trace patterns on his biceps and run your lips over the scar in his brow.  It had all been purloined from you in an instant. Though your centre still ached, you crept off his lap and into the passenger seat, cleaning yourself up as best you could.

“Here,” Mingyu held out his jacket that he’d tossed in the backseat, probably since your training in the fields, “it’ll keep you warm if it actually rains tonight.”

“Thanks.” You murmured whilst slipping the fabric around your body, noting that something a little heavy was inside one of the pockets. You remembered the gun was still inside. Suddenly, Mingyu started the car, the engine purring lowly and musty clouds of exhaust puffing into the empty parking lot.

He tapped the steering wheel with his palm, “where should we head?”

When the sirens faded away, you looked to him and smiled, “wherever you want.”

The red sun seemed anxious to disappear, for its rays cracked across the sky like bloodied, broken ice, hurriedly pushing itself further below the horizon as Mingyu drove into town. The Purge never introduced an easy atmosphere to stomach, yet tonight, you felt the bile in your throat was more acidic than usual. Maybe it was because you knew a huge secret, one that tied Mingyu’s hatred to Junhui’s existence.

You didn’t confess to Mingyu anything. Every word that seeped like a venom from Junhui’s lips was sealed within you, and only you. It was already painful enough for Mingyu to brace through such a traumatic incident. There would come a time when he told you his reasons for hating Junhui, and that time had yet to come.

Even so, the terror was exhausting. The first few nights after your encounter with Junhui, your slumber was plagued by gruesome nightmares, his comfortable laughter, and the black fire that seeped in his eyes as though he were some underworld creature. You’d slam awake in a cold sweat. At times you’d be so drenched that you needed to take a shower before going back to sleep, that is, if your mind allowed you to. Sometimes you would phone Mingyu and lie to him, tell him you needed to hear the brass in his voice as your nighttime spell.

You never told him about the nightmares, the panic, or the anxiety. Now the Purge had returned after its position was quelled in the nation for a year. Your head turned to glance more thoroughly out the window after you flitted past a man holding an axe tool, a painted mask shielding his face.

It didn’t take long for the streets to begin flooding with people of the same stature, and if their eyes of thirst were hidden behind costumes, then it became more than evident in the weaponry that adorned their guises. Mingyu seemed calm as he stared out the dash, his eyes giving away nothing that would hint toward his inner complex. You sighed and let your cheek rest in your palm, your gaze unable to stop tracing each and every person that emerged from the dark crevices.

About forty-five minutes had passed, driving around the quieter outskirts of the city. Looking into the side-mirror, you watched as the occasional killing occurred behind you.

Mingyu smiled. “The night just started and you already look like you’re over it.”

The echo of a gun pierced the air. You cringed slightly.

“I don’t know if I’m over it or not. I guess I’m thinking about how I’ll ever suppress witnessing senseless murder, y’know?”

The boy gently stuck his arm out, across the glove compartment, his thumb stroking your cheek for a fond moment.

“We don’t have to hang around. I can drive up to the field where we’ll be away from the worst of it. What do you want, baby?” He asked.

You scratched at your knuckles and puffed through your nose. “I don’t even know what I want. Am I supposed to feel this way?”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, “what way?”

“Melancholic, sorta like everything seems pointless. How do you feel?”

Mingyu took a wide turn to avoid a collection of smashed bottles that glinted on the road, increasing the vehicle’s speed steadily as the chaos increased. Like your first Purge, you saw the distant glow of burning buildings appear across the lake, at the other side of the city.

“I don’t even know if I can describe it anymore.” He shrugged.

You turned your head to look at him, deciding to ask something rather abrupt, but a topic you were curious on nonetheless. 

“Why did you start purging?”

The boy’s canines pushed into his bottom lip as he probed his mind.

“Because I was friends with someone who wanted to. Even involving yourself once makes enemies. You can’t hide from it after that.” 

Staring at the side of his face, you felt almost dirty for knowing a pivotal piece belonging to Mingyu’s past.

“Were you friends with Junhui?”

There was a thick silence as you waited for Mingyu’s response.

“At one point, yes.” He admitted, his words sounding distasteful. 

You shifted up in the seat, stretching out your hand to rub Mingyu’s bicep. 

“I don’t care if you were. I know you aren’t the same as him, and that this night changes people. You don’t let it consume you like he does.”

Mingyu took a turn through a wide alleyway to avoid a hostile situation escalating at the far end of the intersection. You didn’t get a good look as the sky was continuing to lose its orange light, but the flash of the group’s masks and weapons was convincing enough to take a different path.

You couldn’t help but note that Mingyu’s eyes had become slightly watered.

“It was never about purification,” he told you, “I never had any specific target, or someone I detested. Neither did Jun. But he comes from a family that relies on purging as their income. His mom designs weapons and his dad works for some underground branch, assigning bounties. He just isn’t the same as us. I was lucky if I could even hold a gun in my hands without trembling. I had to learn how to desensitize myself. For Jun, it was almost natural.”

A familiar sickness made your stomach twirl.

“It’s sad he had to grow up like that.” You sighed, glancing out the window whilst Mingyu remained silent. 

A few minutes later, and you were laughing. “I didn’t mean to make the mood so terrible. I was just wondering.”

“I know,” Mingyu said, his lips curling warmly, “I can’t blame you for being curious, baby. I just don’t think back on my past all that much.”

He then gave you a thoughtful look, and your chest started fluttering embarrassingly fast. “I like focusing on right now, where I have you.”

It was quiet again, to which you let your thoughts roam astray. 

You pictured the night your father disappeared, the night your mother’s life was taken away from her when she wasn’t even capable of defending herself. The feeling of coming down the stairway to broken glass, spilt moonlight, and a dirtied face lugging her away couldn’t be compared to any pain. And daring to unlock that enraged, bitter half of yourself, you thought to applying pressure on the trigger that killed the man responsible for her death.

Those memories influenced your appreciation, your gratitude, toward Mingyu, the boy who you had always admired at a distance, never knowing he could be so tender and benevolent. It was possible that you could have turned out similar to Junhui if you let your indignation take control. Seeing how Mingyu always remained so grounded helped you keep your footing, and you hoped there never came a day when you started looking at the world how Junhui did.

All of sudden, your musing was shattered when a pick-up truck roared from an alleyway and soared into the street, plumes of grey smoke pumping from its pipes as the tires screeched against the asphalt.

”Mingyu, watch out!” You screeched, gripping the steering wheel.

At the same time, Mingyu veered away from the truck, your heart nearly tearing a hole right through your chest as the head of your vehicle rammed into a light post. The collision jolted your body forward, though the seatbelt kept you strapped in and unscathed. Mingyu cursed through his teeth.

“Fuck, are you okay?” He rasped.

“I-I’m fine. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” You replied shakily.

Mingyu’s facial expression relaxed for less than a second. He appeared ready to oblige, though casting another inspection into his features relayed a nauseating truth. Suddenly, Mingyu’s hand gripped the back of your neck and he forced your head down between your legs. You heard it, the crisp echo of a gunshot. Except there was no bullet that punctured the glass and made fragments rain over your body. There was no dent in the metal door either. The barrel was purposely aimed to a different area, and as the second shot fired off, you felt like passing out.

They’re shooting at the tires.

Mingyu whispered to you with a coarse urgency, “this way!”

He’d managed to open his door, your only choice of escape a labyrinth of alleyways that lay beyond the mangled car. The alleys were dark, damp, and most likely rife with impending danger. Your throat closed in when you attempted to swallow. You could see the blade that Mingyu had collected from the console, already tight in his hand. Licking your leathered lips, you squirmed out his side after he’d gone through. He was squatted down, waiting for you.

Just as you joined him, you cast a glance above Mingyu’s head, your blood turning into ice as a slim figure appeared around the back end of the car. It was a man, dressed in a black raincoat, long and glossy. He was wearing a dirtied, white mask, where kohl paint was runny down the large eyes and the mouth was outlined in a red marker. Next to his side was the long barrel of a shotgun, and you felt unimaginably dizzy. Mingyu immediately identified the terror that leaked into your gaze, and with a thick gulp, he dared stare over his shoulder.

“Hey Mingyu,” the stranger mumbled, taking the pointed chin of the mask and tipping it upward, revealing a fox-like face, “long time no see.”

Mingyu wrapped his fingers around your hand and stood up slowly, ensuring your body was sheltered by his size. You breathed as quietly as your vandalized chest would allow, your diaphragm keening to erupt. 

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu echoed, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you or anything.” The boy said, his voice very deep and smooth. The depth reverberated in your chest and made your skin crawl.

“Are you crazy, dude?” Mingyu growled. “You shot out my fucking tires.”

Wonwoo scratched the nape of his neck. “I was just following orders.”

You had no idea what was happening. The only piece of concrete knowledge that hadn’t been fogged over in tangible fear was that you could still hear incessant firing in the distant, chaotic screaming and rioting. Looking down to the blade that glinted in Mingyu’s palm, you were able to plant a little reassurance in yourself knowing of his skill and ability to stay grounded. Keeping your mouth shut, you held Mingyu’s hand in a vice grip.

“Following orders from who? What are you talking about? Are you wired?”

“It’s understandable you would think that,” Wonwoo sighed, “but I’m not. If I were though, your death might be a little easier.”

“Since when are you supposed to kill me?” Mingyu sounded flat out bewildered.

It was then that it dawned on you: Mingyu really had no idea Wonwoo was still a part of Junhui’s brigade. 

Grinding your teeth together in contemplation, you finally decided to swallow the grain in your throat and break the truth. Getting close to Mingyu’s ear, you whispered to him what you knew, no matter how much of a fable it may be perceived as. Visibly, his body stiffened. His fingers gripped the blade’s handle with an unprecedented rage. 

“What are you doing?” Mingyu implored, candor in his despair. “Even after what he did to Minghao? What the hell is holding you to him?”

“It’s nothing personal, but as you know already, Junhui is filthy rich,” Wonwoo gloomed, cocking the barrel once more, “and he’s promised me some things.”

Mingyu clenched his jaw. “You mean more of those drugs he keeps stealing from his dad’s lab? Wonwoo, what the fuck happened to you? The last time I heard from you, you were getting clean, you were going to start fresh!”

There was an unorthodox twinkle in his black stare, oddly full of emotion, hurt, repressed pain that cut deeper inside than out. 

“I tried,” Wonwoo stated, a slight anger tainting his voice, “I went to three different rehabilitation clinics. I took a vacation to the rural springs and received lessons in guided meditation and bought myself a journal so I could document my success in getting clean. And you know what? I haven’t touched that journal since the day I fucking bought it. Tell me, Mingyu. How the fuck am I supposed to care about staying clean, how the fuck am I supposed to care about anything when I saw the love of my life get fucking shot right in front of me?”

Mingyu shook his head in disbelief, “Wonwoo, I--, I know that was horrible, I know that hurt you and--”

“Just shut up,” the elder interrupted flatly, “maybe today I’ll actually feel something when I put this barrel between your eyes.”

It was impossible to stand by and remain silent. Chewing on your bottom lip, you gathered a modicum of courage and poked your head around Mingyu’s shoulder.

“So you’re going to kill us just because Junhui wants you to? That’s how you’re going to live the rest of your life? Listening to his psychotic fantasies about purification and entitlement?”

Wonwoo narrowed his eyes at you, his jaw taunt.

“I know you loved Minghao, I know your life hasn’t felt the same since. Minghao was Mingyu’s best friend too. You weren’t the only one who lost somebody. Do you think when I came downstairs at fourteen years old and saw my mother get pulled away through the window that I wasn’t upset, angry, confused at the world? Junhui just sees you as a pawn to delegate the matters he doesn’t want to dip his hands into, but you’re a real person. Wake up and act like it!”

For even just a fraction of a second, Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped, his finger that was feathering the gun’s trigger drifted from contact, and the stoic cloud in his eyes fuzzed a little. You were starting to feel confident. Yet just as easily as the feeling came to you, you were caught off guard by an arm that slid around your neck and lurched you backward, against a hard chest.

Mingyu barked immediately, his blade drawn and eyes wildly dilated as he turned to face the person responsible for holding onto you. Biting the inside of your mouth, you squirmed and thrashed and kicked, until something cold pressed into your temple and suddenly the energy evaporated from your body like dew droplets on an August day. 

Mingyu’s voice sounded rusty as he gaped again. “Jihoon?!”

Wonwoo piped up suddenly, and his eyes turned cold once more. “Be careful, dammit. She’s the one we can’t afford to bruise up.”

Jihoon’s arm was now wrapped around your neck, pressing against your windpipe and causing your air supply to falter. You knew it was a gun that was poking sharply into your temple. 

Mingyu’s gaze was wild and rife with fire. He growled between his teeth like a wolf. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Jihoon.”

Wonwoo stepped forward and shook his gun at the boy who was closing off on your breathing. “Junhui wants that one,” he pressed the snout of his weapon into your chin, “alive.”

Jihoon sulked, his voice rumbling in his chest, “So what’s our fun tonight? We kill Mingyu and then pack up?”

You wriggled again in Jihoon’s arms, tempted to gnaw right into his wrist. “Can we not kill anybody?!”

“Calm down,” Wonwoo instructed, “I hate shouting. If any of you shout I’m planting a bullet in your brain.”

“You’re such a bore,” Jihoon whined, pressing into your windpipe with more force, painting speckles of white across your vision. Mingyu was bubbling with rage, like a teapot left on the burner for too long, his teeth clamping down so tightly his whole face was aching.

Wonwoo used the muzzle of the gun to tip your chin toward the moonlight. “A word of advice. Stop struggling and you won’t get hurt.”

“H-He’s hurting me,” you attempted to coherently spit past the pressure concocted against your throat. Jihoon was issuing enough force to make your eyes water and your head spin. Mingyu piped up, but Wonwoo was swifter and beat him to it.

“Lighten your grip.” He told Jihoon.

“I’m not even holding her that tightly!” The boy protested. Wonwoo’s face didn’t crack. He just repeated himself with an underlying menace.

“Lighten. Your. Grip.”

“It’s all pretending! Can’t you see? They’re trying to distract you so Mingyu can shove that blade through your back. Don’t be so fucking soft, Wonwoo. Look! I’m hardly touching—“

Bang.

Wonwoo dug his gun right into Jihoon’s forehead and pulled the trigger, the strict barrier against your throat immediately releasing. A fresh gulp of air hastily entered your lungs as you stumbled, Jihoon’s body folding onto the sidewalk from the corner of you eye. Mingyu quickly caught you, cupped your face in his hands and wiped the beaded sweat at your forehead. He kept whispering to you that you were okay, repeated the words in a soothing, husky mantra, his thumbs stroking your jaw in comforting sweeps. The ringing in your ears was unfathomably painful, it stung and stung and stung.

“Well,” Wonwoo announced with a despondent sigh, setting the gun over his shoulder, “I really do hate yelling.”

Mingyu’s kissed your forehead briefly. Your lips were still dry and they struggled to form a word of thanks to Wonwoo. The boy shrugged.

“He was holding you kind of tightly.”

Mingyu gasped, “no fucking kidding.”

Wonwoo sighed. “I guess I don’t expect to live much longer now that I’ve gone and wasted my companion here with my last few bullets. Not to mention I have  prolonged the existence of your life, Mingyu, which I was strictly ordered not to do. It was nice to meet your little partner in crime too.”

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu questioned whilst gathering you into his side.

“I didn’t follow through on my order. I can’t bring myself to do it. ” Wonwoo mumbled. “We’ll catch up in the afterlife or something. Maybe where you’re going is different than where I’m about to go. You’ll probably be with Minghao while I deservedly rot. One of life’s many mysteries, right?”

There wasn’t much of an opportunity to process the situation, not when a gunshot echoed from down the alleyway and pierced the boy in his temple. The shotgun clamped in his hand clattered against the cold, concrete sidewalk, and his mask clattered off his head. His body joined the likes of Jihoon who’d been staring up at the night sky with dead, glazed eyes, a trail of red leaking down his nose. Your head pivoted and you felt a surge of vomit climb to the back of your mouth, for the person behind the trigger was Yang Yeeun, her pearl earrings flashing against the silver moonlight.

“Horrendous.” Her accent was thick with venom, heels clicking down the alleyway as she stalked in her black trousers and white dress shirt.

Intimidation sweltered against your skin at just her attire. The fact she dressed expensively for the night proved she wasn’t expecting to get in any confrontation that would result in her own blood being spilt.

“I expected Jihoon to cause trouble, but not Wonwoo. He was so promising. I guess he really did need drugs to stay sane.”

She stepped over a corpse you hadn’t noted lying face down in the alley, growling between her teeth.

“Filthy,” Yeeun remarked without a grain of empathy, “nothing but filth.”

Mingyu gripped your wrist and you felt your body stumble behind him. Keeping your arms drawn against his back and softly breathing, you inhaled the musky scents of damp, nighttime air and car exhaust. Though you couldn’t directly see Yeeun, her voice was still audible, lacquered in such a feigned delicacy it reminded you of Junhui. Mingyu hadn’t said a thing. He didn’t have to speak for you to know his heart was decaying.

“There’s my sweet boy.” Yeeun cooed. She was close now, so close you peered between Mingyu’s legs and saw her shiny heels standing in blood spatters. 

She regarded Mingyu like they were still together, like they still reflected the image of romance that was envied by so many people, you included. Her arm extended, pale, numb fingers brushing along his amber cheek. You wanted to scream at her to never touch him again. It was her own mistake to let Mingyu go, when he was positively in love with her and preached their future with honeyed words, like an artist who preaches with paint.

“You know, I miss you,” she hummed, tracing the flint of his jaw, “I’m so terribly sorry you had to witness your old best friends get a bullet to the brain, but, that is what happens when tensions are high, and, you know, we can’t afford to let many errors slip past us. Now, let’s not let that put a damper on the night. It’s still young, and so much has yet to happen. How about you come with me?”

You knew there was a handgun she was keeping pressed to her leg right now, and that if neither of you complied, it would be put to good use. Mingyu hadn’t opened his mouth. His lips were tight and his eyes were concentrated. Maybe he was trying to scheme.

Yeeun stretched out her gun and let the muzzle clink with Mingyu’s knife, trying to push the weapon from his hand.

“Just drop this and follow me, sweetheart. Due to these unforeseen events, there’s been a change and your presence has been urgently requested.”

Quicker than expected, Mingyu complied. He let the blade untwine from his grasp and rattle against the ground. If he did have some sort of plan, you were hoping that giving up his only weapon was part of it.

“She can come too,” Yeeun purred, “Junhui wants to see both of you.”

Yeeun trudged behind you, her weapon drawn, a manicured nail feathering upon the trigger just in case one of you attempted something of trickery. Tall, grimy buildings surrounded you, leading up to the black sky, where the stars gazed down in lamentation. Mingyu’s fingers were wrapped around your wrist with such steely strength that you felt your circulation dwindle, though the tiny, tingling feeling would never surpass the fear that sat like a pound of tar in your stomach. Similar to your first purge, tears pushed at your ducts, though there was a certain exhaustion shrouding your body that prevented them from falling.

Despite your unstable condition, the possibility of death snickering right in your face, the wavering thought that either Junhui or Yeeun could imbue a torturous fate, you were worried about Mingyu.

Yeeun was playing him expertly. She knew it wasn’t her heart that cracked after their breakup, it was Mingyu that suffered independently.  Only he bit the nail, only he felt the salt mix with his wounds, and only he would welt in self-contemplation over a love that he nurtured, alone. If it came down to it, and your life was on the line, would Mingyu hesitate? Would he be afraid of hurting someone he used to treasure so dearly? You didn’t doubt his affections for you. His heart was strong, but what if Yeeun’s deceit was stronger?

The labyrinth of alleyways had finally led you to a dead end. Your wrist shook in Mingyu’s grasp, for the man nonchalantly leaning against the solid wall was none other than—

“Junhui,” Yeeun cawed, “you won’t believe what the fuck just happened. Wonwoo popped Jihoon. He’s dead, should have brought more crew instead of displacing them like we did.”

She finished her sentence by fitting her gun right snug at the back of your head.

Junhui spat onto the floor before he unstuck himself from leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark trench coat.  

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, “using Wonwoo and Jihoon was a squander anyways. I could have concluded both their lives at a much more efficient pace. I’m guessing you took care of the traitor?”

Yeeun cackled, “right though the side of his head. He fell like a stack of cards.”

“It’s a real disappointment,” Junhui huffed, “since the beginning Wonwoo and Jihoon have shown the utmost loyalty for me and my craft. But, I guess this just demonstrates how purifying this device truly is. We’re ridding the streets of scum, aren’t we?”

Mingyu released your wrist, and you felt like a bomb had just dropped to the soles of your feet. His lips parted and his voice was deep. Hearing him speak allowed your heartbeat to calm, even with Yeeun’s gun taunt into your hair.

“The streets will never be rid of scum until you’re over and done with.”

Junhui cocked his head, his mouth falling open and his eyes twinkling as though a tiny flame had ignited in their inky depths.

“And here is the biggest traitor of them all!” 

Junhui tossed his head back and ludic laughter echoed into the compressing air, “how do you suppose you’ll rid me, Mingyu? Are you going to give me another black eye? Curse at me? Damn me to hell and back because of what happened that night? Damn me behind my back because I took Yeeun away from you? The girl you once loved and valued with your every essence?”

It was then that Junhui shifted his sights on you, his lips pulling wide in a smile.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware Mingyu, but your partner and I exchanged a very compelling conversation a while ago. I guess word never got around to you.”

Junhui’s boots dragged over the crumbs of dirt and asphalt that littered the ground, his presence nearing closer and closer. When you tried to lower your head, Yeeun’s gun pressed with a stricter force into your scalp, filling you with enough fear to keep your gaze straight.

“You’re very fortunate, Mingyu. To have such a pretty thing to call your own.”

Junhui’s hand reached for your chin. His touch was colder than the dark shadows that masked his soul, and it engendered a shiver to slither along your spine. 

“Don’t put your hands anywhere near her!” Mingyu seethed, to which Yeeun instantly switched her gun to point against the back of his skull.

You could see his jaw clench from your peripheral vision. But Junhui didn’t listen, and his thumb pushed down on your bottom lip as though he intended to brand your skin with his insanity. He spoke lowly, smoothly, confidence lathered into his every syllable.

“Do you know why I did it?” Junhui stared into your eyes and asked.

“Dd-did w-what?” You warbled.

“It wasn’t because I was jealous of Wonwoo and Minghao, or because I had some personal contention against the boy. I didn’t even think when I pressed the trigger. I spent the whole night adding so much blood to my hands, that the moment I saw another shadow move, my body just - it just acted for me. Like it was an instinct. I wasn’t sad... But I wasn’t happy. I only knew I was no longer myself... I was someone stronger, someone enhanced, and that is the greatness of this evening!”

Junhui clutched your shoulders and shook them, his eyes alight with a certain derangement that petrified you to your core.

“You’re reborn! Don’t you get it? You’re no longer tied down by the concept of goodness, and your free will is truly free. When will you two realize that--”

Out of nowhere, Mingyu shoved into your side so aggressively you stumbled sideways and collapsed on the sooty ground. The air was knocked from your lungs and your heart pumped like it had been electrocuted. Fuzzy splotches of colour coalesced before your watered vision, projecting nothing but an obnoxious blur. There was shouting, the loud crack of a harmless gunshot, and scuffling that emanated from every direction. Before you could separate the blacks from the blues, something cold wrapped around your wrist and dragged you backward. Then, your entire body was thrust up against the brick, scrapes and bruises already forming on your bare skin.

When your head stopped spinning and the world dulled down from reflecting three versions of the same image, you were shuttering, whimpering, as Junhui held you firmly against the wall.

Across the alleyway you could see that Mingyu had Yeeun pressed to the floor, his palm covering her throat whilst he took advantage of his weight to keep her slim frame still. He fought to unwind the firearm from her fingers, but when he did, the weapon was digging into her forehead. You wanted to scream at him to pull the trigger, to fucking end her already, even if your throat felt like it had been scraped of all moisture and scrubbed with a pad of steel wool. You heard Junhui snicker, his mouth twisted cynically. It was evident what he was thinking, for it was identical to your own thought.

“Like hell you’ll do it!” Junhui screamed.

If it came down to it, and your life was on the line, would Mingyu hesitate?

Love. It was just as much a weapon as it was a comfort. And as Mingyu stared down at Yeeun, silver pearls of water slipping from her brown eyes, the eyes he had fallen for, you felt consumed by terror, that your life may truly end at this exact location. Mingyu proved your doubts were transparent and his finger jammed against the trigger. Except – there was nothing, nothing at all. The gun had no ammunition left. Yeeun sighed heavily.

“Don’t do this,” she mewled, still wriggling beneath him, full-fledged tears pumping down her flushed, scarlet face, “I never meant to hurt you. It’s just – you wouldn’t understand why – he didn’t leave me any choice!”

Mingyu released his ironclad grip over her throat and used his fingers to sweep the stray hairs from her eyes.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He abruptly snapped. “You lie through your teeth like it’s the only thing you’re good for. You don’t love anyone or anything. I bet you lost that silver spoon you were born with, huh? Daddy’s security systems aren’t as bulletproof as he thought they were? So you had to run to Junhui?”

She gargled slightly on her own saliva, coughing a bit of foam, though she never tried to respond.

Mingyu lifted Yeeun’s head in his hands. Squeezing your eyes shut didn’t make the snapping noise any less gruesome. If anything, it only amplified the sickness building in your gut, it only amplified Junhui’s enraged storm of cursing as his companion’s body went limp, her eyes stained with not even a smidgen of regret. If there was any regret at all, it was that she couldn’t have killed you herself. Hope began trickling back into your body, and, taking advantage of Junhui’s distracted vacancy, you attempted to give him a swift kick.

And yet that thought was a mistake in itself. Junhui lost his composure, his sophistication.

Your struggling only encouraged the anger spilling inside him, prompted him to uncover a blade that was hidden inside his coat, its silver gleam reflecting off your eyes for a millisecond before you felt its sharp edge nuzzle into your skin, somewhere around your stomach. A surge so violent and unbridled soared through your body, forced you to lean over the blade where your eyes soaked up the unholy sight of Junhui’s knuckles pale as snowflakes wrapped around the handle. You spluttered out nothing but air, watched as dark liquid began seeping from the wound and wetting your shirt.

Junhui took it upon himself to slowly, ever so slowly, extract the knife from its crevice, his teeth grinding together as just the point remained in your flesh. Then, he dug the blade back in through its opening, giving the weapon a slight twist. 

When Mingyu had risen from Yeeun’s corpse and tore Junhui away from you, a silent sob wobbled off your lips. At some point that your mind was too fogged to remember, you were sitting, slumped against the wall as thick, grey storm clouds crowded the night sky. When you could no longer find solace amongst the stars, your gaze flitted across the alleyway, to where Junhui and Mingyu were a vicious tangle of limbs that punched and kicked and pulled. It reminded you of the party, the stupid party that had somehow preluded your path to cross with Mingyu’s. They were shouting at one another, at war for Junhui’s knife that kept slipping from their grasps like butter.

Wincing, you stretched an arm to fold over your stomach, attempting to apply even the meekest amount of pressure to your wound. Your brow furrowed when something hard nudged against your arm, a harsh weight that seemed to sit inside your jacket.

Well, it wasn’t your jacket, it was Mingyu’s.

Chewing down on the inside of your mouth, you ignored the pain that cut through your every nerve and fought to wind your hand within the jacket, fingers poking and shuffling around until they brushed the pocket stitched to the inside. Despite your battered condition, you nearly yelped when you gripped the handgun, the same gun that you’d used to practice your aim in the fields. There was not a moment to squander, nor a moment to think. Your whole body screamed as you drew the weapon from its pouch, fingers slippery with blood as you fought to turn the safety off.

Your entire arm shook like a brittle leaf in mid-autumn, yet you still held the gun forth, your head banging, your vision blurred, bile pushing and stinging against your throat. Junhui had Mingyu pinned to the grit, his boot heavy on Mingyu’s wrist. Raised in the air was the knife, stained with red globs of your blood. It was just like the party, except it wasn’t a tiny glass shard sealed between Junhui’s fingers. It was a literal hacking device. There was nothing you could do to stop your arm from shaking. You had no more ammunition apart from the bullet left in the gun.

What if I miss, what if I miss Junhui and hit Mingyu? What if I hit Junhui but it isn’t enough to stop him? I don’t think I can do this. I can’t I can’t I can’t—

“So,” Junhui barked, his vocal chords strained and hoarse, “where’s your little guardian angel now, huh? If it weren’t for your girlfriend fucking getting in the way two years ago, you would have had it, Mingyu. But now there’s no one to save you. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. Finally, I’m entitled to purge how I’ve always wanted.”

The tears finally erupted from their ducts, streaming down your dusted cheeks and dripping at your chin. You felt like a child, a blubbering infant.

But it wasn’t worth it to lose Mingyu.

You weren’t entirely sure what happened when you sucked back the distracting binds of your self-doubt and clamped the trigger down. It didn’t register that the bullet had struck Junhui’s head until his body collapsed off of Mingyu’s lap, lying lax on the pebbles like a sack of flour. It didn’t register that you had saved Mingyu’s life until the first few cold splashes of rain thumped against your forehead, dampened your lashes, and trickled along your scuffed flesh. The gun dropped from your fingers and the whole world went black.

The next time you awoke, you were faced with a pair of glimmering, penny eyes that rapidly blinked, tiny crinkles mapping along wet, amber skin. An instant pain jolted into your gut when you attempted to fidget, and a whine nearly tore itself from between your cracked lips.

“Don’t try to move,” you heard a rough voice, “stay still as best you can.”

“Mingyu?” You croaked, reaching upward to stroke his cheek. 

His fingers coiled gently around your wrist, bringing the scars that were carved like ancient hieroglyphics to his lips. The second he pressed kisses to the old wounds, you smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake,” he rasped, his eyes soft, gleeful, “you fucking saved me, y’know? It’s because of you I’m still here, still breathing. All because of you.”

Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Wait… So, I’m not… dreaming?” 

Despite Mingyu’s earlier advisement to stay still, you forced your body upward, though you faced immediate repercussions as a jarring bolt struck you in the stomach. Mingyu attempted to make you relax once more, but you refused to listen to his cooing. Distant thunder rolled in the distance, and you could see a pale glow beaming behind the flossy clouds that shielded the sky. Seven o’clock was probably on the brink of arrival. You were still in the alleyway. Casting a glance toward your new wounds, you noticed that Mingyu had wrapped his jacket tightly around your waist.

“Now would be a good time for lots of gauze, right?” You smiled.

Mingyu settled his palm delicately at the back of your neck and pushed your lips together, a smile slowly dancing along his mouth as he felt your fingers thread through his locks. Just like Mingyu had predicted, a misty rainfall was spraying from the early morning sky, infinitesimal droplets of glass sitting upon his skin as though he were a springtime rose. You kissed his lips again, and again, and again, until the pain in your stomach became too much of a distraction and your head was falling to the crook of his neck. Stealing a glance around the alleyway, you couldn’t help but notice that Junhui and Yeeun’s bodies had been laid beside each other.

You thought about what Wonwoo had said.

Maybe where you’re going is different than where I’m about to go. One of life’s many mysteries, right?

Well, at least Junhui and Yeeun would share an eternal fate in the one place they truly belonged, and it wasn’t exactly a mystery where that place was either.

“Mingyu,” you reached for his shirt and gave it a small tug.

He peered down at you through the fanned arch of his lashes.

“Are you still in a lot of pain, baby? I wish I could take it all away from you. I’m sure the medical services will be here soon, I promi—“

“I love you.”

Mingyu stuttered over the humid air. “O-Oh – I, um, I – I love you too… But, I think you already knew that.”

A molten blush crawled up from the column of his neck and flushed throughout his face akin to a raspberry burn. Though it ached to giggle, you couldn’t evade in doing so, your eyes turned to crescent moons as more golden splashes of dawn light ebbed through the clouds. Somewhere in the distance, you no longer heard gunshots, incoherent slurs, riots and the skid of tires creating friction against pavement. You heard the whirr of emergency sirens and helicopter wings, medical services beginning to flood throughout the city like a creek. It was over. Mingyu was still tangible, warm, smiling whilst he pressed kisses against your forehead.

You don’t know how, but you survived the chaos, you survived Wonwoo and his ludic friend, Jihoon. You survived Yeeun and you survived Junhui.

You survived the Purge together.

✎ a/n: ugh. this is just one of those fics where you become v attached to the characters. i was able to write this quicker than expected (MINUS THE STUPID TWIST THAT STUMPED ME) bc i was truly invested in the plot, and i rly adored every moment of it. actually, this fic was supposed to be posted ages ago, i think last year? but last year was terrible in terms of my health and wellbeing, so i kinda forgot this fic existed as i went on my hiatus. anywho, in my opinion, the first purge film was the best.

i haven’t watched any of the newer purge movies tho, so they could be good! since im a horror/thriller fan, i liked the aspect of vulnerability the purge brought and how it forced ppl to invest in their capacity for violence, especially when the ppl they loved were involved. obviously - only for the fic lmao. bruh, during a real purge i am going to lock myself in the crawl space with a blanket and some cheerios. ALSO!!!! A HAPPY ENDING!!!!!! be proud of me!!!! this was an adventure!!! i hope you can enjoy the story as much as i!! hearing ur thots is appreciated as always!

[namgee]

implications | knj

❥pairing: Namjoon x Reader (f)   ❥genre: fluff, slice of life (pg) ❥word count: 2.3k ❥summary: The adventurer life isn’t for you. You like your routines and you stick to them, but a small mess-up finally forces you beyond your desired level of social interaction as you rely on a stranger. A stranger whose actions and words imply things you wish to explore. ❥warnings: none  ❥a/n: this was just a quick little thing I wrote a few days ago before I got started on another smut fic which should come out in about a week 😋 ^^ I did a quick proofread so sorry for any mistakes 😣

A silence that sounds with turning pages, graphite scraping against thick paper and the ever present hums that arise from thought. Your ears anticipate it even before you're there. It’s, for the most part, the same soundscape you’ve grown accustomed to since you started visiting the art atelier. Well, the building technically has multiple ateliers, whatever your artistic interest, for a reasonable fee each month, you can visit the space and use their resources. Each floor focuses on certain subject areas, people are allowed to move around and work wherever they want. Like a Google workspace except for the arts.

You usually stick to the 4th floor, where most of the graphics tools are. The elevator dings, you step away from the metallic box and towards the senior part-time receptionist, Diane, who gives unsolicited artistic advice under the guise that old age equates to prowess in art criticism. The advice isn’t half as bad as you expected still, you rarely take it. You place your folder on the desk giving her a smile, teeth barely visible, it’s the best iteration of ‘a lady should always smile when talking to others’ smile you can muster with your lips chapped from the borderline glacial air you had to walk through this afternoon.

“Well, hello young lady! You haven’t visited the establishment in a while. Mateo has been asking about you actually.”

Mateo is the head of the graphic art department who you might or might not like, there’s still a few weeks left for you to decide. Your roommate, Jovian, had given you the ultimatum, “You have until you finish whatever creature you’re trying to collage together this time around,” she had said waving her half painted stiletto nail around before diverting her attention to another girl who also seemed to be having a hard time choosing as her family and in laws attempted to decide for her. On one thing you were sure, you would have said no to the dress she had on.

“There we have it! That’s a much better smile that one you gave before. It’s always best to show some teeth,” Diane says, her two row of teeth (some of which look awfully fake) in full display.

“I’ll sure think about it next time Diane. I’m just here to check in right now,” you sigh, removing your decaying gloves which have lost their purpose, your fingers are about as stale as Diane’s as you fish around for your membership card in your wallet.

“The time please darling.”

“3pm to 8pm,” you say blowing warm air into your palms.

It takes a few minutes for her to find your name in the system. “Oh sweetheart, it seems someone else already took your spot.”

“Exactly how did they take my spot?”

“Hmmm,” Diane’s eyes lift upwards as she tries to find an answer in the air, “to be quite frank with you I do not know.” She sounds shocked that she doesn’t know something.

“Uh, excuse me?” Someone questions from behind you. You both turn towards the voice coming from a golden haired man sporting what is most likely the best variant of the fully toothed lady smile Diane advocates for. To make matters even better it’s shaped like a heart. “I believe that I was the one who took the spot.” he giggles nervously as if caught red-handed before sliding his own card onto the desk.

You assume he’s here to work with graphics for some sort of fashion related purpose, in fact he sort of looks like the graphics plastered around the building: colourful, bold, warm but still a bit overwhelming.

“You’re indeed the one who booked the slot first, young man.”

“I believe that this is what the trainer for my position was referring to as a glitch in the system.” Diane says with an air of pride.

“Hm, sorry about that,” The human embodiment of a colour wheel says with an apologetic pout.

“Oh, don’t worry I’m sure I can find another place, it isn’t your fault,” you wave your hand around giving him your second or third genuine smile of the day. He mumbles a shy ‘okay’ before heading right, away from you.

“Can you see if there’s any place on the other floors?” You reluctantly ask, after all you had never gone to other floors unless it was to buy snacks because the queues on the 4th floor were too long or to find unoccupied bathrooms.

Diane finds you an opening for the floor above. You thank her and move back to catch the elevator doors right before they close, swiftly slipping in towards a surprised figure, a big figure. You mumble a quick apology after bumping into him. When you turn your head to look at him he gives you what you assume to be his own equivalent of the barely noticeable smile you gave Diane a few minutes ago.

The ride takes a few seconds. You rush out the second the opening of the doors is big enough for you slip past if you just take a deep breath in. Another second goes by where you feel disoriented. The floor layout is not that different from the one beneath but the place looks far more cramped than what you expected. Don’t writers like to be alone? In their own space?

You watch as Mr. Big gives yet another one of his glances, you haven’t figured out how to describe them yet, you don’t know if you’re being judged or just being perceived or whatever it is that writers do.

He goes to the right, so you take the other way. You peruse the space for a place you could sit down to work on your project. Somehow, the writers with their notebooks and laptops seem stingy about letting you settle down despite how packed the floor already is.

For every glance you take at a potential working spot you receive three glances and these ones you know to be of the judgy kind. You walk and walk only to end up on square one. Just to make sure, you do another round and another one as if you were in a full parking lot waiting for one of the cars to magically pull out for you to get a place. By your third tentative walk, the one where you put the most effort to seem approachable and nice, someone takes pity on you.

It seems it’s not only his stature that is big but so is his heart.

“Oh god, thank you!” You sigh, sliding into Mr. Big’s little corner which faces backwards from the café.

“It was starting to look... sad.” He gives you a brief look before focusing back on his laptop screen.

“It wouldn’t have been, if you writers were more welcoming,” you scoff, shrugging off your jacket, the rustling brings your actions to his focus.

A delicate slender hand pushes against his glasses as he leans back, “You’re quite the daredevil, huh?”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, slipping past closing elevator doors and sitting down to probably do something noisy with a lot of... “ He takes a look at your stash of materials, “things while surrounded by silence seeking writers. Those things make me say that.”

“That’s a very boring view on action. Also the concept of this building is literally to allow anyone to work anywhere.”

“Sure, you’re right but just because that’s their goal doesn’t mean it turns out that way. This place is no different from high school, certain spaces have been sort of ‘claimed’.”

“And you expect me to act like a good teenage girl and not start trouble?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Aren’t you a writer? You should know certain words can imply certain things,” you say matter of factly and receive a disjointed but delightful laugh as his hand fists to cover his wide smile.

“Anything else you know about writers that you would like to share?”

“You might end up making a character out of me, or a scene out of my situation.” You’re playing on stereotypes but for all you know they could be true. You lay out your material on the table forcing him to scoot a bit. He doesn’t protest and you appreciate that, so you give me a genuine tight lipped ‘thank you’ smile.

“So what are you doing?” He asks, lowering his computer screen a bit.

“A collage.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t really know yet. I’m just figuring it out as I go.” You stare at the big pile of magazines, newspapers and flyers you managed to collect over the past month. Something has to come out of it. “What about you?”

“Pretty similar actually, I just came here to write, figuring it out as I go you know.” He picks up a piece of paper nearest to him, a green flyer. “Do you even know what it says?” He holds it up to you. The text is in Arabic.

“No, I don’t.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know? I mean the work will be tied to you.” He questions.

“It doesn't matter, it’s not like anyone will see this,” you mumble, snatching the flyer from him.

“Someone should, I don’t know much about collages, actually I know nothing, but I like what I see so far.”

“What exactly do you see?” You probe.

“Ummm… uhhhh… it’s– there’s branches and,” he leans over to get a better look and hesitates “tentacles? Okay, so maybe I don’t know what it is, but I still stand by it. It’s nice to look at.”

“Would you give it as a gift to someone?” You probe even further.

“You know what, I’m just trying to tell you I like it. Like I would totally buy it! So yes, I would give it to someone, myself!” He has an overly cheery voice that encourages more glances your way. The more you look, the more you start thinking they’re watching you and not judging.

“How much?”

He gives you an incredulous expression, he seems both intrigued and confused with behaviour.

You snort a short laugh, “I’m just messing with you. But don’t get me wrong if you do want to buy it then I’m definitely taking offers.”

At that he retreats back into himself and his silence to focus on the blank document page. You shrug it away, you knew his words were too good to be true.

The two of you work in relative silence, your ripping and cutting does add a bit of a soundtrack for the period of time. After an hour or so of working, you move to buy a cinnamon bun, and while you’re at it you buy a second one. You did feel a bit apologetic for disturbing his workspace, you of all people should know.

You place his plate beside him but he’s too engrossed into his writing to provide any response. He does finally whisper a shy ‘thanks’ once he lifts his gaze from the screen. You answer with a nonchalant but truthful ‘no biggie’.

The hours bleed into themselves and soon enough your allocated time is about to run out. You’re quite used to that routine,packing up your material well in time to leave. However, the man in front of you doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of time. Last minute, he hurries to assemble his belongings, swiftly turning around to check that he hasn’t left anything behind, almost knocking down the plate that you manage to catch.

Your elevator ride to the bottom floor is as silent as the one you had earlier. You walk with synchronised strides somehow following the same way after you leave the building. You’re sure one of you is following the other, but as long as you’re concerned you’re taking the way back home. You walk in silence for a few more minutes before you think of asking him where he lives, just to make sure but he beats you to speaking.

“So uhhh, would–” he starts off in a high pitched voice which he masks with a cough, “I meant, would you like to grab a coffee?”

“At 8pm?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Or a drink?” He suggests.

“What does coffee or a drink mean?”

“I thought you were good at getting the implications of certain words.” He smirks, which seems out of character, but then again you don’t know him. You’re just curious about something first.

“What did you end up writing?”

“A short story about an avid museum visitor that discovers a collage at an exhibition that has him intrigued.” He chuckles knowing very well it just proves your point. And you smile satisfied to have finally figured out what that particular glance of his meant. He was just taking you in.

“It’s Y/N by the way,” you would have reached out your hand towards him but they’re cold so you compensate with a warm smile Diane would approve of. “And I wouldn’t mind a drink right now.”

“I’m Namjoon and I’m very happy you said that” He punctuates his excitement with a dimple. The same one you would come to grow enamoured with, so much you would make a collage piece out of all the pictures you’ve taken where it is present. In return, he would, just as he did today, unconsciously and deliberately write your works into his stories, and welcome you into his space.

“By the way, when you let me sit with you in your space, were you claiming me then?” You ask out of curiosity and urge to mess with him.

“I– I don’t know what you’re implying. But if you mean me taking pity on you then yes.” You scoff a bit too loud at his response. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to whatever it is you have in mind,” He says, looking down at your quizzical expression with warm eyes and a restrained laugh as he walks closer to you. It seems you’re not the only one who’s good with implications.

thank you for reading my fic, i hope you enjoyed it 🥺 any feedback or comment is welcomed !!

all rights reserved namgee

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Butterfly Estate Zine! Spoilers for later events in the manga, for anime-onlys.

…

…

…

…

Shinobu pressed her fingers against the coin, feeling the imprint of the hard edges on her skin. Even in the warm, spring sunlight, the metal felt cold. “Kanae gave this to you, right?” she asked, idly turning it over on her palm.

 Standing next to her, Kanao nodded her head slowly. “To help me decide,” she explained, a fond smile on her face. There was a hint of sorrow in her expression, something Shinobu saw in the mirror whenever she thought of her sister. It was less than it was yesterday, less than it was a year ago, and while it would be ever present, the pain had eased.

 Shinobu glanced at her younger sister. A chill breeze blew through, ruffling her hair and the butterfly clasp keeping her locks together. Would she wear a second one, when Shinobu died? A memento from both sisters? Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Shinobu closed her hand around the coin. “Despite how she acted, she always knew what to do.”

 Kanao clasped her hands in front of her, nodding. “She did.” Peeking up, she added shyly, “And so do you.”

“Do I?” Shinobu questioned, looking up at the Wisteria trees that bordered her estate. Their sickly-sweet scent lingered in the air, the purple blooms fluttering in the wind, and even after all this time, Shinobu couldn’t get used to their scent. She felt small and impermanent in comparison to the eternally blooming giants. The problem she faced was bigger than her, almost as old as the trees themselves.

 A part of her feared it would continue long after she was gone.

 A soft touch brought her out of her thoughts and she looked down to find Kanao’s hand wrapped around hers. In front of her, her sister uttered simply, “Yes.”

 For once, Kanao looked self-assured, no doubt colouring her voice. Shinobu swallowed. It was wrong of her to lean on Kanao so much, to need this confidence. Despite herself, she raised her other hand, sandwiching Kanao’s between hers. “I guess you’re right,” she finally said, keeping her voice from cracking.

 This settled it. Any reservations she had about her idea, Shinobu let go. Her time was limited. It had always been the case, ever since she’d picked up her sister’s sword. No, even before that, when her parents had died, when she’d taken the Master’s hand, her body trembling from fear. It was just more so now; she knew her expiration date better than most.

 Only, this wasn’t just revenge. It couldn’t be. Not when Kanao was standing in front of her, love and belief shining through her eyes.

 No, this was about protecting. About keeping her family, however small it was now, safe.

 “Thanks.” Shinobu pulled her hand free. The coin was still on her hand, heavy as ever.

 “Do you need to make a decision?” Kanao asked, her eyes flickering from the coin to Shinobu.

 “I guess. Heads, I’ll do it.” Shinobu flipped the coin, watching the bronze gleam in the sunlight. She already knew what side it’d land.

 Tomorrow, she’d talk to the Master about the Wisteria poison.

 -x-

 “AHHHH!” Tanjirou roared, his sword high in the air as he charged forward. Shinobu could almost see the rush of an incoming wave, the clash against the rocks when he struck. If Giyuu’s technique had the tranquility of a pond, Tanjirou’s was the aggressive stream coursing ever forward.

 And she was the water spider, gliding above it all. She jumped, flipping through the air and landing behind him. Unable to change his course or stop his momentum, Tanjirou crashed into one of the trees surrounding the training grounds. He rolled backwards, falling flat on his back.

 “Good effort,” she praised, tucking a lock behind her ear as she bent over him.

 “T-thanks,” he wheezed. He lay there and tried to catch his breath.

 “You’re getting better.” Shinobu lifted her right arm and inspected her uniform. Poking her finger through the hole he made, she chuckled. All this from a boy who just learned to keep his breathing constant. “You’re a quick learner.”

 Tanjirou’s eyes lit up and he sat up quickly. “Really?”

 “Really,” she nodded, humming her agreement.

 “G-great.” He’d moved too quickly, and his body struggled to keep him upright before giving up entirely. Falling flat on his back, he closed his eyes and sighed happily. “I can try again in a minute.”

 There was something utterly refreshing about his earnestness and honesty. It reminded her a little of Rengoku. Maybe she should have them meet properly after this. Sitting next to him on the cool, wet grass, she leaned back and enjoyed the cool breeze. “It’s fine, take your time.”

 “Thanks.” His breathing had yet to even out.

 Glancing over to her right, she observed their audience on the veranda. Hidden in the shade, Nezuko was watching them curiously, her pink eyes bright despite the gloom. Kiyo was sitting behind her, braiding her hair, while Sumi and Naho neatly folded their laundry. At first, they’d run away at the sight of her, but now, they looked almost too relaxed next to her.

 Nezuko. A demon that didn’t hunger. Shinobu’s eyes flicked back to the panting Tanjirou. “You’re going to kill Muzan for her,” she asked without thinking.

 Tanjirou’s eyes flew open and he stared at her in surprise.  “How…”

 She chuckled. “It’s not like you hide it.” Or, even if he tried, could hide it well. Tanjirou was far too frank for deception.

 “R-right.” Tanjirou gave a sheepish smile, his cheeks colouring a light red. No doubt he was remembering past declarations of Muzan’s death. He sat up slowly and waved to Nezuko. “It’s the only way to save her.”

 Shinobu imagined her expression was the same whenever she looked at Kanae—tender, soft, a little sad. Picking a strand of grass, she methodically tore it to pieces. “You could die.”

 “I won’t,” he replied immediately, filled with the confidence of youth. For a moment, she believed him. There was something in Tanjirou that she hadn’t seen in ages, a hopeful belief in the future mixed with a tragic understanding of the present.

 Perhaps Muzan could be defeated in her lifetime.

 Still, wishes didn’t make things so, and Shinobu tossed the grass pieces at him. “You could die,” she repeated firmly.

 Tanjirou looked at her now. Recognizing the seriousness of the question, he frowned, crossing his arms as he considered it. “I…” He lowered his eyes, taking a deep breath before offering a sad smile. “That doesn’t matter. Nezuko’s family; I have to try, no matter what.” Once more, he looked at his sister. “She’d do the same for me.”

 “That, I can understand.” Even now, she could smell the Wisteria, hear the click of her nail flipping the coin. Kanae’s blood had been so warm, her body so cold. There were things you did for family, no matter the cost, and she found herself looking for Kanao even though she wouldn’t be here. “There are some things more important than your life.”

 “Yeah.” Tanjirou nodded.

 Shinobu turned to him, sizing him up. He’d survived grief, managed to stand even when sorrow threatened to swallow him whole. Kanao would need someone like that when she died. Selfishly, she asked, “Would you be friends with Kanao?”

 His eager nod eased the load on her shoulders ever so slightly.

 -x-

 Sitting on the porch, Shinobu gently swirled the sake in her cup. It was a rare night she got to relax, to just sit here and admire the night sky. The moon hung low in the heavens, full and heavy, and the gentlest of breezes rustled through the grass.

 Behind her, quiet footsteps approached her and she smiled. “I thought you didn’t like drinking,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder as Giyuu stepped out into the moonlight.

 “I don’t,” he stated, slowly sitting down next to her. As usual, his blank expression and dry tone gave away nothing.

 “Could have fooled me,” she muttered, taking a sip. She wasn’t quite sure when this had started, this almost-habit of late-night drinking. At some point, he’d started joining her when she relaxed and watched the moon. At some point, she’d stopped minding it.

 “I don’t think anyone could fool you,” he answered bluntly, his eyes on the moon.

 She chuckled. For a man who didn’t know how to joke, he was constantly unintentionally funny. “No, I suppose not.” Her wits were the only thing that made up for her stature. Leaning forward, she smiled teasingly. “So did you miss my company or the view while you were away?”

 Giyuu’s brow furrowed, the only indication that he was frowning. He fell silent, more so than usual, and she hadn’t expected him to consider her question so seriously.

 Perhaps she should let him off easy this time. It had been a while since they’d last sat together like this and despite her attitude, she did enjoy his company. Somehow. It wouldn’t do to scare him away. “You don’t—”

 “Both,” Giyuu finally admitted.

 “—have to…” Shinobu trailed off, blinking as she processed his answer. Staring at him, she tried not to gape. “Both?”

 He merely nodded. Nothing about his straight back, the profile of his blank face, or even his hands, neatly tucked into the opposite arm’s sleeves, gave away his emotions.

 Both. Shinobu bit her lip, stopping herself from asking what exactly he meant by that. Did he like this quiet hour together too? Did he just miss the calm of it all? And would it be worth the frustrating hours of trying to pull the words from his lips?

 No, definitely not. Still, in a rare moment of honesty, she smiled into her cup. “Me too.”

 He glanced at her when she said that but still said nothing.

 She swirled her sake once more. The moon’s reflection rippled in the clear liquid. Butterflies danced in the nearby wisteria trees and even when she died, that scent would follow her to her grave. Taking advantage of the atmosphere, she asked, “Why did you spare Tanjirou and Nezuko?”

 From the corner of her eyes, she watched as he bit his lip, his frown growing deeper as he grappled with an answer. After a long silence punctuated only by the soft chirp of the cicadas, he finally answered, “She protected him.”

 “That was unusual for a demon,” she agreed. His expression was dark and she wondered if that reminded him of some incident in his past, some haunting memory he hadn’t finished wrestling with. For all her talk about becoming friends with demons, she would have killed Nezuko on the spot. Almost had, in fact, if not for the Master’s intervention.

 And now this unusual demon and her brother could be the very key to ending centuries worth of conflict. She set down her sake, no longer thirsty. “They’re going to come for her soon.” Shinobu could almost feel it. The new training, the Master’s changed tactics, everything was coming to a head.

 Her days were numbered. A year’s worth of poison had to be enough to bring the demon down. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, she’d have to tell Kanao. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

 “Yeah.” Giyuu nodded, finally looking at her. “We’ll be ready.”

 Shinobu raised a brow. “That’s surprisingly hopeful of you.” He didn’t say anything but she had a feeling it was Tanjirou’s influence.

 Something started changing after Tanjirou had arrived, and it wasn’t just the demons who’d transformed. She heard the quiet clink of a coin, saw gold flipping against the bright blue sky. The coin would land, the die set, and there was no time to say it but now. Fiddling with her sleeves, Shinobu asked quietly, “Could you take care of Kanao?” Impassive eyes stared at her and she smiled, giving nothing away. “If something happens,” she clarified.

 “No,” he answered just as bluntly as he normally did.

 “How cruel.” Shinobu sighed.

 “She has you,” Giyuu continued, as steady as a river, and for all the deaths they’d experienced, it seemed hers had never crossed his mind.

 Shinobu took pride in the compliment. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt him too much when he found out he was wrong. “She does.”

 There was a small gap between them, a space that had shrunk in the past years. She wondered if it would have disappeared in the coming months, if their fingers would have overlapped and thighs brushed one another.

 A question she’d never know the answer to. She felt sadder at that than she’d thought.

 -x-

 The demon’s strikes were harder than she’d expected. Shinobu lay on the wooden platform, gasping as she tried to breathe. Her ribs were cracked, a trickle of blood escaping her lips, and she barely had the energy to open her eyes, let alone grab her sword.

 No wonder he was an upper moon. He was far too strong, and she couldn’t kill him with her weapon.

 She’d hoped and hoped, but it seemed there was no wiggling out of her fate.

 Shinobu, Kanae stood by her head, her expression sad. You know what to do.

 Shinobu closed her eyes. Somewhere, a coin glinted in the sun, flipping through the air. Somewhere, the wisteria trees perfumed the air with their sticky, sweet scent. If she were honest, she’d made her decision long before that. The second she’d picked up her sister’s abandoned sword, rage swirling in her petite body, she’d known one way or another this was her destiny.

 Grabbing her sword, Shinobu took a deep breath. Maybe she should have closed that gap, reached over and grabbed Giyuu’s hand. Or prepared Kanao better, there were so many things she’d wanted to teach her.

 Damn it all, she thought she’d prepared herself for this, but there were so many things she wanted to do, to say. Her sister stared down at her and Shinobu hoped she wasn’t disappointed that she was going to die the same way she had.

 “Is that all?” Doma sighed, his voice grating her ears.

 “No,” she gritted out, forcing herself to stand.

 It was too late for regrets.

 The coin had landed heavily, the symbol digging into her skin. Heads, she had declared, her heart heavy with resignation. I guess I’ll do it.

 Shinobu raised her sword and charged.

[gaygryffindorgal]

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Summary: The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has some extracurricular activities in mind, and Ben struggles with the events of last year.

Pairings: Eventual OC/Merula Snyde

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mild swearing, canon typical mean Merula

Previous / Next

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Their first class of the year was DADA, and that made Verna extremely nervous. Rowan had made it clear they didn’t think Rakepick could be trusted. In their words, she had been shifty at best and suspicious at worst last year when she had worked with Verna. Rowan was not happy about Rakepick’s appointment as a professor and that made Verna uneasy too. She had always known Rowan had far better judgement than her, and most days Charlie and Ben agreed with that sentiment. So, after breakfast, when the Gryffindors were filing into the DADA classroom, the mood between the four friends was not over the moon. Rakepick was already in the classroom, writing something at her desk. The class went through some major decorative changes each year when a new teacher took it over. It had become routine by now. For Rakepick, the theme seemed to be artifacts of various sizes and ages, that were spread all over the room on pedestals and tables, cabinets and other surfaces.

“Cursed items,” Rowan noted, when they took their seats.

“A niffler,” Verna replied, pointing out Sickleworth, Rakepick’s niffler whom she had had an unlikely partnership with last year, while investigating the Sleepwalking curse.

That was when Professor Rakepick got up from her seat, cleared her throat and snapped her wand, closing the classroom door and making writing appear on the blackboard in front of the class.

“Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she announced, in a tone that implied not a small amount of unimpressedness. “I realize I am your fifth instructor in as many years, and that most of your other teachers’ methods were as questionable as their characters.”

Next to Verna, Rowan balled their hands into fists. They obviously had a thing or two to say about that.

“This year, I am not only going to teach you how to defend yourselves, but how to attack the Dark Arts,” Rakepick continued. “You will receive the finest instruction from someone who has actually faced the worst the Dark Arts have to offer.”

Something about the speech did make Verna listen. She couldn’t deny being interested in learning combat spells, the more the better, because she was sure to need them. From the corner of her eye, she also saw Merula listening intently. This year was gonna be another one spent trying to beat Merula to the top of their class. DADA was pretty much the only subject where she had any chance at all. Usually, it was Rowan and Merula vying for the title, but Verna wasn’t hopeless when it came to duelling and martial magic.

“They say this position is cursed,” Rakepick was saying now. “But breaking curses is what I do best. Now let’s get started, take out your books.”

~

After a whole class spent on how to deal with Ghouls, Verna was feeling much better about DADA. Maybe Rakepick wasn’t going to be so bad. Rowan didn’t feel the same way.

“She might know what she’s talking about, but she has no teaching experience, and I still don’t trust her after the way she dealt with you last year Verna,” they were saying, a little heated. “I think you should be careful if she decides to ask something from you, or… something…”

“Don’t you think you’re maybe overreacting a little bit?” asked Charlie.

“I agree with Rowan,” Ben inserted. “I don’t like her either.”

“We’ll be careful,” Verna assured her friends. “But Dumbledore must’ve had a reason hiring her.”

“Yeah, that’s true… I don’t know, I just don’t like this…” Rowan said and slowly the conversation turned to more casual matters, such as Barnaby Lee’s new pet crup puppy. The general consensus seemed to be that it was extremely cute.

~

After the day’s classes Verna was officially introduced to one Percy Weasley in the library. She and Charlie headed there to get started on charting out how much cramming they’d have to do for their O.W.L.s, only to find Bill and Percy already there, both noses buried deep in books, a scrappy-looking rat sitting on the table next to their study-material.

“Oh, hi Verna,” Bill said with a smile. “Did you two come to actually study?” The surprise in his voice was neither flattering nor unexpected.

“We came to plan on studying,” Verna told Bill, as she and Charlie sat down.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Bill chuckled and then patted Percy on the shoulder. “Percy, this is Verna.”

“I know,” Percy said in a manner that seemed much too adult-like for an 11-year-old. “She gave us a rather short introduction of Gryffindor common room last night, but I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself, I’m Percy Weasley, future prefect, Head Boy, and Minister for Magic.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Percy, sounds like you have your future pretty well planned out,” Verna said and emulated her tone and smile to Beatrice from the previous night, with wildly different results. It appeared Percy was not a fan of hers.

“If you let him, he’ll plan your life for you, too,” Bill said, amused.

“This is my loyal rat, Scabbers,” Percy continued.

“Loyal?” asked Charlie. “It runs off every chance it gets.”

“There’s something off about that rat, yeah…” Bill agreed.

“Ron likes him!” Percy defended his pet.

“Ron’s eight, he likes everything except for spiders,” Charlie complained. Both of the older Weasleys seemed to have such a weird aversion for poor Scabbers that Verna felt bad for it.

“I have a rat too; his name is Hamish. He actually belonged to my brother, but I’ve been taking care of it in his absence.”

This seemed to appeal to Percy, whose tone towards Verna changed a little, when he said: “That’s really kind of you, to take care of your brother’s pet.”

Verna considered this a victory.

~

Their study session was cut short, when Professor Rakepick approached their table something like thirty minutes into Verna and Charlie trying to figure out what exactly to focus most on.

“Mr. Weasley,” she started, and all three of the Weasleys replied with an immediate ‘yes?’.

Verna stifled a laugh.

“William Weasley,” Rakepick specified. “Come with me. You too Miss Malinda, we have work to do.”

Exchanging a glance with Charlie, and Rowan’s misgivings about Rakepick running on a loop in her head, Verna followed Bill and the professor out of the library.

“What is this about?” she whispered to Bill.

“No idea, I guess we’ll find out soon, though…”

 ~

Rakepick took them up to her classroom, where Merula Snyde was already sitting on one of the desks, preoccupied with changing the colour of her painted nails to pay much attention to Verna and the others entering. Verna wasn’t happy to see her. Whatever Rakepick had in mind seemed to involve Merula, and that was never good news.

“Cease your activities Miss Snyde, we have important matters to discuss,” Rakepick commanded, and Merula immediately jumped down from the desk and stood straight. Verna and Bill walked up next to her as Rakepick went on to stand beside the teacher’s desk. She was tall and had a bearing of someone accustomed to commanding respect. Verna found it quite easy to believe she was capable of handling anything that was thrown at her. That’s how I want to be, she thought briefly.

“Congratulations you three. Of all the students at Hogwarts, I’ve chosen you to be my apprentice curse-breakers. Mr Weasley for his bravery and determination, Miss Snyde for her ambition and strength, and Miss Malinda for her natural talent, and obvious connection to the cursed vaults.”

“Why is Merula here?” Verna asked without missing a beat. She was not about to compromise her chances of rescuing her brother for the sake of Merula’s ambitions. She knew by now that Merula would never sacrifice her chances of getting whatever power and knowledge the vaults could give her, not for Jacob’s sake, not for anyone’s.

“Because she is a powerful witch and you’d be a fool not to accept her help, after all, I had to save you from Mr Copper’s attack just months ago.”

Merula remained quiet but gave Verna a smug grin.

“Enough. We need each other’s help to find the next vault and end its curse before anyone gets hurt,” Rakepick said. “I’m going to train you so that you can be more of a help than a hindrance to me, starting with the Incarcerous spell. Wands out!”

 ~

The three of them spent the next three hours attempting to learn the Binding spell with Rakepick’s instruction. She was a good teacher. Strict, demanding, but very clear in the way she instructed them, not leaning on any extra flash, just taking the simplest route to the desired outcome. Unsurprisingly, Bill was the first one to nail the spell. He had two years’ worth more experience and had always been talented. When Verna finally managed to cast the spell on Merula, she felt a sense of accomplishment far greater than if they had used training dummies. The spell conjured ropes that wound tightly around Merula, trapping her arms and binding her legs together. She wobbled for a while and then stumbled to the floor with a grunt. Verna couldn’t help but grin.

“Verna, I don’t think she can breathe…” Bill interrupted her victorious train of thought.

“Oh, shit,” Verna cursed. “Finite Incantatem!” she pointed her wand towards Merula and the ropes around her unbound. “Are you alright?” she asked despite herself.

“Of course, Malinda, mind your own business,” Merula spat, looking more hurt by the audacity of Verna asking her if she was okay. She got up and dusted off her ropes, avoiding looking at any of them.

Rakepick cleared her throat and said: “This is a valuable lesson; we are a team now. A family. No matter what happens, we must protect one another. Do you understand?”

With a sideways glance at Merula, Verna nodded. She hadn’t had this good of a chance to finding any of the previous vaults. Rakepick was an accomplished curse-breaker and now it started to make sense why she had singled out Verna the previous year. Maybe she had already known she’d work here this year and need Verna’s expertise with stopping another curse roaming the halls of Hogwarts. That was something good to tell Rowan, at least, to put their mind on ease.

“And the rest of you?” asked Rakepick with impatience.

“Of course,” Bill said immediately.

Merula eyed both of them with nothing short of disgust and then said: “Fine.”

“Good, then that’s all for tonight, you can go.”

 ~

Rakepick ushered them out of her class, and the three of them were left standing in the empty, darkening corridor. Verna had no idea about the time, but she guessed it was quite late and that they most definitely had missed dinner.

“So that was kind of… strange,” Bill said, but he sounded more excited than anything.

“Finally, someone is doing something in this school,” scoffed Merula.

“And I don’t want you or your megalomania getting in the way of saving my brother,” Verna exclaimed.

“Don’t worry Malinda, you finally have capable people helping so there’s a chance you won’t fuck this up.”

“Fuck off Merula.”

The shorter girl laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the sound. “You like to pretend you’re above the rest of us with your little mission to save your brother, but let’s face it; you’re just scared to admit you like feeling special. You want what’s inside those vaults just as much as me.”

“Shut your mouth about my brother,” Verna snarled. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Of course you’re not, cause I’m not pathetic.”

Verna instinctively reached for her wand and Merula did the same, taking a threatening step closer.

“Verna, we should… probably go… now,” Bill interrupted and placed himself between the two girls. He then proceeded to practically drag her towards the Gryffindor common room by the arm.

~

“I had it under control,” Verna said once they were out of earshot.

“Maybe, but I’d rather not take either one of you to the hospital wing in several different pieces.”

“Fine, yeah, you’re right or whatever… She just gets on my nerves.”

Bill gave her a curious look Verna couldn’t quite place, and then said: “Yeah, I know. You shouldn’t let her get to you that much, it’s what she wants.”

“I know, it’s infuriating.”

“You’re gonna have to be able to work together somehow, though.”

Verna frowned. “I’m not risking my brother’s, or anyone else’s life because of some school rivalry, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Bill said and then stopped. “Is that… Ben?” he asked and pointed to an alcove not far from where they were standing. It was dark so he was partly concealed in shadows, but when he heard his name, he looked towards them.

“Oh, hi Verna, Bill…”

“What are you sitting out here for?” Verna asked and went to her friend. Ben looked rough, like he hadn’t slept.

“I wanted to be alone and there’s always someone in the common room or the dorm…”

“Oh, sorry, I can go- “

“No, actually, can I talk to you for a second, Verna… I…” he trailed off and looked at Bill apologetically.

“I’ll go on ahead, don’t stay out long though,” Bill said reassuringly. Then he walked off to the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

“What did you want to talk about?” asked Verna and sat on the bench in the alcove next to Ben.

For a moment, Ben didn’t look like he was going to answer. Verna had the sudden urge to hug him, but she didn’t move, fearing that Ben would change his mind and leave like last night. Finally, he cleared his throat and stammered: “I’m scared that someone’s gonna take control of me again, and make me do something worse, or that I already have but I just can’t remember.”

He really was in a state. Gently, Verna laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll work this out, you don’t have to deal with all this shit on your own, Ben, I’m the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“I still don’t remember what really happened before I attacked you… Do you… do you really believe me? That I was controlled?”

“I promise you that I do, please at least stop worrying about that,” Verna assured him. Ben huffed out a breath and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Thank you, Verna, I don’t know if I’d be as understanding if I was in your shoes…”

Verna bit her lip. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but she couldn’t exactly blame Ben. Everything had gotten so messed up last year with Rowan and Ben arguing and Verna feeling like she was losing touch with them both. They used to all be so close and now every single interaction was laced with something like doubt. An uncertainty Verna wanted so badly to get rid of.

“We should head back to the common room before Filch finds us here, c’mon,” Verna said and got up.

Ben stood to follow and they were about to head after Bill, when suddenly Ben grabbed Verna’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Look out!” he yelled and took out his wand but before he could so much as utter an incantation, a purple light hit him and knocked him to the side. Verna looked frantically for the source of the spell, and had her wand out in seconds, but she wasn’t fast enough either. Suddenly she felt her entire body stiffen up, as she was hit with what must’ve been the full body-bind curse. As she hit the ground quite painfully, she saw a hooded figure approach them from the shadows of the corridor. Desperately she tried to move, knowing full well it was not going to work. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as she lay there, helpless to do anything. The red-clad figure walked closer and kicked Verna’s wand out of her reach, as if it would’ve been any use for her in this state anyway.

“I told you death was coming to Hogwarts, Verna Malinda,” the figure said in a voice that was impossible to place or describe. It was modified with magic. “We still need you alive, but before this year ends, one of your friends has to die…”

Verna tried to focus on getting her fingers to move, to do something, anything. Her thoughts were a flurry of desperation and anger. The hooded figure leaned over Verna. She couldn’t make out a face or anything that could be used to recognize the attacker. Verna braced herself for something worse, but nothing happened. Instead, the figure stalked off, back into the shadows.

~

Verna was still trying to force her uncooperative muscles to move, when she saw Ben move in the corner of her eye. The boy sat up and Verna lost sight of him. She heard his footsteps and a muttered spell, and then felt her body able to move again. Without a second glance at Ben, Verna shot up like a lightning bolt, chasing into the direction the hooded person had disappeared to. She had to catch them, she had to. Her ears rang and when she looked down to her wand hand, it was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, fear, or both.

“Verna, wait!” she heard Ben’s voice, and footsteps echoing after her.

Of course, there was nothing and no one to find. Verna was getting sick of this. She balled her hands into fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. How could she have let the wizard incapacitate her like that? Ben caught up to her and Verna took notice of him now that she could think a little more clearly. He seemed fine, just a little rattled.

“Verna, hey, it’s okay,” Ben tried to reassure her, but it wasn’t okay. Someone had threatened to kill one of her friends. The thought made her chest feel like it was filled with water. The ease with witch this stranger had knocked both of them out of the game made Verna feel sick all over.

“This is bullshit.”

“Verna-“

She took a deep breath. “Are you alright?” she then asked Ben.

“Yeah, you?”

Verna nodded. “Do you think that was someone we know being used against us?”

“I don’t know to be honest… but we should head back now, before someone else attacks us…” Ben said and there was nothing to it, he was right. Verna knew she wasn’t going to find anything but trouble if she stayed here, so she followed Ben back to the Gryffindor common room.

[artificialqueens]

These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

[milky-maid-library]

Chapter 2: Dis aliter visum

Chapter Summary: Elizabeth wakes up in the Institute and learns quickly how they treat the patients with the help of new friends.

Please read these Warning tags: 18+, child abandonment, mentions of abuse, references to racism. Forced rehabilitation.

Notes: Dis aliter visum means “Fate had different plans” and this is a gift for @cursedcursingviking​

It was just darkness, a never ending black that Elizabeth was vaguely conscious to, wondering if she’d ever awaken. The sensation of floating was ruined as her body fell and kept falling, hitting her hard away on a uncomfortable mattress. A ripping breath of air tore her to sit up, sweat had soaked her skin, hair and the softness around her. Her palm pressed into her chest trying to control the painful stabs of her pounding heart. Eyes darted around the room, discovering she was no longer in the hospital. She was in a cubicle space. The bed she was sweating on was surrounded by three walls and a curtain, no roof… she swallowed down her hard before hesitantly climbing ontop the mattress and peering over the walls. She discovered a larger room, a grand hall almost. Rows of cubicles filled with single and bunk beds surrounded the area. She counted at least thirty cubicles that she could see.

All the beds were eerily empty, she was so alone, it felt cold. As she climbed down her mattress, she noticed the shapeless dress she was wearing and tennis shoes. The ugliest green puke colour, patterned with long sleeves and high neck buttons. And on her wrist was a shiny permanent metal wrist band with her name, date of birth and blood status carved into it. She felt unable to breathe, it was the middle of spring, it was starting to get hotter! Her fingers ripped open her neck collar, letting her breath.

And as she rolled up her sleeves the curtain ripped back to the image of a wrinkly faced nun….

“Good Morning,” she smiled cynically, her blue eyes icy cold, “Would you like some breakfast?”

She was something crossed between a Delores Umbridge and a testy crow.

Elizabeth was skeptical, scared and definitely fleetly looking for an escape. She couldn’t remember where they’d taken her except that it was a correctional facility. If she managed to look around for a exit it would be in her favour especially since she was sure she hadn’t eaten anything in the last twenty four hours almost.

“Come on now then girl,” the shrewd woman snapped and flicked her hand, “don’t dawdle.”

Elizabeth was quickly on her tail. Her thighs rubbed together and as she walked she knew right away that her underwear was not her own. It made her want to vomit. As the nun lead her out of the hall of beds, they trailed down a hall of doctor’s and nurses offices and rooms filled with kitchens, laundry rooms, art supplies and fake nurseries.

They passed a great symbol painted into the wall. A depiction of a pregnant woman cradling the Omega symbol in her arms while she wore a large smile and a blindfold to cover her eyes.

You and me too lady, Elizabeth inwardly smirked. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was in ‘Saint Selene’s School For Adolescent Omega’.

And then her heart fell when they passed a window. She could see outdoors. She did not see a single building other than the facilities; she saw a grand distance of trees and mountains…but that was not what took away her breath. A fence, a tall and long fence barred her in this place, the tops wrapped with barbed wire.

This place was just a pretty prison.

When she stopped and stared at the fence, she almost broke into sobs. The nun scolded her and tugged her away by her shoulder. She was currently dragged to twin doors and welcomed the vision of three massive tables where over a dozen girls sat and ate their food. They all suddenly stopped, all their loud chatter dying down to whispers and finger pointing.

The woman in the habit grinned at them all who stared at them, “Girls,” she announced shrilly, “I’d like to introduce a new member to our blessed home, Miss Elizabeth Hillard.”

Her claws unleashed her shoulder and gestured to the tables, a bowl of porridge seemed to miraculously sit in her hands, passing it to her, fuck I must be really drugged up, she didn’t always have that with her did she?

“Well then…” the nun said, “Why don’t you find a seat?” and walked off the moment Elizabeth looked for an empty space. As she paced down the aisles, not a single girl looked at her welcomingly. They gave her glares and whispers of “Her hair is so untamed, so un-omega.” And “She looks dirty and smells wild, bad omega, don’t talk to her.”

Elizabeth almost cried then and there when she noticed there was no one that was like her there. Only pale racist bitches….until she noticed a blonde girl, around her age, skinny as a rake curling her fingers for her to come closer.

“Hey new girl,” she laughed, “sit with us.”

By that point she didn’t care if she was alone, but the chance of an invite wouldn’t be ignored when she came to such an ominous place. When she sat beside the girl she understood that the other four with her were her friends.  

Chewing her lip, Elizabeth whispered to them, “Are...you all Omegas?”

Chatter of the other tables increased. The skinny girl cackled meanly and regarded to her and her friends, “Nah, Kylie’s an Alpha elf and Gen is a beta pixie and I’m an eleven fingered witch.” She smartly said wiggling her only ten digits. The other girls giggled and snickered crudely.

“Okay,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and leant back to leave, “‘yes’ would’ve been suffice.” Before another girl piped up over the gossiping crowds.

“What’s got you so hot new girl?” she winked her green eyes and flickered her ginger hair, “Didn’t like the results?” w

Sitting back Elizabeth stirred her cold porridge, mumbling, “I was meant to be an Alpha. But I’m now just a stupid Omega.”

“Easy with the mean words there, new girl,” snapped the girl with a toothpick between her teeth, “Did you think we chose to be Omega?”

Ouch, she never really took in account of Omega’s opinions growing up, knowing they would be the lowest of the low; she just assumed they enjoyed the thought of making babies.

Elizabeth flinched, a new side-effect of being an omega she suspected, “Sorry…”

“Hey, we get it,” The skinny girl scratched her blonde head, “Besides from what we heard, your parents abandoned you here? Talk of the town in here with the gossiping sisters. So you’ll be spending time with us during the summer break while all the other girls go home.”

Elizabeth blinked. Her parents really had abandoned her? After all these years of supposed unconditional love, they sent her away because of a gene she couldn’t control. She rubbed her eyes before any tears could fall. she didn’t feel like looking like a weakling in front of these girls.

“How many stay behind?”

“Including you?” she replied automatically, “Six.”

“Kylie,” she said pointing at a girl who was cleaning her nails and, her lips looked unnaturally dark pink against her olive skin. Her smock was the only one that looked nice on her. It fitted. Everyone’s looked too loose of too tight…

“Gen,” she then gestured to the smallest girl in the group, she had a soft face and full cheeks, bright eyes surrounded by round glasses and appeared the most excited to meet her despite not speaking a single word. She was closest appearance to a black girl compared to Elizabeth, but her loose hair and lighter skin with European features had her sceptical.

“Chip,” the finger directed to the green-eyed winking redhead with a hooked nose.

“Pepper,” was the most intimidating presence. Her eyes were deeply set in, her face was hard and sculpted with a sharp jaw, her teeth might’ve been yellow but that didn’t take away the message her toothpick gave. Her biceps were visible enough beneath the dress, Elizabeth wonder where her other muscles would be and how the hell did she get them? Down from her cheek to her chin, crossing over her lips was a nasty scar. Her short black hair was a poor haircut but that didn’t take away the threatening look she had.

“and me, I’m Legs.”

Out of almost a hundred girls, six remained? The rest had homes and families who cared and loved them. And even though she had a home…they didn’t love her enough to allow her back…her home was now these cold walls and sanitised floors.

She took a bite of her porridge and had little strength to swallow it. They all laughed at her screwed-up face and Chip slapped the table. Chip, Pepper….Legs?

“Are those your real names?” she heaved before pushing the bowl away.

“Fuck no,” Pepper huffed, “but it’s what we call eachother.”

The smallest, Gen proclaimed happily, “After living here for so long we tend to get a nickname.”

The longer she listened, the more she truly felt the ideals of a prison being inflicted….bad food, nicknames, solitary, uniforms.

“How long have you all been here?” Elizabeth looked around the table seeing their curious glances. She held hope, maybe after the summer her parents would gather their senses, she could manage 3 months.

“I have been here the longest,” said Legs, “Turned twenty, four months ago and I was dropped off when I was around seven, that was when they took in this age group. Now little ones go to ‘Camp Neoma for youngling Omega youth’.”

Gen tugged her sleeve and told Elizabeth, “Chip and I were dropped off within weeks of eachother when we were ten, now we’re eighteen, Pepper who’s nineteen got here two years ago.”

Chip wrapped her thick arm around Kylie who rolled her eyes while she chuckled, “And none of us are leaving this place unless we are twenty-one or if our parents come back to take us in. Kylie will be the first to leave since she got here at fifteen and she’ll be turning twenty-one in three months.”

“Absolute abandonment,” Kylie grinned while the rest of them giggled. It seemed they were excited for her freedom, but it only laid heavy on her mind, how long am I going to be forced to stay here?

Her throat tightened while tears accidently fell from her lashes….absolute abandonment… her parents were already there. Within seconds she wiped them up and looked to the ceiling, attempting to rub her eye and pretend it was just dirt in her eyes.

“So small fry,” Pepper prodded her with her spoon, “How old are you?”

“I um…I turned nineteen a month ago.”

“Damn it,” Gen whined, “I’m still the youngest.”

Kylie pulled in the smallest Omega and laid a kiss on her forehead, a fine lip mark appeared between the girl’s eyes. She then started to braid her hair and fix her collar, like a big sister… or a girlfriend. They kissed again, but on the lips before Chip jabbed Gen in the side and gestured to the nerving nuns stalk around the tables. They glared like starved hawks. When Elizabeth turned to look she could feel the unpleasantness of the dresses they were all wearing.

“D-do we have to wear these?” Elizabeth squirmed, scratching the back of her neck and her arms. Her bracelet was incredibly cold against her skin and whenever she moved it stung. Her senses to the new life had increased and she loathed every second.

“Yep,” Legs said, laying back, “Don’t worry, you grow used to it.  I mean you don’t have to choose, and stress about what you’re going to wear.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to get used to it, she wanted cotton, denim jeans or at least her own fucking underwear.  She shuddered, who even dressed her?

“Kylie suffered the harshest,” Gen giggled into Kylie’s shoulder. Kylie was running her fingers through her hair, attempting a perfect part. The two were soft, and borderline nauseating for her, yet the Omega in her yearned for some part of being looked after in a relationship.

Elizabeth figured she hadn’t stayed long enough to earn a title, but doing the math, surely…why did they all have them but, “Why don’t you have a nickname?”

“Kylie is my nickname,” she smirked and held out her polished hands, “My real name is Hannah, but I used to watch the Kardashians and reality tv like TLC religiously girl,” she whispered while a nun walked passed Elizabeth, “I have the best fashion sense out of everyone here including those guards.”

Elizabeth saw the hate in all their eyes, as their friend Legs explained, “Don’t trust any of the nurses or doctors, those fuckers act nice, but shit depending on your plan you’ll find out what kind of concentration camp this is.”

By all they’d told her, she was sure this was an official prison and with the sight of the fence that sent her into chills she accepted and agreed this was a place of hell.

“So….Legs?” Elizabeth dragged.

“We call Saddie ‘Legs’ since she’s the fastest,” Chips jerked her head to the side, “she’s gotten out, beyond the fence.”

Remembering back to the height and threatening barbed wire atop, Elizabeth’s eyes widened, “You’ve gotten out!?”

“Escaped and caught,” Legs chuckled proudly, fluffing her hair.

“…eleven goddamn times,” Pepper smirked, and sighed with a grimacing smile, “All to see some dumb fucking Alpha at Portia’s Penitentiary for Male Adolescent Alpha’s.”

Elizabeth gawked and kept think about the fence, if they could help her get out...but suddenly her head was spinning around, “I didn’t know Alphas had an institute,” she mumbled. What if she was an Alpha she could’ve still been thrown into an institution if her parents didn’t support her.

“They mostly put the boys who’ve tried to rape from their incontrollable restraints of their hormones and immunity to the basic suppressants you can buy at the counter,” Kylie explained.

“Except Isaac!” Legs defended, “He’s never raped anyone…he just…gets uncontrollably kinky and horny. Like me.”

Elizabeth gawked.

“Nasty slut,” Chips teased poking her tongue at Legs.

Legs scoffed, “Bitch.”

“Girls!” befell a booming tone, a deep solemn voice that had the hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck rising, “I hope I’m not hearing foul language being said in front of our new resident.” Prisoner. His thick hand curled onto of her shoulder, heavy and solidly threatening. She bit her lip, don’t interact.

“Hey Doc H!” Legs laughed “Nah,” and threw him a low high-five, she wiped her nose and shrugged while she warranted, “We’re just laying down the rules to the new girl…Like curfew…”

C-curfew?!

“Oh really?” he hummed staring at her.

“Yeah, good ol’ eight o’clock curfew for a four o’clock rise.”

The doctor laughed his head tilting back a slight.

Four o’clock? What the fuck is this place, the military?! This is undoubtedly a prison, Jesus!

“How’s our new resident feeling?” he asked, smiling down at Elizabeth.

She turned and held him in a might glare, her viperous tongue spat “How every girl feels being forced into an asylum without her consent, trapped and imprisoned.”

His smile did not faulter and that was something powerful…it stabbed her in the chest. He was not easily tempted to anger? Maybe she’d have to find another pen…He blinked and nodded slowly, that sickening, stomach dropping grin still on his face.

The silence was cold and the other girls shared side glances, even the other tables fell quieter to listen in.

“Docter H, what have you been up to lately,” Pepper commented brightly, the layer of dimmed joy grew back, “we haven’t seen you for so long!”

“Yeah, well I’m happy to tell you that I’ll be hanging around you more often. Oh and I got you something,” he bent down and whispered, “but I’ll give them to you tonight before lights out.”

He said something into Pepper’s ear and left, a giant smile stretched onto her lips. Like the cat that got the cream.  

Walking away Elizabeth leant back in her chair with a relaxed sigh, “Finally,”

“What’s wrong,” Legs murmured, “You and Doc H got bad chemistry or something?”

“He’s the asshole that put me here…” Elizabeth hissed.

“If he’s just an asshole, god help us from the other nurses and doctors, feral dogs they are. Doc H is doing his job but at least he makes time to make us feel human instead of just ‘Omega breeding stock and future wives’. You can’t trust any of the doctors in here, but he’s the least threatening.”

Threatening?!

Suddenly a whistle blew ear splittingly. Within seconds everyone was picking up their plates and standing up, walking from their tables. Shoving away from the table the five girls of the group rose from their seats.

“C’mon,” Elizabeth felt a tap on her arm, “grubs over,” Legs grinned, “how’s your skills at washing clothes?”

She collected her own plate of food and followed the other girls to rows of bins to shove them into…

“It’s not that hard,” Elizabeth finally smiled, “You just chuck it into the washing machine and then the dryer.”

But when her new found friends started to all laugh together she felt a wind of dread…were they not washing clothes?

The steam of the hot water filled the air and entered every ladies lungs as the worked tiredly. The steam would creep up to the ceiling and slip out the cracks in the walls and the barely opened windows. Big bath tubs filled the room, water hot to touch. Drenched bedsheets, and uniforms were piled and soaked in the tubs. The soap was churned into the clothes and sheets with wooden dolly sticks that were heavy and hard to use. This was it….scrubbing clothes clean. Blisters becgan to form quickly onto Elizabeth’s soft hands. When one popped, she hissed in pain and barked with furious frustration, “Ugh mother fucker!”

The Nuns sitting down ‘supervising’ with canes by their sides were quick in action.

“Is something wrong Elizabeth?” The most patient questioned.

“Yea,” Elizabeth threw down the stirring tool and yelled, “This is fucking slave labour!” folding her arms defiantly she jerked her chin to the herself and the other girls who paused from their obedient actions, watching these events, “What’s next?” she wiped her sweaty face, “Cotton Picking?!”

“Miss Hillard!” gasped an older, intimidating nun who was red in the face and wide in the waist, “I would prefer you wouldn’t use such unladylike language in front of others.” She tapped the edge of the tub with her cane and stomped her foot, “This is standard Omega training, learning the basic training is essential for the life you will lead.” The cane was then poked at Elizabeths chest.

She slapped it away from as quickly as it dared settled, “Just because my chromosomes got meddled with, doesn’t mean I should hand wash. When I leave I plan to pay people to wash my clothes at the laundromat, like a normal person.”

Now Elizabeth could hear the girls around her make the same comments again, “bad omega”, “Disrespectful”, “Dirty”, “Lazy Omega”, “No one wants an Omega like her.”

And instead of feeling the senses to cry, she gritted her teeth and tightened her hands into fists. The nun mimicked her actions as she spat, “I will not tolerate your tone or disobedience. If you don’t wish to participate in today’s activities you can conduct hall duty.”

In the corner of her eye she could see Chips shaking her head while she mouthed the word “no”…But how could hall duty be worse than this? It’s just making sure people are not in the halls without passes and permission!

Hall duty? A blessing! Great heaven you are good! She would said confidently, “Anything but this…”

[seokiloquy]

Mind Boggling Pt 1 - Miya Atsumu

Soulmate AU: At particular times (Once a year/ certain age/ hours/ or randomly) soulmates swap bodies for some time. (Specifics vary from story to story but I love this au wholeheartedly)

Requested

Word Count: 2k

Pt 1 | Pt 2

The rules were set for soulmates, whether they happen to have a tattoo, be colourblind, or even have wings or tails sprouting out of their bodies, rules were set. So why the hell were you so terrified? Though your soulmate quirk was a little hard to distinguish at a young age because of its nature, it was easily identified once you got a little older.

Body swap, where after a person turns 17 their mind is transferred to their soulmates for some time at any time. Though the combinations can vary from person to person, swapping only ever happens after a person turns 17. Should a soulmate happen to be below the age of 17 while the other is of age or above, the older will not have full control of the other’s actions and the younger will not be aware of the older’s presence, this only lasts momentarily before they are returned to their own body. In some cases, nothing happens until the youngest is of age as well.

Now, why were you scared? Well, when your birthday happens to be at the end of the year, the possibility of your soulmate seeing you do things you didn’t want them to, becomes increasingly high. All your friends were having fun drawing on their arms to communicate, or fiddling with their assigned jewellery (because they didn’t have a physical manifestation). You, on the other hand, sat at the side of the classroom, staring out the window to the falling snow outside trying to prevent yourself from doing anything embarrassing until the time came for you to turn 17.

Hitomi, one of your friends, sat on the desk behind your seat and played with your hair. In your mind, she got a lucky match in comparison to most. On her inner wrist was the full name of her soulmate. Whenever you complained about your quirk she would smack your shoulder saying something about she wished could live in someone else’s body for a day.

“So, are you going to decorate your room?” Hitomi asked as her nails picked at a pesky knot at the ends of your hair.

You laughed, “Ya right. I may be worried about the swap thing, but changing how my room looks isn’t going to be worth the effort.”

Finally clearing the tangled mess, Hitomi leaned back with a sigh.

“Are you at least going to write something? So they can know a bit about you?”

You fiddled with the pencil in your hand, spinning it between your fingers. You shook your head. The chances of things going the way you wanted were so low that eventually, you gave up trying to make them go your way. One of your fingers flicked too fast, shooting the pencil across the room.

“Even if I wanted to, I just lost my pencil.”

“Karma.”

“How the hell is that karma?”

“I don’t know, ask Karma.”

You sighed, letting your head fall into your hands that began to massage the skin along your hairline. These next few days were going to be rough.

You had always conjured up a story of how your first swap would go. Something like waking up in their bed one morning on a Sunday with all of their things being laid out in a way that made it easy for you to learn about them. Maybe, they’d have a letter on their desk or taped to a mirror for you to read.

Nope. Why would life take it easy on you of all people?

You fell asleep in class, which admittedly was your fault for going to bed so late. Even though the teacher wasn’t engaging enough to keep your attention on her for more than a few seconds at a time. But by the end of the period, your classmates would wake you up for lunch, no problem. At least that’s what you had thought when you closed your eyes.

That’s what you expected, but when you opened your eyes to loud cheering and high pitched squeaking you were more than a little confused.

First of all, it was extremely bright. Too bright. You thought your eyes were closed before. But now, as they squinted to adjust to the light, they were so tightly glued together that it hurt your nose. Next, it was loud. Much louder than your second-year beginner English class where the teacher insisted that no one spoke, and acted upon that rule. Lastly, you were standing in front of an open mesh wall with two glaring eyes drilling into your forehead.

You staggered back, pulling your hands up to your chest. It was then you noticed how tall you were standing, and how your centre of gravity was way off. Your body also felt bulkier, like your normal skin had expanded to a place it hasn’t been before. A hand landed on your shoulder.

“Nice set, Tsumu.”

“Huh?” behind you was a boy, standing eye level with you with hair that had been bleached to a mousey brown, almost silver colour. His eyes were open but tired, making the rich brown colour seem dull. You felt attached to him immediately. Even with his somewhat silent demeanour, the boy seemed welcoming. He was panting and sweating. Realizing this, you could feel the sweat roll down the side of your face.

The boy tilted his head, “You’re a little out of touch, did those freaks scare you?”

You looked to where the boy pointed, the copper top and his black-haired friend were still glaring at you.

“Why? Why are they glaring at me?” you fiddled with your now noticeably larger hands, now staring at their size and red blotchy colour.

“You okay, Atsumu?”

Another boy walked up to your side. His hair was parted in the center, framing his face that held an expression of general disinterest and exhaustion. He had an air of confidence surrounding him, even if it didn’t show through his slouched back, and his dark eyes seemed too analytical for any lazy person.

“Who?”

“Osamu, get the coach.”

The first boy nodded, waving over to the side where two men sat, watching. The addressed man called the ref, who stood atop a sort of podium next to the large net. The man blew his whistle and you were quickly ushered off in the coaches’ direction. As the head coach continued to watch the game progress the assistant coach with choppy black hair guided you to sit down.

Your knees pushed together tightly. Rather uncomfortably really, you let your legs relax when you noticed this. Your hands continued to fidget, picking under the nails as you watched the sport continue before you. Volleyball, you concluded, how you didn’t notice earlier was beyond you but it was likely the gravity of the situation you were in distracting you.

“You okay Atsumu?” the man asked, taking the seat next to you.

Your brow furrowed and your head tilted.

“Ya, here’s the thing, who’s Atsumu?”

Just as the man was about to speak, the scenery changed. Everything melted into new shapes, never really looking like something that didn’t exist but never being a fully-fledged object until everything froze back into place. Hitomi glared down at you.

“What an asshole,” she scoffed.

“Well, thanks I guess?”

Hitomi scoffed and glared in your direction before starting to pace around. You looked around the classroom. It was empty, lunch probably started a few minutes ago. Hitomi spoke, brushing a hand through her hair, but didn’t stop walking.

“Your soulmate’s an ass.”

You tilted your head with a nod, “Did you at least give him my name?”

The girl stopped walking and looked away from you.

“It didn’t come up. Not that he seemed all that interested anyway.”

“Not surprised,” you said, pressing your finger into your wrist. Your pulse was up. “He was in the middle of a volleyball match.”

“Please tell me he’s at least muscular.”

You sighed and slouched in your chair. Turning a bit to look outside at the gently falling snow again. You paused.

“Ya, he is.”

This happened a few more times, always at the most inconvenient, and you both overtime got to learn about each other through your pears. You found out that the first person you had met was Atsumu’s twin, although their personalities were different according to their teammates. Atsumu managed to open your phone and find a few of your photos and put in his number. These swaps happened often. Often enough that your friends could tell who was who before either of you spoke.

Whenever you happened to show up during practice, Atsumu’s teammates would help you learn the sport. It came relatively easy to you thanks to Atsumu’s muscle memory and build, but from the team’s perspective, it was more of a humorous game as they watched their talented teammate stumble around and make mistakes that he normally wouldn’t.

It was like this for a while. Until you found out your team was participating in the Hyogo Interhigh Preliminaries. You signed your and Hitomi’s names up to support your team at the tournament.

“Shouldn’t you be cheering for your boyfriend’s team?” Hitomi teased, elbowing you in the ribs.

“I will when they have a game going on.”

Despite having never talked in person over the past couple of months, the two of you did talk regularly after Atsumu put his number on your phone. You had a plan for how the day would go. First, you would watch and cheer on your school’s team. Then, once you got the chance, you’d sneak off to see the Inarizaki boys play. By the end of the game, that they hopefully win, you would run down onto the pitch and hug him.

You were delusional and you knew it.

Inarizaki’s supporting band was intense and manipulative. You had gotten to the game a little late, running from your school’s game that just wrapped up. You walked down the steps of the stands to stand next to two girls that leaned against the bannister. Despite not knowing the school’s cheerleading practices, you did your best to follow along. Up until Atsumu was up to serve.

His eyes were the same as Osamu’s, staring intently at the team across from him that shook from leg fatigue. Sweat had managed to get into his hair, making it look a bit greasy. And blood had rushed into his arms, making his veins more prominent, even from a distance.

You cheered with the girls next to you just as the band went silent. Atsumu glared up in your direction. You froze watching as he turned his attention back towards the net and served, leading to their point and win. As the band around you cheered you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“Jeez, you are an asshole, huh?” you mumbled, turning to walk back up the stairs to find Hitomi.

You had hoped to leave the tournament that day without interacting with your soulmate.

“Here again? Seriously?” in front of you was Osamu who chuckled at the sound of his brother whining.

“Hey, (Y/N). We won,” he said, raising his hands in the air slightly.

You crossed your arms, “I know. I’m here.”

Pointing up at the stands where your body was now spinning around to see where they were. You continued to talk with an annoyed tone.

“And right about now Atsumu is going to realize that he gave me a death glare not a moment ago.”

Osamu started to laugh louder, watching his brother, in your body, begin to grip your hair and squat in panic as if he wasn’t wearing a skirt.

“He’s an idiot sometimes, please be patient.”

You nodded, “I know. I’m just waiting for him to make eye contact.”

He did, and he winced, sending a meek wave in your direction. You pinched your lips together in a sarcastic smile and raised your brows. Lifting your hand, you sent a single wave in his direction.

“You’re going to punch yourself aren’t you?” Osamu asked as you both started to walk off the gym and out of view of Atsumu’s frightened stare.

You cracked the knuckles of Atsumu’s hand.

“You bet.”

There’s a part two. -Bacon

Posted: 02/07/2020

[anxiouslymalicious]

Losers Club Plus One

Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

A/N: Hi there! I’m so sorry I haven’t posted in a long while, but writing became more of a duty than something enjoyable so I took some time off and did some shit. I’m feeling really fucking good now, ready to get back into writing. I’m kind of nervous to post this because this is my first time writing for this fandom and the characters and I’m not sure if this is good, but it’s fun to write so I hope you guys stick with me. 

This is going to be as close to the movie as possible, but there will be inserts of the book, maybe even of the 90ies movies if I feel like they would work better with the slightly off plot that I’m creating. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and the usual warnings for cursing, death, mentions of blood and alcohol etc. apply. It’s IT so shit is going down.

I hope you enjoy!

“Dad? Are you alright?” asked a small voice behind Richie as he was still in utter shock. Well, the owner of the voice wasn’t exactly small anymore, but it sounded so hesitant and broken, it might as well had been a little kid trying to catch his attention. His throat was still burning, the foul taste of bile laid heavily on his tongue. Richie’s face scrunched up in disgust as another wave if nausea hit him.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good- “ He started, but was interrupted by himself as he leant over the railing and more of his stomach’s content escaped. The young girl stepped closer to her father, lying her hand on his back in a comforting manner before a group of people busied her father again, giving him booze and water before his show.

“Be good, little one.” Richie rushed out as he passed his phone to his daughter who would take it to his dressing room where it wouldn’t be any more of a distraction than it had been so far. The girl nodded and sent a smile his way, but he didn’t catch it anymore as he stormed out onto the huge stage, greeted by cheers. The smile was quickly wiped off the girl’s face as she made her way through the narrow hallways filled with too many people for her liking. Ducking under equipment, dodging people in suits who were too busy looking at their phones to realise where they were going and ignoring the voices of people telling her that she was not supposed to go into certain areas. She was, they just didn’t know, so she showed them her backstage pass and kept walking until she saw the door to her safety. Once she stepped into the stuffy room that reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, she closed the door behind her, locked it and made herself comfortable on the little couch.

Her father’s phone was buzzing in the young girl’s pocket, catching her attention. Who in hell had called and what did they say to throw her father so out of track? Judging by the nervous voices around her in the hallways, she was sure that her father wasn’t off to a good start for the show, something that hadn’t happened in ages. Not since his first actual show.

The girl was absent-mindedly biting her nails before another buzz of her father’s phone pulled her out of it and she decided to have a look. Richie’s phone was blowing up with messages from his manager, which she decided to ignore as she checked the calls. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that Richie had been called by someone from Derry, Maine, but a bit of deeper digging told her that it was actually the local library’s number. Rather than reaching the sweet relief of knowing, she felt her insides churn with fear and confusion, feeling restless until she heard the familiar ruckus that ensued when her father was close to finishing a show.

It had felt like literal ages since Richie had left for the stage and the young girl was eager to ask her father about what was going on. Especially after that whole library-thing. Obviously, she had checked several times that she got the number right, and she did. Was her father throwing up because he was so nervous over a few overdue books from years ago?

The whole time she spent waiting, the girl tried to figure out whether her father had been on tour in Derry, whether he had even mentioned Derry ever before, but she was sure that, in her years of living with her father, she had never so much as heard him utter the word ‘Derry’ ever before.

Quickly, the girl moved to unlock the door so her father wouldn’t run into the door again like he had many times already, then sat down on the couch again, her leg bouncing nervously as she mindlessly tapped her fingers against the phone in her hand.

It wasn’t long until Richie stormed into the room, locking every unnecessary person out and turned to his daughter, drink in hand, holding his other hand out for her to pass him his phone. She did, following their usually so quiet routine. After spending more than an hour talking endlessly about whatever jokes they had put into the set, he was grateful when he could spent a few minutes not saying anything, just listening to the voice of his daughter telling him about what had happened in school that day, telling him what stupid things someone backstage did or what she and her friends were up to. It was relaxing to him, knowing that she was there, and her life was going somewhere.

But not this time.

“Dad why did the Derry library call you?” she asked with the calmest voice she could muster, although her voice was shaking with fear. Of what, she didn’t know, not yet, but she knew it was something big. Something bigger than her or him. Something bigger than overdue books and the terrifying old ladies that would scold you and make you feel like crying even when it had only been a day overdue.

“It wasn’t the library, it was,” Richie sighed before taking another sip of his drink, “It was an old friend of mine. Mike Hanlon. We made a promise when we were kids and now, I need to go back to Derry.” Richie mumbled into his glass. Nonetheless, she understood every single word he said.

“We.” She said, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she got up from where she was curled up on the couch.

“No. Definitely not. You’re staying here.” Richie said before downing the rest of his drink and looking through the cabinets for a new bottle.

“On my own? Or with my non-existent mother who left me at your door, remember? Or with the neighbours? The creepy ones with all those fucking life-size dolls?” she asked, her voice growing louder.

“Oh, fuck off, you’re lucky you’re my daughter, Y/N.” Richie said before letting his own body drop to the couch she had previously occupied. “Shouldn’t have let you watch my shows. Big Bill is going to love you.” Richie grumbled, rubbing his face. A grin spread on Y/N’s face as she sat next to her father, lightly leaning her head against his shoulder. Automatically, Richie’s arm spread over her shoulder, pulling her closer, trying to keep her safe from what was about to come. From the inhuman atrocities she was about to witness. Keep her safe from IT.

“When are we leaving?” she mumbled into Richie’s shoulder. Another sigh escaped his lips.

“As soon as possible.” He told her and, so, she found herself in an airplane not much later. They would fly as close to Derry as possible before taking a rental car to drive to the Derry Town House where they would be staying.

“What was Derry like? And your friends?” Y/N asked curiously as they found their seats on the plane. She watched as her father stared straight ahead for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowed, as he was deep in thought.

“I- I don’t- I can’t fucking remember. I honestly can’t remember shit, Y/N.” Richie mumbled, followed by a groan as an indescribable pain shot through his eyes. He closed them tightly, his hands flying to the armrests, fingernails digging into the material. Y/N watched on, shocked to say the least. Shaking her father, she tried to find out what was wrong with him, but as suddenly as this burning pain in his eyes, behind his eyes, had appeared, it had also gone.

“Don’t worry, I’m fucking fantastic.” Richie grumbled towards his worried daughter as he leant back in his seat, trying to remember where that came from, why it felt so familiar.

After many tiresome hours that were mostly spent sleeping, with rare exceptions of Richie mumbling to string his memories together, using her as some kind of journal to keep track of what he remembered and how his memories were connected, the father-daughter-duo found themselves just outside the airport, looking for the car they rented, on wobbly legs. The sunset was about to start, the sun lazily rose, turning the deep dark blue into a pale, greyish-blue colour that slowly but surely turned into a pinkish hue.

“Did you fall asleep standing or are you just being the same lazy ass as always?” Richie screamed, standing in front of the car that seemed to be theirs. And, for the first time in many hours, Y/N could see the outlines of a genuine smile growing on her father’s face. And she couldn’t help but smile with him.

“Just wanted you to do all the searching, old man.” She grinned as she took her bag to the car and got in. Richie, obviously, searched for a radio station that played some good old rock’n’roll to distract him for the fear rising in the pit of his stomach. He was scared, but he wouldn’t admit it to his daughter. Because he wasn’t only afraid of IT and the things IT might do not only to him, but also his friends or, worst of all, his daughter, but Richie was afraid of facing his old friends. Or more those who would appear. He didn’t have high hopes for them, expecting that maybe three of them would appear and he would be able to take his and his daughter’s ass out of the town first thing after the lunch because they were not enough to defeat IT.

That thought kept Richie sane as he walked up the scarily unfamiliar yet strangely street towards the Town House. Shivers ran up and down his spine and he felt Y/N’s comforting hand on his back, trying her best to ground him. And, just like her father, Y/N wouldn’t admit that she was scared. She hadn’t seen what he had, she didn’t know what she was facing, what was so chilling about this town, its residents and its sewers, but she had never seen her father this quiet before. And that scared her.

Once they arrived in their small room, the duo sat down on the edges of their beds, silence taking over. The sun had meanwhile risen higher, clearly visible and warming the cool streets.

“Maybe we should order breakfast or nap a bit?” the young girl broke the unbearable silence, pregnant with unspoken opinions. Richie still thought she shouldn’t be here with him, but in their house back in LA. Y/N, however, was convinced that her father needed her support with whatever he was about to do. He still refused to tell her about IT, still hoping that they would be gone in a few hours and she didn’t need to be scared of something they couldn’t do anything about, something they didn’t need to fight.

Richie nodded, kicked off his shoes with a sigh and laid back on his bed. His daughter grew irritated.

“Maybe you can order something while I’m taking a shower. Maybe then you’ll have your panties untwisted.” The girl said before stepping into the small room, closing and locking the door behind her. What she didn’t expect, though, was to come face to face with a boy her age. He looked like a normal kid, soft curls surrounding his face, but there was something off about him.

“I see, the loser’s newest addition finally made it to Derry. And she has just as many secrets as all the other losers.” Said the boy with a chilling smile on his thin lips.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here and how the fuck did you get in here? You know what? Doesn’t matter right now. Just please get the fuck out.” She growled, puzzled at how neither she nor Richie had noticed a teenage boy hiding in their bathroom. Hadn’t her father used the bathroom when they first entered?

As she turned to unlock the door, an ice-cold hand laid itself on her shoulder, pulling her back into the cold body behind her. She now squirmed, trying to unlock and open the door rather frantically, desperate to get away from whatever ghostly being was behind her, but no matter how hard she tried, which way she turned the key, it did nothing to open the door.

“Dad!” she yelled, hammering her hands against the wood. “Help me! Some creep is in here and I can’t get out.” Richie was up in a flash, his heart feeling like it just dropped to his stomach, and ran to the door, yelling his little girl’s name in despair and banging his fists against the old door.

“Y/N, whatever you’re seeing is not real. Don’t be scared, it’s not real!” Richie screamed, his voice clear but shaky. The girl was confused at his utterances.

“How is he not-“ she started, but stopped when the boy was grinning at her, now looking older than before and covered head to toe in blood that was streaming from the huge cuts on his lower arms. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” she forced out instead and tried to get as far away from the being as possible.

“Don’t worry, Richie. She will float with all the other children and your dirty little secret will remain uncovered.” It said in a high voice that didn’t fit the man in front of the girl before trying to grab her throat. Y/N tried to duck away, but she felt her body being pushed forward against the sink, her head crashing against the mirror, breaking it.

“Y/N! Try to hurt it! It’s not real! Not real, it’s not real!” Richie kept yelling through the door as he kept kicking and throwing his whole body against the fragile wood. Although his words were meant to comfort his daughter, it sounded more like a mantra he was using to comfort himself. The girl listened to her father, picking up some of the shards that were now in the sink. With a swift movement, she sunk the shard into the older man’s face, pulling it down as hard as she could. A huge gash was on the man’s bloody face, but instead of more blood, some black mass seeped out of the wound, but whatever it was that was standing in front of the teenager, it didn’t seem too phased. An angry expression formed on its face before it leaped for her, grasping her throat and pushing her up against the wall. She was gasping, desperate to fill her lungs with the oxygen they were already lacking, but not yet screaming for. She squirmed, hammering the shard in her hand against the thing, successfully hurting it. It let go of her, dropping her into the bathtub below her before fleeing through the toilet.

Richie finally managed to break down the door, falling into the room only to find his daughter shaken up beyond belief, curled up in the bathtub. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes while blood streamed down her suddenly paler than usual complexion from an open wound on her forehead. She didn’t look like she had seen a ghost, she looked like she was the ghost.

“Oh god, come here. I- fuck. It’s alright, it’s over. You’re alright. Fucking hell, you’re alright.” Richie mumbled as he crawled into the bathtub with her, pulling his little girl into his arms, tightly pressing her shaking body into his chest. Soft whimpers escaped her lips against her will. Richie spread out a little, legs hanging out of the bathtub as he just tried to comfort her while trying not to lose it and leave immediately. Back to LA, where IT couldn’t reach them.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming - Part Four

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 4/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles @wolfsmom1 @theoneanna @hiddlescastle @sabine-leo @alexakeyloveloki  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins  @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart @ladyblablabla @trippedmetaldetector

PREVIOUS

Breakfast, while more than a touch uneasy, had been nowhere near as awkward as Tom feared it would be. Not that he’d set out expecting to be invited in, especially after turning up on their doorstep at just after eight in the morning with absolutely no warning at all. It had been an impulsive, reckless decision but Tom could not find it in himself to regret it. Even as Keira glared at him coolly, her hand resting on Jaime’s shoulder as the boy bounced excitedly. They passed several moments in awkward silence before she gave a curt nod and invited Tom into the house. It was abundantly clear to Tom that while she wasn’t against him being involved in the boy’s life, dropping by as if he had the right to do so as he pleased was a step too far in her book. But she hadn’t fought him on it and for that Tom was incredibly grateful.

 An extra place had been set and Tom found himself pulled to sit next to a bright eyed Jaime who was speaking a mile a minute. He smiled indulgently as he took in the food laid on the table. Eggs, toast, crispy bacon, and sausages. Tom piled a fair amount onto his own plate, watching in fascination as Jaime ate between rapidly firing questions. His sleep logged mind struggled to keep up.

 The coffee Keira had set before him was a godsend in more ways than one. He nodded at her, offering what he hoped she would see was a small, grateful smile. Things were never going to be easy between them, too much bad blood lingered between them for that, but Tom hoped somehow they would be able to find middle ground. For Jaime’s sake at least.

 After breakfast, Jaime had lead his newly discovered father into the back garden to run and play. The weather was thankfully warm and surprisingly dry in a way that Tom was certain was tempting the weather gods. Especially this late in the year. They ran about for what felt like ages until Keira called them back inside, sending the boy upstairs to wash up and change for the day. Tom found himself rocking back and forth on his heels, wondering if he was overstepping the unspoken lines Keira had laid at the start of this. No matter what he or Jaime felt, Keira was the boy’s legal guardian. He was bound by her rules unless he took the steps to change it and with his life as uncertain as it was, that day seemed far off indeed.

 Things weren’t exactly easy after that strange morning, but they were slowly drifting in that direction. Jaime had clung to the idea of Tom as his father in a way Tom hadn’t expected. The boy was a mess of questions, curiosity, and joy. Over the years, in countless interviews, he’d been asked to describe his idea of happiness. And he’d always had the same, sweet but safely generic answers; lyrics or a quote he’d heard years ago. Things that captured the idea but not perhaps his reality of it. Never the real answer; his family or the first time he’d acted on stage, his first time on a set. Things that, looking back, were wonderful…But now, now he knew with absolute certainty that his happiness was seeing the pure unadulterated joy in the eyes of his little boy.

 It amazed him at times, thinking that something so simple, so small in the scheme of things, could come to mean so very much. Things were better yes…But they still had a long way to go.

 While Jaime had taken to Tom’s new role in his life like a duck to water, Keira had been wary. She didn’t hinder the relationship growing between Tom and Jaime nor did she actively encourage it. It had been a constant source of frustration for Tom. He knew why she acted the way she did, understood his behavior in regards to her daughter coloured the way she viewed him now. And he couldn’t fault her for that. Had he been in her position, Tom couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same.

 But he knew, even if he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, that sooner rather than later they would need to sit and talk, properly talk, about what was happening. About the role Tom would play in Jaime’s life.

 Tom had intended to find time to set aside to do just that, had even called his agent about starting to look for a good family solicitor should push indeed come to shove, but as it always did his life managed to throw itself in the way. He’d known filming for his latest project was coming up, and much sooner than he liked, but he hadn’t predicted the change in schedule which pushed up his need to be on set by a good three weeks. All the time he’d thought he’d had to prepare Jaime (and in all honesty, to prepare himself) for the looming separation his work would bring had been snatched from him. They needed him in five days’ time.

 He’d cursed after his agent had broken the news (a call shortly after he’d made it in the door from his morning run) and cursed a great deal more when it hit him he’d have to explain, yet again, to Jaime why he had to leave sooner than he’d promised. It killed him to think about the disappointment he knew he’d see in his little boy’s eyes. Disappoint that he, again, would be the sole cause of.

 They’d had so many things planned in those three weeks; trips to the park, the zoo, playdates and other things Tom’s agent and Luke most definitely hadn’t been thrilled with (especially without any formal public statement regarding his newly found status as a father) but begrudgingly agreed to look the other way. Things Tom himself had been looking forward to. How could he not, with the way Jaime’s face had lit up whenever he talked about it? And now he had to crush that hope, had to disappoint him yet again. The all too familiar doubts raged; would he every truly be a good father for Jaime? Didn’t Jaime deserve someone who could be there? Who could keep the promises they’d made?

 His mother’s voice, who had swiftly become his voice of reason (had been for the majority of his life if he was being completely honest), scoffed at him. ‘It doesn’t matter what you think the boy deserves, you are what he has. And you will find a way to make it work, even if it’s far from ideal. You will make it work because you don’t have any other choice.’  

 Jaime had been understandably upset by the news, tearful and not quite understanding why the father he’d just found had to leave again and so quickly. Tom did his best, again and again, in those few days leading up to his departure to explain as best he could the whys of his leaving. To explain that it didn’t mean Tom loved him any less or that he didn’t want to be his daddy anymore (when Jaime had uttered those words Tom was sure his heart had broken into a thousand sharp and painful shards). This was a temporary thing; he would be available by phone or by video and that as soon as he could he would be home.

 Keira said nothing but watched him with knowing eyes. Tom knew the picture he must be painting and hated that in her eyes he was only proving her opinion of him correct. But what could he honestly do? He was under contract and breaking it now would cause more trouble and strife than it was worth. Not that he hadn’t tried, but his agent (and his solicitors) had been firm. Walking out now would be as good as blacklisting himself. He’d already lost enough good will over the stunt he’d pulled several months back. Backing out of another project so soon after…That would certainly be the final nail in the coffin. And then what would he do? Acting was as much a part of his life as breathing. And as selfish as it was, Tom wasn’t sure he could ever fully walk away.

 He let her quiet stares go, the fight that would ensue should he push the matter wasn’t one he thought himself mentally ready for. Not at this time. But he’d spoken to both Luke and his agent and started the ball rolling, he would be ready and he would fight tooth and nail if he had to. He was Jaime’s father and he owed it to not only the boy but to himself and to Eliza to be the best father he could be. To be as fully involved in his life as he was able to be.

 Tom kissed and hugged Jaime goodbye on the last day before he was scheduled to fly out. They’d played in his grandmother’s back garden and Tom promised to call as soon as he had settled to show Jaime his temporary home. The drive back to London had been hellish; traffic was a nightmare and his nerves were only serving to make the already short fuse of his temper glow hotter still. He’d snapped at Luke when his friend had called reminding him of his flight details and when the car would be around to drive him to Heathrow. Tom had apologized immediately after, it wasn’t Luke’s fault and god knows he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes in this upcoming production. Didn’t want to slip back into that angry, frustrated man he’d been.

 “You’re tired, mate. And you’re stressed. So I will let that slide, just work on keeping yourself in check. I like working with you Tom, but lately you’ve been making me earn my pay and I’m not entirely sure I like that.”

 What was said no doubt in jest wriggled in the back Tom’s mind the rest of that evening and well into the following day. He’d managed to scrape up enough sleep to not be a complete mess when the hire car arrived in the morning. His bags had been packed and left by the door the night before and his carryon was at his side. He threw in the last of the bits and bobs he needed for the journey and headed out into the pre-dawn light.

 Bags packed securely in the trunk of the car, they sped off towards Heathrow and towards months of long, hard work that normally spiked a fevered excitement in him but now left him on edge and apprehensive. Once he got settled into a routine, he knew the unease would ebb away but until then…

 The flight was long and despite the perks of first class flying, the seats were never terribly comfortable and sleep was elusive. When he’d finally disembarked the only thing on Tom’s mind was the warm, comfy bed awaiting him. The drive from the airport to the hotel had been long enough that Tom found himself nodding off in the backseat. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when the driver shook his shoulder to wake him. Check in was mercifully a quiet, easy process and before he was consciously aware of it, Tom was in his room and laying face first onto the cool, white duvet. He drifted off again, only to be woken by the ringing of his mobile.

 Confused and still in the clutches of sleep, it took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to recognize the sound for what it was and then to dig his mobile from his trouser pocket. He smiled, blearily as he recognized the number and slid his finger across the screen to answer.

 “Jaime, lad.”

 Filming had gone far better than Tom had dared hope, especially given its inauspicious start. He enjoyed his role and had developed a genuine report with his cast-mates. It was nice to be able to escape into someone else’s life for a short time. To live through someone else’s emotions. He spoke with Jaime nearly every day, enjoying the small bits of information Jaime told him of his day. He’d shared what he could as well, sending Jaime pictures of himself in make-up and costume. Taking him on a virtual tour of the set. Reading bedtime stories to him. Time did not speed by, but it passed soon enough.

 When wrap was called after just over three months, Tom felt both an acute sadness that the end of filming almost always brought in him and an immense relief that he would be home soon. He’d managed to duck out of the wrap party after a few hours and was thankfully dropped off at the airport shortly thereafter (he had packed before heading to the party, checked out of his hotel, and left the baggage stored safely in the back of the hire car). He spent the entire flight back to the UK in nervous excitement.

 He’d rushed home from the airport, grateful to shower and sleep in his own bed. His sister had thankfully stopped by the day before to air out the house and to make sure his fridge and pantry were stocked. He had people who could easily have done this for him, and he’d used said people in the past, but this time his sister had gotten the idea in her head and nothing could budge her from it.

 Tom woke the next morning, confused but comfortable. It took him several moments to remember he was home. He blinked at the dimly lit room, getting his bearings. He’d no idea what time it was, hadn’t even remembered putting himself to bed. He glanced at the bedside table, midafternoon then. Which meant he’d slept at least ten hours. That’ll do wonders with acclimating to BST, he thought with a groan. He sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. He needed to get up and get back into a routine or he’d never get himself back on track.

 Padding downstairs, he fixed himself a cup of coffee and set about throwing together a light breakfast. Once finished he ate it hastily, carrying the plate into the living room and settling on the sofa where he set about checking his mobile for missed calls or texts. He had a few from Luke and from his agent, which he returned. A solicitor had been arranged regarding his paternity claim should he wish to pursue custody. He also had a few interviews scheduled for later in the week regarding various projects.

 There were messages from his mum and sister as well as one from Jaime. He sighed as he played the message from his son, guilt coursing through him. He’d mean to call Jaime once he’d made it home but must have passed out before he’d done so. He called him back, apologizing and explaining that he’d gotten in late and fallen asleep soon after. Jaime seemed to accept this and immediately launched into a tale about his day, asking breathlessly after when Tom was going to come by. As soon as he showered, Tom promised (Keira be damned). Excited at the prospect of seeing his daddy, Jaime ended the call with a happy laugh. Tom chuckled to himself, taking the stairs two at a time.

 The conflict with Keira came to a head a few short weeks later. After a trip to the park, and while Jaime had been upstairs in his room, Keira’s quiet disapproval became too much. He hadn’t meant to call her out as he did, had intended on trying to keep the conversation civil but stress and frustration (both at her attitude and at the sneaking suspicion that he’d seen a photographer at the park watching him and Jaime) had brought his words out with far more force than he had intended. Keira had been taken aback, clearly not expecting such vehemence and had fired back with equal force. It was only after hearing Jaime’s footsteps on the landing that the two seemed to remember themselves.

 They plastered smiles on their faces and put the matter aside until after the lad had been fed, washed, and sent to bed. It was clear this was a conversation neither of them were delighted about having but one they knew needed to come to pass. Keira put forth her opinion that while Tom was biologically linked to Jaime, that didn’t mean he was able to be a proper parent to the boy. Jaime needed structure, support, stability. Tom worked a great deal and often in far flung locations. With Jaime preparing to start his schooling, what would that kind of disruption do to him?

 Her words stung. They were things he’d thought himself and often. But he had a right to be as involved in Jaime’s life as he could be and he’d said as much. Yes, his work meant his life was less structured or home based than most, but it wouldn’t always be. Now that this project was completed, his future work would be much more local. And save for promotional work, his schedule was clearer than it had been in years. He wanted have a tangible, legal stake in Jaime’s life. That didn’t mean he was planning to snatch him from her or that he wanted to turn the boy’s life on its head. He simply wanted to have a say in his life, to be responsible for him in more than just name.

 “Jaime is my son, Keira. He is all I have left of Eliza. I messed up terribly with her and I can never, ever take that back. I won’t let that happen with Jaime, not if I can help it.” Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to do this as friendly as I possibly can but make no mistake I will take this as far as I need to. Please, please let us do this in a way that will cause the least disruption to his life.”

 Tensions still running high, Tom had left and spent his entire drive home wondering what the hell he was going to do. Keira called the next morning and told him that if he was serious then maybe it was time solicitors were engaged. The words sent a shiver of real fear through his gut, though he didn’t truly think she’d meant then in any malicious way. The courts would need to be involved, in some capacity and Tom had always known that. But the irrational part of his brain worried that in doing so he would be inciting a chain of events that could bring the boy more harm than good.

NEXT

[moonchildsaurora]

The Hercules of a Weapons Master/Mechanic

»»—— Crew Member #8 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys: (no nsfw content)

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

“so you want me…to break them? As in literally or figuratively?”  

is the baby of the crew but actually the eldest in his own family

epitome of ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’. With a well-grounded and balanced mindset along with a great sense of independence and self-discipline

is a native Draerair born and raised on Corebos, a relatively peaceful planet where several clans co-exist across the different regions specialising in agricultural and metal work

[database file: Draerairs are shape-shifters by ancestral blood, however not every individual are born with the ability to shift into their bestial forms (though they retain some of their inhumane strength and traits). Each clan’s lineage has a specific beast they’re associated with. Individuals with the ability to shift can do so at will, be it partially or fully]

Jongho and his family are descendants of the Silverclaw clan, their associated beast is that of a bear. He’s the only one currently in his family that was born with the shifters ability, his grandmother was the previous individual with the ability

in his human form his hair is dark like the coals in his father’s workshop, honey tanned skin from hours of work under the sun and a gentle shade of hazel for eyes        

when partially shifted he gains a good 2 and half feet in height as bones and muscle mass expands, nails are elongated into claws, canines sharpened and eyes become more of an amber gold colour. Faint markings appear around his eyes as well as down his arms. Fur of black-brown shade emerge the closer he shifts into his beastial form

his strength is renowned throughout his clan, at the tender age of 5 he shocked the souls out of his parents after they found that he’s managed to bend the metal bars of his youngling playpen simply to get out so he could go on a mini adventure to find an afternoon snack

“oh sweet Zeus, we’ve lost the baby!”

they found out very quickly that he particularly liked snacking on fruits especially apples and sometimes would have to hide extras from him, otherwise they’d have none left

Jongho had always looked up to his father and his speciality with weapons forging. During his youngling years he’d be allowed to sit at a safe distance and observe, wide eyes with wonder when he looked at his father welding ambthanite metal together or carving a blade from crystalline emeyl

it was no surprise that Jongho followed in his footsteps and begun his apprenticeship by his 12th summer, his immense strength was a sure advantage when it came to being efficient and how easily some techniques were mastered 

“who needs a machine when you can just bend it with your bare hands?”

his younger siblings adored watching their older brother (it felt like déjà vu) build anything as small as a hunter’s dagger to fixing up parts of visiting ships. It’s also an extra treat for them whenever Jongho would crush fruity snacks single-handedly, because he loves hearing their joyous laughter and applause

The Perihelion had actually made a supply stop within the region that Jongho resided in to trade for food and energy cells. Under the recommendation from some of the market farmers, the crew were led to the Chois’ smithing workshop to fix up minor damages on the ship’s hull and to assess if any defence upgrades were available to be installed on such short notice  

“…I can’t tell if that’s Hercules or a beast hammering away in there”

the expressions on half the crew’s faces were priceless once they met Jongho, right after they saw him heave a 7 tonne slab of frerhil iron [database file: a common metal for heavy duty spears used by barbarians & warmasters] on to the bench without batting an eyelid

“you sure are one strong baby!”

“MINGI SHUT YO-“

“oh don’t worry, I get that. A lot”

and if it wasn’t for the overly toothy smile that Jongho sent their way that made the crew slightly nervous, it would’ve been the way his muscles flexed tauntingly as he gripped Mingi’s hand in a handshake during introductions Seonghwa nearly sweated out his worries just wearily watching that exchange

“I think what our lovely tech engineer meant was that you have a bab-ahh youthful face, yeah, youthful appearance! Not that you’re a baby at age”

“of course, I just passed my 15th summer not too long ago actually. So what can I do for you lot today?”

Hongjoong didn’t even try to hide how impressed he already was, he hadn’t come across too many shifters before and knew very little of their nature and abilities so this was great insight for him. He couldn’t care less with Wooyoung snickering in the background when his chest puffed out proudly after Jongho complimented his ship

Jongho was genuinely amazed that The Perihelion had managed to hold out until now (after hearing brief stories as to how the damages were acquired), without even having a ship’s mechanic for regular maintenance. His awe elevated when Hongjoong told him that he, a self-taught, was the one who worked and spruced the ship up from its near-scrap stage

Jongho’s father made similar comments when he came round to check up on his son and the workshop, even helping a bit with fitting in newer protective panels around the engines and windows. It wasn’t anything fancy, but Jongho did promise should the crew make another stop by in the future he’d have some better upgrades for them

it wouldn’t be till nearly 4 years later where their paths would cross once again in the city of Acreon. Jongho having made the decision to leave his home planet to start living life a little more, though he’d still pick up smithing-mechanic work along the way of his travels. Probably not the most ideal way to reunite with the crew, especially amidst a bar brawl of all things    

having not fought in his entire life (unless you count sand wrestling during his youngling days), Jongho was running entirely on pure adrenaline when he recognised Hongjoong and swiftly grabbed him out of the way – seconds before a stool came smashing down

“what th-OH hey! It’s you!”

the crew witnessed Jongho partially shift that time, almost bowling the entire crowd over with his solid mass to get Wooyoung and San out of the fray. Throwing them over his shoulders and bolting with the rest out the back door of the bar (Wooyoung’s shrieking could be heard down the street)

“thank you for that, really, we owe you one”

“do your evenings out usually end up like this? Never would’ve pinned you lot as the type to throw punches at a bar”

“listen here, that slimy loathsome spawn of a troll deserved it for inappropriate treatment of the dancer”

well at least Jongho couldn’t fault them for having good morals and standing up for it, though he wouldn’t be able to live it down come the following day when news spread throughout the city of ‘a beast from the nether realms’ being involved in the incident at The Illusion he dreaded getting an earful from his parents should his family ever catch wind of the news

Hongjoong invited him to tag along with the crew for the rest of their time in Acreon (highkey hoping this time Jongho would stick around more permanently), which allowed him time to evaluate the state of The Perihelion since it’s been a long while

Jongho officially became a member of the crew after he convinced Hongjoong to head over to Vostrilles, a place he knew had supplies of the latest ship weaponry and mechanical resources, and stuck by long enough to help with the upgrades that the crew pretty much adopted him into their wholesome chaotic family

he grew to thoroughly enjoy their company and now have the luxury of being doted on by his older sibling figures (he’d still deck anyone who dares call him a baby with the exception of mumma Seonghwa)

“watch your language! There are children on board”

the crew realised just how much they needed a proper weapon smith/mechanic on board after a few close-calls with a rival crews – Jongho’s newly installed point-defence canons had given the ship an advantage on its durability and defensive structure that it could withstand enemy attacks enough to make an escape

no one would openly admit that they cannot stay angry at Jongho for longer than 2 minutes, even when he was being in an argumentative mood

not to mention that everyone is extremely protective of their baby bro  

ends up being closest to Mingi, Wooyoung and Yeosang, the latter having a calming presence when he needs some downtime and he appreciates the other chaotic duo when they join in singing random duets with him (a habit he does whenever he’s in his workshop)

recently Jongho found some quality metal paint, he pitched the idea of giving The Perihelion a proper makeover – Hongjoong and others could customise the colour palette they’d like and finally give the ship the glo-up she deserves (no one noticed Yeosang’s little character doodles he so sneakily painted at random spots/corners of the ship hehet)              

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk​ ♡)