#a wise person said to add some bite marks

[naphiatra]

hello again witness my new vision:

strawbebby and choconut

[novelconcepts]

Not sure if it’s Drabble worthy. What if Peter and Rebecca don’t die and therefore Bly doesn’t need a new Au Pair. Do Jamie and Dani still meet somehow?

There is a woman in the pub. Not, strictly speaking, an oddity--there are people here every night upon Jamie’s return from the manor. People with drinks and conversation, taking up space she doesn’t have the energy to deal with. 

This woman, though. This woman is strange simply because she isn’t. Because there is a look about her, too normal, too put-together. Because her eyes are too bright, and her hair too shiny, and she is--most important of all--not of Bly.

Not Jamie’s problem, either, she thinks, pushing past the woman’s table with little more than a glance.

Blue eyes, she registers. Blue eyes, catching hers for a bare moment. 

Jamie keeps walking.

***

The woman is back again. Still looking a bit too clean, a bit too bright to be allowed in a smudgy place like this. She’s seated at that same table, nursing a drink with her eyes on a book, and she is...

Just a woman, thinks Jamie, whose day has been marked by Miles’ attitude and Flora’s perfectly splendid’s, and whose head is in all honesty ringing just a bit more than she can stand. 

She could use a drink tonight. Could use a bit more than a drink, really--could use a long rest, a long break from memories of Peter fucking Quint moving about the house like he owns the place. Tonight, she’ll settle for the drink. It’s cheaper than therapy, easier than talking to Hannah or Owen about the whole business. Certainly easier than cornering Rebecca, pressing her toward sense.

Problem is, there is a woman in the pub. 

At her table.

She drinks at the bar instead and finds her eyes searching out that woman’s face in the mirror. Finds herself coming back time and time again to the curve of the woman’s cheek, the angle of her nose, the way she bites the edge of her thumbnail as she turns the page. 

Her eyes never raise, never seek Jamie’s in return, though Jamie is certain--judging by the insistent tap of one boot under the table, the fidgety quality of her fingers around her glass--she knows she is being watched. 

***

The woman, she supposes, has nowhere else to be. What must that be like? What cart must have overturned, tipping her onto the pavement of Bly, to this pub, to this dark corner of the world? 

Jamie can remember all too well what it feels like to have nowhere to be. To just stumble into whatever place will hold a person up. This woman, with her tailored blouse and her hoop earrings, doesn’t much look like Jamie had, living that sort of life. But what does Jamie know?

Blue eyes. Shiny hair. Very little else.

Jamie has taken in a drink every night this week, less for the value of the alcohol, more out of curiosity. Could the woman really be here each time she walks through the door? Could this same woman always set up shop at her table, alone, peaceably making her way through a battered paperback?

So far, survey says yes. 

And the week has been long, it’s true: Rebecca, growing agitated as tensions between Peter and the rest of them wind ever-higher. Last night, Hannah had gripped her steak knife as though considering plunging it into Peter’s thigh. Tonight, it had taken every ounce of Jamie not to take a swing with the expensive wine bottle he had produced from thin air. 

Deserve better, chick, she’d thought as Rebecca had soothed Peter’s glower with a kiss. You have to see that. 

Rebecca, predictably, does not. 

Jamie, sitting here with yet another drink, watching the strange woman at her table in the mirror, isn’t sure who she is to talk. 

***

Someone is trying to talk to the woman tonight. Someone--a bulky man in his mid-thirties who Jamie has already marked as endless trouble--is trying to take a seat at the woman’s table.

Jamie watches with hackles raised, glass poised at her lips, waiting. The woman looks like the sort to make polite conversation, to smile warmly, to find herself in a bad situation before she realizes. Not that it’s any of Jamie’s concern. Not that Jamie ought to be making noise in the pub above which she sleeps. 

The man is leaning across the table, his huge hand reaching for the woman’s book. His grin is sloppy, his eyes ale-muddled, and when he moves toward the woman’s hand, she recoils. Glances toward the bar. 

Glances directly at Jamie. 

Hell, thinks Jamie tiredly, because this isn’t the way. This is never effective, never wise. Keep to yourself, keep your bloody head to your own bloody business, that’s the trick. 

The woman’s eyes are so goddamned blue. 

“Saved me a seat, I see,” Jamie hears herself say, cocking her hip against the man’s chair with a fuck out of it smile. He squints up at her, clearly trying to piece together some bleary vestige of memory. 

“You’re,” he slurs, “upstairs.”

“Seem to be down among the locals tonight,” Jamie says cheerfully, and gives him a single jerk of the head in warning. He frowns, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. 

“Borin’ conversation anyway.”

Jamie watches him go, raises her glass to her lips, smiles when he shoots a dark look over his shoulder. She does not look at the woman, not until she hears a soft voice say, “Thank you.”

American, realizes Jamie. 

Mistake, realizes Jamie.

“Hang a jacket over the seat next time,” she suggests on her way back to the bar. “Dissuades the stupider ones.”

***

The woman buys her a drink. 

She seems, Jamie notes with some alarm, to have registered Jamie’s schedule. How Jamie seems to walk in around eight every evening, her shoulders tense with a day’s battles still hanging tight. How Jamie has long given up trying for her usual table, sacrificing it in the name of pretty blonde Americans. 

There is a drink waiting for her--her usual, though in a place like this, it isn’t hard to guess. 

“That one,” the bartender--tonight, a fiftyish woman with a smirk--says, and points exactly where Jamie expects. She glances over, finds the American with her own glass raised. Eyebrows arched. Head gesturing for Jamie to come on over.

Mistake, she thinks again, even as she’s obeying.

“Wanted to thank you again,” the woman says, as Jamie hovers beside the second chair. There is, she notes, a denim jacket tossed over its back.

“Not a problem.”

“Sit?” the woman suggests, and Jamie finds she can’t locate a reason not to. She settles awkwardly, trying not to dislodge the jacket, all-too aware of the filthy floor beneath her boots. 

“Really don’t think,” she begins, but the woman is saying something. She blinks. “Sorry?”

“Dani,” the woman says again, touching a hand to her chest. “Dani Clayton.”

It’s a bad idea, Jamie thinks distantly, because the woman is so goddamned pretty, it hurts. She’s pretty, and she’s smiling, and there’s something about her eyes that makes Jamie’s pulse do tricks she hasn’t entertained in years. 

“Jamie,” she replies, and allows the woman to clink a half-finished glass against her own. 

***

Dani, as it turns out, actually works here. 

“Just started,” she says, almost sheepishly, when Jamie makes blustery noises of surprise. “On the early shift. Just to have something to keep me busy, until I figure something else out.”

She’s in England, she says, on a sort of personal retreat. A finding myself sort of adventure, she adds with a laugh that rings in Jamie’s ears like the best kind of music. 

“Better places to do it in,” Jamie points out, “than a hole in Bly.”

Dani shrugs. “I like it. The people are nice, mostly. And it’s quiet.”

“Home wasn’t quiet?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani doesn’t seem to like to talk about herself all that much, Jamie is noticing. She likes, instead, to talk about the town--the strangers, the clients, the newness of it all. She’ll talk about the beer, about the book resting at her elbow, about the weather. Most of all, she asks after Jamie.

“Not much to tell,” Jamie says--a lie, if you go back far enough, but honest enough for now. “Groundskeeper, over at the big house down the way.”

“What does that entail?” Dani, unlike most, actually sounds interested. She is the oddest bird, Jamie thinks, and is startled to find a sense of light affection behind the notion. 

“Gardening, mostly. Keep up the grounds, like I said--minor repairs about the house, too. Make sure everything keeps moving.”

“You like it?”

“Love it,” Jamie says honestly. Dani smiles. 

“That’s what I want. Something I really love. Thought for a while it would be teaching, but...”

“Kids,” Jamie says. “Take a lot out of a person. That why you’re here?”

Dani thinks on it, seems to step right up to the edge of a reply before changing her mind. “Couldn’t be at home anymore,” she says instead. It’s a non-answer, Jamie recognizes. A too much truth answer. 

“Fair enough,” Jamie tells her, and doesn’t push.

***

“So--he lives there?” Dani is three drinks in to Jamie’s two, her hair falling across her forehead as she tries to piece it all together. Jamie shakes her head. 

“Nah, not most days. Hannah, she lives there--full-time, I mean. And Rebecca, she moved in couple of months back. Kids love her. Quint, though, he’s...” She can’t find a nice way to put it. Isn’t sure why she’s even bothering. “A cockroach. Hard to kill, harder yet to wish away.”

“Sound like you’ve tried,” Dani says with a faint smile. Jamie shrugs.

“Waste of everyone’s time. He’s Henry’s fuckin’ lapdog. Long as he’s pulling at the leash, we all just need to make do.”

Dani mulls this over with the interest of someone who has not a single face to put with any of these names. “Rebecca really likes him, huh?”

“Likes him. Stuck into him. Not much of a difference.” Jamie leans back, pouring the remainder of her drink into a single swallow. The idea of it, of Peter’s hands on Rebecca’s waist at dinner, still makes her stomach sour. “You ever just--you ever meet someone who is like a human pair of handcuffs?”

Something flickers in Dani’s eyes. She nods once. Jamie sighs.

“That’s Quint. Fucker never met a woman he didn’t try to win--and I do mean win. Like a prize. Like women are little more than trophies to be locked behind glass.”

She watches Dani rub absently against her lips with the back of one hand, unable to tear her eyes away until Dani says, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s like,” Jamie begins, trying to find the best way to explain, “like he thinks she’s property, right? Like he thinks any choice she makes without his say-so is a fucking--”

“Not that,” Dani says quietly. “I mean I don’t understand how people can do that. To each other. When they say they love--I mean. It’s the wrong way around, isn’t it? Trying to own someone out of love? You can’t do it. That’s...they’re not...”

“They’re opposites,” Jamie finishes. Blue eyes skip up, hold hers, don’t so much as waver. Dani’s lips turn up at the corners, her head giving a single nod. 

“Yeah. Exactly. How do people mix that up?”

“No idea,” Jamie says, and swallows against the clamor of her own heart.

***

Peter tried to pick a fight this afternoon, out among the roses. Would have succeeded, Jamie thinks with no small amount of shame, had Miles not been lurking just behind him, watching everything.

She is vibrating when she reaches the pub, every motion just a little more exaggerated than she likes. She slams down into her usual seat, hands clenched into fists against the table. 

“Bad day?” Dani asks, sliding a plate toward her. Half a sandwich, carefully set aside as if for Jamie all along. 

“Not great,” Jamie agrees. She softens, looking Dani over, reading the tension behind her smile. “Look like you can say the same.”

Dani glances over her shoulder, eyes finding the mirror behind the bar and darting jerkily away again. “Hard to explain,” she says. 

“Do you want to?” Jamie asks. Dani’s eyes land on her with all the abrasive surprise of an explosion. Jamie taps light knuckles against the tabletop. “Just sayin’. If you want to get it off your chest--”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s...really hard to explain,” she says, almost apologetic. “It--it makes me sound...kinda crazy.”

Jamie has never met someone who looks less crazy. Someone who holds herself with such steadiness, though her hands are twitchy and her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes. 

“If you want,” she says, knowing she will, in a moment, let the moment slide. “I don’t mind.”

There’s silence between them, a great comfortable swell of it that shouldn’t exist in a small pub, on a night like this, between two women who barely know one another. Jamie lets it ride, taking a bite of sandwich, watching Dani read her expression with tentative interest.

“I had a fiancé,” Dani says at last, and Jamie feels something in her stomach turn over. And then a second time, when Dani adds, “He died.”

“Dani. I’m so--”

“He died,” Dani says, staring grimly ahead as though trying with everything in her power not to glance toward the mirror again, “and I had just--I had just told him I couldn’t--”

She hesitates, pressing her face into her palms. When she lifts her head, her eyes are blazing. 

“I’d just broken--up with him. Broken the engagement, broken the whole--because he wasn’t what I--and then he died. And sometimes, I...I...”

Jamie waits. Dani sucks in a ragged breath.

“I see him. Sometimes. In mirrors, mostly. In--and it’s insane, I know, but I can’t stop.”

“S’why you came here?” Jamie guesses. Dani nods. 

“Crazy, right?”

Jamie shakes her head slowly. She’s not much for ghost stories, for fairytales, for dreams made flesh. Loss, though? Grief? Missing who a person was, who they could be? Those aren’t the marks of a crazy person. Those are just...

“Sounds like a rough time,” she says, and lets herself reach across the table. Dani’s hand is soft beneath her own, and she is suddenly too aware of her own callouses, of the skid against Dani’s skin when she turns her hand over and squeezes Jamie’s fingers in return. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, and looks once more toward the mirror. Jamie watches her: the tension in her brow, the way her eyes seem to narrow. “I think I...needed to tell someone. Finally.”

She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, even as she turns the subject to the day’s customers, to Jamie’s plans for tomorrow. She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, and doesn’t even seem to notice.

***

There is a fight, but it isn’t Jamie who starts it. Isn’t Jamie who finishes it, even. 

Jamie is only stupid enough to step in the middle. 

“Your eye,” Dani says in greeting, standing briskly up from the table. Jamie, who is aware she is no longer bleeding, aware that the glass thrown could have done significantly more damage on a less-fortunate occasion, waves her off. 

“Bit, ah. Messy at the house tonight.”

Bit messy is a gentle way of putting it. In truth, it had been a horrorshow: Hannah already furious with Peter for having barricaded Rebecca in the bedroom all afternoon, Peter furious with Owen for having enlisted Rebecca’s help with dinner, Rebecca wound tight with the rising pressure of a situation primed to go bad for days. When the glass had been thrown--by Peter or by Rebecca, Jamie still can’t say; she suspects it had really slipped from a gesticulating hand, regardless, given momentum by a moment of frustration more than genuine violence--it had been the bomb they’d all been waiting for.

Rebecca had stormed off to her room. Peter, out of the house. Hannah had collected the kids, both of whom were sobbing, and Jamie had pushed Owen’s helpful hand away and cleaned her own wound. 

“Theater,” she says now, aware of Dani’s eyes on her, of the abject concern in Dani’s face. “S’all it was.”

“Not good for the kids,” Dani says quietly. Jamie sighs.

“None of this is good for ‘em. Miles, he keeps...picking up shifty habits from Quint, and Flora’s enamored with the whole rotten mess. Thinks it’s romantic.” Jamie shakes her head, winces when her head rings back in answer. “Like there’s anything fuckin’ romantic about the way he talks to her.”

Dani is quiet a moment. She reaches across the table, presses her fingertips very gently to the place along Jamie’s brow where the glass had landed. 

“Lucky it didn’t break,” Jamie murmurs, almost unaware of leaning into Dani’s hand. “Shouldn’t have gotten in the...”

Dani is gazing at her with eyes too blue, an expression too meaningful. Jamie reaches up, closes her own fingers around the hand gingerly exploring her brow. 

“I’m okay,” she says. “Really.”

Dani seems not to believe her. Dani, whose palm slides across her own, thumb working a swipe along Jamie’s skin. 

“Do you,” she begins. Clears her throat. Tries again. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Dani nods.

***

She leads Dani upstairs, and even as she’s unlocking the door, she thinks, Mistake? This is, she knows, the kind of thing a person can’t take back. The kind of give that can’t be explained away. 

Dani has not stopped looking at her since leaving the pub. Dani has not let go of her hand. 

Dani, she is sure, feels it, too. 

She’s aware of all the bits of the flat that feel wrong when set alongside Dani Clayton: last week’s shirt tossed over the back of the sofa, last night’s cup on the counter, last month’s dust painting the bookshelf. All the little merits of a life lived alone, she thinks. If she’d known--if she’d planned--it would look different.

Not much different, maybe, but enough.

Dani is looking around with an expression Jamie can’t read. It isn’t unease, or polite interest, or even amusement; it is, Jamie thinks, genuine awe. It is, Jamie thinks, a hunger to belong. 

She’d fit in, she catches herself thinking, watching Dani walk slowly around the flat with the faintest smile at her lips. In that house, with the rest, maybe better than I do. She’d fit right in.

“This is yours?” Dani asks, not gesturing at any one thing in particular, and Jamie nods slowly. 

“Serves its purpose.”

“I’ve never had this,” Dani says. Her eyes linger on Jamie’s face, and she adds hastily, “A place of my own. It seems...quiet.”

“It is,” Jamie says, and wonders if there isn’t more to it. If I’ve never had this is reaching for more than four walls and a bed Dani wouldn’t have to share. 

***

They don’t really talk about it, as Jamie’s flat commandeers the pub’s place in line altogether. Sometimes, Jamie even finds Dani seated on her steps, book propped upon on her knees, waiting patiently to be discovered. It never feels like expectation, Jamie notes with feelings too big to look at for long. It only ever feels like Dani, warm smile and easy hand accepting Jamie’s for balance, has belonged here all along.

“D’you ever just,” Jamie begins, cutting herself off before the rest of the words can spill out. Dani, curled on the sofa with a blanket half-tucked around her, furrows her brow. 

“What?”

“Feel like someone was always there,” Jamie finishes after a moment’s deliberation. It’s too much, probably, but she walked in on Peter and Rebecca screaming at one another again, and Flora spent the whole day in a sulk, and Hannah’s got a weariness around her eyes Jamie doesn’t like. Maybe it’s just a day for too much. 

Dani doesn’t seem to think it’s too much. Dani is nodding.

“Like you don’t even have to introduce yourself, really, because you remember them from another life. Yes. Yes, I’ve...felt that.”

It’s romantic rubbish, Jamie wants to say, something out of one of Flora’s story-time adventures, but the words seem to settle along her skeleton like she needs them. Like they’re offering some kind of strength she didn’t realize she was lacking. 

Dani is gazing at her, her expression fixed and unblinking in a manner that should be off-putting, and Jamie finds herself pulled irresistibly in. Finds herself leaning across the sofa, her thigh pressing to Dani’s, twisting at the waist to face her head-on.

“I’ve never,” Dani says softly, though her head is inclining, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. 

“Don’t have to,” Jamie replies, though her blood is singing, her fingers itching to delve into thick blonde hair. 

“But we could...” Dani is an inch away, and Jamie wants nothing more than to close the gap. Wants to take something for herself, for once, something soft and warm and easier than it ought to be. 

She hesitates. Flexes her hands against her own knees, resisting the urge to grab for Dani’s shirt. 

“Dani, I don’t want to--”

Dani is leaning back, nodding feverishly. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

“No, listen.” She allows herself this, one hand reaching for Dani’s fingers, unfolding the instinctive fist she’s made. “I'm not...people don’t make sense to me. Understand?”

Dani shakes her head, puzzlement spreading over her impending humiliation. Jamie closes her eyes. 

“There’s a lot to it, and if...if you want to hear it all sometime, I’ll...but for now, just know that people are hard for me. Exhaustive. Complicated. They ask too much and they return too little.”

“Even me?” Dani asks, eyes shining, and Jamie smiles grimly. 

“Even you. Even me. Everyone, understand? But sometimes I still want...”

Dani waits. Dani, who never hurries Jamie anywhere. Who never tries to argue Jamie into a corner, or tells Jamie she needs to be kinder, or sneers for Jamie to get out of her way. Dani, who only sits on Jamie’s sofa, watching Jamie with an intensity no one else seems to possess. 

“If you do,” Jamie says, almost helplessly, letting one hand brace beneath Dani’s elbow. “I want--”

***

Some people--some women--kiss to escape. To flee from their lives, to hide inside Jamie’s hands and lips and fleeting desire. Some women kiss to build up armor: to convince themselves they really are brave enough, even for a night, to be someone else. Some women even kiss to shame themselves, because the memory of Jamie on their skin will rise up at unexpected moments and make them feel something, anything, even if it’s terrible. 

Dani doesn’t kiss like any of those women. 

Dani kisses like she wants. Simple and steady and nothing more. Like she wants to be kissing Jamie, wants to be learning Jamie, wants the want of it as much as the thing itself. There is no shame, in the way Dani kisses her. There is only breathless excitement, Dani moving across the sofa to press tight to Jamie’s frame along the cushions.

“I’ve never,” she says again, only this time, she’s curling the words into the underside of Jamie’s jaw. She’s letting them spill across Jamie’s skin from within the loose grip of Jamie’s arms, her hands wound tight in Jamie’s shirt, her voice jittery with anticipation. 

“If you want to stop,” Jamie begins, and Dani is shaking her head, kissing her neck, murmuring against her in such a way, Jamie can’t help but shiver.

“It’s what I--it’s right. The right way.” She lifts her eyes, and Jamie can’t help but grin at the joy reflected back. “I’ve never done it the right way.”

Jamie wants to know what that means, what the wrong way was, but it doesn’t seem a question for now. Now is just Dani, the one golden light untouched by a bleak day, the one bright spot after a tattered house Jamie doesn’t really belong in. Dani, who sighs against her lips, smiling, like she’s never been so happy to kiss someone. 

She’s waiting for Dani to reel back, to gasp, to mention the fiancé again--but Dani only presses in closer and lets her mouth linger against the thunder of Jamie’s pulse beating along in her throat. Dani only finds her lips with such a sound of relief, Jamie can do nothing but grip at her back in response. 

Have we done this before? she thinks with feverish uncertainty. Have we been here before? Dani is new, each press and slide of fingers along her skin calling forth unexpected sounds, but Dani is also right. Like meeting someone and knowing they were meant to be in your story the whole time. 

“You’re sure?” she asks, though Dani is gazing down at her with such obvious desire, it makes her stomach clench. 

Dani, in answer, kisses her as no woman has ever kissed her, and Jamie lets herself fall. 

***

Dani is still in her bed come morning. 

Dani is still wrapped around her, naked skin and rapturous smile, and Jamie thinks, How can I be so happy, when the rest of it is falling apart?

“All right?” she asks, half-expecting the awareness of the previous night--of their slow stumble across the flat, of Dani’s shirt over her head and Dani’s hands cradling Jamie’s skin--to crash in around them both like a bad dream. Dani only wriggles against her under the blankets, face pressed to Jamie’s shoulder. 

“Yes. Are you?”

No one has ever asked that, Jamie realizes dimly. Not even the first girl she’d ever loved, the one who had taken Jamie by the shoulders and kissed her hard enough to hurt. Jamie, who had only been preoccupied with the sense memory of a moment like that, with the teeth buried in her bottom lip and the hand cupped between her legs, hadn’t much cared at the time. 

Now, though, with Dani looking at her this way, she can’t imagine being with someone who doesn’t ask. Who doesn’t trail the tips of their fingers along her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and smile like they knew all along they were needed here. 

“I’m glad,” she hears herself say, morning rasp tracing the words, “you stayed.”

Dani is still beaming when Jamie kisses her, the implication of I am, too buried in the gentle press of her hand against Jamie’s cheek.

“Are you going to be late?” she asks a little while later, when there’s fresh sweat on her breast and Dani is gulping air against her neck. Dani shakes her head, dusting light kisses across Jamie’s skin. She swallows, laughs, groans when Dani finds a particularly pleasant spot in the hollow of her throat and sets to exploring it properly. “Keep doing that, and I will be.”

And would that be so bad? To leave the house for a day. To pretend like it isn’t all imploding around her, a little family divided by one man’s arrogance. Like Jamie doesn’t feel, more and more each day, as though she is the odd one out, the seventh wheel amid three solid pairs.

Dani, still teasing the clench of her stomach with curious fingers, says, “Guess you should go, then,” and Jamie thinks no one has ever said as much to her with less pleasure. No one has ever sounded quite so inclined to keep Jamie close. 

“I’ll be back,” she promises, and Dani--spilled across her sheets like she was placed by some grand wish--grins all the wider.

***

Rebecca spends the day in silent fury, tears running down her cheeks. Hannah spends it trying to keep her lips pursed around I told you so-shaped phrasing. Owen spends it in the kitchen, head down, and Jamie spends it teaching the kids how to properly weed out a garden, just for the distraction of it all.

Peter, they tell her, is gone. 

Peter, they tell her, left last night. 

“Gone where?” Dani asks when she pushes into the flat that night to find her still here, wrapped in one of Jamie’s favorite shirts and a pair of shorts. She has spent the day, she says, feeling intrusive, feeling as though she ought to be somewhere. Jamie, unable to explain the ease with which she does it, only leans in to kiss her slowly. 

“Here,” she says. “Meant to be here.”

As for Peter--she doesn’t much care where he’s skittered off to. Good fucking riddance, in her opinion. 

“Rebecca probably doesn’t agree,” Dani says, folded onto one of the sparse kitchen chairs with bare feet and a worried expression Peter doesn’t deserve. Across from her, Jamie sighs. 

“Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

Dani tips her head, waiting, and it strikes Jamie that this is an already that doesn’t make much sense. Like the comfortable silences, Dani’s capacity to already understand when she needs to talk something out, when she needs to come to a matter on her own terms without being rushed along, is a thrill. 

“Been thinking,” she goes on slowly, giving voice to thoughts she’s been batting around for months, “maybe I’ve outstayed my welcome, as it were. At the house. With the others.”

“You said you loved it,” Dani points out. Jamie sighs.

“Love the work. Love the people, some of ‘em. But there’s something about it--something about being bound to the place that feels...”

Suffocating, she doesn’t say. Like trying to walk against the wind. Like a clock ticking down.

“Been thinking for a while,” she says instead, “about moving on. Traveling some. Can find good work for my hands anywhere, can’t I?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani seems to recognize this is Jamie’s future to parse out, Jamie’s thoughts to sift through. Dani having spent a night in her bed is not qualified to deter or convince her. 

“It can be lonely,” she says, when Jamie goes quiet. “Traveling without a destination.”

“You’ve been doing it,” Jamie points out, smiling a little, and Dani looks almost embarrassed. 

“Seemed the only thing to do, at the time. If I had to do it again...”

“You’d stay home?”

Dani laughs. “No. No, absolutely not.” Her hand slides across the table, tangling with Jamie’s fingers. “But...I don’t know that I’d do it alone again. If I didn’t have to.”

Jamie says nothing, the words revolving around and around between them. It’s too early to say it, she thinks. Even if she feels as though she’s known Dani far longer than these few weeks, these spare bundles of days spent talking, laughing, kissing, it hasn’t been long enough to say a thing like this. 

Dani is watching with serious eyes, with a strangely calm expression, and Jamie wonders if she can see it in her eyes, the thing she is deliberately not saying out loud.

***

She expects to find Peter back again the next day, but his absence is etched into every inch of wallpaper like a smoke stain. Rebecca seems to be moving in slow motion, going about the business of teaching the kids with very little investment. Hannah and Owen exchange concerned looks over the lunch table, and Jamie--who had enjoyed a languorous morning with Dani in her entirely too-small shower--finds herself thinking again of this house, how good it is at building pairs of people. How, without her pair, Rebecca seems lost. How, without Jamie around each morning, Hannah and Owen seem to be revolving ever nearer to one another. 

And maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Maybe it’s like science, like the simplicity of an atom. Maybe without Peter holding her to the structure, Rebecca will ultimately bounce off again, vanish into a space built for, instead of around, her. Maybe Owen and Hannah will finally speak of quiet lovely truths they’ve been dancing around for years. Maybe it will all balance out. 

“Where are you off to next?” she asks Dani one night, the two of them curled close in bed. Dani, who had been drowsing against her shoulder, raises her head. 

“Kicking me out?” There’s a smile on her lips which, when paired with the genuine edge of worry in her voice, makes Jamie’s heart hurt. 

“No, I--I mean, I know it’s...early. And you can say no. Please, by all means, say no if you--”

“Ask,” Dani interrupts gently. Jamie sighs. 

“I’m going to call up Wingrave. Let him know he’ll be needing a new groundskeeper for the autumn season. I can’t...”

Keep listening to the walls breathe around me, she doesn’t say. Keep watching Rebecca mope, and the kids checking every window for Peter fucking Quint’s reflection. Can’t keep still in this place that only ever wants a person to stay the same. 

“I can’t,” she repeats solidly. “I was wondering if you’d...if you wanted...”

It’s been a week since opening her bed to Dani Clayton, and a week is nothing. A week is barely a breath, in the grand scheme of things, but there are feelings Jamie can’t bury once dug up. Certainties she can’t turn from, once looked in the eye. There is something about the way Dani exhales across her skin in her sleep, about the way Dani kisses her with open abandon when Jamie touches her, about the look in Dani’s eyes when she thinks Jamie doesn’t see. A week in her bed. A month in her life. 

Sometimes, she thinks recklessly, you know it’s worth trying for.

“If you wanted the company,” she says finally. “Not even forever, if you didn’t want--”

“Forever’s a long time,” Dani replies, though she’s smiling. Heat winds its way up Jamie’s neck, settling between her shoulder blades, at the small of her back where Dani’s hand seems always to grip tight around her shirt. 

“It is. Yeah.”

“Start smaller?” Dani suggests quietly, even as she’s pressing close, one leg sliding between Jamie’s beneath the sheets. “Only, I knew someone once, who demanded forever. It...didn’t work out.”

“Smaller,” Jamie agrees, relieved. Dani smiles against her lips, each kiss a little longer, a little more wanting than the last. “Little at a time, maybe.”

“Company would be nice,” Dani answers, and then she’s kissing Jamie for real, pressing Jamie into the sheets, and Jamie doesn’t care that the summer has been a mess of other people’s feelings, that the house is a cataclysm of old ghosts and unpleasant exhumations, that people are rarely worth the effort sunk into them. Jamie doesn’t care about anything just now except the distinct sound of Dani’s laugh in her mouth, the distinct pressure of Dani’s fingers against her heart. 

A woman in her pub. An event built of a dozen tiny accidents, a dozen roads taken without expectation of consequence. Maybe in another life, Dani would have chosen the next village down the way. Maybe in another life, Jamie would have been too wary to meet her eyes. Maybe in another life, Rebecca would never have come to teach those kids, Peter would never have made a misery of that house, Owen and Hannah would have built a love in Paris to put them all to shame. Other lives. Other roads. 

In this one, Jamie dreams of adventure, of a soft hand tucked into her own, of blue eyes and a brave little grin, and thinks, Half the fun, isn’t it? Never knowing where you might land. 

[hongism]

liquorice and ivories - k.hongjoong

➻ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader ➻ wc: 16.5k ➻ genre: smut, tad angsty, fluff, e2l, pianist!hongjoong, pianist!reader ➻ rating: M, 18+ ➻ warnings: public sex, semi-public sex, explicit smut, oral sex: m & f, fingering, handjobs, choking, lowkey hate sex at first, sex on a piano, degradation, praise, marking, biting, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, creampie, unprotected sex ➻ summary: you and hongjoong are competitors, of course. two people, one dream - there’s never room for two in this industry. neither of you care who you have to step on to get to the top.

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Your fingers hit the ivories with a thud. The sound echoes through the practice room, reverberating against the walls and sending the sickeningly sweet sounds to the ears of all the people in the room. You sit back, satisfied with the performance, and glance over at your small audience. The professor is the first to clap, and he sends a small smile your way before standing up. Five of your classmates mimic his movements, but the sixth remains stony and cold, unmoving except for the slight curl of his lips that echoes his disgust with your performance.

Kim Hongjoong.

The two of you have never cared for each other; both are so competitive that you can’t stand to be around one another for more than five seconds. You are arrogant to a degree, but only because you think about how far you’ve come and how much you’ve developed over the years. Hongjoong, on the other hand, is just arrogant. There’s no need to beat around the bush and think harder about it. You’ve known the man for about two years now – you both joined the university at the same time and now are in your junior years together. Given the minimal size of your program though, it means that you have to share every single class with Hongjoong.

When you started your journey in the program, you didn’t notice Hongjoong. He’s a short-statured man – still taller than you yes, but small compared to your other male classmate – and he was relatively quiet during the first year of school. A fashionable student, even with the awkward uniform you’re all required to wear, but he always manages to style it in a way like no one else. Whether it’s a beret on his head or a sudden change of hair color, Hongjoong always adds a new flair to his outfits. Once he even had a mullet, which you had never seen before in person, but as much as you hate to admit it, it actually suited him quite nicely. Now, however, his hair is bright blue and parted right down the middle. His bangs frame his forehead, exposing just enough skin to entice, and if you didn’t hate his guts so much, you would understand why all the girls at this school want to get in his pants.

As you said, you didn’t notice him during your first year at university because he was so quiet and kept to himself. That all flipped during the second year though. Hongjoong became bold all of a sudden; the bright-eyed boy of freshman year was long gone and replaced by a cynical man who sought to tear everyone down. You became his primary target of attack. You weren’t sure why at first, but it became glaringly obvious once your professor admitted that you and Hongjoong were the top two students of your generation. It is a competition, in which you are his biggest competitor.

Exchanged insults, glares and scowls sent in each other’s direction, attempts to outdo one another in practices and recitals and competitions. You fight each other tooth and nail. Your professor seems totally unbothered by the hatred you bear for one another; he claims that it’s a healthy way to challenge each other, even though everyone knows that it is the opposite of healthy.

All that to say – you are not surprised in the slightest to see his disdain. Your professor on the other hand cannot stop grinning after your performance.

“Fantastic job, Y/N. Really stunning. I think you’re doing better than ever with this piece. I have no doubt that you can win the next competition if you continue practicing hard and performing at this level.”

You push the piano bench back just enough to step out, bowing to your professor at his kind words.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mr. Kim, you’re up next.” Hongjoong stands as he’s called forward. The two of you pass without sparing so much as a glance in the other’s direction. You take his now empty seat, one leg crossing over the other as you lean against the back. Hongjoong sits on the bench, fiddling with the adjustments and distance from the keys a bit. “Remind me of your piece?”

“Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 48, number 1.”

“Ah yes. Start whenever you’re ready.”

As soon as Hongjoong’s fingers hit the keys, you’re reminded of why you hate the man so much. It’s not because he’s arrogant and egotistical for no reason. No, he’s sickenly good at playing the piano. That infuriates you even more. If he was bad and full of ungodly rage, you might be able to rectify his attitude, but no. He’s the best pianist you’ve ever met, ever heard, better than some professionals that you’ve gone and seen in concert. He plays the piano as though it’s an extension of himself. The ivories are like his muscle and bone, he treats each one like it’s a part of him, and he knows how to recreate a piece of music in a way that is so authentically original yet completely his own. Yea, you fucking despise it.

Over the years, the biggest complaint you’ve received from teachers and judges is that you cannot properly express the music. You can play it perfectly, recreate the notes as they were written, and copy them to perfection. But that’s not what the judges or teachers want. They want you to be unique and diverse. They don’t want a perfect replica. They want you to take the piece of music and make it your own, create something flawless and make it even better by putting your own heart and soul into the notes. Hongjoong does that with such ease that he makes it look effortless.

This piece he plays now gives him the perfect playing ground to do that again. The way his fingers dance across the keys, a feather-light touch that brings the slightest notes out and the hard-hitting chords that resound in your ears. His performance is as flawless as ever, he has no trouble making the song his own. You hate it. The perfection under his fingers nearly makes you sick to your stomach because the player behind the keys is nothing but a self-righteous asshole.

You honestly want to smack some sense into Hongjoong, maybe rough him up a little and try to make him less of an asshole, but you doubt that would work. You settle for glaring at the side of his head throughout the performance, despising each perfect note he plays until he finishes the song. You return the favor of not clapping when he finishes the piece, six long minutes of torture, but everyone else in the room applauds his performance with fervor. He stands up and steps around the piano bench, bowing to the professor then turning to look right at you. A smug smile spreads across his lips. He knows how well he did, and he knows how much you enjoyed the piece. You don’t give him the pleasure of returning the glare any longer and glance away to stare at the floor instead.

“Fantastic job, Mr. Kim. Near perfection, I would say. Be sure to watch the tempo as you play. Otherwise, I have no advice for you.”

“Thank you, professor.” Hongjoong’s voice mimics the sickly sweet tone of his playing, a melodious sound that grates against your ears despite how pretty it is. He rubs at his wrists as he pulls away from the piano, and his expression is blank when you look back up at his face.

“Alright, that’s all for today. You all did well with your performances. Be sure to keep practicing. I’ll see you at the competition on Saturday. Watch your emails as I’ll be sending out information about the bus ride to the concert hall. Dismissed!”

You waste no time in standing up, snatching up the bag at your feet and slinging it over your shoulder without thinking twice. You’re out the door within seconds. It would be a wise idea to drop by a practice room and work on your piece some more seeing as there are only a few days left until the competition, but too much rage boils in your gut. You want nothing more than to go home and stew in fury on the couch while watching some awful drama. So, that’s exactly what you do.

The bus ride back to your apartment is quick and easy, as is the walk up the stairs to your room. When you step inside, a small black cat darts out from under the couch to greet you. You stoop down to scratch at his chin, cooing as he rubs against you with a happy purr.

“Hi, Victor. Did you have a good day?” The response you get is a quiet meow. “Yea, I had a good day up until practice. Fucking Kim Hongjoong.”

You step around the small cat to plop down on the couch, dropping your bag to the floor with a thud. Digging around in your pockets, you pull your phone out to find a littering of texts across the screen as well as two missed calls. With a sigh, you tap the screen to return the call, immediately greeted with a loud scream in your ear.

“Y/N!”

“Yea, hi, Woo. Why’d you call?”

“I can’t just call my best friend out of nowhere?”

“No, because you never call unless you want something,” you sigh into the receiver. Wooyoung replies with a dissatisfied click of his tongue.

“Wow, I see how it is. I get absolutely no respect. None! You hear that, Seonghwa? No respect!” You hear Wooyoung’s roommate hum quietly over the phone, and Wooyoung grumbles at his nonchalant response. “Anyways, you’re right. I called because I want something.”

“I fucking knew it.” You sit straight on the couch, elbows coming to rest against your knees. “What is it this time? Calculus homework? You know I’m not a math major…”

“No! No, if I wanted help with Calculus, I would just ask Hwa.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“I’m having a party tonight and–”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out!”

“The answer is no.”

“Come on, Y/N! You never go out!”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s a chill party!”

“You say that every time then the cops get called and suddenly it’s no longer a ‘chill party’.”

“Okay, but this time it really is.”

“How so?”

“It’s small. Only seven or eight people are coming. Including you, maybe?”

“More always end up showing up, Woo.”

“Not this time. I’ve limited it. Mingi and San are not allowed to bring anyone over, I’ve made it glaringly clear. So please? Pretty please? Seonghwa and I will buy you dinner for a whole week!”

“Um, when did I agree to that?” Seonghwa’s voice carries over the phone against, his tone full of protest as Wooyoung makes the offer.

“Make it two weeks and you have a deal,” you respond, voice flat.

“What? No! That’s way too much. One week.”

“One and a half.”

“I’ll give you one week and Hwa will buy a whole bag of cat food for Victor.”

“Deal.”

“What?” Seonghwa’s shout of protest resounds again. “I did not agree to this!”

“Too bad, so sad, Hwa! She’s coming!” Wooyoung cheers, voice quieter as he pulls away from the phone for a moment. He comes back right after to talk to you again. “Okay, be here by eight. That’s when people will start showing up. Seonghwa’s getting us some good good alcohol so we’re really going to have fun. I promise!”

Wooyoung doesn’t give you the opportunity to respond; instead, he hangs up the phone and leaves you in silence again. You drop the phone to the couch with a sigh, glancing over at where Victor is now perched on the armrest.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

He meows back at you, amber eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yea, that’s what I thought.”

…

The house is already booming with music when you arrive at the front door. Wooyoung is lucky to live with Seonghwa because the man is filthy rich and can afford to rent out a whole house to live in for the school year. It allows for loud parties like these, although the house is relatively small and the other houses around it are very close, they can at least have the luxury of not sharing a whole apartment building with hundreds of other people.

You don’t bother knocking, twisting the knob and stepping into the noise. Wooyoung is there to greet you at the door, two cups in hand, and he grins when he sees you.

“Y/N! Let’s get this shit started! Rum and coke?”

“Yea, yea.” You snatch one of the cups from his hand and start sipping at it without a second thought.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Well, it’s mine now!”

“You little shit.” Wooyoung scrunches his nose up, then drops a hand to your back. “Okay almost everyone is here. San is in the middle of dragging Jongho over by the ear, then we’re gonna be in full party mode.”

“I can’t wait to make a speedy getaway.”

“You say that every time. Then you stay all night. Make up your mind, woman.” Wooyoung elbows you in the side. He catches sight of Seonghwa a moment later, rushing off to go stand with the older man. You watch him go with a small shake of your head. As much as Wooyoung doesn’t want to admit it, he is absolutely infatuated with his roommate. Every time they have a party like this, Wooyoung ends up in Seonghwa’s bed, and they wake up as though nothing happened. Part of you wishes you could have a relationship like that – fuck and move on without a care in the world. The two won’t admit that it’s something exclusive but you know Wooyoung wouldn’t dare sleep with anyone else, and Seonghwa doesn’t bring anyone to the house or spend the night elsewhere. They have an unspoken agreement, an undefined relationship. Still, it bothers Wooyoung that Seonghwa won’t speak up about his feelings, and you’ve had to console the man through drunk tears on occasion. The only action you get, on the other hand, is hearing Wooyoung’s stories about how they fucked and getting gross details of all the positions Seonghwa put him in throughout the night.

You shake your head at the thought, downing some more of your drink to expel the image from your mind. You glance around the living room, searching the faces of the people who are already here. Wooyoung was at least telling the truth, and there are only three people talking in a small circle. All are faces you recognize: Wooyoung’s friend Mingi, Seonghwa’s old flame and best friend Yeosang, and Yeosang’s current boyfriend Yunho. All people you know well enough to be friends with, so you approach them without any hesitation. It’s only when you step past Mingi’s outrageously tall form that you catch sight of a much smaller form, one with bright blue hair that you recognize in an instant.

“He fucking didn’t…” You mutter to yourself as you drag your gaze over the man’s form. “Jung Wooyoung, I swear…”

You spin on your heel just before going to where the group is standing. You make a beeline for Seonghwa and Wooyoung, catching the younger man by surprise when you grab hold of his shoulder and yank him back.

“Woah! What? What happened?”

“You fucking invited Kim Hongjoong?” You ask, tone incredulous as you glare at your best friend.

“I-I – oh shit. I forgot! I forgot you weren’t friends!”

“How did you fucking forget, Wooyoung? I tell you how much I had him on the daily!”

“Mingi asked if he could bring his roommate! I didn’t know that his roommate was Hongjoong, I swear. I’ve never met him before, I just assumed it was some random person. Please don’t hit me!” Wooyoung flinches away from you as you raise a hand to smack him across the back of the head.

“I can’t believe you,” you grumble as Wooyoung yelps. Seonghwa laughs at your exchange with Wooyoung, eyes forming soft crescents as he smiles. “You didn’t think to ask?”

“Why would I need to ask? We’re friends, I just assumed his roommate would be chill like he is!”

“No, it’s Kim fucking Hongjoong, the least chill person in the fucking universe. I’m leaving.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Please don’t, Y/N. You just got here, come on. Stay for just a little bit. You don’t even have to talk to him, okay? Just stay with me or Seonghwa. Or San when he gets here! I know you like him!”

“Shut up!” You turn away at the accusation, cheeks heating up as he points out your minor crush.

“I’m just stating facts,” Wooyoung huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest and sticks his tongue out at you.

“I’ll stay as long as I don’t have to breathe near Hongjoong.” You send a glare at the blue-haired man’s back even though he can’t see you. You don’t even know if he’s seen you yet; he’s still glued to Mingi’s side without a care in the world.

“What’s the deal with you two anyway?” Seonghwa asks as he brings his drink up to his lips.

“He’s a self-righteous fucking asshole who tears people down so he can feel better about himself,” you grumble back. Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up, and Wooyoung shakes his head.

“Competition. They’re both good at piano. Thus… they’re competition to each other.”

“Yea, yea… it would help if he wasn’t such a fuckwad.”

“Ooh, fuckwad. That’s a new one. Hey, Hwa, how kinky would it be to call you fuckwad during sex?”

“I – what?”

“Please spare me! I did not come here to hear about that again.”

“Oh, fuckwad, harder!” Wooyoung cries out, leaning closer to you. You try to swat him away with weak hands.

“Not as kinky or hot as you think,” Seonghwa chimes in, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Maybe we can try it tonight and see if I change your mind.”

“I hate it here,” you chime in, trying to hide behind your drink.

“Sure you do.”

“No, I really hate it here. This is disgusting, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I mean, you can watch if you want–”

“No! Oh my god, no. Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung cackles as he pulls away from the two of you, moving over to where the others stand with their drinks, and leaves you and Seonghwa to stand at the edge of the kitchen.

“What am I going to do with him?” Seonghwa asks as he watches the short brunette walk away.

“Marry him?”

Seonghwa releases a small laugh. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

You smile at the taller man, glancing at his love-stricken expression out the corner of your eye before downing the rest of your drink. Casting another glance over at Hongjoong’s back, you spin on your heel and enter the kitchen to make yourself another drink. The amount of rum you put in is almost shameful, and it’s a good thing that your recital is on Saturday and not tomorrow because you know you will end up absolutely wasted before the night is over. You don’t even bother to put soda in this time either, just leaving the liquor and a few cubes of ice.

The alcohol burns as it sears down your throat. Seonghwa has moved forward to join Wooyoung with the others. You know you’re going to have to go over there eventually, but Hongjoong’s lurking form is deterring you from doing so for now. Just your luck too because the doorbell rings as you step out of the kitchen.

“I’ll get it!” You call out over your shoulder, making your way over to the door. You already have an inkling as to who it might be, and that is only confirmed when you crack the door open. San and Jongho stand behind it, bright smiles on both their faces. You bite down hard on your lower lip at the sight of the former and try not to let your gaze rake over his body as he steps over the threshold.

“Oh, Y/N! I didn’t know you were going to come too. What a pleasant surprise!” San says. His hand finds your waist as he pulls you in for a warm hug. Your heart does small cartwheels as he presses against you, and you feel the need to down a whole bottle of rum to expel the feelings.

“Yea, I-I, uh, Wooyoung convinced me to come,” you stammer out, glancing away from San’s face. Jongho smiles at you but says nothing, and he looks a lot less excited to be here than San. You understand the feeling at least and pass a sympathetic smile in his direction.

“I’m glad he did. I don’t see you nearly enough.”

“Oh shut up. You’re just one building over, you can always visit me in the practice rooms.”

“And risk seeing asshole supreme? I’ll pass.” San laughs as he shuts the front door, and you know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Don’t speak too soon. He’s here with Mingi.”

“Oh fuck. Where’s the alcohol? I’m gonna need it.”

“Kitchen.”

“Bless you.”

“Mhm,” you hum over the rim of your cup. Your eyes shift back over to where the others are standing. Your heart plummets in an instant as you see Hongjoong’s gaze on your form. That familiar hatred is lingering in his stare, and you return it immediately with an equal amount of fury. Rather than staying any longer to see him, you move to follow San into the kitchen, downing a good amount of alcohol along the way.

“You know, I should’ve brought my girlfriend with me,” San says as you step into the kitchen. You freeze in your tracks, mouth falling agape as your brain processes the words. It’s almost a physical pain that spreads across your chest when you realize what he’s saying. You don’t let it show on your face though; the pain is covered with a shaky smile and laugh.

“W-What do you mean?”

“You’re always the only girl at these parties. It must suck to not, I don’t know, have another girl to talk to, you know?” San brings a cup to his lips, sipping at it quietly as he looks at you. You swallow roughly.

“Right, yea. Of course. I… Honestly, I barely notice. I have Wooyoung.”

“Good point, good point. I’ll be sure to bring her to the next one though. I think the two of you would get along! Hell, you might even know her. She’s in the piano program.”

“O-Oh, wow! Wow. Wow. What a coincidence!”

“I know right? Her name is Minnie if you talk to her at all.”

You nearly choke on your drink as San says the name. Not only do you know the girl in question, she is one of your closest friends – if not your closest friend in the piano program. Not once did she ever let it slip that she was dating your crush. The crush you have mentioned to her on multiple occasions. Nice. Fuck, this nice just keeps getting better and better.

“I-I, no. No, uh, I’ve not talked to her too much!” You lie with another weak smile. “But I’ll be sure to introduce myself soon. I’d love to chat with her about music and stuff.”

“Yea, absolutely. I can give you her number if you’d like?”

“No, no! It’s okay! I’ll see her tomorrow in class. You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh yea, I forgot you guys have practice together every day. She speaks highly of your playing, by the way.”

Your smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks as you strain to keep it going.

“Oh please, I’m not that good. Nothing special.”

“Humble words for the best in the program,” San replies with a lilt to his tone. Your cheeks feel like they might collapse if you maintain the grin any longer. Thankfully, San steps away from the counter and motions towards the living room a moment later.

“I’m gonna go say hi to the others.”

“Yea, go ahead. I’m just gonna get a refill on my drink!” You don’t need another refill, you still have half a cup left. You throw it back when San disappears though in the hopes that it’ll take the sting in the corners of your eyes away. It wasn’t even a straight-up rejection. Still, you’ve spent months pining after San and trying to get close to him, only for this to happen. One of your closest friends to up and date him behind your back? Yea, that hurts a lot more than you’d like to admit. Once the alcohol is fully down, you drop your cup to the counter and begin to pour another glass of straight rum. You don’t even notice when someone else steps into the kitchen with a drink in hand.

“Even at a random party, you manage to annoy me.”

Hongjoong. As though your night couldn’t get any worse, he decides to come and bother you. How perfect. You should’ve said no to Wooyoung.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” You slam the bottle of rum against the counter and bring your cup back to your lips. Hongjoong comes closer to the counter, shaking his head at your behavior.

“Such a model student you are.”

“You’re one to fucking talk.”

“The mouth on you is absolutely foul.”

“I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to cuss.”

“It’s not pretty for a lady to cuss.”

You nearly toss your drink in his face but somehow you manage to hold back from doing so.

“My patience is already minimal.”

“Rejection ruin your night?” Hongjoong reaches across the counter to pick up the bottle of alcohol. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think you’ll draw blood. “Everyone in class knows that Minnie’s dating San. How did you manage to miss that? Especially seeing as you’re the one who talks with her the most?”

“She neglected to tell me.”

“Probably didn’t want to crush your dreams.”

Your grip on the cup in your hand tightens. Hongjoong’s words shouldn’t get to you – they normally don’t, but right now you’re already in a bit of a fragile mindstate, so the stinging in the corners of your eyes returns in a rush. You inhale sharply. Hongjoong glances up at you as he hears the sound. His fingers pause on the bottle of rum.

“Are you crying?” He asks. You squeeze your eyes shut as though it will hide the evidence of your tears, but it only serves to cause them to run down your cheeks. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry. I di-didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hongjoong’s apology is quite the shocker. You half-expected him to laugh in your face and call you all sorts of names. When you glance over at him again, his expression is one full of regret and guilt. You wipe furiously at your cheeks with one hand, keeping the other on your cup of alcohol.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say again, albeit with a much shakier tone this time. All the remorse on Hongjoong’s expression melts away in an instant. He glares at you in response and returns to pouring himself another cup of alcohol. You turn away and move towards one of the counters, hopping up on it and mulling over your drink in silence.

“You’re really going to sit there and mope all night? I should’ve known you were boring as fuck just from hearing your performance quality.”

It didn’t even take a minute for Hongjoong to return to insulting you. The temptation of chucking your drink at him returns, but once again you manage not to do that.

“What do you get out of being mean to me? Does it make you feel better? Is that it?”

“No. You’re just so easy to rile up. Makes you worse at playing the piano too, which means it makes me that much better than you. Eliminating the competition, love. That’s all.”

“Don’t fucking call me ‘love’.”

“Why? Does it get you going?”

“I hate you so much, I swear. Don’t you have a line of girls you can fuck around with whenever you’re bored?” You hiss the question at Hongjoong. He laughs a little, one corner of his lips curling up as he takes in your questions. He hums and pushes the bottle of alcohol away again, then brings his cup up to his lips. After a long and slow drag of the drink, he pushes it back down to the counter. You watch his movements with wary eyes as he steps around the counter and moves closer to where you’re perched.

“What’s the fun in that?” He asks, head tilting to the side as he draws closer to you. “Why not play a little game of cat and mouse? Tease, poke fun, see how much it takes for someone to give in. That’s real fun.”

“So I’m a game to you?” You spit out as Hongjoong closes in on you. He pauses in his tracks, only a few feet away from you now.

“A game? You aren’t the game itself. You’re just a piece in the game. The true game is getting under your skin.”

Hongjoong continues to move forward until he hits your knees. Despite his short stature, he’s just tall enough to be eye level with you at this angle. You lean back, head thudding against the cabinet behind you. There’s nowhere for you to go, and you stare back at Hongjoong with narrowed eyes. You bring your cup up, effectively blocking him from coming any closer, and down some more alcohol in the hopes that it’ll drive away the sudden warmth in your gut that arises when Hongjoong grins at you.

“Cat got your tongue all of a sudden, princess?”

“No,” you rush to answer. Hongjoong’s smile persists, and he places his hands down on the counter. They close you in, dropped on either side of your form. He’s putting an awful amount of trust that you won’t knee him in the balls like this, because you’re at the perfect angle to do so.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Hongjoong says. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear his words, and you panic, shoulders tensing up in an instant. Hongjoong hesitates, watching your movements with careful eyes. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“N-No, I… I…” You can’t finish the sentence. Your gaze travels down the slope of Hongjoong’s nose to his plush lips, their dark red color enticing you to lean forward. It’s the alcohol in your system, it really must be, because otherwise you wouldn’t even dream of kissing him. Hongjoong leans even closer, his breath mixing with yours. It smells like alcohol, and as he gets closer, you can see a faint blush across his nose and cheeks. He must be feeling the effects of the drinks as well, which should be a sign for you to stop and know that you’ll regret this in the morning. Hell, you aren’t even drunk yet. You’re barely tipsy. So why the fuck do you want to Hongjoong to pin you to the bed and fuck you senseless?

You don’t think any longer than that. You drape your arms around Hongjoong’s neck and close the distance between your lips. His lips are soft and warm when they hit yours, slotting together like puzzle pieces. He sighs into the kiss. He pushes against you as his hands shift to grip your hips. Despite the smell of alcohol on his breath, his lips taste sickenly sweet, almost like liquorice candy. Strangely, you can’t get enough of you. His tongue prods at your lower lips, swiping across the skin in a way that causes shivers to run down your spine.

A slight gasp escapes you, and Hongjoong uses that to his advantage. He presses his tongue between your lips with ease. It hits yours in an instant battle for dominance, and that sweet liquorice taste is on his tongue as well as though he’s been eating the candy for hours.

He pulls back for a moment, letting the two of you catch your breath. Your eyelids flutter as he moves, and your head falls back against the cabinet behind you. Hongjoong takes advantage of the motion. He leans forward and presses his lips to the column of your throat, tongue dragging over the skin there. Small gasps of air leave you as he sucks gently at the skin as well, and you know you should stop him because he’ll leave marks. Marks that won’t be gone within two days for the competition. Yet you don’t mind it too much ask his tongue lavishes your neck. What you do mind is the fact that the two of you are still in the kitchen. Which has no doors. So anyone could walk in and see the two of you going at it like this at any second.

You nudge Hongjoong’s shoulder, and he pulls off within an instant.

“What’s up?” He asks in the most nonchalant and casual tone ever.

“Upstairs bedroom. First door on the left. I’ll meet you up there in five minutes,” you say through a series of gasps. Hongjoong arches a brow, your confident tone catching him off-guard as well as the confirmation that the two of you are taking this further. He pulls away from you. His hands slide down your thighs as he moves in a teasing manner, and the gleam in his eyes tells you that he knows exactly what he is doing. You wait until he’s completely gone from the kitchen to release the breath you were holding, eyes falling shut. You take another chug of alcohol and finish off the rest of your glass. It’s just enough liquid courage for you to hop off the counter and pace around the kitchen, hands pressed together as though in prayer.

Now that Hongjoong is gone, you’re suddenly second-guessing this whole… situation. The two of you hate each other, that fact hasn’t changed in the slightest, you know that he still hates you as much as you hate him. It’s just the alcohol. It’s just the alcohol, it has to be. You’re still thinking straight and clearly though. It’s the arousal in your gut then. That was not there before Hongjoong kissed you or when you pulled him into said kiss. Then… perhaps the rejection that wasn’t really rejection from San. Maybe it’s that. Surely it’s that. Or maybe the two of you just need to fuck this out of your systems and carry on with hating each other.

Thinking is getting you nowhere. You don’t wait any longer, dipping out of the kitchen and taking the stairs up to the second floor without a second thought. The door you mentioned to Hongjoong belongs to Wooyoung, and he may not be happy about you using his bedroom to fuck your sworn enemy, but he’ll be wasted and distracted with Seonghwa within an hour anyway. You push into the bedroom with a sudden burst of confidence, but that dissipates the second you step in and lay your eyes on Hongjoong.

He’s stripped the leather jacket he was wearing off, leaving him in black pants that are far too tight, and a tucked-in tee that looks so effortlessly good on him that you hate it. You hate how damn perfect he is without even trying. He barely gives you time to shut the door before he’s approaching you, pressing you up against the wood. Your lips find each other again, and you moan out of surprise. The sound spurs Hongjoong on; he grabs hold of one of your legs and hikes it around his waist. The show of strength sends a surge of arousal to your core. He presses his tongue between your lips again, and you eat that sickly sweet taste of liquorice up as though starved.

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asks, pulling away for a brief moment to look you in the eye.

“Yes,” you respond without any hesitation. “Yes, so fuck me.”

“Fuck…” Hongjoong mutters. He pulls you off the wall, and you press your other leg around his waist as he moves for the bed. You’re glad Wooyoung at least didn’t leave his room a complete mess otherwise Hongjoong would be tripping over clothes and shoes. He makes it to the bed with ease, however, dropping you to the mattress. The air leaves your lungs in a huff. You sit up on your elbows. Hongjoong stays back for a few moments, tugging at his belt until it’s completely gone, then his shirt follows quickly. You barely noticed the obvious tent in his pants prior to this but in all honesty, your eyes were looking anywhere except for his groin. His stripping encourages you to do the same, pulling at your own t-shirt and discarding of it on Wooyoung’s floor. Your shorts are harder to inch off, but as you tug at the zipper, Hongjoong’s hands land on your hips.

He doesn’t say a word, yanking your pants down with such ease that you nearly melt at the sight. Now he’s the one overdressed though, tight pants still clinging to his form, while you’re left in the black set of lingerie that you wore without thinking you were going to end up like this. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind one bit, bending down over you and dropping his hands on either side of your body. You welcome him with a kiss full of teeth and saliva.

“Fuck you’re hot,” Hongjoong says as he pulls off your lips for a second. He reaches around your torso and unhooks your bra, yanking it off you. Cold air hits your chest, and you suddenly feel very embarrassed at the exposure. Hongjoong’s eyes rake over you. He brings a hand to drag over your chest, pinching your nipple without warning. You gasp at the sensation, and your back arches off the bed under his fingers. Your reaction encourages him to repeat the motion, and he dips down to latch around your other nipple with his lips. You cry out from the sudden stimulation, Hongjoong’s teeth grazing over your breast lightly, and your hands reach down to find purchase in his bright blue hair.

He doesn’t waste much time though, lips quickly leaving your breast and trailing wet kisses down your bare abdomen until he reaches the band of your underwear. A grin spreads across his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief as he snags the material with his fingers and pulls it down with ease. You don’t even have time to think before he reaches between your folds and flattens his tongue against your clit. Another startled yelp escapes your, legs jerking, and Hongjoong hooks his arm around your leg and grasps at your opposite hip with the same hand. The other hand lingers at your core, teasing your dripping folds while his tongue goes to work at your clit.

“Fuck, you taste so good, princess,” Hongjoong purrs against your lower lips. You glance down at him, making eye contact as he drags his tongue through your arousal. You can see your juices on his lips. The dirty sight causes you to writhe against him. He stills you by pressing two fingers into your heat.

“Ah! Ho-Hongjoong, oh my god,” you stammer out as he immediately curls those two fingers inside you and nips gently at your sensitive bud. “F-Fuck, fuck.”

“Such a dirty mouth for a dirty little slut, huh?” You can’t respond with words this time, but his statement draws a high-pitched whine out of you and your walls tighten around his fingers. Hongjoong teases the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. “Dirty talk then? Or degradation?”

You answer by squeezing around his fingers again, and the sensation is so tight that Hongjoong grits his teeth.

“You’re gonna be so good around my cock,” he hisses out. He squeezes a third finger into your heat, scissoring you open with relative ease. That damn tongue continues to tease your clit. He flicks over the small bead and draws small circles around it. It edges you closer and closer to an orgasm, but Hongjoong senses that and pulls away within an instant. He drags his tongue lower instead and pushes the wet muscle into your heat with his fingers. The added stimulation makes you cry out, and your hand grips Hongjoong’s hair and tugs at the strands. He nearly growls, the vibrations of the sound reverberating through your core in just the right way. It causes your orgasm to hit all of a sudden, back arching off the bed and body going slack as the intense waves wash over you.

Hongjoong guides you through the orgasm, fingers still curled inside you as he pulls his tongue back to lick the juices off his lips.

“Ready to take my cock in that dirty little cunt?”

“Yes, fuck – fuck, yes. Please fuck me.”

“Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can do that.”

Hongjoong pulls back from your core, hands going straight to his pants. He has to stand up to tug them down, and he yanks his underwear down in the same motion. You’re surprised by his size in all honesty. He’s rather short compared to the other men you’ve been with so you weren’t expecting much in that department, but he’s much larger than you expected him to be. He doesn’t give you time to gape any longer though, kneeling back on the bed and pulling your legs up around his waist. He guides his member to your entrance. You swallow in anticipation and watch him slowly enter you. He continues moving forward until he bottoms out, a low groan leaving his lips when you instinctively clench around his cock.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he grunts out, leaning down over you again.

“Just fuck me already,” you say in response. You curl your fingers around his neck and bring his head down to yours. Your lips connect as he pulls out, and the sharp thrust of his hips against the back of your thighs breaks the kiss. You throw your head back at the sensation, the curve of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot at just the right angle. You can’t keep the moans from slipping out; the feeling is far too good for you to keep quiet, and it spurs Hongjoong to thrust faster. He picks up a relentless pace, hips slamming against your thighs at an almost bruising pace.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. You tilt your head to the side and press your lips against your bicep, biting down on the flesh in attempts to quiet your moans. Hongjoong must not like that because his fingers close around the base of your throat. “Eyes on me.”

You follow the order without thinking twice, snapping your head back to look Hongjoong in the eye. Your quick obedience brings a stutter to his thrusts. He dips down to capture your lips in his own. Despite the fact that you just hit one orgasm, the drag of his member inside your walls is already spurring you to another one in a short amount of time. Your sporadic clenches around Hongjoong’s cock signal that oncoming orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum again, slut?” He growls against your lips. You nod a few times, tongue darting out to taste his liquorice tasting ones. He pulls just out of your reach and leans back. “Do it yourself.” His words draw a surprised gasp from your mouth. You can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not until he pulls his still hard member out of your heat. You swallow roughly, eyes trailing over him in disbelief, before pulling yourself up to be eye level with him again.

“T-Then let me ride you,” you say. Hongjoong arches a brow and bites his lower lip. Still, he doesn’t move. You blink at him. You don’t know what he’s wanting you to do or expecting you to do, so you do the only thing you can think of. Pin him down against the bed, throw a leg over his hips, and grip his member by the base. He groans at the action, watching you guide his cock back to your drenched folds with a cocky grin. You wipe the smile off his lips with a sudden drop of your hips. You take his whole length in again and don’t waste any time in picking up your pace until it matches his previous one. Even as you bounce on his member, he doesn’t grip your hips or guide your movements, just laying back and watching you do all the work. It reminds you of how much you hate the man, even in the throes of pleasure, he’s still an arrogant and self-righteous asshole. That thought doesn’t keep your orgasm from approaching quickly. Your bounces slow down as you grow ever closer to your high. When it hits, you release a loud cry, freezing on top of him with pulsing walls as the strength leaves your body. You stay like that for a few seconds, unable to move because of the intense orgasm, then pull off slowly.

He watches you with a narrowed gaze as you lower your mouth to his cock. You lap at his member, collecting the juices and precum from it, then take half of him into your mouth. He nearly bucks up into your mouth. You have to comb a few strands of hair back when they fall over his member. Hongjoong releases a wanton moan. You bob your head up and down along his cock in efforts to make him cum faster, and the plan works in your favor. Moments later, he is spilling hot cum down your throat. You swallow every last drop. When you pull off his softening member, you wipe at your lower lip with a satisfied grin.

“You fuck better than I thought,” Hongjoong says through a deep sigh.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” you answer as you fall back against the bed. Your whole body aches and burns from the sex, but you feel extremely satisfied as well. Hongjoong moves with you, head hitting the pillow at the same time yours does.

The two of you refuse to look at each other even in the afterglow of your sex. You don’t know what to say to him, or if you should say anything for that matter. All you can do is stare at the ceiling. Based on the noise that resounds from across the hall, Seonghwa and Wooyoung are already getting down to business. If you hadn’t just fucked Hongjoong, you might find this predicament awkward.

“I’m going to shower,” Hongjoong announces after the silence drags on for a few minutes.

“Y-Yea, yea, go ahead. Help yourself to a towel and stuff. Wooyoung won’t mind.” You watch the man get up and head into the bathroom. The awkwardness is now setting in, and you aren’t sure what this means for the two of you. Perhaps it was just hate sex, but it certainly wasn’t drunk sex because the two of you were surprisingly sober before you even started fucking. It shouldn’t change anything at all.

At least, that’s what you have to keep telling yourself. As Hongjoong passes you on his way out of the bathroom, he doesn’t even spare you so much as a glance. You take a shower of your own in complete and utter silence, mostly spending your time staring at the wall with a blank stare. It’s only when you step out of the shower and look at yourself in the mirror that you say something

“God, how fucking dumb can you be, Y/N?” You towel your body dry and reach down to snatch one of Wooyoung’s spare shirts off the floor, not caring that it might be dirty as you tug it over your head.

When you step back into the bedroom, Hongjoong is long gone. You shouldn’t be surprised. You really shouldn’t. You knew he wasn’t going to stay, and you knew that this was nothing more than a quick fuck for him. However, you are not the type to just have a quick fuck and go. So when you slide under the covers of Wooyoung’s bed, you only feel cold and dejected. Sleeps doesn’t come for quite some time, and you refuse to admit that there were tears on your cheeks at any point in the night. It was just a quick fuck and nothing more. You really have to keep reminding yourself of that fact.

…

“Come on, ladies! Quit moving so slowly! We’re on a schedule.”

You release a huff. The bus seat under your ass is wildly uncomfortable, and even though two days have passed, you aren’t any less sore from your little sex escapade with Hongjoong the other night. It’s the morning of the piano competition now, and you have managed to fully avoid Hongjoong in every way up until now. Because for some unknown and dumb reason, your professor decided that he needed a seating chart for the bus. And he thus decided that putting you and Hongjoong next to each other was a brilliant idea. You can only be glad that you arrived before he did, taking the window seat and pressing your headphones in so that you don’t even have to interact with him in the slightest.

It feels like some bad karma is against you at the moment, the same bad karma that perhaps caused you to fuck Hongjoong in the first place. Being forced to sit next to him is a punch in the gut. You thumb through your music on your phone to find the piece you’ll be playing for the competition today, letting the chords and notes resound through your ears and take over your thoughts. You don’t even notice when Hongjoong climbs onto the bus and sits down beside you, but the sudden lurching of the vehicle causes your eyes to snap open. You glance around in surprise, the music completely distracting you from what was going on around you. When your eyes fall on Hongjoong, you taste liquorice on your tongue. More than that, you fucking smell the candy.

You understand why after a moment, Hongjoong’s fingers toying with a small cube of the black candy. He pops it between his lips, tongue darting out to drag over his lips and collect the rest of the sweet treat’s taste. Then, he glances at you out the corner of his eye and catches your lingering stare.

“What the fuck do you want?”

You were right about one thing. Nothing has changed between the two of you. You opt not to respond and turn away from him with a huff. You return to your music, trying your best to only focus on the notes and all the notes you got from your professor over the past few weeks. Thankfully, Hongjoong doesn’t bother you any longer and actually lets you have some damn peace and quiet. However, you blame him for the fact that your mind keeps drifting back to him, thinking about everything from his body to the way he fucked you the other night and how good it felt. With each intruding thought, you crank your volume up higher and higher. It does nothing to expel the thoughts but at least it gives you some peace of mind.

That is, until Hongjoong elbows you harshly in the side. You yank one of your earbuds out and whip to look at him.

“What?” You spit out with venom in your tone.

“Turn your fucking music down. I can barely think with how loud it is.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“It’s your damn music,” Hongjoong hisses back with an equal amount of anger to his voice.

“Fucking deal with it.”

Hongjoong’s hand darts out and closes around your thigh. You choke on your saliva, coughing as he squeezes your leg. His fingers are dangerously close to your core, and due to your surprise, you pressed your thighs together and effectively trapped his hand between your legs. Hongjoong leans closer to you, and you pull away in response.

“Turn your damn music down.”

You can smell the candy on his breath, and it reminds you of the taste of his tongue and feel of his lips. You almost want to lean in and revisit the taste, but you resist that burning urge. Instead, you manage to plug your earbud back in and turn the volume down a few notches. It’s enough to satiate Hongjoong for the time being. His grip on your thigh disappears, giving you a chance to breathe again but it’s much harder to breathe now that he’s gotten you a bit worked up like this. You curl further against the window and glare at the passing scenery as the music continues to play in your ears. At some point, you fall asleep to the rhythmic beats of your piece. You don’t even realize it, head still pressed to the cool glass of the window as the bus rumbles onto your destination.

You wake up once the bus comes to a halt, and you wake up with a jolt. However, it’s not because of the bus’ sudden stop; no, it’s because your head has somehow managed to come to rest on Hongjoong’s shoulder as you were sleeping. How that happened, you have absolutely no clue because you were angled towards the window and you’ve never been one to move much in your sleep. Hongjoong must have fallen asleep as well, because as soon as you jolt upwards, your head smacks against his and he wakes with a start.

“What the fuck?” He cusses, bringing a hand to rub at his temple where you hit him. You rub at the sleep in your eyes in attempts to hide the evidence of your tiredness before your professor catches sight.

“Wake up, shithead,” you mutter as you shove his shoulder. “I need to get past.”

“Your fault for choosing the damn window seat.”

“And it’s your fault for falling asleep.”

“Were you not just sleeping yourself?”

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hongjoong spits back, eyes narrowed at you. He gets up regardless and steps away, and you take the chance to leave the bus with your bag in tow.

The one thing you hate the most about these recitals and competitions is the fact that you have to dress up nicely for them. It would be nice to show up and perform just the music, hell maybe even just play behind a curtain. But no, the judges need to see you and you have to be immaculate in every way. It’s not cheap in the slightest, but you’ve opted to reuse one of your previous recital dresses in the hopes that none of the judges will be faces you recognize.

Your professor leads the way into the concert hall, and you linger at Minnie’s side, as ironic as it is. Despite still being madly angry at her for not telling you that she was fucking dating Choi San behind your fucking back, she is still your closest friend in the program. That and she can’t seem to shut up about some movie she watched the other day. Her noise at least distracts you for the time being, especially as Hongjoong slips past you and runs a hand through his blue locks. The action is far too enticing and attractive for your liking. Again you’re left to blame it on horniness.

As you walk through the concert hall, those familiar gnawings of anxiety bite at your heels. Minnie is chattering away in your ear but you can’t hear a word she’s saying. Your hands grow cold quickly, and you tighten your grasp on your bag. You only relax a little once you get backstage and settle into a small dressing room.

“Alright, get ready quickly! Y/N, you’re the opener for the competition so you should get ready first.”

You respond with a few shaky nods before ducking into one of the bathrooms in the room. You change with haste, tugging the dark blue dress over your form until it rests comfortably on your body. You took care of your hair and makeup before coming; that was the first thing you did in the morning. All that’s left it to put on your shoes and get warmed up for the performance.

“Y/N, the room across the hall is where you can warm up,” your professor says when you step back out of the bathroom. You answer with another set of nods, moving for your bag to put your casual clothes back inside and replace your shoes.

“You’re gonna kill it!” Minnie drops a hand to your shoulder, squeezing you tightly.

“Thanks,” you mutter back as you fasten the straps of your shoes. When you stand up, you catch sight of Hongjoong staring at you. Your immediate response is to glare at him, which he returns just as quickly. “What?”

“Don’t fuck up too much. I don’t wanna have to clean up our reputation for you.”

You puff your cheeks full of air and stomp out of the room, not bothering to fight back at Hongjoong’s insult. You head straight for the practice room across the hall. It takes a few adjustments of the bench and your shoes, but you manage to get seated comfortably at the piano.

“Emotions. You need to show the emotions, Y/N,” you murmur to yourself as your fingers touch the ivories. It isn’t even the real thing, you should just be warming up and practicing the parts you had troubles with, but you still put your all into it as though it is the real thing. By the time you conclude the last notes of the song, you aren't even sure that you did what you needed to do. You can’t hear the emotion in the notes, you can only play them and hope for the best.

How Hongjoong does it is a mystery to you. He plays each note like it’s his very blood and bones, his life story laid bare before the keys. For someone so full of hatred and anger, it seems even more confusing to you, and as much as you try to reconcile it, you can’t.

“L/N Y/N to the stage. L/N Y/N to the stage.” You glance up with a start, eyeing the small speaker in the corner of the room. There’s a growing lump in your throat, and it only grows larger as you walk out of the room. Your professor is waiting there for you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk towards the stage.

“Remember the time signature and tempo. Watch your crescendos. And emotion! Put feeling into it!” He says as you walk ever closer to the front. You can’t respond due to the lump in your throat. Your attempts to swallow it down and dispel it do nothing either. As you reach the curtains, you catch sight of a certain blue-haired man at the edge of the stage. Your gaze hardens on him. Hongjoong never comes to stand by the stage and watch you perform. He’s toying with another black liquorice candy when you walk up to him, popping the candy between his lips before dropping his hand to mess with his cufflinks.

“Our first performer of the day, Miss Y/N L/N. She will be performing Franz Liszt’s Etude Opus 161, Number 3, La Campenella,” the announcer says, his voice booming through the hall. You don’t have time to think before your professor is pushing you forward onto the stage, and you nearly suffer the embarrassment of tripping over your feet on the way to the piano.

You reach the instrument without any issue, by luck of a miracle. The lump in your throat subsides as you sink onto the piano bench, and your fingers dance over the knobs on the bench to adjust it to your liking. Lift your left hand high, right one at the ready on the keys for the cue from your left. You drop your left hand to the keyboard and begin playing your piece to the best of your ability.

All your focus becomes consumed by the keys and music in your ears. You can’t even glance up to watch your professor or Hongjoong’s expression, too enraptured with your playing to think about anything other than the piano. Your whole body follows the tempo of the piece. You sway back and forth, following the movements of your hands as they dance across the ivory keys, and your heart leaps a little in your chest with each successful chord and note. Even if you aren’t able to fully capture the emotions behind a song, you can at least perform. And performing is what you do best. Replicating the notes, decrescendos, crescendos, chords, octaves and leaps, your runs and arpeggios all executed to absolute perfection. The entire performance is full of the excitement in the piece up until your last note after the five and a half minutes of playing.

Your fingers hover over that final note, letting it ring out and coat the ears of your listeners, and when you pull back, your foot slips off the pedal to let the music die out into silence. Applause greets you as you rise from the bench and bow towards the judges. You leave the stage the way you came, joining your professor and Hongjoong at the edge just behind the curtains.

“That was better than ever!” Your teacher cheers as you reach his side. He beams from ear to ear, eyes hidden behind the smile of his eyelids, but you don’t pay him any attention. Rather you look to Hongjoong in attempts to gauge his expression. If he’s impressed in the slightest, he does well to conceal it.

“Following Miss Y/N L/N, we have Mr. Kim Hongjoong, playing Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 48, number 1.” The announcer’s voice rings out again, calling Hongjoong onto the stage. He glances away from you as he steps out from behind the curtain.

“They put us back to back?” You mutter the question to your professor, who just looks down at you with a glint in his dark eyes.

“The judges requested that you two play back to back,” he explains, maintaining his grin.

“Oh…” You exhale and turn back to watch Hongjoong sit down at the piano. His performance is always a thing of beauty, but you know exactly why the judges would want the two of you back to back. Whilst you exude perfection in every note, Hongjoong does more. More with the piece, he plays with the rhythms and tempos, creating music that sounds wholly his. He plays as though he is the sole creator of the piece and no one else. Each piano he plays becomes part of him. You are polar opposites when it comes to performing. And that’s what they want to see. They want to see the two of your challenge each other with your differing play styles.

The lump in your throat returns as Hongjoong begins to play. Something feels off in the very first note. A spring of anxiety pops up in your gut as you hear it. It isn’t the same as usual, something in the way Hongjoong’s fingers glide over the ivories is not right. The professor still looks quite pleased though, almost like he doesn’t even notice the difference. When you glance out over the panel of judges, they bear similar expressions. It’s a mystery to you how they don’t notice the difference because in your ears, it is so stark and unable to be missed.

The next six minutes carry on with that same vibe. You can’t place what is going wrong until Hongjoong presses his fingers to the final note. The wrong note.

You lurch forward. Hongjoong freezes. The chord echoes through the whole hall, the glaringly obvious mistake resounding without stop even as Hongjoong pulls his fingers off the keys. He stands. Bows to the judges. Heads back towards where you’re standing without a word. It’s not like Hongjoong to make a mistake, not like him at all. You don’t think he’s ever made a mistake, even in practices he is always meticulous and perfect.

Hongjoong’s hands are trembling when he comes off stage. He strides past you without sparing you a glance. He doesn’t look at anything in fact, his eyes are unfocused as he moves forward. You can only stay rooted to the spot and watch him move away without a word. It happens in a millisecond, and if you blinked you would have missed it for certain. Hongjoong’s legs give out and he begins to collapse. Your professor rushes to his side as fast as possible. He grips the blue-haired man’s arm and pulls him back up, draping his arm over a shoulder and rushing down the hall. He’s calling for a medic and an ambulance, and as soon as those words process in your head, you choke on air.

Your feet move before your thoughts do. You chase after the pair, hiking your dress up a bit as you run. The old man carries Hongjoong back to your shared dressing room. Your fellow students dash out of the room as he brings Hongjoong in. You pause in the door frame, watching the scene unfold before you with a plummeting heart. An emergency nurse pushes past you to get in and effectively blocks your line of sight. All you can see is the blue strands of hair atop Hongjoong’s head and nothing more.

Someone catches hold of your arm. It’s Minnie, and she tugs on your wrist as she spews words in your direction. However, you don’t hear a thing. Your ears still ring with that final wrong note Hongjoong played, eyes unfocused as you try to look at Minnie. She’s pulling you to the aside, away from the hustle of bustle of the other people in the hall, and trying to catch your attention. You refuse to look at her, however, and opt to stare back at the room where Hongjoong is with wide eyes. The shock hasn’t drifted from your bones in the slightest.

You don’t get any form of relief until the emergency nurses file out of the dressing room. They don’t carry Hongjoong out on a gurney which is a small relief in and of itself. Your professor appears in the doorway next, sweat on his brow and glasses in one hand. The other runs through his hair – the minimal amount that’s left, that is – and he addresses the other students first.

“You all are to wait at the stage for your performances. You can go into that room across the hall if you need some more practice time, but you are not to enter the dressing room again until the end of the competition. Understood?”

You watch the students share a chorus on nods. Minnie releases your arm to move away with the rest of the students, but she sends one final look your way, one that seeks answers you do not have. Once all your classmates have filed away, you are left to stand across from your professor with bated breath. He doesn’t say anything at first, and neither do you, so the two of you just exchange forlorn stares without speaking. The silence drags on for so long that you think you might pass out; you’ve been holding your breath the entire time as well and it’s really starting to make you feel a bit lightheaded.

“What happened to him, professor?” You ask when the silence grows unbearable.

“He’s fine. Just a small accident.” The answer is spoken with haste, and his tone is flat. The way he says it almost implies that the words are rehearsed.

“A small accident wouldn’t warrant such a reaction from you though,” you reason, lifting a hand to scratch at your scalp.

“I need to go up to the stage to be with the other students, Miss L/N.” Your professor speaks with such finality that you don’t dare press the subject any further. Instead, you watch him walk back to the edge of the stage, waiting until he’s completely out of sight before pressing into the dressing room where Hongjoong is yourself.

You don’t see him immediately, which surprises you to a certain extent, but then you notice that the unisex bathroom in the back corner has an open door and the lights are on. Hongjoong must be in there, but it seems odd for him to have left the door open when anyone could walk in. You’re tempted to call out to him and ask if he’s alright. Something prevents you from doing so, however, and you merely creep closer to the room with quiet steps.

Whatever you might have been expecting goes out the window as you catch sight of Hongjoong’s blue head of hair. He is hunched over the toilet, an awful retching sound leaving his form every few seconds, and you can’t believe that the nurses and your professor dared to leave him alone in a state like this. Hongjoong hasn’t caught sight of you yet, but you certainly make your presence known as you stumble back. Your heel catches on the short train of your dress, you throw your hands back to brace yourself for a fall, but instead catch hold of a table and manage to stay on your feet.

Hongjoong whips his head towards you as you stumble, however, and all of his attention is suddenly directed at you. There is a small excess of vomit lingering on the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand as he looks towards you. There’s no explanation that would be suitable enough to explain what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, because frankly, you don’t even understand why yourself. That fact alone is slightly more terrifying than you would like to admit.

“What the hell do you want?” Hongjoong spits out. He slowly stands up straight, legs a bit wobbly as he moves, and moves for the sink to wash his hands and face. “Come to see me suffer? Does that get you going?”

Your jaw stutters as you fumble to come up with some sort of response. Nothing comes out for a few seconds and you’re left to just stare dumbly at Hongjoong with nothing but a blank expression.

“Figures…” Hongjoong mutters. He leaves the bathroom and heads for his small travel bag. You watch him move without saying anything, eyes tracking each of his movements with scrutiny. As he bends down to open the bag, Hongjoong winces. His arms jerk, back straightening for a brief moment, then his body returns to normal as though nothing happened. Hongjoong hisses, teeth gritted as he continues to push down and get whatever he was looking for. When he stands back up, you catch sight of a toothbrush and toothpaste in his hands. It’s strange, because those aren’t items he would typically bring to a competition like this one which lasts less than a day. The behavior makes it seem like he almost knew that this was going to happen.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask out of the blue. Hongjoong all but ignores you in favor of walking towards the bathroom again, this time with toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. “I mean – what happened to you?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate because there’s plenty wrong with me.”

“On the stage, Hongjoong. You fucked up and missed the last note. You never do that.”

“Yea, well, I did this time. What do you want me to say?”

“You collapsed as soon as you were backstage. Something is obviously bothering you now since you puked. What the hell is going on with you?”

“Why do you care all of a sudden? Wanna know why your competition is getting worse? Get used to it.”

“No…” You trail off, unsure of what to say next. Hongjoong brushes his teeth with ferocity, and his gaze remains on the mirror rather than looking to you while you speak. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You aren’t sure where the desire came from. It’s foreign to you, as it the worry that bubbles in your gut as you look over Hongjoong’s form. He seems frail all of a sudden, and that’s just so unlike him in every way that you can’t get past it. He doesn’t respond right away – probably due to the fact that his currently scrapping his toothbrush over the expanse of his tongue. You wait for a reply in silence for two minutes, then Hongjoong spits in the sink and washes his mouth out again.

“Parsonage-Turner Syndrome,” he says. His eyes find yours, still as void of emotion as ever, but you blink back in shock. “Do you know what that is?”

“N-No, I’ve never heard of it,” you answer honestly. Hongjoong sighs and returns to his duffel bag, pushing his toothbrush and toothpaste back inside. He digs around a bit more in the bag before standing up straight again. A small wrapped candy lingers between his fingers. He undoes the wrapper with quick motions, then pops the black liquorice between his lips.

“Idiopathic brachial plexopathy or neuralgic amyotrophy,” Hongjoong recites the words as though he’s heard them thousands of times. You don’t doubt that he has based upon the look in his eyes. “A rare disorder consisting of a complex constellation of symptoms with abrupt onset of shoulder pain, followed by progressive neurologic deficits of motor weakness, dysesthesias, and numbness.”

Hongjoong pauses and purses his lips. He looks away from you, but the way his eyes well up with crystalline tears doesn’t escape your notice. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek in silence. If there’s anything to be said, you certainly don’t know what it is.

“In short, I’m losing the function of my arms. Eventually, I won’t be able to use them at all. The more I play the piano, the bigger risk I run of destroying them further. How ironic, huh?” Hongjoong releases a dry laugh, but the humor is gone from his tone. As his words sink it, your heart sinks further and further. You dare to glance up at his face from across the room. The tears in his eyes have fallen down his cheeks. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen Hongjoong, but you also can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him. “How fucking ironic…”

Hongjoong’s voice dies off a little, cracking as he finishes his sentence. A moment of silence passes. You debate saying something but every time you try to speak, your voice dies in your throat. A scream of anguish leaves Hongjoong’s throat. He swings for the wall with his left hand, fingers clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles are white. He hits the wall with such force that the sound echoes in your ears, and you flinch away from the table you’re leaning against. Hongjoong sinks to the floor, knees hitting the ground with a thud. His fist never quits its rhythm against the wall; he continues slamming his hand at the surface. You’re frozen in place, watching his fist hit the wall over and over until red flecks begin to spread across the pristine surface of the wall.

“Hongjoong–” You start towards him, a sudden urgency rushes to your bones, and you hurry to keep him from abusing his hand any more than he already has. “Hongjoong, stop. Stop it, Hongjoong, stop.”

You snatch him by the wrist, and he relaxes into your touch within an instant. He slumps forward until his forehead hits the wall. It takes a few seconds of silence, then a strangled sob escapes his slacked body. You catch him before he completely falls over and drag his weight in your direction instead. He doesn’t even complain, fingers finding the material of your dress and balling around it without a word. He cries against you. You can’t imagine how long he’s been holding it in, how long he’s known that this was his fate, that the thing he loves the most will lead to his destruction. It’s heartbreaking and horrible to think about. The fear of even spraining a finger haunts you sometimes, but Hongjoong has to live with the knowledge that his fate is to lose his ability to play forever.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong,” you mutter against his hairline. A laugh leaves his lips, but it’s wet and full of mucus. He nearly chokes as he continues to laugh.

“How the fuck is this okay? In what world is this okay? Answer me that.”

“I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always fucking sorry. Yea, come say sorry again when you have your only passion stolen from you.”

“Ho-Hongjoong. No, I-I – stop. It’s not been taken away from you yet. You still have tim–”

“How much time? How long until I fuck my arms up to the point of no return?”

“Can’t they do anything?” Your question is spoken in such a quiet tone that you fear that Hongjoong might not hear it.

“There’s no cure. Just fucking physical therapy and acupuncture to slow the muscle denervation. Electrotherapy. Nothing that fixes it.”

“But it would slow it?”

“For a time.”

“Isn’t that worth it then? Even to just… try? The hope that maybe it will fix things enough to let you play is worth it isn’t it?”

“Worth it to what? I’ll never be able to play at the level I want to. I’ll never get to achieve my dreams, not in this condition. Not with this disease. I’m doomed no matter what. Physical therapy won’t do shit. If I’m gonna lose my arms, then I’m gonna do what I love until I can’t anymore.”

Hongjoong’s resolve is strong, even through the weakness he’s showing right now, and you can’t blame him. His behavior makes sense now. The hatred and disdain for you, the ego and arrogant nature about him, the flaunting of his skills – it was all just an attempt to hide the fact that he was breaking inside.

“Then you’re robbing yourself of an opportunity… you never know if something is going to work unless you try, Hongjoong. Even if you’re not a miracle patient who gets cured out of the blue, just trying could give you the ability to play longer. Not because you need to be the best or play better than everyone else or even play at a high level. But because it’s something that you love. And at least having the ability to do something you love is better than losing it altogether.”

Hongjoong doesn’t respond to your words. His tears aren’t slowing down, and you wonder if he’s in any pain in this very moment. His shoulders tremble but because of the sobs that wrack his hunched form. As you cradle him against your chest, you can’t help but look down at your own hands. Your fingers are trembling against Hongjoong’s back. In that brief moment, you imagine yourself in his shoes.

The first sear of pain through your arms. The continued abuse over weeks. Finally going to see a doctor. Being told that it’s a disease. That the longer you play, the worse it will get. That eventually you’ll lose the use of your arms completely. The dream you’ve had since you were a child – you wonder if it was Hongjoong’s dream too, before he was given the news. You wonder if Hongjoong had the same bright eyes and hopeful dreams of becoming something great, someone great. You imagine that dream being wrenched from your grasps. It hurts. Just the thought of it hurts more than a thousand knives in your chest.

All you can do is pull Hongjoong closer. There is nothing to say, nothing you can say or do that would make this any easier or better. You settle for this and press your cheek against his head.

…

The time has escaped you yet again, and you glance up from the keyboard to see that the clock reads six o’clock already. You wanted to get some rest in your apartment before nightfall hit because Wooyoung somehow managed to drag your ass out for another party even after what happened last time.

You push the bench back and close the lid of the keyboard. Your fingers linger on the wood, however, and you look at the instrument with a strange tightness in your chest.

It’s been three weeks since that competition. Three weeks since you’ve seen Hongjoong. He hasn’t attended class, you haven’t seen him in the practice hall or rooms at any point in time, it’s almost as though he disappeared off the face of the planet. You hate it. Class is too silent. It’s boring. Without Hongjoong, you have nothing to do except think about when the class is going to be over. It’s almost funny how only now that he’s gone do you realize how much time you spent slaving over the mere thought of him.

During the first week, you watched the door and waited for Hongjoong’s blue head of hair to step through. You always had your snide remark at the ready: “Late for class? At least you bothered to show up this time.” Hongjoong never came though.

The second week you guessed where he might be. Thought about what happened in the aftermath of his meltdown at the competition. They took him to the hospital, forcibly prying him from your arms, and that was the last you saw of him.

And then the third week passed by, and you began to wonder if the damage to his arms had already been done. Even now as your thoughts are occupied by the thought of him and him alone, you wonder if that’s the case.

As you get to your feet, the door behind you slides open. The sound is almost silent, and if you had still been playing you wouldn’t have heard a thing. You whip around to face the intruder. You nearly don’t recognize the form standing before you. Formerly blue hair has been replaced with a bright red, and it’s only when you look at the man’s features that you recognize him. Your darting gaze flits down to his left hand. It’s wrapped in a white gauze, fingers loose and flexing in the wrap. A good sign, perhaps. At least the damage isn’t fully done yet.

“Ew, it’s you,” you say, trying to contain the smile that threatens to overtake your lips when you see Hongjoong.

“Wow.” Hongjoong glances around the practice room. There is something sad and longing in his eyes as he looks around. You open your mouth to say more, but he continues speaking without you having to ask. “I, uh, I dropped out.”

“You what?” You just about fall over upon hearing the news. It catches you so off-guard that you choke on the saliva lingering on the back of your tongue.

“I dropped out of the program.”

“Yo-You – but, but the program – you were one, you were one of the only ones to get – what?”

“I thought about what you said. I, um… Yea, I dropped out. Started doing general studies instead. Think I’m gonna go for a teaching degree. Maybe try to be a piano teacher one day.”

“Why?” You aren’t being very eloquent, but the shock is too strong for you to even think about putting together a coherent thought.

“I kept thinking about what you said. Robbing myself of an opportunity… losing something I love. I love the piano, and I love playing the piano more than anything. I can’t lose the ability to play it. That’s – That’s taking away a part of me I can’t lose. Without piano… I would be nothing. I’m not ready to lose it because of some stupid fucking disease that can kiss my ass.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s the last thing you expected to hear from Hongjoong, especially since he resolve to be the best regardless of what happens to him was so strong. He saves you the trouble of coming up with a reply.

“I started going to physical therapy. They started me out on some acupuncture treatments, then worked me up to doing strengthening exercises and range of motion exercises. We’re going to try some electrotherapy next but the doctor said I’m making really good progress.”

“R-Really? Hongjoong, that’s amazing. Honestly. That’s truly incredible. I’m so ha–”

“Thank you,” he interrupts. His gaze is on the floor, fist clenching here and there, and his tone is quiet. “Thank you for giving me my dream back.”

You don’t have time to think before Hongjoong is walking towards you. He catches you by surprise, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against his chest without hesitation.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you murmur in response. Your arms drape over him, and hesitance fills your motions unlike his hasty ones. He is warm and soft under your touch, so unlike how he was that day of the competition – cold and stiff.

“I do. Please, I-I…”

Hongjoong doesn’t need to finish the thought, but you don’t need him to. You can guess what he might be trying to say. You aren’t sure you need to hear it or if you can handle it. Instead, you settle for this comfortable embrace. Hongjoong’s breath is hot against your throat, and curse you for thinking about it because it leads your thoughts in a bad direction. Hongjoong shifts his head closer to your neck, lips caressing the skin there that barely peaks out from under your collar.

“C-Can I…?”

“Yes,” you exhale when Hongjoong inches closer to your lips. He brushes over your skin with such a gentle touch that you wonder if it is actually real. He deepens the kiss a moment later, however, and presses against you with more fervor. Your lips slot together, warm filling your chest and gut. He guides you backwards as his hands find your hips. You gasp into Hongjoong’s mouth when your ass hits the lid of the piano. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind though. He uses it as an opportunity to press his tongue between your lips. That familiar taste of liquorice lingers there, and you smile into the kiss.

You let him take over, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound interest. It’s so different from your first time together; that time was filled with fervor and passion and arousal. This is slow, gentle, almost romantic. You can’t get enough of it. Each kiss leaves you wanting more, each lingering touch makes you want to take more, and when Hongjoong’s fingers hook around the back of your thighs, you moan into his open mouth. He lifts you with ease although you do worry for a split second about straining his arms. He dispels that worry with haste, propping you up on the lid of the piano without a care in the world.

His lips attack your neck next, pulling away from your mouth to leave a saccharine trail down your skin until he stops at the base of your throat. You bring a hand to his freshly red locks as he sucks at the skin there and roll your head to the side to give him better access. Your gaze flits down to the door he entered through, and the lock on the handle isn’t turned. You should be worried because being caught having sex on a damn Steinway would be atrocious, but Hongjoong pushes that to the side as well. Deft fingers work the buttons on your blouse apart and push the material back until you’re stripped of the shirt. He pops the clasp of your bra next and drops the lingerie to the floor. You bare your chest to him, ready for him to dive in and mark up your breasts in a similar manner but he doesn’t.

His hands instead go to the waistband of your skirt. He unhooks that button and zipper, tugging the material off of you as quickly as possible. All of a sudden you’re left only in your underwear. Hongjoong doesn’t let you stay nearly naked alone for long. He leans back to tug his own shirt off, then his pants are quick to follow. As the material drops, you catch sight of the prominent bulge in his underwear. Without thinking, you reach out and grab hold of his constrained member. He groans into your touch, hips automatically bucking forward from even the slightest touch. You don’t wait to dip your hand past the band of the underwear and take hold of his semihard member.

“Y-You’re the devil,” Hongjoong hisses out as you pump his cock ever so slowly. In response, you drag your thumb over his slit, collecting the precum there and using it to help you pump his cock with more ease. You release a small laugh as his hips thrust into your touch. The laugh is cut short when Hongjoong presses the palm of his hand against your core. “Something funny, princess?”

You can do nothing except gasp in response, back arching off the lip of the piano. Hongjoong must enjoy the sight before him because a low moan slips through. His free hand darts around your back and collapses the music stand atop the piano. He seems ready to move you up even higher on the piano, but you stop him with your hand.

“N-No, wait – I just, I want you to fuck me. That’s all.” Your hand slides across Hongjoong’s bare chest, leaving goosebumps in your wake, and Hongjoong nearly shivers. Your words seem incentive enough for him, however, and he dips down between your legs to tug your underwear off. His follow soon after; hardened cock finding freedom at last. You slide a bit further down the lid of the piano in efforts to get more comfortable. Hongjoong braces your hip with his left hand and the other goes to your dripping folds. You’re nearly wet enough to drip all over the floor, positioned carefully so that you don’t sully the piano any more than you are already.

He works you open with deft fingers, two pushing into with ease thanks to your wetness. He uses those fingers to scissor your heat open and stretch you. You moan under the touch. The loudness of your moans is a bit worrisome considering you’re still in public, so you try to conceal them at least with the back of your hand. The moment you try to cover your lips however, Hongjoong reaches up and tugs your hand back down to the piano. He covers your lips with his. The position lets you moan freely into his mouth until his fingers disappear from your heat altogether.

“F-Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Hongjoong hisses. He uses the juices of your arousal on his fingers to pump his cock a few more times before lining up with your tight hole. The stretch isn’t painful; quite the opposite really, but a high-pitched whine breaches your lips. Hongjoong hesitates halfway, eyes tracking your expression for any sign of discomfort. He only moves again when you nod. Once he’s completely buried in you, you expect hasty thrusts but they never come. You blink at Hongjoong, eyes wide in expectation.

He stares back at you with an unreadable expression. His brow has furrowed and he almost squints as he looks into your eyes. You open your mouth to ask if something is wrong, but he speaks before you get the chance.

“I wanna try… us.”

“You want to what?” You ask, taken aback by the sudden statement. It’s hardly a proper time to bring up a serious subject, but maybe it’s the best timing in the world. How are you supposed to know? It’s not as though you fuck people on the daily in a practice room atop a piano like this.

“I wanna take you out. Spend time with you. Go on dates. Be in a relationship. With you and only you.”

“You’re asking after you’ve fucked me twice now?”

“Haven’t fucked you the second time yet, actually.” Hongjoong winks at you, a smirk curling across his lips. “Is that a yes or no?”

“It’s a ‘ask me again after you’ve fucked me senseless’.”

“I’d rather have your senses intact when I ask you.”

“Yes, Kim Hongjoong. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit more than interested in you.”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell when I was… you know, in you.”

“Shut up and fuck me already!” You protest, slapping his chest with the back of your hand. Hongjoong pulls his hips back and snaps them back against you without warning. You release a strangled moan that quickly evolves into a whine at the sudden thrust.

“I’ll make the rules, princess.”

You nod hastily in reply and brace yourself against the pillow for Hongjoong’s next thrust. He goes slower this time though, taking his time with each thrust, and you know he’s only doing it to rile you up because of the cheeky grin on his face. You want to either kiss or slap it off him, but he makes you choose the former by pushing forward. Your lips slot together with ease. It’s comfortable, easy, relaxed – like you’ve done it a thousand times and will do it a thousand more.

His thrusts do pick up in pace after that, his tongue entering the mix as well as he pries your lips open with the wet muscle. You allow yourself just let go under Hongjoong’s touch. You drape an arm over Hongjoong’s shoulder, nails raking down his back as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The angle is near magical because each thrust seems to hit deeper than the last, and your moans are borderline shouts of pleasure. Hongjoong doesn’t let up once. You’re glad for it because you’re pretty certain that if he does stop, you’ll slip off the piano entirely.  

Your head falls back, lips disconnecting from Hongjoong’s, and you struggle to stay upright with the way his cock rams against your sensitive g-spot. An orgasm is approaching quickly. You can’t manage to get any words out, but Hongjoong seems to understand when you drag a hand to his shoulder and squeeze tightly. Your walls clench around his member without warning. Hongjoong’s thrusts stutter as you squeeze his cock, then he reaches up to pull your face back to his.

“Ca-Can I cum in you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes. Please. Please, Hongjoong.” The man presses his lips against yours after you get the words out. You can’t hold the orgasm back any longer, and it washes over you with a sudden intensity that leaves you trembling in Hongjoong’s arms. He joins you not long after, hot seed spilling into you, and you moan at the sensation of his cum filling you up. He hunches forward and his head hits your shoulder. Both your chests heave from the exertion; you can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs. Gently you bring a hand to Hongjoong’s hair again and comb through the red locks with light fingers. Hongjoong sighs into the touch, shivering as your nails brush over his scalp.

“So… is this when I take you to dinner or?” Hongjoong lifts his chin to look you in the eye. You roll your eyes ever so slightly as he grins. The hand in his hair moves to smack him upside the head.

“You’re supposed to do that before you fuck me.”

“Eh, I’ve never been one to do things in order like that.”

“Good thing you can fuck well then or else I might not want a date at all.” Hongjoong’s smirk morphs into a wide smile, and his nose scrunches up as he looks at you. You smile back at him then press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll take that date now though.”

“One specialty Kim Hongjoong date coming right up. Though you better be prepared to stay up late tonight.”

“And you better be able to keep up with me. Hopefully all those exercises they’re making you do can help.”

Hongjoong grumbles at your comment, pulling back from you with a pout on his lips.

“I’ve got great stamina, thank you very much.” Hongjoong pauses his sulking for a moment to wear a serious expression on his features. “I’m serious about this, you know. You aren’t just some… some quick fuck to me. You didn’t have to be nice to me or give me a chance or anything, especially with the way I’ve been treating you over the past two years. So, uh, yea. Yea, I’m serious.”

You cup Hongjoong’s cheek gently and pass him a small smile before leaning your forehead against his.

“I believe you. And it’s not like I was any kinder to you. But if this is a chance to make things right, then let’s do it.”

“Y-Yea, yea, you’re right.”

“Now let’s get dressed before someone walks in on us like this. Then you can take me to dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hongjoong pulls away with a grin still on his lips. For a moment, you just sit there on the lid of the keyboard and watch him move around collecting articles of clothing. The warmth in your chest is foreign and unknown, but comfortable nonetheless. You never would have expected things to play out the way they did, but it was a happy accident and you want to bask in it for as long as possible. You slip off the lid of the ivories. The taste of liquorice is still on your tongue.

​​​☽     ☾

➻ requested by: @atinyinwonderland ➻ prompts:

“Ew, it’s you.” “Wow.”

“Eyes on me.”

this highkey turned into a Thing and idek how that happened but here we are aosidjfosijdfo also i did some research into PTS (parsonage-tanser syndrome) and it’s a rather rare disease apparently but this kinda issue with no longer being able to play piano and being forced to give up your dream kinda stemmed from my personal life and my sister and how i saw it impact her so it’s very real emotions and reader’s thoughts about being in hongjoong’s shoes are thoughts i’ve had myself and it truly is hard for me to even think about especially since music means so much to me but yea i cried while writing this, i hope you all enjoyed im going through it imma head out

[mca-attack21]

The Beginning of Something

This imagine is based super loosely off of Season 5, Episode 8. It can be read as a stand alone, but will definitely be continued with at least five more parts as I rewrite the ending of the show. That being said, get ready for the rollercoaster of emotions that is Merlin. Also, you can find more of my writing: Here.

Tensions had been high with Arthur as he was struggling with a decision. He had come to find out that another ruler, Sarrum, had similar aims when it came to Morgana. As much as he hated it, he knew that there could never truly be peace in Camelot, or even in Albion for that matter until she was stopped. Sarrum was known for his boundless cruelty and double-crossing nature, but Arthur was becoming desperate and you know what they say about desparate times...

As Arthur was working through this troubling decision, he took it out on the one person unlucky enough to almost always be at his side. So when Gaius told Merlin that he needed him to go get some herbs and plants, Merlin was out the door glad for an excuse to escape the castle before he killed Arthur himself and ended his destiny once and for all. He understood that Arthur was under a lot of pressure, but he didn’t have to be such a clotpole about it.

Merlin was out looking for the last of Gaius’ herbs when a young dark-haired boy all but ran into him. 

“Woah, who are you? And what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“My name is Daegal. I have been sent by the druids to find you, my sister is dying,” the boy spoke showing Merlin his mark. 

“How did you know where to find me?” 

“I could sense your presence.”

“Where is your sister?” Merlin asked.

“She is at camp just shy of the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Please, you have to hurry, she does not stand to survive past the night.”

“What exactly is wrong with her?”

“She has a terrible fever and it is something beyond our magic. Please, Merlin, you are our only hope.”

Merlin was conflicted as he knew that this was risky. He also knew that Arthur would need him by his side in order to get through the meeting with Sarrum the following day. But he couldn’t stand by and let an innocent girl die when there was a possibility that he could help. 

“We need to leave at once, I need to be back in Camelot by nightfall,” Merlin spoke. 

“Of course, thank you.”

“I can’t make any promises to save your sister, but I will do everything in my power. The druids have helped me before, they are a welcomed ally,” Merlin replied as he packed up his belongings.

The two of them walked on, spending the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon making their way to the place where Daegal said the druids were camped. It was as they neared the camp that Merlin heard bandits approaching and reached out to Daegal with his mind to warn him. The boy carried on as if he hadn’t heard Merlin and Merlin was forced to all but tackled him so that they were not found out.

“Did you not hear me?” Merlin asked.

“No?” Daegel replied looking at Merlin as if he were crazy, “Come on, it isn’t much further.”

Merlin brushed off an uneasy feeling that was staring to form and followed Daegel. They reached the clearing, and Merlin tossed his bag down before turning back. “There is no one here,” he stated the obvious.

Daegel opened his mouth as if to say something but could not find words. He was beginning to wonder what his choice in bringing Merlin here would mean.

“Why have you brought me here? What is this?” Merlin interrogated sternly.

“I can explain,” the boy said fearfully.

“You are not even a druid,” Merlin realized lifting up Daegel’s sleeve to confirm. 

“She told me to bring you here,” Daegel tried to explain. 

Before Merlin could confirm that the ‘she’ Daegel mentioned was indeed Morgana he was thrown back and knocked unconscious. 

“Why are you doing this?” Daegel asked. 

“Because, Merlin has meddled in my plans one too many times. I only wish I could see his face as Arthur meets his demise at my hand,” Morgana revealed as she poured a dark liquid down his throat and pushed him over the ledge. 

“Are you really going to kill the king?” 

“Bite your tongue. You have done your part here and you would be wise to forget it. Here is the antidote your sister requires, now get lost.”

And with that Morgana left to set the rest of her plan in action. Daegel took one last look at Merlin before leaving to return to his family. 

Back in Camelot:

“Gaius, you said Merlin would be back by lunch and now it is past dinner. Where is he?” Arthur asked clearly frustrated.

“I truly do not know Sire, but I am beginning to become worried.”

“Where did you send him?” 

“I sent him out just beyond the creek. It should have taken him 4 hours at the most there and back,” Gaius explained worry evident on his face.

Picking up on this, Arthur’s expression softened, “I am sure that he is fine Gaius, probably just taking advantage of the break from me. If he does not turn up tomorrow I will send out a search party for him.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Gaius said as Arthur took his leave. 

Meanwhile with Merlin:

The first time he regained consciousness, Merlin struggled to breathe through the pain he was in. He attempted to use his magic to try to heal himself, but he was too weak. The exertion proved too much for him and everything around him faded to nothing.

The next time he awoke, he was both disoriented and confused. He had clearly been found by someone as a cool rag now rested on his brow and his wounds had been treated. He had been laid near a fire, food and water were both in his reach.

He peered around for any indication of who had helped him, and realized that he recognized where he was. He had been brought back towards Camelot. Before he could deduce anything else he heard someone approaching. He forced himself to sit up, which was a task in itself. He then try to mentally prepare for whatever was coming.

But instead of bandits, Morgana’s men, dangerous creatures, or anything else that could be considered threatening, it was just you. Merlin was surprised to say the least. Not that he had really thought about it, but the idea of someone who appeared around his age who had helped him... as he looked at you, he felt safe and connected to you in some way. It was as if he had known you his entire life, and he didn’t even know your name.

“Ah, take it easy, I mean you no harm. I come baring fish,” you smiled at him.

“Are you the one who did all of this?” he asked gesturing to his bandages and the water/food.

“I am, usually you would’ve been healed by now, but the poison that Morgana used in combination with her magic was a force to be reckoned with.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend. Some know me by Phúlax, but you can call me Y/n,” you said before turning away to use your magic to cook the fish and offering it to him. 

“You have magic?” Merlin asked in awe.

“Yes, I was born with it,” you answered offering him one of the fish, “You need to eat, and then rest, you have been unconscious for over a day and we are still about an hour from the castle. Morgana and the queen intend to kill the King tomorrow and bring a great war to Camelot.”

“How do you know that?” Merlin asked.

“I know a lot of things Merlin. I promise I will answer all of your questions in time, but for now I just need you to trust me,” you answered.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” he joked.

“You do, Merlin, you always have a choice,” you spoke voice turned serious for a moment before you snapped out of it, “I am sorry, I am just tired, you aren’t the easiest person to keep alive,” you replied light-heartedly.

“If you think I’m bad you should try being the manservant of the king,” Merlin joked which caused you to laugh.

“Is he really that bad?”

“He can be a prat at times,” Merlin paused, “But at the end of the day, he is one of the best men I have ever met. He is fiercely loyal, believes in equality and justice, valor and honor. Camelot is lucky to have him. And it is an honor to serve him,” Merlin reflects.

“He is lucky to have such a loyal friend,” you add before taking his plate from him, “Get some rest.”

“Y/n,” he called as you began to walk away.

“Yes, Merlin?”

“Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” you smiled, turning your back once again. 

You cleared away everything and packed up your bags before walking over and covering Merlin with a blanket. You layed across from him and just watched as he slept peacefully. He had been so close to death, and to see him now you wouldn’t even know it. You were glad that he was alright. Eventually, you too drifted off to sleep.

Back in Camelot:

“I’m sorry to bother you Sire, but I wanted to inform you that Merlin has still not returned. I fear something terrible may have happened,” Gaius spoke after having been let in to Arthur’s chambers.

“I will send out a search party,” Arthur spoke growing concerned about his friend.

“What is this?” Gwen asked walking over.

“Merlin still has not returned, so I am sending some of the knights out to search for him,” Arthur explained.

“Oh dear, I knew I should’ve said something. Arthur I feel terrible, but he made me promise not to tell anyone. I know where Merlin is,” she returned.

“Where?” Gaius asked.

“He has gone to visit someone. He isn’t in any danger. He’s just seeing a girl,” Gwen explained.

“Merlin?” Arthur laughed in suprise.

“There isn’t any reason to worry, I promise,” Gwen smiled.

“Except for the poor girl,” Arthur joked.

“Thank you your highness, you’ve put a worried mind at rest,” Gaius bowed before exiting the chambers.

“Now then, it is time to begin preparing for the signing ceremony,” Arthur said relieved.

Meanwhile with Merlin:

“Merlin,” you spoke softly as you shook him slightly.

“Hmmm?”

“It is time to get up, we must head for Camelot,” you reminded. 

He groaned before sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Here, have some breakfast. I’m going to refill the water canisters and then we can be on our way,” you smiled handing him an apple and some bread. 

When you returned you were pleasantly surprised to see that Merlin was packed and on his feet ready to go. The two of you started on the path in a comfortable silence before Merlin’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“Tell me about yourself,” he suggested.

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Everything. I mean where are you from? Why are you here? How did you discover you had magic?” 

“Slow down Merlin,” you laugh, “I was born in camelot. When I was very young my mother was discovered healing a child who was meant to die. The king found out and…” your sentance fell as you thought back. 

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin said genuinely.

You took a deep breath and continued, “My father quickly snuck me out and to a small village just outside of Camelot. We lived there, I was able to practice magic in secret. Everything was going fine until Morgana showed up searching for me. I had never even heard of her, but there she was calling me by a name that a friend of mine who was a Druid used,” you paused again.

“I was going to turn myself over to her in hopes that she would spare the others, but before I could I was knocked unconscious. I woke up in the woods with the survivors and discovered that my father had not made it. I left them partially in hopes that Morgana would not strike again, and partially in shame that I did not stand up for them. I decided to head back to the only other home I have known, where I will search for a job and try to create some semblance of a life. On my way, I discovered you,” you explained a few tears betraying you.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Merlin spoke with certainty, “Morgana would’ve tortured you or killed you.”

“Still, I should’ve done something. When you have powers like ours, it is our responsibility to help those who can’t help themselves.”

“How did you know that I had magic?” Merlin asked.

“I can sense it, it flows through every fiber of your being. You have this resonance of power. It’s like we are connected.”

“I have never met anyone like you,” Merlin said as he smiled in amazement. 

“You barely even know me,” you reply turning away from his face.

“I know that you are kind, and brave, and good,” he thinks for a moment before adding, “and beautiful.”

You can’t help but blush, “Thank you, Merlin.”

“What about you, is there anything that you want to know about me?” he asked.

The two of you continued to talk until you reached the courtyard. There were moments filled with laughter and moments of true sincerity. It was like you were old friends merely catching up. Like both of you were drawn together somehow.

As you entered the castle, you were both on high alert not knowing exactly what to expect. Merlin searched for Arthur before discovering that a door that was meant to be locked was left open. Having a gut feeling, he lead you up the staircase. There was a man with a crossbow who aimed for Arthur. He immediately noticed you and shot at Merlin who was slow to react. You shifted the arrow using magic. The man seemingly unphased threw knives at you instead. You tried to use your magic but it was to no avail. 

You barely managed to pull Merlin out of the way in time. Taking advantage of your brief distracted state, the man reloaded the crossbow and aimed for Arthur once again. Merlin used his magic to jar the man and knock him out. The shot meant for Arthur instead hit Sarrum.

“Leon, Gwaine,” Arthur ordered them to check out the source of the arrow. 

“We did it,” Merlin turned to you smiling. But as quickly as it had graced his face, the smile fell. For you were still on the ground with one of the knives in your stomach. “Y/n, just hold on, I can fix this.”

“It is one of Morgana’s, no magic can be used against it.”

“Well then, we will just have to fix it the old fashioned way,”  he smirked before leaving over the balcony. 

“Gaius, I need you to meet me in the infirmary at once it’s urgent,” he yelled.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned quick to follow Gaius out of the door.

Merlin then picked you up bridal style and carried you back to Gaius’ chambers. 

“I’m glad I met you,” you whispered already feeling much of the strength leaving your body.

“Well, there is a lot more to see, so just hold on,” Merlin said.

Merlin ran into Gwaine and Leon at the bottom of the stairs but he didn’t stop even as they were calling after him. Once inside, he swiftly used his magic to clear off the table and laid you on it. Just then Gaius and Arthur came rushing in. 

“What happened?” “Who is that?” Gaius and Arthur asked at the same time.

“Her name is Y/n and you have to help her Gaius,” Merlin said voice full of emotion.

“Of course,” the physician said starting immediately to work. 

“Is there anything that I can do?” Merlin asked. Gaius gave him a list of instructions and he completed each one quickly and without question. Arthur just stood and watched not knowing how to react. It wasn’t long before they had done everything that they could and it was just a matter of time. 

Upon reaching this point, Arthur calmly asked for an explanation of what had happened.

“I went out to get herbs and before I could do anything else, I was trapped by Morgana. She had left me for dead, but then Y/n found me. She took care of me and brought me back here. I knew that Morgana was planning something, so we rushed here and found the overlook door open. We went up and found a man who was aiming a crossbow at you. He threw a knife at me and she pushed me out of the way. I was then able to charge him, but the shot still went off,” Merlin explained. 

“So it seems that she has saved your life twice and now mine, when she wakes she will be rewarded,” Arthur responded impressed, “I must get back to the proceedings, please move her into the guest chambers and keep me appraised of her condition. Merlin, I trust that you will stay with her and see to her needs,” Arthur said sending him a knowing look.

“Of course Arthur,” Merlin replied. 

“Oh, and Merlin,” Arthur started.

“Yes, Arthur?” 

“I am truly glad that you are back in one piece,” he finished, pulling the door closed behind him.

“As am I,” Gaius added pulling the young warlock into a hug. 

As they pulled away, Merlin was quick to carry you up into one of the fancy guest bedrooms. He laid you down and covered you with the blankets. Guias entered behind him.

“Did anything else happen while you were gone that you couldn’t speak so freely about in front of Arthur?”

Merlin glanced into the hallway before using his magic to close the door earning a glare from Gaius. 

“She’s like me, she was born with magic,” he eyes lite up. 

“Really?” Gaius asked.

“Yeah, the druids call her Phúlax. I can’t explain it Gaius, but I have never felt this connected to someone before. 

“She is Phúlax?” Gauis asked with reverence. 

“Yes, why? Does that name mean something to you?” 

“You know how your destiny has been foretold for many generations?” Gaius asked and Merlin nodded.

“Phúlax means protector. Though she is known by many names. Some that may stand out to you are, the Servant’s Guardian, Arthur’s Chance, Protector of Emrys, or Rewriter of Destiny. It is believed that she would arrive at the beginning of the end, and that she would be at your side to turn the end into the beginning,”  Gaius explained. 

“What does that mean? And why have I never heard of her?” 

“No one truly knows what the prophecy means. Just that she is an important ally in your story. And I would assume that those who know of her are protective of her identity for the same reason they are protective of yours. Because if Morgana found her, Albion would fall.” 

Merlin had more questions, the most important one being, “So she is going to be okay?”

“Her wound was not fatal, due to the nature of the weapon, she simply has to heal at a normal rate. That being said, she should wake up by morning,” Gaius answered before getting up to leave the room. 

Gwaine entered as he exited, “Merlin, it’s good to see you. I’ve been searching the taverns for you in your absence,” he winked.

“Good to see you too, Gwaine,” he laughed.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing after earlier,” Gwaine said taking a seat beside his friend.

“Well, in the past three days I have almost been killed twice, so you know just another day in Camelot,” Merlin tried to joke.

“Are you alright?” Gwaine asked seriously. 

“I will be fine,” Merlin promised. 

“And who is this beautiful lady?” Gwaine asked trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m afraid she is off-limits,” Arthur spoke from the doorway carrying a plate of food. 

“What? Why?” Gwaine asked.

“Because Merlin here has dibs,” Arthur grinned. 

“I...We….She is…..I mean…” Merlin struggled.

“Oh, look at him he is getting red as a tomato,” Arthur said bursting into laughter.

“Our little Merlin has a crush,” Gwaine grinned, “If you need any advice,” he winked at Merlin before getting up and seeing himself out. 

Arthur took his place at Merlin’s side. 

“Did you really have to do that? I’m not going to hear the end of this,” Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur. 

“Consider it payback for all of the times you teased me about Guinevere. Besides, I think that it’s a good thing,” he decided.

“I brought you this, along with some news,” Arthur said handing Merlin the plate of food. 

“What’s the news?” 

“Should she want it, I have decided to offer Y/n a position as Guinevere’s lady in waiting. I figure that she has shown her loyalty and you clearly trust her. I trust your judgment. And, this will give you an excuse to see her in the castle,” Arthur explained.

“Really? That’s incredible. I can’t wait to tell her. And to introduce the two of you.” 

“Just remember this when it comes time to chose a best man,” Arthur joked. The two of them continued to talk for a while before Arthur decided it was best that he return to the knights as they were preparing for a trip. 

Merlin was trying to work through what Gaius had said, and how he felt. It was silly to think that he could love someone that he had only just met. But there was no other word for it. The thought of working with you, getting to know you better, spending time with you, it was all exciting for Merlin. Especially having another person that he could talk about magic with, someone who truly understood him. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even register the fact that you were awake.

“Merlin?” you tried to sit up, but the pain that rippled through you decided otherwise.

“Hey there, take it easy. It’s okay, you’re safe,” he smiled taking your hand without even thinking, “Do you need anything? Water? Food? I can go get Gaius if you’d like?”

“I’ll be fine Merlin, I’m glad you and Arthur are safe,” you smiled.

“Speaking of Arthur, I’ve got some news for you,” he beamed, “The King was so thankful that you saved his life that he has decided to give you the highest honor he can bestow.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“He has graciously decided to make you his wife’s servant,” Merlin replied rolling his eyes. 

“That’s brilliant! It solves my problem of finding a place to stay and finding a job in one fell swoop,” you smile. 

“There is one problem though,” Merlin said seriously.

“What is it?”

“We will definitely be seeing a lot of each other,” he grinned.

“You had me worried,” you said as you smacked his arm.

“I am going to go tell Gaius and Arthur that you are awake,” he decided. 

You watched as he left, you felt so relieved that things were falling into place. You were happy to meet Gaius and the King, who made not-so-subtle jokes about Merlin’s affections for you. Merlin looked like he was about to kill him, which made you laugh all the more. You already felt at home here. You couldn’t wait to see what the future held for you in Camelot. This was truly the beginning of something special. 

[kirishwima]

Don’t worry about us, please try not to stress out. I am only sending in this request merely due to it not leaving me alone. RFA+V, Unknown (cannot remember how to spell his name) reactions to MC in their wedding dress, what type of wedding will they have? Please do not mind and please study wisely.

ahh this is a cute and light-hearted idea :’) You speak of a wedding dress but refer to MC as they/them, so I’ll be writing for them as non-binary! 

I’ll also add photos of what I think their wedding dress/suit would be bc....I have to, and because I have a whole pinterest board of wedding dresses saved from last summer when I was helping my sister plan her wedding orz :’)

YOOSUNG:

* When speaking of weddings, Yoosung’s always imagined the beautiful classics; standing at the altar, seeing the love of his life walk down the aisle dressed in the most gorgeous gown, his smile broadening at the sight of them.

* He himself wore a humble black suit, but with a baby blue bow-tie; reminiscing of his own innocence.

* He absoloutely had Zen help him pick out his suit; they took Seven along too but he kept insisting Yoosung should just wear a onesie instead lmao

* He did discuss with MC what they’d like to wear; when they said they wanted to wear a dress, he immediatly thought of classic puffy white dresses with lace and toule. 

* Seeing MC walk towards him though, he couldn’t help how his jaw hung open, how his eyes widened. “Lucky you”, he heard Seven whisper, standing besides him as his best man. 

* MC was like a princess, and he, their soon-to be prince. He took their hand as they reached the altar, kissing their knuckles with a wide smile. He’d ditched his glasses for the wedding, finally able to see better with the help of surgery, and he blessed each of his doctors for being able to witness the sight that was MC.

*Overall he’s just a tearful happy nugget, and 10/10 will choke with tears whilst saying his vows

ZEN:

* Despite what you may be thinking, he actually doesn’t dream of big fancy weddings and expensive venues. His ideal wedding would be something simple; a gathering of friends and loved ones, perhaps even by the beach, being able to stand besides the one he loves comfortably and proudly.

* He’s glad that he and MC are on the same page about that; even if he’s a celebrity, his humble approach to life never changed, and he wants their wedding to reflect that. So a wedding by the beach it is!

* It’s Zen we’re talking about, so even a potato sack would look flattering on him, so his choice of suits is endless. He’s classy but doesn’t like the plain old black suit, so instead he goes for something more summery, given their venue. 

* I can really imagine him in a linen suit, ditching the tie for a more laid-back look, his hair tied into an intricate braid, even wearing one or two little white flowers at its end.

* He’d be just as awe-struck with how MC looks no matter what they’d wear, suit or dress, casual or formal. He’ll love them just as much if he sees them every morning in their pyjamas and bed hair, or in a gown and heels. 

* Simple and elegant, and nicer than the summer breeze blowing through Zen’s hair, he had to bite his lip, blinking back tears threatening to fall at the thought he’s about to spend the rest of his life with his beloved. (Also he has to fight the Beast until later tonight and hoo boy is that a hassle or WHAT)

* All in all-he’s one happy hecking groom, and he can’t wait to tear that dress off of them the moment they’re in their private quarters lol

JAEHEE:

* Honestly...she didn’t see the point of holding a wedding at first. Did she fantasize about it as a little girl? Sure, she did. But as she got older and the thought of dating and family got further and further away from her, that childhood dream was put aside, stored in the repressed part of her brain.

* It’d been MC who proposed, and MC who began the planning for the wedding-they didn’t want Jaehee to feel burdened with organizing, but the more Jaehee worked to plan their wedding, the more she fell in love with the idea of this special day just for the two of them, and the more she fell in love with MC, seeing their hard work and adoration towards her.

* They didn’t want to have an all-out wedding like many couples do; just them, their families and the RFA, a little get together to celebrate a milestep of their life together. 

* They had arrived at the dillema of; will we both wear suits? Dresses? Should one of us wear a suit and the other a dress? In the ned MC suggested they each decide on a look without telling the other, so it’ll be just as much of a surprise for each of them to see the other on their wedding day!

* Jaehee is a practical woman, yes, but we know that she’s not the strict short-haired lady she was whilst working with Jumin-she allows herself to explore femiminity more and more in her route, and I feel that’d be evident in her choice of a wedding gown-simple, yet elegant and chic.

* With her hair in a gorgeous loose bun, flowers adorning her head, her ring-finger soon to be decorated with a delicate ring she and MC chose together-she almost can’t believe the person looking back at her in the mirror is herself.

* Less so can she believe that the person she’s about to marry is soon walking towards her, a smile on their face as if they’re the lucky one to be marrying Jaehee when Jaehee stares wide-eyed at the beautiful person she’s eagerly waiting to spend the rest of her life with;

* Of course they’d choose a dress with pockets, she thinks with a roll of her eyes, if only to tease Jaehee about her own lack of pockets later on. 

* They both can’t help but stare at each other as they meet at the altar, wide eyed with incredulous smiles. The preacher even has to cough politely to get their attention back to well, their wedding lmao

* It’s everything Jaehee could’ve wanted and then some.

JUMIN:

* Yeah yeah, it’s Jumin Han, the handsome man in a suit, and yeah he’s gonna have an all-out wedding alright-but only if that’s what MC wants. 

* He honestly...doesn’t care what the ceremony will be like, who will be there or what they’ll say. He only cares about seeing MC’s ring finger adorned with a rind that has his surname engraved in it, a mark on them that says MC’s his, his and no one elses.

* Even if he wears suits on the daily, his wedding is no exception; he’ll wear a suit tialored to perfection, classic black and sleek, matching his raven-dark hair, slicked back for the occasion-he’d go to the ceremony in his pyjamas if he had to, so long as he’s able to call MC his spouse once the day’s over.

* He had given MC the absoloute liberty of choosing what to wear, with the only condition being they have the best tailors across the world work on their outfit, wanting it to be as unique and wonderful as MC themself. 

* It was jarring at first, to have 5 or 6 professionals tug and probe at MC whilst working on their measurements and meeting up to discuss their style, but they figure that’s just how life with Jumin as their husband will be-extreme, sometimes awkward, but full of love and care; they could see it in his smile when they came home from their fitting, tired but happy as they snuggled up in his arms, him stroking their hair until they fell asleep.

* It’s hard to find a dress picture that I feel captures what MC’s dress would be, but I think the closest to it would be something like this;

* “The most befitting dress for royal beauty such as yours”, Jumin whispers to MC’s ear as they approach him at the altar, his smile small and private, for MC’s eyes only.

* Yet as he leans down to kiss them, completely ignoring the preacher waiting to start the ceremony, he whispers on their lips ‘I love you’, and MC knows from the bottom of their soul, that no matter what they wore, how they looked, Jumin would love them just as much. And they’re forevel grateful for that.

* p.s: Elizabeth the 3d is ABSOLOUTELY going to be the ring bearer, and she’ll have her own little dress appropriate for the occasion, fight me on this.

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* Y’all....tease him about the ‘let’s get married at the space station’ bit all you want, but this boy DREAMS of a wedding, a family and happy life for so long, you can never convince me he doesn’t go all out for his wedding.

* A beautiful, flower-covered venue? Check. Tailored, custom-made suit? Check. Planning everything to the most minute detail? YES. He’ll run himself dry working on creating the perfect wedding, it’ll take some convincing from MC to tone it down lmao.

* He’ll still insist on inviting absurd guests just like he did with the RFA parties, but in all honesty, he just wants MC besides him, Saeran and Yoosung next to him as hie best men (yes he can have both of them shush), the rest of the RFA there to congratulate him and MC on their special day; the people he loves, to celebrate the day of uniting with his one true love, that’s all Saeyoung wants.

* To be able to say ‘I love you MC’, and to have MC tell him ‘I love you, Saeyoung’-to formally and completely leave the life of 707 behind, to have his brother hug him, congratulate him on his wedding-this is all more than enough to make Saeyoung cry happy tears, pushing his palms on his eyes as he laughs and cries at the same time, letting MC hug him to help him calm down.

* While he does dream of a classic classy wedding, he loves the colour red a little too much, so he’d try and sneak it in there, be it in a vest or bow tie lol (he’d absoloutely wear a bow tie instead of a tie, and he’d be allowed one (1) doctor who joke for the duration of the ceremony lmao)

* ((also....not relevant to the wedding itself, but his marriage proposal would absoloutely be at a planetarium, js))

* As for MC...they’d spent nights on the couch together, eating chips and wondering what they’d each wear on the day of their wedding. They ended up taking Jaehee and some more of their friends with them when looking for a dress, as much as Saeyoung pouted and asked to tag along.

* It was worth it to keep him in the dark though; his big wide eyes as MC walked towards him, how he had to bite his lip to stop giggling like a fool, he was jumping up and down at the altar, giggling behind his hands as he mumbled ‘oh my god oh my god oh my god allah and buddha!’. 

* “Holy shit” he whispered to himself, earning a stern gaze from the preacher, his brother groaning in the background. MC took it as a compliment though, smiling up at him as they stood across him.

* This boy....will cry real ugly snort filled tears at his wedding vows, I guarantee it.

V/JIHYUN:

* BOHO WEDDING BOHO WEDDING BOHO WEDDING

* Like hello??? Have you seen this hippie-ass man at the end of his route?? He’ll be so happy with a marriage ceremony in the forest, in a little church that looks almost abandoned in its little spot at the edge of the woods, in a little city no one knew before V brought it up.

* He’d love to help decorate and renovate the church for their wedding, using funds taken from a painting collection he did featuring the very forest the church sits besides. 

* (I can also totally picture their wedding taking place in a botanical garden/greenhouse, if you’d rather skip the church option! Just surrounded by plants and nature :D)

* Even if it’s not a boho wedding though-just being able to spend the rest of his life besides MC, the person that truly taught him what love is, that’s all handsome mint boy needs.

* Honestly...he’s extra enough to be the kind of guy that ditches the shirt, so I can imagine him wearing something like the following, but in a darker colour; 

* As for MC....yeah I’m gonna add my personal favorite here bc bOHO WEDDING DRESSES ARE GORGEOUS AND MC WOULD LOOK LIKE A FAE APPEARING THROUGH THE WOODS AND JIHYUN WOULD ABSOLOUTELY GASP AT THE SIGHT OF THEM, WIPING AWAY A STRAY TEAR AS HE KISSES THEIR FOREHEAD WHEN THEY REACH HIM AT THE ALTAR, SAYING A QUIET ‘THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU’ ONLY MC CAN HEAR.

((something with a little simpler bust, but the puffy sleeves,,,flowy dress,,,the line cut that’s honestly so charming on any figure,,,fight me this is the cutest kind of dress))

UNKNOWN/SAERAN:

* He’d really want a small, closed wedding just for him, MC, and the RFA sure, why not (he’s kidding, he’s grown really fond of them all but he refuses to openly admit it)

* If MC suggests they hold their ceremony at a greenhouse he’ll be over the moon; he’ll personally visit the greenhouse and make sure all the flowers are in tip top condition for their wedding.

* For his own suit, he’d like to keep things simple, maybe even ditching the whole suit and tie thing; 

* I really imagine him with a suit similar to this, but ditching the vest , with flowers pinned to his blazer that he looks fondly at, knowing MC will be holding a bouquet just like these, ones he himself picked out with all his love and care, removing each thorn to make sure nothing can harm their hands as they hold the bouquet.

* As MC walks towards him through the greenhouse his breath shudders, any words he may have had dying in his throat; MC looks ethereally beautiful and he’s out of words as they come to stand in front of him, his lips trembling.

* Is this person really his? The one he’ll be able to hold, to love for as long as he lives? He shakingly takes MC’s hand in his, giving them a tight squeeze as he smiles.

* “In sickness and in health” he whispers, smiles as MC says it back.

* In sickness and in health.

-Send me mystic messenger headcanons for character reactions-

[katsukikitten]

Going down?

NSFW BBS

To say you were the luckiest and yet most unlucky person in the world would be an understatement.

You were a living, breathing contradiction considering the quirk you have and where you've ended up.

Most people are envious, even jealous of the position you have.

A secretary to both of the top two number one heroes!

You were lucky, your little meek self landed the spot wholly by accident.

On a train ride bumping into the Director of the agency by mere fucking chance, agitating your already hyper active quirk.

For a moment time slows, you do not have much time to inform him of what is happening.

The train doors will be shutting soon, sealing his fate and losing out on something big.

Detrimental to the company even.

"Oh um, excuse me sir." You stammer, lowly enough that he does not hear you, "Sir?"

You breathe in deeply trying once more as his fingers fly across the lit glass in his hands.

"S...sir?" He is too distracted by whomever is on the other side to notice you.

In your mind's eye you see the train director reaching for the button for the doors. Anxiety rips through your body only to be out won by your fear.

Fear of small mistakes leading to much bigger disasters.

"SIR! YOU'RE ON THE TRAIN HOME! YOU NEED TO BE ON TRAIN D OR YOU'LL MISS THE MEETING YOU'VE FORGOTTEN!" You huff, hands shaking as the man stares down at you with a mix of horror and awe.

All before he grips onto your wrist dragging you along with him.

And that's how you became secretary to Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki.

Better known as Deku and Ground Zero.

One made your life heavenly, touching them, seeing them and the details of their work and interpersonal lives was easy. The fact that you had a crush on them made it even better.

While the other, well the other made your life a living hell. Considered you too meek and seemed to hate your guts with a burning intensity that rivaled the heated gaze in his eyes.

Again you were the luckiest and yet most unlucky person alive.

You stare at the screen as your quirk has you hyper fixated on the janitor's next few hours of possible futures and unnecessary details of his life all because he brushed your fingers while passing you something you've dropped.

"Y/N." Deku calls softly and you cannot hear him, "Y/N."

He steps towards your desk just outside of the two opposing offices, leaning closer to you.

"Y/N." It comes out like liquid honey, and your gut flutters. You flush bright red as you blink furiously.

"I.. I'm sorry. Oh! Izuku-sama you need to be leaving in the next five minutes or you'll be late for your..." You struggle when you see it.

The beautiful woman with short chesnut hair sitting in a chair at an upscale restaurant in a deep pink dress.

Showing off her curves and her breasts in a tasteful manner.

Your heart sinks to your stomach like a brick, weighing heavy as you realize what is happening and suddenly you are crushed

The word date cannot escape your lips so you clear your throat.

"Your day is free tomorrow until 4pm and nothing extra will come up." You add instead and he nods.

"Thank you Y/N." He smiles sweetly before beginning to leave, "Don't stay too late okay?"

"Oh and um Izuku-sama...."

"Yes?" He stops turning back to face you. He did not mind you looking into his personal life.

Or at least never said anything agaisnt it.

"Please be sure to charge your phone on the way there. Other wise it will die and you won't be able to capture a special moment." You say softly, unable to keep eye contact with those shining emeralds.

It hurt too much to.

You could have kept it to yourself, or forced yourself not to look like you have to do with thathot head but...but if his phone would have died..

He would be missing the picture that would lead to them dating.

"Thanks Y/N." He says smiling so brightly before turning on his heel.

All the while you try to forget about the kiss they share after their failed selfie.

He leaves without another word and you stare after him longingly.

That is before your quirk pulls you to the only other body on the floor.

He'll be running out of coffee soon and he will be angry, distracted even to have to leave his desk when he is finally making some progress on his paper work.

The coffee pot in the break room is finishing up at the perfect time thanks to the director's secretary. You pull out Bakugou's second favorite mug from your desk and stand.

Before stopping as you relive a memory.

"Quit using your quirk to spy on me."

His snarl so dark and upsetting that you could no longer attend the hero ceremony.

You begin to pack your things instead. Bakugou won't be in a good mood for the rest of the evening on top of that nothing is happening and even if something was he wouldn't want your help anyway.

You hesitate, only for a moment, maybe he would want that cup of coffee. You stare at the mug as if it would have answers but it would never know.

Just like you wouldn't, unless you touched him.

And he would never allow that.

So you shrug your purse higher on your shoulder before heading to the elevator.

Your press the button and count loudly in your head to help calm your nerves.

Inanimate objects are almost as difficult as people if you don't touch the right part of them.

You know at some point this thing is going to break down and get stuck between floors.

You just don't know when.

Why not take the stairs?

Well the stairs had a worse outcome.

"It's only possibilities Maybe futures."

You try to remind yourself.

What you dont remind yourself of is your 95% accuracy rate.

The elevator dings pulling you to the here and now.

You step into the shiny death trap with smooth tiles and walls that reflect your fearful face.

Bland music takes up the space in the background as your eyes fly over the seemingly endless buttons.

You hit G and the elevator dings again before shuttering as the doors begin to close.

They never get the chance to close, instead a toned forearm is hit by the two sheets of steel before the safety feature forces the doors back open.

You freeze like a mouse caught by two shining eyes in the dark.

Burning red eyes.

"Tch." He sucks his teeth as he steps in, standing to the far side of the elevator.

You look at him expectedly, waiting for an answer on the floor he needs and when none is given you assume he is leaving for the day too.

The elevator begins its descent to the safety of the garage.

But not quickly enough.

Numbers flash on a panel with an annoying ding that inturpts the flat music, your eyes stare at the white digits watching them shrink.

As you feel yourself shrink as you always do beneath that gaze. The details of his life creep in first and you try your best to focus on something else.

Izuku comes to mind and with it, wonder on how he date is going, your heart pulls harshly on the muscles in your chest.

The failed selfie is happening right now and they should be kissing soon.

You hold onto your purse tighter and the digits read 22.

Suddenly the descending box of steel groans before jerking causing you to lose your balance.

You begin to fall towards the middle of the elevator, of course you couldn't have fallen towards the damn railings less than three inches from you.

You just had to fall to be met face first with cold harsh tile. You squeeze your eyes shut for impact but mostly so you cannot read the disappointment in the ash blonde's face.

But the cold slap never comes, instead a warm, almost comforting touch holds you. Callused hands wrapped around your bare shoulders as they right you to your feet.

The possible futures flood in along with the details of his last 24 hours.

First comes the past, he smells of perfume, floral with hints of amber, lipstick stains on his throat and collar. Before anger ignites in your belly, half your own from anyone "marking" Bakugou and the other half is his. Katsuki yells at this mystery woman, he spies a text from another man on her phone. The present begins to overwrite the past his phone is sitting in his office on his desk. He has unintentionally forgotten it, leading you to remember that yours is still locked in your top drawer.

Lastly comes the future, your breath begins to hitch as it unfolds, and your premonition from when you first started almost a year ago is finally coming true.

"THE ELEVATOR IS GOING TO STOP!" You grip onto strong forearms as you scream. Nails biting into toned flesh as tears begin to prick your eyes.

"Wha..what?" Is all Bakugou gets out before the machine comes to a grinding halt.

Fear seizes your very bones while rage grips the blonde's.

"What the fuck?!" He snarls, "Did you know this was going to happen the whole fucking time? You let me on here anyway?"

"N..no." Fat tears begin to drip down reddened cheeks, "It was just because we touched."

His fingers squeeze tighter on your shoulders as he watches the tears cascade down. You see a few more seconds into the future before he let's go.

"Fuck." He hisses. A series of explosions erupt busting out one of the lights and something in the corner.

"P...please be careful, you've destroyed the camera. I..its close to the electrical panel." You speak to the floor loudly and he turns his ire onto you

"Be careful?! You're the seer why didnt you tell anyone about the elevator? Or tell me not to get on?" He invades tour space spiking your panic. His agitation over the situation is amplified as it is mixed with a conflicting feeling that has pulled has his gut for majority of this year.

"BECAUSE YOU WONT ALLOW ME TO SEE YOU!" You huff and as quickly as that rage came it melts away. Leaving you a mess of impossibly fatter and bigger tears.

You bend over slightly, losing your breath to panic as you gasp for air.

Bakugou damns himself as he looks over you.

He always seems to make you uneasy or upset, he could live with those emotions considering that's how most people felt around him.

But to watch you cry has knives plunging into his Godly abs.

"Oi..." He says softly and when you do not move he comes closer.

"Oi." He tries again, righting you once more as he rubs a deadly hand on your shoulder.

His skin is electrifying, sending a shudder through your body that you must suppress. He's close enough that you can smell the sweet smell of burnt sugar that seems to cling to his skin. You dare meet his heated gaze from beneath long lashes only to be surprised.

His eyes are far from carrying the weight from annoyance or anger as you thought them to be.

No they hold something else for once.

Concern.

You swallow thickly as your chin is lifted before a padded thumb swipes at a tear.

Your breathing hitches harshly.

"No need to cry okay. I'm sorry I yelled that was an asshole thing to do." His other hand continues its soothing cirlce, "Why don't you take a deep breath with me?"

He breathes in deeply through his nose, eyes expecting you to mimic and you do.

He holds it for just a moment before letting his diaphragm push the air naturally from his mouth.

After a few times your head feels a bit clearer and Bakugou takes notice as your cheeks are no longer flush.

"Now what will be easier to see my future or the elevators?" He asks softly and his manner throws you off.

You had heard rumors of his cruelty when it came to inconvenience, some dating back to before he was a pro.

Not to mention you had witnessed it first hand, so to see those normally hash scarlet red eyes softened for you has your stomach doing flips.

"Ummm..." You gulp, fearful to answer but by lying will that make it worse.

After a few brief seconds you choose to tell the truth with a heavy heart, wholly expecting a violent reaction.

"You..." A breath of a word as Bakugou purses his lips for a fraction of a second.

He liked his privacy bit not being stuck in this tin can would be worth violating it.

"Alright. Then see our way out of here little Oracle." You blush from his nonchalant tone and the use of the nickname.

Little did he know you had once picked that out to be your hero name.

But dreams die as we get older.

Especially if one doesn't feed them.

You look into the future a few minutes, hoping you'll see whatever will lead you to freedom.

But you see something else instead, it pulls your stomach lower heating your core a bit.

The blood rushes to your face as Bakugou scrunches his own.

"I..." You are suddenly hyper aware of the proximity the two of you share.

Of his warm hand resting on your bare shoulder, of the closeness of his face and the gentle touch of his fingers. He gives a look as if to say go on, you look down as you speak again.

"B..Bakugou-sama, I think my quirk might be acting up. I may be seeing the implausible possibility..." Eyes squeezed shut as you expect an explosion.

But it never comes.

"What do you mean? I've heard your information is always good, little Oracle." His thumb swipes at another stray tear, "What did you see?"

Cheeks burn impossibly hotter as you look again only to receive the same result.

Truly truly implausible.

He tilts your face to his and his gaze is too much.

"I...ummm....we....yo..you kiss me." You bite your lip as you speak and the action fills Bakugou with desire, more than he's ever possessed for you before.

And always more than what he's felt for another woman.

You being able to see some of that no matter how slim the chances of him acting on the feeling is the MAIN reason he actively "hated" and avoided you.

But to feel your smooth skin beneath his rough palms, to smell your sweet mango perfume and to hear your adorable voice fill up the space that only posses the two of you becomes too much.

Too quickly.

Katsuki pushes you against the wall, the railing bites into your back but it goes unnoticed as your eyes flutter.

Dominat tongue swirling around your own has your core molten.

Had you like Bakugou?

Had you ever been attracted to him?

The answer was yes and had always been yes. You just tried to make it easier on yourself, hoping that devloping a crush on kind Deku would eventually push your feelings for the hot head to the background.

It worked. But only if the emerald haired man was around.

When he wasn't your mind always floated to the hot head.

He rips the buttons from your blouse and you gasp with both pleasure and concern.

He reads you like a book as he pulls the fabric open to look at you in all your glory, even pulling the scratched white fabric from your black skirt.

"You said I took out the camera right?" He drinks you in before his mouth finds a sweet spot on your throat, "Don't worry I'll give you my jacket when I'm through with you, my little Oracle."

You swoon, knees becoming weak from such little contact. His mouth works wonders as he un hooks your bra, pulling it and your shirt from your chest. Greedily lapping at your perked nipples. A moan escapes you then, further encouraging his advancement to which you wouldn't dream oppose.

Not with how good you feel now. Soon his hands find your hips as he crushes his lips to yours, pulling the bottom of your skirt up over your thick thighs and ass before letting it stay at your natural waist.

"Are you wet for me?" He asks by way of permission.

To which you surprise both of yall with your answer.

"Go and find out."

Katsuki gives you a deadly smile as your face deepens in hue. His fingers snake slowly down your chest, teasing when he gets close to the hem before sliding over your laced underwear.

You watch as his eyes flutter slightly before a groan escapes his kissable lips, you clench at the sound.

"You're soaking through your underwear." He voice drips with desire by your ear, "Does the director know how naughty you are?"

He leaves a trail of kisses before biting down on your neck, fingers still relishing the feeling of soaked fabric.

"Does he know that you're wet for one of your bosses?" He begins pressing against your throbbing button through the thin fabric. You buck your hips agaisnt his touch and moan when he chuckles darkly.

"I didn't hear an answer, baby girl." Your mouth moves without thought as he presses harder.

"N..no. No one knows."

"And who are you wet for?" His other hand is preoccupied with your breasts. Tweaking the nipples pushing you closer to a surprisingly close edge. His strong hand moves away from your needy nipple to find your throat.

He applies the right amount of pressure that your breathing becomes labored.

"Y..you Bakugou-sama!" You squirm, wanting, needing to be touched by the man before you.

"That's my good girl." He slips his fingers past your underwear finding the swollen bud he was teasing, swirling two fingers as his palm presses down on your mound.

You're moaning loudly, uncaring if anyone will hear as his fingers work you over like magic. His grip tightening just enough as you get closer and closer.

Finally your vision blurs in your peripheral before his husky voice is back at your ear.

"Just one more thing, do you see yourself getting fucked little oracle?"

You do not need to look into the future to answer

"Yes...yes Bakugou-sama." With a deadly smirk he sends you over the edge, not letting up as your crescendo once, twice, three times from his fingers alone. You see stars as your body convulses beneath his touch, voice caught in your throat as you shudder.

Your knees become weak as he slowly eases away after teasing at a hint that a fourth time could have been coaxed from you.

He holds you steady kissing you sweetly on the lips. He gives you a moment as you lean on him before you're flipped around.

You stare at your reflection. Hair disheveled, falling from its normally tight bun, breasts exposed as you're bent over and lips tinted with the best of red hues.

Red eyes admire you as he unbuckles his pants.

"You're such a gorgeous mess. And who are you a mess for?" He asks, placing your hands onto the railing.

"Y..you." Breath fogs your slightly distorted reflection and he smiles.

"God damn right." He purrs in your ear, pressing himself against you and you moan, "Hold on tight, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

You wiggle your hips, pressing your ass as close to him as you can before he grabs onto you with a bruising grip.

He eases himself in slowly, keeping you from pushing agaisnt him until he's filled you completely. He stays still for a moment and the feeling of fullness alome has you squirming, begging for more.

"Pl..please Bakugou-sama. Please..." He grabs a fist full of your hair, pulling your face to meet his reflection.

"Please what?" He grins devilishly and you cannot fathom how he holds back so well. You feel him twitch within you, your eyes roll for a moment before you answer him.

"Please just fuck me and fill me. Please please Bakugou-sama." You cry out trying your best to rock against him, hoping his one hand would not be enough to stop any friction from happening.

But some how it is.

"Now be a good seer and watch how well you take my cock baby girl." He purrs, pulling harder on your hair until you meet your gaze.

He begins to pound into you, hard and fast. The sound of your meeting bodies echoes off the four walls and for once you cannot see anything.

Because you cannot focus on anything aside from the feeling of aggressive thrusts and the ash blonde reflection. He grunts as he looks you over. Your skirt makes your ass seem bigger than what it is and you're so wet you make a delectable sound with each withdraw not to mention your thighs are beginning to dew.

The sensation, sound, and sight of you being so pleased and submissive for him begins to make Bakugou spiral.

And it shows with each thrust as it gets harder, faster, and sloppier.

He fucks you with enough force that the metal box begins to rock.

Your eyes flutter as you begin to climb again, feeling him getting closer and closer himself before he hits you just right as he groans out a delightful "fuck"

You scream, gripping onto him in pulses before he loses himself. Burying himself deep within you with a satisfied growl.

You both still for a moment before he withdrawals. His seed spills from you making him want to fuck you again.

But instead he moves your underwear back into place, smooths your skirt back down your hips and ass before pulling up his own pants.

He turns you around, peppering your dazed face with kisses before he sheds his jacket and places it on you.

Zipping it up to your throat. He pulls you into him and you note the heavy smell of his caramel sweat. You kiss his neck tenderly causing a rumble to emit from him.

"Are you okay little one?" He asks softly, "Was I too rough? Too much?"

"No...perfect." You snuggle into him and he holds you for a moment. Your nose brushes against his exposed throat before you see it.

"Oh!" You push away from him enough to see his face before you blush deeply.

The elevator whirls back to life, the ding of floors pulls you back into reality and for a moment you think it a dream.

You expect him to shove you away now that he is done, especially so since that the moment of an almost claustrophobic disaster no longer hands over your heads.

But the look of hated annoyance does not return to his eyes as he gazes down at you.

If anything he looks at you softly expectant of an answer before it dawns on him.

"Oh." He says with a deadly smirk, "Was fucking the only way to fix it?"

You laugh nervously before admitting.

"I never looked past that kiss. I.."

He kisses you softly again before a final ding rings out and the two of you are met with the cool summer air of the parking garage.

"Hmmm I think I saw something." He smirks and you look puzzled, the world only slowly beginning to beg for your attention.

"W..what did you see Bakugou-sama?" You ask timidly as he pulls you out of the sinful box. Guiding you to his black motorcycle. You stop to blink over the bike, trying hard to see whatever he could be alluding to without allowing yourself his future out of habit.

"I see you calling me Katuski over dinner." He smiles as he places his only helmet on your head before his powerful leg swings over the body of the bike.

You stare down dumbfounded, dazed over everything that has happened in the last hour and a half.

When you do not move he pets the seat behind him.

"Coming to make my prediction true little oracle?" You nod swiftly pulling up your skirt enough to straddle the bike. You delicately wrap your arms around a muscled torso.

"Hold on tight." He says, squeezing your hand before the bike roars to life, "Its going to be a bumpy ride."

[zutaradreams]

Day 2: Momtara and Dadko

AO3

After a bitter end to her relationship with Aang, Katara comes to stay in the Fire Nation with Zuko and his daughter Izumi. 

She’s watching the fireworks from his private balcony, hiding far away from everyone. She’s the only one with access to these rooms up here. He took her up once and she loved the view so much he invited her to it anytime she wished, so when she disappears from the party in the ballroom, he knows where to find her immediately.

Her back is to him. One hand grips the railing of his balcony. The other wraps tightly around the glass of her rice wine. He doesn’t have to see her face to know tears run down her cheeks.

“You’re not the one who should be hiding,” he tells her. His presence doesn’t even startle her.

She brings the glass up to her lips. “I used to love his way with people. He was so good at making everyone love him,” she laughs bitterly. “Now I hate it.”

“No one’s forgotten what he did to you.”

“It certainly seems like it.”

“If you think Toph doesn't advocate for you, or your brother doesn’t want to strangle him every time he shows up, or I don’t take every measure to avoid him, you’re mistaken.”

“How dare he!” She shouts, but who can hear her save him over the fireworks. Down below, it’s a celebration of peace, a tribute to the Avatar’s defeat of his father, a celebration of his reign. She should be celebrating down there. She should be praised for her part in all of it, but as great as Aang’s contributions to the people, he saved all his selfishness for Katara, so now she hides away up here with him.

“Did you see her?”

“Yeah, I saw her.”

She swallows the rest of her drink. He offers to take the glass from her, but she refuses. “Don’t look at me like that,” she tells him. “All pitifully, like I’m some sad, pathetic, pining-“

“I don’t think that at all, Katara. I’m angry with him too. My uncle told me the spirits will punish him. It is the greatest dishonor to them when a man shames his wife.”

“He seems to be doing just fine.” As an afterthought, she adds, “Besides I’m not his wife anymore. I’m a divorced woman. A divorced woman who needs another drink.”

He doesn’t stop her. In fact, he offers to share one with her. He has a bottle of fire whiskey hidden away in his personal bedroom, so he ushers them inside and takes the bottle out of its chest.

“Don’t you hate how the words follow you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you’re marked with one, that’s all they see you as - banished, divorced,” he throws in another one of his own, “widower.”

She pours her empty glass to the brim with whiskey and takes a long sip, grimacing as it goes down. “You were so handsome on your wedding day. So unbelievably handsome,” she says in response, giggling as she says it.

It is so different from the usual awkwardness that occurs when he mentions his late wife that he laughs in relief. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re so tall.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. And handsome.” Another firework shoots off in the distance, and she drinks some more. “And your daughter,” she pauses heavily, and Zuko suddenly remembers how hard it is for her to see Izumi and Lin and Sokka’s brood of children; yet, she loves them all more than anything. “Your daughter is so beautiful.”

“She gets that from Mai.”

“She gets that from both of you.” Another sip. Another tear on her cheek. She wipes it away hastily. He should tell her to take it easy with the whiskey, but the warning dies on his lips. Healing a nation is easier than healing a heart; he knows this personally.

“I propose a toast,” she says, “to Aang and his new whatever-she-is. Spirits help her if she has his child.”

"Katara-"

“I’m going to bed,” she decides. “I’m getting tired.”

“I’ll call a guard to escort you.”

“No, the people talk enough as it is. I don’t want anyone seeing the divorced woman leaving the widower's bedroom.”

He wants to hold her, or at least offer some of his uncle’s wise advice, but it’s all useless.

“Goodnight, Katara.”

“Goodnight, Zuko.” She turns to leave, but pauses just before she reaches his grand double doors. “Or…”

“Or?” He prompts.

“Or I could...stay.” Her hands reach for her robes. She loosens the sash but holds the beautiful pink silk tightly closed around her body.

He swallows hard. “You could.”

“Should I?”

“You should.”

“When do the servants come?”

“Sunrise.”

She lets the robes fall open, baring the sheerest layer of white silk that drives him absolutely wild. She doesn’t remove the robe from her shoulders. She saunters towards him. In one movement, he tugs it to the floor.

“I’ll be gone by then.”

And she is.

xxx

Usually, Zuko tucks Izumi into bed. With the party, and the whiskey, and Katara, one of her nursemaids tucked her in last night. Tonight, the honor is all his.

“Can we have a party like that all the time?”

He smiles and hands her the stuffed dolls she’s slept with since infancy. “I don’t think we can afford it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Izumi, I had two meetings today about the budget. I’m sure.”

She turns on her side and tucks her hands underneath her face, pouting at his answer. “Who was that lady with Uncle Aang last night, Daddy?” she asks innocently.

He sighs. “She’s Uncle Aang’s new girlfriend. Remember when Aunt Katara first came to stay with us here?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“She came to stay with us because she isn’t married to Uncle Aang anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Uncle Aang is the last airbender in the world, and he wants very badly to have kids because he hopes they’ll be airbenders like him. But your uncle doesn’t think Aunt Katara can have kids, so he asked her if they could break up, and she said yes.”

That’s the kid-friendly version, he supposes. The reality of it has him calling Aang a self-serving asshole several times. In the real-life version, Aang doesn’t want a divorce. He wants a hiatus, where he spends a year knocking up random girls to have his airbending children, and stays married to Katara because Aang just 'loves her so much'. In the real-life version, Katara throws her arms around his waist and begs him to let her stay since she’s too humiliated to go anywhere else.

But Izumi’s too young for that mess.

“Okay.”

“Did that answer your question?”

“Yeah. Is it story time now?”

He tickles the underneath of her chin. “Yeah. It’s story time. Which one do you want? Do you want Love Amongst the Dragons?”

She shakes her head. “I want Aunt Katara.”

“You don’t want Daddy’s stories?” He holds his hand theatrically to his heart, feigning heartbreak. “You don’t want Daddy?”

Izumi giggles and nestles her head more comfortably against her pillow. She might not make it through a whole story; her eyes are already heavy. “Aunt Katara tells the best stories.”

“Well, Aunt Katara isn’t here right now. You’re stuck with me, so it’s Love Amongst the Dragons or nothing. The choice is yours.”

“Can you get Aunt Katara?”

On a normal night, sure. The night after the night he fucked her three times in his bed and didn’t speak to her since she snuck out of his room before sunrise, less sure. A lot less sure.

“Another night, sweetheart. It might take a while to find Aunt Katara, and it’s already late.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. She’ll tuck you in tomorrow.”

“I still want you to tuck me in. I just want her to tell me the story,” she clarifies.

“Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake. Now it’s time for your favorite story. Once upon a time, there lived a dragon emperor who was cursed by the dark water spirit…”

Izumi falls asleep before the emperor falls in love.

xxx

The kids all love to play together when they’re reunited. Sokka’s eldest is eight, and his youngest two are fourteen-month-old twins, and everyone else’s kids fall somewhere in the range. Katara loves to play with them. She has Toph’s two-year-old daughter, Lin, in her lap while Izumi and Kya spin around the garden, pretending to be water fairies.

“Careful with her. She’s going through a killer hair-pulling phase right now,” Toph comments.

“She’s fine.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s brutal, aren’t you, Lin? Just brutal. She bites too.”

Katara looks down at the seemingly innocent toddler in her lap. “No, not my Linny.” She kisses the top of the girl’s head.

“Soak it up, sweetness. Lin and I are leaving tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“Yep. My metalbending students need me. They’re basically opposed to letting me have a vacation.”

“More like you’re opposed to taking one. You’ve been nonstop work since you were twelve.” She looks down at Lin. “Well, with a little bit of time for play.”

Toph laughs. “Believe me, that’s not play. She’s a piece of work, and her father was a piece of work.”

Katara smiles sadly. What she wouldn’t give to have her own piece of work.

“I can feel your self-pity radiating off you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. And it’s okay if you can’t have kids. What’s not okay is Aang calling a quits if you can’t. You should do what he’s doing. Find some tail of your own and see if you're  really the problem. It could be him. 100 years in an iceberg - maybe it had some effect.”

She sends Lin from her lap towards Izumi and Kya. She doesn’t want Lin to overhear any of this conversation, even if she doesn’t quite understand it. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Toph’s eyebrows quirk in amusement. “Please.”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue. She wants so badly to say it. I slept with Zuko. Part of her still wonders if it even happened. If she tells someone, it makes it more real. But what if he doesn’t want anyone to know? What if he’s ashamed? He hasn’t even spoken to her since it happened.

“Come on, spit it out.”

I slept with Zuko. I slept with Zuko. I slept with Zuko.

“I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Oh, my god, you did not just do that to me! You fucking tease!”

“I know. I’m sorry!”

“Ugh, just when I thought I was going to get something juicy. Wait, where are you going? You can’t leave me alone. Only one of these kids is mine. I don’t take care of other people’s kids. I’m not crazy like you.”

Katara’s already walking out of earshot while Toph grumbles. She laughs. Toph can handle it. It’s just Izumi, Kya, and Lin. Sokka’s twins are napping, and Ahanu, the eldest, is with Sokka anyways. She’s watched all six by herself before. Usually, she loves it.

Now, she only wants to find Zuko.

xxx

There’s a knock on the door of his study. It instantly irritates him. Servants and cabinet members know not to disturb him in his study. He must be hearing things. Then he hears the knock again. He darts up from the chair at his desk and practically rips the door open. He’s ready to yell at whoever finds it upon themselves to interrupt his work when he realizes whoever is Katara.

“Is this a bad time?” she asks.

“Um, no.”

“You looked like you wanted to kill me for a second,” she says lightheartedly.

“You’re probably misreading me.”

“Probably. You’re not one to lose control of your emotions.” Then she crosses the floor and perches herself on the edge of his desk. She crosses one leg over the other and smirks at him.

“You don’t usually pay me visits in the middle of the day,” he remarks. “Must be important.”

“It’s not. Just killing time.”

“Oh yeah? Nothing on your mind at all?” She’s been all he can think about nonstop.

She’s quiet for a second and looks down at the floor, all of her enchanting bravado gone and replaced with quiet vulnerability. “Did you, um, have fun the other night?” she asks him.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I did. I thought I made that clear.”

“Well, you did...then. And then yesterday I didn’t see you at all and I thought, maybe, that’s how you wanted it to be now.”

“That’s not how I want it to be at all.”

“Okay, great, I was just confused about it.”

“I’m sorry about that. I was avoiding you yesterday in case you wanted space. I know you’ve been going through a lot lately, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You don’t add to it, Zuko. You take it away.”

He smiles. He understands what she means. Since the other night, he’s felt lighter in a way he hasn’t been since he lost Mai. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“You will,” she pauses, and his heart beats excitedly. “Izumi asked me to help you tuck her in tonight, so you’ll see me then.” His face must show his disappointment because she fucking laughs at him. “Did you think I meant it another way?” she teases.

“Nope. I’ll see you tonight. Izumi’s bedroom, right after bathtime. Make sure you have a good story ready to go. She’s very critical these days.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She jumps off his desk. “Well, I won’t keep you. Good talk.” And then before he knows what’s happening her lips are on his in a bruising kiss that sends his head reeling back to the other night when there were far less clothes between them, and before he can react and pull her closer, she’s gone, walking to the door. “See you tonight, Zuko.”

xxx

Along with being a self-serving asshole, Zuko realizes Aang is also a plain idiot.

Katara arches above him, bathed in candlelight. Her hands grip his shoulders as an anchor. Her knees rub against his silk sheets. Her moans are the most enchanting sound he’s ever heard. She’s so vocal in her pleasure, so open with how much she wants him. Every chance he gets, he presses open-mouthed kisses to her flushed skin. He sucks at the pointed peaks of her breasts and digs his own fingers into her alluring hips, guiding her, meeting her at a point of pure pleasure for the both of them.

She falls against him after she reaches her peak, and he holds her even tighter as he finds his own within her a few thrusts later. She hums contentedly against his neck and threads her fingers through his hair playfully.

Aang had this. He had this beautiful, hypnotizing, sensual woman as his wife, and he chose to walk away from her.

He catches her hand in his hair and holds it with his own. She’ll be gone before sunrise, like she always is, but he’ll make the most of his time with her. Only an idiot wouldn’t.

xxx

“That was a very good story. Best one all week.”

Katara laughs. “Well, it didn’t do its job. You should be asleep.”

Adds Zuko, “Yes, you should.”

“Can you tell me another one?”

“Izumi, it’s already late.”

“Daddy, please.”

Katara taps the little girl on the nose and smiles. “I know just the perfect one. Stop me if you’ve heard it before. It’s called Love Amongst the Dragons .”

“Good one,” Zuko whispers to her before they both kiss Izumi goodnight.

They hold hands as they sneak through the corridors to his private balcony. He kisses her senseless against the railing while she briefly realizes she hasn’t been sad in days.

xxx

As a personal friend of the Fire Lord, Katara has special privileges within the palace. One of them is the ability to take Izumi into the city, as long as they’re escorted by a couple of palace guards, of course.

Katara decides she and Izumi deserve a trip to Katara’s favorite shop near the harbor for some sweetened milk and tea cakes. Izumi reaches for Katara’s hand as they walk down the street. It’s something she’s started doing recently, even in the palace. She’s been a lot more affectionate with Katara recently. She’ll rest her head on Katara’s shoulder in the gardens, and she wants Katara at storytime every night now. Katara doesn’t mind. She hangs on to all of it. She’ll be seven years old soon, this light in her life. She squeezes her hand as they enter the shop.

Izumi picks the table, and the guards camp out at the table behind them. They wait for their tea cakes and sweetened milk. When the glasses arrive, they clink theirs together. She takes a sip, which turns into a gulp. Zuko doesn’t allow her to have many sweets.

“Is it good?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Katara laughs. “Good.” When Izumi doesn’t stop drinking, she says, “Hey, save some to wash down the cake.”

“Can I have two?”

She clicks her tongue. “I don’t know. Your father wouldn’t like it.”

“Please, Aunt Katara.”

“I love you, sweetie, but I don’t want to be on the Fire Lord’s bad side.”

“Please, please, please.”

“Fine, you can have one more glass of the darn milk, as long as you promise not to tell on me. Deal?”

Izumi nods and finishes all of her first glass. “Aunt Katara?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“Can you be my mom?”

She forgets how to breathe. “What?”

“I don’t have a mom,” Izumi states.

“Yes, you do. She just isn’t with us anymore. She would have loved you so much. Your mom was such a wonderful woman.” But Izumi doesn’t know that, Katara realizes. As much as Katara holds onto the image of her mother, as much as Katara commits to memory the sound of her voice, Izumi never met Mai. Izumi never got the chance to know her.

“I want a real mom, and Daddy told me you wanted a baby.”

Katara remembers missing her mom, longing for the love and comfort specially given by the woman who brought her into the world. Zuko is an amazing father, but Izumi deserves the chance to have the unconditional love of more than one person.

They make a perfect pair, a motherless child and a childless woman. It doesn’t hurt that Katara loves her so much, ever since the first time she came to stay when Mai died and Zuko was a clueless wreck who fumbled when placing Izumi in her arms, repeating again and again that he didn’t know what to do. She and Zuko are always there for each other. The two of them make another perfect pair.

“I love you so much. I would be honored to be your mom. You don’t have to call me your mom, but I’ll be here for you always.”

"I want to call you mommy."

She’d left the first time she stayed, once Zuko got a handle on things. She and Aang had only recently been married, and he was so insistent on her return. He needed her help rebuilding the air temples. They needed to be ready for the return of the airbenders. Yeah, right.

"Then you can call me mommy."

The next glass of sweet milk arrives for Izumi, and the young girl takes Katara’s advice. She eats the tea cake first, and then she washes it down with the milk. Katara hands her a napkin to wipe the milk from her top lip.

They stop at a few shops on the way back. Katara learns they both like to window shop. At one of the outdoor booths, Izumi spies a dark water spirit mask sold alongside others.

“Daddy would love that!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Love Amongst the Dragons is the only story he knows. It’s his favorite.”

Katara tugs her to the booth giddily. “Then we have to get it for him.” She pays a few coins to the vendor and gives it to Izumi to keep safe for Daddy. Keeping it safe to Izumi is wearing it herself.

There’s nothing pulling her away anymore, like there was when Izumi was born. Now this golden-eyed girl is an anchor.

And so is her father.

xxx

“I don’t want to go back to my room.”

“It’s almost sunrise.”

She pouts at him, as if he controls the sun. He wishes he did. He’d never let it rise. “I don’t want you to go either.”

Her hand is on the knob of the door, but she’s still facing him. She always waits for a minute before she leaves him, like she’s waiting for him to call her back. As much as he wants to, he can’t. A Fire Lord isn’t expected to be celibate, but if the servants ever see him with the Avatar’s ex-wife, the whole nation would know the gossip in a week.

Already, there are rumors. They aren’t exactly discrete. They take every meal together. They tuck Izumi in together. She’s the only one allowed in his private study. They just make sure no one catches them touching. As long as they aren’t touching, the rumors stay rumors.

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” she says.

“It’s not that far away.”

He tries to be optimistic. But she leaves, and it’s hard. Breakfast is very far away.

xxx

“You’re not wearing your mask.”

“Izumi, I can’t wear it to official meetings as Fire Lord. There’s a protocol.”

But his six-year-old crosses her arms in front of her. “I’m telling Mommy.”

Did he just hear her right? “You’re telling who?” he asks.

“Mommy. Aunt Katara’s my mommy now,” she answers plainly as if delivering old news.

“Does she know?”

“Yeah, I asked her if she could be my mom, and she said yes.”

This is definitely not old news to him. “When did this happen?”

Izumi shrugs. “Forever ago.”

xxx

Katara,

You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, or how deeply I regret my behavior. I was so, so stupid. No one compares to you. No one connects with me like you do. We were perfect together, and I will always be angry with myself for ruining that. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I want our life together back, the way it was always supposed to be.

Love always,

Aang

She burns the letter.

xxx

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she mentions to him one night in the afterglow, caressing the scar on his face.

“I know what you mean.”

She’s never felt such a pull to someone. She’s never felt as understood or appreciated or cherished. Aang never stopped saying he loved her; Zuko never stops proving it.

“When Mai died, I couldn’t imagine sharing what I shared with her with someone else. But that’s not what this is. It’s not the same. I’m different now. You’re different. Our relationship is different.”

He’s taken a step forward by confessing this. She’s bold enough to take another. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 She pulls away from him, but he holds her tighter. “Zuko, I’ve got to go. It’s almost sunrise.”

“Stay,” he mutters sleepily against her ear.

“Zuko, it’s hard enough to leave you as it is.”

“Stay. Stay forever. If I need to write up some official announcement, or bribe some servants, I’ll do it, but I don’t want to spend another morning without you.” He kisses the shell of her ear, and her resolve shatters completely.

They fall back asleep. The servants wake them. Funny enough, the sky doesn’t fall. The day goes on as normal, and surely the gossip is raging behind her back, but she doesn’t care like she thought she would. She doesn’t care about it the way she cared when they talked about her and Aang.

She sees the sunrise with Zuko that morning. She sees the colors break through the sky in the most glorious shades of pink and blue, while Zuko’s hair is pulled into his topknot and his ceremonial armor is secured. Zuko, Izumi, and her life with them - that’s all she cares about.

[popculturebuffet]

The Legion of Super Heroes Reviews: The Legion of Substitute Heroes or Unsung Heroes

Happy 29th Birthday to Me! Yes it’s my birthday which means it’s time for reflection, griping about getting older and cake. And after an exausting weekend of grappling with a growth, i’m not going to go into anymore detail, I can finally, relax celebrate and get back to reviewing. And since i’ts my big day, that means I decided to dedicate today’s reviews to things that mean a hell of a lot to me and in one way or another shaped me as a person. A self indulgant way to reflect on my past, look to the future and show y’all some stuff I really like. So with that out of the way let’s talk about the Legion of Super Heroes.. and their oddball sub team I love dearly. 

This is also my first chance to talk about DC Comics on my blog. I’m honestly shocked that in the year i’ve been reviewing stuff regularly, the other half of the big two superhero comic publishers hasn’t come up. While I do tend to lean towards marvel, in part because Marvel is simply better at collecting their stuff and putting it on sale more often, it’s still the home of some of my faviorite properties: Justice League International, The Green Lanterns (Minus Hal), Teen Titans, Wonder Woman, Oracle, Batgirl (All of them, particularly Steph and Cass), Young Justice, Supergirl, my personal boy The Martian Manhunter.. the list dosen’t go on by much but it indeed goes on. I”ve been reading dc comics since I was in middle school, and I haven’t stopped since and don’t intend to stop now and maybe in the next year I can get around to tackling some of their awesome cartoons and comics more eh? But yeah among these titans, including the actual titans, are the Legion, one of the most unique and awesome super team concepts in my humble opinon and , even for DC, one of the teams with the most tangled up histories. 

First created in the Silver Age by writer Otto Binder and Artist Al Plastino, The Legion of Superheroes is DC”s first successful teen superhero team, predating the titans by a few years, though I dearly love both wildly diffrent teams. The Legion is defined by their high concept: A thousand years into the future, three super teens from diffrent worlds who happened to be on the same ship with billionare RJ Brande, saved Brande from some goons hired by his crooked buisness partner. 

And exposed him. Inspirired by their courage, heart and skill, Brande latter called the three together to form them into a super team, one inspiried by the legends of teen hero Superboy. 

No not Conner though it was nice to get to show off my poster of him. While he was part of the second continuities legion, we’ll get to that, he’s not the superboy we’re looking for. He is damn great though and it’s good to have you back bud. 

Not Jon either, though I do miss this kid’s pre-bendis version and he was the inspiration.. for another version of the legion. (SIGH). Try. AGAIN IMAGE SEARCH. 

...... 

No not the cool bad boy turned troubled good boy, not the child who was inexpciably aged up by that bald smeghead, and not the great idea turned into a editiorial mouthpiece. I”m talking about THIS superboy. 

This is where the name came from: From the silver age till crisis on infinite earths, Clark Kent was active as a kid in smallville, and thus was Superboy, superman when he was a boy. He dealt with similar stories just with Lana replacing Lois, and Luthor as a ginger teenager. And it was these deeds as a teen hero on his own, one of the first honestly, that inspiried the legion and brande and forged the team. 

And it was naturally a super boy story where they were first introduced as the legion’s founders went back to recruit Superboy after putting him through some trials, and were intended as just one of many silver age one off concepts.. but caught on with the readers so much they were brought back, and had their ranks expanded and eventually not only added supergirl, yes the one your thinking of this time, to their ranks, and yes sometimes she and superboy were in the same place at the same time, Clark willingly had founding member and telepath Saturn Girl put a mental block in his head for any info he’s not supposed to know yet so it’s cool . But yeah not only that but they eventually became their own feature in Adventure Comics, where Superboy’s stories were published, but overtook him in popularity with time.  Over time a number of distinct aspects were established: The roster eventually got as large as 20 plus legionarres, almost all from diffrent worlds, and they eventually set up bilaws. Some are silly and dated such as “Legionarres marrying means they retire” which was eventually done away with in the 70′s, but others were simple logic: each member must have a unique power, no using weapons and such which rather than be super power snobbery is so said tech dosen’t fail and the legion later fully allowed Karate Kid, a martial artist, to join, no killing.. just common sense stuff that adds to it. And one of those is the centerpiece to today’s story, which we’ll get to in a moment.  Obviously given they’ve been around since 1958, there is a LOT more to the Legion’s history I will dig into at a later date: The short version is that Crisis on Infinite Earths, Dc’s first big reboot, fucked the team up badly by retconning superboy out of existance and dc editorial made it worse by shooting down EVERY solution the team came up with to fix the issue. So eventually things got so messy they nuked the whole thing during the event Zero Hour and rebooted fresh with Mark Waid taking the helm and updating the concept for the 90′s and being a more lighthearted, if still not without weight, comic in the sea of 90′s edge. Waid would reboot the team again due to sagging sales, a far weaker reason this time, with a more rebllion slant, the original team would be reinstated, and then ended for a while before recently being rebooted by Brian Micheal Bendis... who sadly is long past his creative prime from books like Ultimate Spider-man and alias and is instead stewing in his own toilet dinner these days and thus it’s not pretty.. well okay art wise i’ts VERY pretty, it’s just story wise it sucks dirty ass in thunder storms. There was also an awesome cartoon that sadly lasted only two seasons that I will DEFINTELY be digging into, especially since unlike x-men evolution, it’s not you know 50 some episodes and me biting off way more than I can chew but a slim 26 that still has fans to this day. I”ll get into ALL OF THIS, some ohter time hopefullly and I mostly outlined it since some of you might be familiar with another version or “Sigh” the reboot and this helps clear things up.  So yeah with all that out of the way we’re going back to the silver age and the first story I ever read of hte team, how I met them with “The Legion of Substitute Heroes” and a later subs story I genuinely love. I first read this story in one dc’s old expensive archives collections I got from the library. Oh how I miss the library. Your probably wondering who the legion of susbstite heroes are.. but since the first story covers that we can jump right in after the break!

So we open with a teen in a parka uniform disembarking from a spaceship from another planet, which a passerby notes is just like the airplanes people used to ride from country to country. 

But we meet our hero, Polar Boy, whose in a winter themed outfit and has come to try out. This is the tradition I was saving for now: The Legion Tryouts. Like a club or sports team would, but I like it because it makes sense: The Legion NEEDS to be as big as it is because while their headquartered on earth, their mission scope is anywhere in the united planets which spans GALAXIES. They could be called on any time and need their full force or need to have severa l members on a smaller mission and frequently having members away on a mission was cleverly used to reduce the cast to whoever was needed for the story. 

So it only makes sense to frequently look for new membbers to help strengthen their ranks... but given their teens and are recurting teens they need to be careful and need a logical way to reduce crowd flow. I mean you saw how many people used to line up for american idol before that died a justified death, people will do anything to be famous and they need to weed out those whose powers and skill just aren’t up to snuff yet, or those who are just dicks as, unsuprisingly, several stories have been built on assholes who applied and were rejected turning evil and attacking.. even though the Legion wasn’t even paticuarlly harsh. They also are more than fair as applicants CAN try again or if they prove themselves in other ways can be let in, as Bouncing Boy, my favoirite legionarre, was intially rejected for his power of .. well...

Yeah.. on paper inflating like a ball and bouncing around is kind of silly. In practice he can ricochet off enemies, walls, and obstacles and is fairly durable in that state. It’s why I don’t really brook mocking the guys power: yes it’s goofy.. but say that again when he hands you his ass. It’s the same with matter eater lad who yes is an actual character: While being able to eat anything is gloriously goofy.. it means he can chew through ANY substance and digest ANYTHING. Hell in the cartoon episode intorducing the subs they used both of these guys to great efffect: Bouncing Boy, who in the cartoon had to try out multiple times in his backstory, encouraged the future subs while Matter Eater Lad got in by EATING A FUCKING BOMB. He also had shades which I dind’t know he was missing but now I do. My point is the process is fair and well thought out and leads to some really fun scenes. 

But yeah joining the legion is naturally Polar Boy’s dream, as he walks down the avenue of heroes, basically a series of statues honoring the legion and hopes all his hard work paid off. We then cut to the auditions, where he apparently waited all night. What I like about this story is that unusually for the silver age legion where it was mostly a sea of powers attached to a bunch of cardboard, really the dc silver age in a nutshell and why marvel broke out so much for having more dynamic and realistic characters, Polar Boy has more of a personality. It’s not MUCH but he’s a dedicated, hard working kid who just wants to join his heroes and seems really in awe of htem, a feeling we can all relate to. We’ve all had people we’ve looked up to, admired, and we’ve all had groups we wanted to join as kids, teens or what have you. And of course.. we all know what it’s like to be rejected by someone or something you badly wanted to be a part of.  And that’s what happens to poor polar boy, who comes from a world with an intense sun thus his people developed super cold powers.. but he can’t control them well so while their impressive, they also freeze the legion. HIs powers are good... but due to their strength and radius he’s also a liablility. They give him an consolation anti-gravity belt.. they had these before eventually compressing them into the much cooler flight rings.. which I still desperatly want one of. I have the flash’s costume ring and a green lantern corps ring, but still no legion ring. 

Naturally this devistates the poor boy and he wonders around dispondent till nightfall, convinced he’ll never be one of them. He soon meets Night Girl, a fellow reject with super strength given to her by her dad’s formula.. but only in darkness as she’s from a world without sunlight. She also faces a “hopeless future” but it’s then Polar Boy’s true strength reveals itself: he decides screw giving up on their dream and if they can’t be in the legion they’ll start their own Legion. 

Though not to compete but to serve as a subtistute, in case the legion is ever incapacitated. So Night Girl gathers the other rejects the next morning. Cleverly one of them, Chlorophyll Kid was seen with Night Girl herslef at the tryouts behind Polar Boy. We soon learn about them and each of their origins: Stone Boy can turn himself into an immobile stone statue, as his world has half a year long nights and thus his people hybernate, Fire Lad who can spit hot fire literally and set anything combustable on fire and Chlorphyll Kid who can make plants grow rapidly. Each were rejected for resonable powers: Stone Boys powers too static, Fire Lad’s is too dangerous and Chorlpyl Kids toos pecific. But upon seeing all of this Polar Boy says they STILL have fantastic powers and still can help people and the legion. 

Thus the Legion of Substittue Heroes is born. And I love them as much as the originals. As a bit of a misfit myself I relate to these guys: They have strange specific powers, got rejected by the big team.. while that trope is nothing new at the time it was unique and even now it’s a nice and inspiring message. Instead of giving up they form their OWN team to do what htey can anyway. They might not be the best like the legion but they can still help and still do what’s right even if not on their scale. It’s a great concept and really makes them endearing. Again I have a thing for the underdogs but I still really like these guys. It’s why it annoys me they got kind of spat on with time: While I love Keith Giffen and Paul Levitz run on the legion, and feel it’s the best of that contnuinty it’s not without fault and the two basically spent a full issue mocking the team and split polar boy off from them before making their own subs with only ONE of the originals. It just felt.. disrspectful. And so far no continuity has used them again until the recent bendis run, which has them announced for the Future Slate special. It took BENDIS, who dosen’t get how to use the team properly and is up his own ass, to bring them back in a new continuity and I find that obnoxious. The subs are a great concept and deserve to be honored as such and as such are one of my favorite superhero teams. 

But their careers don’t start well as they doubt themslves, except for Polar Boy who boisters them along, and constnatly just end up going to missions the legion already has covered and when the legion go to fight some robot ships, they refuse the subs help.. which is fair though, as Brainy puts it they can’t risk putting untrained volunteers in harms way. Their about to just quit, in a really sad moment.. when CK, because I can’t spell cholophill and hate having to use spell check notices some odd seeds spread about.. and when he grows one a horrifying tree man shows up. They struggle with it till the setting son finishes it’s job, meaning Night Girl is at full power and whollops it and the subs spend the night destroying the seeds.  They  find out the next day the seeds came from the same planet as the robot ships, meaning the ships are a distraction for whoevers doing this and since they can’t just call earth, as the full force of the legion is needed with the robots and all it’d do is cause a panic, it’s down to them. Night Girl however is scared.. and I like that. It shows that while their regaining their confidence.. it’s sitll risky. Their a bunch of barely trained fanboys, and girl, going up against an alien invasion, with it down to them. They CAN save the world but it’s alright to be entirely terrified when your thrust into it this fast. 

They make their way to the planet, having built a ship earlier and lie low, finding out what’s going on: The plant men are fully intellegent, and grow themselves..though how they know to attack and go to the bathrom and what not out of the seed I don’t know but I assume it’s a genetic thing or they might be some form of hive mind. point is the seed plan is to grow troops all over the world via rockets for an invasion, and it’s a brilliant concept for one too. Aliens who simply GROW the troops right into battle, born with the knowledge to do so, and right where they can ambush them. It’s down to our heroes and Stone Boy, whose been the most pesemistic, valiantly dives in to provide a distraction so they can destroy the factory and the seeds. Turns out he is useful as the most the treeple have is a space lead pipe.. yes really. I love the silver age. But they’ll bring ray guns soon, so Stone BOy knows it’s a suicide mission and now our heroes have a timer. But luckily.. our heroes are stronger than they think. Night Girl punches a way in till Night passes, while Polar Boy and Flame Lad use their powers in concert to make an opneing.. but with time running out Polar Boy finishes things by having CK grow all the seeds now they have acess.. thus exploding the planets population, destroying several cities from the number of bodies, and thu discourguing the treeple from trying again. Stone boy is able to flee with the rest of our heroes and the day is saved. 

The heroes opt not to tell the public, as to take away glory for the Legion. It’s a noble gesture.. they do DESERVE credit, but they choose not to take it, preferring to let the legion get theres for stil lsaving the world from the robots. They stand firm, now confident they may someday make it to the big leagues.And it’s this that really makes me love them: Thier not the strongest or best, but they try anyway for the reasons a hero should: to help people, and not for the glory. THey remain unsung heroes and are fine with that.  Eventually the Legion WOULD find out about them, but naturally instead of being dickheads about it, fully accepted them, even offering them some contests for membership, but that’s a story for another day. THey’d remain stalwart allies and valuable backup in crisis situations for years to come until the bollocks outlined above. But they’d never leave my heart and thanks to them.. the legion never left either. 

Final Thoughts:  While I do love the story for it’s personal signifigance to me, It’s stilll a really good story for the time. A bit stilted as was the style, but still good, well paced and with an endaring cast of underdogs who prove themselves in the end. It’s something diffrent from the usual clean cut ahead in life wasps these stories usually followed at the time. While the team’s still all white and all that, their outcasts and misfits who just want to help and have trouble beliving in themselves. Their a good standard to live up to.. and a good inspiration for me and my constnatly self hating self doutbing self. And I hope you enjoyed htem too.  If you’d like to comission your own review, just dm me. It’s 5 bucks for individual issues. Later days. 

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 35 - Shore Leave

"How long will repairs to the typhoon take?" Toothdee asked Skye, the fox shoulder-deep into a small maintenance area inside the typhoon. The sounds of maintenance and machine tools were present throughout the whole ship.

"A few days at the least, likely longer." Skye said, exiting the maintenance area, "We sustained heavy damage in our battle with the Black Typhoon. I'm just glad we were able to get back to this US island."

"Same, luckily; we did get some technical teams sent out. So hopefully, we can get this ship fixed and rearmed fairly quickly."

"Skye," Retsuko said, coming up to the pair. "That armor panel you prioritized has been repaired, as has the damaged electrical components you prioritized. Oh, and Toothdee, we're 37% restocked when it comes to our bombs and missiles."

"Thank you, Retsuko."

The red panda left, looking over notes on a clipboard.

"I must say, Skye, your engineering skills really impress me."

"Thanks. I'm one of the most highly trained field agents in the ZIA. I've got Jack, myself, and other agents out of a jam more than once."

The fox grabbed some tools and went back into the maintenance area.

"I know we're on that list as well. Do you think I could convince you to stay on with Heroes after the war?"

"Hmmm... I'm not sure. I haven't thought about that much. I do like working for the ZIA, and they might have other missions for us after the war instead of working with you guys."

"Well, just know that there's always a place for you and Jack in Heroes."

"Thank you, I'm glad to hear it."

000

"Lion versus lion! Blade versus blade!" Laval said, taking up a defensive stance.

"This is where it all ends on this beach...." Kion said, readying his blade.

There was a pause, with only the feel of sand beneath the lion's feet, the gentle sound of the lapping of the waves on the shore, the occasional breezes blowing through their fur.

"YAAHHHHH!"

The lions roared and raced towards each other, blades colliding with a shower of sparks and the sound of metal clangs.

Blades clashed as the pair swung their blades and blocked incoming attacks. Both warriors were evenly matched and experts with their swords.

Laval kicked up some sand in Kion's face, blinding the young lion and placing him on the defensive as he rubbed his eyes.

Laval was quickly able to block his strikes with his enemy blinded and knock Kion on his back with a hard kick.

The downed lion looked up at his adversary, who was pointing a blade at his neck.

"I win! One point to me!" Laval said.

"Hey, using sand is cheating!" Kion said, getting up and washing his eyes with a bottle of water he set down on the sand.

"You have to be ready for anything!" Laval said, using his sword to cut a small tally mark in a palm tree nearby. He looked over the two sections of the chart cut into the tree, one side labeled L, the other labeled K. "We're even. You may be a little taller than me, but don't let that go to your head!"

"Point taken, say why are you and Eris roughly equivalent in height? I mean, wild lions and wild eagles aren't exactly the same in size."

"I mean, you could say the same thing for other species. Nick and Judy are roughly equivalent in height, much more so that their wild counterparts."

"Yeah... you've got a point..."

The pair of lions readied themselves for another battle, stretching and practicing their sword swings.

"We're also somewhat different in height, even though we're both adult lions."

"Yeah, maybe it's just natural differences since we're from different parts of the world. Chima has always been somewhat unique biology-wise."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not sure, it might have something to do with the chi, or maybe it's just natural circumstances. I'm not exactly a biologist, though."

"It kind of reminds me of how Komodo dragons are only found on one island in the world. I guess it's just a unique location that adds to the diversity mammals have."

"Sounds about right."

"Now then, where were we?" Kion said, taking up an offensive stance with his blade ready to strike.

"I was just about to beat you again!" Laval said, roaring a battle cry before charging forward.

000

"You know, I've said it before, but I'll repeat it. The food you have here is better than the food I had when I first moved to Zootopia!" Judy said, rummaging through the cabinets in the typhoon's kitchen. "Meat, veggies, snacks, sweets, this ship is so well stocked!"

"Well, a warrior needs essential vitamins and nutrients to keep themselves fit for combat," Alex said, sitting at a table and scrolling through something on his tablet. Nick sat across from him and enjoyed a Pawpsicle. "Not only that, but better quality food keeps morale up."

There was a ding, and Judy retrieved her "carrots for one" dish from the microwave before sitting down with Nick and Alex. She pulled the metal covering off the dish, revealing three plump and juicy carrots.

"Look at that! When I first came to Zootopia, I got one tiny shriveled-up carrot, not carrots that actually look like what's on the cover!"

The rabbit pointed to the picture on the dish's covering.

"Eh, I'm more of a burger kind of person," Nick said.

"You're always eating fast food like chips and take out. You really should eat better."

"Well, next time we can get takeout, I was thinking of... oh wait, Alex, we can still eat Chinese food, right?"

"Yeah, duh. In fact, the Chinese food you eat isn't even actual Chinese food. It's an American creation."

"Oh, totally fine to eat then."

"All this talk of food reminds me. JayJay told me that wolves actually need meat to survive. Some humans don't eat meat, but wolves can't do that."

"Ah, yeah, you're going to have to get used to some of the differences between species."

"Yeah," Judy said, her mouth full of carrot." For example, I didn't know that foxes bite to show affection, so it was a surprise when Nick first did that."

"And I didn't know that rabbits rub their chins on things to mark them, so I was rather confused when that first happened."

"Well... she did nibble on my ear," Alex said. "That definitely surprised me."

Nick and Judy chuckled a bit.

"Although... fair warning..." Judy said. "Not all mammals are very accepting of different species relationships."

"Yeah, I know. But do you think some jerks are going to scare me?"

The fox and bunny chuckled again.

"Nah, you two will be fine," Nick said.

000

"Our warship is gone!" Dark JayJay said. "We've lost. It's just the two of us now."

"I concur," Dark Alex replied as the pair walked down a dark hall in a Chinese facility.

"All we can do now is inflict as much damage as possible on our enemy." He said, "But I will be sending you to where this all started. One of the artificial islands in the South China Sea."

"We should never have set foot on that island. Look where we ended up. We should see about calling for aid."

"I agree, but we will make our enemies pay a hefty price in blood for all they have wrought on us. However, I need you to make sure the information about what we did at the start of this conflict stays secret."

"Ok, I can manage that."

"We have tried to keep this information hidden before. But now, you must dispose of anyone or anything that risks revealing the truth."

The dark wolf nodded and went to prepare.

"Oh, and one more thing..."

Dark JayJay paused for a moment and turned to her ally.

"Don't do anything rash unless you have to. Follow your objectives, but keep that data out of enemy hands, at all costs."

[arsyeong]

make me fall for you first | ijb. (4)

o n e  /  t w o  /  t h r e e  /  f i v e  /  s i x  /  s e v e n

summary: you’ve caught the eye of the campus fuck boy and you could only think of one way to get out of it. word count: 3,123

The horde of leaving students clear and you’re finally able to spot Jaebeom.

Your date.

From this moment alone, you knew it was different from the one before it. Having had been asked prior to this warmed your heart much more than just being abruptly informed and asked to get in a car, and you notice he’d changed from his outfit earlier today.

When he sees you, he strides over to you casually; you’re even more enamored by the black long-sleeves he was wearing. It was a fresh look on him – not baggy, not too fitted, not a leather jacket and just right.

You swear your heart pumped an extra beat or two.

“Afternoon, milady,” he greets formally, bowing slightly and holding out his hand for you to place yours in it. You think.

“What are you doing?” you ask, unsure of how to react. He lifts his head with a raised eyebrow at first, but he decides to give up the entire act altogether after two more seconds.

“I was supposed to ask if you would let me have the honor to kiss – “

“I would not.”

“Obviously.” He puts his hands in his pockets, and you try your best to discreetly look at his broad shoulders and the skin exposed by the low v-neck of his shirt. You fail at being discreet, though, and he smirks when he finds your staring. “Is this how the date will be, sweetheart?” he asks, tearing your gaze from his torso, “You know, you could just say the word and you’ll be able to admire much more than that, baby girl.”

He winks and your face contorts in disgust. “I must admit your physique is quite good – “

“Quite?”

“But your tactics of making me fall for you are absolutely horrible,” you say, glaring at him for interrupting. You cross your arms over your chest and, this time, raise your eyebrow, “So, where’s this date taking place?”

“Wherever you want it to be,” comes his reply, and you gape slightly in surprise.

“You meant what you said earlier?”

“The longer you know me, love,” he says, “the more you’ll come to know that I mean most, if not all, of what I say.” The look he gives you then is intense, almost as if he wanted you to catch on to something, but you doubt there’s any deeper meaning to those statements. Perhaps it’s because you’ve never shared an intellectual conversation with him, but you still do have him marked out as a shallow man. A good listener, but a shallow man.

You clear your throat, just to warn the silence that had hung around you that you were about to speak. “If we’re really going to redo the first date,” you begin, “I think we should eat at the same place.” His widen slightly at that, you note, surprised that you had liked something from the last date, and you’re quick to clarify, “I enjoyed the food.”

“Of course you did.” Your eyes narrow at that but, at the growl of your stomach, you decide you could wait no longer.

“Lead the way,” you tell him, arm gesturing to the main entrance. Jaebeom shakes his head with an amused smile on his face, and then he leads you to his car.

“So,” he begins, “Let’s do this.”

“What?” You had been focusing on the waiter that had just taken your order, partly because he was attractive but mostly because you didn’t want to look at the person sitting in front of you just yet. When the waiter moves out of your sight, you steel your gaze to Jaebeom and give an innocent smile.

He rolls his eyes at that and goes, “Come on, (Y/N). We’ve practiced this.”

“Practiced what?”

“Talking.”

“I wouldn’t call it talking,” you say, leaning back into your seat, “It’s more like a therapy session – I talk, you listen, and I’m aware of your presence but I don’t feel it.”

“You’ve been to therapy?” He sounds genuinely surprised at that and you swiftly deny.

“Besides,” you say, “That’s not my point.”

He imitates your position then. “Didn’t you like it?” he asks, but his gaze is on the glass he’s playing with, “Being able to open up to someone? Not feeling my presence?”

“It’s awkward when you put it that way,” you say shyly, “but I said nothing about not liking it. I just said I wouldn’t consider what we ‘practiced’ as talking. A conversation goes two ways, you know,” you add and he nods.

Jaebeom leans forward and places his clasped together hands on the table. “Then ask away,” he says, “If a conversation goes both ways, then surely a question-and-answer would count.”

“I,” you stutter, “I don’t know what to ask.”

“Whatever comes to mind first,” he says, “After all, the first date is for getting to know each other better. I already know some things about you; it’s only right that you get to know me too.”

“What things?” That’s what comes out of your mouth first. You don’t think that’s what he was asking but you decide to own up to your mistake. “I mean,” you begin to clarify, “What things do you know about me?”

“Your birthday,” he says without a second thought, “It’s on (Y/B/D).” He pauses to gauge your reaction and then smiles, “Mine is on January 6.”

“What else?”

“You hate me with a burning passion,” he says, “That’s based on observation.”

“I dislike fuckboys with a burning passion,” you correct, feeling bad. All the things that seem okay to you when you think about it sound really mean when said aloud, especially by him. “They’re inconsiderate, greedy and annoying.”

He makes a sound and expression similar to that of someone who’s been burned. “You really think that of me, love?” You glare at him for the nickname but remain silent for the question, and that seems to be the only answer he needed. With a slightly constrained tone, he says, “You know what? Let’s move on to the next topic. First dates shouldn’t hold this much hate, don’t you think?”

When you still don’t reply and even refuse to meet his eyes, he furrows his brows. “Hello, Ms. Benet?” he goes, “I’d like to speak with (Y/N), please. She said she’d give me a chance.”

Reminded of your earlier kind-of promise, you sigh and look to him. Jaebeom smiles the moment your eyes connect. “Ah, your eyes are beautiful, mi amor,” he says, “I hope you would allow me more opportunities to gaze in them as they deserve.”

The latter catches you off-guard, freezing your comment on the ‘mi amor’ before they leave your mouth; and you’re unable to get them out completely when the waiter returns with two platters in hand, one for each of your orders.

Both of you thank him. This time, Jaebeom’s eyes follow him until he moves from his point-of-view; when he turns to you again, you’re already digging in. “Hey,” he whines, and the tone has you looking from your food to his pout, “You didn’t wait for me.”

In your mind, you see yourself with food all around your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, and you slowly straighten. You take the tissue beside you and dab it around your mouth as elegantly as you could. “Sorry,” you mutter and, when you look to the ground, he chuckles and digs into his own food.

“We eat together, (Y/N),” he reminds, “We’ve practiced this.”

Still unsure, you go, “Okay,” and carefully pick up your utensils once more.

“Ask away,” he says in between bites, “Let’s get to know each other, because I personally believe you can’t fall in love with a stranger.”

“Unless said stranger is your soulmate,” you say and he raises a brow at you. “I like soulmate stories,” you say, trying for casual but the blush you feel on your cheeks are preventing that image. You admit, “They’re cute.”

“You read a lot,” he says, and his tone conveys it as a definite (though you would confirm if he had set it as a question). He takes a bite of his food first before asking, “Do you have a favorite book?”

You can’t help but notice the way he asked the question. He could only be a fellow bookworm or a wise guy who knows how to ask his questions; either option would be a pleasant surprise. “Nice of you not to assume I have a favorite book.”

“I don’t like others assuming I have one either,” he says before you could add any more, “I don’t think I’ve ever read a bad book. Each book is special in their own way, so I can’t compare them and, if I can’t compare them, it’s hard to choose a favorite.” He pauses to take a bite of his food and you smile inwardly at his revelation to be the first option. “I just don’t choose a ‘favorite’ then.”

“Wouldn’t you consider the book you read most to be your favorite?”

“The amount of times I’ve read a book doesn’t matter. I still like all of them just the same.”

“So,” you begin, feeling embarrassment flush you as you ask, “you actually read ‘Pride and Prejudice?’”

With a knowing smirk of where you’re coming from, he nods. “Jinyoung’s only role in that was recommending it to me,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to make you feel better or worse. “I usually read self-help.”

“Self-help?”

“Yeah,” he says casually, “The inspirational types. The insight-giving ones. Non-fiction, not science, but they make the world make sense. Give different perspectives.”

“That’s … nice.” You’re feeling so many emotions that you can’t be bothered to check how high your eyebrows have risen. “I didn’t think that of you.”

“People have many misconceptions about me.” He seems to be cool with it, used to it, and, for the nth time tonight, you feel bad for assuming so much about him. “Just keep asking, (Y/N), and I’ll happily clear things up.”

“Uhhh,” you start uncertainly, “Do you do drugs?”

Jaebeom almost chokes on his food, probably shocked at how direct you were, but he manages to answer (with a shudder), “God, no.”

“Do you smoke?”

“I vape.”

“Ew.” You can’t help your reaction. “You do know it’s not any better? Health and environment wise?”

He shrugs again and nonchalantly answers, “It helps me cope.”

“With what?”

“With me being a failure.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you look at him with a determined and genuine gaze. Your grip on the silverwares tighten slightly and you speak sternly when you say, “You are not a failure, Lim Jaebeom.”

“The you of not even an hour ago would say otherwise,” he says and, with a grimace, he adds, “Don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I’m used to it.”

“The me of now knows a lot more about you than the me of not even an hour ago.”

“You just found out I read books, avoid drugs and vape.”

“I also know your birthday.”

“And all of those together are a significant ‘more’ knowledge about me?”

“Yes.” You can’t believe you’re saying what you are. “They made me realize there’s more depth to you than just being some fuck boy and, because you’re not just your label, you are not a failure.”

“Really?” He’s intrigued; no one would have believed you would reach this point with Jaebeom, this point of saying something nice about him and meaning it.

“And, if you think you’re a failure,” you continue, “You could always choose not to be?”

“How?”

“Stop being a fuck boy, for instance. Maybe the ‘failure’ concept is coming from your guilt.”

“How do I do that with all the pretty ladies around me?” Your hand moves to swat at his. Hard. “Sorry!”

“Ass.” You roll your eyes and relax your position. “Find someone you really like.”

“I like you.”

“That won’t make me swoon.”

“It was worth a try,” he chuckles and, with that, he continues eating. You, however, can’t stop staring at him, and he stops ignoring you after two more bites. “Staring again, sweetheart?” He looks at you suggestively.

“You’re not a failure, Lim Jaebeom,” you repeat, and you think it’s also for your sake of confirming the realization that he was, in fact, not the shallow and uncaring person you had always thought him out to be.

“You take it too seriously,” he says, “Even I don’t dwell on it that long.” One big bite and he adds, “Staying on the topic is unhealthy.”

“So is just brushing it off.”

“It’s also a way of coping.” He stares at the piece of meat at the end of his fork for a moment, and then he decides to place it on your plate. “Eat that and eat up, babe. Tonight’s been going well; I don’t want to ruin it.”

“And how is it going well?”

“We’re talking!” He’s proud of it, if his smile and tone and eyes and everything meant anything. “We’re getting to know each other more, and that’s the goal of the first date.”

“Shouldn’t the ‘getting-to-know’ part be like,” you pause, “I don’t know; your favorite color?”

“Those are the baby questions,” he says, waving it away then later adding, “But I like white and, because white is all the colors in one, that means I like the other colors too.” You tilt your head at that and he just laughs at your not understanding. “Another reason would be because white reminds me of a clear canvas, waiting to be painted with life-bringing colors. It reminds me of a blank paper, ready to accept hastily-written ideas or carefully-recorded memories. It’s the beauty of snow in the bitter winter, the fur of rabbits in the spring, the actual color of the summer’s afternoon sun and the marshmallows you put in the coffee you take for fall.

“It’s an all-rounder color, filled with everything and nothing all at once, and that’s why I could say that I have a favorite color, that my favorite color is white above all others; it’s different from books.”

You’re mesmerized by his descriptions and, for a moment, you consider white as your favorite color too. In the same way he had said you read a lot earlier, you say, “You must be a poet.”

“A writer,” he’s quick to correct, “To call me just a poet is limiting, and I like to think myself as free-spirited.”

That should have been the moment you insert a remark about his fuck boy persona but, unlike any other time, you can’t find the strength and words to do so. Jaebeom was no longer the attractive man of a 2-D sketch you could walk over and ignore; he was a 3-D, living and breathing human right in front of you, and all it took for you to realize that was a conversation. An actual conversation.

And, as the two of you continue to exchange dialogue over your food, you can’t deny that something had sparked at the bottom of your heart and all your feelings. It was desire, the desire to talk with him even more, the desire to talk with him and not stop.

You were a different kind of intoxicated at the end of the night. No longer were you slightly drunk off alcohol you had taken to forget the awkwardness; you had lost yourself in the words of your companion, in his flowery descriptions and his passionate manner of speaking. All the time you had spent talking about yourself to him at lunch had been reversed, and it’s him who’s doing it this time.

When your dorm comes into sight, you almost tell him to slow down. You don’t want this night to end but, if you say that, you’re afraid he’d return to his fuck boy talk and say something along the lines of, “It doesn’t have to,” and it would be accompanied with a suggestive look and a smirk.

You would slap it off his face, and you think both of you would just end up laughing at each other.

He notices when you smile at the thought but, because he doesn’t know what’s going on in your brain and he sees your dorm up ahead, he pouts again. “(Y/N),” he calls out, pained, “And to think I thought we were getting along!”

“We are?” You’ve been yanked from your thoughts so suddenly you were disoriented.

“You seem so happy to be ending this night,” he says, “Meanwhile, I don’t feel the same.”

You don’t know how to respond to that so you just laugh. “I guess that’s my body’s reaction to knowing my bed is near.”

“Your bed, huh?” He’d already stopped in front of your dorm so he had the leisure to turn to you and raise his eyebrow. Just like you feared.

“Wipe that smirk off your face before I hit it off for you.”

“Hit it off?”

“Slap it off.”

“Slap–?”

“Shut up.” You can imagine the smile on your face was ridiculous, so you cover his face with one hand and push him away slightly. Jaebeom laughs at that and, when he takes your hand, you only think he’s trying to remove it from his face.

You don’t expect him to kiss the back of it once he had done so.

“I’m still trying to make you swoon,” he admits with a smile before letting you retract your hand from him, “but I’m fine with this for now. I feel accomplished.”

You frown. “You haven’t made me fall for you just yet.”

“But I got to know you more and I think you consider me a friend,” he supplies, “And that, to me, is something to be proud of.” You raise a brow in question. “To be a friend of yours feels like an honor. You’re a great person, (Y/N).”

“Sincerely?” You don’t know if you’re in disbelief or you believe but you’re just making sure.

“Believe what you want to believe,” he chuckles, his pearly whites on show as he pulls away, “Just know that I enjoyed tonight. A lot.”

You consider for a moment before deciding he deserved your truth. With a gracious smile, you tell him, “I enjoyed tonight a lot too.”

“Was it better than the first one?”

“This is the first one,” you say with a wink, but you laugh when he scrunches his nose at you. “A trillion times.”

“I’ll ask you out in person next time.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” You mean it. “Good night, Jaebeom.”

And, this time, you stick around long enough to hear him say, “Good night, (Y/N).”

p r e v i o u s  /  n e x t

[xsekhah-balmung]

X’sekhah Tia - LFC

The Basics ––– –

NAME:  X'sekhah Tia. AGE:  Twenty-seven. BIRTHDAY:  Twenty-fifth son of the first Astral Moon. RACE:  Seeker of the Sun. GENDER: Male. SEXUALITY: Heterosexual, polyamorous. MARITAL STATUS: Single.

Physical Appearance ––– –

HAIR:

Unkempt and as turbulent as Sekhah's temperament. It's a wildly uneven array of onyx strands that look as if he trims it without a mirror, and with a blade that lost its bite long ago. Some few patches of burgundy exist amidst the waves of pitch frayed ends of the mane, and decorating the head of hair is several shards of bone braided into the mess. He keeps it relatively "clean" otherwise, and washed to be free and clear of any dirt or grime.

EYE:

They stand out most assuredly, and are likely the first thing that one might notice upon meeting Sekhah. There's a ghoulish and eerily pale yellow shine to the pair of them, and they flit around erratically. It's not so much borne from anxiousness or a lack of focus, but instead a desire to keep the goings-on of his environment tracked and well in the forefront of his mind—even during moments of casual conversation in relaxed situations. In short, Sekh is always on.

HEIGHT:

His people grow them tall, stout, and sturdy. Sekhah reaches somewhere in the neighborhood of five fulms, and ten or eleven ilms.

BUILD:

Having been born into the caste of warriors and hunters that scour the many grains of sand that make up the Sagolii in search of the horrors that dwell there, exceptional physical prowess is a source of pride, not to mention a necessity for survival. Sekhah is no different than his peers in this regard and his physique is a testament to this dedication. Countless bells spent training and embroiled in conflict spread across endless suns result in a frame trim and toned, with an abundance of musculature housed tightly packed beneath the swarthy hue of his flesh. Broad of shoulders and thick of limbs, Sekhah's build satisfies the conditions for the ideal warrior's frame—for his size—and is replete with scars that he's earned along the way.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A mask of stygian paint smeared across his eyes, and he's not often—if ever—seen without it. This is one of the few things that he's meticulous about insofar as his appearance goes.

As mentioned previously, scars. Sekhah’s people tell their personal stories with them. Wounds are left to heal on their own without the use of magic, and the scars that they leave behind are a sense of pride, not dissimilar to many other warrior cultures. They serve as a roadmap detailing every last bit of conflict that they’ve been engaged in, and the gnarled, and jagged evidence of past encounters with both man and beast stretch over his arms, belly, and back. Claw, tooth and blade make up the bulk of the unsightly marks that bite into his flesh.

Tattoos are present as well and compete for territory with the above mentioned scar tissue, though these are far less prominent insofar as quantity. A great black serpent that stretched over his ribs and ends upon his back, with a depiction of Azeyma swallowing the beast’s head up whole. Outside of that, there’s a plethora of fanciful stygian linework emblazoned over his wrists and his below his collarbone—seven in total upon the former area, and four upon his chest.

Missing teeth are replaced by some creature’s fang—after it’s been hunted down and slain by whomever’s mouth it’s going to sit in, obviously. Sekhah has one, a canine on the left side. There’s a drake’s tooth that completes his smile, gilded and gleaming when it catches the sun.

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

Though not as fervent—or overzealous—of a worshiper as he might've been in days past, Sekhah still pays enough reverence and respect to Azeyma to never be without some kind of charm or trinket embossed with her symbol. He usually keeps it out of sight these days, either looped 'round wrist underneath a glove or buried deep below the neck of his armor.

A wealth of pouches festoon his belt and only Azeyma knows what he keeps inside of them. Amidst the many present satchels are two innocuous blades. They don't bear much in the way of exquisite detail or markings. They're simple and efficient. A quiver of arrows rests tidily at the small of his back and a bow—equally unremarkable in its design—is usually slung over his back with its string digging into his chest.

Personal ––– –

PROFESSION: Hunter, warrior. That's about it. HOBBIES:  Gambling (this might be an addiction over a hobby), cartography, scavenging, making terrible decisions based on his temper, drinking, feasting, occasional theft, smithing. LANGUAGES:  Eorzean common, tuftspeak (don’t even ask). RESIDENCE: Ul'dah presently. BIRTHPLACE: Sagolii Desert. RELIGION: Azeyma the Warden. FEARS: Becoming complacent, falling into a mundane routine, too much quiet in his life, carbuncles (this is more of a hatred really, but close enough)

Relationships ––– –

SPOUSE: None. CHILDREN:  None. PARENTS: He certainly has some, though isn't very eager to speak of them. SIBLINGS:  He certainly has some, though isn't very eager to speak of them. OTHER RELATIVES: None still living. ACQUAINTANCES: Having severed ties with much of those in his past, Sekhah—again—isn't overly chatty on this subject. He's starting fresh now, so to speak. That being said, there is one thing that followed him out of the dunes.

An aged, and ornery beast, Sekhah's sundrake is his sole companion. The creature has seen many, many better days, with missing toes and bereft of an eye, and scales that look as though they've been forcibly torn and rent from its hide. It's loyal however despite the many grievances that it's clearly been made to endure in the Miqo'te's company—the many attempts it makes to gnaw at his flesh when he slips atop the thing to ride is clearly signs of affection, and play. Clearly.

Traits ––– –

extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathic / unempathic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / uncultured / in between loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between faithful / unfaithful / unknown / in between

Additional Information ––– –

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

Flaws

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky

Strengths

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | loyal

RP Hooks ––– –

Freelance Adventurer/Hunter:

Just looking the part since he departed his tribe doesn't fill his belly, and so thusly Sekhah has had to resort to what means he can to provide for himself. Hunting beasts and men, providing security for travel shipments or chasing down misbegotten treasure at the behest of employers, he does (almost) everything. I'm open to having him work with other adventurer types in this type of RP or seeking out employees that want him to go and retrieve something for them.

Voidsent/Ashkin hunting:

This is something that he does less of now these days, but is the caste that he was born into and dedicated much of his life to. His people have a history of entanglements battling against the aforementioned horrors, defending tombs out in the dunes and so forth. Again as before, I'm interested in pursuing this type of RP with folks, if there's an interest!

OOC Section ––– –

Hi, hello. Thank you for getting this far if you have. This is as with almost all of the things I write up of this nature, a heavy work in progress. I'll be updating it and adding to it over time so, check back occasionally!

I'm looking to branch out and make some contacts out in ye' olde world of Final Fantasy XIV RP. If people are interested, great, I'm always happy to interact with folks and make new friends.  I prefer to RP with 18 + folks though, given the nature of some of the themes that can get involved in my RP.

Feel free to add me on discord if you'd like to plot something or to just say hello. Mediocrity In Motion#0862

[morris-magus-merry-miller]

Chapter 1: Explosive Beginnings

The day began like any other on the road. I was of course upon my trusty steed, Nathaniel, as we made our way on what was to be our greatest venture yet. For you see, I had decided to undertake the most perilous journey across the desert to find the Undiscovered Realm.

Only one teeny tiny little problem stood in the way of myself and my dear companion Nathaniel…we were lost. Horribly, terribly…lost. Not a speck of sand in sight. In fact, quite a few trees instead. It makes sense, since the town we were approaching was called Dualwood.

Oh and there was a mountain. Hard to miss the mountain. Big old thing. The guard at the front of town called it “Mt Terminus”. It’s supposed to be some sort of big important proving point for adventurers. A big important dangerous deadly proving point I had no intention of going near, for you see I already had my own important dangerous and daring quest to venture forth upon, so I hardly needed to add a mountain to that. I was certainly not afraid. Just because the mountain is huge and high up. And supposedly there’s two-headed banshees and other such terrifying monstrosities lurking in wait for the next adventurer who willingly walks straight into their jaws of defeat. And the town guard make regular journeys to clean up the bodies they can safely retrieve…

 …Note to self, maybe edit this part before the final draft…

Note to self 2: less fear, more Big Adventurer Gusto

Of course, flying off course wasn’t going to put a damper on my mood. Oh no. So I found the most lovely bakery in town, ordered some local delicacies which I absolutely whole heatedly suggest if, dear reader, you ever pass this way. Splendid woman, and her bear claws are to die for. Only maybe don’t word it like that, since this town takes that kind of terminology quite literally what with the giant killer mountain looming above them every moment of the day and all that.

With a full belly and a new spring in my step, I stepped I strode boldly into town to find someone with the know-how to point me in the direction of the nearest desert so that I may truly begin my grand adventure to the Undiscovered Realm.

And there, in the center of town, I met a man of great wisdom. He was clearly a storied and well-traveled adventurer himself, for he wore the most splendid dress. Colored in majestic bright hues of reds and oranges, with a grand hat to rival even mine atop his head. It even had not one, not two, but FOUR bells upon each of its grand little horn-like protrusions. He was granting his wisdom in the form of riddles that I didn’t much understand. “Urgathoa? I hardly knew her!” Why and how would one know the Goddess of Undeath? Unless he was himself a zombie…he didn’t look it but you never know these days…

My ramblings aside! I spoke with the wise gentleman, asking him if he knew where the nearest desert is. He seemed to be under the impression I was sent by some guild or another. Perhaps, recognizing my adventuring gear, he believed me to be from the same adventurers’ guild as he? But alas, I am very much a lone wolf upon this adventure, taking to the road with none but Nathaniel for company. It’s a lonely life, especially since Nathaniel can only be summoned for about six hours at a time. But that is the lot in life of an adventurer, and so it is my burden to bear until I have reached my grand journey’s end.

Anyways, the wise man of many bells pointed me in the direction of a nearby temple. There he believed the learned clerics and holy travelers who pass through may be able to grant me guidance in my travels, and return me to my rightful path to the desert, and the mysterious land that lies within it.

 Within the Temple (mysteriously named “The Temple” and even more mysteriously with a sign out front that said, and I quote, “‘Clerical’ services available”. How ridiculous is that? Nobody will believe you’re providing clerical services if you put it in quotation marks as though it is a front for something!)

Author’s note: Oh my Shelyn I think it was a front for something.

 Within the Temple, I met with a grand group of lovely adventurers. There was Miss Candy, a bright and cheery human chef who also on an unrelated note looks like she could break me in half. Snap me like a twig. Probably with just her legs.

Oh dear this is starting to sound like a sex thing. Note to self, do not ever describe it like that again.

There was Miss Candy, a bright and cheery human chef with a love of pink and a surprising talent for kicking things to death. There was Sir Vigo, a mighty and powerful goblin wizard with a knack for fire and animals. Strange combination to be sure, but it works for him. Speaking of animals, there was also Issac, a druid half-orc who is so tall I have not actually gotten a good look at his face. It’s just way up there in the sky somewhere. But of arguably greater import, there was his companion, a bear named Peanut. And I do mean a bear. A literal black bear, just hanging around inside the temple, gentle as a dog. He and Vigo had a rousing conversation, although I know not what about as I cannot speak bear myself, but it would seem the magics of the universe granted Vigo such an ability. Where was I…? Oh, yes. There was also John Smith, a human many years my senior who I suspect has lived a very storied life, although he has not let on just what that story is. He said some rather off-color things in our first meeting, but I do believe there is more to this gentleman than meets the eye. (Not that I can easily meet his eye either, while he is not so tall as Issac, he is a human which generally means ‘much taller than even a really tall halfling’, and I am not a ‘really tall halfling’. I am ‘a very medium halfling’)

Here we met one Cleric Ringwald. Although the more she said, the more it seemed like cleric was an overstatement. She said she worshiped something called “The Creator”, and that the only magic she could do were some simple tricks like magic missile…which looking back, I don’t believe is even a divine spell! Regardless, she told us of a rat problem they were having, and since we were all clearly of the adventuring variety, she wanted to offer us some money and five magic stones to clear the rats out. Only it turned out quite quickly that there weren’t REALLY rats in the basement. Oh, no. When pressed about some rather odd choices in her inflection, she admitted that the creature in the bowls of the temple was a mass of slime, gore, limbs, eyes, and mouths.

For those familiar with earlier works in the M Merry-Miller collection, you may recognize such a description. In Night of the Hallowed Moon, the brave sorceress Emilia faced off against a similar such creature. A gibbering mouther. Disgusting creature in person, I must say. Its sounds alone were enough to make me wish I had not eaten just before hand.

We made our preparations. The grand team of newly acquainted adventurers burst forth into the room, where the beast awaited its demise. As a mysterious fog began to fill the room, the adventurers rushed forward, ready for what was to come.

The fog was, by the way, an ingenious ploy by dear John, who used it as a means to protect us all from the creature’s attacks. Unfortunately it also meant that hitting the creature was a bit more difficult—the fog was, after all, quite difficult for us to see through as well. But for all I know he may well have saved Miss Candy’s life, as the creature tried and failed to bite at her a number of times.

Knowing from past research that this creature would not be affected by my magical talent, I went for the next best thing. A crossbow. With a steady breath despite the (rather cigarette smelling if I’m being honest) smoke, I took aim, and infused my bolt with a nice little punch of my arcane magics. I fired with a flourish, and while I feared from the fog and the creature’s writhing that it would not strike, it struck true, sticking into one of the creature’s many eyes. There was blood everywhere. It was horrific, quite frankly.

Fortunately, Vigo used that moment to slip in closer to the writhing monstrosity. With a shout of some clever words (note to self: think of clever one-liner since he didn’t say any at the time), the feared and powerful wizard evaporated half of the creature’s body with a single lightning strike.

 And this is when things started to get out of hand.

As my gallant companions went to check on a hole in the floor that seemed to be how the wicked beast had entered this fair establishment, there was a commotion outside. Myself, John, and Candy were nearest the door at the time and went to investigate. We found Cleric Ringwald packing in a frenzy within her surveillance room. She tossed some coin to her acolyte Amelia (a skittish elven woman who had apparently directed some of the other adventurers to this location) and told her to get out of town.

Ringwald turned to us when we entered and told us the same, to get far away from here. She tossed us the magic stones she had promised as payment, and said that ‘if we survived’ she would pay more for further services if we met her in Port Town. Then she cast some rather powerful magic on us which made each of us feel revitalized, and she disappeared in a flash of awe inspiring arcane might the likes of which I had never seen.

But oh, I was about to see so much more, dear reader.

You see, I mentioned we were in a surveillance room, yes? By that I mean a room with a number of scrying mirrors which all permanently showed different sections of The Temple. And into the front room stepped a man. I say a man loosely. There was something off about him. He looked like a man, yes. A man with black hair, purple eyes, and robes depicting the butterfly of Desna—which my companions later revealed was a glamour, for it actually depicted a dragonfly symbol of some unknown origin. The reason I question if he was truly a man in the traditional sense was a strange segmentation in his hands at the joints. At first glance it could be mistaken for scars, as one of my companions later stated. However something about them was off. It was less a scar in the skin and more actual barely noticeable separate segments. While my genre of choice is not science fiction, I have read my fair share, and it brought to mind stories I had read in the past of humans created from technology and steel rather than flesh and blood. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. The closest thing we have to such a thing are golems, and they are never so realistic to be mistaken for a living breathing creature. How could such a being truly exist? Quite frankly, dear reader, I know not. But I do know his power was beyond the natural order. We were about to see that first hand.

 The man walked into The Temple’s entry, calling out to Ringwald. He just wanted to talk. Don’t make this harder than it needed to be. She had forced his hand. He began scattering orbs about, while humming a tune I’m unfamiliar with. John tugged at Candy’s sleeve and insisted we had to go. Now.

“Why?”

“Those are delayed fireball charges. He’s about to bring this entire place down!”

We ran, making a beeline for the hole in the basement, which we hoped would lead to safety—or at least shelter from the explosion that was to follow.

Candy quite kindly carried me, Peanut, and Vigo with her much faster legs. We leapt down the hole, and followed a tunnel that led to a ladder up. Looking back, that’s rather strange. I wonder if someone planted that gibbering mouther in the first place. But at the time we were far too busy running for our lives to think of such things. Candy practically flew up the ladder, along with John who was in a mad dash to get back to the stables. It would seem he had paid a stable hand to watch over his daughter while he was in town buying supplies, and he needed to get to her in case the explosion reached that far. Once we made it back above ground Vigo, Issac, and Peanut went with John to check on the stables, as Vigo’s trusty mount Gordon the Ram was stabled there as well.

This left myself and Candy to see when the mysterious dragonfly man descended from the exploding Temple and to the center of town. A storm had whipped up, with a fury of thunder and lightning positively cracking open the sky—but no rain to join it.

The man was chanting in tones that I recognized as Celestial, but I am unfortunately not well versed in that language. However it would seem John was. Over the magical stones his voice spoke to the rest of us, and he told us that the man was about to do something terrible to the entire town, and to get out of there.

Candy had other ideas.

With me still upon her back, she ran at the villain. She leapt forward, posed to kick him and interrupt whatever terrible spell he was weaving.

The storm grew more violent, the clouds swirling and turning an unnatural pink hue. Then everything went black.

 And then we woke up, on the ground before an empty town square. It was dark and silent. The stars were above us in a clear night sky, but the stars didn’t twinkle. Birds and butterflies were frozen in place in the air. There was no breeze, and the grass beneath our feet remained static with each footfall, frozen into whatever shape our feet pressed it into. The people in town were equally frozen. Not a breath, not a blink between them. Candy and I were the only ones in sight still moving.

We made for the stables, where we knew our fellow adventurers had gone. There, they were moving as well. But John’s daughter was not: frozen in a moment of fear, with the stablehand shielding the young child from harm, equally frozen. Somehow Vigo’s ram Gordon was fine, still moving and ‘baa’ing as a ram should.

We tried to brainstorm why we were able to escape the effects of this spell, which the more magically inclined members of our group identified as a potent mixture of a Stasis spell on a massive scale and Miracle—the most powerful of powerful divine magics. The best we would think of was that whatever spell Ringwald had cast upon us had also protected us from the spell that had otherwise pulled an entire village out of the natural flow of time.

As if to prove our theory, Ringwald’s acolyte Amelia pulled herself limping from the nearby rubble of the Temple, the only other person we’d seen in town left unaffected besides ourselves. She needed a moment to catch her breath, so we continued to brainstorm while she did.

Vigo wanted to climb Mt Terminus, believing the treasure at the top would be necessary to make us powerful enough to face the monster who had done this. Issac was in disagreement—he’d been living in this town for months, and had seen first-hand how deadly that trip is. According to him only one single group of adventurers had ever reached the top and lived to tell the tale, and they were the best of the best. Our inability to face this monstrous man was proof enough that we would die upon the peaks of the mountain long before we reached the treasure—and with us, all knowledge of what had happened in town. The rest of our band of adventurers believed that tracking down Cleric Ringwald would be the ideal next step. She seemed to have some mysteriously powerful magic of her own, and a history with this individual. Vigo wasn’t happy with this plan, as it might be putting us right back into the line of sight of the man whose magic broke the natural order.

Issac was finally able to talk Vigo into it, promising to join him on venturing to the top of the mountain after we got Ringwald and unfroze the town. None of us had any intention of facing this man again if we could help it—except for possibly John, who sounded rather keen on punching him in the face. I can’t blame him, his daughter is on the line after all. I can think of a few faces I find rather punchable myself that would probably come back to bite me afterwards. But that’s neither here nor there.

Once it was agreed we would head to Port Town to find the cleric who may or may not really be a cleric, who has some connection to the man who may or may not really be a man, Amelia asked to tag along since she had nowhere else to go. We happily agreed. While we prepared to set out, Amelia showed us how to use the magic stones—called the Stones of Far Speech—which we could use to talk to each other from a great distance, as John had done when trying to warn us about the dragonfly man’s spell.

On our way out of town I summoned Nathaniel, ready to head back out onto the open road—this time with a number of companions and a new destination in sight. It wasn’t quite the adventure I’d been looking for, but it appears adventure found me none-the-less. And really, isn’t that what being a daring adventurer is all about?

(note to self: you used ‘adventure’ 3 times in 2 sentences, find some synonyms before the final draft)

[sirjustice282-blog]

Let no bone broken

Sharing foods or drinks give the 1 taking ya food ya mind as ya well being, so in-pretense with current situation of people wanting ya food to the same above, desist bro and soon, u see people not liking ya as b4 cause ya well-being like how u talk and reason is transferred. Christ with transfiguration another version to help us

Kinda, u see a white-man directing as signalling u to get to Seattle or Seattle was where John the baptist dance was organised, as nodding his head towards Washington state in another reason where it has reached need war like with the luo now they are copying how people talk on tumblr sirjustice199 following tumblrs but cant do that wise in the tumblr above resorting to being furious now abusing people around indirectly. While other people join the same but with lower voice saying they r hearing the same as with u, dont play good bro, never will eat my food, hustle dude, your being good is to yaself, ya help not me and it it continues where u do the above yet still after some hours wants my food or sent ya Little 1 to disturb 1 then even u will hear some1 stubbed. Leave some1 even if ya sweetest delicacies corpse u cant eat no-more, don’t transfer ya hunger to some1else or-else u will be killed and ya land taken. And all ya get to people countries and houses all blocked, die ya own death dude, u ugly of no-mind bro

Kinda, u see the people and nations u have defeated with how what they produce is produced and what they grow can be made artificially placed in office dustbin trying to get his head out to gasp 4 air but a hand or spirit pushes him more inside and closing the lid to signal defeat as they cant trade and its to their harm cause they could not here what u said to them as in the tumblr above. Tribes like kikuyu, luo, kamba, Masai, Nigerians, SA, Tz, UG are all blocked in their over the years plans so have lost hope in life cause it will not happen again to pride yaself b4 others or manipulate other nations cause as well they have learnt all ya dubious ways to be par and even China, USA, Britain, India and Germany are in that situation and more nations. They wanted to come to other nations to be given office jobs of little pay like bank which have now atrophied like with Hindus and Negros, so they are left stranded and corpse don’t make u come up with gadgets and even dialects as many nations don’t eat the same or speak 1 language and have come up with many gadgets not as earlier thought.

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+office+dustbins&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=tHtf35DHkgXoZM%252CNfGw3uhPYXMNEM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kSbpOGUfW8cY9-Ee8b9KmSFj1oG1w&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjqyc-3ga7qAhVCx4UKHTESAI4Q9QEwA3oECAgQGA&biw=1024&bih=657#imgrc=tHtf35DHkgXoZM

Kansas wanted to have an international air-terminal like Chicago, so they came up with E-airplanes like with the Cessna 1 and get the connecting ticket money per international air-craft landing in Wichita, Ks and reduce on the same Chicago, NY, Loss Angeles, Miami, Atlanta or Houston gets. To be rich and Negros were as well banking on that and with their making of paints known and artificial cooking oil as jet fuel to leave them talking like the luo in the 1st paragraph wanting the very person they frustrated benefits but to late even to offer him women as they wanted and more futile to kill him, cause what they wanted many nations have come up with so cant patent it to benefit just as like with MoMo or MTN mobile money cant pay Safcom cause its more than 10 year a monopoly should enjoy and Kebi 1 is like 5 years the AE technology. And altogether liquid cash LC, luo,luya community due to be eliminated and placed online in phones and computer and even on internet booths alongside the roads 4 easy transaction dude

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=cessna+eletric+airplane+images&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjx08PKg67qAhVKyhoKHXVMCUgQsAR6BAgFEAE&biw=1024&bih=657

Minaj please tell her, mosquitoes are on me alike never b4, though i got net, 1 went and made tiny holes, they know to get to disturb me with, like persistent crying on my ears, this side and that side without a break, composing melodies sweet to their ears but not to me as me and mark you now its a cold season, Minaj, i should do something, wahiiiii, yash– 1 is biting my left booty and 1 my next, girl i should do something as i turn and looking to Robinson Photo on my wall, em girl let me buy automated mosquito repellent as they will not quit as the solution lies with me and is the above. Got to think 1st girl, On my neck like never b4 or was as in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=cessna+eletric+airplane+images&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjx08PKg67qAhVKyhoKHXVMCUgQsAR6BAgFEAE&biw=1024&bih=657

Let no bone broken as per bible was a lie as error of Commission cause they knew Athens city has magma and after invention of the dredger to dig through to the magma in peoples houses without mass knowing like the long bore-hole 1, can fit the bible puzzle and in more small cities i know not that harbors the same that can be built new or people sensitized 4 their character as what they are doing to be open or obvious. Where many holes can be sink to let the same above to kill people synonymous with latest news from Indonesia of Lava flow. Mfalme wa yawhodi to bring reality of many sunk holes, son of man to add reality, so take heed of ya below outer crust as employ drones and army below and take care of ya surrounding city houses and CBD 4 the explained above happens not dude

Asiyesikia alarmku huvunjika guu when sensor motion lights/alarm is in place as those who get into others homes, cars or property using the windows and door as their is no such with the technology described above as drones can be  sent to shoot or arrest ya or automated Wi-Fi controlled guns. And the below mini-inventions are the happiness of the poor like those who got crime and cant work but must have machines in their houses as they can pay daily like with China sunking lights and even those of minimal pay who could not qualify 4 loans or credits to qualify 4 such as even where judgement is done in Minneapolis to bar them from committing bad and be good as well as like pool of blood with those u want to kill and so forth and so on like get off white-men as their character are now known

https://biblehub.com/isaiah/61-1.htm

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wired.com%2Fimages_blogs%2Fdangerroom%2F2009%2F12%2Fsci_fi_weapons_2a.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wired.com%2F2010%2F01%2Fsci-fi-weapons%2F&tbnid=DwdPrq7K3TEyUM&vet=12ahUKEwiJ_uWdg6zqAhVHiRoKHRCLDBkQMygDegUIARCwAQ..i&docid=Pq2_5CuO5X5OuM&w=670&h=503&q=automated%20guns%20images&ved=2ahUKEwiJ_uWdg6zqAhVHiRoKHRCLDBkQMygDegUIARCwAQ

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wired.com%2Fimages_blogs%2Fphotos%2Funcategorized%2F2007%2F06%2F04%2Fsamson_rcws.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wired.com%2F2007%2F06%2Ffor-years-and-y%2F&tbnid=lf6sCHu9pKPn6M&vet=12ahUKEwiJ_uWdg6zqAhVHiRoKHRCLDBkQMygAegUIARCqAQ..i&docid=URJ4mH1F-LKtfM&w=318&h=228&q=automated%20guns%20images&ved=2ahUKEwiJ_uWdg6zqAhVHiRoKHRCLDBkQMygAegUIARCqAQ

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F07%2Ffe%2F76%2F07fe766ab6cfb9f9ac997f0eb1373cf9.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fpin%2F262334747024973411%2F&tbnid=Foxqj4m1zKo4HM&vet=12ahUKEwiJ_uWdg6zqAhVHiRoKHRCLDBkQMygBegUIARCsAQ..i&docid=QWQqBmPTsA65vM&w=967&h=725&q=automated%20guns%20images&ved=2ahUKEwiJ_uWdg6zqAhVHiRoKHRCLDBkQMygBegUIARCsAQ

One is telling me that Bartholomew truck as lorry was nearby that up was covered with Tandarau where upon making the food to feed the 4-5 thousand folks he got in as the tent and now u have known how to make artificial food to back that truth above so we stop debating upon it as we erase it from our minds as in the link below.

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=images+of+lorries+covered+with+tandarua&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiD2Nv0gKzqAhXExoUKHUy1BzAQ7Al6BAgJEBk&biw=1024&bih=657#imgrc=My5SIhKA99eFWM

In Netherlands and many nations since they have been defeated with solid reasons as now they cant out-shadow other nations to stay afloat they can use aliens in those Agriculture rich nations to make chemicals that destroy soil in the boom process where at night in dark snowing season they sprinkle the above chemicals rapidly per section using like drones to defeat them in production so they buy the same from other spheres, am letting u to take heed dude as all is possible, Dirty crime, without Jesus bro, never take things 4 granted, hang/cling on to everything dude and that its boy/girl

now that am eating not the way u want, i have said it a thousand times, i will do it my way not ya way and what u gonna do and we got the DNA and i repeat DNA, we got the DNA and a rich nation as u purport don’t encourages such virtues of eating in 1 house without the next exit plan. Take ya machete and cut me dude which am willing, lets get our-self in a tag of war as in a tussle as what i want to make i got on pintrest and is aint mine, U wanna force its mine to resort to the above, homey lets start boxing each other bro, lets get our fist 2gether and break the war b4 women, maybe can solve our plans, with my house u will not come and its period dude, got me, lets meet in a joint or outside to discuss. Period Kenya aint rich even than Netherlands as proximity to rich nations. U lazy and silly wanting to eat others sweet in pretense, wanting which aint your like forever without second thinking, go and die in hell dude. Monitoring how much i spend, will be futile dude as if i got i will spend much on propelling my machines and in new innovation suggestions research, U hungry dogs die ya own death of laziness as u sing and dance to ya tunes or songs, stop cashing into others sphere, Privacy no 1 issue according to me bro

Bullet speed finder machine in the link below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYwUbIRinXI

[almasexya]

Monster Monday: Godzilla Returns... as fast as he can!

 If there’s one thing that always colors discussions of 1955′s Godzilla Raids Again, it’s speed. Released a blistering 6 months after the original Godzilla, the sequel was a clear hope to capture that lightning in a bottle a second time. While very much overshadowed by its superior predecessor and the unabashed wackiness of the subsequent King Kong vs. Godzilla, Raids Again is hardly a failure either. For a special effects feature produced as quickly as it was, it’s a wonder the film turned out the way it did, and while it’s hardly a classic, Raids Again is very much worth seeing, if only as an example of where the tried and true Godzilla formula began.

This is my second go-round with this film, once again courtesy of the Criterion box set, and while I haven’t gotten a chance to compare it to my old Classic Media DVD, at the very least the increased resolution helps add detail and clarity to a 60-year-old movie.

Godzilla Raids Again represents a paradigm shift for the series, though it’s hard to say if the filmmakers knew that at the time. The original team, aside from effect director Eiji Tsuburaya, is nowhere to be found, and the film absolutely suffers for it. Director Motoyoshi Oda does a serviceable job here, a couple of horrendous aerial shots of a lifeless Godzilla prop aside. His most signature moments ape scenes from the original (shots of Osaka burning evoke the images of Tokyo’s destruction, but lack the gravity and emotion of the previous film). The same can’t be said for Masaru Sato’s music, which is largely underwhelming when it shows up at all, lending the film one of the most barren soundscapes of the series. However, what truly stands out is the cementing of the Godzilla formula - a basic plot throwing together stock human characters who, for one reason or another stumble into a monster smackdown and then, through a series of contrived coincidences, get dragged into the thick of it. While the explanation might sound condescending, we’re not into that territory yet; the story here is entirely fine, if not a bit underwhelming only because the tight, dreadful plotting of the original looms so high above it.

The human story, such as it is, involves a pair of pilots working for a fishing company, Tsukioka (Hiroshi Koizumi) and Kobayashi (Minoru Chiaki), who spend their days spotting schools of tuna and transmitting their locations back to HQ, where the boss’ daughter Hidemi (Setsuko Wakayama) informs the ship captains and trades flirtatious remarks with Tsukioka. Wispy as it is, not even 10 minutes in Kobayashi has crash-landed on an island, prompting the duo to stumble into Godzilla, who is currently in the middle of what appears to be a grudge match with an airhorn, if the sound design is anything to go by.

But an airhorn it is not - quick shots of Godzilla scrabbling around at something reveal the other precedent set by the film: Godzilla no longer is no longer the only daikaiju in the neighborhood. Godzilla Raids Again marks the introduction of Anguirus, the title holder for Kaiju with Most Romanizations, but as far as I’m aware Anguirus is the official one, so we’re sticking with that. After the two monsters fall into the sea, the two pilots are off to Osaka to let the government know that Godzilla is back, and he’s brought a friend.

In a rare show of series continuity, Dr. Yamane (Takashi Shimura) from the original film is brought back as a consultant in the inevitable scene where the military discusses how to deal with Godzilla and learn what they can about his new opponent. Yamane, along with a zoologist, win some scientific credibility by stating that Godzilla and Anguirus are likely anywhere from from 70-150 million years old, (the original clocks the Big G at a spritely 2 million) then immediately throw it away by explaining that Anguirus’ brain extends into his back and torso, which explains why he’s so nimble and quick. Go figure.

Eventually the two Kaiju end up in Osaka, after attempts to drive Godzilla away with flares fail (Yamane’s role, aside from expert witness, is to explain the plot of the original to anyone in the audience who hadn’t seen it yet). The Godzilla suit is far more form-fitting this time around, and suit actor Harou Nakajima gives it all he’s got, tumbling and clawing at his opponent with remarkable ferocity. Anguirus looks good for the time as well, and the effects team wisely created a visually distinct monster, a spiked, vicious quadraped that’s a stark contrast to the imposing Godzilla. The hand puppets used for close up shots are still rather dreadful, looking nothing like the suits they’re meant to represent, but luckily they don’t stick around far into the series.

The sped up scenes of monster combat (apparently due to a film speed error that Tsuburaya ended up approving of) are unique to the film, a far cry from the personified monster battles that are yet to come. Godzilla and Anguirus brutally claw at each other like wild animals, and scenes of Godzilla biting Anguirus in the neck, drawing blood in the process, might as well be from a different series all together. However, they very much work in the context of the movie, as at this point Godzilla lacked any real personality - he was still very much in his metaphorical stage, and metaphors don’t mug for the camera and pull off wrestling moves. Why the monsters are fighting, or how Anguirus is also so enormous, matter not a bit to the plot, which makes the correct assumption that there’s no other reason for big rubber monsters to exist than to beat the snot out of each other.

If the film has any real marks against it, it’s that it drags in the second half. After the destruction of their Osaka facilities, our protagonists move north to Hokkaido, where they invariably get roped into the hunt for Godzilla, who went out to sea after besting Anguirus in a battle that feels more like the climax of the movie than anything that comes after. What follows is a slog through Kobayashi’s love life, which signals his impending death by atomic breath in the finale to anyone watching. Tsukioka, through connections with the military, does manage to avenge his friend by burying Godzilla under an avalanche of ice in a fairly unique battle sequence that almost overstays its welcome, especially when the team aborts in the middle of the battle to talk strategy in a move that throws the tension right out the window.

All that said, Raids Again does manage to capture some of the original’s dread - deprived of the Oxygen Destroyer that killed the original Godzilla, the humans lack a clear method to deter the beast, and are all the more terrified for it. The destruction of Tokyo looms large over this film, and its scenes of citizens hurriedly evacuating are some of its very best. For a film made in a short amount of time, Godzilla Raids Again does exactly what it needs to, and while it may not be the most terribly memorable of Godzilla’s early outings, it was an important one for the series as a whole.

[bat-lings]

Is Bruce a good father to Damian, specifically? I mean, he seems to have learnt from past mistakes... but in preboot, does he even care about Damian at all? Didn't seem like it most of the time (especially in Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul, where he didn't even seem to care that Damian's life is in danger). Do you think he cared about Damian preboot?

Well, you are both right in that reboot!Bruce puts his preboot counterpart to shame where Damian’s concerned. The thing is, the reboot gave a much bigger place to Bruce and Damian’s dynamic than preboot ever did. Those two actually don’t have that many scenes together in preboot, and said scenes were usually part of a bigger plot/narrative that left little room to focus on their relationship.

I’ll answer this in three stages in order to address everything our Anons mentioned:

Bruce & Damian’s dynamic as portrayed by Morrison

The Resurrection of Ra’s al Ghul

Conclusion: does preboot!Bruce care about Damian? And was he a good father to him? (spoilers: yes and no, respectively.)

The conclusion summarizes everything so jump there if the argumentation part is too long.

A) Morrison’s Damian & Bruce

Disclaimer: I really, really hate Morrison’s writing. I’ll try to be reasonable when criticizing it but be extra aware of that bias. It makes me put most of Bruce’s action on the writer rather than the character and while I have my reasons & probably won’t change my opinion, it’s still a pretty categorical take.

Honestly I think Morrison’s Bruce does feel responsible for Damian. I’m even sure he cares about him too:

[Batman (1940) #657]

Actually, the whole issue is pretty good where Bruce & Damian are concerned. Must be my favorite thing Morrison has ever written. He installs interesting things character-wise, like Bruce making an extra effort to make Damian comfortable in the Manor & be patient with him, or Damian being an insufferable brat up until Bruce snaps at him, at which point he immediately switches off to “yes sir” in front of that new figure of authority.

Those are interesting bases to construct a dynamic upon. Problem is, they’re not gonna be exploited.

Here Bruce shows clear intent to provide guidance to Damian. But rather than give Bruce the occasion to follow up on that intent, and to develop a real relationship with Damian, Morrison gives us the incident Anon mentioned in the next frickin’ issue : an explosion set by Morrison’s godawful “““Talia””” that should’ve killed both her and Damian, and Bruce staring dramatically into the distance.

Does Bruce investigate their disappearance while Damian is being hardcore abused by his mother? Nah, he’s too busy skiing with one Jezebel Jet– a relationship Morrison needs to install since Jezebel has a notable role in Batman RIP.

My point is: as of #658 Morrison considers this arc finished & that there’s nothing to add. By that logic it’s valid to forget Damian until he’s relevant again plot-wise. It’s not (i think?) a way to tell us Bruce doesn’t care about Damian.

Let’s fast-forward to the disputable editorial & writer choice to launch Batman Inc/Leviathan  just after Bruce’s return from the “dead” without A) leaving room for a  confrontation/closure scene between him and Damian beforehand; or B) letting them actually interact more than the strictest minimum in said arc. From a strictly in-universe POV though, it’s not ooc for Bruce to decide unilaterally that Damian doesn’t need him or to focus on the crisis to come without talking to his son first.

I guess I should be talking about Batman Incorporated Vol. 2 too, ‘cause while it’s technically N52 it’s very much in the continuity of the storyline Morrison started in preboot. It also has a few Bruce & Damian moments where despite terrible miscommunication Bruce seems to worry for Damian… But then the plot requires Bruce sending Damian back to the mother who, in this dumbass version, abused him all his life.

[Batman Incorporated (2012) #4]

If I got that right this is a “Hero must make Big Sacrifice for the Greater Good” moment. The fact that Bruce loves Damian isn’t put into question: it makes the sacrifice more significant.

And that’s kinda my problem. First we’re told that Bruce wants to provide for Damian, but then whatever affection he feels for the boy is sidelined or even sacrificed to other narrative considerations.

So basically Bruce’s love for Damian has no significance in itself. It’s a given that doesn’t particularly need to be illustrated or expanded on; it’s stocked until we need it to breed impact in some scenes. Like the one above or, you’ve guessed it, Damian’s death. So yeah Bruce loves Damian. He loves him so much he’s sad when he dies. Ahem.

All in all it’s not a father-son story: else there would be more banter, slice of life sequences, time for the dynamic to develop, etc. It’s a hero-who-loses-stuff-in-war story. One story isn’t better than the other, they just appeal to different types of audiences.

“Does my father love me” is a personal thus small stake. Batman Inc/Leviathan or “Can I keep this future from happening” are world-wide to city-wide thus big stakes. I think a marked interest in the Big Ideas is what characterizes Morrison’s writing. Thus the portrayal of character relationships has a very specific place in his stories.

Anyway: I don’t think Morrison ever wanted to imply Bruce doesn’t care about Damian. It’s just that he’s a plot-driven writer and that both characters’ interactions & smaller stakes, although somewhat present in his narratives, will always come second in the big schemes of things.

If you consider that Bruce behaving like he does under Morrison’s pen proves he doesn’t give a damn about Damian though, I sure as hell won’t fault you for it.

B) Bruce & Damian in The Resurrection of Ra’s al Ghul

(God re-reading an in-character Talia these days is an oasis in the desert. Gotta love that arc all the more for that.)  

Not gonna lie fam. Our two Anons are right when they say Bruce is pretty cold in that one.

But A) Bruce is also dealing with a crisis, which means he’s emotionally removing himself from the situation; B) he’s not treating Damian differently than he is Dick or Tim… which we’ll see is the problem tho.

It doesn’t excuse Bruce’s behavior (I think he’s out of line myself), but I just don’t think it implies he doesn’t care about Damian.

You’ll notice that his apparent aloofness applies to Tim too (and Dick although he’s not mentioned), and that it equally unsettles Talia.

[Nightwing (1996) #138]

I want to stress the apparent in aloofness. On several occasions during RoRAG Talia reproaches Bruce that he’s not confronting his feelings what else is new. I believe he’s worried about the boys, all of them, but he also trusts them to handle themselves. He also thinks that if he so much as voices his worry, he won’t be able to focus and do what he has to. So he represses them and goes fully in Batman-mode.

Fast-forward. When Bruce is barking at Damian to pick up a sword and fight, it’s his way of protecting him– he needs Damian to defend himself.

[Detective Comics (1937) #839]

Because it’s not fair to show this without context: 5 seconds before Bruce legit bites Damian’s head off, chill out dude, he goes all protective batdad upon seeing Ra’s trying to steal Damian’s body.

So yeah. I have reasons to believe Bruce is scared out of his mind here. Hence the very aggressive way he tries to shake Damian into action.

So far Bruce gets a pass. It’s afterwards that he deserved to be punched in the face imo, and that’s probably the scene our Anons had in mind:

In fact, Bruce is expecting the same from Damian than he’s expecting from his two other sons. To be precise, he’s not treating either of them as sons— they’re on the field, they’re Robin & Nightwing right now. Aka soldiers/partners/teammates rather than family. And Bruce is putting Damian on that exact level when he shouldn’t be.

It’s harsh, and that’s emphasized next to Talia (who is actually written like a Talia). She’s all aggressively worried mother and Bruce’s all cold commander, the contrast is off-putting.

Talia reacts like a mother first by fleeing to save herself and her son. But Bruce can’t let Ra’s to his own devices, and he expect his sons to fight beside him.

It’s unfair to Damian ‘cause he’s not Robin yet, he’s not part of Bruce’s war the way Dick and Tim chose to be, he didn’t choose to be dragged into Ra’s schemes: he’s snapping to attention at Bruce’s order out of a childish need for validation, not out of a conscious & thought-out choice to make this his life. Also he’s ten. Yet those considerations fly over Bruce’s head: right now and unlike Talia, he’s not thinking like a father.

Do I think Dini balances the Greater Good vs Familial Attachment dilemma better than Morrison does? Hell yeah. He took the time to show Bruce ripping Ra’s apart at the beginning of the issue to prove us Bruce cares. And for all that Bruce’s wrong here, Dini has him fighting beside Damian, not sending him off on his own. Talia’s fleeing with her son gives the reader a reality check & puts the validity of Bruce’s choice into question as it should be. The stakes are also so much more concrete that “distant dark future to avoid”.

Next is probably my fave line ever written about Bruce & Damian ‘cause it gives so much sense (or depth) to Bruce’s hands-off approach.

And like. Everything that Bruce says here is true. That’s exactly what Damian’s character arc should be about. But dude maybe try to have a relationship with your son outside of the Batman legacy? The thing is Bruce built his relationships with all his kids through vigilantism and I think he just. Doesn’t know how to do it differently. The idea doesn’t even cross his mind for god’s sake.

By my understanding it’s not that Bruce doesn’t love Damian. It’s that he genuinely believes Damian’s better off without him.

It’s low key confirmed in Bruce Wayne: The Road Home.

[The Road Home: Batman & Robin]

((Don’t trust anything Bruce says about Dick’s “casualness” or whatever in this issue tho. Nicieza just… doesn’t know Dick’s character all that much.))

So Bruce is basically taking the easy way out, yeah. Both in ‘Tec and in choosing it’s not worth trying to work with Damian as his partner. He decides Talia is a better parent & Dick is a better mentor than he could be, and he’s off fighting the good fight against Leviathan.

We can stretch it and say Bruce probs decided he’ll take care of his relationship with Damian after the Leviathan thing is dealt with but tbh I don’t know if DC or Morrison thought that far ahead.

Conclusion

Morrison’s narrative installs that Bruce does feel morally obligated to care for Damian. And although I get why it can feel uncertain, I’m not sure we’re supposed to doubt Bruce loves Damian.

Bruce not looking for Damian after the explosion is is more due to the writer’s choice to consider the “Damian issue” closed for now so that he can focus on his next plot/installment. I guess.

When Bruce has the idea to send Damian back to fake-Talia, I guess his love for his son is a tool used to show how much Bruce is a selfless hero*. and a terrible dad but he’s a Hero™ so it’s okay.

Bruce in RoRAG doesn’t come as indifferent to Damian’s safety to me, he’s being his dumbass self in a crisis situation. He’s got no excuse for sending Damian alongside Dick & Tim when he did though.

On two occasions Bruce unilaterally elects that Damian is better-off without him. First with the in-character Talia who actually loves her son, second as Dick’s partner.

* Actually it’d be very interesting if someone who liked that comic-book could explain me wtf I didn’t get about its narrative significance. Sometimes our personal tastes just render us blind to some things guys.

TL;DR: Does preboot!Bruce love Damian? Yes. Was he a good father to him? No.

And I’m feeling way more comfortable giving a categorical answer here than when I was asked if Bruce is, in general, a good father.

To be fair Bruce does try to step into a fatherly role in Morrison’s Batman #657, aka just after he meets Damian. Afterwards we get sidetracked; and later storylines just. Don’t really give Bruce & Damian the opportunity so share father-son moments.

His behavior in RoRAG is just plain bad. The fact that it’s not due to indifference doesn’t change that. The ten-year-old who didn’t ask for shit should be treated differently that the seasoned vigilantes Dick and Tim are, period.

Obviously leaving Damian in fake-Talia’s clutches or wanting to send him back to his abuser goes under “bad father points” too. If you consider the whole of Morrison’s run should be integrated into your personal understanding of the character, that is. woops look at that terrible bias showing its ugly face again

In later episodes, it’s tempting to give Bruce a pass by saying that he just didn’t get the chance/time to be a good father to Damian, and part of it is true. But again, failing to invest in that relationship is completely in-character, and tbh it’s the part I find the most interesting character- and narrative-wise:

It’s A) self-depreciating (”Talia or Dick can provide my son what I can’t”); B) self-centered, in that Bruce doesn’t stop to consider what Damian thinks or wants; and C) cowardly, in that the second there’s someone else available to take care of Damian, Bruce stops trying to be a father and to invest himself emotionally because gasp, feelings!

As a comparison, think of how long it took for Bruce to go from mentor-protégé-e to father-child in his relationship with Tim and Cassandra; and to admit that’s how he felt about those kids. He didn’t adopt Dick until he was an adult either. Batdad needs time to un-constipate. It’s a Bruce thing, not a Bruce & Damian one.

(Jason is the only kid with whom Bruce immediately builds a wholesome relationship and that’s where you cry because if Jason didn’t die Bruce wouldn’t have half as much trouble getting close to his kids.)

Hope this word-vomit answers that. Thanks for the asks!

[negasonicimagines]

Steam

request: Hey idk if you're taking requests, but could you write a fem Reader x ellie where Reader has fire and ice powers and one day she sees Ellie training or something and burns/freezes something around her? And like, they aren't dating yet, but almost everyone knows they have a thing for each other

notes: Rogue’s appearance is based off her look in X-Men Evolution! I totally had a crush on her as a kid, didn’t even realize it lol… I feel like this might not be quite what the requester was looking for, but I did my best & I’m always willing to do a redo!

warnings: internalized homophobia, unrequited love (not the reader), nothing else really

“Hey, E, what do you want on the pizza? I’m buying,” you offer your best friend that you happened to be in love with. She was oblivious. So oblivious. Especially for a girl who could see at least a little bit of the future.

If she wasn’t oblivious, she was hiding it well enough that you knew she didn’t like you back, so, either way, your love life was raw-fucking you in the ass with fifty Shrek dicks.

You were talking on the phone, as you were in different rooms. (With different roommates. That sucked. But Rogue was nice, and the two of you had developed a pretty good friendship.)

“I don’t really care. No anchovies, though,” she replies, and you make an embarrassingly dorky expression of disgust that you’re glad she can’t see.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” you tell her, but not in a mean way. Just teasing. “I’ll just get a cheese with extra sauce, yeah?”

On Fridays, students were allowed to go out and get food or order food to the house. It was a chaotic web of Taco Bell, McDonald’s, and random pizza joints.

“That works,” she tells you. Ellie seemed a bit short. (Not height wise, though she was short, she seemed short with her words this evening.) Sure, that could’ve been written off as typical Ellie… For most people. You knew better.

“Everything okay?” You wonder, a bit concerned.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” she asks, sounding defensive. Her defense is a good offense, really, so it rattles you a bit.

“I don’t know, you just seem off...” you admit quietly. You’d always been a little bit sensitive, especially when it came to Ellie, and the sharpness of how she was speaking threw you off guard. You were only trying to be a good friend, the kind of friend Ellie deserves. Not the loser with a disgusting crush that you saw yourself as.

“I’m s- I’m not off. What are you talking about?!” she snaps, and you know you’re in for it now.

“Never mind, I’m sorry.” Now, you were defensive, though you had a more retreat-into-yourself defensive mode, while she had the opposite. (Obviously, have you seen her powers?)

“Whatever. Just- Ugh- Whatever,” she replies.

“I’ll bring the pizza to you, okay?” You offer, trying to shift the conversation back to the easier, happier start.

“Don’t bother,” she spats.

“Oh. Um.. Okay.. Bye, I guess,” you respond, biting your lip nervously. You’re so nervous, you hang up before she can reply.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that sad before... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look sad,” Rogue comments. There was a reason for that lack of sadness: Ellie. You don’t even reply, flopping on your bed. “Whoa... What the hell is going on?”

“She’s mad at me... She’s totally mad at me... I don’t even know what I did wrong,” you explain.

“You mean Ellie? She’s mad at everyone, you know that.”

You sigh.

“It’s her thing,” Rogue adds to her statement.

“I guess. I just thought my thing was being the one person she wasn’t always mad at.”

“No, your thing is being all cute and freezing or burning something when you’re surprised or feel a strong emotion,” she disagrees.

You scoff, rolling over so that you face her.

“Cute?” You ask, though. That was rather sweet of her to say.

Rogue nods.

“Hey, do you still want to get a pizza?” she offers.

“Not that hungry,” you admit.

“You say that now...” Rogue remarks with a teasing smirk, and you find yourself smiling again.

“Yeah, yeah…” you admit. “We’ll split the cost.”

“It’s, like, ten dollars,” she argues.

“Let me,” you request, giving a bit of a pout and some puppy eyes.

“Fine...” She concedes, turning away a bit. You don’t notice, but her face reddens slightly.

When the pizza gets there, Rogue can feel Ellie’s glare burning in the back of her head as you both answer the door. You seem unaware of Ellie’s observations. Rogue keeps it that way.

She knew Ellie fractured your surprisingly fragile heart so quickly, because you weren’t as subtle about your feelings as you probably thought. Rogue looks at you with a sigh. She’d give Ellie (who is even less subtle, somehow) a similar look, one without the same longing, if she wasn’t afraid of being blown up.

However, neither of you would ever believe the truth if she told you.

Rogue sighs again.

“Everything o-?” You stop yourself, not wanting to piss your other close friend off.

“I’m alright,” Rogue tells you reassuringly, hesitantly putting a gloved hand on your shoulder as the two of you walk back to your room with the pizza.

If Ellie’s glare was hot before, it was the fucking sun, now.

That time, you do feel someone looking at you. Rogue urges you forward before you can see who it is, though.

“You’re a good friend, Y/N. You know that, right? That you didn’t do anything wrong?”

Rogue offered to share a bed with you tonight, to watch something together on Netflix and pass out after eating so much pizza. You’re nestled under her arm as you both watch Black Mirror. You’d watched it all with Ellie, but you enjoyed re-watching Fifteen Million Merits with Rogue.

“But I must’ve, she was so mad…” you whimper sleepily. “She hates me now, like she hates everyone else, I know it. Why does she hate me, though?”

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you wake up, still in Rogue’s arms. She looks at you almost reverently.

“How can you stand to be so close to me? If I accidentally touch you, even for a moment, I could-”

“I trust you. You’re my friend, you’d never hurt me,” you tell her, going to check your phone.

Ellie hasn’t texted you or anything. You didn’t even want an apology, you just wanted your best friend. The one you were in love with.

Later, you sit in the library, playing chess by yourself.

“Why are we even giving him a tour? He’s not going to be living-” Ellie is suddenly cut off. She sees you. “Hi.”

“Um, hey,” you reply, so eloquently. The white pawn you’re holding burns to a crisp with your nerves, and you drop it, hissing in pain. A man in a red and black super-suit is accompanying Piotr and Ellie. Deadpool, you remember Ellie describing him.

“Y/N, this is Wade, or Deadpool. Wade, this is Y/N. She is pyrokinetic and cryokinetic,” Piotr explains.

“Whoa, so you literally play with fire? And ice?!” Wade asks, actually sounding impressed.

“I’m not the only one here,” you mumble, and Ellie narrows her eyes at you. You roll your eyes at her, now a little pissed off. She gets to be an asshole to you, but you say one thing that brushes hands with self-deprecation and she’s going to act like it’s so offensive.

You know you’re acting like an over-dramatic brat, but, hell, you had a right to be dramatic.

“Let us proceed to the training room, shall we?” Piotr offers.

“If these two got even the slightest bit angstier, I think the world would implode. Let’s go!” Wade decides enthusiastically.  

Ellie, Piotr, and Wade leave.

“So, when did you two break up?” Wade asks Ellie once they’re out of earshot.

“Excuse you?”

“Sadly, Ellie and Y/N never dated,” Piotr sighs.

“Sadly?!” Ellie asks.

“What?! They act like they had a terrible breakup!” Wade is astounded, clearly.

“I’m not-! I don’t-!  She’s a girl!” Ellie protests.

Wade huffs out a laugh, and Piotr gives him a stern look.

“Nah shit she’s a girl, puddin’.”

“Language,” Piotr scolds. “And-”

“Are you trying to say something, Douchepool? Because I can say things, too. And by say things, I mean burn you to ashes. Try regenerating then, you used condom,” Ellie snarls, stomping away. Her feet leave scorch marks in the floor and smoke curls off of her shoulders.

“Dear goodness,” Piotr says.

“So, she- Oh… Oh shit!” Wade finally gets it.

“Obviously,” Piotr grumbles, and the two continue. They had been giving Wade a mini-tour as while he wasn’t going to be an x-man, he agreed to help them more regularly. 

“I did a dumb thing,” you later tell your own mentor, Emma Frost.

“And what could that be?” she asks.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you grumble at the telepath.

“Well, from what I can tell, someone was strangely over-dramatic and lashed out at her best friend for no reason. And that someone wasn’t you. So, I have no clue what you did that was so dumb… Except for investing your feelings into someone so in denial of her own identity… And then continuing to become closer to someone far more open about her interest in you… Ah, I’ve said too much. Let’s talk about your grades, hmm? You seem to be doing very well.”

You look at her with wide eyes.

“What do you look so look so surprised for? You have almost all As,” Ms. Frost informs you with a smirk. “Speaking of almost, I really do think you can do better in History.”

“I’ve got to go,” you say, striding to your dorm quickly. You needed to talk to Rogue, and then Ellie.

Conveniently enough, they’re trading blows outside your door. It’s kinda hot, but you don’t want Ellie to hurt Rogue, or vice versa. (Especially vice versa.) Steam rises off of you, your hot and cold powers both presenting at once in excitement as Ellie shoves Rogue. Then, you remember that you also care about Rogue and don’t want her to be seriously hurt.

“Hey! What the hell?!” you yell your inquiry in hopes of gaining their attention. Ellie’s fist stops just inches before reaching Rogue’s chiseled cheekbone.

“I can explain. She- She just said that- And Wade, before- And I- I-” Ellie stammers, looking embarrassed at being caught.

“Looks like you can’t fucking explain. There’s no excuse for any of your behavior, no matter who much you or Piotr like to pretend,” Rogue snarks.

“Shut up, Rogue,” you defend Ellie, and they both are shocked at your boldness. “We all have our faults, we all make mistakes. One of my mistakes being that I led you on last night. I- I don’t like you like that, Rogue. So, lay off Ellie. It wouldn’t impress me either way.” At your confession, Rogue sighs in what you sense is prepared acceptance. Ellie looks a bit smug. “And Ellie: You can’t act like I’m yours if you’re not gonna step up. You can’t be jealous of someone nice, someone brave like Rogue making advances towards me if you’re not going to.”

“I- Like I- It’s hard to accept that I like you when I haven’t even accepted that I like girls, period,” Ellie bares her shame. You’re filled with remorse at not being more understanding of her plight. “But I do. I’d do anything for you, you’re my best friend. You’re more than that to me, I think you always have been. I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t see it, even when everyone else did, apparently.”

“Huh?” You understand what she says, mostly, but the last bit confuses you. Everyone else?

“According to Rogue here, there’s even a goddamn betting pool. We’re both idiots,” Ellie scoffs.

“I’m less of an idiot,” you playfully defend yourself. “I knew I like-liked you. It was a whole thing. But, then again, I had a conspiracy theory in my head that you knew about my crush and were so uncomfortable at the thought that you were just pretending you didn’t,” you admit.

“You too?” Ellie replies, gaping.

“I’m gonna go in the dorm and let you two finish this conversation… See you around, Y/N,” Rogue, who you’d honestly forgotten was there, sullenly speaks.

“See you around, Ro-” The door slams. “There goes my other best friend. Can’t have you both happy with me at the same time, I guess,” you joke, but it stings.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie apologizes. “Really. I was scared of myself, of being even more of a freak, and I took it out on you when you saw it.”

“I guess I can let you off with a warning, but next time I’ll have to write you a citation,” you tease, and she snickers.

“What a good girlfriend,” she replies, only the tiniest amount of snark to it.

“I’m your girlfriend?” you wonder hopefully.

“Only if you want to be, but I just figured-”

You kiss her, ice seeping from your extremities. The ice freezes on the floor as it spreads, but melts on your new girlfriend’s cheeks as they increase in temperature, Ellie just barely losing control of her own powers. Steam rises again, now from where you touch each other.

She pulls away from you.

“That’s one way to make things steamy,” she taunts, but her expression is the purest of smiles as her eyes meet yours, water vapor still rising from where your foreheads are pressed together.