#it might work for the beat of sheer adrenaline. and then it comes back.

[isaacathom]

cause like, Zayvia's entire thing is that they are constantly, and largely consistently, choosing kindness. they choose to do nice things for other people. it is not an effortless process. their instinct is always to the self, always to look after themself alone. they choose to extend it outwards, against their 'nature', because no matter what they know that its good.

and because they regularly make these deliberate choices, where their hesitation and pause is easily read as shyness, it would be a real fuckin curveball for them to be possessed or otherwise manipulated and controlled into ignoring that drive to be better. to shut off the part of them that says that the self is good, but its nothing alone. to shut that off and be an absolute piece of work.

[saphirered]

hello saph! first off, i'm wishing you good luck on your masters! i'm doing mine next year and i'm super looking forward to it, so i hope everything goes well for you too!! 💖💖💖

now, WELCOME TO THE HOT VAMPIRE ELF CLUB!! may i request Astarion/Reader(Tav) where Tav is a good aligned Life Cleric (or anything similar) that focuses on healing and supporting allies during combat, someone's that's a ray of sunshine because they choose the difficult path of being kind. i'm curious of your take on Astarion receiving genuine kindness, being disgusted at first, the progression of his attempted manipulation, eventually realizing his feelings, and how he would react to Tav being extremely injured in a fight and trying to save them (with good ending hopefully).

oh and maybe some blood drinking. you know. for reasons :-)

you're such a creative writer, i'm always looking forward to anything you post, so thank you! have a lovely day!

Hello dearie and thank you! Uni is tough but worth it so good luck with yours! I hope this little piece of distraction is to your tastes. 😘

Oh how easy it is to wrap you around his finger. Your sickening sweet and sheer willingness to bend over backwards at the smallest inconvenience you have the ability to fix, it’s nauseating. You’d already naturally gravitated towards him. It must be this incessant need to fix the broken. You seem to be attracted to broken things, thinking you can mend them with love and affection and a gentle touch like a stray pulled from the streets. He is no such thing. He is certainly no stray.  A handsome wanderer without a home port, now that’s more like him. But you didn’t need to see that. You didn’t need to know him or his past. As long as Astarion kept on the front he could be your next project, just like these strays you’ve pulled along, well that might just work to his advantage. 

To say you were an absolutely horrible influence on him would be an understatement. Whether it be his thieving and charming tendencies that often lead to heartbreak of the recipient or when his silver tongue is perhaps a little too sharp at times, your disapproval sparked something in the coils of his stomach he has not felt in nigh two-hundred years. Is this what remorse and guilt felt like? Did he want your approval? Your praise? He’s being utterly ridiculous. He has nothing to prove and you are just a tool. But here he is feeling just the slightest bit of guilt at the thought of you finding out the truth about him and how you might look at him then. He considers he might just not be able to look you in the eye. What has he become? 

Admittedly Astarion got a little peckish and without much opportunities to feed himself proper he’d taken to your neck. An attempt was made but you caught him. Your eyes opened and stared right at him in surprise. He was equally surprised, his stealth having failed him. In that moment you managed to flip him onto his back and held your palm to his chest as you crouched over him. You’re much stronger than he gave you credit for. Maybe you just got lucky.

“What the hell Astarion?!” You whisper trying not to wake the others. He can all but heart the beat of your heart, how quickly your blood rushes through your veins. When he doesn’t move you give him a little more space. You don’t move for a weapon or attack him as he might have expected given what it must have looked like. You simply sit down next to him and he watches the tension disappear from your shoulders, the adrenaline rush coming down with. He goes over the excuses, the ways to explain to you but you simply hold up your hand to silence him. He finds it in his best interest to do so. 

“You know you could have just asked.” He freezes like a deer in the torch light. You knew? How? How long had you known? Why hadn’t you said anything, done anything. He’s not blind to the prejudices against the creatures of his sort. Especially the ones that feed on the innocent.  yet here you are in front of him absentmindedly brushing your fingers along the side of your delicious neck. 

“Yes. Yes of course. ‘Hello my dear, I’m a blood sucking vampire spawn would you mind lending me your lovely neck for a few gulps? I’m incredibly peckish and could use a snack.’ Exactly how long do you think it would take for me to end with a stake in my chest or my handsome head removed from my ravishing body?” He ridicules and for a brief moment that pang in his chest, that tightening string reappears when you cast your eyes down and frown. It only lasts for a second before you go back to your neutral welcoming expression of understanding and compassion. 

“I just hoped you’d be able to trust us, trust me. If you’d asked I’d have said yes. Would still say yes. All you need is ask, Astarion.” He tries to decipher any means of deceit or strings attached but finds none which leads him exactly to wonder…

“Why?” You catch on to the hint of suspiciousness and guardedness but you’ve not seen anything else from the elf. You’ve witnessed him for a little bit now and you know he must have his reasons to be mistrusting and always assuming everyone’s selfishness to be the root of any actions. You made him question that entire way of thinking. Whether he deemed you an exception to his usual views, allowed you to prove him differently or he’s simply chalked you up as a very good liar, you don’t know and perhaps neither does he. 

He needed you to trust him. You do trust him. You’ve proven as much yet here he is still questioning your motives. You have your answer ready for him and by the looks of it it would be a genuine one but he doesn’t think he has the heart to actually hear it. He shakes his head. Something within him once again sparks that guilt. He feels bad for his motives of befriending you, of pursuing the path to something more, of charming you perhaps even into his bed if he kept playing his cards right but with every step he takes in that direction he can’t help but feel that guilt, and having to force himself to push down his own feelings. 

“Nevermind.” Once again Astarion flashes you a charming smile. “Now since we have this little secret out of the way, I will ask. Not a drop more than I need?” It feels so incredibly strange to blatantly ask. He knows about certain individuals who have a thing for the sharp teethed and sanguine hungers but that is not you. What you offer is not for you. It’s for him. You want to help him, truly help him and that is why you offer. He’s been feeling so weak. The animals aren’t enough. The humanoid is so much more sustaining. He’ll be strong. He has to be strong if he wants to see this all through, to finally become master of his own fate. An intrusive thought pops through his head; maybe there’s a place for you in that plan as well. 

“Only as much as you need. I’d like to keep my wits about.” The first part is a true statement. The second a half-joke. As much as he needs his strength, so do you. 

“Well then, let’s make ourselves comfortable then, shall we?” He gestures to your bedroll. You simply scoot over.

Astarion, ever so gently as if you might fade into the dawn itself, lays you down. Never once does he break eye contact. You can see the brief hesitation, then reassurance of himself, and then something akin to pain. It crosses his features in but an instant but you catch on to it either way. It seems he’s noticed you catch on but he does not read into you further. Instead he softens, brushes aside your hair as he supports your neck and back. You place one of your hands on his bicep and give a reassuring squeeze and nod. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath before making for your neck. 

It starts as a sharp and quick pain but is overtaken by a the awareness of the sheer rush of your own blood flowing through your veins. He drinks and drinks. You gasp his name, once more squeezing his arm but no response. He’s caught up in whatever runs through him, whatever keeps him latched onto your neck. You start to feel cold, then warm and lightheaded. You can feel your heartbeat speed up as well as your breathing calms and slows. 

He doesn’t know what overcame him. This isn’t anything he’s experienced before. This is pure euphoria. You are pure euphoria. Your heart, your mind, your very soul. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the tadpole. It has to be. He feels it all. He feels it as if those feelings are his own. He feels the warmth you radiate as it warms him from within like the rays of the sun he thought he’d never be able to feel again, not without them being his end. Your compassion and affections for him, the way you allow him to cradle you, how you fit so perfectly within his embrace. You hold him dearly and think highly of him even if sometimes you disapprove of his choices, words and actions there’s not but understanding to him. Whatever this is, it is unconditional. No one has ever held an unconditional affection for him. He won’t go as far to call it love, but in a way it is. You truly do care about him. Even the whisper of his name upon your breath is like charm bells to his ears. The way you hold on to him, it means everything. And in turn it makes him regret every step he’s taken, every step he knows will lead to your heartbreak and destruction. But all this he feels through you, all this that opens within himself it is addicting and he can’t pull himself away.

By the time he stops you’re not responding. Your body is unmoving. Shit. He can fix this. Of course he can fix this. The matter now comes down to testing the limits of your forgiveness.

[animebw]

Alright, full honesty, I think the RWBY volume 9 finale was pretty weak overall. It felt like we were missing a full episode’s worth of content spread out between the last two episodes. It was the right conclusion to reach, but so much of that all-important connective tissue that makes storytelling work- subtle character beats, getting to see people react to and process the big moments- wasn’t there. If it weren’t for the sheer adrenaline rush of [SPOILER MUSIC REDACTED], it might not have even worked at all. And it’s a frustrating end to what’s otherwise been a fantastic volume that gave every big moment the space it needed to breathe.

That being said... man, it’s great to have RWBY back. Volume 9 wasn’t perfect- it still has a little of that Overly Obvious Dialogue problem than volume 8 had, Kara Eberle is shaping up to be the weakest VA in the main cast at carrying dramatic moments- but this was every bit the introspective character journey we needed after the plot-heavy Atlas arc. Great development for the entire cast, a fantastically realized trippy Alice in Wonderland setting, some of the most creative visual artistry we’ve gotten from this show yet, promising set-ups for the story to come, and, of course. GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING BEES. That one episode alone would be enough to justify this volume’s existence even if everything else sucked. Thankfully, everything else was pretty damn great as well. 8/10, special shout-out to Casey for probably the best volume soundtrack yet, and I can’t wait to see where RWBY goes from here. See you all whenever Crunchyroll decides to stop dicking around and greenlight volume 10!

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (5)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), human rights violations, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint,

A/N: Okay okay. I’m finally happy with how this turned out. Goddamn that’s a lot of words. I’ll see you all in the party in the comments and reblogs! I love reading what you think. Don’t be shy. Jump in!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

[gif not mine. credit to: this glorious gif post.]

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:5 Lemons

2 missions.

A 50/50 chance of getting Salvacion.

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were on the verge of getting lightheaded from the anticipation. A decade of chasing this bastard and this was the closest you had ever gotten to him. The man was not only deadly in skill, but always seemed to manage to give you the slip every single time. Forcing yourself to face the life you left was worth it if it meant finally avenging Lily.

The briefings the past week had been long, but they were important to make sure everyone was prepared to end this. You were minutes away now from shipping off to the mission and your whole body was buzzing.

This was it.

There were two locations that you had to hit at the same time. Two locations with large shipments that you had to stop from reaching its destination. The teams needed to be split.

"Let's go over this one more time," Steve started, fully suited up in black that was truly a far cry from his old blue and red ensemble. "I'll be leading a team into the shipment yards with Bucky and Nem at the front. Sam will be on air support. Billy will manage a team of snipers in the surrounding area."

This was the smaller of locations, but with the larger shipment. The location itself entailed a more strategic approach. You weren't happy that there was a chance that Salvacion would be at the other location, but having Frank on that team put you somewhat at ease. He understood more than anyone how important this was to you and he promised he would take Salvacion alive. He was yours to kill.

Frank always kept his promises.

"I'll be leading the other team into the industrial district," Frank continued, his signature vest strapped tight across his chest. "Pietro and Matt will cover the perimeter and I'll be charging in with Nat and Wanda."

Their location was more complicated. It was too close to the residential district and the warehouses there ran 24/7. There was a high risk of civilian casualty if they weren't careful which was why almost everyone who was powered was assigned to that group. They needed every capability they could pull to make sure no innocent blood was spilled.

"Good," Steve nodded. "We'll both have a group of agents with us too. They've been briefed and are prepping transport as we speak. We leave in 20 minutes."

Everyone nodded their understanding, grabbing their gear and heading down to the transport docks. There was a fleet of cars standing by that would be used, gassed up and ready to go. Your hands were drumming repeatedly on your vest, itching to just get on the road. Frank and Matt lingered with you before they joined the rest of their group.

The towering marine stepped up close to you and tightened the buckles of your bulletproof vest, wishing you would have accepted the offer of better gear from the Avengers but also knowing it was hypocritical of him when he declined as well.

It just wasn't your style.

It was his own damn fault for training you in his own combat style. He had no doubt of your capability, but still he worried about you. He always worried about you and he felt a sense of responsibility toward you after finding you tortured within an inch of your life.

"Stay close to Steve, sweetheart."

You snorted, but a glance back at Steve who was already looking at you with a raised eyebrow made you grumble and relent. "Fine."

"Good girl," Frank chuckled, before leaning in to press a firm kiss on your lips as he held you by the buckles of your vest. You smiled into the kiss, feeling the steady protection and reassurance that he always brings.

He stepped away for Matt to get his turn. This was a tradition that just developed naturally between the four of you. A kiss before danger. A promise to keep safe. A promise to come home.

Matt took your face in both hands and kissed the breath out of you as if he was trying to outdo Frank. It wasn't uncommon. He was always more aggressive with his affections, always as if he was scared you might suddenly slip away from his life and you were happy to reassure him every time that you weren't going anywhere. He chuckled when you bit his lip, beating him to it. He gave you one more peck before stepping aside.

Billy came closer to your side and slung his arm around your shoulders, chuckling as he nuzzled his nose against the side of your face. It was amusing him to no end at how easily you were folding for Steve. It was a nice change of pace from the three of them never being able to deny you anything.

Most especially Billy.

"We're definitely keeping Steve around. I think I like you compliant," he snickered, turning your head toward him with a finger under your chin. He planted a quick chaste peck on your lips. Your eyebrows quirked at the unusual behavior.

"What you're not gonna try to outdo me too?" Frank teased.

"Nem knows I do my best kissing elsewhere. Don't you, pretty girl?" Billy winked at you and you rolled your eyes. You smacked him in the chest but didn’t comment further. He wasn't wrong, but he was smug enough as it is.

You were about to turn toward the cars when you were knocked back slightly to the side by a sudden peck to your cheek. You couldn't stop the laugh when you caught Pietro's grin before he vanished again, a subtle warmth spreading in your chest. You were still smiling when you took your seat beside Steve who intertwined your hand with his and raised it to his lips, smiling that soft boyish smile against your skin that now made your stomach flip. He didn't let go of your hand throughout the ride, even as he caught Bucky's yearning gaze in the rearview mirror.

You were greeted by an ambush.

Somehow the syndicates knew that you would be coming, setting up a small army as your welcome party. A quick distress call through the comms from Frank confirmed that they were facing the same in their location.

But you couldn't focus on that.

You were too busy tearing through the goons that kept coming at you. Having two super soldiers and Sam in the thick of it with you was a blessing, but even with the other agents and Billy's sniper support you were severely overrun. You would just have to trust that the other team can handle their own.

You emptied the clips of your pistols as you trudged your way deeper into the fray, not bothering to duck or take cover from the onslaught of angry men. You tossed your empty guns to the side and drew out another, catching a few bullets in your vest.

No time to reload.

"I got you, Hedwig. Give 'em hell," Billy said in your ear.

The deadly smirk on your lips was the only warning the men in front of you got. You charged again as the adrenaline coursed through your body, bullets flying precisely into their skulls.

One. Two. Three. Four men down.

When your bullets ran out, you dropped the gun and pulled out two daggers. Your eyes narrowed as you took off into a sprint toward the closest target, weaving effortlessly through the oncoming fire.

A slice to the forearm to disarm.

A dagger up the chin.

Dead.

He dropped to the ground spluttering on his blood as you took the other dagger and sent it flying toward another's chest.

Dead.

Rough muscular arms caught you by surprise and gripped you from behind, caging you as you struggled. You saw the gun in his hand and reacted.

Break the wrist to disarm.

You smirked at the loud pop of his bones. You grabbed the gun before it dropped to the ground as you slipped a knife from your vest. The pain in his wrist caused him to loosen his hold on you, allowing you to turn to face him.

Blade to the gut.

Bullet to the face. Point blank.

Dead.

You didn't even flinch when his blood splattered across your face, joining the explosion of red already painting your figure. You could make out two more in your peripheral who dropped to the ground before they could advance on you, care of your guardian angel with a sniper rifle.

"Thank you, Blackbird," you said sweetly.

"Goddamn, doll," Bucky said, Steve stood beside him mirroring the same look of equal awe and fear.

This was the first time they had seen you in action. Hearsay and that little demo with Kim did nothing to prepare them for the sheer brutality you had when given the clear purpose to kill. You didn't hesitate. You didn't waste time. You didn't care that you were drenched in blood. You had a goal and you were going to meet it every time with ruthless violence.

This was who you were now.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Steve came up to you looking worried after seeing you charging headlong at open gunfire.

He didn't like it. At least he had a shield. Skilled as you were, he didn't like that you were running every mission like you had a death wish. There was so much blood on you that it was difficult for him to tell if any of it was yours.

"None of the blood is mine," you dismissed, wiping your face with what was the only clean part of your sleeve. "Let's go. I hear more up ahead and Sam said that's where the shipment is."

Rounding the corner, you were faced with another cluster of goons with weapons aimed at your small group. They stood a good distance away in front of two shipping containers that were being readied for transport. Sam landed beside you along with a group of agents. Bucky pushed you behind him and Steve raised his shield to cover you both. Billy chirped in the comms that the snipers had repositioned and were ready. All of that barely registered with you, white noise against the rage that was brewing, because behind enemy lines was the goal you've been chasing for a decade.

Salvacion.

"I have to say," he drawled. His voice, the first you're hearing of now, sending a chill down your spine. "I expected more from the Avengers. You didn't even bring Iron Man. I'm disappointed."

"Give up the serum," Steve growled.

"No. I don't think I will," he answered. "Kill them all."

All hell broke loose once more; fists, bullets, knives, and a shield flying in every direction. Bucky and Steve kept close to you, shielding you from most of the shots as you advanced. You gunned down every bastard you saw but your eyes never strayed from Salvacion who was just standing there watching the clash.

Taunting you.

Something nagged at the back of your head as you fought. It was unusual for the syndicates to be deploying this many people to a single location even if it was for the serum. While you were thanking every god you knew for luckily drawing Salvacion on this mission, his presence was also peculiar. Something else was going on.

Something else was here.

The syndicates were pushing back on your team hard, but you were making a dent in their numbers. When you saw Salvacion start walking away, that was when you felt the panic stir in your mind.

"I can't let him get away, Steve!"

You ignored his and Bucky's calls for you as you made a mad dash straight through the fight, efficiently shooting and stabbing anyone who dared get in your path. You were consumed with the purpose of reaching him, of finally being able to end it all.

You left the larger fight behind you in favor of this more personal one, the noise receding as you chased him farther. You caught a glimpse of him making his way up stacked containers and you sped up your run. You didn't even think twice about climbing the height. Nevermind potential broken bones. Nevermind getting cornered. Nevermind that you had no backup.

Salvacion would die today.

When you reached the top, you were surprised to see him standing there waiting for you but also that he wasn't alone. You raised your gun to match the one he was aiming at you, but he merely tutted and smirked. His other hand also had a gun, this one aimed up the chin of the person he was holding captive in front of him.

Kim.

The amount of irritation this woman was bringing into your life was starting to get on your nerves. She was delegated on your team for this mission and you stifled the aggravated groan as you noticed that she was bleeding heavily from both shoulders causing her to not be able to fight back.

Top agent my ass.

"Hello, Nemesis," Salvacion grinned at you. "Or should I call you Y/N? Much more personal given our history, don't you think?"

Your name on his lips caused a wave of nausea and a sneer to grace your lips. You raised your gun higher, narrowing your eyes as his own pressed harder against Kim's skin. It wasn't an idle threat.

"Nice of you to show up for once. Was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"Come now. Don't you enjoy our little game of cat and mouse?"

A game.

This was all a game to him and the malevolent smile on his face confirmed that. The fury in you burned, almost making you physically shake. Killing Lily was nothing to him while it had completely consumed your life. It had become your driving force while to him you were merely entertainment.

"You're going to let me go," he declared, fully confident.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he dragged out. "Or else your teammate here will die."

"What makes you think I give a shit?" you scoffed. "Go ahead."

The way Kim's eyes widened in terror brought a sick sense of pleasure in you that you shouldn't be proud of. Salvacion let out a low laugh, amusement clear in his tone.

"Oh, dear child. No matter how much spite you wrap yourself with, you are the same naive hero wannabe you always were," he snickered. "Self-sacrificing. Even at the expense of your sister."

"You don't talk about Lily, you bastard!" you screamed, your grip shaking slightly on your weapon.

All of a sudden it was hard to breathe and your heartbeat was hammering in your ears. You didn't expect that finally facing him, hearing him talk about Lily like she was inconsequential, would shake you to your core. This was what you have been waiting for. This was what you have been building up to for the past decade. This was your purpose for living.

What were you waiting for?

"I am feeling generous today. Consider it my gift to commemorate our first official meeting," he said.

"What the fuck are you on?" you growled.

"Open the containers," he smiled. "See you soon, Y/N."

He abruptly tossed Kim to the side, pushing her off the ledge of the containers you were on and bolted away with a mad cackle. You shot at his retreating figure, desperately trying to aim through the turbulent emotions he inspired in you. You were going to chase after him when a yelp of pain caught your attention.

Kim was hanging by one hand off the edge, obviously struggling to hold herself up with her busted shoulders. You were too high up for her to survive the fall and she was too injured to help herself. Her grip was slipping.

"Y/N! Help me please!"

A dark shadow passed through your features. Saving her would mean Salvacion would definitely escape. Again. You didn't know if you would ever get another chance at him or when that would be.

You didn't like this woman. You never did. She tormented your youth, took joy in it even and as you reunited nothing changed. She was the same egotistic bully she always was. This was a dangerous mission. People die in the line of fire.

It happens. No one would blame you.

"Please!"

"Fuck!"

You dropped your weapon and clasped both hands on hers to pull her up. You strained with the effort, Kim being a deadweight adding to the struggle. You let go when half her body was safely on top, her legs swinging up to roll herself flat onto the surface. She was crying and whimpering from the fear and pain. You couldn't help the anger that bubbled to the surface.

You slapped her face.

"Get your goddamn shit together," you roared at her. "I don't have time for this. Call for evac, princess."

You ran toward the sound of helicopter blades, jumping onto crates and jolting your bones at the impact. You didn't care. The renewed rage had steadied you, calmed you almost to the point that the only thing you could see in your mind was taking him out. You had faltered and you would beat yourself up about that later, but you couldn't let him slip away again.

The helicopter was already starting to take off, Salvacion clearly visible through the open door. You cocked your gun and fired away. Empty. You slipped another gun out and fired. Empty. You kept running toward him, drawing and firing every last bullet you had as you screamed your frustration with every shot that missed.

You noticed that you managed to get a few through him by the way his body jerked. You were feeling optimistic until he reached around and pulled out a rocket launcher. You saw the sinister grin before he fired.

"Nem!" You heard your name being called, but you were too stunned by the horrible realization that you had failed today. You watched the helicopter slowly make it's way farther and farther behind the rocket that was hurtling toward you.

Even if you ran, the area of impact would still tear right through you. You were frozen in place, unable to process that this was how it would end. That it would end in you dying by his hand as well. That it would end without you making it up to Lily.

Your internal struggle was interrupted by a large body completely engulfing yours. The impact of the rocket threw you both to the ground and the loud explosion accompanied by ripping metal deafened your ears.

You struggled with your vision, the ringing in your head was painful and your body sore from crashing down. Oddly, your skull itself didn't feel injured. All of the pain seemed to be concentrated on your torso. You blinked a few times to focus the blur of your eyes as the repeated chanting of your name became louder.

"Are you okay, doll? Answer me, Nem! Come on."

"Bucky?"

Your sight finally focused to find that it was the brunette super soldier on top of you, covering you from what would have certainly been your death. The dread on his face gave way to a tired relief at you finally responding.

He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes, taking deep steadying breaths. You noticed now that he was wincing and that his flesh arm was underneath you, supporting your back and cradling your head. His metal arm was detached, a mangled mess of forcibly severed wires and metal plates sticking out from his shoulder. Your eyes widened in realization.

"Bucky, your arm," you started to struggle underneath him, knowing he must be in a world of pain.

He shushed you by rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. Your eyes met icy blue ones and you saw him smile weakly, as if telling you it was worth it. He wouldn't hesitate to catch a missile with his arm again if it meant protecting you.

The rest of the boys reached you shortly after, Sam took Bucky and informed you that evac and medics were here. You were still in shock from what just happened. Billy took you gingerly in his arms, endlessly fussing at you and apologizing for not being able to do more even if you understood it was impossible for him to have tracked you through the chaos. Steve stood to the side, obviously furious at himself for not going to you even if you understood it was only right that he led the main fight.

Your body felt like it had gone through a war and you were too emotionally distressed to address anything else. You felt defeated. You felt at a loss. You failed Lily again today. Suddenly, you remembered what he told you.

His gift.

"Steve, Salvacion told me to open the shipments. He said it was a gift from him."

You didn't wait for them to respond, dragging your battered body limping across the yard to the crates. Billy recovered first, quickly jogging up to support your battered body straight with his. Steve followed closely behind, the uneasiness clouding the three of you. The locks were easily broken by Steve's shield and soon your gift was revealed.

What you saw drained the blood from all of you and caused your skin to immediately chill. It was the most sickening thing any of you have ever seen in your lives and that was saying something. How anyone could do this was beyond comprehension.

People. Dozens of people.

Crammed inside the steel box were dozens of people in various states of distress. All of them had barely any life left in them, barely sustained by the various IV bags hooked on their bodies. They hardly reacted when the doors were opened, too spent by what they had been made to go through to even blink. You suspected that a good portion of those who were not moving at all were dead. The smell was horrendous and this was coming from people who were about to be shipped to god knows where.

The horror you felt heightened to epic levels when you noticed that some of the drip bags held a different colored fluid, the distinct color of the super soldier serum. Then it clicked and the nausea finally overcame you. You poured your guts out onto the pavement, your stomach heaving violently as the truth made your vision spin.

Human testing.

Human experimentation.

And you had let the bastard escape.

Steve was going to approach you, clueless as he was on how to help you at that moment, but you had scrambled out of reach and ran out of the shipment yard. He called after you readying himself to go to you, but Billy's grip on his forearm stilled him.

"We're not who she needs right now, Cap," Billy shook his head. "Right now these people need us more."

"Where's she going?" Steve asked, swallowing hard on the lump in his throat and reluctantly agreeing.

"She'll be fine. Matt will find her."

Matt found you hours later. He had returned badly beaten and bruised from their own mission, but upon receiving word from Billy he pushed aside every painful injury he felt and rushed to where he knew he would find you. His chest tightened when he was told what you had seen. It was bad enough that you were carrying the guilt of your sister's death, but now you had the weight of all the lives that were victimized by these sick people too. It was too much for one person to bear.

He found you in the confession booth of the church on the corner of a quiet street and he couldn't see the broken look on your face when he opened the door, but he could feel it. He heard it in your unusually slow heartbeat, as if your organs were trying to give up. He heard it in the shallow breaths you took, as if the act of living was a betrayal in itself. He heard it in the cry that was begging to break through you throat. He could almost taste your despair.

He slowly knelt in front of you and pulled you urgently into his arms, squeezing himself into the tight space. He held you against him, clutching you tight and rocking you gently back and forth. This was an open secret shared between the two of you. When the darkness was overwhelming, you turned to each other and confessed. He pulled away after a long moment, cradling your face firmly in his palms. His thumbs brushed against your dry cheeks. Of course you hadn't been crying.

There were no more left to shed.

"Talk to me," he muttered, pressing his lips softly against yours.

"He experimented on a lot of people," you muttered. "And I let him go, Matty. I've been letting him carry on for ten years."

Your tone was almost a hoarse whisper, devoid of much emotion apart from a cold defeat. This worried him, but at least you were talking. You had known when you were being tortured that they Hydra hadn't perfected the serum. They kept torturing you in the hopes that they could get you to reveal anything about the formula, Steve and Bucky's abilities, or where samples of their blood were stored. You didn't talk.

Maybe you should have talked.

When the syndicates got their hands on the incomplete formula, they were faced with the same problem. A problem they apparently decided to solve by trial and error on actual people. You knew this. At the back of your mind you knew this, but it didn't register until you saw it for yourself tonight. Somehow you had ignored that fact because you had only been focused on your own grief.

"I let him go. I did this, Matty," you breathed, the guilt clear in your voice.

"No! You did not let him go. The bastard got away," he insisted. "And this is not your fault. I won’t let you think that this is your fault."

"No," you argued weakly. "I let him go. I had a shot at stopping him tonight and I didn't take it."

"Steve told me. You stopped to save Kim." The movement of his thumbs on your cheeks changed to soothing circles. "You stopped to save a teammate. That was a good thing."

You scoffed. "I wanted her to die."

"What?"

"For a solid moment as she was hanging on for her life, I wanted to let her die."

"She's alive now because of you, Nem. You fought it. You're strong. You didn't give into it."

"But what if that's what I need to do? If I did I could have ended Salvacion tonight."

You could have ended it all tonight.

Salvacion's words tonight plagued you. if you didn't try to play the hero then this whole twisted operation could have been stopped. If you didn't try to play the hero then you would have gotten your revenge for Lily. If you didn't play the hero then Lily wouldn't even be dead. You had wanted to save people so much, make a difference in the world, that you didn't stop and think about how that would impact the people you held most dear.

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" Matt asked cautiously, he knew more than anyone the struggle you faced. All of you were just a bad day away from completely snapping.

"I don't know," you admitted in defeat. You sounded so tired and confused that it broke his heart.

He held you for a moment more, waiting for your heart and breathing to return to normal. He didn't know what else to do or what else to tell you. He didn't know how to help you this time. Just then, he sensed the arrival of a Maximoff twin.

"Pietro's outside. I'll ask him to take you away for a while," he shook his head when he felt you were about to protest. "You need a break and you need some peace."

He led you outside, his pace slower than normal as your shoulders slumped lower to the ground in resignation. He exchanged a few words with Pietro before he pressed a kiss to your temple and pushed you toward the other man.

"Come with me, little star. I'll take care of you."

The next thing you knew, Pietro had lifted you into his arms and asked you to close your eyes. You buried your face into his neck as you felt the world around you dissolve in a blur, your hair whipped around but you weren't scared. The steady grip he had on you assured you that you would be safe. When he told you to open your eyes, you had no idea where you were or how long you had been traveling.

"Where are we?"

He gently set you on your feet as you looked around the area. It was beautiful. A dense lush forest that opened up to a lake with a small cabin. Isolated. Quiet.

Peaceful.

Immediately you felt your body relax in the new environment. It was so far removed from anything and everything that it allowed you to let go of the tight hold you had on your life. It allowed you to let go of the rage for a moment.

"Sokovia," he answered. "This is mine. When Wanda and I were little, even before the enhancements, our connection was strong and can be overwhelming. I needed a place that was only my own."

"Wanda doesn't know about this?"

"No, it is the only secret I have ever kept from her. I've never brought anyone else here."

Turning to him, you could see the shy smile on his face. There was a reluctance there, as if he was nervous that his little hideaway would not be good enough for you. You were quick to shoot that thought down.

"It's beautiful, Pietro. Thank you for sharing this with me."

His smile brightened as he approached you and held both your hands in his. "We can stay for as long as you want to. I can go into town and get us more supplies. We can swim in the lake if you like and I can cook you paprikash. You'll love it."

He was so excited. So happy to be able to spend time with you. Elated to be able to share this sentimental place with someone else, but he saw the sadness in your eyes and it made him force himself to slow down. The smile on his face dimmed.

"Do you want to go somewhere else? I can take you anywhere you like."

The heartbreak and disappointment in his voice alerted you. You hurriedly wound your arms around his shoulders and forced his eyes to meet yours. You recognized the way he looked at you, but it was only now that you really noticed that he has always looked at you that way. He was so pure. So honest. So good.

He was too good for you.

"No, Pietro. This is perfect. You're perfect." You tried to smile up at him. "I don't deserve you."

Just like that he understood you. He drew you closer by the waist and pressed a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth. When he drew back, his smile lit up his face again.

"Why do you need to deserve me, little star?" he chuckled at the puzzled look on your face, finding it adorable. "Can I not just choose to love you?"

You frowned and he just laughed more. He shushed your protests by pulling you flush against his body, lowering his head to hover his lips mere inches from yours. He left this small distance as your choice to make just as he has made his.

"Let me choose to love you."

You could feel his breath on your face at this distance, see the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes, and his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You made your choice.

Kissing Pietro has to be the most comforting experience that you had ever felt. He tasted like hot chocolate on a rainy day and you felt your body melt when he returned the gesture. You were sighing against his lips when the now familiar feeling of him dashing turned it into a surprised squeal. You blinked and you were lying down on a soft mattress with Pietro grinning down at you.

You laughed as you shared more kisses, hands giddily exploring each other and tearing away pieces of clothing until nothing lay between you. For the first time in a long time, you felt insecure about your scars. For the first time, you were reluctant for someone to see them. Again, just like that he understood you.

"You're beautiful, little star. You have always been beautiful to me."

He kissed you again, deeply and full of emotion that you melted into the bed. His lips traveled down your neck, your chest, your stomach. He stopped to nip and suck at the inside of your thighs causing you to involuntarily moan his name. Lower he went until his mouth was working gentle swirls on your sensitive bud. Your hips grinded against his tongue, desperately seeking more.

He pressed his mouth fully on you then, adding a finger much to your delight. He ate you like he worshipped you. Like he was blessed with the opportunity to bring you pleasure. Your body sang his praises, reacting with equal enthusiasm by soon reaching your orgasm. You shook beneath him as he allowed you to ride out your high, soothing you with gentle hands rubbing circles on your hips. He was smirking at you when he crawled up, satisfied that he had made you cum but clearly aiming for more.

He kissed you again as he lined himself up against your core, sliding it against your slit to coat it with your slick. He wasn't even inside you yet and you already felt like you were ready to cum. He held your gaze, silently asking for permission that this was still what you wanted. Instead of answering, you moved your hips to slip his length inside causing him to drag out a hiss and capture your mouth again. The groan you both let out when he bottomed out vibrated through your fused lips.

"You feel incredible," he whispered. "You feel so good wrapped around me. Just like I always thought you would."

"Pietro, please."

His strokes were slow and deep, hitting that special spot inside you that had you panting with want. The smooth roll of his hips was quickly driving you higher and higher toward another orgasm. It was so gentle. So sensual. So personal.

"Tell me what you want, little star."

Everything about Pietro's life had been one big event after another. Rushed decisions. Angry fighting. Missions. Even his very enhancement relied on speed.

He didn't want that with you.

With you he wanted to slow everything down. He wanted to savor every moment. He wanted to stop time if he could, keep you in his arms for as long as possible. Freeze you in this exact moment when all you felt was pleasure.

"More," you pleaded.

Maybe he could speed up just a little bit.

His strokes gradually hastened and he glowed with satisfaction at seeing you delirious with desire because of him. He palmed at your breasts, nipped at your neck, and bucked his hips just a bit harder.

"More."

He smiled. How could he deny you? He lifted you up until you were seated on him, holding you firmly with an arm up your back with his hand fisting in your hair. The other hand he slipped between the two of you to rub against your clit. You saw the wicked glint in his eyes before he dipped his head to lave at your breasts.

You felt like you were going to explode from the different sensations. That was until he decided to move your body to bounce on his cock, his own hips thrusting up to meet you and his hand on your back guiding you to wind your hips as you came down. Your clit hit his pelvis each time and another wave was added onto your building climax. You whined, moaned, and pleaded his name. Begging him to grant you release.

“Let go for me. I have you. Let go.“

He growled against your breast and pounded up into you until you screamed and shook above him, clenching him so hard you pulled his own orgasm out of him. He spilled into you, crushing you against him as you continued to flutter around him.

You fought to catch your breath and when you caught each other's eyes, still hazy from lust, you laughed. You felt free. You felt renewed. You kissed him then.

"I love you too, Pietro."

He looked at you with unrestrained adoration. He had been chasing after you for so long that he could hardly believe that he had finally caught you. That he was finally yours.

"What? You didn't see that coming?" you teased.

He chuckled and pulled you in for another lingering kiss. You felt so good in his arms that he has completely forgotten how it felt to not have you in them.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmured against the skin of your shoulder. "If you want to we can runaway. I can take you away from all of this. We can stay here or we can go anywhere else."

He smiled warmly at you and pecked your lips when he saw the internal conflict flash through your features. Again, without a word he understood you.

"But I know that is not what you want," he reassured you. "I just wanted you to know that you have that choice if you should want it."

Tempting as his offer was, you knew you couldn't let go of Lily's memory. You would never truly be at peace until Salvacion was rotting six feet under and his whole operation was blown to bits. You couldn't leave your mission unfinished. And you couldn't bear to leave four other men behind. Looking back at the events of the past night, it felt more accurate to say five. Still, there was a sense of security from knowing you had that option.

"Let's go home."

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

A/N: Okay let’s take a vote. Should we forgive Bucky now?

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

Series Tag List (Open - Can’t Tag Crossed Out):

@anythingwriter​ @lazyloki​ @marvelfansworld​ @blackbirddaredevil23​ @purechaosss​ @iloveangstposts​ @onesmokinbabe​ @jojodojo02​ @spookyparadisesheep​ @strawb3rrydr3ss​ @studentdoctorstark​ @siriushxney​ @hopplessdreamer​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @writingmi​ @thatguppienamedbae​ @hotleaf-juice​ @hxpelessxcean​ @waywardwifey​ @girigirll @lunamyangel​ @lookinsidemyhead​ @winter-peach-fuzz​ @lockbox22​ @simrantheconqueror​ @winchestergirl1335​ @alexiabey789​ @itsjaybro16​ @princess-of-the-snake-pit​ 

Permanent Tag List (Open):

@alwaysclassyeagle​ @closetbtstrash​ @fanofalltheficsx​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @alyispunk​ @fckdeusername​ @milkyway-writes​ @dumb-ass-writer​ @chrisjaay​ @kamalymaly​ @paryl​ @soccer-100000​ @cloverrover​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @pigwidgeonxo​

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

[5hokage]

he’s thirteen. thirteen and bleeding out. dying, almost. maybe. definitely. 

and kiba sits, scarily calm, scarily quiet, as he holds akamaru close. this was always a possibility. perhaps there was a part of him, that had encouraged this sort of reality along, as everything throbs and hurts and blood sits heavy on the back of his tongue. each inhale is drawing just a little bit shorter, but that didn’t matter. not anymore.

not when kiba knows that scent. those scents. taking a sharp turn from enemy into allies when he wasn’t looking, right after the exams. and it’s a fumbled kind of movement, to shake the idea out of his head that his end might not come from a demon hunting between the trees, but from the shadow that drops from above. 

he’s thirteen and he’s saved. horrifically and violently before his eyes. swallowing thickly, but there’s just blood. too much. far too much. his own. theirs. burned into his nostrils. hindsight will tell kiba he won’t be able to get the image of blades and slow forming rivets of red out of his mind for quite some time. 

not that it matters in the moment. in the moment where there’s a beat of a second, and then he’s on fire. no longer held together by adrenaline and sheer willpower that he would get akamaru out of this. rippling through his guts and his veins and his. everything. `

“oi, oi, come on.” something said about leaf-nin being softer than first thought. hands on shoulders. light slap to his cheek. “stay awake.”

“‘m awake.”

“good, then get up.”

what was it his sister would say? that someone’s bedside manner was terrible? kiba could only put words together, anyway, not quite slinging them. forming them. arms tightening around akamaru. feet not working. body too heavy. cracked lips and not enough vision through the dark.

maybe there’s a sigh. sign. waterlogged and heavy. kiba wants to protest. kiba wants to breathe. pain that shoots up into his throat, catching, right side, needle fine.

everything gets patchy afterwards. kiba knows he was awake. kind of. almost. just a lot of hazy, inky black, where his head should roll but it doesn’t. it’s warm. he’s still bleeding. cheek against something solid, that he just can’t work out.

akamaru. akamaru wasn’t in his arms anymore. 

“’s fine, i got him.”

kiba’s mouth feels like it was full of iron cotton. too dry. biting metal. “kankuro?”

“we’re nearly back at konoha.”

words aren’t quite making it out of him. his eyes aren’t quite opening. but there’s no mistaking it, as his arms tighten. “‘re you doin’?” rescued. he was rescued. when did he pass out?

when did they start moving through the trees? 

“kankuro?”

“yeah?”

out the corner of his eye, kiba doesn’t quite get the full scope of his face. obscured by a hood and that thick paint that patterned his skin. always a lot to judge from simple expression, and more so from the slight way that kankuro meets his eye. shuffles the way he had his arms curled under kiba’s legs, mid-jump, and moved on. yet it was enough, to perhaps have kiba linger just a moment longer.

when he makes it out of this, hana will tell him off, tug his ear to hell and back. and he will tell her, about the way he had stared in wonder. how kiba blamed blood loss and panic and the way that he was ready to probably die. die for a mission and a promise that he hadn’t personally made. except kiba lived, and he will live. 

light at the end of the tunnel. or from the way the trees parted. shouts that called him by name, and he’s handed off to someone he can’t quite make out. everything hurts. akamaru gives a low whine. and yet, he still had to turn. reach out, hold. stop him from moving before he could say,

“thank you.”

and mean it.

really, really, really mean it.

[missinghan]

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him. 

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart. 

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty. 

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.” 

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily. 

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out. 

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing. 

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison. 

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.” 

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene. 

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down. 

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds. 

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul. 

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest. 

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address.  The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…” 

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.” 

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently. 

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance. 

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets. 

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint. 

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes. 

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen. 

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest. 

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger. 

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option. 

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood. 

He won’t make it in time. 

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage. 

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner. 

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams. 

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

 “Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors. 

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus. 

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears. 

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move. 

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die. 

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back. 

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.” 

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way! 

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus. 

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious. 

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you. 

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day. 

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp. 

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards. 

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly. 

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward. 

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted. 

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog. 

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed. 

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him. 

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches. 

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie. 

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.” 

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“ 

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path. 

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might. 

And you’ll die. 

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell. 

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal. 

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you. 

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho. 

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer. 

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.” 

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.” 

[shihalyfie]

Adventure, 02, pragmatism, and humanism (morality of fighting, conflict resolution, the importance of personal choice, etc.)

Adventure and 02 are naturally very idealistic series, but despite being idealistic, there are times when they can get rather pragmatic -- even uncomfortably pragmatic in ways that seem a bit unusual for a kids’ show. The entire last quarter of Adventure and almost all of 02 dealt so heavily with the topic of “is it okay to fight, even if it means incurring deaths?" to the point it’s pretty hard to miss, but both series have an approach towards the morality of fighting, the possibility of potentially having to kill enemies (including former friends that have turned antagonistic), the approach to dispute resolution, and the meanings of “moving forward positively” and “not getting hung up on needless negativity” that are surprisingly nuanced. At times, there’s even a strong message that warns against getting hung up on preachy principles that sound noble on their face but actually don’t get anywhere in practice.

This is a handful of topics, and it’s to the point where it may seem a bit strange to condense all of these under one meta instead of dedicating separate posts to it, but I decided to on the grounds of the fact that they’re all very tied to each other in the course of Adventure’s narrative. Overall, both series are very kind to the feelings and mentalities and thoughts of the young children involved, having the characters not only be kind towards each other but also encouraging the audience to understand their feelings. This is an approach towards understanding oneself and others that happens to be very applicable to life in general, even for adults; both series float a balance of being pragmatic and yet humanistic, kind to the struggles and internal thoughts of all of the characters within, and have a surprisingly nuanced look at what it means to take part in conflict and what the “best thing to do” in such a case is.

As said above, this is a long and complicated meta, and it’s to the point where I’ve considered separating it into multiple parts or posts, but in the end could never bring myself to because of how interrelated all of these topics keep ending up with each other. So, to spare those of you who are intimidated by the sheer length and winding-topic nature of this, here are the main points:

One who is not emotionally ready to fight, or is unwilling to fight, should not be forced to fight. On top of it being inhumane, emotional exhaustion is treated much in a way similar to physical exhaustion; especially in a world where fighting strength is linked to emotional will, one whose heart is not in it will not even be able to effectively fight in the first place. Even when joining the fight is the obvious ideal solution, one who needs to sit out should not be blamed or scorned for it. A choice to fight is exactly that, a choice, not an obligation; the world is messy and imperfect, and the most you can do is try to do whatever you can within the best of your ability. If you do, there is no reason you should be scorned for it.

There are many meaningful ways to contribute to the overall fight that don’t necessarily involve direct physical violence; those ways are still valuable and necessary, and those more attuned to those roles should embrace those roles if it makes them more comfortable to do it that way.

If an extreme result -- such as killing the enemy -- is reached, it needs to be done with the first and foremost priority being to protect people and prevent casualties. A diligent effort should still be made to preserve as many lives as possible (which means this isn’t something where you get to go all “knight templar” and beeline for a violent solution) -- but sometimes, there will be times when push comes to shove and that most extreme solution will have to be reached, even if that “enemy” was originally a friend, because inaction will very obviously lead to more people being hurt.

When a dispute about important points like the above is reached, everyone’s feelings must be acknowledged. This is not to be confused with philandering around with a “both sides have a point!” compromise; in fact, Adventure and 02 both make very firm stances on the above issues. Rather, it makes it clear that said points need to be made while not invalidating the other person for having those feelings -- that is to say, there’s a huge difference between “your opinion is wrong” and “you are stupid and unreasonable for having that wrong opinion.” Dispute resolution and understandings can only be reached when you properly understand why the other person came to that conclusion, and treat them with proper empathy and compassion while you try to work it out. You don’t have to acknowledge their point, but you have to acknowledge their feelings. (For those of you who have seen Appmon: Shinkai Haru is a master at this technique, and there are multiple times during the series where he will very assertively make his case against others while still appealing to the other person’s feelings and never denying their right to have them. This is also an extremely useful technique for dispute resolution in general, and I recommend that those reading this consider employing it more often, at least assuming you’re dealing with someone who’s open to listening.) Likewise, to truly reach out to someone and support them also requires understanding their feelings -- you can’t truly “support” them unless you’re capable of doing so.

There is a certain limitation in which adhering too closely to “moral principles” ends up becoming impractical, and don’t end up contributing to anything in the long run -- fixating over things like grudges, revenge, “punishing” people, and even the concept of forgiveness can quickly turn into platitudes. The best way to move forward is to not fixate on those principles or get hung up on the past, and rather think “now that we’re at this point at the current moment, what’s the best way to move forward in a way that helps others the most and minimizes harm?”

Adventure and the morality of fighting, and the necessity of personal choice

Believe it or not, the question of how feasible pacifiism is was first brought up as early as Adventure episode 12, when Takeru states that he has no intention of fighting Devimon. Elecmon calls this mindset out for the naivete of thinking they can just waltz up to Devimon and ask for answers instead of him trying to murder them on the spot -- and, in fact, he is completely right, because Devimon is not someone who can be reasoned with and indeed immediately tries to murder everyone on the spot one episode later, which results in Angemon’s death and Takeru trading out this very idealistic, naive mindset for the no-compromise, strict anti-darkness stance he takes in 02.

So there are two things to get out of this. The first is that, while Adventure and 02 are certainly very idealistic series, they are absolutely not naive. There are bad actors out there like Devimon who can’t be reasoned with whatsoever. Already off the bat, we have a clear statement from Adventure that an “everyone should stop fighting and get along!” mindset, when applied ad absurdum, is not going to get anyone very far.

The second is that none of the Adventure (or 02) kids like fighting. Takeru’s reaction here is certainly as extreme as it is because the idea of “fighting” presumably triggers his trauma from his parents’ divorce and the resulting split, but there’s no actual indication that any of these kids are necessarily fond of it. Certain ones like Taichi might get a little cocky midway through the battle when they’ve gotten it in the bag and are on an adrenaline high, but there’s also no indication that they’re interested in beating stuff up for the sake of it. Note that all of the fighting in Adventure episodes 1-10 was done out of sheer self-defense, and no Digimon was killed in any of the resulting battles (we’ll assume that the giant Bakemon in episode 11 doesn’t count mainly because it’s already dead) -- it was always fighting to the minimal amount to chase the attacking Digimon away or get them off their back. And, in File Island, that was possible -- but starting from the Server Continent and after, the hostile Digimon were actively out to kill them instead of just being territorial wild Digimon, forcing the Chosen Children to up the ante in order to survive.

The issue of “whether fighting in itself is the right thing to do” is brought back in the Dark Masters arc, and this is also where we start getting a discussion about the disparity between “the right thing to do” and “whether one is capable of doing said right thing to do”. Mimi, the most emotionally sensitive of the group, starts having an emotional breakdown over whether they should keep fighting and potentially drag in more casualties -- especially because the Digimon that had died had all done it for their sake in order to continue the fight, and therefore the Chosen Children are indirectly responsible for their deaths. Yamato thus explains the difficulty of the situation: he himself agrees that Taichi’s evaluation of the need to push forward and continue the fight is the right thing to do, but it’s inhumane to not consider the stress and and emotional toll this is causing and force everyone to continue in spite of that.

In addition, Taichi’s reasoning for why they should continue is “revenge” -- a very negative, spiteful reason very tied to “fighting for the sake of it”. It’s understandable for Taichi to have these feelings, but he’s going at it from the wrong direction, and he’s overall being very insensitive in this scene. Later, in Adventure episode 45, he says that he’s doing it for the sake of honoring the Digimon who died for them. In other words, a lot of the reason Taichi’s methodology isn’t working is that he’s hung up on “the principle of things”, and not the more pragmatic reasons one should fight.

In Adventure episode 45, the kids finally meet the entity who chose them in the first place, who self-identifies as “the one who wishes for stability” -- the novels name them “Homeostasis”. Note the name -- it refers to the maintenance of internal balance within a living system, and Homeostasis themself starts their long infodump with their motive: it’s not that they want to eliminate all darkness from the world entirely, but that the powers of evil are upsetting the balance so badly that everything will be consumed if something isn’t done. It’s not like they’re insistent on violence either -- it’s just that they have a world to protect. The novels give us a particular amount of extra information on this entity, namely that it is not an omnipotent god by any shake of the imagination (in fact, there’s even an implication that there are higher powers that they themself don’t understand), and rather just a mere security system that observed that things were going south and used its rather limited methods of communication (via the Agents) to help make preparations.

Regardless, back to the episode -- we learn that the reason this entity recruited human children into all of this was because of the Hikarigaoka incident in 1995, which displayed to them and the Agents that a bond between children and Digimon could allow Digimon to evolve spontaneously, something that’s not possible with Digimon in the Digital World alone. Oh, and also, that they’ve been wanting to talk to them since File Island, and this entire thing about being cryptic with information was because they literally had no body and there was a massive amount of information loss after the Dark Masters blew up the Agents’ base and killed everyone except Gennai. In other words, just like with all of the actions the Chosen Children had been taking up until this point, everything Homeostasis and the Agents did was out of desperation because they were running out of other options to save their world, and during their brief time of being able to speak with the children, Homeostasis dumps pretty much everything they need to know and speaks to them using the extremely deferential sonkeigo form, meaning that they consider everything the kids are doing to be a massive favor to them. (Contrary to common belief, their possession of Hikari’s body does not seem to be non-consensual, given that they spend multiple episodes trying to contact her, and are clearly depicted having a proper conversation with her before temporarily borrowing her body.)

Most importantly, at the end of their speech, Taichi asks them what to do next, and the response is effectively: “We don’t know, but we trust you to make the best decision.” So, again: fighting as a Chosen Child is not an obligation, but something done because they want to do it and can. They were handed the tools to get this done by Homeostasis and the Agents, who believed in their potential to create miracles and be virtuous people and do something to save their world beyond what the native Digimon could do alone out of desperation and a lack of other options, and they are not hovering over the Chosen Children to see if they’ve “succeeded” or “failed” (note that they seem to have no sense of grudge or disappointment over Taichi’s SkullGreymon stunt in Adventure episode 16, explaining it very neutrally as an example of a risk), but more “we believe you were the best people who were able to do it and we trust your ability to help us.” (This is especially because, while it’s made clear they’d been wanting to contact them for a while, their most direct intervention comes right after Yamato had questioned why they were chosen in the first place -- presumably, they felt that the kids deserved an answer.)

At the end of Adventure episode 45, Mimi, considering the fighting they’re doing to be responsible for all of the fallouts and the sacrifices, decides that she won’t participate anymore, and Jou decides to stay with her in order to convince her to come back (although the novel also reveals that he himself is having doubts, too). Very importantly: nobody begrudges Mimi for being emotionally overwhelmed and sitting out, and nobody even begrudges Jou for choosing to stay with her. This is smack in the middle of the Dark Masters arc when everyone needs all the support they can get -- but after everything that had just happened, it’s inhumane to force either of them forward in this condition.

Despite his doubts, however, Jou himself is already coming to understand the limits of “pacifism” at a time like this:

What he wanted to tell her was this: that he didn’t see any likelihood of co-existing with the Dark Masters, and that they had no other choice but to fight them. Even a neutral country like Switzerland had a military. They would be invaded by enemy countries without one. It would be nice and ideal if they used the nonviolent resistance approach as Ghandi did. But that didn’t mean it was okay to just be killed without lifting a finger… But not even he could find a good answer.

Again: Adventure and 02 are an idealistic series, but they are not naive. It would be nice if the fighting could all stop and everyone would be happy, but there are malicious bad actors who will take advantage of you sitting there and doing nothing.

And so, Leomon dies in Adventure episode 47, and Mimi and Jou learn the hard way: if they do nothing, people will still die. Mimi had witnessed all of the Digimon sacrificing themselves for the Chosen Children’s sake, and thus had followed the logic that their friends would stop dying for them if they stopped fighting, but now that they’ve stopped fighting, said malicious forces (in this case, MetalEtemon) went ahead and killed their friends anyway -- and they’ve gone and destroyed the Village of Beginnings to boot, preventing any of them from being reborn. So in other words, if the intent is to “prevent casualties”, as it turns out, inaction didn’t actually prevent casualties.

Nevertheless, Mimi does not like fighting. In fact, Jou doesn’t like fighting either. Both of them now understand that it’s the best thing to do in this situation, but is it really the best thing to do to force them into embracing violence because of this? Instead, Jou determines in Adventure episode 50 that the overall fight doesn’t necessarily mean that everyone has to jump in and get violent -- the likeable and friendly Mimi has started to cultivate a skill in getting other people to rally behind her, and Jou is starting to consider that he may have a future in treating the wounded and supporting people before they become casualties. Those are still valuable ways they can contribute without forcing them into doing things they can’t bring themselves to do -- and, indeed, Mimi’s rallied army ends up saving everyone’s rears in Adventure episode 52.

While Taichi is not there to personally witness this discussion, Adventure episode 50 has him make a slightly less reckless tactical plan, and he explains (directly citing what happened with Yamato, Mimi, and Jou as his rationale) that he’s learned that he needs to take into account the potential for there being collateral damage. Recall that, earlier, his motive for doing things had been on a sheer principle level, with a lot of negative emotions of spite and revenge. But now, he’s come to understand that the most important thing he needs to do is to “prevent sacrifices”, and that’s the reason they still need to fight. Hence, why Taichi makes a proper plan for doing it instead of just doing the first and most aggressive thing that comes to mind, since he’s a soccer captain and has the potential for being a bird’s eye tactician, after all -- this time, he just needs to channel it in a way that prioritizes the lives of people around them.

And in Adventure episode 51, when reaching out to Sora (who’s cracking under all of her self-imposed expectations and sense of duty to others), Yamato and Jou take what they learned from Homeostasis six episodes prior and apply it -- Sora is working under the mentality that they have an “obligation” to get this done and that they are impending “failures” if they don’t (and, to be fair, if they don’t make it, the world is going to end, which is pretty unambiguously terrible). But what Yamato and Jou do is reframe it to fall more closely under the philosophy of what Adventure is saying here -- the fact they can do something about it is already absolutely incredible. (I mean, not to sugarcoat the fact that the world is still going to end if they pull it off, but the stress, self-hatred, and self-blame of “we’re failures for not pulling it off” is definitely not going to help.) They are doing everything they can right now, within their reasonable abilities. If they end up not being able to do it, that’s not something that should be considered a sin or a failure on their part; they are here because they can and want to and are doing it and are here to make the best possible use of that.

It’s one of the many times Adventure and 02 will make this statement, indirectly or directly: despite the title of “Chosen Child”, the Chosen Children do everything they do because of their own choices, and because they want to, not because they have to.

We finally meet Apocalymon in Adventure episode 53, and we learn that he(?)’s a combined spirit made up of all of the Digimon that were “eliminated” and failed during the evolution process, and is deciding to take out its anger and spite at the world out on everyone else by “denying evolution” (this is clarified in the novel to also be the reason it subtly influenced the prior enemies to destroy everything and especially the Village of Beginnings, because it functionally would put an end to the Digital World’s evolution by reducing it to nothing). So, in the end, we have a contrast between Apocalymon, who’s fighting for the sake of self-centered spite (including wanting to take down everything with it in Adventure episode 54 even when its demise is already clear), and the Chosen Children, who are fighting to protect their loved ones.

Incidentally, we also learn in Adventure episode 53 that there were Chosen Children who put an incomplete seal on Apocalymon prior to the ones in 1999. (Kizuna also introduces Menoa Bellucci, who became a Chosen Child in 1997, and assuming you’re following Adventure’s background doubling-every-year lore, at the time of 1999, there were a whole eight other Chosen Children besides Taichi’s group in existence.) The novels make it clear that the time dilation and distortion was going all the way up until the defeat of Apocalymon, long enough that the partners of those older Chosen were able to evolve to the Holy Beasts (and possibly enough for said older Chosen to get really faded through Digital World history to the point even Gennai doesn’t know about them). So the point here is that in the grand scope of the entirety of Digital World history, Taichi and his friends are not particularly singular existences -- there are people who saved the world before them, and 02 will introduce people all over the world who are going on their own adventures (including the main 02 kids in Tokyo), and, of course, by the time of the 02 epilogue, everyone’s going to have a Digimon partner. Koushirou later observes in Two-and-a-Half Break that there’s nothing special about having a partner in itself.

Does that make Taichi and his friends’ adventure of self-growth and saving a whole two worlds somehow insignificant, just because it’s not particularly unique? No. Because, again, they did this all not because of whether Homeostasis chose them or not, but because all of it was operated by their own will and strength and desire to protect others, all within the restraints of what they could feasibly do and handle, and they are amazing people for pulling that off.

02 and the importance of mutual understanding (and, also, more about the morality of fighting)

Before we proceed onto the 02 analysis, I think it’s important to establish a bit of important context about how 02′s lead protagonist, Daisuke, approaches things, and how it relates to the recurring debates on the morality of fighting throughout the series. In 02 episode 14, we learn that Daisuke was captured at Big Sight during the Odaiba Fog incident, and therefore witnessed, firsthand, the threat of Vamdemon’s lackeys attacking innocent civilians (something that Miyako, who witnessed the self-contained Omegamon vs. Diablomon battle on the Internet, and Iori, who only happened to be on a grounded plane after the Vamdemon fight had already ended, did not quite have anything on the par of). Spring 2003 and the Adventure novels elucidate what was going on in his head at the time: he was frustrated at his inability to protect his loved ones, and wished to have the power to fight the “bad guys” who were threatening everyone.

Remember this for later.

Moving onto 02 itself. 02 is a series about relationships, but, more significantly, it’s a series about the sheer amount of work it takes to maintain relationships, and especially the principle that “maintaining a relationship to another person requires being properly aware and understanding of the other person’s feelings.” One thing that often frustrates me about a lot of media (both kids’ shows and non-kids’ shows) and, well, to be honest, a lot of people in general, is the preaching of supposedly “positive” platitudes that actually go straight into what’s called “toxic positivity” for good reason -- because while it’s ostensibly “positive”, it also denies other people’s feelings, waving away everything negative and going “yeah, well, positivity!” and “optimism!” and “power of friendship!” and all sorts of stuff that are actually dismissive because they’re not showing any real effort to properly understand the other party and acknowledge why they feel this way. Like, sure, you may be telling someone to cheer up, but it also carries an (accidental or otherwise) implication of “you’re irrational and stupid for being upset and you should be smiling all of the time because ~positivity~.”

There is a lot of conflict in 02 -- especially because the theme of the morality of fighting is even more relevant, particularly in the case of the added question of “when the enemy in question is not an unambiguously evil sadist but a former friend in trouble”, and later the question of how someone who’s done horrible things in the past but is clearly making an active effort to make up for it should be treated. Daisuke, 02′s lead protagonist and carrier of a lot of its main themes, is ostensibly a simple-minded idealist, but even his theory of “positivity” and “always moving forward” has a lot of nuance beyond what you would usually see in this kind of anime lingo.

Context is also very important here. Adventure and 02′s stance being about “doing the best you reasonably can in a given situation”, it also means that what might be the best thing to do will change depending on context. 02′s starting circumstances are very different from Adventure’s, because it starts off without the threat necessarily being immediately world-threatening -- certainly, they need to stop the Kaiser, but this is in the form of a long-term territory war with an enemy who (at the time) doesn’t appear at night, and it’s unclear just how long it’ll take. This means that when the threat is not immediately world-ending, none of the kids are ever given grief for prioritizing their own personal obligations in lieu of fighting.

Iori and Jou do choose to ditch their kendo lesson and prep school exam (respectively), but they make it clear that they did this out of personal choice, and in fact this conversation opens with Armadimon apologizing to Iori for giving him grief for not coming, because he thinks Iori is perfectly within his rights to have stuck with the lesson! Perhaps, if the world were to end in a few hours, it would certainly be pretty idiotic to insist on sticking with a kendo lesson or prep school, because those things aren’t going to exist anymore if the world ends, but this is a very long and drawn-out territory war with no known end, and it’s understandable that these kids need to maintain their life necessities while straddling the balance between the war and their lives as a whole.

Again, they’re doing the best they can, and being a Chosen Child is about doing things because they want to, not because they have to.

This is especially because the Kaiser himself attempts to exploit the meaning of a Chosen Child in 02 episode 3 -- again, being a “Chosen Child” means being trusted to do the right thing with what you’re given, but the Kaiser basically betrayed that trust, and nobody was able to stop him from exploiting it and attempting a takeover with it. And Ken takes that title of “Chosen Child” and interprets it to mean he’s entitled to all of this -- but the other kids are Chosen Children just like him, and (at this point) all of them are simply choosing to do whatever they want with that.

And on the flip side, you have the Adventure seniors, who are a little nerfed by the Dark Towers, but as far as the way the younger 02 kids see them goes, there is no doubt that the 02 kids respect them deeply and are practically reliant on their support and advice, and their experience and maturity in comparison to themselves. The episode that establishes most how in awe the 02 kids are of their seniors is 02 episode 17, where they learn the details of the adventure in 1999, and so it’s not about how much combat power they’re displaying right now but rather how much experience they have in doing such amazing things. Likewise, their seniors are frustrated at their inability to help -- not because they see it as some obligated duty, but because they see their juniors trying their best to deal with an ongoing crisis and want to help, resulting in them providing support roles such as covering for them with a camp trip in 02 episode 18 and allowing them to do a long-term Digital World stakeout. For this, the younger 02 kids adore them and give them all of their respect.

02 episodes 10-11 are significant in juxtaposing the themes of “conflict” and “understanding each other’s feelings” -- at the end of 02 episode 10, we see Yamato punch Taichi, but he holds his hand to him right after, indicating that Yamato punched him not out of anger or condescension or scorn over Taichi’s hesitation to fight Agumon, but rather simply to snap him out of it for his own sake, knowing he wouldn’t take it offensively, so in other words, what looked like a “conflict” on its face was actually communication between the two, with neither of them treating each other with scorn.

The conflict at the end of the episode is over whether they should run the risk of killing Agumon in the process of fighting him to get him back from the Kaiser’s Evil Spiral-induced brainwashing (note that this is about the risk, since it’s not necessarily guaranteed they’ll have to kill him, and they still of course need to make a conscientious effort to prevent that outcome). Yamato, however, frames it in terms of very practical matters, and even takes Agumon’s own feelings into it while he’s at it: if they pull back purely for the sake of not running that risk, Agumon will end up being the Kaiser’s slave and killing machine and nothing will be resolved, whereas if they run the risk, the best outcome is that Agumon is saved (which is, fortunately, what happens!), and the worst outcome is that he’s killed, which is still a preferable outcome to him having to remain the Kaiser’s brainwashed slave used to kill other things en masse.

02 episode 11 further explores the theme of conflict in the face of “understanding each other’s feelings”, as it starts off with a fight between Daisuke and Takeru on the grounds of whether it’s okay to risk killing Agumon. Takeru’s stance is to side with Taichi’s decision, even if he doesn’t like it (again: just because some of these kids are able to make these decisions doesn’t mean they like it, and they’re doing it not because they’re callous but because they’ve thought hard about it and have decided it’s the best option they have!). Daisuke, being a bleeding heart, is appalled that Takeru could so easily endorse killing Taichi’s partner, and the two fight.

Note that the series does not “both-sides” this issue -- Taichi and Takeru’s stance is basically treated as the optimal course of action here -- but it also doesn’t invalidate Daisuke’s feelings of understandably being very shocked and appalled by this! Taichi and Yamato, in what initially seems like a violation of common sense, encourage them to be allowed to continue fighting, saying that it was essential to their friendship, and that confuses everyone present at the time -- but the meaning becomes clear by the end of the episode, when Takeru’s own Patamon is momentarily taken by the Kaiser and put at risk of himself becoming an Evil Spiral slave. Takeru blows up at Daisuke for hesitating (remember, this is one of his triggers), and eventually runs the exact same risk he’d advocated for Agumon with his own partner.

Remember what I said about “toxic positivity”? If everyone had just forced Takeru and Daisuke to shut up for the sake of “not fighting”, both of them might have remained angry at each other and stewing in silence, but because of the conflict, Daisuke himself personally witnessed Takeru run that risk for his own partner, presumably for the same reason (as much as the potential of Patamon being killed hurts him, the idea of Patamon being used as a killing machine is even more panic-inducing for him). With that, he understands that Taichi and Takeru made the decision to go ahead with this not out of callousness or cruelty, but because they sincerely felt they had to, no matter how much it pained them. Daisuke rails on himself for not understanding Takeru’s feelings better, and considering that he and Takeru never get in this vicious of a fight again, the point is: it wasn’t about whether they should form a friendship by fighting or not fighting in itself, it was about the fact that the two of them were able to get their feelings on the table, and that Daisuke was able to understand why Takeru endorsed what he did. (And this, too, is what it means for why Taichi and Yamato are friends now because they fought so much in the past -- back in Adventure, those fights ended up having them bare some very raw feelings to each other.)

While in the series itself, they’re successfully able to save Agumon anyway, Hurricane Touchdown presents a more unfortunate outcome of the “friendly fire” debate, in which Daisuke learns that the hostile Digimon kidnapping their seniors (and, later, a lot of other people) is Wallace’s own partner. Daisuke is so emotionally overwhelmed by this that he breaks down crying at the possibility of having to kill someone’s partner, knowing that he’d never be able to do something like this if it were V-mon, and Wallace gets him on board with an attempt to appeal to Chocomon without fighting.

This stance is not unreasonable, Wallace and Daisuke cannot be blamed for being hopeful, and, in the end, it’s admirable that they did make a conscientious effort to solve this with pacifism (again, this kind of attempt should be made, and it’s not good to beeline to the most violent solution for no reason). But unfortunately, once they meet Chocomon in the flower field, it turns out that not only is Chocomon beyond reason, he himself is also clearly out of his right mind and suffering through all of this, and Wallace finally relents and asks Daisuke to assist him in the fight (after having stayed in denial for half a movie about wanting to avoid this). Daisuke, witnessing all of this himself, agrees without hesitation, and eventually, it turns out that this decision for the best when Chocomon himself begs Gumimon and Magnamon to put him out of his misery, and them obliging (albeit hesitantly) allows him to have peace in death instead of suffering in life.

Hurricane Touchdown’s sequel drama CD, The Door to Summer, presents Daisuke with yet another dilemma with Nat-chan, who is also clearly suffering in quite a similar vein (the parallel is directly drawn). In the end, the same conclusion is reached -- Nat-chan is unfortunately killed, but is able to find release.

02 episode 16 presents an argument about the limits of ethical principles instead of approaching things practically, when Iori considers himself a horrible person for having told a lie to get Jou out of an important exam. This is mainly just about a lie, but in terms of Iori’s character arc and its relevance to 02′s themes as a whole, the point here is that there is a certain point where being too stuck on “the moral principle” of things instead of thinking practically is actually selfish in some sense. If Iori hadn’t lied, he’d get maybe one more point of moral integrity, and then everyone would have suffocated to death -- compared to lying and therefore everyone for the most part benefiting (Jou’s very happy to help his juniors and save them from, well, literally suffocating, after all). This topic becomes very important later when it turns out to be generally applicable to the wider morality of fighting that the kids later face in the series’s final cour.

The disparity between “moral principles” and “what actually happens in practice” also shows up in 02 episode 19, when Takeru loses his composure and starts punching out the Kaiser. Is the Kaiser a horrible person (at this point) who totally deserves this? Absolutely! Are we as the audience getting a lot of catharsis seeing his face punched out? Probably! But at the same time, railing at the Kaiser with unbridled anger is also...not actually accomplishing anything! Instead, Takeru’s just getting a few moments to stew in some really unhealthy emotions and uselessly punching out the Kaiser while nothing productive is getting done, and it’s also contributing heavily to his emotional isolation from Iori (and the rest of the group) because he’s not coping with it in a healthy way at all. Takeru’s feelings are certainly understandable (again: the episode is absolutely framing this in such a way that you’re inclined to take his side), but at the same time, being malicious about this is not actually practically making any headway.

One of the major reasons I’m covering all of these seemingly unrelated topics in one post is that all of them end up having a massive combined amount of relevance to the narrative behind Ken discarding the Kaiser persona, and how he comes to integrate himself with the group. On the surface, the storyline seems to be simply that Ken learned the error of his ways and tried to stop drowning in regrets, and Daisuke’s idealistic personality reached out to him and helped him heal. That said, there’s quite a bit more going on than just that.

A theme going on behind Ken’s character arc for the second half of 02 is one that probably seems a bit unusual for an idealistic kids’ show, but the point that ends up being made quite often is that whether Ken should be “forgiven” for his actions is a rather immaterial question. 02 episode 23 has a bunch of Baby Digimon rail on him, and remind him that he will never be able to take that back. There is nothing in either world that will erase those actions or make them retroactively justified or pushed under the bridge. The only thing he can do is accept the fact that it happened, whether he likes it or not, and determine what to do from here in terms of taking responsibility and making things right.

And this ends up having an influence in how Daisuke advocates for him, and how the rest of the group reaches out to him...

First of all, Daisuke being the most open-minded about Ken was not blind optimism. There’s no evidence that he was actually all that emotionally receptive to Ken or interested in being his friend before 02 episode 25. However, Daisuke also does not advocate for “punishing” Ken or kicking him while he’s down -- because that won’t accomplish anything, and Ken is clearly not in a state to be wreaking more havoc right now. Daisuke remembers the footage of Ken’s parents crying on screen, and determines what would be the first course of action to fix this situation -- and thus, he tells Ken to “go home”, because whatever Ken did in the past and no matter how much the team resents him right now, they are in this situation, with a boy who’s clearly not going to cause any more trouble right now and a family that’s hurting by his absence, and the very least he can do is do something productive from here on out.

Hence, at the end of 02 episode 24, when it turns out that Ken’s back and saved them from Thunderballmon, Daisuke decides to be optimistic about him and start the process of emotionally reaching out, but, again, it’s not blind optimism -- he sees what Ken did and takes this to mean “okay, clearly he’s not going to do bad things anymore, so regardless of whatever he did in the past, he’s helping out now, so we should check in with how he’s doing and let him help out.”

This is, of course, enhanced by the fact that Daisuke had communicated with the Crest of Kindness in 02 episode 20, but there’s also another layer to this: the major point of dispute between him and Miyako in 02 episode 25 (with both of them generally being rather open-minded about Ken otherwise) is in regards to the fact Ken and Stingmon were responsible for killing Thunderballmon in the prior episode. Come the climax of 02 episode 25, it is made clear that if Golemon successfully destroys the dam, the results will be absolutely disastrous, and there will probably be an incredible amount of casualties. Here, Daisuke himself is the first person to realize that killing Golemon may become a requirement (Ken is not actually a part of his initial comment) -- that is to say, most likely, the reason he’s willing to give Ken the benefit of the doubt about Thunderballmon is that he himself is understanding of that potential mindset (especially since 02 episode 43 does indeed establish Daisuke as being the first to accept it).

Recall that, between Daisuke, Miyako, and Iori, Daisuke was personally involved three years prior in a large incident with an unambiguously malicious Digimon that was about to claim a ton of victims -- he’s a bleeding heart, sure, but he’s also a bleeding heart for the potential victims, and the one thing that ate at him during the time of the Vamdemon incident was that he couldn’t do anything to protect everyone. Therefore, he’s the most receptive to this potential conclusion because he doesn’t want to see victims like that again. Not only that, Takeru and Hikari (having witnessed similar conclusions back in Adventure) are also very quick to point out that this might be an inevitability -- it’s just Miyako (who, in her emotional passion, is desperate to find a way out and clinging onto the hope that they won’t have to) and Iori (who considers doing such an act “no better than him” -- again, see the fixation on “moral principle” and “being above him”) who are so vehemently against it.

In the end, it turns out that Golemon is a Dark Tower Digimon (and therefore not sentient), and everyone’s left off the hook for now, but the reason this is still important is that through this, Miyako learns that Ken -- someone whom everyone was side-eyeing for potentially lapsing back into his cold, callous ways after supposedly having given up the Kaiser mantle -- was not out to kill (and, indeed, when the first kill inevitably happens in 02 episode 43, Ken is just as shaken about it as Miyako and Iori). The important part is that Miyako, and later the other kids, accepted Ken not out of some principle of optimism or forgiveness, but because they came to understand his position and feelings. All of the kids accepted Ken on their own terms after understanding his feelings and position better via interacting with him and hearing his own testimony -- they came to understand his mindset, what he’s been through and what he’s planning to do from here on out, and, most importantly, that he needs support really, really badly right now.

Which extends not just to Ken, but also everyone’s relationships here in general. Daisuke broke through to Ken and kicked off their first Jogress in 02 episode 26 because he proactively listened to everything Ken was saying and what he wanted to do, and correctly identified that Ken very desperately wants to take responsibility, so he talks him out of a reckless suicide mission by pointing out that all of his attempts to not make his family sad and to make up for everything he’s done are going to amount to nothing if he just throws his life away like this. In 02 episode 31, Miyako listens to Hikari’s troubles and her compulsion to not speak out for herself and reaches out to her successfully via promising to be there for her so she doesn’t have to slink into passive resignation. And in 02 episodes 34-36, Iori makes an active effort to understand Takeru’s mentality and why he has the drastic personality shifts he does, and communicates to Takeru that he wants to understand him better. So the point is: the 02 kids were able to successfully connect with each other and become deeper friends because they made an active attempt to listen to each other’s troubles and address the core of what they needed. They were only able to become “supportive” once they understood everything.

(02 episode 36 also has a moment where Iori’s about to rail off at everyone for not taking the fight seriously, before Armadimon reminds him that he’s starving -- again, it is very inhumane to ignore other needs and force everyone to keep fighting endlessly just because they theoretically can.)

We do meet the representative who claims credit for choosing Daisuke, Miyako, and Iori as Chosen Children in 02 episode 37 (Qinglongmon, representative of the Holy Beasts), and he explains the process of why they sent the kids what they did in order to retrieve Ken from the deep end. Notably, Qinglongmon admits that even the Holy Beasts were blindsided by a few things and adapted the situation as they saw fit (they didn’t originally expect the kids to be able to use multiple Digimentals at first). More importantly, this was, again, all a bit of a desperation move, because this was about as much as the Holy Beasts could manage, being sealed and drained of power and all.

Also, while retrieving Ken from the deep end was on the list of things the Holy Beasts set out to do, “everyone becoming Ken’s friend” was not necessarily on that agenda. Again: that was something that these kids chose to do on their own, by observing Ken’s actions and feelings and choosing to connect with him.

The episode ends with BlackWarGreymon going off on a journey of angst, and: note that the kids decide to drop the issue for the time being. Again, they’re operating not on a philosophy of grudge or whether one should get retribution for their actions, but what the likelihood of bad things continuing to happen is from here on out, and at this point in time, it doesn’t seem very likely, so there’s no point in pushing the issue or pursuing him.

Nevertheless, the morality debate over killing still remains looming over everyone’s heads, with Iori also realizing in 02 episode 29 that there are such things as Digimon that just want wanton destruction and cannot be negotiated with. The fact that the Adventure kids were put in world-threatening situations three years prior and are already far past this question is directly acknowledged in 02 episode 43, with Taichi advising Hikari that this harsh truth is going to hit the other four sooner or later, before it does eventually happen at the end of the episode. (Hikari visibly winces during her conversation with Taichi; again, none of the Adventure kids ever liked this.) And, in the end, predictably, Iori, Miyako, and Ken take it hard -- but Daisuke is the first to point out what would have happened if they didn’t do it. Namely, that the victims would have far outnumbered the Digimon they just killed.

It is, of course, good to be conscientious and not beeline for the most violent solution, and, again, context is important here -- in the situation provided, SkullSatamon was holding up a bus and split seconds away from murdering everyone in it. Had everyone refrained for the sake of morality, just like how Iori refraining from lying back in 02 episode 16 would have actually been selfish in a sense, here, the only claim you get to say after refraining is “well, I wasn’t the one who caused the harm.” Inaction would have caused the deaths of all of the young children in the bus; there would have been casualties either way.

Miyako and Iori are forced to face this truth again in 02 episode 44, with both of them being emotionally compromised by the reality of what they just did. In both cases, Hikari and Takeru step in to remind them what they’re doing this for, by pointing out the victims that would have been killed had they done nothing. Miyako and Iori are not at fault for being emotionally compromised or doing their best to prevent it -- it’s just that there’s only so much they can blame themselves for when they’re now directly faced with the potential victims in front of them.

Iori had already been grappling with this potential for several episodes now, so while he still takes it hard, more attention is given to Miyako’s reaction -- especially since she herself was the victim who was about to be murdered by LadyDevimon had Silphymon not done the kill. The voice acting and lack of Tailmon’s presence in Silphymon’s apology to Miyako implies very heavily that it was the Aquilamon side who took over and did it in a last-ditch effort to save Miyako’s life -- and he’s emotionally destroyed by it himself too, because he did it out of love for Miyako, and yet betrayed her request to not go for the kill. In the end, Miyako is forced to confront the fact that this was done out of love and a desire to protect, not a callous and malicious intent to murder, and comes to terms with it.

However, again: the series continues to reiterate that people who are not emotionally up for it should not be obligated to force themselves to do it. The beginning of 02 episode 45 has Takeru directly advise Iori that he shouldn’t do this out of obligation if he isn’t up for it -- remember that Takeru will only be able to fight with Shakkoumon if Iori is present, meaning that he’s perfectly willing to give up his ability to fight effectively because it’s not fair to force Iori to do it. This is not a series that advertises that everyone embrace the spirit of killing things and numb themselves to it. This entire situation sucks.

However, Iori makes it clear: he understands everything, and has decided to do it himself, because he understands the stakes and what it’s going to take to actually protect people.

Which is also reiterated in 02 episode 48 -- after witnessing the deaths of Archnemon and Mummymon at the hands of BelialVamdemon, everyone is shaken to the core. It should be established that the kids didn’t have much reason to sympathize with or like the two of them at this point, because everything we learned about them was from the audience’s point of view -- as far as the kids knew them, they were just two really rude and cruel Digimon who wanted wanton destruction. Yet even they are emotionally pained to see them die in such a cruel manner, and it causes everyone to hesitate -- even Daisuke, who does push forward because he knows what’s at stake, but still has to take a moment to collect himself.

Seeing what Daisuke’s about to do, Ken tries to force himself to join Daisuke so that Daisuke will at least not be alone (note that he actually says upfront that he’ll join!) -- but Daisuke notices that Ken’s heart isn’t in it, and actively advises him to sit out. Is the world in immediate crisis? Absolutely! But there is no scorn to be had for people who are emotionally falling apart right now and unable to get themselves to do it -- Daisuke even says himself that they won’t be able to fight effectively with Ken like this.

We close this analysis on a return to the concept of forgiveness and moving forward, and we learn in 02 episode 48 that Ken has two parts to his internal wishes: he wants the Kaiser (himself) to be “punished”, and he wants “forgiveness” from his deceased brother Osamu. Both of those things will certainly make him feel a little better emotionally, but they also won’t accomplish anything -- the “Kaiser” doesn’t exist anymore, so what good will that “punishment” do besides a little catharsis for the victims? And he can continue chasing after this standard of “whether he’s suffered enough” like it’s some numerical tally, but that’s not going to get him anywhere either, and it’s why Wormmon has to chase out even that ostensibly happy image of Osamu. Osamu is long gone, and is not going to return, and the question of whether Ken should be “forgiven” is rather immaterial. It’s not about whatever happened or didn’t happen back then; it’s about what Ken is going to do now.

Actually, what is “forgiveness” anyway? At no point do the 02 kids ever actually say they “forgive” Ken for his actions. In Spring 2003, Iori also says he doesn’t forgive Oikawa for what he’s done, either. There’s nothing that will ever erase what they did or suddenly make those actions retroactively justifiable, and there’s no arbitrary payment that Ken or Oikawa could do to meet some kind of quota of forgiveness. But what the kids do recognize in Ken is that, regardless of whatever he did in the past, at current he is a young boy in intense emotional distress who has gone through a lot, is working very hard to make up for his mistakes, and needs all the emotional support he can get, and there’s no reason to hold a grudge against someone like that instead of continuing to support him and loving him for who he is now. Given that, does it matter whether they “forgive” him or not?

And even if Iori will never forgive Oikawa, he can still lament everything that happened to him and drove him to do everything, and appreciate the meaning of what he did for the Digital World in the end, and use this as a further lesson on what it means to understand people instead of stewing angrily in a grudge that’ll only hurt himself.

Ultimately, that is the theory behind Adventure and 02. The world is messy, imperfect, and doesn’t fit under neat rules of morality and “right” or “not right” that you can cram everything under. Despite that, there’s something to be appreciated in not throwing in the towel and continuing to do the best you reasonably can in every situation. It would be ideal if all of the fighting could stop, or if it were possible to make the “optimal” decision of fighting or not fighting in every situation regardless of human exhaustion or emotional compromise, but that’s just not something that’s possible, and there’s no reason to call oneself a “failure” for not holding yourself to that standard. And in the end, the answer is this: instead of fixating on all of those arbitrary things that don’t actually serve any practical purpose, the way to live your best life is simply to look at where you are now, think about what you can do from here on out (regardless of what happened in the past), and do your best to protect and be kind to yourself and those around you.

Of course, you must be kind to others. But you have to be kind to others by understanding what it takes and everything around it -- and then choose to be kind anyway.

[jetsam-kisa]

Michiko vs Jetsam

Whew! This is done! I got carried away so I am very sorry for the length :’D

Michiko’s mod and I had some fun talking about our characters and especially the gear Michi is developing!

Unfortunately they were very busy this week, but I was more than happy to write the fight results :D 

CW: emetophobia // there is a brief scene describing vomit semi-graphically

The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium as Jetsam Kisa and Michiko Watanabe entered the battle arena. Both of the students walked to their side of the arena with a sense of purpose, even if they were nervous wrecks on the inside. Once they took their proper starting positions, the two contestants smiled weakly at each other as the announcer called out their names and the people in the crowd cheered for the next fight. 

‘I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out,’ Jetsam thought as he gnawed on his lips in anticipation, ‘That or throw up. Oh god I hope I don’t throw up in the middle of the match. Everyone here is watching. God, my parents are watching,’ Thick, heavy plums of smoke rolled out of his mouth the more frantic his thoughts became, until they nearly completely cloaked his figure, ‘I think I saw Best Jeanist in the stands too! He’s not going to want to associate with the kid who threw up during his first match. What am I doing here? What am I even going to do-?” 

Jetsam was snapped out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts by movement in his periphery; Michiko gently waved her hands at him and gave him a broader smile, despite clearly being nervous herself (if the crease in her brow was any clue to her emotional state).

“Let’s both do our best during this fight, Kisa-kun!” Michiko called out from her side of the arena, before her gaze hardened with a resolve she often reserved for studying the most complex of quirks, “Although, I hope you know that I will not be taking it easy on you. I need to see how far I can go, and to learn about the extent of my current abilities.”

Seeing Michiko’s determination and hearing her will to succeed was like a salve to Jetsam’s shot nerves. He took a deep breath, then released the pent up smog. The smoke surrounding his body partially dissipated too. It was almost a shame how well Michiko’s words calmed him down; he would be better off easily producing the pollutants that came with high stress. Jetsam briefly wondered if her kindness was double-edged in a way; was it a strategic way to prevent him from building up his quirk before the match? He shook the thought out of his head before yelling back to her:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Miss Michi!”

He could only hope that his grin masked the nerves that were still rolling in his stomach. He knew Michiko; knew her quirk. It could only be activated by physical contact, so as long as he kept his distance he should be okay. 

‘Although,’ Jetsam thought as he gazed at the chain-like device at Michiko’s hip, ‘that capture chain she’s been developing could be difficult to beat. I’ve never seen what it actually does before.’

All too quickly, the announcer began their countdown: “3...2...1...BEGIN!”

---------

As soon as the bell rang, Michiko shot forward, arm extended, with a single-minded determination to do one thing and one thing only: get to Jetsam before he could gain control of the battlefield with his quirk. If she could grab a hold onto him before his smogs and tars and other (frankly, gross) expellents became too overwhelming, then she could nullify his quirk with her own, and use her capture device to prevent him from continuing the fight.

Jetsam must have realized her plans, and had just enough time to dodge out of her range, smog spewing out of his mouth now that his adrenaline was no doubt pumping again. Not to be deterred, Michiko quickly shifted her balance and dove after him again, careful not to let him hide behind the pillars of smoke he was creating. 

‘He’s not going to make this easy for me, but I have been preparing for this occasion for too long to let this game of tag keep me from winning!’ She thought to herself, resolve growing with every inch closer she got to Jetsam, ‘He can’t avoid me forever, and I have a secret weapon I’ve been dying to beta test!’

After a few more moments of chasing after Jetsam, Michiko took a gamble and let him escape to the sanctuary of smog he created across the arena. She knew she had to be quick, but some risks had to be taken to assure victory! She knew that she had the power within her to win.

He wouldn’t be able to outrun her prototype, after all!

--------

‘Phew, I think I finally managed to shake her,’ Jetsam sighed with relief, dark smog still escaping his mouth and obscuring his figure to the crowd (and hopefully Michiko as well). ‘Now I have a moment to breathe. Hah, figuratively, at least.’

He made sure to keep his eye on the clear silhouette of Michiko he could make out through his smog, never before more grateful for his mom’s sight-related quirk partially making its way to him. She seemed to be standing still, perhaps strategizing her own plan to catch him and throw him out of the arena? He hoped the smoke wasn’t making her feel too sick. He had to be quick.  

‘I can probably end the battle if I cover her in tar and stop her movement. It might be unpleasant but it’d be safer than trying to beat her in hand-to-hand or some other physical contest. I haven’t been training with Tsumi for too long, after all. Yeah okay, that’s the plan!’

Just as he was about to produce the sticky tars necessary to carry out his plan, a thin silhouette darted out from Michi’s figure, slithering across the arena at a speed too quick for Jetsam to react to.

As a cold, thin figure coiled itself tightly around him, the only thought sparking across Jetsam’s brain was:

“Michiko brought a snake?”

-----

‘Bingo!’ Michiko exclaimed to herself as Jetsam’s no-doubt unconscious shout revealed not only his location, but the fact that her capture device had worked perfectly as intended.

While it still had quite a few bugs to sort out, one of the most recently added features was a heat-seeking tracker that would allow the machine to chase after targets even under adverse visible conditions. 

She cocked her head towards the direction of Jetsam’s quick yell of distress; she couldn’t get complacent. The capture device was only half the battle! She had to guarantee that Jetsam couldn’t continue the fight in order to assure her victory! 

She couldn’t just blindly run through the smokescreen either; who knows what kinds of traps he could have placed while she set up her capture device. No. She had to be methodical, and safely make her way to Jetsam’s location while he was encumbered. 

The smog was thick, but now she had her goal within sight: grapple Jetsam and nullify his quirk, thus ending the match.

-----

Okay, so it wasn’t a snake, but it was still bad news! Jetsam’s arms were completely pinned by the robotic device wrapped around his torso. So this was the work of the capture device that Michiko had worked so hard on? Jetsam had to admit that it was effective. He couldn’t fight with his limbs restrained like this, and that shout he gave out completely alerted Michiko to his location.

‘So this is it. The fight’s over, and I spent the whole time running away and cowering in the corner. Everyone is watching. Everyone saw. Everyone will know I’m just a big failure who doesn’t deserve to be here. Oh god what if Sato-sensei kicks me out of the hero course? What if they kick me out of the school?? What if everyone laughs and ignores me and hates me OH GOD-’ 

As the panicked thoughts swirled in Jetsam’s mind a pit formed in his stomach. A pit that rapidly expanded into a big, black ball of anxiety and nerves. He could almost picture it in his mind’s eye: an ugly, bloated orb dripping with heat and stress and bile. The more he envisioned it the more it grew until he could almost feel it spilling out of his mouth like a slick oil spill across his lips and---oh wait.

It wasn’t in his mind’s eye.

Jetsam groaned to himself as gushing rivets of slippery, rubbery oil spewed from his mouth all down the front of his body. 

“Well this is perfect!” Jetsam exclaimed to himself, although it was muffled by the sheer volume of oil that expelled out of him as he spoke. He really did throw up. God, could this fight be any more of a disaster?

First he gets captured by Michi’s device, then he literally vomits gross oil from the stress. Fantastic. He shifted uncomfortably, as the oils soaked into his jersey under the capture device and--wait a moment. Oil. Disgusting, smelly, beautifully SLIPPERY oil! That was slicking up his torso and arms even now!

Jetsam pulled his arms upwards experimentally and YES! They were sliding out, he wasn’t restrained anymore! Maybe he could hide again and strategize-

The victorious thought was cut off by a hand shooting out from the pillars of smog, reaching for his newly freed arms.

-----

“I finally found you, Kisa-kun!” Michiko called out, jumping from out of the smokescreen with a triumphant smile. 

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Jetsam freed from his restraints, but she simply chalked it up to a prototyping failure; she could ask him about the specifics of how he escaped once the match was over, anyways.

This time Jetsam couldn’t dodge her oncoming attack, and Michiko grappled him to the ground, pinning his arms above his head. Now was her chance to nullify his quirk! She had been practicing in hand-to-hand combat, she could still push herself to her limits and come out on top!

Michiko began to focus her energy on her quirk, as Jetsam struggled underneath her. As soon as her quirk began its nullification, she saw the startled look in his dark eyes, and winced slightly in sympathy. She had been told that her quirk was a bit unpleasant to the target; with the process feeling not unlike having your blood drawn through your whole body.

As her quirk took effect, the copious amount of smoke around them began to disappear, once again fully revealing them to the crowd of spectators around the stadium. As her own vision began to clear she was startled to find them lying at the edge of the arena; if they had tussled a bit further out they would have been out of bounds.

Jetsam followed her gaze to the boundary line, and his jaw tightened as his face flushed a dull purple. Was it anger at his predicament? 

“I’m very sorry about this, Miss Michi,” he gurgled apologetically, as the last of his quirk bubbled from his mouth into a viscous oil that was spat out onto Michiko’s face.

With a shout of surprise, Michiko’s grip loosened enough for the slick oils still coating Jetsam’s arms to allow him to escape her grasp. Vision impared by the pollution covering her forehead and dripping into her eyes and nose, Michiko was unable to dodge the hefty push against her chest as Jetsam scrambled away from her touch, getting onto his feet. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for his quirk to return in full force.

“Again, words cannot express how sorry I am for doing that.” Jetsam called out to her, although his speech was hard to make out with the thick pollutants leaking from his mouth.

Michiko shot up from the floor, furiously wiping at her face to clear it of the oil. Once her vision returned, she turned to face Jetsam. The two ran at each other, trading blows and each trying to grapple the other into submission. The build-up of tar and oils worked as a double edged sword; Jetsam easily slipped from Michi’s grasp, but she also used that to her advantage to slide out of the way of his attacks. 

Then, there it was: that single, gleaming moment where Michiko could see the exhaustion, see Jetsam’s attention waning as the fight dragged on for just a bit too long. Right there! He was right by the boundary line, and had miscalculated a move that left him off-balance and vulnerable.

‘Sorry Jetsam,’ Michiko thought as she built momentum for her final blow, ‘but I am grateful for this amazing fight!’

Just as her victorious punch was about to make contact with Jetsam’s awaiting back, she felt herself freeze, involuntarily. Her arm was stuck in position, unable to move. She tried shifting her feet, but to no avail. Her whole body was frozen in place, like some sort of statue!

After a brief moment of panic, Michiko quickly realized what was happening. The tar. The tar Jetsam had been producing. He had mixed it with all the other pollutants as they fought, and as she was coated throughout the battle, the tar was turning thicker and thicker, until it encased her whole body into a stiff, immovable statue. 

She struggled, trying to thrash her way out of the viscous black coffin, but to no avail. She could no longer continue fighting. She had lost. 

The crowd burst into cheers and jeers as they realized that the match had been settled, the announcer calling out “AND THE WINNER IS, JETSAM KISA!”

As soon as the decision was announced, Michiko felt the tar slide off her body, like showering off a thick coating of muck, until only black stains remained on her body and clothing.

Jetsam sheepishly looked over at her, hand anxiously scratching at the back of his neck.

“So… that was really, really gross. I’m so sorry. But you were incredible! You almost had me so many times!!” Jetsam babbled out, getting more and more flustered as he continued. “I understand if you’re upset, but we promised we wouldn’t hold back and-”

“That was a great match! I had such a good time, and you really tested out my limits!” Michiko interrupted, smiled brightly at him as she held out her hand for him to shake. “But I’m warning you, next time I’ll be the one to come out on top!”

Jetsam smiled softly as he took her hand and reciprocated the shake.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

A goddamn blaze in the dark

The first time Emily sees Sue, the first thing she does is drop a cup of steaming hot coffee onto the floor, slip on it and land flat on her back behind the counter. And then she thinks — Oh. Found you.

To be fair, even without the pesky niggling at the back of her head, very helpfully pointing out that this was the girl, her soulmate, the love of her life, her forever and beyond, the sight of Sue would have knocked her down anyways. What else are you supposed to do when a pretty girl, dressed in tweed, with her hair tied up in a braid, walks into the coffee shop where you work with that smile on her face? That damned smile that doesn’t ask you so as much as inform you that you’re going to be haunted by it in your dreams tonight? With 10 am sunlight filtering in through the sides, casting half of her features in sharp, glorious light, Emily might as well have just signed away her breath for eternity.

Lavinia bends, looks her right in her eye from above her. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

She wants to open her mouth to say something along the lines of – It's her! It’s her! What comes out, however is a garbled groan.

“Emily, buddy,” Austin rollerblades over to her, bends over her from the other side. “You gotta get up before there are complaints of unprofessionalism in the workplace.”

“Oh, because you’re the pinnacle of workplace niceties, I assume,” Lavinia shoots him a contemptuous look. “Only last week, wasn’t it? Those two young ladies in here fighting over who you were going to take to the mixer—”

“Guys,” she manages, before Austin can respond with something equally snarky, or god forbid, lascivious. “Is anyone minding the counter?”

And for exactly thirty seconds, the amount of time it takes Austin to slide over and ask for the orders of the disgruntled customers, and before she stretches out her arm and lets herself get pulled up to her feet, she hears a sweet voice enquire if everything’s quite alright back there. Emily closes her eyes, breathes it in, and wishes, not for the first time that hour, that she had her notepad near her to scribble a snippet of a poem that is now rapidly forming in her head.

*****

It is only sometimes that Sue looks at Emily and thinks that if Emily were to say the word, she would get down on her knees and hand over the entire world to her. Most of the time what she is thinking is goddamn it, Emily.

That’s what is going through her head as they’re kicked out of the lecture of the old man droning on about volcanoes. She can hear Emily giggling from behind her, and though her heart’s beating loud — the result of embarrassment and pure adrenaline — the sound makes her want to turn around and regard the idiot making it. So she does.

They’re alone in the deserted staircase; all the students, she guesses, are probably in that abysmally monotonous lecture. Emily leans against the banister, bent over at the waist from the sheer force of her mirth, and Sue takes it all in — her laugh, her gentle hands clutching at the wooden surface, and those intense, sparkling eyes looking right into hers. The next Goddamn it, Emily isn’t exasperated. It stays right there in her throat, accompanied by other, tender platitudes she’s never been brave enough to let herself say.

You’re beautiful. You make me ache inside.

(At night, Emily would talk to her about pressure, an acute force that demands to be released within her, and unable to help herself, the words — I think I know what a volcano feels like — would bubble up from her lips. And when Emily moves against her, a writhing mass of soft, bundled up wanting, Sue thinks she understands Pompeii a lot better as well; understands being frozen in time, brought to your knees by the sheer majesty of beauty and violence.)

*****

Listen, Emily has never claimed to be an expert on love.

(Austin has, on several occasions. Sauntered into the café, placed his elbow on the counter, and grinned roguishly. “Emily,” he’d started, once. “You know what the”—

“Is it that time of the month again?” Lavinia, who had been mopping up the floor, drawled. “Too much time since your last breakup but not quite enough that you can start going out with another girl and still maintain that image of the soft, sensitive manchild you’ve carefully cultivated. So you’re stuck in that weird limbo of no dates to go on, and subsequently are here to bore us.”

He’d chucked a tissue in her direction, continued smoothly. “As I was saying, do you, my dear Emily know what girls like best?”

“My sunny disposition?” she’d asked.

“No,” he replied flatly. “What girls want is someone who is cool. Indifferent. Somebody who displays absolutely zero interest in them. In fact—”

“That is horseshit,” Lavinia cut in.

Emily faux-gasped, continued leaning the espresso machine.

“Don’t you listen to him, Em. Girls like sweet, sensitive people who express an interest in wanting to get to know them.”

“I am an expert on women.”

“I am a woman!”

Emily half-listened to the sound of their bickering, and wished that she were a cat)

She considers both approaches briefly as she faces the girl, wondering why time hasn’t at least done them the decency of slowing down. It’s only polite, isn’t it, for the universe to cooperate when two eternal lovers meet. Emily has no justification as to why the universe should be so invested in the meeting of her and this woman who she’d decided was her intended, except it just makes sense.

(Intended. The word feels like it bears the weight of a hundred years. Like a woman back in the 19th century was whispering it to another woman she was in love with, as they lay in bed playing with each other’s hands.)

(It fits. She doesn’t care to find out why)

The girl opens her mouth. Emily holds her breath.

“You’ve got foam in your hair.”

The words — “It makes them bounce” — are out of her mouth before she can think. And then she wishes she’d picked up another cup of coffee in her hand so she could drop it on her head again.  

Thankfully, the girl laughs. Rests both her elbows on the counter and assesses the menu above Emily’s head. Emily doesn’t mind the reprieve from eye-contact. There’s something about looking right at this.... angel, for lack of a better word, that makes breathing cumbersome. And yet there’s another part of her that wants to raise her arms above her head and bounce like a little child, all “Hey! Look at me! It’s me!”.

(It’s a very strange day)

“What would you recommend?”

“Me?” Emily startles a little. Turns back to the menu, then back to the girl. Blinks. “That depends on your name.”

“How does my coffee order depend on my name?” the girl sounds amused.

Emily shrugs. “Eh. It’s a process. Can’t give away all my secrets.”

There’s prolonged eye contact, again, before the answer comes. “Sue.”

It rings in her head. Sue. Sue. Sue. There’s no prettier word in the English language. Saying it over and over in her head feels like a prayer. She tells Sue to wait a moment, and then turns to make her a caramel freakshow, all the while acutely aware of eyes on her. Her clothes are drenched in coffee, and she’d picked out the most faded of her t-shirts to wear today. God only knows what she looks like from behind.

The drink is her very best effort, though. Topped with the best slices of fresh fruit, and she’s made the swirls on the cream topping extra carefully. “Coffee for,” she pauses, pushes at the glass gently till it’s on Sue’s side, “Sue.”

“Can I ask what’s in this.... concoction?”

“My hear—” Emily knows she’s turning red, and desperately look away. “Um, coffee?”

Sue fumbles in her bag, and she wrestles with the urge to say — “Nevermind, it’s on me!” — which would not be the wisest. Emily hates the idea of taking money from Sue, that too, for something as measly as a coffee. Probably because she knows that if Sue were only to ask once, she would make her coffee every day, unprompted.

(She cannot reiterate enough – It's a very strange day)

When Sue steps away, Emily feels loss. It’s an unusual nudge to her sternum, a tingle in her hands that wants her to call Sue back. Before she has the time to dwell on it too much, Sue does.

“Do I,” she starts, frowning a little “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Yes.  

Yes.

I can’t explain it but we know each other somehow, the same way artists know their muses, and flowers know their bees, and my hands know how to write poems — and maybe a hundred years ago you and I were neighboring trees in the woods, or two seeds in the same tangerine; I’m pretty sure my knowledge of your existence was probably coded in my blood.

“Do you?”  

Sue seems to consider that for a while before shaking her head, and then walking over to take a seat by the window.

(And if she catches Emily stealing a glance every five minutes, she’s nice enough to not mention it)

*****

The day of her wedding is the happiest day of her life so far, and yet, the wedding has very little to do with it.

It’s a tiny, foolish fact that this is the first smile she sees on Emily after Ben’s tragic death, and yet, it makes her feel unreasonably pleased with herself. If her life were split into days she could see and touch Emily, and dreary days — the former were made significantly better if Emily smiled in them. Not to be dramatic, but the sun shines better, the skies glow prettier, and the ground is a little easier to run on.

Emily points out somewhere in the middle of their frolicking, for back of a better word, in the woods, that her dress is getting ruined. And then flings a flower onto her face. Goddamn it, Emily, she says, and then is struck dumb by the sound of her loud, exuberant laugh.

(And even quieter still when she holds the magnifying glass over the tiny piece of paper Emily had handed her earlier, the words washing over her like some tidal wave, drowning her in emotions too terrifying to admit. I held her hand the tighter, she reads and she smiles; Still in her Eye, the Violets lie, she reads and punctuates with a deep breath and when she reaches the end, the Sue – Forevermore, she’s aware of an awful keening in her throat, of the sob waiting to make its way out. Emily, Emily, her heart sings, and she is sure it will never shut up again)

She thinks of Emily the whole time, through the vows and the subsequent cheers, as they make their way into the house; thinks of her when Austin holds her tight and tells her that he loves her. A quiet voice, the sound of her guilt crawls up from inside her to tell him that she loves him too. She may be his in name, but her heart isn’t hers to give away anymore.

*****

Seven. That’s how many days she steals glances at Sue in the library before they talk again.

Monday, 9 am: The librarian’s just gotten started with her morning coffee, which means that Emily can sneak her own breakfast past her bleary eyes without being detected. She gets the books that she wants off the shelf, makes her way to her usual chair at the very back of the room and settles in. Her bag gets hooked to her chair by the straps, the tiny diary, her faithful companion, finds a place beside the humongous book, and the coffee sits next to her breakfast burrito. After the entire process is done, she stretches her legs, leans back, looks up and freezes.

Sue is seated on a nearby desk, staring at her.

Emily looks away, on reflex. Her heartrate’s up, and her palms suddenly feel clammy. She takes a deep breath, takes in the floor, and tells herself she’s seeing things. Surely, there’s no way the girl of her dreams also goes to her college and it absolutely isn’t possible that she’s sitting in front of her, in the flesh. She readies herself, looks again.

Sue’s still looking at her, now amused as well.

Well. There go her studies.

Tuesday, 8:50 am: Her plan is foolproof. There is no way she will be caught off guard again. She will be first to the library this time, and she will be prepared when Sue walks in, ready to impress her with her overall charm and chill-ness. There will — not — be a repeat of yesterday when she’d spent the better part of two hours hyperventilating, stealing secret looks or straight up going red every time Sue caught her eye and smiled at her.

The librarian hasn’t even started eating yet. Her head’s resting on the desk, and her eyes are tiny slits, when Emily runs in, makes her way to her own seat. Sue’s seat is empty, thankfully.

(Emily totally does not punch the air in celebration, startling a few other sleepy students)

She stretches out her arms, places them behind her head and waits.

And then jumps about a feet in the air when a hand brushes her shoulder.

There are multiple things happening all at once — the gentle hand resting on her shoulder for a moment, a hand whose warmth she instinctively recognizes as being a familiar one, despite never having felt it before (she knows it’s her. There’s no other option. Nothing else could make the skin at the back of her neck prickle in anticipation), a faint, teasing whisper of “I thought we weren’t allowed to eat in here”, and the realization that her plan has woefully failed.

(Why, then, does she feel so happy about it?)

Sue passes by, turning back once to shoot her a quick grin, and then settles into her usual chair, opening the book already present on the desk in front of her.

Emily’s jaw stays on the floor. The state of her heart stays up in the air.

Wednesday, 9:00 am: Sue opens the note Emily’s just chucked her, reads it, and smirks.

Emily waits. It had been an impetuous decision to scribble “Waffle?” onto a scrap of paper she’d torn out of her notebook, when Sue had looked at her earlier, but it’s alright. These are matters of the heart, and matters of the heart require at least 25 percent an attitude of ‘Ah, fuck it’, another 25 percent of run-of-the-mill stupidity, and 45 percent the ability to laugh at your own shenanigans.

Oh, and about 6 percent bad math.

She catches the crumpled-up note that comes sailing through the air in return and opens it up. “I was taught not to accept food from strangers”, is written in beautiful cursive, along with a smiley face.

(A smiley face. A smiley face!)

Thursday, 9:10 am: She writes — “You know, I am named after one of the best American poets, and your name coincides with the name of her ultimate love and muse. Some would say we’ve known each other a long time” — and slides it over to Sue, heart in her throat.

Twenty seconds later, the sound of Sue’s clear laughter rings out in the otherwise quiet place, and Emily is so enchanted she nearly falls off her chair.

(She hands off half of the breakfast burrito to Sue when she passes by to grab another book, and Sue’s grateful smile just about makes her day)

Friday, 9:00 am: The book she usually grabs to pore over is already sitting on the desk in front of her usual chair. After Emily’s done waving hi to Sue, and has settled down, she notices the tiny flap of paper poking out of the first page. Tucked in the corner is a tiny note.

“As an English major, this is your game, isn’t it? Using words to impress people? :P”

It doesn’t take her long to compose a reply.  

“First of all, how dare you? Second, is it working?”

Sue covers her face with her hands when she opens it. Emily counts it as a win.

Saturday, 8:50 am: The poor boy who has been sitting in the next row all week finally loses it after they’ve exchanged their fifteenth et of notes for the day.

“Can you people, like, just text like the rest of us, for fuck’s sake?”

When the rest of the people surrounding them nod in agreement, Emily sinks into her chair, catches Sue’s equally embarrassed gaze from across the room, and resists the urge to laugh like an idiot.

Sunday, 10 am: The morning’s been hell.

Austin had been panicking about some test he had on Monday, and so she’d come in to help out at the café, early morning. Between quizzing him on his flashcards and making sure every customer had a full cup in front of them, Emily completely lost track of time until Lavinia dragged her apron off her.

“What?” she’d asked, bewildered.

The clock was pointed out to her.

(No, she does not leave an outline of her body behind when she dashes out of the café. There is, however, a mad moment when she’s pretty sure her legs are scrambling with her body still at rest. It is pretty comical nonetheless)

From the entrance she sees a couple of things on her desk, and is a little miffed. Clearly, somebody else has claimed this prime spot with a vantage point from where she could stare at the most interesting woman in the world all day. And yet, she approaches it, because the chair is empty.

The book catches her eye first. It’s a copy of Hope is the thing with feathers by her namesake, and it’s got a note with a familiar handwriting peeking out of the top. She reads, delighted, a haiku about fruit and tenderness that’s been scribbled on it. And then she gets to what’s lying next to the book — what seems to be a sandwich, wrapped carefully in foil. She touches it. It’s cold, as though it’s been waiting there a while.

The smile on her face is definitely a permanent fixture now, she decides, as she walks over to where Sue is sitting and pretending to not look over. Her heart’s tripping over with delight, with gratitude with something tender that she’s absolutely sure she hasn’t felt before. Hope is the thing with feathers, indeed and it is perched in her soul. She pulls out the chair next to hers, and sits down.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly, and swears to god she can hear the entire table go Fucking finally — before Sue shoots her a small smile.

*****

“Only you would show up at a party looking like a raccoon,” she tells Emily, exasperated.

(And enamored. And besotted. Emily makes an adorable raccoon)

“I’m not here for the party — I’m here for you,” Emily shoots back, defiant. “As long as I can still see, I wanna look at you.”

And oh, there it is. There’s the Emily she knows, saying words that slide into her chest as easily as their hands go together. Words are Emily’s deadliest weapons, and she wields them to inflict sheer havoc.

Isn’t that just it, though? Emily has no idea. No idea what it does to her to have her this close — with their foreheads pressed to each other’s, their noses a whisper away, with Emily surrounding her, taking every one of her senses and carving her name on them. Sue feels a hand on her hair, then on her cheek, and knows she’s this close to losing any bit of self-control she might have had.

She steps away, composes herself, and thinks, Shakespeare was right. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

*****

“You might as well have ditched us,” Lavinia grumps.

“What?” Emily blinks, momentarily distracted from whatever text she was in the middle of shooting off to Sue. “Oh.”

“Not cool, dude,” Austin chimes in from the other side. They’re smushed into the couch together, planted in front of the screen where some 80s movie is on. It’s a weekend, which means movie nights filled with chicken wings and some dreadful drink that Austin’s invented that he calls the Faustinator, because.... reasons, apparently. And Emily’s just now realizing that she has no idea what the movie even is because she’s spent most of her time texting Sue. “You’re texting your sweetheart lameass cringy shit.”

“How do you know what I’m texti— Austin, stop reading over my shoulder!”

(She conveniently ignores the sweetheart thing. It’s easier than the alternative, which would be to dwell too much on the possibility of Sue being her sweetheart, and Emily being Sue’s and oh — she can feel herself smiling again.)

“Believe me, it isn’t easy on me,” he snarks. “Two months of talking our heads off about Sue, Sue, Sue and free drinks for Sue, Sue, Sue and pining over—”

“It has not been that long!”

“Lavinia?” he asks.

“Two months, two weeks and four days,” Lavinia tells her, flatly. “That’s how long we’ve had to hear about how you know her and that you’re convinced she is the love of your life.”

“I do.... know her,” she trails off, uncertain. It’s one matter to think it and feel it, like she’s felt the absurd familiarity in her bones every time she hears Sue’s voice, or Sue touches her skin, and sets it on fire. Another matter entirely to set about explaining it. Plus, other, unrelated things, like how reading Emily Dickinson’s poems feel like a friendly little nudge someone’s giving her, an inside joke, or why sometimes she feels so, so much that she would burst if she didn’t write that very moment.

“She walks you to class most days from the library.”

“And she’s been coming to the café every other day, and listening to you rant about random things,” Austin chimes in.

“Didn’t she write Emily a couple of poems as well?”

“Hey, that’s,” she starts, pauses, smiles. “Yeah. I, uh, told her nobody had ever written me anything before, and she — she’s really sweet.”

“Honey,” Lavinia says, gently, “the woman’s in love with you.”

“Oh-kay!” Emily jumps up from the couch and announces her intention to get more popcorn. And the pokes her head out from around the corner, and asks, in the tiniest voice.

“Really?”

Two chips come flying in her direction, and then they can’t stop laughing.

*****

There’s a kind of truth in the life she lives when she’s alone; no one to defer to, no one to explain to why she doesn’t want children or why, even after a couple of months of a blissful wedlock with Amherst’s most eligible ex-bachelor, the smile slides off her face as easily as the fruit punch in her parties off the plates. And then there’s the second kind that has to be dragged out of her — with heaving breath and shaking hands and salt dripped out of her eyes. Honesty that scalds and tears up her inside as it makes its way out of her.

(It’s a particular bit of irony in the fact that Emily is both the cause, and the only one who ever gets to witness the fallout, of the second one)

“Emily, I love you.” she says, like Emily’s put her arms down her throat and is ripping the words out of her. “I love you, and, and I felt you in the library — because you’re always with me.”

There’s a moment of complete, utter silence, when she stares at Emily and Emily stares back at her and the space between them is filled with the distance of lies and fury — and then they crash together. It’s an impossible push and pull, and Sue feels, for the first time in weeks, this complete surrender, abandon of all inhibition. Love tastes like Emily, and it feels like drowning and sounds like the tiny noise Emily makes when they part, like she can’t stand to be away even a second longer. All of what she knows about love is Emily.

If Sue could write, this is what she’d put down on paper: the feel of Emily’s neck beneath her hand, the way she melts when Sue wraps an arm around her. This yearning to be closer, the hunger to consume and the reluctance towards stopping. She wants, so badly to do Emily the same honor of immortalizing her in the form of words — she deserves it. The world deserves to know how she felt about this.... miracle, this angel in her arms. More than anything else, Emily deserves to know how Sue feels about her.

She turns to her side, kisses Emily’s hand once, twice. “I will never let go of you again.”

*****

Life is an endless sea of pain.

“Emily, she’s just a girl,” Austin tells her, then immediately flinches as Lavinia whacks him on the head.

Emily wipes away the moisture from her face with the sleeve of her favorite oversized hoodie, sniffles, and sticks her spoon in the tub of ice-cream again.

“Not to pry,” Lavinia starts, hesitantly, “but we still have no idea what happened. You came running into my room a week ago and haven’t stopped crying since. I guess — I guess we just want to know what’s up.”

Emily sighs. “It’s Sue.”

Austin blinks at her. “Yeah I — I mean, we know that.”

She thinks back to Sunday morning when she’d come upon her favorite restaurant while out on a run. The sight of Sue, sitting there with some.... dude. It was a cozy booth, and the way the guy seemed to be smiling in Sue’s direction couldn’t be construed as anything but romantic.  

“A date?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re telling us this is because you thought Sue was on a date?”

What wasn’t clicking? “Sue was on a date. There were flowers on the table and everything.”

“And that’s why you haven’t been returning her calls or texts? And have expressly forbidden us to tell her where you are when she comes into the café, like, everyday?”

Emily shifts. “Yes?”

Lavinia whacks her on the head.  

“Ow,” Emily groans. “What’s with all the violence?”

“Oh, stop it, you big baby. Now,” she took a deep breath, and Emily knew instinctively a huge lecture was incoming, “let’s examine the facts, shall we?”

“Is there any point in refus—”

“No. So, you like this girl, and it seems like she likes you too. But you refuse to do anything about it, like, you know, maybe admitting it to her. Then, you come upon her having lunch with some random dude and you assume it’s a date, and then freak out about it and cut her off.”

“But I’m pretty sure it was a date!”

“Fine! Okay! It was a date! So what? You expect her to hang around waiting for you to get your shit together, what, forever? And what if she doesn’t like you, god, Emily! I—”

“Okay, okay, wait!” she cuts in, holds up a hand to gather her thoughts. “I — I get what you’re saying, okay? I really do.”

“I know I have no right to be angry. She doesn’t owe me anything — I just. I dunno. I thought we had something. But even if that wasn’t the case,” she scrambles to add, “I guess I’m just taking pre-emptive action. To not get hurt. I can’t stick around and watch her fall in love with someone else, okay? I just. I can’t.”

Austin pats her on the back, and she sinks into his arm. This, of all things, is true. There are a multitude of things in life she has had to bear, and that she has borne, but this — watching Sue slowly fall in love with someone else, would be unbearable.  

She has another spoonful of ice cream. “I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Lavinia agrees. “But give yourself a break — you’re in love. It turns everyone a little bonkers.”

“It’s fucked.”

“No!” Austin and Lavinia tell her, together, before Lavinia continues, “Listen, I think you should talk to Sue.”

“Pretty sure she hates me now.”

“If she does, then go and face it. Honestly, though, I think you owe it to her, and also to yourself, to explain your side of things.”

“I’d literally rather die.”

“Then go do your dying in the fucking library. It’s almost ten, anyways.”

*****

She can still feel Emily’s teeth on her collarbone, can still wrap an arm around herself and trace the marks Emily’s fingers have left on her, when Sue announces that she’s trying to write a poem.

Emily throws off the sheets from her body, and turns so their heads are close. Sue’s sitting at the end of the bed, wrapped in sheets herself, eyes closed. She opens them when Emily’s nose nudges against her cheek.

“You are?” she asks, hand already playing with Sue’s hair, and Sue nods. “What’s it about?”

Sue cannot stop herself rolling her eyes. “Guess.”

“Is it,” Emily asks, teasingly, “about me?”

“Maybe.”

There’s a delighted gasp from her paramour, and she can feel a small kiss pressed to her temple. “I want to read it.”

“Only when it’s done.”

“And when will it be done?”

She turns to look right at Emily now. “I’m not sure it ever will.”

When Emily kisses her — every time Emily kisses her, Sue adds a line to the poem in her head. She’s running out of words to express joy, passion and beauty, at this point.

“The romance of it all,” Emily remarks, pretending to swoon. “This way I will live on through your words as well, after I die.”

Sue frowns, feels her lips automatically pull down at the corners. “No talking about death.”

“But we will die, darling,” Emily explains, patiently. “I can only hope that I die first.”

“How — how dare you?” she asks, indignant. “I’m going to try my very best to be the one to go.”

(That one spurs an argument that goes on four rounds before either of the participants admit defeat)

“How about,” Emily starts, ponderously. “Whoever dies first comes back around the next time and finds the other?”

Sue can’t stop the smile. The thought is so whimsical, it drives their previous non-argument right out of her head.

“You think we’ll come back someday, years after our deaths?”

“Try and stop me,” Emily declares, fondly. “Susan Gilbert, I will always — always find you.”

Sue closes her eyes, feels Emily’s lips ghost over her cheek and tries to imagine the thought of the two of them, years from now, sitting side by side, hand in hand. Breathes deeply to stop the sudden onslaught of tears the image evokes.

“My foolish sweetheart,” she says, after she’s composed herself. “I love you.”

This is what she’ll put in words — Emily next to her, head tilted downwards, turned towards her. In about a minute, she’ll start complaining of the blood rushing to her brain, and Sue, exasperated, will tell her to sit straight. She’ll write about the light that falls on the edge of Emily’s nose, the one crooked tooth all the way in the corner, the tiny scar on her brow. About the way their hands lock into each other’s, how there’s a space on her neck made perfectly in the mould of Emily’s head — two girls, sitting next to each other, together into an eternity, and beyond.

*****

The first time Emily sees Sue after a week-long absence, she’s just run into the library and crashed into a nearby bench, thus bringing down a student, two books, and herself. She gets up almost immediately, sees Sue staring at the sight of her, wide-eyed, and thinks — Oh. Found you.

There’s an empty seat next to Sue, and on the desk lies an apple. Emily approaches her, and touches the back of her shoulder lightly.

“Can I sit here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Sue answers, not looking at her. “Can you?”

Emily has to bite at her lip to keep in the wild laughter that threatens to erupt. It’s not just the quip, either. It’s Sue — seeing her after these many days of zero contact feels like a drug, and she breathes it in, greedily. She pulls the chair out, and sits down on it.

“So,” she starts, then trails off.

“So,” Sue mimics, not unkindly.

“It may have been brought to my attention that I’ve been a bit of an idiot.”

“Only a bit?” Sue raises an eyebrow, leans back where she’s sitting.

Well. “More than a bit,” she amends. “I’ve been an idiot. A dumbass. An utter fool. A rake. A rogue of the highest order.”

Sue tells her she agrees. Then — “You wanna tell me why?”

“I saw you and, um, some guy. On your date that day over at the Plantain Leaf?”

Sue stares. For the longest time. “You ghosted me for a week because you saw me out to lunch with a guy? Emily that is so—”

“I know!” she says, then gets shushed by the people sitting around them. She consciously lowers her voice when she speaks next. “I know, Sue. I was being an asshole, I just — felt complicated about.... things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah. Like — feelings. And stuff.”

She sees Sue stifle a smile, and feels a little bit of life come back into her hands.

“What about your feelings?”

“Well,” Emily says, pauses, then comes out with a masterpiece of an explanation, “I have them.”  

Then covers her face with her hands, because why? It hasn’t even been ten minutes, and she’s already started messing things up.

“I mean — I have feelings. For you.”

She chances a look up at Sue, after a minute of that incredibly earth-shattering revelation, and stays held in place by the intensity of her gaze. Sue’s eyes are soft, large, and Emily wants to do something stupid, like bury her face in her hands again.

“You do?” Sue asks her, in the tiniest voice possible. Like she can’t believe it. Like Emily has done an awful job of wearing her whole heart out on her sleeve the past couple of months.

“Yeah,” she replies, and finds her voice is equally tiny. “Good ones.” The kind that have me convinced we knew each other a couple decades ago, that I have heard your voice in my dreams all my life, that I’ve been waiting for you for turn a corner and walk into my life this whole while. And if not this time, I’ll wait a couple decades more for you to love me back. “And it’s okay if you’re dating that guy, I just — I thought you should know. That’s all.”

Sue lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not dating Sam.”

Oh.

So turns out Emily had been holding her breath.

Ants are crawling all over her body. To combat them, Emily picks up the object nearest to her, which happens to be the apple.

“Is that for me?”

Sue nods. “You owe me the six sandwiches I got you this entire week,” she adds, teasingly.

Elation fills Emily until she imagines she’s probably floating a few inches above the ground, buoyed by this tiny admission of caring on Sue’s part. Whoever had said all those things about love had been right. It really was.... something different altogether.

“You’re telling me you sat here and read Emily Dickinson all week, waiting for a girl to show up?”

A light blush lights up Sue, and she leans forward a little bit. “Not just a girl,” she tells her, seriously. “I waited for Emily, who was named after this poet whose work I’ve really come to like. Emily, who I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.”

Oh dear God.

They’re closer together now, their heads almost touching; Emily imagines them in a world of their own, separate from the rest of this library. She pretends to scoff.

“What? You don’t think a lot of Emily?”

“I think I can write better,” she declares.

“You think you can—” Sue starts, then lets out a laugh. “Emily, shut up.”

And then they’re suddenly kissing, and each and every cell in Emily gathers somewhere near her chest to rejoice together, every beat of her heart falls and arranges in the shape of a song, and time just kind of. Slows down. Pauses. Stops.

Emily thinks she knows what a volcano feels like, now. When she’ll go home, later, she’ll sit at her writing desk, pen down a poem about lovers and hands and two women sitting with their heads close together; maybe put in a fruit or two. And tiny pieces will come together in her head, just like the ones in her chest that crumble every time Sue looks at her.  

But right now, she closes her eyes, feels poetry on her lips, and it is good enough.

[justheretobreakthings]

Whumpmas in July: Day 9

@whumpmasinjuly

“Look at me.”

Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Even through his paladin armor, the fire was far too hot. Shiro could swear he could feel the flames of the burning walls licking against his skin as he raced by them, and was certain he would be covered in blisters by the time he got back to the castle. His helmet – especially the crackling in his ear reminding him that the comm hadn’t been working since they’d entered Viuter’s atmosphere and would be no help to him now – was irritating him, making him feel trapped and claustrophobic and plastering his sweaty hair against his skull and preventing him from wiping his bangs out of his eyes. Still, it was protection, enough protection to keep him upright and moving, and even though smoke clouded his line of sight, the visor of his helmet kept it out of his eyes, and the oxygen actuator mostly kept him from breathing in the ash.

Which meant Keith’s armor was giving him that same protection. Which meant he was fine. Wherever he was.

Keith shouldn’t have been in the building in the first place. He’d been blocks away when the explosion had occurred, the paladins all having separated to confer with different members of the Viuteran council. It had made sense, getting more done in less time and everyone getting to stick to their specialties, and it had resulted in Keith being all the way in the infantry armory building at the time of the blast. Shiro, though, had been right near the explosion, in the next building over where he and Allura were meeting with a group of military strategists. As he’d been wearing armor and Allura hadn’t, it was only natural that Shiro was the one to take the initiative of running into the building and taking charge of evacuating as many Viuterans as he could.

Sure, it would have been better if the comms had been working and the paladins could all coordinate together, but that wasn’t really any more than a flickering and quickly dismissed thought in Shiro’s mind. He would focus on rescue now, find his teammates when he was done.

It took longer than he would have liked to reach the point when he could look for them, but it came eventually. Once the building was deeply engulfed in flames and there was too much risk of it collapsing in on itself for it to be safe for Shiro to go back in and keep up the rescue efforts. He handed off an unconscious Viuteran to an emergency worker and looked around to find himself in the midst of a dizzying scene. Sirens were wailing, soldiers and civilians alike were running amok, some trying to escape, some trying to help contain the spreading fire. And all of it cast in an eerie red, the thick smoke in the sky blocking out all light except for that of the fire.

Pidge was the paladin he spotted, her green armor sticking out boldly against all the red and gray, and her face flooded with relief when spotted him approaching. “Oh thank fuck!” she cried, rushing to meet him. “When Allura said you were in there I – I didn’t know if – God, kept hoping the comms would magically start working and I could make sure you were – ”

“Is Allura okay?” Shiro hated to interrupt, but now that he’d found one of his teammates, he was more than eager to find the rest, make sure everyone was okay.

“Right, right, follow me,” Pidge said, and she hurried to lead the way, winding through the chaos. “Allura’s this way, they’ve got first aid stuff going so that was the first place I looked, to see who was hurt. Lance and Coran – they left ages ago. Before this bomb, apparently a different one went off on the other side of the city. Like, one minute difference. My guess is they were planned to go off at the same time, but they weren’t coordinated quite right. Anyway, they went to get Blue and they were heading that way, so I don’t know when they’re gonna be – ”

“Shiro! Shiro, you’re okay!” A voice cut across Pidge’s rapid speech as they approached what appeared to be a makeshift triage center in the square, and Shiro turned to see Hunk clambering in their direction as fast as the armful of medical supplies he was carrying would allow. Behind him, Allura looked up from where she had been bent over an injured Viuteran, her glowing hands pressed against his leg. Relief washed over her face, and she started in their direction too the moment she had finished.

Shiro nodded in acknowledgment to Hunk. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Hunk asked. “You’re not hurt at all? Your armor’s looking kinda beat up, you might be hurt and not even realize it because of adrenaline! Do you feel dizzy at all? Do you need water? Do you need to sit down?”

“Hunk, I’m fine, really,” Shiro reassured him, turning his attention to Allura as she joined them. “How’s everything holding up here?”

“As well as we can hope for,” Allura said. “Everyone’s been too busy trying to get people to safety to investigate, so I don’t know where the bombs were, who may have been behind it, what the intent was – I take Keith was able to reach you? Where is he now?”

Shiro frowned. “What?”

“I thought – surely by now he would’ve – ”

“Allura,” Shiro said, voice tight. “What do you mean? Where’s Keith?”

“He was here, but he – I told him where you’d gone, and he took off, didn’t even let me finish the sentence. I thought he was going to help you with the evacuation.”

Keith had gone after him. Shiro had gone into the heart of the fire, and Keith had followed him in, and he hadn’t even realized. It hadn’t even occurred to him until Allura mentioned his name that he hadn’t yet seen Keith anywhere, but now…

Shit.

“I’m going after him,” he said, turning on his heel.

“What?” Pidge said. “Hang on, you think he’s still looking for you in there?”

“I know he is.”

“Wait, Shiro,” Allura said, “It’s certainly not safe! Surely Keith would have had the sense to get out of there by this point, we ought to – ”

“No.” Shiro shook his head. “No, he’s – I gotta get him. I’ll meet you all here when I’ve found him.”

One of them called his name again, as he took off running, but he ignored it. All his focus was on moving forward, his feet pounding the ground as he raced faster than he could ever remember having moved in his life, back toward the flames.

In any other circumstances, Shiro would agree that, yes, Keith had the sense to get out. He could be rash and stubborn and even foolish at times, but Shiro at least liked to think that Keith had been getting better about knowing when it was better to retreat than to dive headlong into danger. His failed battle with Zarkon, at least, had knocked that lesson into his head.

But he knew Keith, and more importantly, he knew Keith’s past. As little as Keith liked to open up about his life, he had at least let Shiro in on a bit about his dad. And how he’d lost him. Shiro had seen the look in Keith’s face whenever his dad had come up, the emptiness and desolation when he’d explained how that fire had taken him.

And he had seen the desperation and determination in his little brother’s eyes whenever Keith made it clear that he couldn’t go through a loss like that again. Whenever he insisted that he’d never have to take on the role of team leader because Shiro wasn’t going anywhere. He’d heard about Keith’s expulsion from the Garrison, the explosive lengths he went to in order to get Shiro out to his shack.

When it came to family – when it came to Shiro – all logic and reason was out the window.

And now Keith might very well meet his end because of it.

Making his way through the burning building required him to shut out all of his natural instincts pointing him to safety, screaming at him to get out of there before he wound up seriously hurt, or worse. He had to turn on the shade of his visor to keep the brightness of the flames from blinding him, and even then it was hard to be certain where he was going. Halls were blocked by burning debris, pieces of the building falling around him and some coming dangerously close to taking him out with them. Shiro jetpacked through a singed hole in the ceiling when the hall behind him folded in on itself, blocking his route to the main entrance, and every step on the second floor was accompanied by creaks and crackles that had him bracing himself to fall right through at any second.

Still, he kept going. Pushing through the heat and the sparks and the roar of the flames, yelling Keith’s name over the noise and through the billowing smoke. None of that was important. All that mattered was finding Keith.

He had to find Keith. Had to find him. Had to find him. Had to –

A crack sounded above him, and around the corner and along the hall, flaming shards of ceiling toppled down, and that’s when he spotted it: the distinct blue light that accompanied a shield activating from a paladin’s armor.

Keith. Ducked under his shield, fire and rubble tumbling around him, the red and white of his suit gray with ash. Alive, and moving, and okay.

He was okay.

Shiro dived into the wreck, knocking falling debris aside with his sword hand and, voice breaking in sheer release, shouting out, “Keith!”

Keith’s head shot up at the sound of his name, and although for a brief moment he stumbled from the battering against his shield, there was no mistaking the way his exhausted eyes widened the moment he spotted Shiro across the hall, as if he were seeing a ghost, only for his face to light up in stunned relief.

He may have shouted something in reply that was drowned out by the fire raging around them, or he may have sprung up from his crouch without a word. Either way, Shiro got no warning before Keith was practically flying across the hall to tackle him in a hug.

Shiro stumbled back, startled. It wasn’t as though hugging was completely out of Keith’s character – once he knew and trusted the person giving them, he practically reveled in them – but he was never the one to initiate the embrace. A means of preemptively shielding himself from being turned away, perhaps; a fear that the gesture may be misinterpreted, may be mistaken as something romantic or even sexual; maybe simply a matter of making sure he never set off any discomfort related to touch that Keith was often prone to himself. Shiro had never known for certain which was the case, but it all made Keith a distinctly non-touchy person. Even when they had first been reunited after Shiro’s disastrous return from Kerberos, Keith hadn’t hugged him with this much fervor.

It all spoke to just how terrified Keith had been, how desperately he’d been searching for Shiro. The embrace was a grounding one. He was pressing himself so firmly against Shiro, gripping his brother so tightly. As though reassuring himself that Shiro was really there. Like if he dared to let go, Shiro would vanish back into the smoke and flame.

“Hey,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice soothing despite needing to practically shout to ensure he could be heard, arm wrapping around Keith’s trembling back. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“I thought – ” Keith choked out through his helmet’s speaker. “Allura said – she said you – you’d gone into – into – ”

“I know. I know.”

“You went into the fire. Shiro, you went into the fire, I thought you – I was going to lose you, I had to find you, I couldn’t – I couldn’t just let – ”

“It’s all right, Keith, I promise. I’m okay.”

“You could’ve died! You almost died, you almost burned up and never said goodbye, I thought you were dead, I – ”

“Hey. Keith. Look at me.” Keith kept his face buried in Shiro’s chest, so he pulled back to hold him by the shoulders. “Look at me, okay? I’m right here, see? I’m not dying on you yet. Swear it.”

“Y-yeah. I see you.” His voice shook, and this close up, Shiro could see the redness of his face, the way his eyes seemed to be struggling to stay focused. As hot-blooded as Keith ran, even he was susceptible to fire like this. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m – I was just…”

“Scared?” Shiro finished for him, and Keith nodded weakly. “That’s okay. I get it. And hey, you found me. You found me, I’m here, and we’re okay. And now – ” A crackling sounded from above, and Shiro yanked Keith aside without a second thought, throwing up a shield as a beam collapsed right where the latter had been standing, showering the two of them in sparks. “Now we gotta get outta here, okay? We gotta run.”

“Yeah.” Keith took a trembling breath and straightened as Shiro let his shield fizzle away. “Got it, let’s go. Just – ” Shiro looked down to see Keith’s gloved hand wrapping around the gauntlet of Shiro’s armor. “No splitting up. Please.”

Shiro smiled. “Deal. We won’t let each other out of our sights. Come on.”

He activated his sword hand, and beside him, Keith did the same with his shield. Ready to race back through the flames, side by side.

[novelconcepts]

Do you feel comfortable sharing information about your relationship with your wife? That sounded so weird but I mean like how long were you friends before it became more or how long were you together before it got serious and the proposal came. You can just not answer that message of course. It just really warms my heart to find real life couples that represent what I want to find one day.

I don’t mind sharing some, sure. We met at work, through a mutual acquaintance who happened to be staying with her at the time. I ended up hanging out with her for the first time because I’d offered to loan her Pitch Perfect (of all things), and that acquaintance thought it would be more fun if I actually came over and watched it with them--so thank you to that woman, or we probably would have danced around an actual in-person hangout for months before actually doing it. After that, it just sort of became a trend, me coming over after work. I would hang out on the desk behind my wife’s after clocking out, usually reading a book or chatting with her until she was ready to leave, and then just...meet her at her house. After a while, I started sleeping over in her living room fairly regularly--it was way easier to do that than to drive home at 1-3 in the morning. We started carpooling, since we were going to the same place, which just meant I was more likely to stay the night. I started keeping a bag with a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries in my car, “just in case”, like the absurdly huge lesbian I am.  Eventually, the sleeping over moved into her bed--in a totally platonic way, which was somehow...more of a disaster lesbian thing to do? Just. That’s my hot tip, if you find a hot girl you don’t think likes girls who invites you to sleep in her bed, just make sure you only ever do so wearing jeans. “Yeah, no, I sleep like this all the time, I’m very comfortable” is the best way to look like you know what you’re doing. That all evolved fairly quickly, over the span of a few months, and eventually I was in situations like...”she’s stuck in a dress, and she wants me to help her out of it, but I’m terrified to look at her while she’s undressing” and ”she’s asleep, but she’s facing me, and she’s sort of gently cradling my head with her face inches from mine and sleeping is suddenly REALLY hard to do” and “I think she just....kissed my forehead??? in her sleep???? I think????” Because...that’s what happens when you just start acting married before you’re even dating. (Do you see why I’m qualified to write the biggest disasters in history? Like. I’ve lived the tropes. They do happen, and they feel INSANE.) Finally we had a night of staying up all night in her bed talking, both of us very aware we’d have to get up at like 6 am for work, neither of us wanting to stop and sleep. And it just got more cozy over time--I think after a while she was laying on me, or vice versa--and it was, in retrospect, really clear that both of us were feeling some Big Stuff. But I was afraid to say anything and freak her out, and she was afraid of saying anything that might make me try to drive home at like 4 in the morning, so we just kept dancing around it. Think I worked that day on an hour of sleep, sheer adrenaline, and about three Mt. Dews. Ended up going back over that evening, and we actually talked about how we were both Having Feelings, and all that jazz, and it just sort of...spiraled naturally into dating from there. About a year and a half later, she proposed, and then the nightmare election happened, and we got married at the courthouse to ensure we’d be able to beat any changes to the law. Had the actual wedding the next year, as planned, with our families and stuff, and...yeah. That’s the short version, more or less. Started with friendship, moved to friendship-with-flirting-but-mostly-just-really-deep-conversation, just kept going from there. 

[alolowrites]

The Nightly Adventures of a Lost Shopper

Summary: Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks. 

Author’s Note: Soooooo, it’s almost been a month since my last story 😅 Work life and gym life really are keeping me busy. Anyways, I was inspired by a prompt I saw on Tumblr and like always, I had to run with this stupid idea lmao.  Please enjoy! 

Genre: Mafia!AU (if you squint lol) Warnings: Mentions of blood (just a smudge really); reader having no self-control when it comes to grocery shopping loll  Word Count: 1.6K+

You stand underneath a flickering streetlight, swiveling your head left and right as though you’re checking for some car to drive by. Everything is so eerily quiet that a squeaky noise makes you jump on the spot. You crane your neck up and sigh—it’s just a lonely traffic light swinging mindlessly in the breeze.

The yellow light blinks nonstop, unaware if it’s broken or maybe it does, and the thing really doesn’t care anymore. You don’t blame the poor traffic light; the streets are more dead than a groundskeeper working the midnight shift at the local cemetery. At least the worker knows where they are.

You, on the other hand, don’t and admit defeat. “Damnit, I’m lost.”

A hiss escapes your lips, and you grip the grocery bags that weigh like a stack of bricks. In hindsight, you should have created a shopping list. There’s a reason why you can’t be trusted with buying your groceries without some plan. Now you’re standing at an empty corner all alone in the middle of nowhere, dealing with two screaming arms and muttering a curse at your dead phone with the awful battery life.

“Alright, let’s just go this way,” you mutter and trudge forward, praying that your bags don’t tear open. You can only handle one problem at a time. Yet, your life is anything but simple. The universe always has something up its sleeve for you, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your bags might be intact, and there aren’t any dark clouds threatening to rain on your parade, but you do hear loud grunts in the far distance. They cut through the deafening silence almost instantly. You quirk an eyebrow and waddle closer, curiosity getting the best of you.  

Big mistake.

In front of you is a man screaming in agony, crouched over as he endures powerful punches from the red beast towering over him. The blows never stop, each one more brutal and vicious than the last. No shred of mercy given despite the desperate pleads howling into the deep night. You watch helplessly as the final punch is thrown. The sheer force alone breaks the man’s ribs so hard that a sharp pop echoes throughout the narrow alley.

The red-haired guy tugs his personal punching bag and growls, “You ready to talk now?”

“Yes-s.”

“Good, so where’s the money you owe us?”

“At a secret hideout,” he rasps, blood dripping out his swollen mouth. “I-I can take you there a-and give you the money-y. I promise!”

He gets dropped like an old sack. “Drag him to the car.”

“Got it, Big Red.”

Said man finally turns around, and your heart stops. His bright red eyes land on you, blinking in surprise. You stare back at him, wondering if you can just crawl into the disgusting dumpster and hide there. But you don’t move a muscle nor say a word, too shocked at what you’ve just witnessed.

Oh my god, am I an accomplice? You grip the bags tighter in your hands, and his eyes glance at them before looking at you again. Eventually, you mentally slap yourself out of your stupor, blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry!” You stumble backward, legs shaking for dear life. “I-I didn’t see anything! I’m just—gah!”

You spin on your heel, wobbling out of there before who knows what could happen to you. Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks.

“Hey, wait!”

You freeze at the sound of his voice—it’s rough and commanding but not too intimidating. His footsteps falter, and you quietly count to ten before turning around, your bags rustling behind your legs. The man (Big Red was it?) stares at you, almost like he’s figuring out where you fit in this bizarre puzzle he’s trying to solve.

Meanwhile, your eyes bounce between him and the barely conscious punching bag that’s being dragged to the black SUV, leaving a trail of red droplets in its wake. You swallow a tiny gulp; this is all too much.  

“Listen, I swear I didn’t see anything,” you exclaim, jumping on the defense. Seconds later, you wince at your mistake. “Okay, that’s a lie, b-but I promise I won’t say a word! I mean, not like I can call the cops on you since my phone is dead—”

“Huh? Wait a sec—”

“—which is honestly terrible since I’m lost! Do you know how long I’ve been walking all night? I’ll tell you: an eternity! And my arms feel like they’re about to fall apart any second now because these bags,” you shake them like a pair of maracas, “ are heavy!”

“Hey—”

At this point, you start airing out all your grievances in one go.

“I think there’s a pebble inside my left shoe, rolling around like it owns the place. My house keys keep pinching me against my hip, and one of my shoelaces feels so loose that it’s probably untied, waiting for me to trip.” Suddenly, the stress becomes overwhelming that your lips quiver. “It’s super late right now. I’m all alone and scared and—and,” you thrash the bags while wailing, “and my ice cream is melting!”

You inhale sharply like a person reaching the water’s surface after a deep dive. Your face is flushed, and your heart beats a mile per second, the adrenaline soaring through your veins as you finish your explosive rant. Eventually, you calm down and remember who is standing in front of you. Big Red looks on in astonishment, his mouth gaping like a fish.

...I can’t believe I just did that.

“Oh, god. I...I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, ducking your head and closing your eyes as a feeble attempt to protect yourself. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” You bravely peek at Big Red, who sports a concerned look. He cautiously steps forward with his hands raised. “I don’t wanna hurt you, trust me.”

You snap your head up in disbelief. “Y-You don’t?”

“Of course not,” he says, giving you a gentle smile that washes some of your fears away. Big Red takes another step closer. “Why would you think that I’d hurt you?”

You give him a ridiculous stare. “No offense, but you did beat up that guy into a bloody pulp; I’m pretty sure he has no ribs left.”

Big Red laughs, catching you off guard. He jerks his thumb at the parked car and gives you a lopsided grin. “Oh, him? He’s just business. I would never harm an innocent civilian, though. It’s part of the code.”

“Part of the code?” You scrunch your eyebrows. Then it hits you. “Oh...Ohhh.”

Everything makes sense now. The suspicious, burly men with fancy suits. The rather gruesome violence in a random yet bare alleyway. The vague demand for money that’s owed. Yup, you walked into an unfortunate episode with the mafia; just your luck. You raise one finger, mouth ready to say something but then decide against it.

Big Red notices your hesitation, scratching behind his neck like a guilty puppy. “Look, I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to scare ya’ with all the blood and violence and, well, you know…” He laughs awkwardly, making the corners of your lips quirk.

His voice is so soft and gentle that your breath hitches. It’s unbelievable that this is the same man who was growling like a wild beast before. The memory fades away as you judge his words, realizing that there isn’t any malicious intent behind them; he is honest and sincere.

Perhaps Big Red is right—maybe he won’t hurt you. If he did, he would have done it by now. Instead, he flashes a friendly grin that brightens the entire block, unlike those deadbeat street lights. The grin alone is enough to make you relax and crack a small smile at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, tapping one finger on your grocery bag that miraculously hasn’t broken yet. Stepping back, you start making your exit. “I guess I’ll leave you to finish your, um, business.”

“Whoa, hold on!” Big Red squeezes your shoulder, stopping you mid-way. Without warning, he tugs the bags out of your grasp. You jump as his massive hands momentarily brush along your skin, making you fumble over your words like an idiot. Big Red then shouts over his shoulder to his buddies. “Go on without me, guys. I gotta help this sweet peanut here get back home.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Sweet peanut? Get back home? Him carrying your grocery bags?

“Please, you really don’t need to—”

“I want to,” he cuts you off, his warm eyes and boyish grin leaving you speechless. Big Red adjusts the bags without breaking a single sweat. “Listen, you’ve been through a lot tonight; let me take you back home.”

You gawk at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yup!” He puffs out his chest and gives you a wink. “Besides, you won’t be scared or alone when you’re with me.”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

“I guess I won’t,” you chuckle, bowing your head slightly. “Thank you, Big Red.”

“Kirishima.”

“What?”

“My name is Kirishima,” he repeats, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “But-t Big Red is fine, too.”

You share your name and cheekily joke, “But Sweet Peanut is fine, too.”

Kirishima’s face lights up like the stars scattered across the night sky, absolutely smitten with you to the bone. He purposefully takes the longest route back to your house, hoping to spend as much time with you as possible. Luckily, you don’t mind—he is charming and sweet.

Guess it wasn’t so bad getting lost after all.

As always, thanks for reading! 

[catgrump]

“I’m alive?” [For Sondham Sonia/GUNDHAM?] Your writing is 💕💕💕

I’m so glad you like my writing 💛💛💛

This is an Idea for a little scenario from Cruise Ship AU! I have plans for a full-fledged Sondham fic in Cruise Ship AU so this is a taste of what’s to come I guess lol

🌻🌻🌻

Gundham stared at his reflection in the cramped bathroom, leaning on the faux-marble vanity

He sighed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Could this cost him his job? Potentially. He’s thought about that. He can’t remember the last time he was disciplined, so maybe this would be worth the risk.

The ship was docked at its private island. He’s never actually stepped on shore. And when she found that out, she insisted he abandon his post for the day to spend time with her.

“I was going to do so many things alone! It would much more fun with a companion!” She pleaded

And he gave in. When he first met her just a few days ago, he felt like he lost his inhibitions. She’s captivating. He looks forward to stopping by her family’s suite each day for a chance to see her. She’s kind, and curious. She’s asked about him and his life.

So he’s taking a chance.

Not like he isn’t taking a chance whenever he goes out of his way to see her. But this is something entirely different.

He left the employees’ quarters to meet her on the dock.

He stepped onto the gangway and felt the sun beat down on his pale skin, and felt like he could sweat immediately seeing Sonia sitting on a nearby bench

She’s beautiful. Her long blonde hair was gathered into braids that cascaded against her frame, adorned with a sleek swimsuit, dark shorts, and a sheer black shawl. She was glistening in the sunshine.

And then she saw him. She grinned ear to ear and stood up, gathering a bag closer to her and waving with unbridled enthusiasm

He walked down to join her. “I am so glad you are here!” She was practically bouncing with excitement, “Part of me was not expecting this.”

Gundham shrugged, smiling, “I do not take promises lightly.”

“Then come with me! I have a reservation in fifteen minutes,” she took hold of his wrist and practically dragged him down the dock toward the island

Gundham followed Sonia’s lead as he took in the sights around him. The island itself was clearly designed to be accomodating to vacationers. Before the bombastically colorful front gate, one of the first things you saw were giant water slides towering into the sky.

The sky was perfectly blue and the waters looked crystalline. The sand on the shore was almost was white as the clouds. It was almost too perfect

Sonia continued to hold on to Gundham as she trudged through tourists. They passed by souvenir stalls, rows of chaise lounges, private waterfront cabanas, snack shacks, musicians playing calypso, and tropical flora and fauna— which Gundham always took note of. There were far more lizards here than he anticipated, which was exciting.

By the time Sonia finally said “we made it,” Gundham thought she had made a mistake.

When Sonia said ‘a reservation’, he thought it was for a meal. But there was a shack in front of them, storage lockers behind them, and... water vehicles of some kind parked in the water beside them

They weren’t boats; they were much too small. Gundham had never seen a vehicle like this before. It appeared to be a scooter or motorcycle on water

Sonia finished talking with the attendant in the shack and approached Gundham, jingling a small key on a ring. “Anything you do not want getting wet goes in a locker,” she chirped

Oh. So she did have a reservation to... ride. He didn’t take her as someone who’d want to do those sorts of things.

Gundham did his best not to stare as she removed her shawl, revealing more of her figure. He swallowed, but then quickly averted his eyes when he saw her start to take off the shorts she had on. He could feel himself growing more and more flustered as his imagination ran wild

He bit his lower lip as he looked at his feet idly kicking the sand

He had to snap himself back when he felt a finger tap his shoulder. Sonia was standing in front of him expectantly. “If you have a phone on you, I suggest leaving that in my bag in the locker,” She giggled

“Right,” he nodded and followed her advice, taking his phone out of the pocket of his swim shorts and placing it in her tote bag once he was at their locker.

She has not said anything, Gundham paused, standing still in front of the locker, contemplating an insecurity of his, I do not think she will make any remarks...

He took a deep breath and decided to remove the shirt he had on. Sonia had only previously seen him in uniform— a uniform where he was able to cover his scars. They adorned both of his arms, and he had some across his chest. When on the clock, he went out of his way to appear more friendly and approachable than he desired to be. Even with his brooding presence, Sonia had led him this far. The last thing he wants is for her to be scared of him.

Gundham did his best to control his breathing while he folded the shirt. We ARE on a beach, he told himself, This is perfectly acceptable.

He took one last deep breath before turning around to face her. A weight fell off his shoulders when she smiled and clasped her hands together with glee.

“Come on,” she instructed, “We have to listen to the safety information!”

They sat among strangers and listened to an instructor guide them through driving the vehicles, which Gundham learned were called ‘wave runners’.

His leg bounced with anxiety as he tried to focus his nervous energy on gripping his own knuckles

When the presentation was over, they put on life vests and went to the docks.

“Is it alright if I drive?” She asked with pleading eyes. But they were entirely unnecessary.

“Y-yes, that is fine,” Gundham did his best to hide his fear. This is not the type of activity he would do to seek a rush of adrenaline.

Sonia climbed on, taking hold of the steering handles with zeal. Gundham waited for her to settle in before cautiously sitting behind her, and searched for some sort of handle on the side of the vehicle to grab.

There was no such handle.

Well, he had to hold on somehow. He very carefully wrapped his arms around her waist, doing his best to maintain a respectful distance between them. She’s beautiful and she did invite him out, but he can’t make any assumptions.

On the insteuctor’s cue, the fleet of wave runners started off. Sonia turned over her shoulder and asked “Are you ready?”

Gundham nodded yes with a tight, forced smile.

He felt like he was flying. And not in a graceful, peaceful way. It was as if he were a crash-test-dummy in a race car, headed toward his inevitable demise. Sonia’s profile over her shoulder was the last thing he saw. Removing one of his senses just amplified the others. He couldn’t look at anything, but he could hear the motors speeding through the waves, he could smell the salt of the sea as it hit his face, he could taste his mouth getting drier, and he could feel how he had suddenly grasped on to Sonia with all of his might. There was no distance between them anymore. His brain was telling him that if he let go, he would fall off, and who knows what would happen after that?

He was squeezing his own arms for stabilization, and listening to Sonia laugh, trying to center himself. This went on for what felt like eons.

Until they suddenly stopped. “Gundham?” He heard her say his name and opened his eyes. He picked his head up to see her looking down at him with wisps of hair in her face and a concerned smile

“I’m alive?” Were the first words out of his mouth

She laughed, and covered her mouth with one of her hands. “Yes, we made it back! Our time is up.”

“Oh,” Gundham suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed, “That was not... so bad.”

“Gundham, you have not let go of me.”

She was smiling, but Gundham instinctively released his grip. Was his face heating up from the sun, or because of her?

“I think I owe you a stiff drink after that,” she continued, swinging a leg over the side of the waverunner, “Come on; my treat.”

She stepped off the vehicle and offered Gundham a hand. With his heart in his throat, he accepted it.

Prompt from This List: feel free to send in a request!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-Fi if you can 💛 Fics will always be free; tipping is optional 💛

[dreaming-of-brawlstars]

Fallen Starr

Desc: An Angel is quite the force, so surely, it must be able to handle the horrors of Starr Park. Personally. Whatever harms an Angel but be infinitely worse for mortals, so Mortis believes it’s worth the sacrifice.

Warnings: Unreality, self-doubt, memory altering and memory loss. Unhappy ending. Angst.

Author’s Note: I swear I will write a happy fic soon I swear I pr-

He should have known that it was a trap. He really should’ve expected something like this when he saw the way that he had been lured in.

It always hurt to be looking down to see atrocities and pain rampant here, and he showed himself in hopes that they would stop. Maybe out of respect, maybe out of fear, but everything seemed to get worse for those he was trying to protect.

He remembered how just a day ago he snapped, declaring that he would be dealing with them personally for their crimes. He thought that it would end there, that he could finally do what needed to be done for these criminals.

Now , it seemed that his plans were going terribly wrong.

The first thing that happened to him was the blinding white light that engulfed him, then nothing.

There was a faint ringing in his ears as he came back to consciousness, eyes still shut from the harsh brightness. His head spun and his chest tightened, and he felt his wings twitch.

He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, wincing at the sudden brightness, before sitting up and taking another look around. A few things immediately registered to him. He was in the park - one of the newer areas, he believed - where he descended. The air was crisp and cold, and the sun shone overhead through gaps in tree limbs.

He blinked away the last of the spots in his vision and looked around. In the distance, he noticed people.

They were watching him.

A scowl formed on his face, and he held his cane closer, pushing himself up. So, they caught him off guard, so be it. He wouldn’t be letting them get away with this, along with everything else, he vowed.

With a sharp crack in the air as he snapped open his wings, he set off towards the sky again. With each flap upwards, his body trembled with anger, tension and adrenaline. He kept his hands balled into tight fists while he gripped his cane tighter, ready to strike if someone got within reach.

He kept his eyes open, scanning for any signs of danger, any sign that someone was after him. He didn’t know what they could hope to gain by capturing him or whatever they were doing - he wasn���t part of some group, after all - but there was no doubt that they wanted something in return.

His heart sped up as he flew higher, anxiety rising. Something was off, he knew something was off but he couldn’t tell what. It was quiet, and he had a nearly overwhelming sense of deja vu. Like he had done this before. He paused, putting a hand to his head.

…they couldn’t have erased his memory, right?

He glanced back at where he woke up, trying to remember what happened before that. There was no mistaking it, his mind felt foggy, though he had tried so hard to clear it. But no matter how much he went over and over every detail, he just couldn’t seem to connect dots.

As much as he wished that he could figure it out, something told him that he couldn’t. Which was… greatly worrying to him. He felt something twist in his heart, and he put his hand over it, trying to calm himself.

“Calm yourself. Think. It will come back.” He tried to ignore the slight trembling in his own voice. “Deep breaths, Mortis, deep breaths.”

He kept his eyes closed as he continued to fly, focusing all of his attention into calming himself down. He took slow, deliberate breaths and focused on slowing his heartbeat, the beating of his chest.

This was not good, no no no, this was NOT good.

He could feel it. He could barely recall why he was here - it was to stop them, right? How did he plan to stop them? He shook his head, trying to snap out of these thoughts.

‘Focus. Focus.’ He repeated the words to himself until he felt calmer. He slowly opened his eyes, staring ahead, feeling uneasy as he watched the world pass him by. ‘Focus, Mortis. You’re an Angel. Your job is to protect and serve. You’ve never failed to protect anyone in your life, you’ll protect others now.’

Protect. He was here to protect… people. People who were captured. People who needed help. People he had to help. Those he was sworn to protect. He clenched his jaw and glared ahead, determined.

‘Focus! You have work to do, Mortis. This isn’t the time to be thinking about yourself. Don’t think about your feelings, don’t think about how bad it feels. Think about helping those you care about.’

His gaze turned forward and he stopped, hovering over the ground as he tried to take in his surroundings. The entirely of Starr Park, a theme park full a color, districts, and themes. Thirteen different areas, not including the area he just flew out of-

…the area he just flew out of? He blinked in confusion, looking back.

A sanctuary with green grass, trees, a cottage, golden roads. It seemed almost out of place, peaceful, like it was something he’d see at home instead of-

“Oh no.” He murmured, gripping onto his cane tighter. “No. No, no, no. Not happening.”

He shook his head and brought up his free hand to rub at his eyes before glancing around and taking note of the location and the people surrounding it. They stood in small groups, watching, waiting.

They were waiting for him.

He had to get out of here. Despite his vow, he couldn’t help if he was captured. He was supposed to keep humans safe.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to take a deep breath, steadying himself as he shot off to the heavens.

They were all staring at him.

He tensed at the realization.

He began flying away, wings flapping, praying that he could get away, to safety, anywhere. Then, a sharp painful feeling of realization and familiarity nearly stunned him before there was a bright flash of light, blinding and intense. His wings fluttered wildly, the familiar sensation of losing sense of reality hitting him like a truck. For a moment, the world flashed with dark shapes and forms as he fell - falling, falling. And he cried out, his scream piercing the air as he twisted to the side, desperately hoping that it wasn’t too late.

And then he hit the ground.

He let out a groan of pain as he lay on his stomach, curling in on himself as he fought to force his breathing under control. The pain of his fall, the shock and pain and sheer panic he felt, the pain in his heart.

“Ngh...” He managed, lifting his head up only to grimace in pain as it ached sharply. He reached up and rubbed at the spot on his forehead, feeling a bruise forming already - even though he hadn’t actually fallen onto his head. “Splendid.” He muttered to himself.

He let his fingers curl against the top of his head for a second before letting his hands drop, closing his eyes for a brief moment to try and regain some semblance of composure.

If anything, it made him more aware of just how exposed he was. Even with his abilities, even with his powers and authority, it seemed like Starr Park had found something to use against him.

How ironic, he mused bitterly to himself. He was supposed to bring these guys in. These guys were supposed to be his enemies. Instead of him bringing them in for judgement, they were going after him.

He gripped the cane, pushing himself up, deciding to think before taking off. He needed a plan, he decided. He needed an idea. And he needed it fast.

He took off, flying as fast as he could with his wings. He looked around frantically, scanning for anything that might offer an escape, anything that may give him an idea. Even if he had to leave behind people, he couldn’t help them if he was captured.

He was met with that same blinding flash of light, careening down towards the ground once more, only to hit a wall. Or rather, he crashed through a wall. He felt the impact jolt through his whole body, and he winced slightly, letting out a low groan as he pulled himself up.

“What in the…” He looked at the sky, looking for something that could’ve knocked him down. Or something that was the source of the…

What just happened?

He put a hand to his head, worriedly looking around himself. He couldn’t recall why he was here or what he had just experienced, just that he just got up with no idea what happened. He was scared, he was anxious… but why? What made his brain feel fuzzy and fuzzy around the edges. It hurt his head to even think about it.

It was strange, and yet… nothing else made sense. None of his other memories made sense - he could hardly recall what had happened. But angels didn’t have bad memory, that didn’t make sense. Nothing did.

It was unsettling to say the least, and he felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. Mortis looked around, deciding to walk to get a bearing of his surroundings. He noticed several odd things as he began to walk.

The trees were lovely, except it looked like something had broken some branches, leaving a small gap in the leaves. The golden path he walked along had some dents in it. Some flowers had been crushed and trampled. It was like something had fallen through the sky, but whatever it was, it was nowhere to be found.

“…why am I here?” He whispered softly, frowning as he started walking faster, his steps getting heavier and heavier, almost to the point of stumbling. He shook his head to clear it, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

He wanted to shake his head, telling himself that everything would turn out fine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horrendously wrong. He tried to think of something, anything.

He was a guardian. A guardian Angel. He remembered that. He was here to… to protect people. So he probably shouldn’t leave until he found them. That was the logical decision, right? To find them and help them. To save them, at least.

But what had happened just then? Why was he doing this?

“I… can’t remember. I must’ve forgotten something.”

That was the most logical thing. But Angels don’t just… forget. Angels aren’t capable of forgetting. If anything, they always remember, no matter what. They remember every single detail, even when it hurts.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

He shook his head again, beginning to feel sick. He couldn’t place his finger on it but the atmosphere felt so different, it felt… off.

So, he hurried to keep moving, continuing to walk quickly through the park, trying to ignore the pain, the fear and anxiety. Trying to figure out what had just happened to him.

Something was wrong. There was a hole in his memories somewhere.

He shook his head harder, as if that would help.

“Ngggh…” He growled lowly, clenching his teeth as he continued to shake his head. He kept walking, refusing to stop, refusing to slow down or falter. He needed to get moving. He had a job to do and he couldn’t afford to waste another second.

But… what was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he remember? Why was he so scared?

He felt like he had to escape before he lost something important. Before something happened that he’ll never be able to recover from. Because he couldn’t let himself forget what happened. How terrified he felt, the way everything seemed to blur together so quickly - he couldn’t allow that.

Once again, he opened his wings, gliding as fast as he could into the sky, searching for any sign of life in the sky.

“I can’t afford to lose anyone.” He hissed, forcing himself not to stumble and trip as he moved swiftly across the sky. “Don’t let me forget. Don’t-“

He was an Angel. A protector. A bringer of light. He was here to protect people. And he was… leaving alone?

“Ach…” He hissed in slight pain, wincing as he flew a bit slower than the original speed. He glanced around, trying to look for anything, anything out of place. Anything strange, but his senses told him everything was normal.

Normal.

But that wasn’t right. Everything felt so wrong. Like something had happened. Like someone knew where he was.

No. No. This was crazy. This was a dream. It’s just a dream. Just a nightmare. A nightmare caused by stress and anxiety - what troubled him so much?

Maybe he had to protect someone. Maybe he shouldn’t leave. Shouldn’t just abandon them.

He shook his head, pressing his palm flat to his face. He should focus on finding his targets. Getting them back. Getting…

“I need to find them.” He said aloud, trying to convince himself of his own words. “There’s no time to spare. I need to get them, take them away. Away from this place.”

If he was surfing a simple brain fog, he couldn’t imagine what mortals would be suffering. It would be too painful. His mind wouldn’t be able to handle the pain of thinking about all the possibilities. All the horrible thoughts swirling around inside his own head that would be so unbearable to even think about that they would be impossible to bear.

It would break them. Make them shatter into pieces. No good Angel would leave mortals to that kind of fate. So, he would stay. He just needed a higher perspective so he could see better-

Light.

“Gah!” He cried out, falling through the sky. Falling. He fell.

He grabbed onto his chest tightly, squeezing his eyes shut as his arms flailed wildly as he struggled to regain control of his flight.

What was going on!? What was happening? He was falling - why was he falling?!

Why was he so scared?

He opened his eyes wide in shock, his grip loosened, allowing his hands to fall from where they had been clinging to his chest.

His vision began to swirl as his heart pounded in his chest. He blinked rapidly, attempting to keep his breathing steady, but his panic was making it hard. He couldn’t breathe. He was panicking. Oh God.

Where was he?

He felt like he was still plummeting through the air, unable to stop his fall. He tried to close his eyes against the wind, feeling something burn at the corners. The air whipped at his hair and clothes, tearing at him, and all he could do was brace himself for the crash.

Crash? Crash.

He was about to crash-

Mortis began to claw wildly at the air in a frenzy as if he just realized that he was falling. All he knew was that he was panicking, he was terrified, he was crying. He desperately tried to grab onto something despite now nonsensical it was. He couldn’t stop his hands from flying, clawing at anything that he could possibly reach. He wanted to scream in terror. He knew he could barely breath.

He closed his eyes tight, letting tears spill over as he clawed at his chest as if he was trying to get it out. His heart was screaming at him, like it had been broken a million times over. Like he realized something horrific but he had no knowledge.

He had never felt so helpless. Never felt more helpless in his entire existence. He was falling through the air with such force that he feared he break something if he were to hit the ground.

He crashed, crashing into the ground with such intensity that it cracked and shattered, sending shards everywhere. Dust filled the air, clouds of it obscuring sight, preventing Mortis from seeing his surroundings clearly. He curled up, feeling himself begin to cry, clutching his chest tightly, tears rolling down his face as he sobbed, his chest burning horribly.

“Help.” He gasped painfully, his eyes shutting tighter, tears dripping onto his cheeks. His arms wrapped around himself tighter. He was shivering slightly, although he could hardly tell.

There was a faint ringing in his ears as he came back to consiousness, his eyes still shut tight. His head spun and his chest tightened, and he felt his wings twitch. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, wincing at the sudden brightness, before sitting up and taking another look around.

The dust that he assumed was stinging his eyes, didn’t help, and nothing immediately registered to him. Confused, he attempted to get up, feeling himself aching. He looked around for his cane, finding it nearby and grabbing it up, standing unsteadily. He turned to look around further, trying to figure out where exactly he was, before realizing.

He didn’t know. Or rather he was completely unsure of what happened at all. All he recalled was that he hurt, and he was looking for his cane to get up. That was about it.

“This is…” He mumbled quietly, raising his hands, shaking his head softly. “Where am I? Why did I come here? I thought I was working.”

Nothing at all came to mind. This place was vaguely familiar, reminding him of… he felt like he fit in in this area. There was a cottage, a few trees, golden paths. Fitting for an Angel.

Angel, he was a guardian Angel. He was supposed to protect people.

But… he didn’t know why this place made him feel so uncomfortable. He felt… empty. Empty and frightened. As if something had happened but he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to remember it. He wasn’t sure if he could if he wanted.

Well, if this place was disturbing him, he could only imagine how poor mortals would be handling it.

His lips pulled into a frown as his hands dropped, staring around for a moment. If there was anyone out here, anywhere, then maybe he could try to get them out of whatever danger they might be in. Even if they weren’t in immediate danger. Especially if they weren’t in immediate danger. He couldn’t think of any danger here, nothing jumped out to him. But then again, he was exhausted, hurt, and emotional, for some reason. Nonetheless, he didn’t feel like he should leave. An Angel could handle this, surely.

He shook his head slowly, turning away, walking along one of the paths, his feet dragging slightly, his movements slow and unsteady as he walked. His wings were crumpled - not broken - but he didn’t pay any mind to it. They would be fine.

He would be fine.

He was fine.

He kept moving forward, trying to ignore the fear. The uncertainty. The doubt, the uncertainty. The fear. He didn’t want to think about it. Maybe he was just worried for the mortals. He always worried about them so much, maybe a bit too much, but they were fragile. Unlike him. It would take a lot to take down an Angel.

Maybe he’d go look for mortals soon, ease his own worries by watching over them. He did get teased for being a mother hen over the mortals, but it was part of his role as a guardian Angel. For now, he was tired, and this place looked very familiar. Maybe this was home.

He found himself at the front door of the cottage - he didn’t even know that he made his way over to it. Hesitantly, he opened the door, pushing it open gently as he stepped inside. Once he entered, he glanced around briefly before closing the door behind him softly. He glanced around the house. Nothing seemed out of place, aside from a single painting placed carefully beside a picture frame, which caught his attention for a moment.

Himself. He was never the prideful one, not asking for portraits, but it appeared that he indulged himself in a commission and it slipped his mind. He didn’t recall hanging it up, but he shrugged it off. It seemed silly anyway. Perhaps he hung it here as an oddity. A gift to himself. A reminder of sorts.

With a slight smile on his face, he moved forward. Surely, if he hung it up, this place was home.

[keeptheotherone]

Do You Promise?

Chapter 1 of a new WIP, just for you, my Tumblrers <3

August 1999 the Burrow’s garden Weasleys’ 2nd Annual End of Summer Celebration

Charlie Weasley sat on the fence separating his mother’s vegetable patch from the garden, thinking about the last time he’d sat here, one year ago. Then it had been Bill at his side, not his little sister.

“Knut for your thoughts,” she said, pushing herself up.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Ginny raised her brows at the implication of his answer but didn’t tease. “Around.”

“Mmm.” He’d been home for more than twenty-four hours, but he hadn’t seen Potter once. At Christmas, they’d been a package deal, never out of arm’s reach of the other. “I thought he might have had to work.”

Ginny shook her head, pigtails dancing round her shoulders like they had when she was shorter than this fence. “Today and tomorrow, but not tonight. Mum made them promise.”

By “them,” Charlie knew she meant Ron and Harry. But … Mum made them promise? Not Ginny, or even Hermione?

“Well, he’d better show up,” Charlie said, taking a drink of his beer. “He owes me a rematch.”

They had played Quidditch in the orchard last year, he and Ginny and Potter and George and a bunch of kids he hadn’t known. Played past sunset into darkness, until Professor McGonagall ended the pick-up match without a capture of the Snitch.

Ginny muttered something that sounded like “he owes me a hell of a lot more than a rematch,” but Charlie let it slide. Ginny could take care of herself.

He and Bill had made sure of it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your friends?” 

“Thanks, Charlie, that means a lot.” She swiped the bottle from his loose grasp and drank.

Charlie had to remind himself she was of age to keep from overreacting, but even so, his hand twitched reflexively.

Ginny saw it and smirked round the glass, tipping her head back and the bottle up, taking several long swallows just for show.

“Yeah, you can have my beer, Sis. I’ll just get another, no problem.”

She finished with a pop and licked the foam from her upper lip before handing it back. “Thirsty.”

Charlie held the bottle up to the light—there was exactly one swallow left. “Brat.”

Ginny was predictably unfazed, gazing over the crowd starting to assemble round the food tables. “I talked to Angelina. She said Alicia couldn’t make it this year.”

“Who?” Charlie said, right as a picture of a perky brunette, with equally perky … anatomy … popped into his mind. Shit. Alicia wasn’t avoiding the party because of him, was she? The same age as George, she would know most of the people attending tonight. He’d thought they parted on good terms, all things considered….

“I thought you might be watching for Amy.”

“Amy’s coming?” He hadn’t seen Amy Green since he had invited himself back to her room and she politely declined. 

“Fleur wasn’t sure,” Ginny said casually, as if she hadn’t just dangled fairy lights in front of a niffler. “She said she encouraged her to come since she sounded a little down, but Amy didn’t commit. I hope she does, don’t you?”

“Of course. I haven’t seen Amy since the memorial. It would be good to catch up.” Charlie took a subtle deep breath, repeating the mantra he told himself when he occasionally woke with her on his mind. You asked, and Amy said no. It doesn’t matter if she isn’t seeing anyone. She’s still unavailable, Weasley. No benefits, just friends.

“I remember, you know. You think I was too young to understand, but I remember. In Egypt.”

Charlie scoffed. His baby sister celebrated her twelfth birthday the summer his family had visited Bill in Cairo. “Oh, yeah? And what do you think you remember, Gin-Gin?”

“I know Bill was an arse,” she said bluntly.

This reversal of her usual hero worship got Charlie’s attention.

“I know you weren’t. And that you liked her. I know you two went out together, and you’ve both dated other people since … but you’ve never dated each other.”

Charlie sighed. “Ginny….”

“Bill’s married,” she said simply. “It doesn’t matter any more.”

“I never thought I’d say this … but go find something else to do. Even if it’s Harry.”

****

Charlie did not leave his post on the fence rail, content to get quietly drunk and watch his family enjoy themselves. He had wondered why he’d bothered making the trip in—it made three in a month, when you added the party to Ginny’s and Percy’s birthdays—but now admitted to himself it had been in hopes of seeing Amy. After all, she hadn’t refused him, exactly; she’d refused the timing. 

“I think we both know what will happen if you walk me back to Hogsmeade.”

He raised his brows, leaving the challenging “so?” unspoken.

Amy closed her eyes, then pulled her hand from his. “Not today, Charlie.” She waved her hand at the gates and the castle and the grounds beyond, where the first Remembrance Ceremony had just ended. “Not after this.”

“Oi, sleepyhead!”

Charlie opened his eyes to find an object in eminent danger of colliding with his nose. He snatched it from the air in sheer self-defense, then groaned when he realized he’d just crumbled one of the best biscuits he’d ever had in his life—a biscuit he’d been waiting all year to taste again.

Percy laughed. “Nice catch, Captain.”

“Shut up,” Charlie muttered, trying to transfer the contents of his hand to his mouth without wearing them.

“Full of snappy retorts tonight, I see.”

Charlie eyed his next-youngest brother, his cheery demeanor highly suspicious. “Did you just get laid?”

Percy slung one arm around his shoulders. “I, in the utmost gesture of brotherly solidarity, am foregoing my own numerous opportunities to assist you in yours, however few and far between they may be.”

“You’re pissed.” Alcohol did not make Percy more relaxed; it made him more Percy-ish.

Percy squinted one eye closed and looked towards the gate. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But not so drunk I can’t recognize a certain beautiful brunette.”

It was Amy. She was wearing—well, Charlie supposed it was technically a dress, but he’d seen similar items under a dress or robes more than once. It was black and flow-y, with red flowers and skinny straps made to make a man think of slipping them off, and just like that Charlie saw the garment puddled at her feet. She was taller than usual in thick sandals, and even from this distance, with the cut of the dress and the way she moved—he could tell she was braless. He raised the bottle to his mouth before remembering it was empty.

“Godric, I wish I had a camera,” Percy said wistfully. “George and Ron are never going to believe this.”

Charlie realized he was making a fool of himself, closed his mouth, and turned, shaking off his brother’s arm. “What’s she doing now?”

“Making a beeline for us.”

Charlie spoke through clenched teeth. “Shut up and get the—”

“Amy! What a pleasure. We’re so glad you could make it.”

Charlie turned to find his brother kissing Amy on both cheeks with minimal difficulty, despite their height difference. His heart skipped a beat. She was taller; he could kiss her easily.

No, not kiss. We’re friends!

Oh, who was he kidding? Unless she flat-out declined, he was sleeping with Amy Green tonight. They could figure out the friendship stuff tomorrow.

“Hey,” she said, pausing just shy of kissing distance (cheek or otherwise).

“Hey.”

Her hair was down, as it often was, but she had pulled back the front above her ears, exposing small purple and silver earrings (her house colors) and … a blush?

“I would offer to bring you a handful of biscuits, but something tells me you two aren’t going to be here for long.” Percy smirked. “Take care, Amy. See you tomorrow, Charlie.”

Charlie glanced at Amy to judge her reaction. “I’m sorry. He’s, er—”

“Taking the piss?” She offered the British idiom with a grin.

Charlie returned it. “I was going to say ‘pissed,’ but yeah. That too.”

She laughed.

“I keep telling you, you’re lucky to be an only child.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, brushing her hands over his chest with slow, deliberate strokes that were in direct opposition to her presumed goal of removing crumbs. “Brothers can be useful. I figured even if you turned me down, not all of you would.”

Charlie froze, just for a second, his brain short-circuiting to a night more than a year ago, before Ron had left for Australia. “Well, if she actually says it with words, that’s always a good sign, although if she strips her knickers off, that’s even better.”

Wait a minute … she wasn’t commando under that thing … was she?

It took a few moments for the silence to catch his attention.

“I take it that’s not a no,” Amy said dryly.

“No. It’s not. But—”

Her expression darkened, and she pulled away slightly. 

“The terms haven’t changed.” 

“I didn’t think they had,” she said cooly.

They had been here before, the autumn after Voldemort came back. Grimmauld Place, an unexpected post-meeting raid, high spirits and adrenaline … and the darkened hallway where Amy had turned him down. “I like strings,” she’d said, and walked away.

The staccato drumbeat of the Weird Sisters’ Do the Hippogriff pulled Charlie from the memory.

“Drink?” he asked, indicating his empty bottle in case she hadn’t heard him over the noise.

“Not really.”

He’d already started towards the tables, but her answer drew him up short. “Really, Amy, you could at least buy me dinner first,” he said sarcastically.

She sighed. “Look, Charlie, I don’t want to play the game. It’s why I’m here. Now, am I wasting my time or not?”

For the second time that night he found himself holding on to his temper. He was starting to see how she’d got under Bill’s skin, why he’d had such a hard time letting her go even when Bill had known he didn’t want to pursue a relationship with her.

“So what, you thought you’d just fly in, snap your fingers, and I’d jump?”

“Am I wrong?”

Godric, she was obnoxious. She was also beautiful, confident, and sexy as hell, and Charlie was honest enough to admit he found the balance of power between them as intoxicating as it was infuriating. 

“We could get a room at the Leaky—in magical London—or maybe Hogsmeade?”

“I have a room in the village.”

Damn. When Amy made up her mind, she didn’t mess around.

“All right,” he agreed. “One last thing, though.”

He stepped into her space, close enough to ruffle her skirt with his legs and watch the gooseflesh pebble across her chest and shoulders. He ignored the temptation to follow it down and looked her in the eye. In heels, she was as tall as he, but his wide shoulders and bulky frame dwarfed her. He paused to let her consider this fact, still not touching her, before dropping his voice.

“You will not be in control the entire night.”

Her reaction went straight to his groin—a sharp intake of breath, dilated pupils, a shiver she tried to suppress. Then she smiled, a sly, knowing smile that reached all the way to her eyes and made them sparkle in the fading sunlight.

“Do you promise?”

[timextoxhajima]

Grounded: Level 4

Level 3 | Level 5

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol trainee reader

Taglist: @jaehyvnsvalentine​​ @licorice526 @lolwhatameme @felixn-recs​​

[A P R I L 2 0 1 9]

The date was the 4th of April, 2019. It’s almost like Yeonjun knew, and that was exactly the reason why he had invited you to go watch TXT’s Inkigayo stage. 

They were used to it, being nominated for top two but never winning, even after two years. It sucks to watch them wait nervously for the results to come out, the thought ‘it won’t be us’ floating about in their heads despite those stage smiles and those strong fronts. 

You were finally pulled to your feet with your hands over your mouth when the results were finally broadcasted, and Jisung’s face gave it all away. Then, there was your ex-classmate, whose lips were hung agape, and Chan’s eyes that were filled, not with surprise but with the sheer amount of gratitude he had for the job he was finally doing after 7 years of training. 

You were here for TXT, but Yeonjun knew you were rooting for Stray Kids. 

A frown comes over your face when the desire to just break out into ugly sobs overwhelms your entire respiratory system. The camera pans, and all you see is Seungmin jumping with joy with his arms around Changbin and Minho.

The smile on his face was irreplaceable. The same way Earth’s moon could never be replaced. Not by Jupiter’s Moons, not by Saturn’s moons, nothing. It’s like the stars aligned based off their hard work and God finally said, you all deserve to reap the rewards of your efforts. 

The tears tumble over your lower lids when you see Chan cry, then Jisung cannot regain his composure, with Seungmin and Changbin following suit. But your eyes cannot leave Minho. 

He is happy. 

He is proud.

He is standing where he was born to be. 

Each scene plays out like life was running in split seconds, and you could absorb every moment of it, and yet before you know it, TXT comes back to their dressing room where you were waiting. 

It is written all across Yeonjun’s face that he’s just satisfied with himself that he didn’t invite you for nothing. But something surprising surges through you, and it motivates you to throw your arms around Yeonjun in a bid to express your gratitude.

“Whoa!” Your weight shoves him back a few steps, and his arms come around your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Shaking your head, you can hear his racing heart beat from the adrenaline of being on stage. The other members are packing up, so you aren’t really bothered when your tears start to stain his shirt. “Just... thank you, for inviting me today.”

“Aw, come on. It’s nothing. I just had a gut feeling they’d win today, thought you would like to witness that for yourself.” 

The panic starts dripping into the warmth he’s providing you. It’s the same feeling you got when Minho had encouraged you to persist on for your performances. 

You pull away, eyes tilting upwards to meet his. 

It takes you exactly two seconds to realise that you’re more comfortable looking into his eyes than Minho’s, which is alarming. 

“But anyway,” He releases you, and the lack of physical contact sucks some disappointment out from you. “It’s time to go, unless you want to wait for Stray Kids.”

“I...” Minho has his career now. I can’t make him choose, right? It’s time to let go. It’s time to move on. It’s time to forget about him. “No, it’s fine. I can text Hyunjin later.”

“What?” There’s a gentle frown on his forehead; you already know what’s running through his head. “What about Lee-”

“I can ask Hyunjin to forward the congratulations to the whole group, it’ll be fine.”

It’s not fine. Because I know how much Hyunjin is going to hate it. 

Back in the comfort of your bed (though you would very much prefer the one you have at home), you scroll through your chats, searching for Hyunjin, and unironically noticing that your chat with Minho was almost non-existent anymore. 

You stare at the screen for so long, it blacks out, now feeding you with your own dark reflection. The light from the corridor that’s the only thing illuminating your room was a speck white in your irises, even in the reflection. 

Shutting your eyes, you let the content of the texts sink in - who was Hyunjin kidding? Who were you kidding?

Had there anything between Minho and I, it would’ve happened, right?

Now that he’s an idol, there’s nothing that could happen between the two of you. 

What’s JYP going to do if one of his newly debuted idols get into-

No. 

It’s not going to happen. Because Minho doesn’t have feelings for me the same way I had feelings for him.

I don’t need Minho anymore.

You put your phone on airplane mode and await the next day. Training, training, and more training. 

It’s not like he ever needed me anyway, right?

[J U L Y 2 0 1 9]

What the fuck am I even looking at?

Just what the fu-

What the fucking-

“y/n,” Soobin wraps his fingers around his phone despite it still being in your hold. “Can I- Can I have my phone back- Please-”

Just who does he think he is? Prancing around in that stupid white top to some deep jazz music-

He finally snatches his phone away from you, and you’re left with the rigidity of your knuckles folded and crumpled like you were still holding it. 

[Stray Kids : SKZ-PLAYER] Lee Know "DAWN(새벽)"

“What, cat got your tongue?” Beomgyu snickers, just missing a harsh swipe of your hand from you. 

“Cut it out,” Yeonjun comes from behind and shoves his head forward playfully into a head lock, ruffling his hair. The sight of both Yeonjun and Minho stirs the lazy, but very difficult-to-put-to-sleep creature in your heart. Though one of them was just dancing in a space in a video on the screen, it feels like both are yearning for your attention. 

Of course, you’d never admit it to anybody. Not even yourself. 

“No, I’m just... Surprised.”

Taehyun’s in a game with Kai, but he still manages that sneaky look at you above his phone. “Surprised that he’s got individual content or surprised that you still get affected by what he does?”

Kai sucks his lips between his teeth, the attempt to hide his cheeky grin futile. Soobin watches you roll your eyes and shake your head to yourself, empathising with you. 

“I’ve got an idea-” 

“I don’t think I want to hear it, Gyu-” Aggressively shaking your head, you throw him the meanest glare you can conjure from your eyeballs. 

“How about you go to JYP and surprise him? Congratulate him on his individual content?”

It piques the members’ interest. Now, even Yeonjun was giving you those eyes that said “hey, that’s not such a bad i--”

“No,” The leather sofa creaks a little when you push yourself off it, removing yourself from the dressing room where they were having rehearsals for KCON 2019. 

“Aw, come on,” Yeonjun’s groan sounds like a puppy begging to go on a walk. Ironic that it’s coming from an older boy that much taller than you, that much more respectable than you. “It’ll be fun. They’re going for KCON in LA in August and I’ll be back by then. We can bring them a basket of fruit or something.”

“I might just go with ‘or something’-”

“Let me rephrase that,” Yeonjun points to you with that mischief in his eyes, coming between you and the door of the dressing room. “We can bring them a basket of fruit, you can have a chat with Lee Know, wish them good luck on their trip to LA and we’ll be on our way. All you gotta do is order that basket and by the time we come back from KCON New York, we’ll be good to go.”

You squint at Yeonjun, slightly suspicious of how hard he’s selling you the idea, until you remember that he’s got a heart of gold, the kind that’s making you feel confused and at an absolute loss of words. 

“I’ll go with you,” He leans forward a little, hands on your shoulders and slightly shaking your frame. “I’ll ask Changbin for this favour, tell him we’ll be dropping by and keep it a surprise for Lee Know, how does that sound?”

No. I don’t want to be in the same room as you and Minho, God damn it.

Your lungs deflate and your shoulders slump, gaze avoiding his for a split second before they resign and turn back to him. 

“Yes!” Yeonjun clenches his fist and holds them before his chest, his head thrown back in triumph. “You’ve all seen it!” Suddenly acting like he was in a play, he wraps an arm around you and gestures out into the air, not engaging any of his members who were all occupied with their own phones. “On the road to redeeming your friendship with Lee Know!”

Finally releasing you, he runs his hand through his hair and struts across the room. The words reach you, despite him walking away and they still somehow sink into your bones, but you can no longer contain the whirlpool of emotions swirling around like a tornado in your gut. 

“Man, y’know how frustrating it is to watch that conversation between you and Lee Know go down? Time to set this right...”

And his voice fades out slowly, only because you can’t help but compare the likes of Minho and Yeonjun. Both boys have your heart, but one doesn’t need you, and the other’s trying to push you to the latter. 

What a fucking mess. 

After TXT leaves for the stage again, you are left to return to BigHit to continue training - you scored an A for dancing the last evaluation round, but a B for rapping and a C for vocals. 

Not a great start.

The trainee manager comes to pick you up, updates you on the progress your fellow trainees have made, but none of it gets into your head. 

Your phone’s just given you a reminder of your private Instagram’s memories, and all you can process are Minho’s face appearing over and over and over again back when you were both back-up dancers for BTS. 

First, the only thing that’s running through your mind was how precious memories are. Grains of sand that fly away in the wind or get washed away by the ocean when it comes by the shore - always existing but never always around. His little bunny teeth that shone under the light of the back-up dancer’s dressing room, and his habit of sticking a napkin to his forehead so his facial oil wouldn’t glisten with the sweat. He’s taking his time to munch on his burrito while scrolling through his Instagram, completely unaware of your mindless zooming in on his face - it’s something his members like to do now too. 

When you see a picture of yourself on his back on the last day of being BTS’ backup dancer though, that’s when the tears start to gradually covet the surface of your eyeballs. The pinches in your chest present themselves as deeper breaths when you try to control and maintain your composure. The trainees’ manager probably going to look at you weird when he sees you crying at your phone silently. 

But how can you not, when all the memories with Minho seems so far away, they feel unreal? They feel like dreams you had that were forgotten over time; they feel like cotton candy when they melt in your mouth. Sweet, then nothing. 

Maybe he’s just another chapter in your life that’s ended. He was just here to show you what you could do, and not stick around to watch you succeed at it. 

Maybe this was it. 

[A U G U S T 2 0 1 9]

“Is that the one and only Choi Yeonjun standing in JYP territory?!” Changbin’s loud voice echoes down the hallway before your sunbae can complete his request to the lady at the lobby of the building. 

“Having fun training for KCON?” Yeonjun pulls back from the counter, previously leaning on it.

“They’re with me, thanks,” Changbin leans over one of the barricades and informs the lady, who presses a button and the barricades whir open. “Tell me about it. It’s been such a busy year. How have you been? You just came back from...”

“New York.”

“Right, right. Ours is in LA so,” Changbin trails off as he presses the lift button before turning to you. “You are... Hyunjin’s classmate, right?”

“The one and only,” You extend your palm to Changbin, who takes it with some slight surprise. 

“Do your members know we’re here?” Yeonjun’s innocent question was short of being interrupted by the lift arriving. 

“Nah, you wanted it to be a surprise right?” Changbin grins at the both of you through the reflection of the lift doors. The plastic wrap of the gift basket in your hands crinkle under the pressure of your grip. 

“Man, isn’t this fun? You get to show up, unannounced, give everybody something and then make up with Lee Know!”

“Lee Know?” The name draws a frown upon Changbin’s face. He looks lost for some moments before you can imagine the lightbulb that brightens above his head. “Ah- You’re that trainee that got casted by BigHit who was in the back-up dancer’s dance crew for BTS.”

A weak smile helps you ease his guess.

“Right, right, right, right,” He nods, eyes slowly gravitating to the ground, then the words are so low, you don’t think you were supposed to hear it. “Ah... so you’re her.”

The lift doors open to a floor where you can hear the booming - though muffled - music from inside a studio, and you can hear the makings of a group of boys trapped in four walls. Changbin had barely gotten the door open when you hear Jisung yelling at someone for pinching Jeongin’s cheeks. 

“Oh!” The maknae was the first to see you coming through the door behind Changbin, and before Yeonjun. “Noona-”

“Surprise!” Yeonjun yells from behind you, raising both his arms into the air. “I hope we aren’t interrupting anything important. Changbin said today was just a more chill training day for you guys.”

Chan is the first one to greet Yeonjun. “No worries, we were just having a break.”

“This is y/n, in case you didn’t already know her. We brought something for you,” Yeonjun nods to the gift basket you almost forgot you were holding. 

“Oh! Yes, right. This- This is for you to share,” Awkwardly handing the leader the gift basket, Felix and Seungmin come by to help with the gift, thanking both you and Yeonjun at the same time. 

“You didn’t have to,” Chan watches his younger members scramble to the pot of gold. “I’m surprised you even have time to come here.”

Yeonjun grins and rubs the back of his neck with some slight exasperation. “No, we had time. It’s fine. Also, do you happen to know where-”

“Yah! I leave for 10 minutes and you guys just sto-” 

The entire’s room attention is drawn towards the second door on the far left of the studio, and Minho enters with some bottles of water with Hyunjin trailing behind him. There is a heavy, awkward silence in the air when everybody watches you lock eye contact with Minho, whose feet are slowly but surely inching forward to the crowd. 

“Hyung!” Changbin is the first to break the tension, dashing over and throwing an arm around him. “y/n and Yeonjun just dropped by to hand us a gift basket to wish us luck on our LA KCON trip.”

“You,” Hyunjin leaves the bottles of water on the floor and heads for you, pulling you into a head lock and ruffling your hair. “When were you planning on visiting?” He whispers into your head, only loud enough for you to hear. 

“I didn’t know I was expected, dipshit,” You struggle a little before you feel his grip around your neck loosen, standing straight up again to comb down your hair. 

Hyunjin crosses his arms across his chest and glances at Changbin introducing Yeonjun to Minho whilst Chan was busy handling the younger members. 

“Well, for one thing, I know nobody was expecting Yeonjun. I can’t say the same for you.”

Your hair slaps your face when you whip your head to look at Hyunjin, whose attention is now smugly stuck on Minho. 

The man did not look happy for some reason.