#empty movement has always had deep something awful roots

[empty-movement]

Welcome to Something Eternal: A Website Forum in 2023 wtf lmao

It's 2023, and a single belligerent rich guy destroyed one of the primary focal points of uh...global communication. Tumblr is, shockingly, kinda thriving despite the abuse it gets from its owners, but that I will call the iconic refusal of Tumblr users to let Tumblr get in the way of their using Tumblr. Reddit killed its API, removing the functionality of mobile apps that made it remotely readable (rip rif.) Discord, our current primary hangout, has made countless strange choices lately that indicate it has reached the summit of its usability and functionality, and can only decline from here as changes get made to prepare for shareholders. (NOTE: WROTE THIS POST BEFORE THEIR MOBILE "REDESIGN" LMAO)

The enshittification is intense, and it's coming from every direction. Social media platforms that felt like permanent institutions are instead slowly going to let fall fallow incredible amounts of history, works of art, thought, and fandoms. It kinda sucks!

A couple years ago, I posted about a new plan with a new domain, to focus on the archiving of media content, as I saw that to be the fatal weakness of the current ways the internet and fandoms work. Much has happened since to convince me to alter the direction of those efforts, though not abandon them entirely.

Long story short? We are launching a fucking website forum. In 2023.

If you remember In the Rose Garden, much about Something Eternal will be familiar. But this has been a year in the making, and in many ways it's far more ambitious than IRG was. We have put money on this. The forum is running on the same software major IT and technology businesses use, because I don't want the software to age out of usability within five years. It has an attached gallery system for me to post content to, including the Chiho Saito art collection. It has a profile post system that everyone already on the forum has decided is kinda like mini Twitter? But it is, fundamentally, a website forum, owned and run and moderated by us. We are not web devs. But we have run a website on pure spite and headbutting code for over twenty years, and we have over a decade of experience maintaining social spaces online, both on the OG forum, and on our Discord. Better skilled people with far more time than we have can and will build incredible alternatives to what is collapsing around us. But they're not in the room right now. We are. And you know what? Maybe it's time to return to a clunkier, slower moving, more conversation focused platform.

You're not joining a social media platform with the full polish of dozens of devs and automated moderation. Things might break, and I might need time to fix them. The emojis and such are still a work in progress. Because e-mails no longer route in reasonable normal ways, the sign-up process instead happens within the software, and has to be approved by mods. Design and structure elements may change. Etc. The point being, that the forum isn't finished, but it is at a place where I feel like I can present it to people, and it's people I need to help direct what functions and things will be in this space. You all will shape its norms, its traditions, its options...choices I could try to make now, but really...they're for us to create as a group! But the important stuff? That's there. Now let's drive this baby off the damn lot already!

Come! Join us!!

PS. As always, TERFs and Nazis need not apply.

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

[diorthesuperior]

Sharing is Caring

Vocal unit + y/n smut

“Sweetie they've heard us one too many times, these walls are pretty thin, not that they're complaining, don't be afraid, one extra person in bed won't make you too loud”

You let the warm breath escape your mouth, speechless.

“You said this would be us time but fine ”

+*+

“Are you sure she'll be okay” Joshua noted clearing his throat.

“Well she thinks she's about to have her first threesome and doesn't know there's 5 of us here so”

“Isnt it too much?..”

“Joshua don't underestimate my girl”

“My bad”

The atmosphere was quiet but the same thrill rushed in all 5 in the room. The vocal unit had neighbouring dorm rooms. However seungkwan had his own room with you since you were his girlfriend and you worked as a stylist under pledis. It was a known fact that the other members in the vocal unit could hear you and seungkwan most nights as you were both quite vocal in bed.

The door knob turned and the door slowly opened.

You walked in wearing a pair of black silk short shorts and a dark blue bralette. You had a robe draped over yourself, concealing yourself slightly but not enough.

“Hey baby I-”

You stalled and looked at all the faces that were glued to you.

“Sweetie I know there's more here than you anticipated but my friends here, you said you wanted to try new things and I was thinking maybe this”

“babe”

“Y/N”

You looked around at the faces you knew so well. Your relationships were innocent and friendly, this was a situation you couldn't have imagined ever.

Seungkwan walked over, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“Sweetie it's alright if you don't want to I can tell them to leave ”

“N-No, let them stay”

Seungkwan turns towards the boys giving them hope. Followed by you removing your robe showing your glowy skin, prominent collarbones and a bit of cleavage.

“wow fuck” woozi mutters adjusting his position on his chair, manspreading.

“shes beautiful seungkwan” seokmin blushed.

“tell her that yourself, or show it” he smirked while pushing you on bed.

Your boyfriend was the best and always the sweetest but when it came to “bed time” he was a dom demon and fuck did it turn you on.

Seokmin looked deeply at Seungkwan, slightly questioning him through his eyes.

“You heard me, show my slut the love she deserves”

You sat up by the weight of you arms looking up at your boyfriend and then at seokmin who seemed a bit hesitant.

“Huh? Seokmin don't act like you haven't masturbated to the sound of her moans from your dorm”

Heat flushed straight to your face and core. This situation was unfamiliar and you felt guilt for feeling this kind of way by another man but you couldn't help it.

Seokmin sat beside you on the bed turning to pick you up, placing you on his thighs.

“Babygirl you smell so good”

He pushed your hair to the side of your neck, tucking the remaining strands behind your heated ears. He started sucking purple marks on your neck down to your collarbones reciting some breathy moans from you. His hands travelled your figure, resting on your arms as his thumbs rubbed slow circles into them.

He grabbed you by your chin and tilted it slightly down, inches away from eachother.

“I've wanted to mark you up for ages babygirl, thank you for letting me decorate your beautiful skin”

Before you could reply, his tongue was in your mouth fighting for dominance. His taste was sweet and his rhythm was so good. He left you breathless and needy when he pulled away to look at you.

You seemed to have forgotten your surroundings, enjoying every bit of seokmins affection. Seungkwan came over with a slightly red face. Seokmin moved you off his lap and walked back over to his seat, knowing very well seungkwan was about to do something.

“Sweetie you seemed to enjoy that too much, were you trying to make your boyfriend jealous? Isn't this supposed to be 'us time'?”

You gulped and put you head down unaware of what to say or react.

“Slut look at me or at least reply...fuck this I'll make you respond”

He roughly grabbed you and shoved you on to his thick thighs. Your face was towards him while the others got your backside. Your shorts had rode up exposing your ass, making the others react in all sorts of ways.

Joshua and Jeonghan were the quiet type but watching their members get you more and more riled up really got to them. The grunts and low moans made while they pumped themselves on the nearby chairs were sinful.

“Sweetie why don't you ride my thighs like the good slut you are, this can be a warm up. The boys always heard your reaction to this so show them how you ride my killer thighs”

His voice went down an octave and the teasing foreshadowing words made your core throb.

His hands squeezed your ass tightly, followed by a rough spank. The loudest moan rumbled from inside your chest. The members around hardened and watched in awe, muttering praises.

“Let my dirty slut hear your praise. She's so horny and wet for you all. She acted as if this was something she wasn't up for at the start but she's loving this so much. She likes it when others are watching”

You close your eyes tightly to hide your reaction. His hands shifted from your ass, up your thighs to your waist and pulled you in closer to straddle his lap. You moved your hips slightly, brushing up against his large hardened bulge. A loud whine choked from you from the stimulation of his white jeans against your slick sensitive pussy. Seungkwans hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, grabbing at the roots and pulling your head back so he can leave wet kisses on your new exposed skin.

“Looks like my sluts been marked already. Such a whore”

The throbbing between your legs continued as you hardly grinded on his bulge and thigh, pulling his soft hair which got a moan in response. His moans were like alcohol. Beautiful but made you more and more crazy. It made you want to cum there and then on his thighs.

As you listened to his breathy groans you continued to straddle his muscular thighs, everytime you rutted closer towards his bulge. Your chest rose up and down as you got more and more turned on, proving to be a great view to seungkwan. As you grounded yourself down on his thigh he touched your chest and teased soft kisses everywhere he could reach. One harsh movement and you were arching reaching closer, your chest in his face. He swiftly removed your bralette without restricting you of your movement on his thigh. He tensed his thigh making you yelp even more. His eyes caught contact with yours as he lowered to suck at your nipple, flicking his tongue around your sensitive hardened nipples due to the temperature change.

He switched to your other, sucking gently on your nub, biting down refreshing yet another loud moan from your rose lips. Your face was red from embarrassment at how loud you were but you really couldn't help it you were overwhelmed.

“Sweetie don't be shy, everyone here has heard and wanked to your loud moans and screams before”

“He's right princess” Jeonghan muttered up.

Your hips moved faster against his thigh from the pleasure taking over your body, moans exiting your mouth at a rapid pace.

“Baby im”

“Cum on my thigh like the big slut you are”

“Youre so dirty cumming on your boyfriend's jeans” Woozi said in his deep yet amazed voice.

“Cum for your daddy like a goodgirl” Joshua added.

With all the attention, praise and his firm grip holding your movement harder against his thigh, you let out a cry of pleasure as your orgasm washed over you in waves.

“Thats it sweetie, get use to it this won't be your first ”Seungkwan smirks moving you to lie down to come down.

Seungkwans white jeans had a huge wet stain on the thigh area. All the boys looked like they were struggling to keep themselves together. You put your head down again in embarrassment, the stain was huge and soaked through.

One of the boys stood up from the chair quickly and made there way towards you with dominance.

“Fucking whore leaking making such a mess with that sopping pussy of yours”

You gulped loud unable to hide your arousal for his dominant state. The way he shouted at you made you melt.

“Ill have to teach that pussy of yours a lesson and put you in your place”

“P-pease sir”

“its daddy” he exhaled pulling your silk shorts down to you ankles, allowing you to do the rest and kick them off which ended up flying towards seokmin who wasn't complaining.

Woozis eyes trailed down towards your glistening core. He smirked running a finger over your folds collecting your arousal on his long digit. Without warning he suddenly pumped his finger inside you. You were weak and rested your forehead on his shoulders and you gripped onto the sides on his shoulders. He pumped another two fingers inside your pussy. He curled his fingers inside you, a series of moans screamed past your mouth.

“Spread them legs wide whore I want to taste you so bad”

“Daddy please eat me out I'm begging”

Woozi kneeled before your open legs and licked his lips before licking a long stripe up your pussy. He flicked your throbbing bud with his tongue and groaned against your clit.

“Wow fuck you're just as sweet as I imagined”

You threw your head back as his tongue dived within your folds licking up all your leaking wetness, sucking on your clit harshly. Your legs started to shake from the sensitive contact.

“So wet for me who makes you feel so good whore?”

“d-daddy..” you struggle to speak out as he licked up and down your cunt.

You tried grinding into his tongue to create more friction and that is when he pulled back leaving you empty. Right when your were about to reach the edge he stopped.

“Whore you stained your boyfriend's jeans so I'm not letting you cum just yet.”

You moaned in frustration praising him trying to get him to fulfill your needs and to be touched.

“Daddy please I'll be good I promise”

“You promise”

“Yes I swear”

“Thats a good whore now where was i”

He pushed three fingers inside you with ease because of how wet you had been. He pounded his fingers rapidly in and out of you, curling his fingers slightly hitting the spot that made you moan out heavenly sounds for the others. You came hard on his fingers, your slickness covering his fingers. Once he let you ride out your orgasm he removed his fingers and sucked them infront of you. Your core was absolutely ruined. It was pulsating frantically. He pulled you in for a kiss and you could taste yourself off his lips.

“Whore taste good doesn't she?” he whispers

“My sweetie knows how to put on a show” Seungkwan speaks out taking a look at the other members who seemed to have enjoyed the viewing alot, proof being the various moans and unzipped pants.

“Now sweetie since you're so wet and horny I think you deserve some more from me”

“Seungkwan please”

“Say it sweetie”

“Please I want you to fuck me with you cock and fill me up with your cum please”

“Since you've been so good I suppose I can, boys, prepare yourself, you've yet to hear her most beautiful sounds.”

You lie on your back on the bed, legs ready to be taken by seungkwan and thrown over his shoulders. You didn't need any warming up.

He put his tip and your entrance, his tip hitting your clit making you moan yet again. He inches into you and bottomed out, a moan tearing through your throat as you adjusted to the stretch. His dick was big and though your were his girlfriend you still weren't use to his size. After a few moments he started moving, speeding up his hips. He watched your wet pussy swallow up his whole dick with a smirk plastered on his face. Every time his dick disappeared fully the loudest pleasurable moans emerged from you. You held onto the back of your thighs as seungkwan pounded into you, fast and hitting the right spot. He placed one of your legs down and kept one thrown over his shoulder. He slowly lifted you a little and pounded into you hitting the gspot consecutively without fail. Bliss overtook your body.

“Joshua, Jeonghan come over here I know you've been wanting to get your dick rubbed”

Without hesitation they made their way over and sat on the bed, one on each side of you.

“Y/N flip and cock your ass up for me for me like a good girl”

“Yes Seungkwan”

“And you've got two hands, put them to use sweetie”

You gasp when seungkwan enters you again, showing no mercy and pounding your pussy into oblivion.

You look at joshua and jeonghan and bit your lip. They're both infront of you with their erect cocks standing, red and leaking precum. You use your thumb to smoother their precum from their sensitive tips down their length to make some lubrication. You work your hands on their cocks and slowly pumped into a faster speed making them groan and moan loudly. Jeonghan let out the most beautiful moans, they were so high and desperate yet he sounded so content.

“Princess fuck yes”

“Baby faster” Joshua growled throwing his head back, his adams apple emerging from his neck. He looked so hot. Both of them did. And they were both in your hands. You were in control of their moans and pleasure and it made you feel so good. Seungkwan continued moving in out of you switching up the rhythm.

“Seokmin over now” Seungkwan ordered.

Seokmin got up from his seat zipping up his jeans from previous actions.

“Theres no need to zip that up, sit infront of my sweetie, she'll take care of that mountain, isn't that right sweetie?”

Seungkwan spanks your ass leaving his red hand marks on your cheeks making you moans again.

“Y/N please suck me dry, you don't understand how flustered I got when I found out you were the new stylist in pledis. For our fear comeback when you tailored my pants, your head was down at cock level and I wanted you so bad”

You leave kisses on seokmins chest, becoming familiar with the earlier sexual encounter with seokmin. Everything about Seokmin was so endearing and hot. Your core started throbbing and pulsating. The tightness of your walls on seungkwans girthy cock made him groan in pleasure.

“Fuck Seokmin you're making my girl so tight”

You blush and look up innocently at Seokmins eyes. That fucking killed him. Such dirty actions he'd seen you do all night and you give him puppy eyes when you're down beside his cock your lips he admired so much about to touch his tip.

“I knew don't worry. The bulge in your pants in the performances right after me fitting you shows how you felt”

You swipe your tongue over his slit and took as much of his big member as you could into your mouth, the rest you pumped with your hands. Seokmin pulled on your hair from the vibrations of you moaning on his cock. Seungkwan fastened his pace making you moan around his cock even more. You sucked on his head and hollowed your cheeks as you bopped your head up and down his length.

You started whining as you started reaching your high from the endless attack on your pussy but also the breathy groans from seokmins pleasure and the others moans who watched. You let out a strangled moan and clench around seungkwans huge cock. All of this was becoming too much for seokmin too, his hips started shaking as he finally released his seed down your throat.

You swallowed it all and licked at his slit getting every bit of his cum. You came around seungkwan and lay down from exhaustion.

Woozi, jeonghan and Joshua all watched and pumped themselves in sync with the pounding and head bopping, releasing on themselves as they watched the sight unravel.

“Sweetie you did so well”

“Whore how about you come back to mine and we'll record some of your moans for adlibs for the upcoming album”

“Send the adlibs to me for keepsakes” jeonghan sighed out, wiping his cum off his hands. Joshua raises his hand slightly.

“Me too if you don't mind”

You lay on the bed exhausted surrounded by a bunch of sweaty hot guys.

“Sweetie remember when you said you wanted 'us time' earlier, how do you feel about that now”

“Yeah I changed my mind”

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Two

Masterpost

It had been a week since Virgil had arrived, and Logan had finally read through all of the reference material about training vampires. There had been a surprising amount of it, especially since it seemed that most of it wouldn’t be useful to him.

It seemed that the major point, in all of these books, was getting the vampire to a point at which it would be compliant and submissive. The methods of arriving at this point were varied, but many of them involved keeping the vampire under constant threat of pain. There were several points at which Logan’s stomach turned, reading through the accounts. He would have to keep the books away from Patton.

However, Virgil was already compliant, seemingly as a side effect of being kept in the coffin for a lengthy period of time. And also, Logan was not unaware, likely this was affected by Patton’s immediate kindness, and possibly also by Virgil’s age. He certainly was the youngest vampire Logan had ever come into contact with, and the only to claim to have never killed a human. He wasn’t sure if he believed the claim, but still.

But next was a short section on compliancy tests, after which it was suggested that the vampire could be taken on hunts, so long as they were in a situation to be controlled should something go wrong. It seemed that the easiest and simplest first test was the silver test. Logan was ready. He already had silver. He grabbed a bolt that was usually used in crossbows, but they didn’t have any crossbows, just a three-set of the bolts. It had been a gift to Patton several months ago.

He went downstairs, noting that Virgil was trembling again. He’d have to figure that out. Surely it wasn’t still fear. Virgil didn’t stand, but he did turn to face him when he saw that Logan was heading towards the cell.

Logan sat down outside of the cell, facing Virgil. Virgil still had that toy Patton had given him, and was fiddling with it with one hand down in his lap. His wrists still looked awful. Shouldn’t they have healed by now? He’d ask later. For now the test.

Logan held up the bolt. “This is made entirely of silver.”

Virgil nodded hesitantly.

Logan rolled it into the cell, and Virgil scrambled back away from it. Something rose up in him. Some kind of feeling. But Logan pushed it back down. It was a test. And Virgil was only a vampire.

“I want you to pick it up.” Logan said.

Virgil looked back and forth between the bolt and Logan. “I-it does hurt me,” he said, holding out his wrists as examples.

Whatever that feeling was, it lifted its head and bit him, but Logan shoved it down again. “I am aware.”

Virgil looked down at the bolt as if it was about to come alive and bite him. “Why?” His voice was very quiet, as if he were trying very hard to make sure it didn’t sound accusatory.

“I want you to do it because I told you to.” Logan said.

Virgil looked from him to the bolt and back again. He gritted his teeth and picked up the bolt. Immediately his face twisted in pain, but he didn’t drop the bolt.

“Hand it to me,” Logan instructed, putting his own hand through the bars to receive it.

Virgil dropped the bolt into his hand immediately. He let out a hissing breath, tucking his hand to his stomach. Logan had a brief glimpse of reddened, welted skin.

He had shoved the feeling down, but now it started rooting around in his stomach, gnawing painfully. “Well done, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded, still trying to blink back tears.

Logan stood to leave.

“Wait!”

Logan turned back to Virgil.

“I—Can I—? I’m hungry.”

Logan gave a slight frown. “Already? It was my impression that vampires ate less frequently.”

“Normally, if, if we’ve had a full meal.”

Logan has only wanted to do one test today. But the second test listed was a hunger test. It was perfectly logical to conduct the test now.

Still, the feeling in his stomach squirmed uncomfortably as he said, “No.”

Virgil’s face fell.

Logan moved to a cabinet and pulled out a childish game that Patton kept there. If worst came to worst, he didn’t doubt that he could overpower Virgil, especially since he still had the silver bolt in his pocket. He unlocked the cell door.

“Come. I want you to play this game with me.”

Virgil came out and sat down on the couch. Logan set up the game, easily playing while keeping his attention on observing Virgil.

Virgil’s eyes had been tinged with red, but as they played, as Logan stayed so close, the red darkened. They played several rounds in near silence.

As time passed, Virgil’s playing grew more simplistic, his physical movements became more jerky, and he stared more and more at Logan’s wrists. Clearly the bloodlust was affecting him. Honestly, Logan was surprised that Virgil hadn’t made any kind of move toward him yet.

“When this round is over,” Virgil said, his voice deep and growling on the way out. “Can I eat? Please?”

Logan looked up into Virgil’s eyes, not seeing any aggression, even though they were nearly glowing red now. He wanted to see how far he could push this.

“No.”

Virgil’s jaw clenched, and he swallowed heavily. He stood up. Logan’s hand went to the silver bolt. Virgil went into the cell, pulling the door shut.

“I can’t. I can’t stay there. I’m sorry.”

Logan wondered if this counted as passing the test. On the one hand, Virgil had just eaten a week ago, even if it was small. On the other hand, removing oneself from a situation was a legitimate form of self control.

“Very well.” Logan locked the cell door.

He went upstairs. He was practiced in letting his own blood, and sat down to do so. He was hit with a sudden question, and started writing an email right away.

Sir, I wish to have the records of the vampire which you sent us. Specifically regarding feeding schedules. Provided, of course, that this does not contradict the rules of the final test. Thank you.

Logan.

He was just cleaning up when he received a reply.

The vampire was captured on 7/13. It was kept in a containment coffin. It was fed 8 oz. of human blood on 8/17. It was shipped on 9/3. The date of its arrival is estimated to be 9/15. For further details you will have to make an official request.

Virgil is starving.

Depending on when he ate before capture, it could have been well over a month between eating then, and it was another month before he ate. Both times it was well under half of what would properly constitute a full meal. And the whole time he was trapped inside a coffin in constant contact with silver.

Logan’s stomach lurched, and he dove for the sink, leaning over it heavily.

Even for an uncontrollably violent vampire it would be cruel and inhumane.

This was why the silver burns weren’t healing. And why Virgil kept shaking. Why he’d been so terrified. Why he’d broken down like he had when he had been released. It was a wonder he hadn’t been driven mad.

Logan was going to need more blood.

•^*^••

Virgil crouched in the back corner of the cage, his hands fisted tightly in his hair, wishing that the mattress was a bed so he could crawl underneath it. Anything to hide him from the hunger that had spread to every cell of his body.

It hadn’t been that bad until he had come in. Until the scent of blood had filled the room. And then he had pulled out a game, his hands close enough to touch. Close enough to bite. Red and warm flowing just underneath. Of course, he still had the muzzle on, but it was so easily removed. Just a string behind his head.

Virgil clenched his jaw again. He couldn’t keep thinking about it. It only made it worse.

The door to the basement opened, and the smell became so much stronger all over again. Virgil clenched his hands tighter and buried his face down in his knees.

“Please… don’t… “

He heard the cell door open.

“Virgil, I brought you food.” It was Logan, but his voice was much gentler than Virgil had yet heard it.

Virgil’s head popped up immediately, almost against his will. Logan was kneeling in front of him, and in one hand was a blood bag, except this one was full.

Virgil could have cried. Scratch that, Virgil did cry. Logan untied the muzzle and handed Virgil the bag. It was drained in a few brief minutes, but they seemed like some of the most heavenly minutes Virgil had ever experienced.

The hunger finally stopped. He even felt full. He started feeling almost uncomfortably warm, and his wrists and ankles prickled where the skin was starting to heal. The fear he’d been trapped in loosened its hold, and suddenly he was very tired.

“Perhaps that was too much at once,” Logan mused.

“No! I’m-I’m awake. Thank you.”

•^*^••

Patton smelled blood. Which was odd. That meant that either Logan or Roman had let blood recently, like last half hour recently. Or maybe just hadn’t cleaned up very well. Patton wandered around the house, but didn’t see either of them. Roman was probably not home, since he had plenty of other things he did in addition to being a hunter-in-training. But Logan was almost always home, and left a note if he wasn’t.

Suddenly a horrible thought crashed into Patton’s mind. What if Virgil had hurt Logan? If Logan was downstairs, bleeding, that would explain both his absence and the blood smell. Patton patted his pocket, the gun was still there. And he knew he kept it loaded. He rushed downstairs.

Logan was inside the cell, with the door open, but seemed perfectly fine. Virgil was holding an empty blood bag, his face flushed and streaked with tears, and his eyes bright red. Patton let out a breath and let go of the gun.

Both Logan and Virgil turned to look at him.

“Greetings, Patton. How was the visit with your parents?”

“It was fine. I think it might have put me a bit on edge, though.”

“That does not seem to be an uncommon occurrence.” Logan noted.

Logan turned back to Virgil and picked up the muzzle. Virgil dipped his head forward to let Logan put it on.

Patton found that he was surprised. He shouldn’t be. Virgil had been perfectly submissive to anything any of them had asked of him. But, coming straight from his parents’ house, it was just different. It made him feel weird. And not a good weird either.

Somehow, he doubted that these feelings were what was intended by the final test. He’d been expecting a wild vampire, one that they had to keep perfectly restrained or else it would attack them. And judging by what his father had been saying earlier, that was exactly the intention. But somehow they had gotten Virgil, who seemed more human than Patton could have ever guessed a vampire could be. And now, Patton was left feeling incredibly guilty.

Maybe he could talk with Logan about it. Logan didn’t really understand feelings, but he always had an opinion, and facts to base his opinion on. So maybe Logan would help him stop feeling so guilty. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty. As far as hunters went, they were being exceptionally kind to a captured vampire. But it still didn’t stop him from feeling just terrible when he saw Virgil’s face marked with tears.

“Hey, Logan, can I talk with you?” Patton asked.

“Of course.”

Logan came out and shut the cell door behind him.

Patton took Logan back upstairs and poured them each a coffee.

“What is it?” Logan asked. “You aren’t usually this hesitant to begin talking.”

“It’s just….” Patton sat down and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m feeling like, like we aren’t treating Virgil right.”

To his surprise, Logan nodded immediately. “I would agree with you.”

Patton frowned. This was not how he had expected the conversation to go. “What?”

“I’ve found myself… deeply disturbed at the suggested tests in the material we’ve been given. I was even more certain after administering some of the tests. I asked about Virgil’s feeding schedule before coming here, and now I am certain that there is something fundamentally wrong in the way that hunters are instructed to treat vampires.”

A part of Patton strongly agreed with Logan. But it still went against everything he’d ever been taught. He found himself advocating for the very thing he’d always disliked. “But normal vampires aren’t like Virgil.”

“That does appear to be true, however, I am now considering the possibility that we have only been exposed to vampires that are violent, and the further possibility that it was a purposeful move on the behalf of our teachers.”

“But I’ve been around loads and loads of vampires in my life, and I’ve never met one like Virgil.”

“That is only half true. You yourself have told me that you’ve seen vampires act in sometimes shockingly docile ways. In ways that inspired you to pity them. That you disagreed with those that would hurt them.”

Patton nodded slowly. He knew Logan was right. But it just… it just went against everything he’d been taught. He knew, if he made a decision, it could put him against both his mom and dad, maybe forever.

“I still believe that, human or vampire, if one is hurting and killing others, that we would be in the right to kill them. But I’m beginning to disbelieve that all vampires by nature hurt and kill.” Logan said.

Patton hung his head. “You’re right. I just… I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t think letting Virgil go will help anybody. If any of us doesn’t pass this test… well, Dad will be upset. And I don’t think Roman will agree with us.”

“I don’t know what exactly is the best course of action yet, either. But we have plenty of time to research and consider before we are forced into a decision.”

“Do we? I don’t know that I can just leave him down there knowing that I’m doing the wrong thing.”

“Help me then. Surely someone else has come to the same conclusion we have. We just have to find them.”

•^*^••

Roman made it back late at night. Logan and Patton were usually in bed at this time, so he made sure to be quiet as he opened the door and set down his bag. In the kitchen was a note on the table.

Patton and I have gone together to do research. We will likely wish to speak with you upon our return.

Logan.

There’s food in the oven, just turn it on for 30 min!

Patton :)

Roman smiled. It was odd of Patton to join Logan in his research expeditions, but not unheard of. The stranger thing was that Logan still insisted on leaving notes, when he could have just as easily, or more easily, texted.

Roman turned on the oven and sat in the living room. Maybe he’d watch some tv while he waited.

He suddenly realized that the vampire had been left alone for some time at least, and he was responsible, since he was the one home. He should probably check, while the food was cooking.

He went to the basement door and clicked the light on. As he opened the door, he heard a scramble and a quiet clang. Roman rushed downstairs to see the vampire sitting on its bed, breathing heavily.

He looked around the room, noting the cards on the table and the several open cabinets.

“What were you doing?”

“... nothing.”

“No, you don’t lie to me,” Roman said, stalking towards the cell. “You got out, didn’t you?”

The vampire cringed back into the corner. “The door was left unlocked… I didn’t go upstairs.”

Roman scowled. “And you thought that you could just come out? What were you even doing?”

The vampire held up sloppily bandaged arms. “I found some medicine, and the cards.”

“You can’t just go and take our stuff! None of it belongs to you!”

“Well… I-I don’t belong to you either!” The vampire said, raising its voice.

Roman flung the door open.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The vampire covered its head with its arms.

“You’re a vampire. You hurt people. Your whole kind hurts, and kills, and destroys! You deserve whatever happens to you.”

The vampire curled up into a tight ball. “Humans hurt me too. They killed my sire and kidnapped me and hurt me.”

“Your sire,” Roman scoffed. “Your sire took a perfectly decent person and broke them into a vampire.”

“No, she didn’t! You don’t know anything about her!” Despite the angry tone, the words were still quiet, and muffled by the vampire’s head being tucked down into its knees.

“I know she killed and hurt people. Like all vampires do. She stole your chance at a normal life.”

“She was trying to help me!”

“How does turning you into a vampire help you? You have to leech off others to live, you want to hurt people—“

“No, I don’t!” The vampire broke in. “I’ve never wanted to hurt people.”

“Then why do you?! Why do you all always hurt people?!” Roman slammed his hand against the bars of the cell.

The vampire didn’t make any answer other than a flinch.

Roman turned away, disgusted. He made sure to lock the cell before he went upstairs.

The food was, of course, delicious, but the moment it hit his tongue everything just tasted sour.

[aucpxsid]

.:||Sunset Waltz

After watching them die, fighting to breathe, and killing to live -human no more, family no more, mother and father no more but merely cold remains on a floor- the man collapses against the crates. 

At first, everything was quiet, he couldn’t even remember why he had been running in the first place. He wasn’t even thinking why he was wearing such a stiff uniform that restrained his movements. But then he smelled it. The stench of death on his collar mixed with the putrid smell of Higgin’s. And worse of all, he felt the ghost warmth of the gun in his hands.

Slowly they started shaking. All of him was shaking against the heavy crates as he listens to the motor roar, indicating they were starting to take flight. Soon he’d be miles away from all of it, he was running away. Yet somehow it felt like he was still there.

He looks up as the lights begin to flicker, no use having the lights on a storage during the flight. It takes approximately fifty-five hours to get off Higgin’s orbit and enter Harvest’s. Fifty-five hours he had to endure before he could see the sun again. His whole being quivered with the thought. He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe at all. Someone would surely be coming for him in no time. They would have called out his bluff, seen that his face didn’t match the officer’s card, remembered that there was blood on his collar. How stupid had he been to think changing a dead man’s clothes was a good idea. He nearly hurls at it.

But soon the roars slow down. The lights go out and there’s nothing but silence to surround him.

His eyes never leave the door, anxiously waiting for something that he’s sure will come but never does. 

Hours pass and he’s still staring. The quivers had ceased, instead now he almost resembles a statue. Not a move, not a sound, barely any audible breath or he’ll get caught. There’s an uncomfortable ache from being stuck in his position but that was a minor pain compared to what was going through his head.

A swirl of thoughts plagues him and he couldn’t even choose where to begin with. The fact that he had killed two men? The fact that his parents died? The fact that if he ever returned to Higgin’s he was sure to have a death sentence?The fact that he almost died? The fact that there’s no use in running, he’s just avoiding the inevitable. Surely they will come. Surely they noticed. Surely they notified the authorities and are just letting him be to delude him.

His head knocks against a crate at a particularly rough convulsion and he blinks. They had left the atmosphere. He shouldn’t be bothering with this, he should be worrying about what he should do. What he needed to do to make sure that he lived.

It was more easily said than done as his mind kept running everywhere. The useless questions returned tenfold and he almost bolts for the door to deliver himself and just be done with it. Instead, his fingers curl around his knees and for the first time since he was a child, Hyojong wished he could cry. 

He wished he was ten years old again and that he had fallen from the cart. His mother rushing to him pulling at his ears for the recklessness. He wished he could have clung to her and never let go. He wished he could be running across that stupidly filthy land chasing after his father. He wished he’d heard the sounds first. He wished he’d go check on what had happened and gotten shot. He wished his death would have awakened his parents, get them enough time to flee and hide from the men in uniform. A uniform he was wearing right now.

Suddenly the clothes felt tighter than ever and he claws at them frantically trying to pry it off himself. He manages to fully take off the jacket but struggles with the dress shirt, feeling like the buttons only get tighter and tighter around his throat. How he had put it on with such sobriety completely escapes him as his heart speeds up with his breathing going out of control. He can barely feel his surroundings much less see them. 

Clawing at his throat he tries to feel something, anything that’ll help him out of it. The buttons pop open but he still can’t breathe. There’s a constant ringing in his ears, drilling into his mind so strongly he can barely think. All he knows is that he’s in danger. He’s in danger and he needs help. He needs someone, anyone, something. Help him.

But no one comes. He’s alone. He’s completely alone now and that’s how it’ll always be. 

He curls on himself only making it harder to breathe but he can’t help it. Might just as well die if he can’t even survive one night by himself. What’s the point in living if there’s nothing to live for? Let them come. Let them come for him and find his cold corpse. Let them know he’s a weak bastard who couldn’t save anyone. Who selfishly saved his own skin instead of saving those who loved him. Those who he himself loved but apparently not enough to die with them.

His hands curl into fists, still clutching at the dress shirt. All he sees is red. A flaming rage that builds from the pits of his stomach and he’s standing up, ready to kill. What exactly, he doesn’t know. Maybe if he killed them all he could get away. Maybe if he killed himself he could get away.

The crates end up being the victims. He punches his frustration out, yelling incoherently with each jab. The smell of fresh blood appears again but it doesn’t stop him, even if his knuckles go raw he’s not stopping. The burns on his right-hand pulse raw with each assault, skin splitting further as it becomes more damaged. 

He won’t stop until it hurts. He won’t stop until he has spent all that anger and his yells alert the crew of his whereabouts. He won’t stop until he’s dead. As they are. As he should have been. As he should be.

And yet…

And yet he stops.

He stops and his head slumps too exhausted to care. His breathing is deep and rich. His whole body swelling with each breath as if it’s making up for all those hours he had been barely breathing. 

His head is still ringing but the sound is now dull, almost faint. With closed eyes, he can feel everything fade slowly into the back of his mind. And just like that he’s crying. He’s not sure what it’ll do. What’s the use of crying over the dead if they don’t return? What’s the use crying over himself if it won’t undo what he has done? Yet they just keep coming. Silently and slowly, making sure he feels each and every one of them. There’s a pain forming at his stomach, twisted into jagged knots and he sinks once more.

It takes a while for him to return to himself but when he does, he finds that there’s still much to let go. Yet he couldn’t cry anymore, too dehydrated and too feverish to even be standing up but somehow he manages it. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed. All he’s aware of is that at some point the lights had turned on and the roaring of the cargo door is loud enough to tell him that it’s open. There’s people coming through the main door but they don’t notice him.

He should have pondered on what he should do, but his head is so empty he just walks out of his hiding space, going towards the light. There’s a vague notion of someone calling but he ignores it to look at Harvest

Back in Higgin’s, Harvest was the dreamland of everyone. Endless fields of green to the horizon, water that didn’t make you sick, a life free of forced labor where people could be something other than mud farmers. Hyojong himself had dreamed of such a life before, it was difficult not to, anything sounded better than what they had. 

Imagine his surprise when he found that the once beautiful green Harvest was now nothing but a dull black rock. A shell of what it used to be. So broken nothing could live in it. It was just black charred rocks everywhere he looked. Hyojong was aware there had been a war years ago and that Harvest had been one of the main stages, yet he never thought it had been so awful to the point the planet was almost extinct.

He aimlessly walks towards the nearest rock, leaning on it for support. His eyes are glued to the sad image that is Harvest, too entranced with what the red sun exposes. 

It was like the whole planet was asleep.

It wasn’t dead. At least not to Hyojong. 

He swears he could still see something in it, he could still see some hope. Maybe he was delirious but there was something there.

He takes a step forward and his footing fails. 

The world fading as he crashes onto the black dust.

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

He wakes up with a headache. Eyes barely open before there’s water shoved into his mouth. 

“-hear me? You were out for a whole day.”

“-Uh?” Hyojong can barely speak, his throat is too parched to let out any decent sound.

“You blacked out back in Harvest. We were calling for you to get a mask but you just went for it.” The man roughly helps him sit up, paying no mind to the sudden hiss Hyojong makes from all the joint pain.“ The air’s shitty out there. Too much dust.” 

He could only nod confusedly at the man. For the moment he could not register anything other than water and pain in his head and hands.

“You joined us in Higgins's right?”

At the mention of Higgins’s, Hyojong jolts up ready to flee. He immediately regrets it as his whole body aches and his nerves skyrocket. The man doesn’t let him go too far either, pushing him back to sit on the bunk and returning the water bottle to him with a hearty laugh. “You have nothing to worry about my friend.” 

He smiles patting Hyojong roughly on the back. “Just try to rest up so you’re good to help unload when we get to Boros, ok? We need the extra hands.” His expression soon turns harsh as he keeps a tight grip on Hyojong’s shoulder,. “You’re not the first kid who tried dodge from there. You all smell the same.” His nose twitches at mention of the putrid smell of mud. 

“Let’s make a deal shall we? You work for us through the red system and then you’re on your own.” Hyojong is rooted to his seat, too frightened and powerless under the tight grip. “But you have to work.” There’s a stress in the word, making Hyojong tense up further. “Or you’ll meet the void during this trip. Are we clear?”

The man waits until Hyojong nods. Silence stretching as the man finally let’s him go and throws a dry protein bar at him. “Boros is two weeks away. Shadow is six. You have plenty of time to get back on your feet and get handy.” Hyojong says nothing. What could he even say? He was completely dumbstruck at the situation. “There’s two more like you aboard. You three will be guided tomorrow on what to do.” He gestures at the protein bar resting limply at Hyojong’s lap. “That’s all you’ll get in here. Work hard and maybe you’ll get a few more.” He scoffs. “You’re used to working for scraps anyways.”

And with that he takes his leave. 

Hyojong just sits there for the longest time staring at nothing. He couldn’t believe it. The man was surely mocking him. There was no way he was actually being allowed to live. He and his fellow men were surely get sold back into Higgins’s. There was no way they’d just let the opportunity to strike money slip like that. They probably were aware about the situation back in Higgins’s. He was going mad. There was no way he was this lucky. This was all a set up so he could relax and then they’d catch him when he least expected. They knew who he was. They had to. There was no way. There is no way…

He wasn’t sure how he should take it.  A part of him told him to just give up, it had been foolish trying to escape, he should just ask for a shuttle, go back to Higgin’s and die. It was what he deserved.

Yet this masked offer of freedom was giving him an opportunity to actually flee. He could get out of this, he just had to work hard for the next eight weeks. All he needed was to stick to the crew and leave as soon as they land out of the red solar system. Nothing too hard to accomplish.

Laying back down in bed, he decides to give up to fate. He’s too spent to make any decision now either way. For the moment he was partly safe and his head screamed at him for sleep. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long sigh as he wonders just how much more can life get fucked up.

[its-always-the-witching-hour]

Chapter 1 of Apocalyptic AU - Sanders Sides

This is way longer than I intended it to be, and it’s only chapter one. I don’t have a name for it yet, but I’ll come up with one soon.

Word count - 1643

Pairings - None (yet)

Warnings - (Spoilers) Zombies, blood, guts, the undead, being left alone, death, disease, summoning rituals - Tag anything I missed

Characters - Virgil Sanders, Deceit (Devan) Sanders, Remus Sanders

Next chapter

---

Everyone had called his parents crazy, and conspiracy theorists, but now they probably wished they had listened to them. It was month 4 of the apocalypse, and Virgil was probably the only survivor. The outbreak had started with what seemed like a new disease, one that was extremely contagious but harmless, and put the infected person into a sleepwalker like stupor that lasted for days. At first, things just continued like normal, with people still going to work and school, and traveling around the globe, but Virgil’s parents hadn’t bought it. They had locked him from the outside and inside in a bomb-proof bunker, stocked with enough food to last a person a year. They refused to join him, though, and instead attempted to figure out where the disease had originated from. The days down in the bunker were long, but not that boring, due to the fact that there were at least three charging points for electronic devices on each wall, and a tv to keep connected to the outside world, not to mention the bookshelf with all of Virgil’s favorite books in it. He thought that the whole thing was an over-reaction at first, but still got some pleasure out of it, mainly because he now had a valid excuse not to turn up to school, as he was locked in his crazy parent’s basement. Then the disease went into its second stage.

Everyone who had been infected once, or was still suffering from it just collapsed onto the ground. Scans of the bodies showed that their brains had just stopped functioning, and nothing that was done could bring them back. There were too many funerals that week. A week after every dead body was buried, stage three started. People walking past or paying their respects to the dead reported scratching sounds from the graveyards. The government and police dismissed it as a Halloween prank – as it was October at the time – and stated publicly that there was no point looking into it further. Then, the voices started. At first, it just sounded like the wind ripping through the leaves of trees, until people realized that there was no wind, and hadn’t been for weeks. The unexplained chattering noises became the root of many dares that week, and police had to stop many people, young and old, from doing stupid things like digging up the bodies, or chanting so-called ‘summoning rituals’ and trying to connect to the ghosts of the dead. And then, about a month after the disease was first discovered, all hell broke loose, literally.

A report to the police had told them that a man was walking strangely along the pavement outside their house, and they suspected that they were illegally drunk in public. However, when the police arrived, they found a man covered in dirt, mud and grass. Both of his hands had sizeable splinters sticking out of them, and a few fingers dangled as though they were broken, but there was no blood. He walked with a shambling gait, looking like he had broken at least one of his legs. One policeman approached him, to see if they needed to call an ambulance, and the rest, well the rest was recorded by a camera crew doing one of those police documentaries for TV. The horrifying video, which was aired on every station in the world, started off with the policeman approaching the man and asking him ‘Are you okay’. When the man didn’t respond, the policeman tried again, each time moving closer to the man, until he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. With a creepy, unhinged look, the man turned slowly towards the policeman, who seemed happy to get a response out of him at last. The man flew at the policeman, shoving him to the ground and sinking his teeth into his arm. The policeman screamed in agony, then his head flopped back against the pavement.

After that video, Virgil’s parents re-enforced the door with twice as many locks, and for once he was glad that his parents always thought the worst was going to happen. Even days after the video came out, Virgil was still having trouble sleeping, so at 3am, when it happened, he heard everything. It started off with a banging on the front door, but nobody took any notice of that, because their house was pretty old, and weird noises appeared almost every night. As soon as the groaning and mumbling bubbled up, Virgil knew his parents were going to die. He huddled under the weighted blankets of his bed, silent tears running down his face as he listened to his parent’s screams. A couple of times, the zombies banged on the door to his bunker, trying to find a way to get in, but it was built too well. They left around 5am, leaving Virgil alone in a now broken home.

That happened 2 months ago, and Virgil hasn’t heard a thing since. The TV in his room doesn’t work, because there is nobody left to air anything, and the electronic generator has been slowly running out of energy. Every book on the shelf has been read for at least three times, and food and water levels were running low. He knew that his slow and painful death from starvation or dehydration was about to begin. All he could do was just try and ration the remaining supplies he had left, and sleep. When he heard the noises, it was no wonder he thought the zombies had returned. Then, he heard their voices.

“Try this one.”

“I can’t it’s locked.”

“Oh. Well this one is empty. Looks like someone beat us to it.”

A pause, then, closer to the door of the bunker,

“Hey, look at this. What do ya reckon it is?”

“Pictures of… paranormal activity?”

“Woah. This one’s really cool. Look at all the organs on the floor.”

“I think I know who lived here…”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Those weird scientists that were convinced that the world was going to end soon.”

“Well, looks like they were right after all.”

A small bout of harsh laughter with no humor behind it caused Virgil to retreat further back into the safety of his bed, his heart pounding.

“Hey, didn’t they have a kid?”

“Yes, a son, I’m pretty sure. He went to our school, I think, but we’ve never seen him around because when anything remotely strange happened, his parents locked him up for days. Wait Remus don’t –”

A loud crash echoed through the house as ‘Remus’ knocked over something.

“I’m fine, stop fussing Dee. Was there a door here before?”

“A what?”

“Look, it’s like a safe door! But with a thousand more locks!”

“Interesting. Perhaps there’s more food inside.”

“Or bodies!”

“Why am I friends with you?”

“Because I’m the only one left alive apart from you.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“Aw, you know you looooove me.”

“Quit being weird and help me open this door.”

Virgil could hear them unlatching locks, and then, alarmingly, the door to his bunker began to shake. He let out an audible gasp, thankful that he kept the inside of the door locked in fear that the zombies would figure out how to open the outside locks.

“Huh, I think it’s locked on the inside as well.”

“But how, unless…”

There was a moment of terrified silence for Virgil, then the voices started speaking again, not to each other this time, but to Virgil.

“Hey, if there’s anyone in there, we won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, we’re nice people, really, and also… we might be the only other people left.”

“Please open the door, if you need it, we can help you.”

Taking a deep breath, Virgil realized that they were his best chance at surviving, even if it meant leaving his safe haven, he would have to go with them. Steeling himself for what would lay behind it, he opened the door.

Standing in front of him were two boys of a similar age to him. One was wearing an interesting black cloak around his shoulders, fastened with a golden chain. The shirt he wore under it was plain grey, and he had jeans on. Half of his face was covered in dirty bandages, and he had a slightly surprised look, as if he hadn’t expected the door to actually open. The other boy had a dark green parker jacket on, and shorts, which made an interesting combo. His hair was extremely messy, with twigs and clumps of dried mud in it. He had a wide-eyed smile, that almost made him look crazy. Virgil regretted opening the door immediately.

“Hey…” the one in the cloak stepped forwards slowly, wincing as Virgil backed up nervously at the movement. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to hurt you. I’m Devan, but you can call me Dee, and that idiot over there is Remus.” Remus gave an energetic wave as he peered past Virgil into the bunker.

“I-I’m Virgil,” Virgil whispered, “and don’t bother looking in there for food; it’s nearly run out. I do have some medical kits if you need it.” He directed the last one at Dee, who touched the bandage on his face self-consciously.

“That… would help.” He admitted, sending an exasperated look at Remus as the energetic one glanced over at Devan, worry clear on his face, “I’m fine, Remus. It just… hurts sometimes.”

“Okay, but you need to let me know if it opens up again. I can help you, ya know.”

Unsure of what to do at this moment, Virgil retreated back into his bunker, then came out moments later carrying a bundle of blankets.

“Here,” He mumbled, offering the bundle to the other two, “This will hopefully have enough stuff to keep us going.”

“Us?” Devan asked.

“Yes, I’m coming with you.”

[blancheludis]

Characters: Tony Stark & James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Howard Stark Tags: Hurt Tony Stark, Child Abuse, Protective Rhodey, Found Family Words: 4.628

Summary: Rhodey has come home to a lot of strange sights since moving in with Tony, but the smeared, red handprint just inside their entrance door makes his heart stop. He stares at it for a long second before his mind suggests helpfully that this looks an awful lot like blood.

A few panicked moments later, finds Tony in the bathtub, naked from the waist up, a bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand, and with blood on his face and chest.

“Rhodey,” Tony coos and smiles, wincing when that tugs at a cut in his lip. “You’re home.”

---

Rhodey has come home to a lot of strange sights since moving in with Tony – the most memorable one being an all-out Roomba war who seemed to play Capture the Flag with a pair of Captain America briefs – but the smeared, red handprint just inside their entrance door makes his heart stop. He stares at it for a long second before his mind suggests helpfully that this looks an awful lot like blood.

“Tony?” Rhodey calls out without an ounce of self-preservation and moves into their flat, his hand hovering over his hip although they are not allowed to take their guns off the range.

During some dark, drunken night, Tony has told him about some of the kidnappings, about the desperate and the dangerous hoping for a handsome reward or some revenge by picking Howard Stark’s son off the street. Tony also told him about Howard’s constant refusal to pay, as if his own child’s life is worth nothing.

They have been friends for just over a year, but Rhodey is already certain that he would not leave a single stone unturned to find Tony. He would pay any ransom to get his best friend back.

Tony is not supposed to be here, though. This morning, he left to meet his parents who are in town for a few days. That is never a good thing in its own right, but it should not end with blood on their wall.

Still without a thought for his own safety, Rhodey storms in, his heart stopping a beat when the flat is empty at first glance.

“Tony,” he calls again and thinks he hears a sound in response from the bathroom.

He finds Tony in the bathtub, naked from the waist up. Stripes of half-dried blood add obscene details to the scene. Rhodey’s heart stutters to a halt when he sees where it is coming from.

Tony has a cut through his eyebrow and a split lip. Worse, however, is the wound running down his forearm. Countless of self-defence lessons have taught him that wounds in that place often happen when people try to fend off attacks while guarding their head or heart.

“What did the bastard do to you?” Rhodey asks once he shakes off the shock. Two long strides take him closer to Tony, closer to the mess that is dark blood on white skin.

“Rhodey,” Tony coos and smiles, wincing when the movement tugs at the cut. “You’re home.”

Tony is drunk. He waves a bottle with his unharmed arm. It is very cheap whiskey – which is just more evidence that this has something to do with Howard. If left to his own devices, Tony is a drink snob. He only drinks cheap alcohol in rebellion against his parents. Rhodey always put that down as some weird rich kid nonsense, but it does make it easier to narrow down the root of Tony’s problems at times.

“I swear I’ll kill him,” Rhodey mutters as he crouches down, noticing how Tony stiffens, either at his words or his sudden proximity. That only stokes his anger. Why is it that Howard Stark always leaves his son a little more broken when they meet? How does he not see what a good person Tony is?

Tony raises the bottle between them, almost like a shield. “We don’t have time for homicide. We still need to finish our robotics assignment.”

This is Tony’s favoured tactic, trying to distract from the problem at hand. It does not matter that there is no ignoring his state or the blood or the hollowness of his eyes. In this, Tony is a Stark through and through, clinging to his pretences as if they are the only thing that keep him breathing.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” Rhodey snaps and turns around to search for their first-ais kit under the sink. “What happened?”

He does not need to look at Tony to know that his features will slacken into something bored and impersonal, that his hand will automatically bring the bottle to his lips.

“Nothing.”

Rhodey has heard that lie a thousand times but it never gets easier. One day, Tony might trust him enough to just talk to him without all the needling. Although he is not sure whether he should really look forward to that. It would make things easier, but it is also a little like leaving the closet door wide open at night in an invitation for all monsters passing by to come in and devour him.

“You’re bleeding,” Rhodey snaps and gives up his search for the kit in favour of taking a closer look at Tony.

The cuts on his forehead have already closed, although the one marring Tony’s lip will reopen at some point, judged on previous experiences. Tony has never been good at allowing himself time to heal.

The arm is a mess, but from up close Rhodey sees that it is not as bad as he feared. It is not even deep enough to show the muscles. The blood smeared all around it makes it look far more dangerous. That still does not soothe the simmering rage inside him. Tony left bloody handprints on his way here, which means he fled his parents’ hotel mindlessly, making it a miracle he even got here.

“Just a friendly argument that got a little heated,” Tony dismisses easily and pulls his arm closer to his body as if he can erase the wound just like that. “You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t know,” Rhodey replies sharply, although he does by now. “I never went home and came back seriously injured.”

The first time this happened, they had barely known each other for a month and yet Rhodey had already been prepared to go to war for Tony. It is still utterly incomprehensible to him how a parent could repeatedly hurt their own child. Unfortunately, he has sworn to never talk to anyone about it besides Tony and, well, there is no bringing Tony to his senses. If he ever had any.

“This is not serious, honey bear,” Tony says easily and smiles. There it is, the first new drop of blood out of the split lip. “You should’ve seen me when –”

Closing his eyes, Rhodey leans away from Tony. “You should not finish this sentence if you don’t want me to go pay a visit to your father right now.”

If he were lucky, he would get in a swing or two before he would be taken down and thrown in some hellhole. In moments like this, when Tony’s pain is so clearly within view, Rhodey wonders whether it would not be worth it, just to remind Howard that he can be hurt too.

“That would hardly end well,” Tony points out but sounds a little more present, a little more aware that Rhodey is only one wrong word away from doing something stupid.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Rhodey says, “Exactly.”

He hears rustling and then a hand is on his arm, holding tight as if to hold him back from running out that door. When Rhodey looks up, Tony at least did not take his injured arm but placed the whiskey bottle between his legs to free his hand.

“No, he would ruin your life, Rhodey,” Tony says, completely serious now, for once not pretending that Howard is a normal father. But then, things are always different when they are talking about Rhodey’s pain instead of his own. “Promise me you’ll never say anything to him.”

Rhodey tries to avoid making promises he will not be able to keep. “And what? You want me to just watch him hurt you?” Like he has done the entire time they have known each other, backing down like a coward because Tony keeps asking him too.

“He didn’t mean to,” Tony says as if that makes anything better. “He was wearing that ring and –” he breaks off awkwardly and points at his split lip.

Rhodey blinks, wondering whether Tony really thinks that the blood is the problem, not that Howard dared to hit him at all. Bruises are just as bad. Hell, the mere threat of a swing is. Children are supposed to feel safe with their parents. They should not be forced to find excuses for their parents’ regular fits of rage.

With a deep breath, Rhodey calms himself enough to ask, “That ring cut up your arm too?” He does not want to look at it again but does it anyway. The blood makes Tony appear so much smaller.

“No, that was a bottle,” Tony admits sheepishly then snaps up his eyes in a panic that he has said too much. He hurriedly adds, “He didn’t mean to aim for me and it wasn’t his fault I fell.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says and trails off. The churning anger inside his chest turns into sorrow. He is out of his depth here. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

The picture Rhodey has of Howard in his head is that of a real monster. Bloodshot eyes, a terribly disfigured face, spit flying from his mouth due to his constant shouting. That picture has nothing and everything to do with the immaculate business man depicted in news articles and TV interviews. An honest, brilliant man, who just turns into a beast once he steps into his own home. And Tony is caught in his thrall, unable and, most of the time, unwilling to get out.

As if Tony read his thoughts, he says, “It’s not your business, is it?” The bitterness in his voice is tangible, underlined by the smell of alcohol and blood in the air.

Just like that, Rhodey’s anger is back, crowding beneath his sternum like a living thing. “You’re my best friend and this is not the first time he’s beaten you bloody. I damn well think this is my business,” Rhodey snaps, wondering why Tony has to always make things harder for himself.

In too calm a voice, Tony says, “But you’re not family.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut and Rhodey leans away from Tony as if that could soothe the sudden pain. Silence falls between them, almost deafening in its intensity, as Tony stares at his bottle and Rhodey wonders, just for a moment, if this is worth it. If the friendship and all the brilliant hours together are worth the heartbreak.

When Rhodey started college, he was determined to live the best years of his life. To learn everything he can and find some forever friends. Rumours about the rich kid genius starting with them were already rampant when he arrived on campus and he had planned to stay out of that mess.

Fast-forward a year and here they are. For all that Tony is mostly sweet and lost, he knows how to make his words hurt, how to hit people where they are already wounded. Rhodey is not often on the receiving end of that anymore. Only, really, when Tony has been home and cannot help but lash out because he does not know what else to do with his own pain.

That is no excuse. And Rhodey is not in a forgiving mood tonight, seeing that he very much considers Tony family.

“All right,” Rhodey says in as clear a tone as he can manage. With an abrupt movement, he turns to the cabinet under the sink to search for the first-aid kit in earnest. He also does not want to look at Tony. “We still need to clean that cut. Drinking alcohol won’t help.”

In his back, he hears rustling, and then a hand lands on his shoulder. “Rhodey, I didn’t mean –”

Shrugging off the hand, Rhodey leans forward, out of Tony’s reach. “I hope you restocked the first-aid kit.”

He finds it right at the bottom, almost as if they do not regularly need it. They have another one in the lab, which is a lot fancier than this. Then again, lab accidents are normal and accepted, whereas this is not.

Rhodey still keeps his head down when he turns back around. He does not want to see Tony’s wide eyes, full of apologies he never quite knows how to put into words. He will forgive Tony, he always does. Just not right away.

“Rhodey –” Tony tries, but Rhodey cuts him off.

“Give me that bottle and rinse out that cut,” he orders while he gets out the Neosporin and rummages for band-aids.

“I’m sorry.”

In a way, Rhodey should feel flattered. Tony does not usually insist on apologizing right away, preferring to hide away first and wallow a bit. By now Rhodey knows that Tony does not mean everything he says when hurt or angry, but it is nice to see that Tony does not want to leave it hanging in the air between them. Which still does not put Rhodey into a more forgiving mood.

“What were you arguing about then?” he asks, ready to immediately draw Tony’s ire again or to wade through dismissive lies. He finds the Neosporin but waits to take Tony’s arm because he might yet get some information.

Tony takes his time to answer, and when he does, it is barely audible. “You.”

“What?” Rhodey is surprised enough that he looks up. Him? Why would he even be on Howard Stark’s radar. Despite his burning wish to take Tony away and keep him safe he has never made a spectacle of himself.

Tony looks right back at him, worrying his already split lip. In a flat tone, he says, “Howard said I should work on befriending some real people instead of someone who’s barely good enough to be the help.”

“I –” Rhodey swallows, unsure what to say. Instead, he reaches for Tony’s arm and begins to rinse the cut with water. His movements are methodical, just something to keep him from freezing up.

It should not come as a surprise. Rhodey’s family is black and comparatively poor. He is here on a scholarship and already has his life planned out. Joining the military might not be a dishonourable career choice but it is not prestigious either.

Perhaps it is true that Tony should associate more with people of his own world, business men and rich heirs or even other geniuses, but Tony is lost among them. It would make him sick in the long run, lonely and wounded in a world he has learned to navigate by necessity only, not because he wants to be there.

So, yes, Rhodey’s presence gives Tony options he did not have before. To be himself, to safely explore other parts of life.

“See, you’re feeling worse now,” Tony exclaims and tries to tug his arm out of Rhodey’s grasp but fails. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. He likes to say he’s not racist, and he might not have a problem with you if your family was rich, but I couldn’t let him talk shit about you like that. You’re worth at least a thousand of his sort.”

If Rhodey were petty, he would say that Tony’s own words hurt much more than anything Howard could ever spew at him. But he does not because he values Tony’s friendship and well-being more than a won argument.

“Tony,” he says and looks up long enough from his work to make Tony understand that he is completely serious. “I don’t care what your father says about me. I care about you. And if he calls me every bad name in existence, I want you to not argue but get out of there in one piece.”

Tony does not know which battles to pick. Perhaps that comes from having been ignored and trampled over most of his life, perhaps it is his missing sense of self-worth. Somehow, he has decided that Rhodey is worth fighting for, so instead of fighting just to be contrary he has made himself Rhodey’s champion almost like Rhodey has done for him.

“You always stand up for me,” Tony argues sullenly as if he has read Rhodey’s mind.

“Because,” Rhodey intones and finally lets go of Tony’s arm to look at him, “you tend to not do that for yourself.”

And why would he, having never been taught how to. For someone who expects the world to always jump at his bidding, just because of his name and money, Howard Stark has been amiss to instil that sense of worth in his own son.

Tony shrugs and winces slightly, which only worsens Rhodey’s anger because that means he likely has more bruises. “He’d ruin your life,” he says quietly, urgently in a way that shows he really is afraid of that.

Ignoring the fact that this is not something they should have to worry about – his best friend’s father being able to destroy his life on a whim – it is nice to hear that Tony really cares. Rhodey knows he does, but there are no masks here now, no pretensions of uncaring cheer. Tony is good at being what the world wants him to be, but underneath the surface he is brittle enough that Rhodey just wants to hide him away where no one can get to him.

“I’d rather he didn’t try,” Rhodey argues, forcing his tone to be lighter than he feels. “But as of yet he’s only ever hurt you. And that’s not acceptable.”

He does not expect an answer. Tony is practiced at skirting this topic, refusing to actually say that what his father is doing to him is wrong. It is just like him to be vocal about everybody else’s pains and worries but never his own.

“Give me that bottle back, would you?” Tony asks and leans back in the bathtub, avoiding Rhodey’s eyes again. It is subtle, as he pretends to inspect the cut on his arm, but Rhodey knows his mannerisms by now.

“You’ve had enough,” Rhodey says and suppresses the urge to take a sip himself. Getting drunk will not actually help.

Tony rolls his eyes, but still does not look up. “There’s never enough after dealing with dear old dad.”

One day, Rhodey will ask why Tony decided to indulge in Howard’s favourite vice when he intimately knows what alcohol turns Howard into. He just has not found the courage yet.

“You’re bleeding,” he reminds Tony as if that will be taken as an acceptable reason. “I won’t let you add alcohol into the mix.” More alcohol as it is.

“But it helps with the pain,” Tony argues but does not make a move to get the bottle. Rhodey counts that as a victory.

“No. End of discussion,” he says for good measure. Then he reaches for the Neosporin and takes Tony’s arms again. The wound has stopped bleeding but looks like one wrong move will cause it to reopen. “Now, hold still. This could sting.”

He is as gentle as he can be and squeezes Tony’s hand when he does not flinch away. It is not the worst thing in the world to get alcohol rubbed in wounds and Tony has certainly had worse, but he is often sensitive about appearing weak.

“You know, you’re the only person besides Jarvis who does that,” Tony says in a conversational tone, almost detached from the matter at hand. “Warn me before, I mean.”

Rhodey does not like Jarvis. The old butler is a kind man and Tony loves him, yes, but he did not get Tony out of his abusive home life. For years he stood by and watched Tony get hurt. In Rhodey’s opinion it is not enough to soothe the bruises after the fact. He is, of course, not doing anything else, so he should probably not blame a man he has never met. But every beautiful story Tony tells about Jarvis always comes with a bitter taste for Rhodey, because it leaves him thinking that no one has ever done enough for Tony.

“I hate that enough people have done this that you have some kind of ranking for them,” Rhodey says instead of voicing these thoughts, although he cannot quite keep the sharpness out of his tone.

He picks up the band-aids and arranges them unceremoniously to cover the cut. Tiredness seeps into his bones but he does not let that show.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Tony says, sounding sheepish.

“Then perhaps use those words next time,” Rhodey points out as he turns to the smaller cut through Tony’s eyebrow.

He knows that Tony is not ungrateful. They have never spoken about this, but he thinks that thanking people, to Tony, is akin to reminding them of his weakness, his defects. And if he does that too often, people will leave. That is utter nonsense, of course, but Rhodey has not yet found an effective method to tell Tony so.

They finish up in silence, and just when Rhodey turns to tidy up the first-aid kit, Tony reaches out and touches his shoulder.

“Thank you, Rhodey,” he says with a small smile and earnest eyes.

Just as solemnly, Rhodey responds, “You’re welcome.” And he is. No matter the occasionally sharp words and heartbreak, Tony is family. “Now, do you have any other wounds? Did you hit your head?”

Just like that, the magic of their serious moment dissipates and Tony is back to rolling his eyes and belying his state.  

“No.”

“Ribs okay?” Rhodey asks, going through his mental list even while he eyes Tony’s skin critically for blooming bruises.

“I think so,” Tony says and breathes in deeply as if to demonstrate his ability to do so without sudden pain.

Satisfied with that, Rhodey moves on. “Do you have a headache? Does your vision swim?” That is a tricky question, because he is often not able to verify until Tony keels over after pushing himself too hard. And he did say something about falling down earlier.

“I don’t have a concussion,” Tony dismisses easily, and Rhodey cannot glean anything from his tone.

“You said that last time,” he points out, feeling a bit helpless. With opens wounds, he can help, but everything else is a bit too much. Although he is sure that will change the longer he stays friends with Tony.

“We blew up a lab,” Tony replies with more fondness than such a memory should warrant. Then he leans forward and pokes Rhodey’s chest. “You had a concussion too.”

“And I admitted it right away, while you were lying through your teeth,” Rhodey shoots back immediately. They had been stupid and a concussion is just not something nice to deal with. Of course, he said something. To this day, he cannot understand how Tony can insist on going through all these things alone.

“I don’t like hospitals and I really didn’t have to go there just because I hit my head a little too hard.” They have had this argument a thousand times, but it is easier to fall back into it than to press Tony for how he is feeling right now. He looks better and has not tried to get the whiskey back. In Rhodey’s book, that is a victory.

“But you insisted I stay in there for a whole week,” Rhodey says as he packs up the first-aid kit and stores it back under the sink.

“That’s –” Tony begins to argue, but Rhodey cuts him off, knowing what is coming.

“If you’re going to say that’s different, don’t.” That has been a point of much frustration for Rhodey. How easily Tony deals in double standards, always hiding his own needs while basically putting Rhodey on a pedestal. “One day, I’ll get you to see that you’re allowed to treat yourself with the same care and consideration you do for your friends.”

“Well, you were always one for doomed cases,” Tony shrugs but at least does not pretend that Rhodey does not have a point. “Now, help me up, please. I want to go to bed.”

Tony does not need much help, which is an immense relief. They have come far enough in their friendship that Tony does not pretend when it is only them. If he cannot stay up on his own legs, he leans on Rhodey. If they continue that way, they will turn Tony into a fully functioning adult yet.

Still, Rhodey stays at Tony’s side and steers him, just to make sure. It is only when they are moving to Rhodey’s half of the room that Tony speaks up.

“That’s not my bed.”

“Nope,” Rhodey agrees cheerfully. “You’re sleeping here so you won’t be able to sneak out if you feel worse. Or if you decide you want to keep drinking.”

That was a hard-learned lesson, the way Tony likes to disappear instead of just asking for help. Now he knows he needs to hold on to Tony to keep him where he is supposed to be.

Tony glances up at him, thankfully not irritated. “You don’t –”

“I do,” Rhodey cuts him off, his tone still pointedly light. He will not argue about this. Or, at least, he will not lose this argument.

With a huff, Tony sinks down on Rhodey’s bed. “You can’t possibly know what I was going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rhodey says in all seriousness. No matter what Tony was going to say, what clever argument his head has cooked up, Rhodey promised to take care of him and he will.

As if to show he learned his earlier lesson, Tony looks up and says, “Thank you, Rhodey.”

It is a stupid thing to feel happy about, because Rhodey knows Tony is grateful even when he does not say it, but the words cause warmth to gather behind his sternum.

He nods his acceptance with a smile, but then says, “Well, you’re paying to get that bloody handprint off our wall, so we’re even.”

A year ago, he could not have said that. Even the slightest mention of him expecting Tony to pay for anything would have just caused Tony to think his fears of Rhodey being just another gold digger were true, even if Rhodey has never once asked for anything. It is good to see that Tony does not even bat an eye at his comment now.

“I will, geez.” He flops back dramatically on the bed. “You should go out more, white walls are so out.”

Rhodey laughs as he pulls the blanket over Tony, almost tucking him in. “Close your eyes, Tony. We both need to sleep.”

Well, Rhodey needs to wash up first. While his hands are clean, it does feel like Tony’s blood is sticking to them. He just needs to make sure that Tony is in bed and stays there before he dares to turn his back on him.

“All right, mama bear,” Tony says but already sounds sleepy. “I’ll happily be your little spoon.”

They have done this a hundred times before, once Rhodey made it clear that Tony does not need to pay him in physical affection either. Theirs has been a long road already. Rhodey has no illusions that it will be smooth sailing from here on, but he is proud of how far they already made it.

“Shut up,” he says fondly. “Sleep well. And wake me if you feel worse. I mean it.”

“I promise.”

Rhodey does not believe him one bit, but that hardly matters. They have a working system going on here. Tony might fight his mothering at times but they do rely on each other. Any while Rhodey could do without the excitement sometimes, he would not have it any other way. That is what family does for each other, after all.

[normiewrites]

so this is my first piece after coming back, sorry for being gone sO LonG. I think im gonna start working on song inspos instead of just normal requests, so pls send in song requests if u want to, requests r fully open now!

this fic was inspired by comethru - jeremy zucker

This piece is for @evnscntspul (admin z from @bnhaclaimedmysoul) because she helped me with my stupid ass emotions and kept me company through my break, she’s so lovely yall, i cri

anyways, enjoy!

other tags: @burnedbyshoto

Epiphanies- Shouto Todoroki x (g/n)Reader

The tolls of your late night patrol rooted themselves in your muscles. They were stiff and ached with each movement you made, but you were used to this sensation, especially after being in UA for 2 years. But you couldn’t help but sigh happily at how the hot chocolate that ran down your throat seemed to soothe everything for a few fleeting seconds. 

You were alone in the kitchen of the common room, leaning against the counter as you basked in the late morning sunshine of a Saturday, loving the way that the sunshine warmed up your skin. The rest of your class was either in their rooms, outside training, doing chores or studying, but you were taking your time and relaxing in the empty kitchen, the buzzes of working students in the background. Well it was empty until you heard a soft bang from the main entrance, a sluggish Shouto entering your vision. His hero suit was scuffed up, a few bruises painted his face, and his hair looked like it got chewed on, but his hetero chromatic eyes lit up seeing you. It was that small detail, among others, that always put a smile not only on your face but in your heart too.

Shouto groaned softly, walking over to you as you put your mug down and hugged you. You could feel his weight on you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and put his face in your neck. His early morning patrol was getting the best of him and he never craved wanting to be in your arms more. It was actually the fact that he thought about you during his shift that led him to be this beat up. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was about you that drew him so much to you, but he also couldn’t deny how good it felt to feel that way.

“Hey, hun” you chuckled softly, running your hand through his disheveled hair as your other hand rubbed his back up and down, feeling slightly ticklish as his warm breath grazed across your neck.

Shouto was always the clingiest whenever he was tired, and despite not liking him being beaten up like this, you loved the way that he acted towards you. Always craving your touch and not caring about his walls, saying all the things he loves about you. You both haven’t been dating for too long, around 5 months now, but it felt like you’ve both known each other for a lifetime.

You heard another groan vibrate against your neck, making you smile softly. You carefully picked his head out of your neck, your thumbs caressing his swollen cheeks. You stared into his eyes, the browns looking like autumn leaves and the blues looking like a clear frozen lake, there were just so beautiful to you, and despite Shouto never understanding why, he could never stop the blush that arose on his cheeks when you admired them.

You eyed the purple bruise on his cheek with a crease in your eyebrows before leaning forward and kissing it softly. You knew it wasn’t much and you should actually treat it properly, but you wanted an excuse to kiss his face. Shouto winced softly, but he wanted you to continue, he loved being spoilt with your love. You moved onto the next one above his eyebrow, kissing it with the same passion before kissing all of them, delicately brushing over them with your thumb afterwards.

Shouto kept his eyes on your face and the love that he saw through your expressions got him weak. He had never felt like this before but it felt so warm and felt like home to him. The way that you would look at his burn in awe and the way that you pressed your soft yet passionate kisses upon it, it got him weak in his knees. For the first time in forever, he knew that his heart didn’t only beat for him.

After you were done with your ‘healing’ session, you noticed the sombre expression on the boy; his lips in a small smile and his eyes at rest. You had never seen him so content and you could practically feel his love as he stared at you in awe.

“W-what happened, Sho?” you asked, stuttering as you blushed further under his gaze.

‘I’ve fallen inlove, is what happened’ he thought to himself. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he wanted to say it out loud, he wanted to scream it out for the world to know who had finally made him feel at peace.

Nothing was stopping him as he leaned in and shut your worries up with his lips. He didn’t notice it but you could feel him smiling against your lips, and your suspicions were right as you opened an eye for a second, seeing small dimples forming in the sides of his cheeks. You had never felt so much passion from him before, and it was rejuvenating, it just made your own love grow for him. Shouto couldn’t help himself as he kept leaving small pecks on your lips once you both separated from the first one. His kisses went hectic, moving from your lips to your cheeks, chin, eyebrows, forehead and eyelids. He couldn’t stop, his feathery touches making you giggle as he wrapped his arms around you. As far as you leaned back, he followed you, smiling as he kept peppering your faces with his love, addicted to the feeling. He loved this, he loved you, and he never wanted to stop.

“I.Love.You.Y/n” he said between kisses, not realising what he had just said until you asked him.

“What?” you chuckled softly, his lips missing yours as they instead landed on your teeth, but he didn’t care, he just needed to kiss you, to show you how much he loves you.

But he couldn’t let this opportunity to pass up. Deep down, he knew he always loved you, but he was nervous as to when the right time would be to say it. After a fancy dinner date? After a training session? After sex? It haunted his mind a few nights, and he never expected it to be on a late Saturday morning, but he didn’t mind it, as long as you were the one he was confessing his love to.

He panted softly after stopping his attack on your skin, leaning his forehead against yours. He stared into your eyes, e/c being his favourite for months now. He couldn’t phantom how much love they held for him and if it was anyone’s glare he would have to be under, it would be yours, because even if you were ever mad at him, you would never hurt him.

He smiled softly as he licked his lips, confessing his love yet again, “I love you, y/n.”

He finally felt so good after saying it, a certain weight on his shoulders lifted up. It have might be too early to think this, but he wanted to share his whole life with you. He wants you to be the one who holds him when he’s down, he wants you to be the one who makes fun of him, it wants all of it to be you and only you.

On the other hand, you were shocked. You expected love to be so intimidating, so overwhelming, something that you didn’t deserve and you never realised that it was the stoic boy that sat behind you everyday in class. You felt calm instead, even with your racing heart, and somehow, you knew you deserved this, it all felt..right. Shouto has always impressed you and at this rate he would never stop impressing you.

You knew you loved him too, and there was nothing else you were more confident in.

“I love you too, Shouto.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Once Again as in Olden Days

She’s absolutely freezing cold. 

It’s a dumb metaphor, one that only serves to make Emma even more pissed off than she already is. Because two hours ago it was summer. But a few more hours before that, she was also locked in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. And now she’s outside. With her kid. And a pirate that isn’t hers, explicitly, but keeps staring at her like he wouldn’t mind if he was. 

So maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe she’ll be able to get warm eventually. 

-----

Rating: A whole bunch of teen-type canon divergence.  Word Count: 6.4 K to fit in all the ridiculous Meet Me in St. Louis references AN: Back at it again with the Festive Fic Prompt A Thon and two anon prompts today: "you can put your cold feet on me." & "i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy." I started writing this as Lieutenant Duckling the other day, got a thousand words in, was like nah, then came back today and wrote nearly six and a half thousand words of 4x22 canon divergence with a frustrated Emma, enthusiastic Henry and deckhand!Hook who just wants to help. And listen to badly summarized movies. Anyway, they kiss. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-----

She can’t stop shivering. 

Every inhale comes with an almost automatic exhale that seems to wobble its way out of Emma, uneven and shaky and neither of those are good adjectives, but none of this has been good and the storm had come out of nowhere. 

She assumes it’s a last-ditch effort to steer them off course, and while he might not be exactly the same man, Killian Jones is still exceptionally good in a crisis. And on his ship. 

She hasn’t told him that the Jolly is his ship yet. 

So, really, she might be the world’s biggest coward. 

Mostly Emma is pissed off. 

Magic storms. In the middle of summer. 

Of course. 

Fuck this reality, honestly. 

She lets out another burst of air, and it’s cold enough now that she can see it linger in the space in front of her. Every inch of Emma feels frozen—muscles tense and skin raw from the shackles she is positive she can still feel and she’s starting to think in metaphors now, anger curling at the base of her spine and threatening to burst out the tips of her fingers, but that may also just be her magic and—

“Mom?” Henry mutters, snow clinging to the edge of his hair. She jumps approximately forty-seven feet in the air. 

It is admittedly a rough estimate. 

Henry’s teeth find his lower lip, far too familiar to be anything except vaguely jarring. Emma huffs, and she’s not sure where her lungs continue to find enough oxygen to keep doing this, pressing the heel of her hand into her cheek, like that will help ground her and her vaguely vertical emotions. 

“Yeah, kid?” He jerks his head behind him, lights Emma hadn’t noticed before glimmering in the not-so-far distance, and maybe this will be ok. At least passably acceptable. Possibly warm. God, she wants to get warm again. 

That’s another metaphor. 

Killian hasn’t said a single word since they anchored the Jolly. Emma hopes that isn’t because she’d teleported them off the Jolly. She was actually surprised she’d been able to do it, but Regina had always told her magic was about emotion and she’s been feeling nothing except emotion, every single thing she hasn’t said yet and wants to say and is hopeful she’ll eventually be courageous enough to actually say. 

She’s started biting her lip at some point too. 

“We could get inside,” Henry suggests, already backpedaling and Emma knows there’s not really another option. The ends of her gown are drenched. She doesn’t want Henry to be out in this snow much longer. 

She’s going to strangle Issac as soon as she sees him. 

And then Rumplestilskin. 

And then Isaac again, for good measure. 

“Maybe get some food,” Henry continues. “That’s how it always works in the stories, right? Roadside taverns and mead and—’ “—You are not getting mead,” Emma cuts in. 

Henry makes a distinctly teenage noise in the back of his throat, a bit of normal that Emma is going to think about for at least the next forty-five minutes if only because she can practically hear the nervous energy rolling off Killian. She wishes he would talk. She’s not sure what she’ll do if he does talk. 

“Alright,” Emma says, inhaling sharply. She’s desperately got to learn how to breathe. And control her magic. 

Killian flinches slightly. 

Henry widens his eyes. “Unless you guys want to break into some barn somewhere. Hay is warm and it’s not like we have any gold, do they use gold in the fake Enchanted Forest?” “No idea,” Emma shrugs. “I could probably just magic it, though. I think that’s possible and—” “—I have gold.”

She whips around so quickly she almost loses her balance, far more fabric around her ankles than she’s used to. Killian’s staring at his shoes by the time she straightens out her knees, lips tugged tightly behind his teeth and impossibly straight shoulders, more nerves and anxiety wafting off him. 

Emma resists the urge to reach her hand forward. 

They’ve got to get out of here. 

She needs to magic herself some new clothes too. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she whispers, but that only gets him to furrow his brows, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

Her magic flares, racing up her spine and taking root in the back of her brain and the center of her soul, which also seems impossibly melodramatic. Killian lifts his head. 

“What else am I going to use it on?” he reasons with a shrug, and Emma can’t help the sound that flies out of her. 

It’s not a laugh — there is absolutely nothing funny about any of this — but it’s not quite the sigh she expects, something closer to a scoff and a hint of disbelief and her hand moves. 

She absolutely cannot help it. 

Her fingers brush over his, a quick hitch of his arm, like he’s not sure if he should pull back or push her away and Emma rocks closer, ducking her head into a gaze that can’t seem to hold hers for more than five seconds. 

Those few strands of hair drifting over his forehead may be the death of her. 

“It’s a fair question,” Henry mumbles. He’s smiling. She can tell, hear it in his voice and Emma’s cheeks object to her own lip-type movement, but it’s still snowing and freezing cold and—

Seriously those strands of hair. 

“See,” Killian says, “the lad’s got some sense.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Seems to suggest that I don't.” He blushes. It’s absurd and wonderful and entirely awful. All at the same time. She has no idea how she’s going to sleep when her magic is roaring in her veins. 

“No, no, no, that’s not—” Killian stammers, and Henry doesn’t even try to mask his laugh that time. 

“No?” Emma prompts. Killian swallows. The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching and it’s another rush of passably familiar that Emma wants to hold onto with both hands. “No,” he echoes. “I—we have to get out of this storm.” “This is what I’m saying,” Henry groans. “So we’ll use Killian’s money and we’ll get some food and maybe some mead and—” “—Seriously, how is no mead confusing?” Emma asks, glancing over her shoulder. Henry sneers. Killian is back to being frustratingly silent. 

The color in his cheeks hasn’t disappeared. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with the snow. 

Seriously, the snow has to stop soon. 

“Let’s go,” Emma says. She claps a hand on Henry’s shoulder, trusting that Killian will follow them when they start to move and that’s not quite a metaphor, but it might be the basis of everything else and—

She’s right. 

She can hear the snow crunching under his boots behind her. 

The air is musty and tinged with what smells like a mix of sweat and ale as soon as Emma pushes the door to the inn open, biting back a groan while her stomach does its best to rise up in the back of her throat. 

There are people everywhere, crowded at clearly sticky tables and tucked into dark corners, a surplus of leather and more than a few flashes of steel, the telltale sound of dice rolling on a variety of wooden surfaces. Emma’s eyes scan the space, gaze falling on what looks like the world’s oldest bar and a bald man with a round face and a towel draped over his shoulder. 

She snaps her fingers. 

And the magic that twists across her own face isn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s warm, but it also makes it feel as if her skin is melting—like candle wax, shifting and reforming until her nose isn’t quite where it’s supposed to be, her eyes deep set and her forehead a bit wider. 

Her clothes have changed as well, gown replaced by breeches and boots that almost provide some warmth to her otherwise frozen toes, a vest and empty sword belt. 

She’ll have to fix that last part eventually, she’s sure. 

“Whoa,” Henry breathes. “Mom, that was so cool!” Emma can’t help the quick smile she gives him, a flash of pride that disappears almost as soon as her brand-new eyes land on Killian. 

He looks stunned. 

And maybe just a hint terrified. 

Of her. And her magic. 

The witch in the tower, indeed. 

“I’ll, uh—” she starts, but the words scratch at the inside of her throat like they’re not all that interested in being spoken. “I just figured it’d be best if no one saw me. I mean—do people even know what I look like?” “Lily did.” “Yeah, but she was a dragon.” “That we knocked out of the sky,” Henry reasons. “She’s probably got people to report back to. That’s how it always works in the—” “—Stories,” Emma finishes. Her stomach twists again, fear mixing with dread and those are kind of the same words. “We get a room. We eat. We get a few hours of sleep and then we get out of here. Got it?”

Henry nods once, and Emma doesn't bother glancing back at Killian. That’s not great. She’s not—

It doesn’t matter. 

This isn’t real. 

They’re getting out of here. She’s going to save all of them. 

And Killian isn’t freaked out by her magic at home. 

So. 

Emma stalks forward, twisting and turning between tables and half-drunk townsfolk, doing her best to breathe through her mouth while ignoring anyone’s curious gaze. It doesn’t matter. No one casts her a second glance, and it takes a few moments of pointed coughing to get the attention of the barkeep. 

He brings up the crazy weather at least six times. 

Emma keeps nodding. It leaves the muscles in her neck aching, fear tugging on the nerve-endings there because she’s not entirely convinced this is a good idea, but then it’s only a few more minutes for gold to exchange hands, Killian dropping a small pouch of clinking coins on the wood in front of them. 

The key to the one room they have left in this entire godforsaken place is cold in Emma’s hand. 

One room. 

Naturally. 

She might kick Isaac too. Several times. 

“C’mon,” Emma says, nudging at Henry’s back when his eyes widen at the sight of several foaming mugs of...something. “Right, left, kid and up the stairs.” He grumbles as he moves, and part of her is loathe to to be responsible in a moment like this. Part of her wants to down several tankards of ale and a few more rounds of mead, but Emma also isn’t entirely confident in how to mix Enchanted Forest alcohol and—

There are two beds in their one room. 

Naturally. 

Version two point oh. 

She sighs, running a suddenly exhausted hand over her face, which is only a little jarring because it’s not really her face. The string of curses that fall out of her is more than a little surprising, even to herself, but— “I forgot to get food,” Emma hisses, half to herself and half to this version of the world and Henry is already perched on the edge of one of the beds. 

There are only two beds. 

She’s going to scream. She’s trying very hard not to cry. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Killian says, soft enough that Emma barely ears him. Her magic is doing that thing again. 

So is his jaw. 

She’s got to stop staring at his jaw. It’s far too close to his lips. 

“You sure?” she asks. He lowers his eyebrows again, a quick jerk of his head that feels a little placating and a little hers, as if he’s amused every time she lets him do anything for her. 

And Henry. 

For them. 

Collectively. 

“Positive,” Killian promises. “I’m not sure it’ll be very good food, but—" “—We’ll live,” Emma interrupts. 

“Aye, I’m sure we will.” It’s not another promise. She knows. He knows. Henry knows. The goddamn barkeep probably knows. And yet. The words slink under Emma’s skin and find a rhythm with her pulse, a guarantee for a future that she’s only just started allowing herself to dream about. 

Idiot. 

“If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m going to come downstairs and do something vaguely threatening,” Emma says. 

Killian’s lips twitch. “I’ve no doubt.” “And there aren’t clocks in this realm,” Henry adds. He’s definitely still smiling. 

Killian nods again—although that one has a distinct air of confusion to it, which only serves to make Emma’s stomach do something else she doesn’t have time to think about and she’s honestly got to stop thinking such absurd things. Because then he’s sweeping back into the hall and his boots are heavy on the stairs and she doesn’t have to turn around to see the expectant look on her son’s face. 

She can feel it. Behind her eyelids. 

“So, uh—” Henry starts, but Emma waves both of her hands and she’s not all that surprised he ignored her. It’s a weird thing to be proud of. “He didn’t even argue, you know. When I found him.” Emma licks her lips. She shivers again. 

And Henry isn’t done. “I got rid of Black Beard and then he just...I mean, it’s not right. Anything here, and especially Killian because he’s—” “—Yeah, I know,” Emma whispers. 

“Still didn’t argue, though. He might not remember everything, Mom, but I know he’s—he still cares. About you. About us.” She hums, a noncommittal sound because her tongue appears to be taking up most of the real estate in her mouth and she’s still as much of a coward as advertised. Even more so than the man who’s not quite the man she—

Emma lets out a shuddering breath, stumbling back against the nearest wall. Her knees have started to wobble as well. 

And Henry doesn’t say anything else. 

She’ll thank him for that eventually. When they get home. Let him play video games for an extra hour or something. 

Maybe go sailing. 

She’d like to go sailing. 

She’d like—

The door swings open again, a tray of food in Killian’s hand and a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. As if he’s worried it’s wrong. 

Until. 

The warmth of something Emma resolutely refuses to name as soon as her gaze meets his is like falling back into blankets and some joke about the tides and a steady rhythm and his smile stretches, settling on his face like he’s just been waiting for her to make sure it lands there. 

Henry snorts. 

Whatever is in the bowls Killian is holding is steaming. 

“Not exactly dinner at the palace,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. Emma feels her eyes widen. “But it’ll at least keep the chill at bay and—” 

He jerks his chin down, a small pile of fabric Emma hadn’t noticed before tucked under his left arm. Blankets. 

Some of her muscles loosen. 

In a nice way. 

“Thank you,” she says, hoping she’s able to infuse as much emotion into two words as possible. Killian hums, another quick nod that isn’t quite as terrified or concerned and— “Can we eat?” Henry asks. 

Emma laughs softly, reaching out to grab bowls and blankets and the food isn’t great, but she’s fairly certain none of them have been poisoned. So, she’ll take what she can get at this point. 

And the whole thing is oddly comfortable—blankets strewn across the floor and Henry’s tugged his boots off at some point, recounting his defeat of Black Beard and Killian’s ability to sail through that storm, as if Emma weren’t there too, but she can’t bring herself to tell him to stop. 

Not when his voice picks up that way, excitement and adventure and he’s so sure they’re going to fix this. 

She’ll regret that later, she’s sure. 

Letting that hope linger. 

God, but she’s the most depressing person in any reality. 

Henry’s eyes start to flutter shut eventually, head lolling towards his shoulder and chin bumping against this chest and Emma makes to move, but then Killian’s mumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like I can do it and Emma’s far too busy making sure her heart doesn’t explode to object. 

It might explode anyway. 

She tugs her legs closer to her, resting her chin on her knees and eyes never leaving Killian as he hauls Henry up, moving him towards a bed with, she assumes, slightly scratchy sheets. Every shift of Killian’s arms is slow, almost calculated, like he’s holding something important and a word that’s bigger than that, but Emma’s having enough difficulty coming to terms with any of this that she can hardly be expected to care about syntax. 

It’s still snowing out. 

Henry doesn’t wake up when he rolls over, stuffing a hand under his pillow and twisting one leg across the mattress. 

Exactly the same way Emma sleeps. 

And exactly the way Killian has complained about Emma sleeping. Her mind jumps to memories — weeks of calm and seasonally-appropriate snow, tucked into a different bed with sheets that seemed to drape themselves over her skin and her soul and she’s clearly losing her grip on her sanity. It is, Killian frequently tells her, because Emma’s feet refuse to retain their natural heat. 

It makes him jump every time, a soft gasp that leaves her laughing and giggling just a bit and she’ll never admit to that second one, but he always knows and he’s always known and the tenses don’t matter.

Emma shudders, standing up abruptly and all but sprinting towards the window. 

The snow drifts look unnaturally large. If she didn’t know better, hadn’t spent the morning with sweat dripping down her back and hair plastered to her forehead, Emma would think it was Christmas. And if she didn’t know better, hadn’t watched a dragon try and burn her alive a few hours earlier, she would believe that she could be happy here. 

An Enchanted Forest princess with a son and a man who would go to the ends of the world for her, no matter what he believed or who he remembered and she’s started rocking her weight between her feet. There’s a certain rhythm to it, matching up to a song no one else in this realm has probably heard of from a movie Emma only barely remembers the plot of. 

Maybe she can do something about the snow in the morning as well, still emotional enough that her magic could probably move mountains and that may give up their position, but she’s not a battle strategist either or even a pirate and— “Are you alright ma’am?” It’s probably for the best that her heart has already exploded. Makes it less likely for it to shatter. Dramatically.

Emma doesn’t look behind her, can’t actually bring herself to move at the sound of Killian’s half-mumbled question and she can see his outline in the foggy glass anyway. He’s got his fingers in his hair. 

“Fine,” she bites out, and the lie tastes bitter on her tongue, threatens to scorch away all those other words hanging there. 

He hums, a step towards her. It’s not as cautious as it’s been in the few hours since he and Henry found her. She can’t believe it’s only been a few hours. 

Emma’s perception of time is entirely skewed — and not just because of the goddamn snow, some twisted winter wonderland that leaves her thinking of more possibility and decidedly misplaced wants and there are no goddamn clocks in this realm. She can remember everything and nothing, her real life and her life here, but that’s a generous descriptor for what’s felt like decades chained in a tower. 

She wonders how long it’s really been. 

She wonders if this Killian Jones has ever wanted the same things she does. 

“You may want to practice that a few more times,” he continues, and the floor creaks when he steps that time. “If you’d like me to believe it.”

Emma’s head nearly flies off its neck. “The cheek on you, Captain.” “I’m not a Captain.” “God, that’s so weird. It’s—do you have a sword?” “No.” “Shit. That’s—do you have enough gold for that? I mean...I don’t want to use your life savings or anything here.” The last thing she expects is him to laugh, so, naturally, that is exactly what happens. Killian throws his whole head back with the force of it, Henry mumbling at the noise, and Emma is not entirely prepared for that specific shade of blue. He’s smirking at her. The asshole. 

“None of this is mine,” Killian says, laughter clinging to the words even as he keeps inching closer to Emma. “Black Beard didn’t leave much of his horde on the ship—wanted to spread things around, you see, make sure no one would be able to rob him, but—” “—You’re a pirate?” Emma suggest. “Something like that.” “You’re blushing, though.”

“Aye, that too.”

Emma twists a strand of hair around her fingers, desperate for something to do with all the excess energy she’s suddenly bursting with. And the air around them isn’t quite tension-filled, but there’s a certain charge to it, an electric current that’s always been there. More jokes about tenses. 

“Were you singing just now?” Killian asks. The windows in that room have a distinct draft to them. 

“No.” “No?” “We’re going in circles,” Emma grumbles, and his mouth doesn’t change. She’s got to stop staring at his mouth. 

But it had taken everything in her not to throw her arms around him before, to push her own fingers into his hair and yank him forward, find some kind of steady something in the feel of his mouth against hers and the way he always seems to fall into her. Or the other way around. 

Seriously, syntax is not important right now.

It’s probably best she didn’t. 

Emma would not have been able to cope with it being different. 

“What was the tune?” Killian asks, voice almost steady, and Emma is greedy enough to want the conversation. If only because of the color of his eyes when he looks at her. 

“You wouldn’t know it.” “Try me.”

“No, honestly, it’s—” She has every intention of being stubborn. She does—walls that she can practically establishing themselves around her heart and her soul and it’s incredible that one person can be so consistently idiotic. 

He still cares. About you. About us. 

“When I was a kid,” Emma starts, sliding down the wall and pointing towards the space next to her. Killian sits. “I used to uh—well I never lived anywhere very long. And this time of year—” “Summer?” “Nah, winter. Well, this is fake, but—” “—The snow felt fairly real when it was falling on us. You were shivering quite a bit, ma’am.” “Noticed that, did you? And you’ve got to stop with this ma’am stuff.”

“Ma’am stuff,” he drawls. “God, of course you’d be able to tease me,” Emma grouses, but Killian’s staring at her expectantly. Almost as if he’s waiting for marching orders. That probably doesn’t happen on a boat. Ship. “I just—” “—The last thing I want to do is offend you.” The sincerity in the words rock through Emma, leaving her teeth digging into her lip again until she’s threatening to bite the stupid thing in half and Killian’s eyes flicker towards the movement, like he’s thinking about things too and— “I’m not exactly the most respectable person in the world,” Emma reasons. “A crazy witch with out of control magic.” “That’s not true.” “You didn’t know that until Henry found you.” “Aye,” he agrees. “But I—well, it was easy to believe him.” Her lungs have got to get a grip. 

Or, whatever. 

Work. She needs her lungs to work. 

“Thank you,” Emma breathes. That’s not the working she was hoping for. “I—well, I…thank you. For all of it. Dashing rescues—” “—Did you say dashing?” “If you don’t stop calling me ma’am, I’ll punch you in the face.”

Killian barks out a laugh, the sound leaving him almost looking like him and feeling like him and Emma’s fingers flutter on instinct. With magic. He clenches his jaw. “And, uh—what am I supposed to be calling a magical princess, then?”

“You’re trying to flatter me.” “Is it working?” “Maybe,” Emma admits. “More cheek, though.” “Aye, that’s—unexpected, I suppose. But so are you, Swan, it’s—” Killian cuts himself off, eyes bugging and the veins in his throat are obvious when he jerks back, staring at Emma like she will actually punch him. 

The magic in her vibrates. With want and desire and goddamn normal. 

“That works,” she says. 

He blushes again. He might not have ever stopped. “Has that happened before?” “Hmmm?” “The cold,” Killian says. His voice shifts again, sounding a bit farther away than it had, like he’s trying to place a memory or moment and Emma doesn’t want to hope again. It’s not the best thing to remember, anyway. “You were—we...I was…” “You were?” “Worried. Terrified, even. I can—there was ice or—” “—No, that’s right,” Emma interrupts. “It was a giant wall and it wasn’t really Elsa’s fault, but—” “—Should I know who Elsa is?” “Probably not.” He makes another noise, a slow nod that only serves to shift those pieces of hair clearly designed to ruin Emma’s whole life. “The song, then? It was inspired by the snow?” “No, I don’t—well, I don’t know, really, but the song is kind of depressing, honestly.” “Is it?” Emma nods, and her head is close enough to his that her chin nearly bumps his shoulder. She’d like to put her head on his shoulder. That may freak him out. 

It’s kind of freaking her out, admittedly. 

“I haven’t thought about that movie in forever,” Emma continues, “It was old when I used to watch it. A beat up VHS—” “—What is that?” She clicks her tongue, not sure how to explain now-redundant technology to a pirate who isn’t her pirate in a realm that does not have clocks. The whole thing makes her head hurt. And it’s just absurd enough to make her laugh a bit too. 

Killian’s eyes flash. 

“That’s not the important part,” Emma says. “And it’s not even really a Christmas movie. It’s, um—well, it’s about a family. In this place called St. Louis—” “—Is that in the Enchanted Forest?” “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a rather pitiful listener?” “You’re teasing.” Emma grins. “St. Louis is not in the Enchanted Forest. It’s a city. In the reality—shit that’s so weird to think about. You know what? That doesn’t matter either. The point is that there was a family and they lived there and then they were going to move. And Judy Garland was upset because the guy she loved—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. 

It feels like it’s weighing down on both of them anyway, more metaphors and passing similarities and she wants him to call her Swan at least forty-seven thousand times. 

“She didn’t want to leave this man, then?” Killian asks. “Judy Garland? Was she a princess as well?” Emma shakes her head. “No, but she did get to go to a ball. At Christmas. With a very red gown.” “Red?” “Yuh huh.” Killian swipes his tongue across the front of his teeth, that same thoughtful look Emma’s grown to memorize and maybe covet just a bit. It’s because it always ends with that pinch between his eyebrows. “So, John,” Emma adds, “That’s the guy that she loves. HIs name is John and he...he couldn’t get to the ball at first because he didn’t pick up his tuxedo. He was playing basketball.” “What a strange word.” “It’s a really strange game if you actually think about it, honestly. Henry’s more into soccer, though, so—we’re drifting from the point.” “Are we just?” “You’ll make me think you’re not enjoying my garbage storytelling, Killian.” The pinch disappears. 

At the same exact time his lips part. 

Seriously, his lips. 

“Does John eventually get to this ball?” 

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “Romance conquers all. He gets the tuxedo and they dance and it’s—well, Judy Garland wasn’t shy about being in love with him. She sang about it at the start of the movie, but everything kind of comes to light there and, um...when I was a kid, I always thought it was very pretty.” “The dancing?” “The whole thing. Happily ever after.” She can still see the tip of his tongue pressing into the side of his mouth — another tell for her Killian and this is her Killian, just with altered memories and ridiculous allusions to 1940s musicals and—

“What happened after the ball?” “John asked Judy Garland to marry him,” Emma says. Her voice cracks. It’s ridiculous. “She says, yes, of course, but they’re still leaving St. Louis and her sister is there and she’s beats up the snowmen.” “What?” “They’ve got the most ridiculous snowmen in the backyard and Tootie—” “—This child’s name is Tootie?” “I didn’t write the movie.” He chuckles, slumping a bit against the wall. His hand is very close to Emma’s. “And where does your tune factor in?” “Uh—before the snowmen, I think. Freshly engaged Judy Garland sings this song called Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. It’s...like I said, it’s kind of depressing if you listen to the words and—” “—What are the words?”

Emma has to swallow as soon as her brain processes that particular tone of voice. Because it’s not nervous. Or anxious. It’s vaguely hopeful and a little greedy as well, an overstep for a cowardly deckhand, but exactly what Killian Jones would do and Killian Jones would come back. 

With his tuxedo. 

Or leather jacket. 

As the case may be. 

“I’m not really a singer,” Emma mutters, ignoring whatever is fluttering in her stomach. Magic, maybe. Emotion, definitely. 

Killian nods, a quiet sound of agreement or acquiesce and that might be what changes everything. The easy way he’s looking at her, like explaining the plot of Meet Me In St. Louis is entirely normal and she can barely herself when she starts to sing under her breath. 

It’s decidedly off-pitch, Emma desperate to keep her voice low and her nerves in the pit of her stomach, but Killian doesn’t blink and she shakes slightly when she reaches— “Until then we’ll just have to muddle through somehow.” She blinks, sudden tears on her cheeks that are a misplaced sense of warmth and she hates that she’s crying. She hates that she’s feeling, wisps of hope and shards of her own want and Emma can’t imagine there’s even something like Christmas in the Enchanted Forest. 

And she’s just about to apologize for it—for being anything except the Savior everyone always expects her to be, but then there’s a crack and a shift and her magic practically rumbles out of her chest and— Killian’s thumb brushes across her cheek. 

“Can you—” he stutters, color rising again and tinging the tips of his ears. “The mask. It’s—can you get rid of it?” She’s going to eventually run out of air to dramatically exhale, Emma is sure. 

In the moment, though, she’s got just enough, body surging forward as soon as the thought clicks into place and he wasn’t scared of the magic. 

He wasn’t scared of her. 

“I’d like to see you,” Killian adds, “If that’s—” Emma blinks, nose barley settling back to its appropriate place before she’s leaning forward and that same nose is pressed against Killian’s cheek. He doesn’t kiss exactly the same. 

It's not as horrible as she thought it would be. 

It’s softer now—still a little cautious optimism that’s almost as weird as the rules of basketball, and it takes a moment for him to tilt his head, a quick flicker of his tongue that leaves Emma reeling just a bit. That’s all it really takes, then. She lets her fingers fly into his hair, barely any space between them when she clamors closer, knees bumping his side and his hook finding the small of her back. 

Like always. 

She twists and he tilts his head and it’s not quite hungry, but there’s something about it that’s almost like a low simmer, steady and even and normal. It’s absolutely, totally normal. 

She’s not sure how long they stay there, making out like teenagers on the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Emma is at least ninety-six percent positive she’s just become Killian Jones’ first kiss and the thought leaves her a little dizzy and even more breathless than normal, goosebumps exploding on her skin that don’t have anything to do with the temperature. 

“What happens to them?” Killian asks, pressing the question to the corner of Emma’s mouth. “John and Judy?” “Her name is Esther in the movie.” “Another strange moniker.” She laughs— giggles —and it’s easy to feel Killian’s answering smile against her jaw. “Well, they’re engaged when it ends, and it never really says they get married, but I’d imagine they do after the fair.” “The fair?” “That’s a whole other plot point we don’t have time to go into. It’s—c’mon, we should probably get some sleep.” The smile is gone. “You should sleep, Swan. I can take the watch.” “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” “Someone should be awake, this isn’t the safest place.” Emma waves her hand, lock clicking into place and it’s probably wrong to take some perverse pleasure in Killian’s stunned expression. Or the position of his tongue. “Impressive.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” “You should at least take the bed, love.”

If he realizes he’s switched endearments, he doesn’t show it, but Emma does — and so does her magic. It roars and soars and some other word that is slightly less positive because the thought of not falling asleep next to him is suddenly the single worst thing she could come up with and—

“There’s enough space,” she reasons. 

Killian wavers for a moment, more than a few quick breaths through gritted teeth. Emma takes her boots off. 

And climbs into the bed. “The sheets suck though,” she says, and it gets the desired laugh out of him. He probably doesn’t understand the idiom. 

It doesn’t matter. 

He follows her anyway — and that’s a multi-fold thing and maybe they’ll be able to find a copy of Meet Me In St. Louis at home. Maybe she can get another red gown. 

Maybe they can— “Bloody hell how are your feet so cold?” Emma buries her face in the pillow to mask her laugh, body shaking despite her best efforts. Killian looks scandalized. 

“Bad circulation, I guess,” Emma reasons. 

“You’ll get frostbite like that, love. That can’t be healthy, I—what?” “Nothing, nothing, just...I’m sorry about my cold feet.”

He narrows his eyes, looking for the double meaning to those words and he’s always been very perceptive. So. It doesn’t take long for him to understand. “It’s alright,” he says. “Here, c’mere. You can...I’m warm, at least.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It takes some twisting to get comfortable, but that’s really more the sheets than anything and Emma’s head manages to find its way to Killian’s chest, an arm around her middle and lips grazing her hair and— “Swan. Swan, c’mon—Emma, love, we’ve got to get up.”

She grumbles, pressing her face further into the fabric under her cheek, but that fabric is also moving and the man wearing it is breathing and laughing in her ear and it takes Emma a moment to get her bearings. 

There’s light streaming in through gauzy curtains, a soft roar coming from behind the closed door of her bedroom. No, that’s not right.

Their bedroom. 

In their house. 

With their family. 

It’s—

“Merry Christmas, love,” Killian says. 

Emma jerks her head up, reality rushing back to her and she’d been dreaming. Of a different reality and a past that had been fixed years before. It’s been years. 

What sounds like several different crashes sound from, what she can only imagine, is the general vicinity of the kitchen. 

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbles. Killian ducks his head, catches her lips with hers and he laughs again when she objects to his movement. “No, no, you’re comfortable.”

“And warm, I know. But—” He winces at another crash. “I believe the little sea monster is awake and likely determined to open the the rather alarming large mountain of presents she’s been presented with. Also, your parents will be here soon.” Emma nods, a schedule flitting through her brain that includes breakfast and lunch and dinner that will end with—

“I expect your dance card to be filled tonight, your highness,” Killian adds. He nips at her nose when Emma doesn’t answer immediately, a knowing flash in his gaze and it had been her mother’s idea. 

A ball. 

At Christmas. 

Emma is almost unreasonably excited. If only because those few strands of hair that still fall across Killian’s forehead have started to take on a distinct silver edge and she can’t really think when she notices it. 

She’s anticipating a good deal of making out. In dark corners. 

And dancing. 

“Aye, Captain.”

The flash gets noticeably darker, another kiss they don’t have time for, but that’s also kind of their thing and—

Crash. Several. In quick succession. 

“She might have knocked the tree over,” Emma mutters. “I’ll go and assess damage. Make sure you put socks on, love. It’s probably cold downstairs.” Emma salutes—in tandem with her flipping stomach. 

And the kitchen isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be, a living room eventually covered in wrapping paper and laughter hanging in the air and Emma lets her mother pin her hair up later. 

The gold matches the red in her gown. 

And the red on Killian’s cheeks as soon as he sees her, one side of mouth tugging up and that same flash—disarmingly familiar and consistent, no matter the realm or the years or the curses they’ve lived through because—

He takes a step forward, a quick bend of his head and lips brushing her knuckles. 

Emma’s magic flutters. 

He lifts his eyebrows. 

“Your highness, ma’am.” “Captain.” “It’s a very good color.” “No problems with the tuxedo?” Killian shakes his head “I don’t know how to play basketball.”

She can’t help the size of her smile or the force of her magic, memories he probably shouldn’t remember, but they’ve watched the movie enough that he could probably sing the songs by heart now. And he does, humming soft melodies in Emma’s ear all night until she’s dangerously close to swooning. 

In a slightly darkened corner. 

With her husband’s mouth on hers and his hook pressed to the small of her back and happily ever after playing out around them. 

[the-durin-boys]

Mushrooms..? -- Thorin x Reader

Howdy yall I hope you like this I got this idea when I was falling asleep and u know those dreams where ur like half awake and half asleep? It was like that, and I was dreaming about this. So I got up and wrote it. 

Enjoy!

--- The morning hunt was not as successful as it could have been, Fili and Kili only bringing back two small rabbits that would, in no way, feed fifteen people. Everyone was, of course, disappointed and hungry, but all had the better mind to not complain. 

So not the best start to your day. You knew that when you signed that contract that you would be going on an adventure where the next place that you sleep, eat, and drink, would not be known or assured, so of course you knew that there would be some days where there would be little to no food. You aren’t an idiot. 

But by the gods. This. This is just awful. Just a truly awful experience.

The day before the company of Thorin Oakenshield had been run down and then chased through a field full of hidden rocks and roots, the hunters being a pack of Orcs (again). This forced the company into hiding, without a fire, and without movement for several hours. By the time the Orc pack had left, it was far too late into the night to actually go out and successfully and safely hunt for dinner. Thorin forbid the use of a fire that night, so everyone went to sleep tired, cold, and hungry, hoping that the dawn of tomorrow would bring about food and peaceful travel. And as you can see, that is not how things went down. 

Balin rationalized the lack of game in the forest to the forest just being run dry by other hunters and hungry folk. So the day started off less than lackluster, and as the company slowly and hungirly packs up their bags, the Master Burglar, Bilbo Baggins, has an idea. 

“We could go foraging. For food that is.” He pauses and looks around the lightly wooded area that the company hid in. Bilbo’s hands are at his hips as he quickly surveys the trees. “There might be some edible mushrooms and possibly some berries that might make up for a lack of breakfast.” Thorin steps forward, a stern look on his face but a gleam in his eye. 

“Well why didn’t you speak up earlier?” Thorin’s shadow all but hides the poor hobbit, who can do nothing but squeak until Bofur claps a friendly hand on his shoulder. 

“Ah, he’s only jokin’ with ya, Bilbo! Now, what were you sayin’ about those mushrooms?” 

--

It doesn’t take long for a small pack of dwarves to form, and then they’re off, being led into the forest by Bilbo. Left behind in the camp are you (you have no idea what mushrooms are good, bad, and drugs), Ori, Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. You kept yourself busy, puttering around the little camp, mending clothing that needed it, filling up water sacks, the like. You always did little things like this, and thus, quickly became cherished by those around you. It had gotten to such a state where the others would actually jump on your chores, and help you out. A few even asked if they could do anything for you. You politely declined, saying that you enjoyed the work, and that you are grateful for something to keep you busy, as you never liked to dottle. 

“Thorin.” You approach the king who sits smoking his pipe. Thorin quirks an eyebrow up at your funny little mannerisms and sees a small, folded stack of (just washed, your friends are considerate of you.) clothes. “You have anything that needs mending?” The lilt of your tongue always surprised him, he doesn’t know why. There’s nothing too odd or off about the way that you speak, or the grammar that you use, and maybe it’s just because Thorin’s used to hearing the gruff sounds of words being pushed past bearded lips. That’s not to say that he is complaining, no, it’s far from that. Each time you spoke Thorin could feel himself being drawn towards you, and he just wanted to sit and listen to you talk. The feelings that Thorin feels aren’t absolutely unknown, just old and dusty from not having been used in many a year. You blink down at Thorin who only just notices that he’s being staring at your lips a little bit too long, with Dwalin trying to hide his laughter behind a gulp of water. 

“Ah, no. Thank you, (Y/N).” Thorin then busies himself with smoking his pipe, and looking at the grain of the wood which suddenly got very interesting. You purse your lips and look down at Thorin, but elect to say nothing to the slight quiver of his voice, and choose to turn to Dwalin. 

“Have anything for me, Dwalin?” Dwalin rests his hand on his back, and gives you a smile. 

“All good here, lassie.” You return his smile and move to a shaded spot under a little tree, leaving Thorin and Dwalin to talk. “So. Thorin.” Thorin takes in a deep breath and promptly sputters on the smoke. Dwalin snorts at watching his King and friend get flustered like a dwarfling over the kindest of the Company. 

“Leave it, Dwalin.” The sternness that Thorin was going for gets lost in translation as he chokes on another lungful of smoke, twice now. In one day. More in one day than in an entire year. Dwalin chuckles to himself but leaves the subject be. 

--

In the forest, the rest of the dwarves and Bilbo have successfully managed to fill several sacks with wild mushrooms of all assortments. Several times throughout the little field trip Bilbo was questioned about the different types of mushrooms, giving a variety of different lessons on the types of wild mushrooms (he thought that the dwarves would have known a bit more about forest living, but that’s quite alright.), and gave many reassurances that the mushrooms that they were going to eat would not in any way get them stone, killed, or in any other way affect their health. As the group not-so-stealthily makes their way back to camp, the air seems to lift and the thought of hunger is soon to be forgotten.  

--

The boisterous noise of the small group alerted the attention of you and the others at camp, and soon, you were up with everyone else to help distribute whatever findings they had. 

There was a long debate on how the mushrooms should be cooked - and if at all. The argument was that there would have to be a fire and that there would be no point in cooking them as it would only take up time, energy, and resources. On the other hand, the mushrooms should be cooked because it would be easier to digest and would bring out the flavor of the mushrooms, and that would be a pleasant change from the tasteless water soups and dried meats that everyone had grown accustomed to. Bilbo eventually settled the debate by saying that it would probably be best to eat them raw as while it was safe to ingest, the fumes would not be too safe to inhale. 

Each portion was dished out equally and the company sat and ate the mushrooms, thankful that they had something to fill their empty bellies, though something…..odd, started to happen. Only to you, apparently. About ten minutes after you finished your portion of mushrooms, all of the colors seemed...brighter? Your body adopts this new sense of freedom, like there’s helium being pumped through your veins and it’s lifting you off the ground. You feel the days, and the yesterdays, stresses melt off of you and you giggle. Just a little giggle. A few more minutes pass and the textures of the things around you start to shift and move, and for some reason, this sends you into a fit of side-peeling laughter, and in turn, this gets the attention of literally everyone in a forty mile vicinity. 

“What’s so funny lassie?” Bofur, your best friend through this whole thing, asks, eyebrow quirked and smile on his face. 

“I don’t even know! I-” Your face pales very quickly and you almost dry heave, clapping a hand over your mouth in an instant. The rest of the company, who was watching this entire ordeal, jumps to their feet at your sudden deterioration in health. Thorin is by your side in a flash, quickly pulling your hair out of your face as Bofur turns you so that you vomit into the grassy underbrush of the forest, gagging up the little meal that you had. All Thorin could do was gently rub your back and hold your hair while you topple forward, spinning where you sat. Thorin doesn’t know when Oin arrived, but he lets him take over and do his job, whilst he moves aside to watch. 

--

Oin had eventually declared that the mushrooms were the things that had this effect on you, but “not anyone else, which is as strange as it is fascinating!”, and it had been ruled that these mushrooms had a similar effect that one of his medicines had, and he had stated that while these mushrooms had no effect on anyone else, the makeup of the human body made it so it was more like a drug than a food, and that you had simply had too much and needed to let your system calm down and clear out, which would only take about twenty to thirty minutes for the initial high, and from there, he isn’t as sure. 

Fili, Kili, and Bilbo have tasked themselves with watching you and keeping you company. Bilbo does so because he feels at fault for this situation, even though he has been assured many a time that it was not his fault that you reacted differently. Fili and Kili stayed because the way you laugh at nothing is probably the most amusing thing they have seen in a long time. Bilbo eventually moved away, taking up the stitching that you were doing to make up for what had happened. 

You had been quiet for a few minutes, staring pensively off into the distance, eyes wide and full of an unknown knowledge, something that would probably be lost as soon as your high was gone. Fili and Kili continue to jest and joke, but stop abruptly when they here you sniffle. 

“Hey hey hey hey, (Y/N). What’s wrong?” Fili asks scooting a bit closer to you. Fili doesn’t know what he did or what set you off, but as soon as he said those words, fat hot tears burst and roll down your cheeks as you start to sob. Thorin, who was walking nearby, quickly walks over and stands above his nephews. 

"What did you do?" Fili and kili look panicked. 

"We didn't do anything!" Fili cries. "She just started to cry!" Kili is just as baffled as his brother, frozen and unsure as what should be done. Thorin sighs and crouches down next to you, gently taking your hands in his. 

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" You don't look at Thorin. "(Y/N)?" Thorin tries again by gently turning your chin with his thumb and forefinger. You blink up at him with big watery eyes and Thorin can only ignore the pang in his heart. "What's wrong?" You sniffle and more tears well up in your eyes. 

"It's not fair!" Thorin's voice is smooth and gentle, unlike anything Fili and Kili have ever heard before as they stand and move away from their uncle and friend. 

"What's not fair?" You almost start to wail, and Thorin moves a bit closer, his temple braids brushing your hands.

"You have SUCH pretty hair!” Thorin freezes but you continue. “And I can't touch it and I can't play with it and I can’t even say anything about it.." your voice breaks and your lip quivers. Thorin almost laughs but manages to keep himself composed. 

"Really? You think my hair is pretty?" You grip Thorin's hands in your own and lean forward.

"Very." Your expression is dead serious for only a minute before a wide smile spreads across your face and you laugh, letting your head drop into Thorin's shoulder. "I'm feeling' tired." Thorin doesn't even try to stop the smile from spreading across his face. 

"Then I guess you best be off to bed then, huh?" 

"I guess.." you hum into his coat, letting Thorin gently pull you off of him, but your already fast asleep in Thorin's arms, leaving a very happy Thorin, and a very confused company, behind.

--

Word count: 2,092

I hope you enjoyed reading! If you want to see something specific or see a certain pairing, feel free to make requests!

Love and best to all,

-ya gorl

[artificialqueens]

Once Upon A Time (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: Hey lovely people!So I’ve been working on this lovely songfic for the past 3 months and it’s finally here. A big thank you to my two wonderfull betas, Charlotte and Mags. Without them this fic wouldn’t exist. Thank you Charlotte for cleaning up the mess in my mind and always believing me. Thank you Mags for cleaning up the mess of a fic and bringing the best out of me and this fic. I couldn’t have done this without you (and without everyone on the AQ discord).

The song I used is “Once Upon A Time” from Bare A Pop Opera Have fun crying your eyes out to this one :)

Please tell me what you think! Hope you love it as much as I do - can i say that? - idk but i will. Enjoy my loves!

TW: Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks

Wordcount: 14693

Once upon a time

I first held your hand

Vanessa meets the ice-cold beauty on a very unspectacular day. The rain is pouring outside of the dust covered windows of a dance studio in the suburbs of Los Angeles as a steady rhythm makes the walls cave in, free spirits throwing up their hearts on the dance floor. Crimson painted lips let out a small laugh as she carefully studies all of her students, realizing that they are as annoying as always, way too loud-mouthed, and full of adrenaline - just like their teacher. Vanessa introduced a new choreography that day, hoping to share her passion with the youngest of her students, daring them to be as bold and creative as their young minds allow them to be. The kids twirl around on the wooden floor, each beat erupting in a new movement. Flashy grins fill the room as students let their fantasies unwind. Children swirling through the air, swinging their brightly painted wings, dancing to the rhythm of their souls, rather than to the one playing from the loudspeakers. A sly smirk appears on her lips as she looks over her newest work of art, full of pride. 

With a small clap and a ‘Mary, we are finished for today’, the class ends, students erupting into heartfelt laughter and chatter. Within seconds the dance room starts to lose its character, as student after student leaves through the wooden doorway. Scanning the room, Vanessa slowly gathers her bag stained with red paint. She’s mentally planning out her well deserved weekend - full of “The Notebook” retwaches and banging parties in between - when she spots one of her students, Plastique, hovering in the hallway. 

Before she can even tease Plastique for having a staring contest with the floor, Vanessa catches the sight of her - a glowing beauty entering the hall with a head held high. Her perfectly sleek ponytail swinging with every step, sending a shiver down the woman’s spine. Tongue tied and wide-eyed, she stares as the blonde strolls towards her youngest student. With broad shoulders straightened in a regal poise, she seems to be walking on air, as a reserved smile appears on her otherwise indifferent face. Curious feet carry the brunette towards the stranger, before she can even sort out her spinning thoughts. Her pulse quickens, and she silently prays for her heart not to fall out from her chest - a hot flush rushes through her body as she catches the beauty staring back. 

With a slight cough, she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, Plastique’s dance teacher,” She hesitates a little before continuing, “but my students call me Vanjie”. 

The blonde looks her up and down, raising a brow as she extends her hand. Another shiver, much more intense than before, goes through Vanessa’s being as her doe eyes meet grey thunderstorms. Vanjie shakes her hand after catching herself staring at her counterpart in awe for an embarrassingly long time, praying for the blonde not to notice her already sweating palms.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. I’m here to pick up my goddaughter,” she replies in a steady voice, lips curved into a smirk. Her fingers linger on Vannessa’s tanned skin for a second too long, causing the other woman’s breath to hitch in her throat. 

And love was not a crime

Ground beans and freshly baked pies sweeten the air. Two pairs of hands wrapped around steaming mugs and two toothy grins. Shy doe eyes with fluttering lashes flirt in silence. 

The two women have made it a habit of meeting up on Fridays, after Vanessa’s classes ended, get a coffee or two and let go of all the pent up annoyance from the week. Heated rambles and soothing advice fill the air between them, creating a bubble for just the two of them. Even silence was cozy with the other by their side, simply appreciating each other’s presence, feeling their own hearts warming up with every meeting. Neither of them initially expected a lasting bond, and yet, the moment Brooke sat down next to Vanessa, she could feel a bouquet of flowers blooming in her soul, her body buzzing, full of warmth and gratefulness. The shorter girl never felt less judged, more treasured and more safe than with Brooke Lynn by her side. And slowly but surely, the ice queen accepted the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her company, even began to look forward to her weekly meetups with the loud Puerto Rican. 

Brooke smiles around the rim of her cup as Vanessa rambles about her equally loud roommate falling for another “street-rat”. Her hands fumble in the air, grand gestures accompanying her captivating story. Laughter fills their little bubble, breathing life into two equally exhausted souls. Yet every time the Latina fixates on those stormy eyes, her heart shakes, bends and inflates like a big balloon, as it keeps growing fond of the woman by her side, tripping over words while Brooke’s smile widens. A slight flush on Vanessa’s cheeks always follows, rose petals replacing the blood cells in her veins - painting her cheeks a pretty shade of red.

“Hoe, that can’t be true!” Vanessa screeches, trying to lower her voice after receiving disapproving looks from the elderly visitors of the small cafe, long-drained cups discarded on the otherwise empty table, both forgetting the meaning of time.

“No, I’m telling you, I just never had the time to date. Never found the man of my dreams… but you know, he is probably busy shagging some other woman.” Brooke lets out a nervous giggle as a heavy lump clogs up her throat, regretting having shared this with Vanessa. 

She has known the other woman for quite some time now, but was it soon enough to let her see all of her insecurities? Silence falls between them as Brooke desperately tries to avoid the all too familiar doe eyes directly in front of her, dread filling up her lungs, slowly replacing the air around her as she exhales heavily. Her eyes flicker across the café, trying to find something, anything, to take the edge off.

“Have you ever thought about, you know…” Vanessa softens her voice, a slight frown appearing between her brows as she weighs up how to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue. 

“Is everything alright, can I get you guys anything? Two more coffees perhaps?” Vanessa is cut off by a waitress with a beaming smile and an awful sense of timing. 

“No, thank you, but we would like the cheque please?” Brooke flashes the tiny Latina an unsure smile while the waitress leaves the two of them to sit in silence, Vanessa’s unfinished question hanging in the air.

The brunette carefully observes the woman right in front of her, waiting for a reaction as she twirls her caramel brown hair around her finger. With a single cough, she mentally prepares to revoice the question, but before Vanessa gets a chance, the waitress returns with their cheque. With a deep sigh the brunette sits back in her cream coloured chair and crosses her arms, accepting defeat.

Brooke hands the waitress a five dollar bill with a small “Thank you”, before grabbing her belongings. Vanessa mirrors the blonde’s action as she swallows her way too curious inquiry. Brooke, polite as always, holds the café’s bright pink door open for her, before waving goodbye to the lovely owner, a new found friend of theirs.

“Would you mind going for a walk to the park with me? I’ve still got some time left before I need to be home…” Brooke trails off, playing with one of her earrings, trying not to look directly at the brunette. 

“I would love to.” Vanessa grins and joins the blonde’s side, her initial question long forgotten. A light flush covers the Canadian’s cheeks, brightly lit eyes watch the little powerhouse next to her bounce across the crosswalk.

They walk together, sparks flying through the chilly air as nervous hands brush against each other, while Brooke realizes that she’s found herself weirdly drawn to the brunette with big sparkly eyes. She observes the ball of joy skipping next to her, brash words and deep laughter resounds between the trees.

A bright smile is plastered on the shorter woman’s face as she rambles about everything and nothing at the same time, pointing out odd looking shapes of roots and tumbling ducklings along the way. Every time Brooke looks at Vanessa, something undefinable pulls at her heart. A thin string of hope connecting two lonely souls; a warm feeling gradually replaces Brooke’s otherwise cold interior, slowly melting the thick ice built up around what some would consider to be her heart. With every shallow breath, it begins to beat a bit faster, and her cheeks start to burn whenever the girl lays eyes on her. It’s that moment when an unholy seed is planted in her chest.

A silent ache in her being, one that barely scratches her lungs, but leaves her breathless for a second, catches her off guard. Vanessa’s vibrant laugh and intoxicating smile makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She’s never felt like this before, so used to always keeping people at an arm length - valuing her freedom and her ability not to depend on anyone with her own happiness. As the realization hits her, she is afraid of what it might mean. No, it couldn’t… No, she would never. She slowly shakes off her spiralling thoughts, accepting this all must be an overreaction, simply knowing that her parents taught her better than this, never considers that the mind has its own ways.

The night sky darkens around the two familiar figures as they fall into comfortable silence. Each enjoying the quietness of nature that surrounds them, each mind spiralling on its own accord. With every step Vanessa takes, her heart pumps the blood in her tiny body a little faster, red like rose petals, flooding every inch of her being after weeks of accumulation. Her eyes carefully follow every move the other woman makes, admiring her simple elegance. Craving her closeness. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” she states, innocently.

“We’re in the city, Nessa, the stars are hardly visible,” Brooke lets out a mocking huff.

A memory illuminates her spiraling thoughts - the Canadian and the Latina giggling on a hilltop out of the city, dancing along to the music in their hearts, drenched in the moonlight - gone within an instant, passing by like a shooting star. 

“I’ve meant the ones I can see sparklin’ in your eyes.” A sheepish smile appears on Vanessa’s lips as the scratches the back of her neck.

“You say this to all of your friends?” She jokes back, because friends is what Brooke needs them to be. She comes to a halt in front of her apartment complex, a slight frown gracing her forehead. Just friends.

“No,” a breathy whisper, barely a tease - a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Just you.”

In a private world where

You said don’t look down?

The static hum of a TV in the background and smooth olive fingertips on her hips. A deep sigh escapes her cherry-kissed lips as she closes her eyes and frantically tries to catch her breath. Fists desperately gripping cotton pillows, a tightened chest denying sweet oxygen to enter her burning lungs, as soft wet kisses are planted across her neck. A little Puerto Rican goddess seated in her lap, lavishing every inch of her silky skin with adoring attention. Groans fill the heavy air as unspoken words swirl around the intertwined bodies. Hands grasping at virgin skin, marking their desire on every inch they can reach, as one particular lost soul shuts her eyes from reality. Colourful constellations imprint on holy skin. Rose-stained fingernails scratch lines onto a willing lover.

With each feather-light touch and each tug of skin, Brooke fights her overwhelming fear of the unrighteous scene in front of her eyes. Clinging to the darkness around her shameful being, only allowing her skin to sin. Scared of a person she doesn’t recognize, a lover she never dared to have. Yet deep down she knows, she just needs to see. Needs to take in all of the lust, all of the passion. Watch eager lips on a silent frame, roses growing on her skin. Every movement with so much care and precision, revoking needy sounds from her gaping mouth, godly sounds that were only reserved for the Latina beauty. Brooke couldn’t keep her hands from caressing Vanessa’s body, eyeing her every reaction, careful not to get pricked by her thorns. Staring at blown out pupils, getting lost in swirly brown eyes full of lust and adoration. 

Her fingers flinch as Vanessa’s lips pucker at her touch, deep red blood adornishing the ice queen’s fingertips. Sickly sweet thorns piercing through white skin, staining it with deep rooted promises. It’s the exact moment Brooke vows her long lost soul to let go. With a deep breath, she buries her mauve nails in the brunette’s hair and pulls her mouth to her trembling figure. 

Desperate teeth on bruised skin, painting reminders of losing control. Arching backs releasing unspoken words, speaking their own language. Demanding fingers chasing her own release, as she forces her mind to simply forget. 

‘God loves you, Brooke, you can do this for him’

A sting in her heart, another breath caught in her throat. Tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to escape the biblical quotes imprinted in her mind. Casting off all her consciousness, desperately following her primal urge. With one last trembling breath, she grounds her body onto the squirming and willing brunette underneath her, and just let’s go.

But then I did and now you’re lost above me

It’s when the first sun rays fall through the curtains that Brooke’s guilt-stained memories begin to eat her alive. Her shaken heart stumbles as frightened eyes take in the blooming mess right in front of her. Sickly sweet hands closed around her throat, heavy feathers buzzing in her bones. A silent sob escapes her bruised lips, sin-stained fingers grasping at her exposed figure. Cyan waves crashing at the shore, drowning her frame. Tightly hugging what it is left of her dignity. Vanessa is still sound asleep to her right, unaware of the hurricane breaking lose. The blonde’s ice-cold heart weighs heavy in her chest as realization begins to settle within her mind. ‘What have I done?’ Like she had been visited by the Devil herself, she dashes out of the bed. Desperately scrambling for every item of clothing she can find, shaky fingers attempt to clothe her bare soul. She spins around one last time, fearing every next step she will have to take. With one last forbidden kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, she is gone. Only leaving dried up rose petals behind.

So much left to say

Trapped alone here 

With my best-laid plans astray

Months pass and Brooke Lynn still finds reminders of her favourite mistake imprinted on her soul. She desperately attempts to wash off every sign of their shared night. Scratched skin and thrown up thoughts, as she prays to the showerhead to cleanse her from her sins. Silent sobs, red stained porcelain skin - results of attempts to scrub away every memory until rotted rose petals cover the ground her shaking figure stands on. A silent scream stumbles from her forever blemished lips as her head hits the bathroom floor.

Night after night, the snow queen kisses bearded men who grip roughly at her hips and push her against walls in dark alleys with even darker passion, bruised constellations forming on her skin. She desperately tries to choke the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind with the aftershave she chases like oxygen. Lies spill so easily from a burned throat as she attempts to dry out the seed of doubt in her soul. Every kiss just a rehearsed act, the flick of a tongue, a silent moan. Only the most convincing actors play the part. She tries to learn a foreign language, staging a new scene each day - attempts to let them guide her to a hidden piece of heaven on this Earth, praying to find forgiveness in each kiss. Yet they never teach her how to forget dried up rose petals and the taste of her name.

Vanessa spends days filled with loneliness, mourning the past. Months of coffee dates, moonlight dancing and late night shopping - all turned into stone. Maybe she had misunderstood the hints, misinterpreted the signals. Fire and ice alive just for a single moment in time. Vanessa regrets never pouring out her smitten heart to Brooke. The roses and daisies, lavender and berries, all fading away in her chest. Maybe they were simply destined to be friends all along and Vanessa had just messed up, letting the burning fire in her get the best of her. Because the lonely Latina indeed craved her, craved all of her. With every touch and every glance, the flowery garden of affection in her soul grew. She wanted to break Brooke’s icy walls, melt away all the pain and let her come undone. Get down to the nitty-gritty of her soul, exposing her to a force unknown. Yet she only got to admire her personal hurricane up close once, before Brooke took away everything she had left to give. Because loving her is a losing game. Just a small-town girl in a big arcade, addicted to a losing game.

So she throws herself into work and parties too much - all while attempting to dampen the fire in her soul, even though tequila only fuels the red flame instead of bringing it down to a simmering heat. Vanessa loses her heart on the dance floor, grounding her body, rubbing her burning soul onto every tall blonde that catches her eye. Playfully, she whispers sweet nothings to willing partners, gives away every inch of herself, desperately awaiting a revelation, a savior. And after all her drunk shenanigans, she closes her eyes and can still feel Brooke’s mauve painted nails scratching every inch of her. Imagining softly painted lips bruising her up, instead of chapped kisses barely grazing her skin, is her saving grace. Equally intoxicated lovers never tug on her hair like the ice queen did, don’t imprint their desire for the Latina on her body so artistically like the other woman. No one gives her the pleasure she craves like a drowning human craves oxygen - the deeply satisfying ecstasy the blonde gave her. And no one, simply no one, touches her heart like Brooke Lynn. 

Standing scared outside a cold church

Soul search, seeking some lost answer

From a God who loves me

Brooke Lynn goes up North again, visits her family and old friends. Taking a well deserved vacation - at least that’s what she told her employees. Her mother greets her with open arms, asking too many questions, majority of which Brooke has to leave unanswered. Most conversations fly past her consciousness nowadays, leaving her mind blank; she works on auto-pilot, building up a new comfortingly safe routine. Visiting her childhood church again is a part of her plan, attempting to dig up some virtue, hoping to find forgiveness. It has been years since she last set foot into the stone cold building. Years of build up pain and shame breaking in a crescendo as her body crashes down, kneeling in front of a wooden cross. “Please forgive me, father.”

As sickly sweet poems begging for forgiveness escape her still bruised lips, everyone pretends not to hear the longing desire humming within her heartbeat. Night after night she lays awake, striving to drown the rhythm of rainbow within her soul.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking. By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you again,” with a shaken voice, the shell of a woman urgently repeats the words stumbling from her lips as she is laying alone in the comfort of her own bed. Tears leak out of her darkened eyes even after her breathing has evened and her consciousness faded away. A torn apart heart craves healing while the mind attempts to rest. 

From then on she speaks to God every day. Praying to forget. 

‘God loves you Brooke Lynn, but not your sin. You can do this for him.’

Her shaking fingers itch for a rosary more and more with each night. A silent prayer on her lips as faded memories and forbidden dreams flood back to the surface - each of them continuously burning her wrinkled soul, only thriving on poisoned air, capturing a broken heart. All she wishes for is calmness - a privilege Brooke’s damned soul is not worthy of. Pictures now disrupt her restless slumber. Red spit on burned out soil, a grey face melting away. Butterflies and daisies scratching bloody feet, berries and flowers adornishing a decaying shell of a lover. An anxious soul dances on clouds as Venus feeds her the venom of eternity. Broken glass mourns a broken bond as her consciousness fades away for the second time that night.

Can I turn to You in my need?

An unbearable heat builds up in the tiny dance studio. Young students repeatedly practice their choreography for the upcoming regionals, each pair of stumbling feet steadily increasing the temperature within the already stifling room. Frustrated groans fill the air as their ruthless teacher pushes them for another round. Children miss their cues and barely hit the beat, and Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, brows knitting in a frustrated frown. Leaning against the chipped wall, she slowly watches her students sloppily wobble through the brunette’s precisely crafted choreography. A sick feeling of disappointment - no, just failure - spreads in Vanessa’s chest. Crinkled eyes watch tired limbs in wrong positions ruining her well rehearsed craft. 

The Latina had spend weeks perfecting each step, making sure each movement sparked a purpose, each gesture told a story. It didn’t matter that Vanessa couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror while constructing a passionate dance for her students to follow, to immerse themselves in. Nor does it matter that it took the skilled teacher much longer than it should have, each ounce of creativity drowned from her overworked mind. A flow of artistry used to live within her, flowing through her veins, just like the rhythm that claimed her soul a long time ago. But now every time she stares into the stained mirrors of an empty studio, a stranger appears at the other side of the glass. Eyes so empty, a mouth so silent and a heart slightly chipped. She desperately tries to keep it together, so she chooses to focus on her students’ flaws instead. She picks them apart one by one. Each mistake of each child highlighted by Vanessa’s grim voice ringing through the clustered room, mocking their imperfect performances. Comments leave her dried up lips in a harsh tone, hitting her students in the face, correcting their posture with a lack of respect, dragging down their innocent souls.

“Scarlet, for the third time today, it’s a left turn and then a drop, not a right turn and a simple flourish - it’s not that hard, Mary.” Impatient words escape through clenched teeth, letting boiling hot frustration get the best of her. 

“I know, but It’s just really fast, and I-” a wombly children’s voice quietly tries to defend her mistake, rubbing her eyes to hide glassy tears.

“No buts. We’ve been over this way too many times, just get into the gig.” Throwing her hands in the air, Vanessa looks around, directing her message to all of her students, “y’all aren’t here for no reason, so you better step your pussies up to get these cookies.”

“It’s not like Scarlet’s never made that mistake Miss V, but now, all of the sudden, you give a fuck. Somehow, all of us aren’t good enough for you today. I call bullshit,” Yvie defends her friend, challenging Vanessa with her pointed tone. Yvie was right, she has been unnecessarily harsh today, for reasons unknown to the children. A heat wave flushes through her rock solid body, fists tensing at her sides, fully knowing she couldn’t let that kind of behaviour pass. Vanessa has never deemed herself to be a strict teacher, but in that moment, she just snapped.  

“It’s because you all aren’t giving your goddamn best. We’ve been over this so fucking much, y’all should know it by heart by now, Mary. We have a competition to win - you guys can’t just-” as her muscles start quivering and purely harsh words leave her aching throat, she attempts to catch herself with a deep breath. “Anyways - todos vosotros me ponen de los nervios, I won’t discuss this any further. Class dismissed.” 

She draws in another slow, steadying breath, plastering an obviously fake smile on her chapped lips. In an attempt at a carefully controlled voice she adds, “I better see something good from all of you tomorrow morning, no shit show.” 

In one swift motion she turns around, ignoring the wide blown eyes of frightened children, combing her hair with her shaking fingertips while packing all of her belongings to her slightly worn out sports bag. 

She tries to keep it together, plasters another forced smile on her weakened lips, a band aid to fix her broken heart - at least for now - as she coldly wishes her students a good night, grasping at every string of her being to keep herself together. 

After she dismissed the class, she lets her thoughts wander, not paying too much attention to the string of curse words leaving her mouth. Scratched skin, heavy lungs and an exhausted mind rot away. Eyes closed, steady breathing. Focus, Mary, focus. Her heart yearningly awaits Brooke Lynn’s return. Needing to see the blonde beauty walk through the halls of the dance school, just like the day she met her, even though deep down she knows that her friend won’t come back to her. 

The lost figure lets herself glide onto the wooden floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, and tries to calm her breathing, still feeling the burning fire simmering in her veins. Tears of frustration escape a heated grimace as she slams her right fist against the floor. How could she do that to her? A sweat stained forehead falls into her lap, red nails dig deep into her own skin, anger growing within her.

“Hey, Miss Vanjie, I was just wondering, I am - is everything alright?” Big, bright child eyes stare at her flushed face, a mind full of worries presented to her, curious. 

“Por Dios, shouldn’t you have left already?” In one sweep she is up on her feet again, shaking off her startled expression. Certainly won’t let no goddamn child look taller than her.

“I - I just wanted to help, because, you know, you were really mean today, Miss V. And I thought, maybe - maybe you are upset” 

Vanessa’s world stands still for a moment, shaking hands tightly folded into fists. How could she let her emotions get the best of her? An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment spreads in her chest, tightening with every breath. She failed to keep her personal problems from affecting her ability to teach - Jeez, she shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Shit,” she curses silently, “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Her almost robotic voice fills the air, nearly regretting her outburst. Nearly.

Her swirling thoughts come to a halt as Plastique’s mother, Nina, approaches Vanessa as well, softly laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and asking for some privacy. As the girl grabs her bag and moves to the changing room, Vanessa dares to face the well known calm after the storm. Kind hearted emerald eyes pierce through the burning steam surrounding the brunette tornado.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to be an ass to your students today?“ a steady voice without any ounce judgment asks, only fueling Vanessa’s pounding heartbeat.

“I don’t know why that matters, Mary. I felt some type of way and that’s it - it’s not my fucking fault my students can’t distinguish left from right.” Her body tenses with every punctuated word.

“But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it?” Nina’s head is tilted to the side, her face wearing a sympathetic smile. 

“No, it’s not, but that’s none of your business.” The younger woman puts on a brave face; attempts to hide her inner turmoil from her counterpart, pretending to unsee the damage her lack of self control has caused. Fists still balled up tight, fighting the urge to punch the stained mirror at her side.

“It is my business if your lack of professionalism results in my daughter, and other children, being crushed by your harsh words.” Her smile falls for a second, before pity reaches her kind eyes again, as she finally acknowledges the hurt in the young woman’s gaze. “Look, Vanessa, I know it’s not easy, but-”

“No, it’s not fucking easy. I don’t feel like this for no reason.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Her voice increasing in volume, cutting of Nina, as she barely registers anything or anyone besides the woman through a narrowed vision. 

“I know, but you gotta keep your calm, dear,” the kind hearted woman tries to reason, yet the blood pounding in the brunette’s ears keeps drowning out the words. 

Vanessa takes a step back and throws her hands in the air, letting out an infuriated groan, before attacking her scalp with sharp-cut nails.

“Jeez, I thought we were closer than for you to be so condesc- condescen- for you to judge me. It’s not my fault some of them actually complained about me poppin off,” bitter words leak out of her mouth, not only raising her voice, but also her hand again.

“You could have pulled them aside-”

“They all fucked up, I am not hiding it from them, hoe, so they better learn to take some criti- criticism.” Flared up nostrils and the world around her painted in dark red. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong - all of her build up emotions came crashing in a crescendo around her, making her believe that maybe her outburst was justified. 

The setting sun highlights the destructive potential of the burning match.

“That’s not criticism anymore, Vanessa, it’s straight up bullying.” Nina voicing the truth is an icy wave hitting her upfront, drenching the brunette from head to toes. Cold, ghostly fingers wrap around her throat and an unbearable weight crashing her bones.

“I don’t fucking bully my children, I never bully them, I could never bully them, for fucks sake, I just, I-”  her building volume crashes into a heart wrenching sob. Red nails forcefully tug at caramel hair, fighting her inevitable destruction.

“Hey-” Nina shuffles closer and wraps one of her arms securely around Vanessa’s waist, petting the bruised fingertips holding onto her own frizzy and uncombed hair. “Shh - just take a deep breath.”

Her breathing becomes erratic again as silent sobs bubble up her throat. “I shouldn’t. I-I don’t know what to do, Nina, but - she just left. And I-”

“I know,” Nina shushes the frightened deer in her embrace, barely recognizing the headstrong woman who just passionately fought her moments ago. Nina silently holds pieces of the once ever-so-joyful and loud-mouthed girl in her arms, slowly taking in all that’s happened so far. Viciously poisoned words replaced by hopeless destruction within her small frame. 

Nina knows she shouldn’t be here, Brooke had begged her to not speak a word to Vanessa about her departure. But Nina also knows that she can’t just let the young one suffer on her own. Something broke within her heart, seeing her so shattered. Just a shell of the woman she used to be.

“I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s not like she said she loved me and shit, but-”

Nina silently holds the brunette as glassy tears wet her delicate blouse. She sighs as she realizes this must have been something more serious than “a fight between two friends”. Just one look at the broken girl in her embrace says enough.

“-but you love her,” Nina finishes.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a single word for Nina to know that she has hit the right nerve. The burned out girl simply closes her eyes as cyan waves flood her paralyzed mind. A muted soul drowning, because she wasn’t there.

Would You take me back or watch me bleed?

Are You there? There at all?

Time keeps moving and the planet Earth keeps spinning, yet Brooke Lynn cannot find the person she desperately longs to be. Her body and mind betray her God-loving soul as she rutts against her bedsheets, one finger pressed to her bundle of nerves. A droplet of heaven on sinner’s skin will never heal a soul not worth saving. So her heart begins to shake as she comes undone to the thought of her. Because holy water on forbidden soil still grew the damned fruit of Eden. 

Rosary prayers are replaced by deep, toxic drags of flower painted cigarettes. A golden cross weighs heavy on her chest - the last reminder of her once so innocent soul. It mocks her with its presence - everlasting, reminding her of her failure to keep control, the one skill she had always taken pride in. With a deep breath she runs her shaking fingertips through her messy, freshly cut hair and opens it’s clip, let’s it fall to the marbled floor. 

Weeks pass before Nina calls, begging her to come back to the States and telling her how much misses her. Brooke Lynn let’s rehearsed lines pour from her throat, promising to get back to her soon. She scribbles on notebooks as she listens to Nina’s trembling voice, trying to ground herself into reality. 

“You can’t just kill the beast, throw the gun away and pray away its death, Brooke, that’s not how life works,” Nina finally drops the bomb.

“What kind of beast are you even talking about, Nina? I am way too sober to deconstruct your metaphors right now,“ Brooke steadies her breathing, tries to sound oblivious to whatever Nina might be hinting at. She picks up her chewed up pen again, doodling on a scraped note, trying to distract her thoughts from spiralling too deep.

“Don’t play dumb, Brooke, we both know what I am trying to say. You can’t just disappear out of everyone’s lives without even saying goodbye, you can’t just…” A deep breath resounds on the other side of the line, making Brooke realize how serious Nina actually is. “She misses you, Brooke, she misses you, like, a lot.”

Brooke’s heavy heart sinks even further, turning to stone with each word punctuated by the other woman. “That sounds like her problem”, she mutters through clenched teeth, cautiously looking away from any feelings she still harbours for the Puerto Rican goddess. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Brooke could practically see Nina’s clenched fists and furrowed brows, nearly screaming at her from the other side of the line.

“Don’t call me that,” she exhales loudly, trying to ground her slightly shaken voice. She never intended to confess anything to Nina, her sinful nature was between her and God. 

“But - that’s your name!”

“Yeah, and I hate it when you say it like that. It sounds as if i killed an innocent puppy.” She doesn’t need to say it, Nina already knows. 

“It’s because you kind of did,” her best friend lets out a frustrated laugh. “Well, Brooke. What I am attempting to say is that whatever you may be going through, I am here for you. I just want to help you, sweetheart, I know you are beating yourself up about everything that has happened between the two of you.” Brooke wishes Nina would be at least condescending, reminding her of the God-loving daughter she could be. Yet all she receives is an everloving soul, a heart so big it can see past her mistakes, past her sins.

She can’t bear to hear it anymore, can’t take it. She bites at the skin around her nails, trying to distract herself from the desire to slam her fist against the table. 

“You haven’t seen me in weeks, Nina, how could you even know?”

“I can see your misery all the way from the States, that’s how bad you’ve gotten. Look, I know you are afraid of dealing with the conflict inside of you, but we both know the Bible doesn’t say anything about-” With every spoken word the fragile woman gasps for more air, drowning in a sea full of fear. Cold hands of truth wrapped around her delicate throat.

“Please, don’t, Nina,” she whimpers.

“Brooke…” A short moment of silence fills the air between the two friends. “There is no point in running away. You are just pushing away the people who love you for who you are,” a pleading voice doesn’t fully reach the woman in need. 

“Like you?”

“I actually meant Vanjie, but to be honest with you, it hurts me as well seeing you like this, I just…” On the other side of the line, Nina closes her eyes praying to God from the high above. “Just please come back. I miss you. Plastique misses you. We all miss you.”

“I can’t, Nina, I just can’t.” A single tear falls down her rigid face. “I am so sorry,” she mumbles before hanging up on her. The confidence she has build over the past weeks has been replaced by consuming guilt in a blink of an eye. With shaking fingers she slowly picks up the golden cross from the marble floor, its weight overwhelming her fastening heartbeat. She closes her eyes before fastening the chain around her throat again. Her heart still bounded by ice in a decaying chest. A spark of hope buried by self doubt. “One day,” she whispers to herself, “but not today.”

And as I fall from the person that I tried to be

Could You really love someone like me?

“Hey stranger - x” 

Narrowed eyes stare at a way too brightly lit screen, shaking hands grasping Vanessa’s phone like a nicotine addict holding their first cigarette in weeks. Waves crashing around her, tearing down all that has been and all that ever could be, drowning the brunette in a whirlwind of emotions. Just take a deep breath, Vanessa, a deep breath. A hollow voice, a reminder of her broken heart, screeches inside of her, warning the girl, urging her no to answer. The heartache she had to endure, infused by her favorite ice queen, could last her a lifetime. She had sworn herself that she wouldn’t let her in again, attempted to erase the blonde bombshell from her memory for weeks. Still embarrassed of the scene she had caused at work, her deeply lit fire burning down the spectacle around her. 

Yet just minutes later, her fingertips betray her overworked brain. They are typing a reply on their own accord, a way too heartfelt reply. Full of hatred and love and feeling of lost, pouring out the hurricane Brooke had ignited in her soul. 

She catches herself before she can hit the send button. Rational thoughts replace the emptiness in her brain as shaky hands delete a message never meant to be seen by the thunderstorm eyes. She silently decides that written words can’t express Vanessa’s heartache and won’t ever depict the reality and the range of emotions she had to endure. Not daring to give Brooke Lynn the satisfaction of acknowledging the mess of emotions she had reduced Vanessa to. 

The Latina takes a second look at her screen, her heart clenching at the written words. Strangers - that’s what they have become. She feels like she has been hit by the screen, awoken by a simple phrasing, causing disappointment to settle within her. In utter silence she chews up her lip as she can feel her heartbeat falter, missing a beat here and there. 

A light chuckle escapes her lips, amused by her own misery. 

How did she end up like this? 

Vanessa always fell hard, that wasn’t new to her. But it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions that Brooke Lynn had left her with. Nothing compared to the fire in her soul, prepared to burn down a building in the process of fighting her longing for the ice queen.

“Can I call you?” 

Another flash of light that burns too brightly, Vanessa’s eyes twitching in return. Questions ring inside of her head, almost too urgent to ask them out loud. 

“Please - x”  

It’s the message that breaks her. Brooke Lynn was never the one to beg. Vanessa always had been so certain that nothing could bring the ice queen down to her knees. As she feels the garden of love-colored flowers being revived in her chest, feathery light fingertips type a response as if having gained a mind of their own. 

“We are not having this conversation over the phone.” She isn’t so sure if she even wants to have this conversation, too afraid of the burning fire in her soul, still wondering if this is all a dream.

“Okay” 

The reply is short, something she didn’t expect. Vanessa had assumed that after all the weeks of silence Brooke wouldn’t give up that easily. Maybe she was wrong. 

“Same place, same time? - x" 

Once upon a time

All I needed was his hand in mine

Two familiar figures sit on a bench in the park, full of stardust and broken promises, facing the night sky, searching for long lost answers in the muted celestial bodies pinned onto the firmament. The cold air is clouded with unspoken words hanging heavily between the strangers. The brunette is playing with the hem of her shirt, still unsure why she agreed to this meeting at all. The blonde holds her head high, as her stiffened body tries to maintain her regal posture, still unsure why she had proposed the idea in the first place.

No, she knows, she definitely knows why. A full cigarette package in her overflowing handbag reminds her of words yet to be brought to light. Though right now, her usually overworked mind is completely empty, leaving the ice cold beauty at a complete loss of words. Burned edges hide behind a layer of cold skin. Suffocating rose seeds in her chest as she is desperately scrambling for words, trying to find her voice. 

“Well, I think I owe you an explanation.” Brooke whispers as she stares longingly at the moon, avoiding Vanessa’s burning glare, the younger one’s neatly plucked brows bumped together in a scowl.

“Yes, you do, Mary. Also, you might add an apology if you’re feeling fancy,” Vanessa slurs through slightly gritted teeth, attempting to calm the flame blazing in her soul. Her flared nostrils still giving away her true emotions to the Canadian. 

Brooke couldn’t blame her for going up in flames and charring the Canadian’s sin stained fingertips in the process. 

“Okay, right, my explanation itself won’t be an apology, though, because nothing can ever justify hurting you. I just need to get this out, so you can see my side of the story and understand where I am coming from. I mean, I am sorry, truly sorry, don’t get me wrong, but what I am about to share shouldn’t be just an excuse for my actions and so-” rehearsed lines pour out of her dried out mouth, barely allowing her to gasp for air. 

“Don’t forget to breath. I’d rather not have you fainting on me, hoe.” For a short second Brooke’s lips twitch into a barely recognisable smile, a reminder of long gone summernights, before a hauntingly tight grasp around the stone she has for a heart throws her back into reality. 

“Yes, sorry.” Her body stiffens as the remark settles in. “Okay. So, I don’t know how to do this actually, I’ve never talked about any of this and yeah, serious stuff makes me tear up very easily… I’m sorry in advance and, yeah.” She takes a deep breath, clumsily attempting to gather her thoughts as she slightly dabbs around her already wet lash line. “I guess I just have to bite the bullet.”

The Puerto Rican keeps a close eye on Brooke Lynn, seeing her visibly shaken. The ever-so-cool Canadian suddenly fidgety, with shaky fingers resting in her lap and blown out pupils, biting her lips so hard, she must be drawing blood. Seeing the destruction the ice caused within her counterpart, Vanessa’s own flame starts to cool down. Finally able to see the ashes her blaze left behind. 

“As you may, or may not know, I grew up in a very Christian household. We went to church every Sunday, spoke a prayer before every meal and regularly went to confession.” She doesn’t know how much she could actually bare to say out loud - barely reliving the memories was painful enough. 

“So growing up as a child I was taught to believe many things that were tied to the Bible, one of them being a homosex-” the word gets stuck in her throat, memories of threatening dark voices screaming the word at the top of their lungs, spitting hatred at the feet of scared children, “- liking girls was a sin. At least once every few months it was brought up in service, fuelling everyone’s disgust for the celebration of this sin.” 

Brooke’s voice starts to shake ever so slightly as she pinches the skin around her nuckles to bring herself back to the present. 

“I mean, I never participated in any, you know, sinfully- I mean, any gay activities, but just the concept of it all still scared me shitless. So, you know, ehmm, until one day…” She takes in another deep shaky breath, preparing herself. “My mom once caught me kissing a girl. I was a child, I didn’t even know what kissing meant, and I just thought-” she stops herself. The memory too painful to conjure up in her mind. A warm steady hand sets on her shaking thigh, a single touch untangling her spiralling thoughts, keeping her grounded.

“So, I guess I was, I was just a girl lost among the teachings. All alone and scared.“ 

Silence fills the air, letting her confession linger in the space between the two broken women. Leftover, unspoken words deeply hidden at the back of her mind, tugging at her heart, causing her to lose her composure for a second. Another deep breath and the blonde dares to shily look up, only to find bright doe eyes, full of pitiful stars staring back at her.

"And then you came along.” She faces away from Vanessa again, not knowing what to say. Never having planned for a confession of her blooming feelings to be part of sharing her story. So used to carefully hiding away every fresh flower that had grown in her chest in a small casket at the back of her consciousness. She had thrown away the key to her deepest, darkest secret months ago, but all of a sudden its gates have been opened. Honest confessions dripping down her burning lips like sickly sweet honey from overflowing honeycombs.

“Meeting you was the most amazing, yet simultaneously horrifying moment in my entire life. I - you know - when you started flirting with me, I really tried to convince myself we could just be friends, good friends, like me and Nina.”

Vanessa’s fingers move from the Canadian’s thigh to her sweating palms, caressing them with ever so light touches.

“I wanted to be the God-loving daughter so badly, I wanted to make my family proud. But somehow, you were the one to unleash all of these feelings, all of those forbidden thoughts and I…” She looks to the ground for a moment, shame flickering across her face as she centers her breathing, tries to find the right words. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just ran. Away from you. Away from the deep roots of my sin.”

Bone crushing silence fills the space in their tiny bubble, making goosebumps cover Vanessa’s skin. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I know that I should have said something, but I was so scared, Nessa. So scared. I didn’t want anybody to know, I was so ashamed of my feelings for you and…” She finally looks up again, regret pooling in her stormy eyes.

“So what happened?” Curiosity slowly replacing the burning heat in Vanessa’s soul, still taking in all what the wounded woman presents to her - trusts her with. 

“What do you mean?” Brooke asks with a breathy voice, slightly cocking her head and raising the arch of her perfectly painted brow.

“If you are so ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know, simply playing the fucking God obedient wife, than why are you here, Twinkle Toes?” Vanessa doesn’t hold back, having bottled up embering questions for way too long.

“Because- because if Nina could see past my sins, maybe so could I?" 

Vanessa’s visibly cringes at the blonde’s choice of words. Pain contorting her face, her soul drenching in pity. 

The vulnerable woman next to her seems like she doesn’t truly believe her spoken words either. Glassy eyes, a silent sniff - an attempt at finally putting her heart and mind at display.

"Baby, why do you keep calling your love for another woman a sin?” Vanessa’s soft words barely reach Brooke. 

“But isn’t that what it is?” Big grey eyes stare at their last string of hope. 

Brooke has never looked this young to the other woman as in this moment. Her lips pulled into a quivering pout, hands balled into anxious fists and her usually wavy, long bob resembling a bird nest due to her constantly raking her fingers through her hair. Putting her trust and vulnerability on display as her body fights against her. Lips continuously shaking with every word bubbling up from her tightened throat, needing a cough every few seconds to make her words come alive. Fingers drawing pictures in the air, questions her mind doesn’t dare to ask. 

“No, baby. No, it’s not. You are not a sinner. My momma always told me that the God you believe in loves you, unconditionally and shit like that. Those people who justify hating someone for who they love are abomi- abomina-, awful.” She grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It’s as much closeness as Vanessa dares to initiate, yet not enough for her to evaporate every ounce of self doubt out of Brooke Lynn’s body. 

“It’s not that easy,” the blonde whispers, simply shaking her head and shifting her gaze to the night sky again.

“I know, but the bottom line is, Mami, Jesus preaches about love, not hatred. So fuck what evil people told you about your religion, because He was all about love, you know like ‘love thy neighbor’ and shit -” Vanessa’s heartfelt speech is interrupted by a quiet giggle from the woman desperately clutching at their intertwined hands, “- and that’s what matters the most.”

“I just don’t know. There must be a reason people preach against homosexuality so much.” Brooke’s eyes are harboring every homophobic prayer and countless lectures she had to endure, preaches of pain and the longing to heal, but also sing a song about her lack of courage to face her fears. At least on her own. 

“Baby, where in the Bible does it say homosexuality is a sin?” Vanessa’s usually harsh voice turns into a soft whimper as trained fingertips draw circles on Brooke Lynn’s skin.

“Ehh.” 

Both women know that Brooke’s loss for words isn’t just temporary, her counterpart simply outsmarted her - for once - fairly aware of the fact that there is no answer to this question. Brooke had to accept defeat, swallow her tongue and acknowledge that she can’t back up her internalized hatred. She closes her eyes for a short moment. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. 

Having to question her upbringing is a new cross she’ll have to bear. But she certainly won’t have to carry it on her own. 

"Exactly. I ain’t no preacher’s daughter, Mary, just a simple hoe, but even I know that faith should be about love and not hatred. You know what my mama always said?”

A long lost heart slowly finding her way back to the right path. Guided into a new direction. 

“Na-ah?” Brooke shakes her head as she can taste her heart beating in her dried up throat, whimpering as olive fingertips trace her cheekbones. 

“She always said: ‘no matter who you love Vanessa, you can always be a godly wife, even to your own wife’ - I mean, I am not about all of that religious life - but Brooke Lynn, I could show you that a life like this is possible." 

The Latina underlines her proposition with a flutter of her lashes and a cheeky kiss to Brooke’s blushed cheeks. 

"Vanessa,” barely a whisper escapes agape lips. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it.” Vanessa gifts Brooke Lynn a soft smile, squeezes her hand before her soft lips brush against the blonde’s temple. Two hearts skipping a beat at the same time as young rose buds surround two lost figures sitting on a bench of mended promises under the night sky. 

Then I lost my way and

Now I know not what I do

The sweet melody of church bells fill the busy streets of the Hollywood Heights as kind-hearted strangers stroll down Franklin Avenue. Young birds sing songs of forgiveness, guiding lost souls to the place of worship. A short brunette is stood in front of the Hollywood United Methodist church, tightly squeezing one of the lost souls’ sweaty hand. She directs a big grin towards the shaking blonde, gifting her with wordless encouragement. Under a night sky full of broken hopes and dreams Vanessa had promised Brooke to find her a new godly home. So she had spent the past few weeks carefully skimming the gay-affirming churches in LA, the Methodist church just happened to be one of many in the area. Naturally, it had been a hassle to convince Brooke Lynn to give it a shot, explaining her that a Sunday Pride sermon would the most healing of them all. But puppy eyes, childlike pouts and lots of brief kisses finally convinced the weary woman.

Vanessa wouldn’t consider herself to be religious per se, however she understood that faith has always been a big part of Brooke Lynn’s life, and she would never in a million years take that away from the woman she loved. The night she had first heard her story, the strong woman collapsing into her arms, she had sworn to do whatever she could to help Brooke settle her internal struggle between faith and sexuality. Even if that meant tackling her own fears and diving head first into the deep unknown, just so that she could protect the Canadian from her self-destructive behaviour, showing her the love and safety she deserves. So here she was, a not so religious Latina dragging her love, whose entire body was trembling at the sheer sight of a church, to a Sunday morning sermon at the Hollywood campus.

Brooke Lynn had initially agreed to Vanessa’s plan, tears streaming out of her otherwise empty eyes, as she recognized this as her last chance, her last hope. Momentarily she was excited about the possibility of finally being free, her heart tightly gripping at a spark of faith. Vanessa’s words seeming like a cure to her curse. Yet the promise of a new beginning was soon overshadowed by violent memories intruding her newly calm mind. 

Terrified eyes stare down the big red ribbon adorning the otherwise plain, yet regal exterior of the church. A thunderstorm takes place inside of Brooke Lynn, shaking her up. Her spiralling mind denying the Canadian the hope of salvation as shaky fingers grasp at a steady figure by her side, regretting ever agreeing to this mad idea. Each fingernail digs deeper into tan skin with every painfully sharp breath the lost woman inhales. The blonde’s pulse quickens with every step she forces herself to take towards the building, conjuring up judging faces in the shadows of the church, deep black claws holding her back.

The last time she had visited a place of worship she had come to face all of her sins, called them by their names, begged for forgiveness and desperately waited for her salvation. Still, she was never cleansed of her sins, never was saved by God’s good grace. Her soul still deeply stained with blood-red roses, giving into promises of a not so lonely future. 

Yet deep down she still fears the consequences of giving into the temptation of Eden, fears being at God’s mercy. But Vanessa had sown a seed of hope into Brooke’s rotted mind, set a spark to the possibility of tasting a fruit that doesn’t bring down the heavenly garden. A believe she desperately wants to uphold, but isn’t so certain of anymore. The last time she prayed to her God, she was desperate for forgiveness of her sins. Her motivations remain the same this time around, but now she is just begging God for a different kind of forgiveness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vanessa,” she finally speaks up, voice trembling as she turns to her comfort blanket, her stepping stone, who attempts to calm the turmoil in her soul with just one look. 

In no way she is ready to face her fears which drown her in self-doubt at night, wake her up screaming at the top of her lungs and leave her emotionless during the rest of the day. But would she ever be ready? Could she ever repair her splitted soul? 

“You don’t have to go to the service, Brooke.” Sympathy radiates from Vanessa’s eyes as her pout pulls up into a comforting smile, “But I can assure that if you do, everything will be alright. I’ve visited this church with my mama before, and it’s the most welcoming church I’ve ever been to.” 

The brunette wasn’t necessarily lying to her, more so leaving out the part of her falling asleep during the sermon, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“But what if -” the blonde’s voice sounds wobbly with fear as she attempts to put her concerns into words. Bars behind her eyes holding the ever so strong woman captivated, anxiety is ruining her hopeful mind, tainting her will to be free at last. Worst case scenarios running wild as she chips off the leftovers of her nude nail polish.

“We’ve been over this, boo”, Vanessa cuts of the squirming woman by her side, not needing to hear Brooke voicing her fears out lot, already knowing what she is going to say. She silently instructs the blonde to take a deep breath, reviving her suffocating lungs, as Vanessa gives her hand a solidarity squeeze. 

“This church celebrates diversity. No one will be judgemen-, judgement-, no one will judge you, Mami.” The brunette still struggling to gain Brooke’s trust every now and then.

Doubt still clouds the Canadian’s eyes. A heavy fog, slowly dissolving as the brunette punctuates each whispered word with as kiss to her cheek and jaw, “I’ll be right by your side, Mami, and hunt down everyone who even dares to look at you the wrong way.“

Olive skinned arms slowly wrap around a navy sundress, holding the blonde before she can fall apart. Soft fingertips drawing circles into exposed skin as a frantic heartbreak regains its normal rhythm. 

In their intertwined state, the pair catches a glimpse of two men, both in their late thirties, walking into the church, one hand holding each other, the other gripping their children’s hands. Their laughter illuminating the entrance of the holy building. Contrasting with the image of the church Brooke Lynn had painted in her mind.

As Brooke’s erratic breathing slowly calms down due to Vanesa soothingly whispering nonsense into her ear, she can untangle herself from the shorter one without feeling dizziness clouding her vision. Silently tugging at the brunette’s hand as she finally dares to walk through the gates of the church, following the footsteps of the family of four who wordlessly touched her ever so guarded heart. The red ribbon hanging above them turns into a symbol of a comforting blessing instead of a curse.

Two quiet figures, lost in their own thoughts, walk down the aisle of a barely packed church. They take a seat on a wooden bench engraved with roses at the back of the hall, hidden from noisy eyes. Brooke Lynn carefully views the faces of the visitors, her mind scanning her surroundings for potential danger, looking out for disapproving frowns, waiting to hear slurs thrown in her direction. Yet all she can find is people as diverse and colourful as Vanessa promised them to be. 

The pair made it just in time before the service starts to begin. A tanned hand on Brooke’s upper thigh, keeping her spirit in the present, hindering her mind from spiralling. The blonde attempts to focus on the sensation of Vanessa’s fingertips against her cotton dress, lightly caressing her thigh, as her muscles relax beneath the brunette’s touch. Goosebumps covering every inch Vanessa touches. Meanwhile, Brooke chooses to ignore the bottle of memories, a dangerous barrel about to explode at the back of her mind. 

The service starts with a greeting and an opening prayer by a man in his fifties, one that Brooke Lynn doesn’t dare to look in the face directly. Her eyes burning holes into the wooden bench right in front of her, just focusing on the static voice of the pastor. An old habit that had protected her at home, had kept her panic attacks at church to a minimum. Holy words fill the air around her, stinging her sensitive skin, not fully reaching the woman in need just yet.

The moment sin free fingertips open up the Holy Bible, lovingly caressing the leather cover, and the reading of the scripture begins, Brooke’s lungs forget how to carry breath at last. Her body stiffens as her throat starts caving in, thorns piercing holes in her sensitive thorax. A punch in her gut is added to her panicked state and the world around her just goes blanc. She can’t see or hear anything besides her own frantic attempt at trying to get enough oxygen into her system. She feels all too much and simultaneously doesn’t exactly know what she is feeling. Teary eyes shut close and try to unsee the cross right above her head.

”Please forgive me,“ she whimpers, as her voice painfully breaks.

Long fingernails dig deep into the softest part of her palm, drawing blood, as she tries to overhear the loud pulsing of blood in her hears. She is fully aware that oxygen is reaching her brain and flooding her system, yet she still feels like she is dying inside. Brooke seems to be the only passenger on a sinking Titanic. All alone in the ocean, screaming so loud, yet no one can hear.

Soft hands grasp at her tightened jaw, softly turning her head, before olive fingertips caress her red stained cheeks, wiping away any stray tears. The Canadian’s head rolls to the side, falling into Vanessa’s embrace. A deep sigh escapes her chewed up lips between muffled sobs.

"Shh, love, everything is alright,” Vanessa whispers, or at least as much as the woman with a truck driver voice can whisper. But she tries, for her. Keeping a low volume as she hums calming affirmations to the woman by her side.

Soft kisses are planted across still firmly shut eyelids as Brooke Lynn quietly thanks her past self for taking a seat at the back of the church, hopefully being able to slightly hide her still ongoing meltdown.

A deep breath, Brooke Lynn, a deep breath. The excruciating pain in her abdomen starts to fade with each stroke across her thigh, as honey runs down her throat, coating the thorns in her chest, protecting her lungs from ever lasting self-destruction. Another minute passes before she manages to crack her eyes open again. A face of an angel faces the wreck of a woman, shielding her from the service. Her saviour softly strokes the blonde’s beetlejuice red cheeks, fixing her heartache with a bandaid of change.

The voice of a woman, ever so calm and static, slowly enters the bubble Vanessa had created around the Canadian. The ongoing selmon, preached by a woman in her late forties, focuses on the importance of diversity in the church and the representation of LGBT+ individuals, reflecting love on Pride Sunday. As soon as the words reach the suffering woman, her head snaps back to the front, properly focusing on the selmon this time around. Her breath is still a bit heavy in her throat as her hand tightly grasps Vanessa for support, cautiously listening to the words spoken. She was so used to her body working on auto pilot during the mass, her mind usually circling around any mundane activity she could think off, trying to escape the preached words nagging at her soul. Yet all she ever needed was kind and wise words carefully unfolding the tangles of Brooke’s misery, breaking down the walls she had built up all those years ago. Hearing a member of a Christian church speak so lovingly about a commonly hated community was a better salvation than meaningless repentance could ever give her. The sight of the wooden cross above her head losing its power over her with each passing second and each kind word spoken. 

“But today, in the fifth chapter of Roman, Paul says that we rejoice not only in the glory of God but also in our sufferings. The message is not that Paul and his readers rejoice because they are suffering, but rather that they rejoice in the midst of suffering. Part of the human condition is to experience good times and difficult ones. The Bible is full of stories of people who faced immense suffering, and remained faithful to our loving God in spite of the difficulties of their own lives. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. We must never lose infinite hope. Progress in our society could have not come to be if suffering were an impediment for future movement. Think about that in our own context today, think about all the movements that have taken place in our society, those that have challenged discrimination. Especially on this Pride Sunday. Each triumph allows for progress to be identified, and each setback creates energy for us to keep on, because hope does not disappoint. Amen.” 

“Amen,” the crowd answers. Brooklyn whispering along, hiding her freshly shed tears behind a mask of devotion to her heavenly father. She feels a ghost of a hand hovering beneath her heart, holding it up for the world to see. Sensing an indescribable presence supporting her very being. 

The monotone, yet soul saving salmon cracks Brooke’s carefully placed walls. Her mind spins like a merry-go-round, tightly holding onto each word inspired by a scripture that had burned scars into her skin just months ago. She never thought that her suffering could not be a punishment, always had assumed the torment she had to endure was of God’s will. But with Vanessa by her side, she starts to believe every word, feels the knot in her stomach unfolding as she mouths the words - hope does not disappoint. 

The service ends with a worship tune, one that the Canadian had heard way too often during her time as a young altar servant. As the last notes vanish into thin air, Brooke slowly comes back to her senses. Her muscles begin to relax and her breathing comes out a lot smoother, slowly realizing that she just survived another mass. The blonde has witnessed a service filled with love and admiration for her kind of people with a companion by her side, showing her the way and guiding her through it. Her body completely relaxes for the first time this morning, almost utterly calm as she silently celebrates her victory of not bursting into flames the moment she had set a foot on the holy soil. 

The blonde crawls out of their bench, her legs slightly shaking after all the babel her head had to withstand, ready to leave her first experience with a gay affirming church behind, as Vanessa grabs her hand, pulling her back into her embrace. Two heavy chests collide as Vanessa’s face forms into a shit eating grin. Two women stare at each other in the middle of a filled aisle, getting lost in each other’s eyes. A small smile settles on the taller one’s lips.

“I told you so,” the short one laughs out loud before playfully groping the Canadian’s ass, receiving a high pitched shriek in return. 

“Not at church, Vanessa,” Brooke hisses as she scans the room for people who could have seen her inappropriate gesture, at least inappropriate for the place they are in. 

“I just couldn’t help myself, Mami,” Vanessa professes as she flutters her lashes seductively before she gets forcefully dragged outside by her lover. Deep laughter bounces of the walls as two not-so-broken souls make their way home.

I bow my head and turn to You

The Candian’s clean-cut apartment overlooks the busy streets of LA, traffic being an ever present white noise, one that recharges Vanessa, making her more giddy and jittery than in any other environment. Cheerful radiotunes flow through Brooke Lynn’s light blue kitchen walls and bounce off her white tiles surrounding the stove, as she hums along to a catchy pop song while finally doing the dishes. Simultaneously she tries to listen to Vanessa’s commentary to ‘The Office’ with an amused smile, as she shimmies along to the soft bass filling the air. Muted voices reach the kitchen every once in awhile, spilling over from the running TV in the living room as Vanessa’s voice mixes in, keeping Brooke’s mind from running in circles. 

Vanessa had immediately taken a seat next to Apollo and Henry on the black leather couch, both of them snuggling up to the Latina after the two emotionally exhausted women had returned from the service, starting a re-watch of their favourite show as soon as Vanessa got a hold of the TV remote. One that she had originally forced Brooke to join. Just half an hour in, the blonde excused herself, violent thoughts ruining the peaceful mind, and took on any chore that would help repairing the shattered glasshouse in her soul. One that obviously isn’t fixable with cellotape.

"Booooo, you can’t possibly know what’s going on if you’re in the kitchen,” Vanessa whines, not even five minutes after Brooke left her side to polish the dishes. 

“Nessa, the volume is high enough that even our neighbors will know what’s going on between Jim and Pam,” Brooke replies matter of factly while drying off one of the last plates. 

"But it’s not the same if you can’t see what’s happening." 

Vanessa doesn’t get a reply this time around. Dishes simply clattering in the distance.

"Broookiiieee,” the Latina whines again, dragging out each syllable.

Brooke can practically see the brunette’s plump pout quivering and her bright puppy eyes begging her to come over through the wall and decides to throw away her towel on her spotless kitchen counter with a sigh, making her way over to the needy brunette again - not able to resist her.

Vanessa greets her with grabby hands and another whine as Brooke settles by her side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist. 

“You are unbearable,” Brooke Lynn mumbles into the Latina’s curly hair before placing a shy kiss on her vanilla scented forehead. With a content hum she lays her heavy and still foggy head on Vanessa’s shoulder, while bringing her attention back to the TV. Giving her mind some space, allowing herself to just not think - embracing the emptiness. Simply enjoying being close to her ‘favourite human’ - calling her lover a more adequate name was simply too soon.

A welcoming warmth spreads through Vanessa’s body as goosebumps grace her skin wherever the Canadian’s touch reaches. With a peaceful sigh she happily receives any loving gesture Brooke might have to offer, appreciates every brush of skin against hers. A rush of serotonin flooding her system with each sweet word whispered into her ear and chaste kiss planted on her cheek. Vanessa knows that the older woman still isn’t used to showing her affection for the brunette freely, so she considers every small moment that expressed more than words could say a victory. 

The two sit together, entangled with each other, focusing on the ongoing TV show with Vanessa throwing in an obnoxiously loud comment every now and then. But soon her focus shifts to the beauty next to her, as the setting sun illuminates the living room through the large windows, making the blonde glow from within. The Latina quietly observes how the TV screen reflects in her stormy eyes, and the way her long lashes cast a soft shadow on her high cheekbones. Carefully, she traces the dried up tear tracks on the blonde’s cheek, getting her full attention within a second. Her stomach twists at the blank expression she receives.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about the service today, Mami?” Vanessa asks with the softest version of her voice, as she twirls a blond strand of hair around her finger.

“Ohh, it was nice you know,” the Canadian offhandedly comments, not brave enough to face the younger one yet, and simply straightens her posture as her eyes fixate on the TV screen in front of her, “the woman holding the selmon was a bit boring, tho’.” 

The show is slowly losing its appeal, Brooke’s darkened eyes now flick across the room, trying to find something she can focus on without losing track of what she is sharing with the woman by her side. An attempt to close off her heart once again.

All of a sudden, a warm hand appears on her shaking thigh, a reminder that she can’t fool the woman who already knows her darkest thoughts without speaking them into existence. Numb grey eyes watch olive fingertips draw circles on her leg, wondering if the silent spell imprinted on her skin could ever keep away the demons in her mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, the message was really nice, nearly brought me to tears, but she really can’t preach. She definitely should apply for a seminar or something like that…” she trails off, still not able to face the loving figure right by her side. Her sweating palms ball into loose fists. A brave soldier fighting her own mind on the battleground of the shared love.

Both women are completely aware of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thighs brushing as heavy breathing fills the silence between them. The Canadian’s mind desperately tries to suppress the events of the morning, clings to the present as if it was her last lifeline. Focuses on the pounding in her ears and her heartbeat increasing with each soft fingertip caressing her skin, coaxing her shattered soul.

“Brooke,” Vanessa speaks up again, softly placing her hand above Brooke Lynn’s fidgeting fingers. Her heart breaks at the sight next to her.

“She is probably a nice woman, you know, just not that well spoken and all-” her nervous rambling sets in, trying to restrain the words she really wants to say out loud, bubbling up in her throat.

“Brooke, are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

The blonde finally really looks at Vanessa again, pity painting a compassionate picture on her flawless face. A shameful head hangs low, staring at the Latina through heavy eyelids, her mouth agape as she searches for the right words. Her heart heavy in her chest, she slowly shakes her dizzy head. No, she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room. 

Silence falls between the two women, as the older one freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes fixated on the space between Vanessa’s eyes - staring - trying to find her words, trying to clear her messy mind. A deep breath, hold it in, exhale slowly. Repeat. 

“I just, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you being there with me - I -” a lump in her throat hindering her from spilling the truth like an overflowing sink.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, Mami. But it might help to figure it all out and shit,” Vanessa interferes Brooke’s rambling, interlocking their fingers - attempts to give her some comfort while reassuring the Canadian that she’s not alone.

Vanessa’s never been good at serious conversations. She is always the one to loosen up a tense moment or overly emotional situation with a joke or two, prefers seeing a loved one laugh because of the Puerto Rican woman stumbling over her own words,than seeing them cry. But what Vanessa had witnessed this morning had startled her, left her a bit shaken up. It wasn’t just a friend crying over a fuckboy or accidentally deleting their bachelor’s thesis. This was a silent and heart wrenching cry for help which she couldn’t brush off. The state she had seen her in was heartbreaking to say the least. An event she couldn’t simply forget, couldn’t leave unspoken about.

“It’s just that the moment they started reading from the scripture I was suddenly back in my old church, waiting to hear homophobic slurs fall from pastor’s lips, and it somehow felt like the walls kept caving in and all,” she whispers out loud, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping at Vanessa’s figure.

Breath in, breath out.

“I lost it today. I genuinely lost it. Looking back at it, it doesn’t seem to bad. I keep telling myself that people have it worse, that I am not that fucked up. But I genuinely thought I would go up in flames, die from my sins and so on.” Another deep breath, an attempt to calm her shaking voice, an attempt to buy her some time. “But even though I might have had to endure one of my worst days today, I don’t wanna give up just yet, Nessa.”

Pleading eyes stare into concerned doe ones framed by furrowed brows. Each hand squeeze and each calming word are like medicine for her sick soul. A lost soul finding her way back home, as she hopes to find her saving grace within the love and compassion the brunette so freely gives to her.

As Vanessa silently tucks a strand of blonde stray hair behind her ear and studies her, like she wants unravel her soul and love her entire being, Brooke just knows it’s her - it’s always been Vanessa.

She is the one.

“I can’t give up now. You know that God used to be such a big part of my life, and I wanna find my way back to him, eventually. The service today truly wasn’t the best I’ve ever visited, and I kinda miss a lot of our old traditions we had at church, which I obviously got accustomed to. Just the vibe in general was so different, something that really threw me off.”

Another pause. A healing woman too distracted by olive toned fingertips temptingly caressing her sides, wandering south without the owner’s intention. 

“Yet despite all of this, the selmon somehow ignited a spark in me, reminded me where I truly belong - in God’s arms - and I don’t wanna let it die just yet,” Brooke attempts to explain, not being able to express what she is truly feeling through the limited space within mundane words.

“So you wanna go back?” The Latina lifts a perfectly painted brow, hands settle by her side as her lips fall agape into an O-shape while asking her question. 

“No. Not at all.” She firmly shakes her head, a slight shiver running down her porcelain skin just at the thought of having to go there again. “But maybe we could take a look at St Thomas? It’s an epostical church. Only if you would come with me, though…” Brooke timidly voices her plan after a small pause, biting the skin around her nails again.

“Why this one?”

“You know, Nina said some of her les-, lesbian friends go there. It’s apparently a bit more traditional, which in hindsight could trigger another panic attack, but it’s still affirming,” she sighs deeply, realising she doesn’t even know what she actually wants just yet, “I don’t know what to do, Nessa. I just know that I don’t wanna give up just yet. I guess I finally found a point of convergence, so I can’t let either go. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prioritize one over the other currently.”

“And what exactly would you prior- priority-, shit, pick over the other, Mami?” The brunette softly asks, one brow raised as she nervously chews up her bottom lip. Her mouth runs dry, causing her to swallow hard. What if her love chooses her faith over Vanessa? Would she let her go? Fight for her to stay or just accept defeat? 

Tiny poisonous bugs crawl in her veins, a threat to the blooming garden of affection in her heart. Her skin itching as electricity shoots through her limbs and her leg shaking as she anxiously anticipates an answer.

“You.” 

One cut clear word makes Vanessa’s world stand still for a second, before it goes back to spinning at twice its original speed. Brows raised high as she stares at the blonde beauty wide eyed in disbelief.

“Pinch me, bitch.” A dead serious face reduces the blonde to a giggling mess right in front of her, biting her lip to smile along with her contagious laugh, before a tiny whisper in her head extinguishes every ounce of doubt. Maybe she really loves her back. The brunette’s lips raise into a smug grin, her heart beating at a record speed.

“There’s no need for that, sweetheart,” she interferes with another heartfelt laughter. “I think I really love you, Vanessa, and even though I didn’t really wanna admit it, I have to face the truth.” She gives herself another second before continuing, takes in all of the different emotions playing out on Vanessa’s face. Joy, fear, and at last - love. 

“I have enough time to figure out my struggle with religion, but I don’t wanna lose any time I’ve got with you over an internal battle I can’t win,” the shaking in her voice intensifies with each word until she can barely pronounce anything at all properly. Her mind feverishly taking in all sensations, a spark of electricity shooting through her bones the moment Vanessa’s slim arms wrap around her with a loud yelp.

Fireworks have been ignited in the brunnette, joy buzzing through her veins as she climbs into the older woman’s lap. Her cheeks burning from a straining smile stretched across her face. Skin on skin, transmitting heat to the other, simply feeling alive as Vanessa carefully listens to Brooke Lynn’s increasing heartbeat.

A small tear settles at the Canadian’s lash line. A tear full of hope, love, and the prospect of a wonderful future ahead. Shaking fingertips dab at the wet spot, grey eyes looking up to the ceiling. The lost woman only just realizing that her home is in the tiny Latina’s arms, finally accepting that Vanessa never brought her off the right path, but that she was the right way all along. The path that could lead her to self-acceptance and to God.

“Don’t make me cry, boo,” the brunette replies as she stifles a small sob as well, softly biting down on a knuckle, pinching herself. 

“It’s just that there is still a long road of self-acceptance ahead of me. Hurdles to overcome - like my family’s reaction to all of this.“ The Canadian gestures between the two of them with sadness tainted smile burdening her otherwise happy complexion. “But I still wanna tackle live by your side and keep taking baby steps from now. ”

Brooke punctuates her heartfelt speech by grabbing Vanessa’s hand and soothingly caressing the flesh she had just pinned between her teeth. Bright stormy eyes, as calm as the brunette had ever seen, stare into sparkling doe ones, toothy grins falling into place.

“I know I’ll find my way back to religion one day, might even become the ‘godly wife’ you deserve,” she says with a small giggle referring to her mother’s words, giving Vanessa’s soft hands a small squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to her dry knuckles, “but right now I just wanna focus on you - giving us a shot. And I would be very grateful if you would take my hand along the way.”

Brooke pulls the wide eyed brunette as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of her, giving their souls a chance to grow an everlasting bond. Cats snuggle closer to the two intertwined lovers and Vanessa let’s her love-clouded head fall onto Brooke’s shoulder. A deep content sigh escapes the Puerto Rican’s lips. 

As the blonde beauty places a lingering kiss at the corner of Vanessa’s mouth, the brunnette still finds an ounce of doubt lingering behind the stormy eyes. Everything was turning out all too well. The younger one should have known this couldn’t be real. 

“Do you really want this?” Vanessa barely whispers, too afraid of the answer she might receive. Fear leaking out of her desperate eyes with each second passing in silence as the tiny woman squirms in Brooke’s lap. A cold hand steadies her shaking thighs, keeping her in place.

Brooke Lynn knows that she wants all of it. She wants a little house with a white picket fence, giddy children, and cats roaming her own heavenly garden. Vanessa and herself - hand in hand - building a family. She wants to be a godly wife to this stunning goddess. No, Brooke doesn’t only simply want it, she craves it deep down. A seed of love sown into her chest the moment she had meet the Latina. It scares her. But she knows that it’s a good kind of fear. One that wraps you up slowly, constricting your whole essence, until you accept your fate. Turning the lingering fear into a comfort blanket of hope, embracing it.

She wants to say all of that and even more, scream her love for the brunette at the top of her lungs, yet simply answers with “Yes,” as she longingly stares at Vanessa’s lips.

Doe eyes light up at the simple word and peach painted lips crash into hers. Soft lips slightly brushing against each other, luring out a slight hum from the Latina. Teeth gracefully tugging at her bottom lip, making her eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down the brunette’s spine. Bodies curving into each other, hands roaming, and noses bumping into each other as giggles fill the space between their lips. Two lovesick woman desperately trying to hold onto the other, fearing their dream to disappear. Cheeks flushing and sparks flying as two souls intertwine, dancing to the song of love. 

And as the two women find their loving home within each other, droplets of heavenly water baptize God’s lost daughters’ souls, finalizing their bond. A spell that cannot be broken.

[jinkisbelly]

Dawning 2/4

This was my entry for the Halloween fic fest and I hope you like it~  Can be read on AFF and Ao3. Part 1

Pairing: Onkey, past Jinki/oc, and platonic ontae, jongyu and onho :D

Rating: Teen

w/c:15k altogether

Summary:  After years of luring humans to steal their valuables, Jinki meets one Human that makes him question everything.

1952....

          The sweet melody of birds singing swirled through the open window frames, the cool morning breeze causing the white curtains to flutter softly,  and just the brush of color coming in from the slow rise of the sun on the horizon. As the inhabitant of the house began to awaken, so did the rest of his forest. The chattering of squirrels running along the branches of the large bunch of trees the home was settled across, the gentle roars from distant bears waking up to hunt, and the soothing trickling of the streams twisting between the trees slowly filled the forest.

          Sitting up in his bed, Jinki stretched with his arms above his head. He smiled slowly as he realized it was raining softly, the gentle patter of drops against the roof of his home, comforting. Quickly tossing the covers from his legs he slipped out from the bed and ran to the ladder on the far wall leading up to the highest part of the home. The sun was just rising over the eastern mountains. His smile widened when he heard the familiar howl drift from the snow-covered peaks.

          His favorite thing to do first thing in the morning was to watch the sunrise paint the sky in pretty oranges and pinks. As he sat on the edge of the deck, feet swinging off the edge and getting raindrops on them, he made an apple grow from a branch above him. As it fell he caught it with his left hand, biting into it without looking away from the sunrise on the horizon. The colors were so bright he felt he could reach up and smear them with his fingers. Even with the light rain the vividness of them wasn’t dulled in the least bit.

          Just as he took a big bite from his apple he felt a disturbance outside of the forest. A grin pulled at his lips as he figured out what it was. A human venturing too close to his world. With the destruction he knew to be happening in the world around his forest he was all the more excited to take from the disgusting creature.

-----

          Tingles ran up and down his skin under his dirty army uniform with each step. There was a flash of bright light causing his eyes to squeeze shut tightly. He blinked a few times to make the spots disappear, but the vision of green and flourishing life made him freeze and rub at his eyes. Underneath his boots were dark green grass, daisies popping up between the tree roots twisting over the expanse of life. Just a moment ago he was squinting his way through the dirt and fallen trees on the trek back to camp. Was he dreaming? Was he dead?

          His head whipped to the left when he heard a branch snapped in half, but nothing could be seen besides thick trees as far as he could see through the thick foliage. Heart beating harshly in his chest, he gripped the rifle in his hand tighter and lifted it slightly. As he stepped forward it was only then he realized it was raining, something that hadn’t been happening before he opened his eyes to a field of green. The small drops plopped against his skin, pulling days of dirt and grime down his cheeks.

          A flash of movement, a streak of dark green to his right, but when he looked there was nothing but the trunk of a tree. Blood rushed past his ears as a deep, sultry voice floated in the air around him, “How about you put that down, hmm?”

          “Who are you?!”

          “Who am I?” A soft, beautiful laugh bubbled. “That does not matter.”

          Kibum lifted the gun higher, aiming at the seemingly empty space. One moment he swore the voice was coming from one place, and the next the opposite. “What is this place?”

          “Why, this is Aurora.” Leaves fluttered in the breeze along with the pitter-patter of raindrops against the forest floor, “Put that awful weapon down handsome. Nothing will harm you here.”

          His jaw tightened for a moment, before his hands began to fall, the end of the gun pressing into the grass. “Where are you?”

          “Here, there. Everywhere.” Bright laughter was heard above him as leaves began to fall. The gun fell to the forest floor completely as the voice grew distant. “Come see.”

          As if pulled by a taut string, he stumbled forward, hands pressed against the tree trunks, steadying him. The further he walked, the more drenched he became. The uniform was now sagging with the weight, as he continued to walk. He didn’t know where he was going, but at the same time, he felt like there was a certain destination he was heading towards. Before he knew it the sound of water crashing over rocks came to his ears and through the slowly spacing out trees he saw a wide river twisting to his left.

          As if in slow motion his gaze moved away to fall on a figure standing between the opening a dozen feet in front of him. The breeze whipped the white fabric of their pants against their legs, dark green hair braided off their left shoulder. A gorgeous smile spread across their face as they lifted their hand, and suddenly daisies were popping up from the ground making the green of the grass white with petals. “Does what you see appease you?”

-----

          “The voice… it was you.”

          Very observant this one, Jinki thought to himself, but he kept the smile as he stepped closer. “So it seems.”

          “This place, Aurora you called it. What is it?”

          “A forest. A home. Sanctuary.” Jinki looked away from the man, humming. He walked around him, running a hand over the expanse of his back, feeling the heavy fabric of his clothes. “Aurora is whatever you need it to be, Handsome.”

          “My name is Kibum.”

          Jinki slipped by him closely, chest brushing against Kibum’s shoulder as he looked up at him through his lashes. “And Kibum, what is Aurora for you?”

          Kibum's eyes are half-closed as he focused on Jinki’s face, and then lowered to his lips. Jinki can feel his smile widen. A few more moments and this human, while rather pretty, would serve his purpose and whatever valuable thing he had in his possession would be within Jinki’s grasp. Except suddenly Kibum’s eyes were fully open and he was breathing out, “A bath.”

          For a split second Jinki’s facade cracked, utter confusion gracing his features before he got it under control. “A bath?”

          “It has been some time since I have properly bathed. Even if this is a dream… I would like a bath.” Kibum grinned widely, “And food. Does this place have food?”

          “It has whatever you need.” Jinki turned around, sighing quietly to himself before smiling over his shoulder. “Come, I will show you.”

-----

          Jinki had seen many humans over the course of the last thousands of years since the barrier was put into place. Something intrigued him about this Kibum more than any human had in that time. He seemed as if he was fighting the lure which shouldn’t be able to happen in the first place. Thousands of humans have stumbled upon his forest, whether by accident or Jinki’s magic. Each one tempted closer with only one thing on their mind, lust. Kibum had barely looked at him since asking for a bath. The man was currently swimming in the lagoon the waterfall ran into and the rivers twisted from toward the south. If Jinki looked up he could see Taemin in his crane form, trying to be subtle in his spying.

          Kibum’s clothes were laying over a nearby tree limb to dry. When the man wasn’t looking Jinki had slipped his hand into one of the pockets and fished out a necklace of some sort with rings hooked on it. Taemin had swooped just above him and caught the item when Jinki tossed it to him before Kibum could notice it was missing. The man didn’t seem to mind the missing item, too busy focusing on the food placed before him. Jinki swung his feet in the cool water before him, back against a tree and eyes steady on Kibum’s form. “You eat as if you have not in days.”

          “I haven’t.” A bit of juice dribbled off his lips and down his chin, making Jinki wince slightly. Kibum wiped it off with the back of his hand as he continued, “The war has made it hard for food to be distributed to the ground troops.”

          “War.” Jinki huffed. “You humans never seem to stop raging it.”

          “I cannot disagree with such a statement; however,” Kibum’s hand falls against the grass around the river, fingers tight around his peach. “The north attacked us. Are we not supposed to protect our homes? Our families?”

          “Violence and destruction can always be prevented.”

          “There was no prevention! It was unprovoked.”

          Jinki brings his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on the top of his knees. “War is not honorable. Whether you are the aggressor or not. My forest is here because your people have ruined your own land with this foolish destructive endeavor. There’s no honor in this.”

          The peach in Kibum’s hand was smashed then, juice dripping down his fingers and palm as his voice rose in volume. “You have no right to question the honor behind everything while you sit here in your safe and lavish magical wood.”

          “And you have no right to judge me while you bathe in my waters and you eat my food.” Jinki stood, hands held in tight fists at his side. “I have witnessed many wars over my years, thousands of humans murdered by their own kind for useless materialistic reasonings and with each, the world suffers more. The Earth Mother and her creatures suffer because she decided to create such a selfish breed. I believe it is time for you to leave.”

          Kibum slowly blinks before pulling himself from the water, lips pressed together for a moment before he abruptly turns on his heel and heads for his dried clothes. Jinki turns away as the cloth he had provided for the human falls away and he changes. “How will I know the way out?”

          “You will know when you see it.” Jinki calmly states, toes curling a little in the soft grass beneath him. He gestured to the gun, “Do not forget that invention of war.”

          “Thank you for your hospitality.” The man stands there in the glow of the setting sun for a few moments staring at Jinki before he slowly turns away. Jinki barely watches him disappear through the trees before he ventures to investigate his newly acquired treasure.

-----

          It’s only a few days before he feels another human approaching his forest. Even more intriguing is that the human feels familiar as if they’ve met before. Gazing from behind a tree, Jinki lets the human in through the barrier. Almost immediately he recognized them as the soldier he had taken the ring necklace from, Kibum. Jinki raises his brows as he steps out from his hiding spot, silently following the man as he storms through the forest. “Excuse me!”

          Kibum jumps a foot off the ground as Jinki speaks. “There’s no need to yell, Sir.”

          “Jesus Christ.” Kibum pants out. “You can’t sneak up on someone like that. I could have shot you.”

          “You cannot do that without this, can you?” Jinki flicks his wrist and the weapon that was once held within the man’s hand is tugged away. Cocking his head to the side, he curiously asks. “Is that someone...Jesus was it, important to you?”

          “What? I- that doesn’t matter.” Kibum bit his lower lip. “It took me two days to find this place again.”

          “You remember?”

          “Why wouldn’t I remember something like this?”

          “No one ever has.” Jinki scanned the man’s form before waving his hand towards the woven archway that signified the exit. “All who ever leave here of human blood never recall what they have experienced.” When Kibum remains silent, Jinki ventures to question, hand tight on his staff in case something goes astray. “Why have you returned?”

          “I lost something while I was here and I was wondering if you’d allow me to look for it.”

          Jinki walked past him, planting his staff into the ground with each step. “Walk with me. Describe this, item. Maybe I have seen it.”

          A few moments pass before he hears Kibum’s footsteps as he jogs to catch up. “It’s a necklace. It has two silver rings upon the chain.”

-----

          A few hours later, upon retracing the path he had taken yesterday and not finding anything, Kibum felt the disappointment weigh down on him. His head was cradled between both of his palms, sounds of sorrow and words of disbelief leaving his lips as he curled into himself. “I can’t believe I lost it.”

          “Why is such a simple thing so important to you that you would leave your fellow soldiers to find it?”

          “It was my mother’s.” Kibum sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he lifts his head to meet Jinki’s gaze. “The rings were her and my father’s wedding bands. It’s the last thing I have of theirs besides the photos locked away back home.”

          “Are they away on an adventure or something?”

          “They’re dead.” Kibum’s breathing shudders as his gaze lowers to his hands. “I am not sure how much of the world outside this you are aware of, but before this war, there was another. It was thought to be a war to end all wars, millions are believed to have been lost. My father and older brother died in such a war when I was only five or younger, leaving my mother being the only person I had left. She passed away just before the North attacked.”

          “If you have no one left, then what are you fighting to protect as you so claimed on our first meeting?”

          When Kibum meets his gaze the sadness in his eyes is tinged with anger. “So the men I fight with do not have to go through what I’ve had to...to give the little girl who’s father just died yesterday, a safe place to grow up, a place he fought to protect. Because… that is what you do for your country.”

          “I see.” Without removing his eyes from Kibum, Jinki reaches into his pocket and pulls out his fist. He opens it, palm up, as he says, “Then I apologize for having stolen this from you.”

          His hand is shoved with the force that Kibum grasps it. The man stands directly above him, looming almost as he hisses. “How dare you! You had it on you the whole time! How could you!”

          Jinki slowly rose, right hand limp at his side, but gripping his staff with the other as he calmly met Kibum’s fuming gaze. “I lure humans into my forest and I take whatever I wish from them.”

          “Do you have any shame?” A bit of spit flicks from Kibum’s lips as he speaks. “You speak of honor and yet you take what people hold valuable. How pathetic.”

          Lifting his jaw, Jinki takes one step closer until Kibum is breathing down on him. “Your kind have taken my homeland from me, tried to kill me and burn this entire forest down so don’t you DARE stand here and attempt to make me feel sorry for trying to make up for the pain they’ve caused me by taking your little trinkets.” He stares at Kibum for a moment before turning away, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get his breathing under control. “You have your necklace. Now please leave.”

          When he doesn’t hear the man retreating, Jinki whips around, “Why are you still here?”

          The gaze is different, soft and warm, an expression Jinki cannot place. “That scar… did a human do that to you?”

          “Yes.”

          “I’m sorry.” Kibum avoids his gaze then as he clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have judged without knowing your story. We all have our demons.”

          “I don’t need or want your pity.” Flexing his fingers on his staff, Jinki spits out, “Why would a human care about my story?”

          “The pain one experiences shape who they are. I want to understand.” Kibum meets his gaze then. “Will you tell me about it?”

          His heart pounds in his chest as he replies, not expecting to concede to Kibum’s gaze. “Alright.”

----

          Kibum slowly rises from running his hand over the long-ago dried earth, the blackened soil of the only remnants of the scarred past. “Why did you return my necklace to me?”

          “No one has ever returned for something I have taken from them.” Jinki looks to his right, arms tight around his middle, and softly continues. “The last human I trusted with my world betrayed me. You are the first human to remember this place and...and I was wary of what someone like you could do for something they held so dear.”

          “You were afraid I would hurt this world?”

          “Yes. I still am.”

          “I see.” Kibum turned, looking at the expanse of thick forest, the river twisting to the East, and the mountain line in the distance. “I understand why you are so protective of this place. It’s breathtaking. I would never do anything to put it at risk.”

          “I have been told that before.”

          “You’ve never given anyone a chance to prove you wrong.” Kibum let out a little chuckle before turning his head to look at him. “What’s your name?”

          “Jinki.”

          “Well Jinki,” Kibum smiles sincerely as he turns to face him. “I apologize for the betrayal and destruction my kind has wrecked. I know you do not trust me, but I hope I at least have earned your mutual respect. Deep down, biologically, you and I aren’t that different. You would do anything to protect your home, and so would I for mine. Don’t misunderstand me for doing the same.”

          “I suppose.”

          “That’s good enough.” Kibum softly smiled. “I guess I’ll get going. You won’t see me again. I will respect your wishes and keep this a secret.”

          “Is that so?”

          A few steps away Kibum looks back, shrugging. “You gave me back what means the most to me. The least I can do is to protect what is most dear to you. Goodbye Jinki.”

------

Next

[hollandroos]

Blow a kiss, Fire a gun | Part 5

Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

PLAYLIST

Words: 2.2K

Summary: You’re arranged to marry Tom Holland, Londons most feared mobster, but it’s never easy. He doesn’t seem to want you and you don’t want anything to do with him.

Tom knew he was screwed the moment you walked away from him in the club, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the floor surrounded by women that he could pay reckless amounts of money, none of which would leave even a dent in his bank account. But for some reason, he didn’t walk up to a single one of these women, too focused on following you out after telling Harrison that he was off. Not even bothering to bid his two younger brothers a farewell.

He wouldn’t admit that he kept his eyes trained on the bare skin that showed where your dress ended, spending the half hour ride home imagining what it’d feel like to run his hands up your bare thighs, pushing them aside and pressing rushed kisses on the insides until he reached your core. He wanted to hear you whine, moan his name as the words fell from your lips. They were dirty, unholy thoughts that he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about.

Tom could only imagine exactly what you wore underneath that red dress. It took everything in him not to palm himself on the way home, but he wouldn’t give you the pleasure of knowing what you’d done to him so he simply tapped his foot impatiently against the foot of the car. This made it no surprise that as soon as the car pulled up, he jumped straight out, heading to his room where he ripped his black jeans off, gripping his length with one hand and the bed sheets with the other as he thought about you, the girl that only days ago he wanted gone.

Tom had always thought with his dick instead of his brain when it came to women, and in this case, it may have meant mistaking his growing feelings for lust. The mobster that didn’t beg for anyone didn’t chase or fall to his knees for any girl, wanted you moaning his name, and he was willing to put up a fight.

“I don’t know the man she’s just, she’s getting into my fucking head”

Harrison shook his head, a cheeky smile covering his features because for the first time ever, his friend was learning that sometimes you had to actually work for what he wanted, instead of kicking his feet up and bossing everyone else around. “She’s a fiery one, I’ll give her that. Are you sure this isn’t just about getting into her pants?”

“Of course not, I don’t want anything serious.” He tore up another useless piece of paper, chucking it behind him with the rest of them. “I’m used to girls running after me but now she shows up and she teases me and suddenly I’m fucking weak?” Tom groaned, shoving a stack of papers off of his desk. “God why isn’t there anything in these damn files” He muttered, slamming his laptop shut.

By now his office looked like an absolute mess but this was what Tom did when he was balls deep into a task, he made whatever mess necessary to find the truth.

“I don’t get why you can’t just find the people that threatened her when she was little and deal with them, then you could send her home and bam, you’re a free man once again,” Harrison said it as if it were the easiest thing in the world, eyeing up the stack of discarded papers.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? There’s no traces or anything. It was all done so well as if it didn’t even exist in the first place or the person was really fucking smart”

His eyes fell over the contract, as well as the other information he’d collected about this girl and her past. All traces of their former mob was wiped, as was half of her childhood and any information about the killing. He’d buried himself in work, attempting to print off any documents, news articles, whatever he could find about you and your past but not much came up, much to his disappointment.

“Then take that information and go from there” Tom was getting frustrated now.

“I’m trying but god-, i don’t even have a clue what i’m looking at” Rolling up his sleeves, Tom dropped the paper. It was getting hot in his office, but maybe that was simply his anger.

“Her mother was murdered, correct?” Tom nodded. “How? You know some mobs have certain uhh-, ways of doing things, how was she killed?”

“I’ve looked for that too but there’s nothing, Haz, nothing. It’s like this is all some fucking test.”

“Keep digging, there has to be something. Very few people could completely erase something as big as this.”

That group of very few people consisted of his father, the man that could completely remove a set of people without a single raised brow. Papers were spread out all over the floor, empty cups of coffee lined the desk and Haz had to ask himself whether or not his best friend had gotten in too deep this time.

“Why don’t you find out from Y/N? If anyone knows it’ll be her”

“I can’t do that though can I? Who knows what sort of shit she’s been through”

“If this were anyone else you’d interrogate them, demand the truth but now you’re too afraid to approach some girl you’ve been living with for a week? What happened to my best friend?” Harrison snarked, snorting when Tom gripped the roots of his hair.

“You’re a fucking idiot. Get Sam and Harry, tell them that if they want to play even a small part in the mob, now there time. Inform them of what we’re trying to do and the rest is up to them until I find the time.”

It was the warmest it’d been since you arrived at Tom’s and you weren’t planning just to sit around and do nothing, so slipping on the bikini that’d been stuffed into your bag, you decided to explore the pool.

It was beautiful, different flowers and vines hung from the safety fence and you made yourself at home on one of the long chairs. You’d hate to admit that this place was slowly becoming your home but you were starting to feel more homesick by the day and despite how large the house was, you felt constricted, confined. You had definitely been thinking up ways that you could escape the large gates, knowing that if you asked to go home he’d possibly say no.

You were laying in the sun, a book in hand when you heard footsteps. You ignored them until they stopped, a shadow covering the sun and groaned because god, you were actually enjoying just being alone in the sun.

Noticing it was Tom, you put the book down, sitting up. “What’re you doing? Don’t you have work to do?” A part of you felt pleased that he’d found you this time, you were still proud of your work last night and were prepared to hold it against him.

“I saw you from my window and had to come say hi” He didn’t move. “Plus, I don’t want my men seeing my lady in nothing but a bikini” He teased, standing above you.

“You’re odly protective over someone you don’t give two shits about?” You stood up, taking the sunglasses you were wearing off and chucking them back down onto the seat.

“Did you come here to flirt or…?” He’d originally come out to ask you about your mother’s murder, but now he found himself drooling at the sight of you in the tight, black bikini.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m getting in, think your men can keep their eyes off of me for a bit longer?”

“They know better” Tom sat back, watching you walk down the steps and easily slide into the water. He couldn’t help but train his eyes up and down your figure, hating how the bikini covered the parts he desperately wanted to see.

The sun was out but he noticed the way you lip began shaking ever so slightly and his mind filled with ways he could warm you up. Tom mentally cursed, knowing he was working himself up yet again. But he couldn’t get that image out of his head, you grinding up against him, lips so close to his and the way your skin felt underneath his hands. It was heavenly.

You smiled wickedly to yourself when you noticed him stand up, peeling his shirt off but that wickid look was replaced by awe when you saw what was underneath. Admittedly, you underestimated the man. He was defined in all the right places and that awe only increased when he slipped his pants off, leaving him in simply a pair of boxers.

Tom would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the way your eyes widened, mouth agape slightly. Dropping his discarded clothing, he walked towards the pool, climbing in and swimming over to you.

It was cold, he’d give you that but your cheeks were flushed red from something else. The water was merely a factor but as he got closer, you seemed to back yourself against the side of the pool. Whether it was you trying to initiate something or simply trying to get away from him, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d been winding himself up since you walked off last night

“You left me very sexually frustrated last night, princess” Tom was awfully close to you now, his breath fanning your neck. “Do you think that’d be the end of it?”

Maybe a part of you thought that it’d be the end of it, but a bigger part of you knew that you couldn’t tease him and get away with it. Did you want to get away with it? “Not exactly,” you breathed out tilting your neck to the side a little and allowing him greater access to the skin, which he gladly accepted.

He pushed you into the edge of the pool wall, one arm around your waist, the other tangled in your hair as he fluttered his lips over your neck. Your eyes closed and you felt trapped, but almost in the best way possible as the water splashed around between the two of you with even the smallest movements.

This time you weren’t planning to walk away at the last moment, you needed this just as much as he did but you still didn’t want to give in to him so soon, but as he pressed you harder against the wall, trapping you between the concrete and his crotch you could practically feel yourself melting into his grasp, become almost jelly like underneath him.

“Tell me you want this” He coaxed, but you didn’t reply, simply stayed almost limp in his arms. “C’mon, the longer you drag this out the harder it is on the both of us” he pressed his lips to the area beneath your ear, sucking on the skin softly before flicking his lips over the area. The action was so gentle yet it almost made a small gasp escape your lips. “Tell me how much you want me and I’ll give you exactly what you want, poppet.”

It was hard to believe that only minutes ago you were shivering slightly, the water seemed almost icy cold but now it felt as if every fiber of you was on fire simply from his touches.

“I want you, Tom, F-fuck” You groaned, gripping the edge of the pool.

“Let’s get one thing straight, princess” Tom smirked, grinding his hips into yours slowly. “I’m in charge.”

The hand that was in your hair was no underneath your chin, making you look at him dead in the eyes and Tom couldn’t help but lick his lips as the sight of you, dripping wet and breathing deeply beneath him.

He hadn’t even touched you yet and your cheeks were flushed a bright red (though that was probably due to the cold water), eyes wide with need. His thumb went to your bottom lip first, wiping off a drop of water before planting his lips on yours roughly. For your first kiss together it was messy, definitely rushed and but his lips were hot against your cold ones.

Wanting to skip the chit-chat, you agreed. “You’re in charge, I get it”

The sexual tension between the two of you had been growing since the moment you first sat down in his office and by now, it was almost too much. You didn’t want to give up so easy, but you couldn’t help but fall apart.

Tom pulled away though it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, his mind was so clouded with lust and desire as he gripped your hand with his and staring at the windows. “Everyone can see us here, let’s go somewhere else”

PART 6 @barnsism @trashqueenbitch @gab-spidey @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @peterparkerdeservesbetter @ambrosmar @calmdownyall @xxxxdelenaxxxx @deadlyaffairs @stop-wonder-think @thollandtrash @butcanyoujustimagine @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic @highladyjel @study-at-the-disco @r-i-d-g-e-s @giuliavxox @dreams-in-different-colours @spideynblackcat  @vividcelestia @okayypotato @unknxwn-intrxvert @highkeymood @tra2embrel shqueenbitch @imahuricane @thefanbasewhore @lyssilinn @thebittygirl @spn-worm @theamuz @hollandsmuse @theromanmockingbird @revivalbenito @asfaraslifegets @avahodge @eternallovers65 @rosecoloredshawn @spoofagoofonyou @soldmysoultofandomshelp @wintersoldierbaby @lizzie-143 @laucontrerasv @heavydartysoul @noakantor14 @themegatron1999 @galcxykisscd @majestichoechlin @yellow–inlove  @fragcc @chasingsuperheroes @petersunderroos @letrashailen @eclecticbooktaster @hiccups-are-better @bubbles1642  @lydiasobrien @qtest-trash @carrotsunshine @ccold-as-ice @friedwhisperstheorist @moopai @naria-hime @dafnouche @ellebella1238 @ashram12 @jasxn-txdd-8-14 @laucontrerasv @lovee-roaslie @anytimebitches  @teenage-book-lover @faangirl101 @bored-green @curlshawnholland @tryn25 @xx-fandom-potato-xx @lowkeyspideyyy @fandomnerdsarecool  @fvckjamesbarnes @taylorjrs13 @cthoodaf @modern-day-citrus-cowboy @hellodarknessmysweetfriend  @hailhydrabarnes @overdramatic-teen @spideyboiiiiiiii @baileyxrudesalx @briefzipperapricotbagel @parker-underoos @officialchainreaction @aubreylovesthegames @shipitliketheussenterprise @your-1up-girl @peterparkerstolemyheart @dej-okay @0hanx @all-my-friends-are-german @captain-loki-xavier

BAK: @aussie-mantle @highladyjel @revivalbenito @spider-mendes @iris1697 @theamuz @zseonlydavinci @bridiereads @sophie2003003 @parkeret @baby-baker @marvelgladers @dreamsofbeingsomeoneelse @sighaislin @marvel-zip @oreosrockover18 @whystopkeepon@draqcnheartstrinq @hollanderheart  @peters-vlogs @no-aaaahhhh @underoosie @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @kaciidubs @spidey-pal @call-me-wisegirl @khai-day-the-13th @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic  @panicatttckiss @marriedtopeterparker @stormyparker @mysticsthinking @elyshugh @spider-mendes @girl-in-the-chair @sort-of-pretty-in-pink @bloom003-blog @nextkaratekid @saracastickid @prof-scribbles @holyrose96 @riverdalemami @strangerthantheflash @sams-hollands @tiau-man @tiny-friggin-human @thollandtrash @amidblogger @tiau-man @zseonlydavinci @therealme13posts @zseonlydavinci @httpmcrvel @acciorinn @shakespeare-and-shenanigans @satellitesweetpea @maddie-leighhh @spideymanss @stephie-senpai @sherizaraiyah @tomsh0lland @spidey-pal @casualprincess77 @starlightfound @fandom-feathers @spidergirlwanab @smileyhollander @notthepersonyouwerelookingfor @tomhollandsworld @necromancer-inwell @doloreatroce @hottrashformarvel @fragcc @woosh-pear @spider-mendes @softhollandhoe @ill-be-your-temporary-fix @thegirlwiththestories @elyshugh @stilinski-parker @misscookie-monster16 @amidblogger @lovelynerdytraveler @tmrhollandkay @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @thedoctor-and-her-fallenangles @peachesnmei  @ocaptainmycaptainrogers @fuckmerunningtomholland @chingonaconcha @johannaapagan @tomhollandsmouthfr0g @cielofiorito

[sweetestt-devottionn]

Hug Me

AN: This was inspired by a fic that i read before hope u enjoy it! sorry for any grammar mistakes english isn’t my first language, i’m open to criticism tho:)

==========

It seems like yesterday I was happy with nothing. Today, I make a wish to the moon. I told her if I can see you once again, I'll do one last dance with you to this song.

To remember you forever,

Just one last dance...

==========

Have you ever heard the word 'breathless'?

It has different meaning of its own if you put it in different use. One could describe the meaning of extreme surprise where you just froze in your spot, mouth hung agape as you look at the most precious thing in you possession in awe.

It truly was a wonderful description to appreciate such blessings.

Yet, in another meaning, one that you make sense of literally, has such a different effect, with a stark contrast between light and darkness, akin of a nightmare in the middle of a day dream.

==========

Breathless

[breth-lis]

1. without breath or breathing with difficulty; gasping; panting:

2. dead; lifeless.

==========

Everything happened so fast. One moment she was just standing there in her comfy clothes, casually washing the dishes then the next moment. She saw her lying on the floor as the plate she was holding dropped and shattered against the hard wood floor. It might be just at the spur of the moment, where she exists and everything fell apart. She was rooted to the spot, head staying on the same spot her love used to stand just moments ago. Slowly, but surely everything came rushing back, like a river current overcoming any hindrance. Her hands were shaking when she finally got control of her body.

"LISA!" She screamed then, heart gripped with the panic brewing inside her at seeing her lover so frail, surrounded with the broken glass scattered around her body. She was shaken with pity that at such a tragic misery her love was still attention's sweet centre. Painted was the tragically beautiful story of their journey, started with her world brushed with dark muddy colours.

“oh mygod ohmygod,”

Jisoo swore she never ran so fast in her life.

In the blink of an eye, she was holding her lover's head on her lap as her fingers fumbled with her phone, the trembling digits struggling to call 9-1-1.

"I need your help please... She fainted....I-" That was the last thing Lisa heard as the black spots on her vision finally swallowed her whole. When the last sigh left her lips, her body became slack.

And that,

was the night everything changed.

==========

The trip to the hospital was not one on her favourite list of trips but, at seeing her lover sudden decline of health, she wondered just how long it would take for the ambulance to reach the hospital. She sighed over and over again as she held Lisa’s hand close and kissed each of her knuckles.

She choked back a sob as her eyes welled with tears and the state Lisa was in. Oxygen mask covered her face, and somehow in the span of minutes she had only just noticed how pale and gaunt her love actually is, a drastic difference to her usually fair and healthy body. She cursed herself, hating the fact that she had failed to see the symptoms that might have had explained the ongoing situation.

“I’m sorry baby, I should have looked after you better and stayed home more, fuck I’m- I’m fucking sorry I shouldn’t have I-,” Her speech was cut off due to the sob threatening to burst out.

“pl-please just wake u-up please…”

It may seem unusual for those close to her but,

She prayed that night.

To whatever gods there are out there, she just hoped they’d listened.

When the sound of cars honking filled her hearing and the pounding of her heart reverberated throughout her body, she closed her lids tightly. Lips mouthing an inaudible prayer as tears welled in her eyes. She held her lover's hand a little tighter, yet somehow, she still refused to cry.

‘Me and my pride’ she muses.

She refrained herself to believe anything but her lover being okay again.

She had to be okay..

She just had to...

==========

The short trip to the hospital turned out to be a long one. The seconds and the minutes turned into hours as she waited outside the ER. She paced back and forth for she knew that there was something wrong, though she refused to believe it. Realising she might have to tell Chaeyoung, she steeled herself against the obvious thunderstorm and pressed call.

It doesn’t take long for the said best friend/ sister to pick up, and for some reason she felt guilty, like it was somehow her fault when the first hello filtered through the phone.

“Jisoo unnie? Are you there?”

“Umm… Chaeng, I-I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what just happened I-“

“Unnie? Please calm down, what happened? Is Lisa okay?”

“She-“

“She’s just been admitted to the hospital, Chaeyoung-ah…”

“WHAT?! JENNIE WE NEED TO GO NOW!”

“Chaeng- I..” She tried to say when the phone beeps, indicating the end of the call.

They came 15 minutes after she hang up their call, appearance so dishevelled some might think they’re some kind of a hobo.

“Is she okay?” Jennie asked as Chaeyoung was currently feeling too wrecked to even function.

“I- I don’t know , Jen.. One minute she was standing and the next she was suddenly on the floor unconscious.” She explained as her hands swung wildly in her manic.

Jennie said nothing but pulled Jisoo into a tight hug in which she immediately melt into, followed by Chaeyoung as the three of them relied on each other for the comfort they badly needed at the moment.

Their million questions were finally answered another hour later. In midst of her mini panic, the doctor handling Lisa's case came out of the room and approached her jittery self.

"I'm sorry...”

That was all Jisoo needed to hear to know that, she was not okay, her lover never was. She knew, Lisa knew that she didn't have much time left and yet, she still smiled and act that bubbly personality of hers. Always unyielding, always without flaw, not even once.

A gasp was heard, yet she couldn’t care less.

Jisoo pondered, just when did Lisa became such a good liar?

"I hate you so much..." She sobbed as her back slid against the white hospital wall. Its horror and constant dullness that painted her peripheral stayed unflinching. Leaving her, to fend for herself after the heart wrenching news that might just destroyed every good thing she had left in her life.

‘such a tragic life of a dreamer’’Such a pity’

I wonder Lisa,

I do wonder...

==========

Jisoo spent a restless night back at home. She laid on her side of the bed and took in the unusual coldness of her own personal sanctuary. Her stare resided on the empty right side of her bed. The golden sparks in her eyes had faded hours ago, only the remnants of it stayed. It had turned tedious brown in its departure.

She breathed deep, trying to remember her scent. Truth to be told, it had been hard for her to leave her love alone on the hospital bed, but she was not one to defy doctor's order. Though she really gave the nurses a run for their money when they need to forcefully dragged her away from her lover's limp body.

She decided then, she should have fought against their grasps harder, for Lisa was worth every struggle.

Every. Single. One.

==========

Days passed in a blur after the news. It was broadcasted on their social media accounts that they will be taking a long hiatus with the reasons unknown. It sure did cause an uproar in their fandom with their seemingly abrupt disappearance but in the end they couldn’t do anything but to accept their idols’ decision.

Realising the ticking time that was eating away her love’s life, Jisoo brought her everywhere her heart wished for. Her heart clenched every time she saw Lisa's face light up when she brought her to places she had never been before, knowing any moment now could be her last.

She smiled bitterly at that. Her time was limited and she was fucking desperate for any kind of miracle. She prayed every night, for something, anything, to happen.

Because she would give it all just for her to be okay again. That way, they would be able to do the future they had planned out together. In their future, they would be living in a 2 storey mansion with Dalgomie, Leo, Luca and 4 kids running around the house. They would grow old together, wasting their time watching the sunset every evening with a warm cup of tea.

Fate always said otherwise, because the one time she actually found someone who loved her for her. They took her away from Jisoo.

Even sometimes, love was not enough...

==========

It was another cold evening on the midst of December. The couple was snuggling on the couch just enjoying each other's warmth. Jennie and Chaeyoung were out, buying food for their dinner. No words were spoken, though the comfortable silence of the empty dorm was broken when Lisa called out to Jisoo.

"Jisoo?" Lisa asked quietly, head laying slack against Jisoo's chest.

"Hmm?" She responded, hand moving to stroke Lisa's hair gently.

"Can we sing right now?"

Her hand stilled from her movement as she looked down at her. Usually, Jisoo would have laughed at the random request but the look on Lisa's face, left her stunned. Absentmindedly, Jisoo started to sing one of her favourite song, Long Live.

It really was ironic.

"I said remember this moment

In the back of my mind...” She started, voice wavering a bit.

She was shaken out of her reverie when Lisa suddenly sat up and started pulling at her hands, urging her to stand with her.

“The time we stood with our shaking hands

The crowds in stands went wild

We were the kings and the queens

And they read off our names

The night you danced like you knew our lives

Would never be the same ..."

At this point, they were both dancing around in their apartment, not caring about what would happen in the future. Live in the now they said.

“You held your head like a hero...”

Lisa sang, voice sounding off key but none of them care anyways. She crossed her arms and posed as superman pretending to be showing her ‘spectacular biceps’ that had become bony and last muscular over the past few months. She nodded her head at Jisoo cueing at her to sing the next lines.

"On a history book page

It was the end of a decade

But the start of an age..."

Jisoo stayed quiet and instead, she only looked at her funnily. Lisa had no choice but to continue singing with a grumpy voice.

"Come on CHICHU!! I SAID ONE, TWO, THREE... SING WITH ME!!" She held out her hand between them as if to share the microphone for the both of them.

"Long live the walls we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders

One day we will be remembered...”

This time Jisoo did join the fun, screaming with her lover as they belted out the lyrics. They might just sound like dying whale and the neighbours would surely filled out a noise complaint but seriously, they could careless right now. No headlines, no media, no worries. Just Jisoo and Lisa singing off key in their penthouse apartment.

"I said remember this feeling

I passed the pictures around

Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines

Wishing for right now..."

Lisa continued as she looked at Jisoo and pulled on a funny face, successfully bringing a long overdue smile on her girlfriend's face.

"We are the kings and the queens

You traded your baseball cap for a crown..."

Jisoo gestured to Lisa's head as if to put on an imaginary crown on her. Lisa smiled at the gesture and did an over exaggerated curtsy before standing up straight to urged Jisoo to keep singing as she swayed from left to right, doing some weird dancing of her own.

"When they gave us our trophies

And we held them up for our town

And the cynics were outraged

Screaming, "This is absurd"

'Cause for a moment a band of thieves in ripped up jeans got to rule the world..."

Jisoo belted the lyrics as she knelt on the floor like a rock star. Lisa was having the time of her life as she rolled down on the floor laughing her ass off.

"Love live the wall we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders..." Jisoo sang loudly.

I'm not afraid," Lisa continued with a big grin on her face.

"Long live all the mountains we move

I had the time of my life

Fighting dragons with you

I was screaming, "Long live the look on your face"

And bring on all the pretenders

One day we will be remembered

Hold on to spinning around

Confetti falls to the ground

May these memories break our fall..."

Jisoo actually sang beautifully this time, giving it her all as she pour her heart for their impromptu Lichu-karaoke session. As she opened her mouth to sing the next stanza, Lisa had already beaten her to it.

"Will you take a moment,

promise me this...

That you'll stand by me forever

But if God forbid fate should step in,

And force us into a goodbye..."

Lisa sang the lines softly to Jisoo as she put her hand over her heart as tears welled in her eyes.

"If you have children someday

When they point to the pictures,

Please tell them my name..."

Her voice cracked as she sang it, knowing the reality of it all. Jisoo rushed to comfort her but one hand motion from Lisa and another plea of "I'm okay," left her with no choice but to continue the song.

"Tell them how the crowds went wild

Tell them how I hope they shine

Long live the walls we crashed through

I had the time of my life, with you...”

Jisoo presented Lisa with a teary smile as she pointed her fingers at her. She furiously wiped her tears away, and when she belted the next line, she was determined to end this in a good note.

All smiles no frowns.

"Long, long live the walls we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

And I was screaming, "long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders

I'm not afraid..." She sang as she put on a brave face and a salute at Lisa, getting a smile out in return. Jisoo gave her a signal and they sang the last lines together.

"Singing long live all the mountains we moved

I had the time of my life

Fighting dragons with you

And long, long live the look on your face

And bring on all the pretenders

One day, we will be remembered..."

They finished the song quickly and enveloped each other in a tight embrace, tears still streaming down their faces.

"Long live us...” Jisoo whispered against her head.

"Long live you...” She added with a smile, before pressing a light kiss on Lisa’s forehead.

You will be remembered...

==========

Lisa did last longer than expected as she somehow managed to get past through her birthday and Jisoo's. Though another incident might have barraged their way at her.

On the morning after Jisoo's birthday, Lisa had stupidly fell off her bed. But that, was not the problem. It was the excruciating pain that followed after that. She swore she had never screamed so loud in her life.

Hearing her screams, Jisoo bolted upstairs towards their shared bedroom. Fingers fumbling with her phone ready to call 9-1-1.

This was giving her a sense of déjà vu. Added with the fact that in dire times like this, Jennie and Chaeng always seemed to be away at an important meeting with their management, leaving Jisoo alone to deal with a crying Lisa.

Seeing her Lisa laying helplessly on the floor, screaming her head off, Jisoo panic level accelerate to 100 real quick. She knelt down beside the whimpering girl and wafted her hand through her hair, while whispering sweet nothings to soothe her pain.

"You're gonna be okay, baby.."

You will,

You have to...

==========

"She fell the wrong way, Chaeyoung. I've said this to you a million times. Why won't you believe me?" Jisoo hissed at Chaeyoung as they walked down the hospital halls to Lisa's room. She was being prepped for immediate surgery because apparently her stupid fall could possibly cause paralysis. Stupid bed and stupid floor, she had said.

"Wow unnie , Okay I believe you, but seriously you need to chill. You're basically on fire right now.." Chaeyoung tread carefully, afraid to get Jisoo madder than she already was.

"You're dealing with this better than I ever was Chaeng. How are you okay with her dying?" She ranted, frustrated.

"I'm not, and I never will be okay with her dying, so don't even try to say that. But, do you know what makes me strong unnie? It was her wish. She personally told me that she wanted her last days to be full of smiles, not tears; not frowns. So I tried, I really tried my best every day to keep the smile on my face, to keep the happy thoughts on my head as if she wasn't dying. I had to respect her wish. I had to, unnie..." Chaeyoung confessed as she blinked rapidly to avoid the tears from falling, knowing Lisa would caught up with her act once she saw a faint tear marks on her face.

"I'm sorry Chaeyoung-ah, I-I didn't know,"

"It's okay unnie, please just trust me on this. You need to respect her wish too okay?"

"All smiles?"

"All smiles."

==========

It had not been great.

Lisa was paralysed from the waist down. But she had not reacted poorly. She had taken a moment of silence after the news, both her lover and best friends looking at her expectantly, gauging her reaction. What happened next was not expected by the both of them.

With a defeated sigh, Lisa had looked back up towards the doctor and asked a simple question.

"Can I go back home now?"

The meaning behind her words were clear, she didn't want to talk about it and it was to be expected. Yet, that split moment when she looked at Jisoo at the word 'home', really messed with Chaeyoung's emotion. She had lived, knowing that her best friend and sister had found her home. A place for her to belong, yet, it was wretched from her grasp just after she found it.

Home…

Lost.

==========

Today was the day the two brotp? finally get to hang out. Though, Jennie realised she should have done this sooner. She had immediately became fast friends with Lisa after their first meeting with each other during their trainee days. She had said, the only reason they got along so well was because their ‘stupid aegyo tendencies and annoyingly cute gummy smiles ’ cheers to Jennie for that. She knew her gummy smiles are valuable winning weapon. So to speak, with their fast growing friendship and what not, this news had truly affected Jennie deeply.

They were strolling around the central park, not a lot of people were in sight which was a plus to the both of them.

"Jennie, if you didn't stop thinking, smoke might came out of your head any time now," Lisa suddenly said, causing her to pause in her movement.

"Shut it Manoban, or do I have to hit you to do so?" Jennie clapped back at her best friend who now appeared offended. She put a dramatic hand over her chest and said.

"Really? You'll hit a cripple? WHERE ARE YOUR MORALS?"

"Where yours are?" Jennie sassed.

"Shit, let me call Satan. He has them. Along with my list of fucks I do not give."

"Oh please, SOMEONE PLEASE GET THIS GIRL SHE'S ANNOYING ME," Jennie was all but shout.

"Watch it Nini or I'll tell Chaengie about your behaviour."

"You are such a tattle-teller, you b*tch. You disgust me," Jennie said in her best Kim-Kardashian-accent as she flipped her hair to get her point across.

"My energy should not be wasted talking to you, move along please I need to get my ice cream," Lisa commanded from her wheelchair bossily.

"You're lucky you're cute or else I would've left you somewhere," Jennie complained as she grudgingly started to push the wheelchair to the ice cream shop.

==========

Miracles do happen, sadly it didn't always last.

==========

Lisa knew her time was coming, knowing she had outlived the doctor's predictions; this was bound to happen anytime soon. It was a little after the New Year. She was being woken up, with severe chest pains. She screamed which immediately woke Jisoo up.

"Lisa baby, what's wrong?" She asked soothingly, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

Jisoo didn't get an answer from Lisa except for her occasional whimpers which caused her to curl further into herself, hoping to make the pain stop.

She knew her time was coming,

But she sure as heck was not ready for it.

==========

Lisa was hooked to a ventilator that night, her lungs had failed her and she didn't expect any less. Seeing her lover so fragile against the hospital bed, Jisoo made a beeline to the chair beside the bed and held her sleeping hand tightly.

She leaned her head closer to the bed and rests it at the edge of the pillow. It might have been an uncomfortable position but she wanted to, she need, to remember her.

I don't want to forget...

Right before she continued her restless slumber, Jisoo hummed sotto voce. She sang a song very dear to her as a prayer, and God, she did hope Lisa would listen close in her slumber.

“Please stay by my side,

Please stay with me..

Please don't let go of me, the one who's holding your hand...

I love you,

I love you...

In the long silence, a sound comes, screaming

From my foolish and weak heart..."

==========

The goodbye was the hardest.

==========

Lisa was looking at Jisoo as best as she could through her half lidded eyes. She could she the hudled figures of her best friends standing on the other side of her hospital bed. God, she was so tired, and she had long accepted her fate. She stared at Jisoo with any adoration she could muster and smiled weakly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She suddenly said, breaking Jisoo out of her trance.

"I want to remember you."

"Don't do this to yourself baby, please"

"I- I can't Lice, please I can't forget you. I don't want you to go. I LOVE YOU! Why is that not enough?" She sobbed as she desperately cling to her hospital gown to discard any possible distance between the two of them.

"It doesn't matter if I'm not physically beside you, unnie. Please don't cry, love, I'll look after you from the sky. You won't forget me because I'm here with you. I stayed in your heart. I'll visit you in your dreams, there you can relinquish all your joys and sorrows to me. You'll remember me, just like the way my heart will call out to you in the after life..."

"I love you, Lice. I'd give it all just for one more day with you..."

"Don't dwell- on your sadness please, all smiles, okay?" Lisa had to stop in between words to catch her breath as her lungs started failing on her.

“Unnie, if it is time for me to go, can you take care of Jisoo unnie for me?”

Lisa never said it to anyone  in particular neither Jennie or Chaeyoung, but the message was clear. They responded with a tight squeeze on her arm and a teary smile.

Their last moments together were spent with Jisoo brushing the remnants of Lisa hazel brown hair, as they enjoyed the silence that sang lullabies for those in passing. It wasn’t long when the silence was broken by none other than Lisa.

"Can I get one last kiss before I go to sleep, Chu?"

“Anything for you love,” Jisoo smiled a bittersweet smile through her red eyes and puffy cheeks before leaning in as they lips met in passion.

So desperately, trying to make it a kiss, one could remember forever.

"Sing for me please, Chichu…" Lisa whispered her last wish. She moved her body a little bit as she sagged against the hospital bed, eyes fluttering close.

"Hallelujah,

You were an angel in the shape of my love

When I fell down you'll be there holding me up

Spread your wings as you go...

And when God takes you back,

He'll say, "Hallelujah, you're home."

Jisoo wait until her breathing became no more, before she stopped. With one last cold kiss to the lips, Jisoo muttered her prayer against her skin.

"In peace may you leave the shore;

In love may you find the next.

Safe passage on your travel," Jisoo finished and wipe her tears away. She leaned her face closer to Lisa's and mumbled against her lips.

"May we meet again, Lisa..."

==========

It was nothing special, another day, another time, another dawn. They recalled that time when a young Lisa Manoban swore that when she died she would do it in such honour, with lots of people crying for her.

They had laughed it off then, saying that she wasn’t even close to a hero or a president. It was a stupid dream to begin with.

Lalisa Manoban didn’t die in such great honour, she didn’t die with the sound of trumpet and manmade tears marring people’s face as they pretend to show empathy to the fallen grace.

She died, on a normal Wednesday afternoon, with 3 of the brightest stars in her life, and I guessed for her,

It was more than enough.

==========

"One last kiss to a cold lips, to seal the prayer."

==========

[mamichigo]

29 + Ouma/Saihara? :D

The saiouma never truly leaves you. This ended up longer than expected, so this is going on ao3 as well

Kiss as a promise (words: 1.3k)

He’ssurrounded by destruction. Every place Shuichi looks is splitting and cracking,rubble covering most of the ground and a thin layer of brown dust hanging inthe air, clinging to his clothes and sweating forehead.

Shuichitakes a deep breath, only to end up sneezing. He rubs at his nose, worriedlynoticing how they’re starting to clog, the sting in his eyes bringing up tearsto gather at his eyelashes. His chest also aches, so Shuichi rubs at it too,though he doubts that’s related to the dust problem.

Throughbleary eyes, he glances up at the gaping hole in the ceiling, the cracksbringing light in to show the outside of something Shuichi doesn’t understand.It’s not the first time he’s felt lost in this school, but now it’s especiallystrong. Like the world has been broken and pieced back together too many times,one too many for him to even begin to process.

And ifShuichi thinks about it, he’s not even sure what’s true, not sure which of themany lies he’s been fed is qualified to be considered reality.

He rubsharder at his chest, pressing down on it and leaving burning imprints of hisown touch against his sternum. Shuichi takes a gulp full of air, but there’s nooxygen in his lung, so he must not be breathing hard enough—

“That’s onehell of a celebration party you’re having, Shuichi.”

It cutsthrough, through the fog in his mind, through the weight in his stomach—it liftsat first, easing the pain, but drops right back down with added pressure.Shuichi whips around, eyes wide, because this is impossible, it’s, he is—

“Kokichi…?”He didn’t mean for it to come out so broken, in a hushed whisper that cracksmidway through, as if afraid that he’ll shatter the illusion if he speaks itany louder.

Kokichi,with his brilliant purple eyes, gives him an assertive gaze before letting agrin fill his face. Easygoing. Unconcerned.

“I mean, duh, who else? You know any othersupreme leaders in black and white clothes?” Kokichi tilted his head, fringefalling into his eyes—it had always been too long; Shuichi had noticed before,but now more than ever. “So, what’s the pity party about?”

Kokichistares at him the way only he could do: open and playful, but with anunsettling feel behind it. Eyes too attentive for someone who always said theirsituation was just a game (but wasn’t it?).Shuichi inhales sharply, feels dirt scratch the inside of his lungs and coughs.

He’sgrateful for the excuse to close his eyes.

ButKokichi, well, he’d always known more than anyone else in the room, with aperception to rival Shuichi’s own. He takes one look at the hole, stares at itwith open disgust and glances back to Shuichi.

“Oooh,” hesays under his breath, “I get it now.”

Does he?

Shuichidoesn’t say anything, doesn’t have the words. He can barely think of where tostart, can barely think at all, so he stays rooted to his spot, mouth clampedshut and letting the dust wash his air ducts.

Then, maybebecause Shuichi stayed up silent for too long (Kokichi always hated a lack ofresponse, didn’t he?), Kokichi’s face scrunches up and there’s soon loud cryingfilling the still silence of what was the schoolyard.

“Kok—”Shuichi reaches for him on instinct, moved by the sight of the fat tearsrolling down Kokichi’s face, moved by the desperation to stop the piercing cries.

“You’rejust gonna leave like that?! That’s so unfair, you’re so cruel, Shuichi!”Kokichi yells, pausing Shuichi’s movements, who flinches back in confusion. “You’rethe worst!”

“That’s not…”Shuichi blinks at Kokichi, who cries harder. He winces. “I don’t get what you’resaying.”

“Who’sgonna play games with me now, huh? I’m supposed to be bored here forever?” Thecrying goes down, the tears are miraculously already gone. But there’s redrising in his cheeks, his cowl is still in place, but becoming sharper. “Ofcourse you’re leaving! You’re a pathetic, goody two shoes with empty words,Shuichi!”

Maybe it’s overexpositionto Kokichi, but that barely affects Shuichi, who’s left with rising bewilderment.He runs a hand through his hair, takes a moment to count a few pebbles on theground. Once he’s sure his mind is properly working, Shuichi looks back up atKokichi.

“I’m notjust leaving, okay? You know, you could…” Shuichi swallows thickly. “Why don’tyou just come with me?”

That getsKokichi to… Well, Shuichi isn’t sure if he’s calmed down, but all traces ofemotion falls from his face, all that’s left is a blank expression that seemsto be trying to tell Shuichi something.

Kokichisighs as he drops to the ground, legs crossed. He presses his cheek to his fistand, when he gazes up, Shuichi can see the bags under his eyes. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Nope!” He pops the “p” at the end, followedby a casual shrug. “That was just a lie anyways, it’s just fun messing withyou.”

“Good toknow I’m entertaining you,” Shuichi replies dryly. He watches Kokichi pick at athread of his clothes with obvious boredom. “…Don’t you want to?” Kokichi rollshis eyes towards Shuichi again, and he hums in acknowledgement of the question.“Go, I mean. Don’t you have anyone waiting?”

Kokichishrugs again. “Eh, not really,” he says simply, not elaborating further. “Doesn’tmatter anyways.”

Shuichikeeps on watching him, the twitch of his fingers that Kokichi can’t quite hide,the mess of his hair. Something in Kokichi’s appearance makes Shuichi’s ribsbreak, every breath of air painful. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and soon enoughKokichi is glaring at him.

“I don’t wantyour pity, you know. It was fun while it lasted, you’ll go on with whatever youdo and never see me again.” Kokichi huffed. “You’ll live happily and forgetthat I even existed. As simple as that.”

“I won’t,”Shuichi says, surprised by the iron in his own voice. Kokichi seems to becaught off guard as well, eyes widening slightly. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“Of courseit is. Why would you want to remember? Knowing you, you’ll probably go out ofyour way to make sure it’s out of your mind.” Kokichi scoffed. “One day oftalking to Kaede doesn’t fix you, Shuichi.”

“I know itdoesn’t!” Shuichi shouted. Kokichi frowned, eyes heated; Shuichi returned thefavor. “Stop dictating my feelings, stop playing with me, stopping hidingbehind your lies!” Shuichi crouched next to Kokichi, hand flying to Kokichi’sscarf, catching it in a fist to pull Kokichi closer. To force him to look intohis eyes. “I wont’t forget. I never will.”

Kokichi letsout a tense laugh, but his smile looked more like a grimace. He didn’t try to pushShuichi away.

“Thenpromise it.”

“Kokichi—”

“Promiseit!”

Kokichi’svoice is scorching with anger, but his eyes are shining with uncertainty, withvulnerability and a number of things Shuichi can’t understand. Never would, henever got a chance to, no matter how much he wanted to be let in, to catch aglimpse. No matter how much he wanted to hold Kokichi’s shoulders and ask himwho was he.

“I—Kokichi—”

“Shuichi!”Another voice calls.

Shuichisnaps his head towards whoever it is, hand going lax and falling to his knees.He can see Maki’s long hair blowing in the wind, and she’s close enough for himto see her worried expression. “Shuichi…?” She says again, softer.

Shuichitries to reply, but his voice fails him, a weird noise leaving his throat inits place. He’s hiccupping, he realizes. Sobbing. Choked up and awful, gratingto his own ears. His entire body shakes, tears fall from his wide open eyes.

Shuichiraises his hand to his mouth, maybe to muffle the pathetic sounds, but feelssoft fabric instead. Shuichi stares at the checkered scarf until he can’t bear tokeep his eyes open anymore. He presses the scarf harder against his lips.

“I promise.”

[sonata-of-sorrow]

Ruthlessness

Maybe I should’ve sung something a bit more upbeat…

That was the first thought that crossed Vivica’s mind when she looked out at all the numb and vacant faces looking at her. She couldn’t blame them. Most of them were drunk, seeking that sensation of warmth even though the chill was still deep within their bones. The others had just become so resigned to their miserable existence in the Brume that they could no longer be moved by song.

It had seemed almost blasphemous anyway to sing of joy and love, of good tidings and happiness. Not when most folk were just wanting to survive. Vivica tugged nervously at her threadbare gloves, the feeling of dread like a heavy stone within her belly. Or maybe that was just what hunger felt like when you had nothing to fill it for two days.

Guilt put a few pennies in her knit cap but it was only enough for maybe a cup of bone broth. Maybe if she were lucky, there might be some scraggly excuse for root vegetables in it. If this had been the first time her songs had not been well received in the pubs, she might have cried but by now, this was just her lot in life.

Vivica double checked to make sure no holes had worn through her pockets before safely stashing away the coin. She hated the prospect of having to go out into the blizzard again but there were other taverns she might have better luck at to visit. That was, until she saw the woman in the back of the room.

At first she assumed it was merely a figment of her imagination, brought on by starvation. No respectable woman would have been caught dead down in this part of the city but there she was, dressed up in all her finery. She was a robust woman, full cheeked and curved that meant she wasn’t wanting for a good meal. Vivica thought she had to be at least as old as her own mother, though still quite beautiful. Many of then in the bar thought so as well, considering the looks she was cast.

And yet, despite all the attention paid to her, the well-dressed woman seemed to only have eyes for her. A shiver worked up Vivica’s spine, despite there being no draft. Her minor distress seemed to amuse her admirer and a gloved hand was quick to beckon her over to the vacant seat at her table. After a quick glance about, the half-elezen realized that she was indeed the intended and meekly approached.

“Take a seat, darling. I promise, I do not bite.” Her words were like warmed honey on Isghardian muffins first thing in the morning, rich and alluring.  Vivica could not help but feel self conscious in her tattered dress and the dirt upon her cheeks.

Unlike the other drunkards in the establishment, a teapot with two empty cups at before her. It only added to the air of refinement that hovered around her. She began to pour as Vivica tentatively took the opposing seat. Her own tangled mess of auburn curls seemed such a stark contrast to the perfectly manicured tendrils that spilled out from her elaborate hat. Vivica felt ashamed to even look upon her considering her current state of poverty, keeping her chin dipped.

“Oh no, need to be meek with me. You and I are not that much unalike. “ The strange woman tried to reassure as steeped tea filled the cups and one was placed before her. “This world is hard and cruel and meekness is devoured. I was once like you. Lost and aimless but I wanted to survive. I realized I had to shed my meekness and allow myself to be ruthless to do so.” Vivica cupped the drink in her hands and sighed softly from the warmth bleeding into her fingertips. A part of her questioned the generosity but she was so drawn in by the aura and intrigue that her instincts could be easily dismissed.

“All my sacrifices were for not though. I am now in a position that is advantageous because I was willing to do what must be done. I make it my calling to help girls like you, so you will no longer have to suffer as I once did. Girls that the world has cast away and left to die in the cold streets.” Lazily, she stirred her tea with a small spoon, reciting soothing words that seemed too good to be true.

“I want to help you, child. If you will let me. I can give you a purpose, revenue. A roof over your head and food in your belly if you only agree to my few stipulations.” Vivica looked up at the woman, wide eyed with curiosity and awe. Everything had a price but how much longer could she sing for meager amounts of gil before it was too much.

The woman giggled at the response and it seemed almost practiced. Vivica could not care. “What’s your name?” She was asked and without thought, her mouth opened to give a response. Her words were cut short though with a sharp click of the tongue. “Not the name given to you. No, if you are to embrace my offer, I implore you to give me a name that emboldens you. Reminds you of what you are entitled to…”

Suddenly, Vivica’s head was filled with the presence of her once friend, mistress and then competition. She thought of all the fine dresses Guinevere was constantly wearing. The late night calls to the kitchen for sweets before bed. All the suitors that came calling looking to court the young elezen girl and the bitter jealousy she had felt when one of them had taken notice of Vivica herself. The look of anger was still seared into her mind when she had been caught in that closet with the nobleman’s son and it had brought Vivica a sense of satisfaction. “Guinevere,” she responded after a pause.

With a sip of her tea and a nod of her head, the older hyur woman seemed quite pleased with the answer. “Excellent, my dear Guin. Now let me tell you about an opportunity of a lifetime…”

Guinevere walked with purpose through the halls of the brothel. No one impeded her at this early of an hour. Most of the other working girls were enjoying a bit of quiet before night fell and business picked up. Even then, there were a few clients that were enjoying the services they provided if the moans and cries of satisfaction were anything to go by.

Double doors at the end of the hall were elaborate by comparison to the others and a grizzled old soldier, turned guard stood beside it. He barely even registered the fact that Guin was wearing little more than a corset and stockings as she came to knock on the door. When she had first started, she had always wondered why he had not gawked at her show of flesh but the half-elezen soon came to realize that he was just a well trained dog.

“Come in….” Came the soft trill from behind closed doors.

Guin turned the knob and entered, unimpeded by the guardsman. Inside, the lavish interior always made her feel uncomfortable. It made her feel like she was walking back into the manse she served in her youth, except then, it was in the kitchen and not on her backside. Except Delacroix was no noble lady, just a Madame who had grown her wealth on the sultry business of prostitution.

All those years ago, she had not lied when she promised her that she would have a roof over her head and a full belly but seeing all the meticulous stacks of gil upon the desk made Guin wonder if she wasn’t entitled to more than second hand garters and mended fishnet.

“Aww, my dear. I was not expecting you. I hear that Lord Valincourt was been calling upon you quite frequently. I can’t say that I’m not pleased by his continued patronage.” Madame Delacroix did not even need to look up from her ledgers and money counting to know it was her. It was a trait that always threw Guinevere off guard.

She wasn’t there though to discuss the men that paid for her company in bed. While the shame of her profession had long since disappeared, Guin had other matters upon her mind. “Valerie has not been seen in a sennight.” Her words were firm and conveyed the gravity of her concern.

Madame Delcroix sat back in her chair and finally regarded the half-elezen whore. Her fingers plucked the glasses from the bridge of her nose and set them upon the desk. “Oh? And why should you worry about her? She’s always been a wistful thing, constantly trying to ensnare some poor lord’s son into taking her as a mistress.”

The callous tone when she spoke of Valerie rankled Guin but she did not want to show disdain for her boss and patron. “She came to me last week and told me that she was in trouble. That she had important information in regards to the disappearances of those working girls down in the Brume.” Even the mention of it made Guin’s nose wrinkle, remembering cold stone and the desperation.

When the Madame did not respond, Guin took it as a cue to continue. “She gave me something. A journal and told me to hold it for her while she settled a few things. I can’t make heads or tails of most of it but there are some notes in there that lead me to think that something nefarious is about….”

This peeked the woman’s interest as she leaned forward in her chair. Her gaze was intense and caused Guin to look elsewhere to lessen the sting of scrutiny.

“And where is it she supposedly procured this journal?” The woman’s words were droll, forced. As if she were trying hard not to let on how curious she really was.

Guin shrugged her bare shoulders and put her hands upon her hips. “Last I knew, she was frequenting the Weilfric Household. The second son had taken quite a liking to her the past few months and I know she was complaining of feeling ill of late but that was before she went missing that first time. She seemed scared, anxious when she gave it to me. I think something may have happened to her.”

Valerie had been the closest thing to a friend since she’d started working in the brothel. She had shown her many ways to please a man, held her when they had been too rough and had driven her to tears, and had been a confidant during her time within the walls.  

The older woman’s lips turned up into a smirk as she rose to her feet. It was such a graceful movement, poised as she crossed over to stand beside the red head. “Aww, yes. You have right to be concerned but it is far more simple than you assume.”

Guinevere’s eyebrows arched, head tilting as she considered her mistress. The woman grasped her shoulders and smiled warmly. “There is nothing to worry about, my dear. Valerie has just succumbed to the cruelest fate a whore can endure. She has a bastard brewing in her belly and she wished to ensnare the Lord Weilfric’s son into claiming legitimacy.” It seemed a plausible enough explanation but something did not seem to sit right with Guin.

As if reading her apprehension, Madame Delcroix pulled her into an embrace and began to stroke her hair. “Do not fret for her. I have seen that she is being taken care of. No doubt she wished to use the journal as leverage against the nobles and thought it right to entrust you with it. I was not made privy of such lengths when I found her accomodations suiting her condition.” A hand rested on the flat of Guin’s stomach and the pressure caused the boning of her corset to dig into her flesh.

“This is a cruel world and I hoped to shield young Valerie as much as possible from the ruthlessness that she would endure if Ishgard knew of the illegitimate child brewing in her belly. I can assure you, all is well. If you would like, I will arrange for you to visit her. She is quite comfortable and in the best care. I have seen to it. You believe me, right my beloved Guinevere?” Maybe it was the smoothness of her tone or the gentle comfort of her touch that eased her worries but the half elezen nodded in agreement and sighed.

“Yes ma’am...I would like to see her as soon as I am able.”

Delacroix pulled away and saw to fidgeting with stray strands of hair and the lace of her bodice. “Good. We could go as early as the morrow but not until after you attend to your duties tonight. I expect you to be on good form, my girl. Do not disappoint me.”

Guinevere could barely restrain herself from rolling her eyes. None of the men had made a complaint about her yet.

Delacroix looked quite surprised when she found Vivica sitting at the same table they had met all those years ago. It amused her greatly to see her slack jaw expression and the whites of her widened eyes. Maybe she had assumed she was looking upon a ghost. Considering she had languished in an Ishgardian prison for so long, most people would’ve just thought her long dead.

But here she was, dressed in a simple gown that had been given to her after her pardon and release. At least she was clean and tried to remain dignified. A steeping teapot and a set of cups sat on the table as Vivica’s gaze remained upon the woman.

The madame had always been a stubborn woman and the sight of one of her old working girls did not hinder her in the slightest. She composed herself, jaw set and looking quite formidable as she slunk into the vacant seat. “I see that prison has treated you well.”

The courtesy was a veiled insult but the only inclination that it affected Vivica was the brief wrinkle of her nose. “If by treating me well, you mean hours of endless torture and then solitude in the hopes that my spirit might break? And yet, here I am, whole and hearty.” She responded with a terse smile.

Removing her hat, Delacroix seemed undeterred by the curtness of her tone. “I can see that. A miracle, to be sure.”

Vivica reached for the teapot, proceeding to pour one glass and then the other. “Mmm..” she hummed thoughtful. In truth, it was taking every inch of her concentration to not fumble with the teapot. There was so little strength left in her limbs but she knew that every day, she would recover. There was no way she wanted to show the woman her weakness. “Considering your part you played in my imprisonment, I would have thought you would not be pleased to see me.”

The elder woman took one of the offered cups and sipped at it briefly. Vivica knew she was covering while she considered her next words careful and it was amusing to watch the normally composed woman squirm. Licking her lips, she looked down at the inside of the cup before finally addressing her former employee. “I have told you many times before that I did not get to where I was without being ruthless. You would have brought down my entire establishment, my hard work with your nosiness had I not intervened. Think of all those girls I spared a harsh life on the street had you meddled in business that had nothing to do with you.”

It was the closest thing to an admission of guilt that Vivica was like to hear and yet it did not surprise her. She merely smiled and stirred her drink slowly with a spoon. “Girls were disappearing. My friend was in trouble…”

“The destitute disappear all the time. Their life is hardship. You should know, considering you were once one of them.” Delacroix sneered as she licked her lips again and then coughed when a tickle developed in her throat.

Vivica let her words linger in silence for a moment, the only sound was the growing severity of her companion’s cough. The older woman seemed unable to clear her throat, a raspy sound as she began to become distressed by the sensation. A few patrons of the tavern turned to look at the pair but the serene expression upon Vivica’s face seemed to dissuade them of anything untoward.

“I may have been but you aren’t the only survivor. I was stubborn, resilient and I did not break.” She finally whispered, leaning forward so her words could only be heard over the hacking sound. Delacroix began to claw at her throat, eyes watering and cheeks flushing bright red. Satisfaction washed over Vivica as she watched the moment of realization dawn upon her victim.

“How does it feel, Madame? My ruthlessness. Are you choking on your own lies now? Your falsities? How many other women did you force to break their backs so you could live in your gilded palace? How does it feel to question the choices in your life? The choices that have brought you here to look one of your many sins in the eye?  Does it taste bitter? That would be the poison you swallowed but to me, it all tastes so sweet. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment....”

Maybe it was the coldness in her delivery that set Delcroix into a panic. She bolted to her feet, knocking her chair over. Her mouth opened wide but only the strangled sound of her choking on her swollen tongue came forth. Vivica swept a hand across the table top and sent the porcelain smashing to the floor.

“Oh no! I think she’s having a reaction! Please! Is anyone able to help!?!?! She’s choking” Vivica cried out in feigned hysterics, playing the part of the concerned friend ever so well. They had the attention of everyone now and they circled like carrion bird, though more out of morbid curiosity than wishing to intervene. Delacroix was flailing now, the inevitability of her fast approaching demise feeding her fear. The entire spectacle and the audience that they had attracted made it easy for Vivica to slip away into the crowd.

No one paid her any heed despite her part she’d played. The half-elezen merely turned on her heel, tightening the lapels of her jacket around her neck and walked confidently out the door. It was only when she heard the heavy sound of Delacroix collapse and the collective gasp did she even chance a victorious smile.