#it’s like people saying ‘reckless love’ should be ‘relentless love’ instead!

[nothinggold13]

I know I said this in my tags on the poll but I just CAN’T get behind “sloppy wet,” like, it is a VISCERAL disgust. Someone’s there going “it’s not sexual!” and guess what!! I never thought it was!! Someone else is going “it’s like a little slobbery baby kiss!!” and guess what!! I love babies and small children and I make them my entire life, but I still think their slobbery kisses are gross!! And I don’t want heaven meeting earth to feel gross!! And I don’t want God’s love to feel gross!! And I don’t think the original context of the song changes the way that line feels!!

Like, if it doesn’t make YOU feel that way, that’s great for you!! But I think creating alternative lyrics when playing the song in worship is SO valid, because it DOES feel icky to a lot of people!! The original lyrics are important in the context of what John was writing, and why he was writing it, and, again, as I said in my tags, I’m sure he had a meaningful reason for writing it that way, even if I don’t understand what was going through his mind for that particular word choice. It just doesn’t mean I have to sing it that way. He’s an evocative writer and of the two songs of his I know, his lyrics make me feel so many things!! Unfortunately in this case that feeling is “ew ew ew ew get off of me ew” which I fully trust was not his intention but also fully does ruin my experience with the song.

Is “unforeseen” the BEST alternative? Maybe not! But it is the version I learned many years ago at camp, and I think it is a beautiful word that is more pleasantly evocative than “sloppy wet,” so that is what I will sing. (I understand that some people get bad connotations from that word, too; in this case, I’m the one who does not see it in a bad way at all. Some people see unforeseen as non-consensual, but for me it’s the cinematic first kiss scene: something you’ve been waiting for, and yearning for, but haven’t known when the moment would finally come! In my mind, it’s a deeply shared “at last” experience! Which, to me, fits the line of the song much better! But because everyone does NOT feel that way, I understand why they might want other alternatives, too!)

Anyway, you can yell about “sloppy wet” being meaningful in the original context until you’re red in the face, but you also have to accept that that might not change the “ew ew ew” reaction that that image causes in some people!!

Good music has a tendency to grow bigger than the original artist. People will change pieces of a song to make it more reflective of their own experience. That’s not cowardly. That’s an act of love.

[antarcticadown]

ON THE EFFECT OF ANTARCTICA ON CAM'S MINDSET ; also known as: a meta on "babylon".

cameron should have died on the ice. you’ll never get him to say those words ( unless you are very very close him and his determination not to think about such things cracks ), but he takes it as a statement of fact. he should have died.

his doctors tell him while he’s still slipping in and out of consciousness, drugged up on pain meds and still not entirely certain if he’s alive or dead, that he’ll likely never walk again. this, too, becomes a statement of fact in his new reality. he should be dead. he will never walk again.

he’s not dead, and he walks. he not only walks, but he recovers enough to join the sgc.

in many ways, cam, especially in season 9, is a mess of contradictions. he has little self-esteem and his insecurities are so dramatic sometimes that I never know whether to laugh or cry ( “what if the world needs saving because I screwed up 'cause you weren't here in the first place?” ). he also seems to have all the confidence and self-assuredness in the universe ( for instance, the fight with the holographic knight and “I took a little fencing in college” before getting his ass kicked and having to concede that maybe he flunked fencing).

stargate, being the show that it is, never lingers on cam’s recovery or what antarctica means to him. the place where I see it most actually isn’t in flashback scenes, but in "babylon," in his conversations with jolan with haikon. in the way he speaks of death and of faith.

JOLAN: you may provide a challenge to your opponent after all, mitchell. MITCHELL: followed by my violent death, of course. JOLAN: of course. MITCHELL: [holding up the bag of tea for a toast] to my inevitable demise.

there’s not a single moment in all of “babylon” where cam actually appears concerned for his own survival. he’s told on the day he wakes up that he’s going to face one of their warriors in combat to the death. he knows he’ll never survive it, and yet what does he do? he jokes about his impending death, he tries to help the people who will be his executioners. believing that he should have died on the ice, cam considers himself on borrowed time. it’s not a belief that imbues him with any sort of bitterness. instead, he has no fear of death — it’s inevitable, he’s already been granted these extra years. cam’s impulsive at best and reckless at worst, and while I think that’s just his nature, I think that lack of fear, and the lack of a self preservation instinct that it creates, contribute to it as well, exacerbating the behaviour. it’s not that he wants to die �� there’s nothing suicidal in him; he loves life — but the things he prioritizes ( the safety of his team, the safety of the people they meet and the worlds they visit, the defense of others in general — whether against physical threat or the loss of all they stand for ) do not include his own life.

yet, it’s not a full acceptance, because early season 9 cam almost seems to believe himself to be invincible. having survived what should have killed him once, death does not quite real to him, as if it can’t touch him.

JOLAN: why do you do this? MITCHELL: do what? JOLAN: train this hard. these are the last days of your life. I would think you would spend more time in reflection. MITCHELL: well, all I know is, the moment you accept your fate, that's when you're as good as dead. till then, all bets are off. JOLAN: you cannot survive kel shak lo. MITCHELL: well, no offense, but I've endured things I wasn't supposed to survive before, and I'm still here.

it’s not flippant. there’s none of the brazen bravado that you’d expect from someone who feels invincible. it’s so much more subtle, and it comes out most in his stubborn belief that he can do anything. one of cam’s defining characteristics is a relentless determination. he needs it to recover after antarctica, to pull himself through the mental and physical challenges. he applies it to sg-1, refusing to accept no as an answer. because if he wills it hard enough, he can survive death. if he wills it hard enough, he can bring the team he wanted back together. if he wills it hard enough, he can save dying friends. if he wills it hard enough, what can’t he do? hence his words above to jolan about accepting fate. cam almost never accepts the hand that’s dealt to him; he stubbornly digs his heels in until he bends the universe to his will and gets his way.

but the other thing that kills me about “babylon” is cam’s interactions with the sodan faith, his reckoning with his own. cam was raised with a “bible-thumper” grandmother, by his own description, yet also admits to sam that he never actually paid attention to her. ( though, he clearly did; he’s constantly quoting her ).  cam does not believe in god, but with the sodan the show comes closest to touching on what faith means to him.

HAIKON: I know that the ori are not the ancients. but can there be any doubt that they are gods? and if they can lead us to the path of enlightenment, how can I refuse them? MITCHELL: you're making a big mistake. these ori are not what you think they are. they are not even close. HAIKON: perhaps, when you face your death, in your final moments, you'll understand. MITCHELL: I've already been there. I understand.

and later

MITCHELL: you want to believe my people are godless and inferior? go right ahead. but we have never needed proof of our gods' existence in order to believe in them. faith. it was your faith that sustained you for five thousand years, not the ancients themselves. don't throw your history away for a bag full of magic tricks.

cameron cares so much about the preservation of the beliefs the sodan have maintained for thousands of years, and he’s so strongly against the ori imposing themselves over that faith. but that interaction with haikon, that “I understand”... I think cam, until antarctica, dismissed faith as an important aspect of his own life. he’d seen what it meant for his grandmother, but to him it had no relevance to his day to day life. until he nearly died. until he spent months wrangling with the possibility of never walking again. antarctica did not give cam faith, but it carved out a space for it in his life, took what was subconscious and dismissed and gave it value. he recognizes the importance of believing in something ( even if that something is not his grandmother’s god ) as a source of strength. he focuses so strongly, instead of on his own survival,  on the preservation of the beliefs and way of life of the sodan.

[valdomarx]

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

-

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

-

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

-

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

-

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

-

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

-

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

-

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

-

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

-

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

-

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

[aeonghaseyo]

Under the Streetlight - Alexandra Trese x Reader

Song fic based on the song “Mixtape: OH” by Stray Kids

A/N: It’s actually my first time writing a song fic, and one using the English translation of a K-pop song I love so much. Please stream Mixtape: OH in Youtube! Btw, I tried my best for the reader to be of any gender haha

T/W: imagery of blood

-----

You were just a college student in Manila, trying to get by this one year in your program that seemed as if it was out to kill you. Why not though, with all the shit ton of schoolwork you had to do as well as org work you willingly volunteered to do? 

As you waited by a jeepney stop by a streetlight that might as well have been like a spotlight hovering upon you, you pondered upon a lot of things in your head and stopped to make a note to yourself. 

‘Note to self: I should really work on saying no once in a while. If I say yes to so much work during this sem I might be dead faster than I think.’

Even making this note to yourself made you feel stressed all the more, with your body automatically fidgeting, and you, conscious enough of your own habits when faced with stress and anxiety, tried your best to fend it off either by forcing yourself to stay still or by letting your thoughts wander to more exciting scenarios.

One scenario in mind played: you on your knees under that same streetlight, with a woman clad in a black coat wielding a curved blade that seemed to gleam its own light even in the darkness. This undaunted, short-haired lady in a defensive stance, aiming to keep you from being kidnapped by the aswang in your area that would risk even the secrecy of their existence in the estero’s out of hunger they never bothered to control. Your entrails would have been their main course, and your soul their dessert, until the infamous Alexandra Trese came to your rescue within a split-second, not even giving you time to scream out loud for help.

As there were only two of the aswang who were going to salvage you to satisfy their hunger pangs, it only took mere moments for Alexandra to take them both down without a drop of blood on you. Even while she was splashed with blood, you looked upon her in awe and admiration. 

The mere thought of her figure post-rampage painted your cheeks red, as you also recalled the memory of her holding out a hand to you to help you up. The fear brought about by that near-death-by-aswang experience really made you literally weak on your knees, so at first you struggled to stand up right after you shakily gripped her hand.

When I get my hands on you

When I set my eyes on you

I get breathless and I’ve never felt this way before

I can’t explain this

It feels so different

So I want it more

No doubt, something coursed through you back then that made you gain just a little bit of strength to momentarily stand on your own two feet. You had that strength, alright, but you didn’t look it with the paleness of your face giving your state of weakness away to the woman in front of you.

“You’re safe now, you don’t have to be scared,” you heard Alexandra reassure you, and once again your knees were jelly.

So you stumbled. 

Blessed by her swift reflexes, your savior caught you effortlessly, and you couldn’t help but hold on to her arms and look into her unwavering black orbs. Another moment passed as she helped you back on your own two feet, her hands still on your shoulders as if to give you a sense of security amidst a relatively dangerous area.

You muttered an “I-i’m so sorry, ma’am,” to which the babaylan-mandirigma corrected you, “Call me Alex. You don’t look well enough to commute, and the streets are especially dangerous at this time of night. Let me take you home.”

I just want to whine

I’ll stop being calculative

I want you to notice how I am feeling

As if you would notice that I was lying

I don’t want to just be around you like the scent

She saved your ass from being a part of the aswang’s menu, and you thought that was just the bare minimum you deserved at that moment. You clearly didn’t expect her to help you up while you were definitely still weak on your knees, and you didn’t expect her to suddenly take you home.

So your mind momentarily went blank. 

Just like a PC that has been restarted, you began processing Alexandra’s offer to take you back home, and your feel yourself getting conflicted between letting her take you home for you to finally let another person help you from the ordeal you had sustained, or refusing her help just so you could prove you can still handle your own. 

But you were left with no choice as Alexandra said, “I insist. You’re much safer with me.”

With one speechless nod from you, she led you to the car where her two bodyguards were waiting and helped you settle at the back of the car, where she usually took her place.

I thought I knew

I was so confident that I knew everything

But I didn’t know, with you

As I get close to you, it gets more complicated

Even when I have something to say, my head goes blank

At the end of the day, I’m saying just meaningless words

“Another rampage, bossing?” one of the bodyguards, who was driving the black Sedan you were in, asked. “Those aswang sure are relentless.”

“At least you didn’t need to call us for help though,” remarked the other bodyguard, who looked like he was the twin of the man who spoke earlier. 

Right beside you, Alexandra let out a sigh for self-relief and responded, “Those aswang were easy prey. They were reckless enough to just corner a helpless passerby out in the night without any calculated plan of attack.”

The long-haired man at the wheel then replied, “Too hungry to even think, eh? ‘Yan tuloy.”

You paid no mind to the rest of the conversation between Alexandra and her bodyguards, instead finding yourself thinking about how secure you felt as the babaylan-mandirigma helped you up on your feet earlier under that streetlight. To you, her expression was nonchalantly serious, with a slight hint of concern that never escaped your perception. 

That concern never appeared for your eyes to see, but you felt it. It was there. Just for you, at that very moment after she saved you.

The train of thought halted to a stop in your head as Alexandra finally turned to you and said, “I never got your name. Do you want to tell me what it is?”

Turning to her with an expression akin to that of a child talking to their first crush, you stuttered, “I-it’s (Y/N). T-thanks again, for s-saving me back there, I t-thought I was gonna be a goner!”

Her eyes never leaving your form, she then replied, “It was a relief that I got to you before those monsters did.”

“Serves me right for waiting for a jeepney at an area without people, huh?” you remarked with a nervous chuckle, as a sign that you’ve finally found your keenness in freely attempting a conversation with Alexandra Trese, of all people. 

You thought she would reply to what you would refer to as a careless remark, but it seemed that you were wrong as one of the twin bodyguards replied to you instead.

“You were easy bait for those aswang, but no worries. Bossing got to you just in time.”

When I hold your hand

I feel like being a baby again

And I go whining and saying, “Don’t look at me like that”

I look you in the eye and take one step closer to you

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a baby

Finally arriving at your place, Alexandra ordered her bodyguards to wait for her by the Sedan and turned to walk you to the front entrance. Out of gratitude, you finally mustered to thank your savior once again, which she answered with a nod and her replying, “Take care of yourself next time,” before she finally turned to where her vehicle was parked. 

You felt your heart sink then as she walked to the car by herself. What has gotten into you? She just saved you from an aswang attack, as is her duty as the mediator between humanity and the creatures of the underworld, and she probably doesn’t have the luxury of time to be the subject of anyone’s interest or courtship. So what was the matter? Why were you feeling as if you wanted, scratch that, needed to see her again?

Countless times before, you swore to yourself that you were the type of person not to fall for just anyone, regardless of how extraordinary they seem, regardless of whether they stood out in your eyes or not, out of fear of this weakness being exploited anyway and you being set up for disappointment in the long run. No, you would never let fragility get the best of you just because someone outright snagged you from a close call of an aswang attack.

Regardless of your distaste for showing weakness, that beating heart of yours nagged at you to call out her name and spend a few more seconds with her anyway.

Driven by your own resounding heartbeat, you called out to her while race-walking towards her, “Alex!”

Ey (I’m a)

Can I call you baby?

Ey (I’m a)

In front of love, I’m just a baby

Just like that, you got her phone number, along with a reminder from her to call her when you need help with anything out of the ordinary, which is pretty much another way of referring to supernatural occurrences or anything involving the supernatural realm. 

Under that same spotlight by the jeepney stop at night, still alone, you exited to your phone’s main menu and find your thumb almost grazing the contacts icon at the bottom of your screen. You pressed on that Contacts icon and found Alexandra Trese’s name right under the “A” list in your contacts, underneath a bunch of registered numbers without any proper names to them. With longing, you stared at that name along with her number.

‘I have your number, Alex. Can I call you anytime then, even when I’m not in trouble?’

I know I shouldn’t whine about it

I know it well that you’re everything in my mind

My heart wants you

I want your love

This feeling is so toxic

You’re the only antidote

“Fancy seeing you here again, (Y/N).”

The heart that was already fluttering in your chest skipped a beat upon hearing that familiar voice. Quickly, you turned to the owner of that special voice right beside you, belonging to none other than the person who has been plaguing your thoughts since that fateful night. As if by instinct, you smiled lightly and greeted her, “It’s good to see you again here, Alex. What brings you here tonight?”

I’m sure about my feelings but I can’t control them

The way I talk to you, treat you, and behave towards you

Is so immature

Mature person, Mature love

Mature man, I thought it would be easy

Everything is difficult in front of you

Alexandra filled you in on her agenda for tonight, “I was wondering if there was going to be something unusual happening tonight that concerned the aswang clans that have gone out of control. Strangely, nothing has been happening in this particular street, unlike the last time I saw you here.”

Your (e/c) orbs gone soft, you looked upon her as you replied with a chuckle, “And then you found me instead.”

Her own eyes slightly widened, the woman before you cleared her throat and answered, “Yes I did. And I’m relieved to know you’re safe tonight.”

Time passed, and the silence between you and Alexandra remained as she stayed vigilant and prepared for a possible aswang attack that could happen right where the two of you were standing right now. Worried, you checked the digital clock on your phone once again, which read, “11:43 PM.” Upon being aware that it was actually past your bedtime, your features manifested a look of both worry and frustration, and Alexandra seemed to have noticed it herself.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

“I am, it’s just,” you let out a tiny whimper as you continued, “it’s past my bedtime already, I had to stay behind in school to help out with an org activity the day after, and I haven’t even studied for my exam tomorrow. I hate it when I can’t ride a jeepney right away going home.”

Hold your horses. Did you just rant to Alexandra Trese about your current predicament?

What should I do?

Am I under the illusion?

Will this end easily?

(Oh na na na na what should I do)

Closer (Oh na na na na what should I do)

I want to come to you and get to you

Out of embarrassment from the complaint you just uttered to the person who once saved you from the aswang, the person who brought you home out of kindness, the person you have admired for a long time but never had the chance to tell out of fear of rejection and quite possibly your own consideration for her duties to both the human and otherworldly realms, warm blood rushed to your cheeks and you covered your face as you apologized, “Sorry Alex, I didn’t mean to bother you about my own personal troubles. I can handle it by myself, I promise.”

A hand on your shoulder finally prompted you to look right at her, your head finally unobscured by the hands which formerly shrouded the remains of your embarrassed demeanor.

“Want me to take you home again, (Y/N)?”

This was your one chance to be with this one hell of a woman yet again, like the last time you both were under that same streetlight by the jeepney stop.

What made the current circumstance different from before was that you were not afraid to accept her offer this time. You were hell-bent on getting Alexandra to remember you as much as you continued to remember her and savor that special memory with her.

(Baby)

(I want to come to you and get to you)

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a

With an unexplained expression driven by a growing fondness for the babaylan-mandirigma before you, you finally replied to her, “Of course Alex. Thanks again, I appreciate it so much.”

Alexandra then took you by the hand and led her to where that same black Sedan was parked. Cherishing the warmth of her hand, you slightly tightened your hold as if to say, ‘I love holding your hand, and I don’t plan on letting it go anytime.’

I look you in the eye and take one step closer to you

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a baby

Ey (I’m a)

Can I call you baby?

Ey (I’m a)

In front of love

I’m just a baby

[happyandticklish]

Behave

Notes: For the anon request. The request was slightly vague, so I tried to improvise a little. I hope you like the result! ^^

Summary: Shizuo has a habit of picking Izaya up whenever he tries to stir up trouble, to mischievous results. 

Causing general mayhem and disaster was one of Izaya’s favorite activities, and Ikebukuro was one of his favorite cities to do so in. The chance of bumping into some kind of natural disaster was almost inevitable, and on the rare occasion of peace among the streets, Izaya was always willing to stir something up himself. Sometimes this something could be the beginnings of a gang war. And sometimes it was merely messing with small children.

Life was full of surprises that way.

“And just what do we have here?” Izaya inquired, folding his hands in front of himself as he stopped before a group of children gathered on the park asphalt. There were three of them, a young girl with a box of chalk clutched protectively to her chest, and two boys, who had previously been drawing out an outline for hop-scotch, who both looked to be about a year or so older than her.

The first boy glanced up at his comment, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Playing a game,” he answered stiffly, clearly waiting for the man to say anything in the negative about it.

“So I can see,” Izaya agreed, surveying the scene before them. “Hop-scotch… I remember playing that game as a kid. How do the rules work again?”

“Well—” the girl started hesitantly, but before she could say anything more, Izaya had begun hopping from one foot to the next over the squares provided. He wobbled a bit as he went, all with an assured smile. For his finale, he jumped forward with both feet, landing on the discarded pieces of chalk and cracking two of them easily.

“Hey!” the girl cried, eyes widening. “I just got those!”

“Oh!” Izaya clucked his tongue, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Well that will never do. I guess we’ll just have to break the other ones to match. Would you terribly mind handing over that box?”

The girl hid the box quickly behind her back, which wasn’t the smartest of defensive moves but it was all she had. The second boy appeared to be taking in the scene cautiously, clearly not wanting to get himself involved. The first one however, took an angry step forward, glaring up at him.

“Leave her alone!” he protested, portraying a level of bravado he didn’t feel. “Or I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll… what?” Izaya inquired, leaning down to face him with a devastating smirk. “No, continue, I’m truly curious—what exactly could you do?”

The boy stammered over his words, trying to think of any kind of witty reply but coming up blank.

“Leave the kid alone.”

Izaya sprang up, whirling around at the sound of the telltale voice. “Shizu-chan~! So nice of you to drop by. Decided to enjoy the spring day as well?”

One hand shoved carelessly in his pocket, Shizuo Heiwajima stood bathed in the gentle lamplight of the sun, surveying the scene casually. In place of his usual angry scowl, however, there was a bored, almost dismissive look on his face, as though dealing with Izaya’s shit simply wasn’t worth his time. Instead of answering, he stalked over to the other with quick, forceful steps, until they were inches away.

Izaya staggered back a little, taken by surprise by the direct approach. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Shizuo had leaned down, grabbing Izaya around the waist, and hauled him over his shoulder. Izaya squawked in an undignified manner, gripping onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt for support.

Shizuo kicked the broken pieces of chalk back over to the children with a grunted, “here”, before turning around and heading off in the opposite direction, Izaya in tow.

By this point a burning crimson had begun to overtake Izaya’s features, and he could see the faces of the children from his vantage point, all of whom seemed delighted to see him in the embarrassing position. “You know, you can’t simply pick me up whenever you feel like it,” he huffed, reaching back in an attempt to swat at the back of the other’s head.

“Oh?” Shizuo easily avoided him as Izaya struggled to maneuver his arm in the right position. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asked, parroting Izaya’s earlier words.

Izaya narrowed his eyes. He kicked one of his legs out, aiming to get a direct hit at his stomach. Unfortunately, legs do not generally go in that direction and he primarily ending up flailing around a lot and sometimes hitting the other’s arm in the process. This was not troublesome all on its own (Shizuo had definitely endured far worse from the flea), but it did prompt an idea. The next time one of Izaya’s legs came too near his face, he grabbed it with his other hand, gripping his fingers into the denim protecting the backs of his thighs.

Izaya let out a strangled noise, managing to somehow disguise it as a cough at the last moment. Shizuo’s hand remained on his thigh, his fingers gently tapping where they curled around his leg. Izaya’s breath caught in his throat as he realized suddenly how very, very fucked he was.

“S-Shizuo,” he said, trying as desperately as he could to keep his growing panic out of his voice. “I really think you should let me down now.”

“What’s wrong?” Shizuo asked calmly, his fingers tapping out a rhythm of doom against his jeans, each and every one causing Izaya to twitch against his will. “You sound suddenly concerned. Is something bothering you?”

“Shizuo, not again,” Izaya gritted out. Memories were flooding back to him of a week ago, causing butterflies to excite uninvited in his stomach. “If you think you can simply pick me up like a common stray and t—” he broke off, pressing his lips together into a firm, irritated line.

“And what?” Shizuo questioned, tossing a teasing glance back at him. Amusement danced in his eyes, and never had Izaya wished to punch him more than in that moment. “What exactly is it that I can’t do?”

“I believe you know perfectly well what I mean,” Izaya replied with a sickeningly pleasant smile. “After all, seeing as it has for some reason become one of your favorite activities to do to me, I dearly hope you know what it is.”

“And I would hope you know what it is, considering you appear to love it so much,” Shizuo shot back, pinching the back of his thigh suddenly.

“I w—shit!” Izaya lurched forward, his body’s instinctual response to save himself from the sensation. His arms flailed wildly, searching for a handhold, and eventually clinging onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt. Shizuo stiffened, trying to ignore the strangely pleasant shudder that ran down his spine as Izaya’s fingers brushed his back. He shook it off, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Shizuo outlined a path of small pinches down the back of Izaya’s thigh, making the man jerk and squirm with each one, though he managed to stifle any noises this time. Once he had gotten Izaya properly ramped up, he removed his hand entirely, giving the other a momentary reprieve.

Izaya exhaled slowly, glad for the break. After a moment of nothing happening however, he threw a confused glance back at the other. “Are you done t—ahAHAHAHA, ohohoho shIHIHIHIHihihit!”

Izaya burst into wild, uncontrolled laughter as Shizuo suddenly dug his fingers into his thigh, pressing into just the right pressure points to make the other go positively mad. His hand came back instinctively to try to rip Shizuo’s hand away from the spot, but his current position prevented him from doing so. The sudden, intensive tickling caused a hysteria that weakened Izaya instantly, his eyes crinkling up into a series of wild giggles and shrieks, a euphoria he didn’t often allow himself to feel lighting up in his chest. His legs kicked out with reckless abandon, but nothing he attempted saved himself from the relentless attack.

Just as suddenly as he had initiated it, Shizuo stopped, allowing his hand to merely rest on the other’s leg. Izaya wheezed helplessly, burying his face in the back of the other’s shirt. His skin tingled with phantoms of the earlier attack.

“I’m sorry, you were going to say something?” Shizuo asked innocently.

Izaya weakly lifted his head, shooting back a venomous glare. “You utter ahahAHAHASSHOLE, nohohoho, nOHOHOT AHAHAhagain!”

Izaya fell back into hysterics as Shizuo once again started up with his thighs. It was a testament to Shizuo’s skill that he was able to keep a firm hold on Izaya whilst torturing him, all the while continuing to stroll through the streets as though nothing was happening. By this point, people had started to stare, dumbfounded by the sight of a grown man thrashing and howling with laughter, hoisted like a misbehaving child over another man’s shoulder.

“S-Shihihihizuo!” Izaya squawked, pounding his fist against the other’s back. “StahAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!”

“Sure,” Shizuo agreed, smirking as his fingers found a particularly unfortunate spot that had Izaya screeching. “Just say, ‘Shizuo is superior to me in every way’. You can do that, can’t you?”

“F-FuhuhUHUHUCK YOHOhohou!”

Shizuo clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I’m afraid that’s not it. Want to try again?”

Izaya tried. He really did. He used every ounce of self-control he had to try to either bear the sensations wracking his body or to somehow escape from Shizuo’s hold. But the embarrassing position combined with the results of a death spot being targeted in such an effective manner eventually did him in and he cracked.

“OhOHOHOKAY! OHOHohohohokay!” Izaya cried, frantic giggles interspersing his words. “S-Shihihizuo ihihis—ahAHAHAha, nohohoho wahahait—Shihihizuo—gahAHAHA! Gihihive mehehehe ahahahaha seHEHEHEHehecond!”

Shizuo reluctantly complied, momentarily stilling his hand. Izaya panted heavily, attempting to get any amount of air back. Once he’d finally regained enough breath to speak any semblance of coherent words, he raised his head and grinned back at the other. “Shizuo is… a fool for thinking I’d ever say anything inherently false as that. Sorry, try again next time.”

Shizuo’s confident smirk quickly transformed into an irritated scowl. “You little—” Instantly there were hands at his thighs again, only this time he attacked the other one which had thus far received no attention from their little game. Izaya let out an honest-to-god squeak, unprepared for the switch. He pulled at Shizuo’s shirt, needing a handhold as he faced the unbearable sensations. As he did so, however, he noticed the way his tugging had ridden Shizuo’s shirt up slightly, revealing the bare skin of his lower back and hips.

Izaya was struck with a sudden idea.

Shizuo flinched as he felt two hands grab onto his hips, fingers curling into the skin in a manner that was unmistakably ticklish. His hand faltered on Izaya’s thigh as his lips tugged into a reluctant grin, a couple growled giggles escaping him.

“I-Izaya,” he threatened, still holding onto Izaya but doing little else besides that. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“Why?” Izaya teased, scratching his hips once more and feeling the man shudder beneath him. “Feeling a bit nervous now that the situations have reversed?”

“I’ll drop you,” Shizuo threatened.

“I’m not worried,” Izaya dismissed, clearly having fun with the sudden power dynamic. “Haven’t you heard? Cats always land on their feet.”

“Mind if I test that theory?”

“Now, now, no need to be grumpy.” Izaya squeezed his hips again and Shizuo choked on a stifled giggle. “I get it. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. It’s fine, really. I’ll just be using it to my advantage now, is all.”

“L-Like hell you are!” Shizuo stammered, attempting to pull Izaya off his shoulders. Izaya yelped, grabbing onto Shizuo’s hips for support, causing the man to stumble forwards, releasing him in one go. With a startled cry, Izaya tumbled off his shoulders, and Shizuo jerked around, just managing to catch him by the arm as he hit the ground. It wasn’t a complete save (and Izaya would be complaining about being sore for days after), but it did prevent him from slamming into the concrete.

Izaya stared up at Shizuo, panting a little, his gaze focused on the place where Shizuo still gripped his arm. With a cough, Shizuo quickly released him, straightening up. “Are you…” he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. “Okay?”

Izaya blinked, at a momentary loss for what to say, before his usual smirk returned to him. “Of course I’m okay, dear Shizu-chan. More than okay, at that.” He clambered to his feet, dusting off his jeans and trying not to focus on how his tailbone ached from slamming into the ground. “Because now I know your weakness, locked away in my brain for all eternity. But don’t worry—I’ll only use it against you as often as you’ve used mine against me. Now if you don’t mind, I really have some important business to be attending to, and must take my leave. Farewell, my dear brute.”

He saluted the other mockingly, whirling on his heel and quickly walking away. Shizuo’s frown of confusion as he watched him go quickly transformed into one of irritation. “You bastard, get back here!” he exclaimed, taking chase after him. “Who said you get to have the last word, huh?”

Izaya laughed merrily as he sprinted ahead, the two quickly disappearing into the chaos of the city. No matter what happened, nothing ever really changed between the two. One info broker, one bodyguard, locked together in continuous battle.

And as Izaya rounded the next corner sharply, his smirk turning into something almost giddy from the chase, he found he didn’t really mind if it meant he could hold the beast’s attention for even a moment longer.

[mirrinbelde-shitposts]

Heyyy!

Here fr d game!

Umm im guessing ur an pisces mercury*hehe jst types wht comes to mind at 1st

Also i wont mind if u post it publicly or send me privately

Here is my birthchart(tropical)

Lawl SUSPENSE..Hehe

Anw Have a great day/night ahead🤍🥂

Guessing was fun tho..evn if i guessed wrng one💀🤣

Hey!! You did guess wrong, sorry about that xd but it's oki, don't worry about it! Have a good day too ^^

Welcome to your reading. Please remember to send feedback.

First impressions when looking at your chart: you don't have a lot of aspects, but a lot of them are exact: that wedge patter between Saturn, Venus and Mercury is very exact; you have an even distribution of planets among the signs and the houses; also, the angles (except IC) all conjunct planets or points

SUN IN AQUARIUS

As an Aquarius, you are quirky, aloof, dreamy and humanist. People may think you're awkward and detached, which is probably true for you since your Sun is at 0º of Aquarius. Your originality and uniqueness are probably the things you love about yourself the most. Your mind is also quite agile, which allows you to fulfil your dreams. Nevertheless, we cannot ignore the fact that the Sun is in Detriment in the sign of Aquarius. This means that the Sun can struggle here, making you feel confused as to who you are and how you can express yourself. You very much value your independence and your rebelliousness. However, you can be stubborn to a fault when it comes to your thoughts and opinions.

SUN IN THE 7TH HOUSE

The Sun in the house of Libra shows that you really enjoy socializing and that's also where you shine the most brightly. The Venusian influence gives you charm and elegance, which cause people to flock to you. Also, you may show your true colours in relationships, particularly romantic ones. Having someone close to you will allow you to achieve a better understanding of yourself. You do well when it comes to working with others; this placement helps the detached, independent Aquarius Sun to be more sociable and better appreciate others. Also, the Venus influence can make people look up to you and see themselves in you, something that doesn't really happen with Aquarius Suns in generally. You may do well in associations or organizations because you have a need to be in society.

MOON IN CAPRICORN

Once again, you have a planet in Detriment. Capricorn, the sign of Saturn, struggles to feel and voice the emotions they experience. Therefore, it is natural that the Moon finds this sign difficult. You think too much. Perhaps you had a complicated relationship with your mother, which may have caused you to repress your emotions. Capricorn placements, in general, tend to grow up and mature quite early, which leads to unhealthy coping mechanisms; you had to raise your walls up high, so you struggle to let anyone in. You may also be socially awkward. At the same time, you may seek validation from society, which is one of the things that may give you that emotional security that you deeply seek. You should work on letting your guard down; emotions are not the enemy, it's okay to feel what you feel. Let out your inner child once in a while.

MOON IN THE 6TH HOUSE

Here, the Moon is in the house of Virgo (but lying almost on top of the Descendant). There is a strong connection between body and mind. You seek emotional safety through your work and other acts of service; you want to be useful to people and to spend your time wisely. You may be a workaholic. Your routines are very important to you; you can get distraught if someone messes with your daily habits. Your health may be a concern to you, but since your Moon is harmoniously aspected, I'd say you're generally healthy. Nevertheless, watch for any hereditary diseases or problems with food or alcohol. The square with Mars suggests to me that you can quickly let out your anxieties. You like discipline, organization and cleanness; you are determined in the pursuit of your goals. You may have a vocation to work directly with people. Your moods may change quickly.

MERCURY IN CAPRICORN

With Mercury in Capricorn, you speak in a very structured, pondered way. You are very analytical and it shows in the way you communicate. You're a realist, but people may think you're more pessimistic. You definitely tend to be pessimistic at times, as well as distrustful and sceptical. You like to research, to gather information before speaking. You're concrete in your thinking, logical and organized. You take your time to make decisions; you weigh all the pros and cons carefully. Probably not the one to daydream or have many fantasies; you prefer the realistic and achievable. Although you're mostly serious, you can be playful sometimes.

MERCURY IN THE 6TH HOUSE

Capricorn Mercury is similar to Mercury in the house of Virgo. You are probably a perfectionist person, determined and organized. You analyse everything, yourself and your emotions included. You're very critical, especially of yourself. You hold everyone to high standards; once again, yourself the most. Like Capricorn Mercury, you can have pessimistic tendencies. You probably repress your feelings and rationalize them instead. Additionally, your knowledge can progress through daily life experiences and through your body. You should practice meditation and mindfulness because your anxiety and stress may have a direct effect on your bodily health.

VENUS IN PISCES

Venus is exalted in Pisces. This sign is intuitive, empathetic and emotional, which are traits that Venus likes. You feel everything and negative energies really get to you, so it's important that you find a partner that gives you emotional stability. You make a good lover, for you are caring and sensitive to people's needs, especially your partner's. Venus here gives you ethereal, alluring vibes. You can seem almost magical to people. You can be very protective of those you love, selfless; you can even sacrifice yourself for them. You're a daydreamer, you live in your own fantasy world. You have great aesthetic taste and you're quite romantic. However, be careful not to be taken advantage of; your too-good nature can land you someone whose intentions are far from the best.

VENUS IN THE 8TH HOUSE

Venus here acquires some Scorpio traits, namely the need to get a deep connection with someone. You are a person of extremes, not of middle-terms. In this sense, you can get effortlessly get people to open up to you, to tell you their deepest, darkest secrets. Since the (H also rules other people's money, you may get rich through an inheritance or a good marriage. Also, people may trust you with their money. In love, too, they aspire to learn everything about their partner. You seek transformative relationships, ones that will allow you to experience a different range of emotions, another dimension, even. Casual relationships are probably not your thing. You can get too controlling and dominating, so beware of that. Also, financial security is important to you; you may even have a job that has directly to do with money.

ARIES MARS

Here, Mars is in its rulership. You are quite reckless and impulsive in your actions. You like to be the first, to be the pioneer (much like Aries is the first sign of the Zodiac). You have a knack for leadership and people tend to be happy to follow your lead. You are quite competitive in just about everything; you can have a sour loser. You are quick to get mad, but after you explode, your anger will be gone in an instant. You are great at achieving goals because Mars helps you to stay motivated and determined; you are quite persistent and usually get what you want. You can also work well under pressure. Laziness is not in your blood. Your independence is quite important to you, as are your opinions. You can be quite stubborn and difficult to argue with, simply due to your relentlessness.

MARS IN THE 9TH HOUSE

Your Mars is in the house of Sagittarius. This placement allows you to acquire the necessary willpower for the journey to the expansion of knowledge and discovery. Your actions should help you with the acquisition of further knowledge, as well as ideas and strengthening your freedom. This placement goes against the need of routine imposed by your 6th house placements; Mars here wants you to get out there, be free, have fun, think about life, yourself and the universe. You have strong morals and philosophical ways. This placement may make you strongly seek, hunt, even, the truth of the fundamental questions. On another note, you can develop an attraction to foreign people and may wish to move away from home swiftly and without hesitation. This can be abroad too.

JUPITER IN VIRGO

Jupiter is in Detriment in Virgo. Whilst Jupiter is all about philosophy, the higher mysteries and expansion, Virgo seeks for the concrete, for what it knows, for the logical and rational. Therefore, this placement requires work. You are sceptical, you need to think and analyse everything before you come to a conclusion. Growth is achieved through responsibilities and being useful to others. A bit of idealism would be good, Jupiter struggles in Earth signs. You may think that you know more than you actually do, that you see the bigger picture when that is not true. Be careful not to grow an ego. Your beliefs will be challenged in this lifetime. You have a desire to help people, and in relationships too you want to do everything in your power to aid your partner.

JUPITER IN THE 2ND HOUSE

This placement generally brings good luck when it comes to money and other worldly possessions. You may also like to spend money, more on your loved ones than on yourself. You may be big into giving gifts. In order to reach that emotional security, you may wish to surround yourself with material items that, to you, hold great value and importance. Once you understand how better to acquire that stability, you may become rather generous with your money. You want a comfortable lifestyle. Like Venus in the 8th house, you may be good at managing your possessions, thus causing others to go to you for financial advice. You may not show it, but you have strong philosophical convictions, which may prove to be impossible to change.

SATURN IN CANCER

Saturn is in Detriment here, which makes it four planets in Detriment in your chart. You may feel a strong need for emotional safety, which could manifest as a fear of abandonment. There may also be some emotional blockages present that you struggle to overcome. Saturn retrograde, being the planet of Karma, may difficult your mission in life. You could be stuck on an unresolved trauma from a past life. This may be represented by a figure of authority in this life, perhaps your father. Instead of attempting to reconcile your past, try to accept the world changing around you. You may be too afraid to venture into the world and to open your heart; accept that it is part of life. Find people that give you that security, but don’t pour out your entire soul to them; find a balance. Not everything can be kept in our hearts, but not everything should be shared, either.

SATURN IN THE 12TH HOUSE

This is quite a strong and powerful placement: you have the planet of karma in the most karmic house. Also, according to Hellenistic Astrology, Saturn has its joy in the 12th house. You may be afraid to mess with the subconscious because your emotions may overtake you. Saturn is related to blockages and yours may be due to paranoia, which is characteristic of Neptune and Pisces. You may repress parts of yourself that you are not happy about, which makes you feel better, but, at the same time, paranoia can set in and make you wonder if that is the right thing to do. That aside, you may also struggle with poor self-esteem and doubts about yourself and life. There can be problems of guilt of some sort, perhaps even related to your life itself. It is very vague, but my thoughts about this placement are, in short, that, from birth, there have been deep traumas within you that have blocked your inner peace. What does are, I do not know. ⬛️

[omnicat]

A Brief Summary of More Seasons of “Timeless” (Inevitably Leading Up to Gladiator!Flynn)

Hey @ununpredictableme, here’s that thing I promised to show you! :D (Again with a delay, but better late than never, right? /o\ )

The thing about time travel was, it was just too damn tempting for its own good. The whole “doubling back over your own lifetime will kill you” thing was an effective deterrent to whims like “that date was a disaster, let’s go give my past self some tips to improve the experience” and “we’re going to try this specific evil plan over and over until it succeeds, dammit!”, but as it turned out, that still left plenty of bigger ambitions.

First, of course, there was Rittenhouse and its covert world domination schemes: the very reason time travel managed to be invented in the first place. Briefly interrupted by Garcia Flynn’s roaring rampage of burning Rittenhouse to the ground and/or saving the wife and daughter they’d murdered. (Preferably both at the same time, but when push came to shove he would’ve settled for going down in a blaze of martyrdom, survivor’s guilt soothed by the knowledge that he’d at least tried.)

/S1; Flynn

Then back to Rittenhouse, their plans by that point out of the development phase and being implemented by a visionary with more flair and philosophy than common sense, but plenty of dangerous ideas either way. Though it didn’t take long for Rittenhouse’s deplorable recruitment practices to come back and bite them in the ass, resulting in a coup by one of its lowest-esteemed members.

/S2; Rittenhouse

Emma Whitmore, driven by nothing but a bitter desire to thrive over the backs of anyone who had ever harmed or held her back with even so much as their mere existence, but no longer knowing what thriving meant after the decades of pressure and manipulation and isolation Rittenhouse had subjected her to, turned the time machine into her personal pirate ship. She looted and pillaged her way through history, taking treasures and torching everything that pissed her off. And there wasn’t much that didn’t piss her off. If Flynn’s strategy had been to blow up especially fishy-smelling rocks and see what Rittenhouse filth came scurrying out from underneath, and Nicholas Keynes’ had been to repaint history in his own image in intricate and meticulously crafted brush strokes, Emma’s was to punish those in history who disadvantaged her and twist the arms of those who could elevate her in the cruelest ways she could think of. It was no wonder Jessica Logan had turned on her, in the end. It had only been a matter of time before Emma would have turned on her – and her baby.

/S3; Emma

For a short while, they thought Jessica’s change of heart was the end of it; Rittenhouse was in ruins, Emma dead, and Flynn mostly well-behaved as part of the Lifeboat crew. The antagonist bench was empty, the heroes no longer constantly preoccupied with defending themselves. The team finally had the time and opportunity to piece their timetravel-mangled lives and families back together. Lucy un-erased Amy, and their parents along with her; Flynn found a way to save Iris and Lorena without erasing all the victories their deaths had led to. Wyatt and Jessica took the Lifeboat to the 1400���s to raise their little family and clear their heads for a while. That while turned into forever. In the end, instead of disposing of the Lifeboat somewhere no modern villain would ever find it, as the initial plan had been, their grandson returned the ship to the 21st century, to a date mere weeks from the day they’d departed from. Sherwin was a bright, eager young man with Jessica’s eyes, Wyatt’s smile, an insatiable desire to see everything the past and future had to show him – and his best friend, Willard, in tow... who proved startlingly quick to be corrupted by the power of time travel.

Willard stole the ApocaLifeboat (thanks, Lucy Croft and Bearded Wyatt, that autopilot was just what they’d needed to make time travel even more of a crapshoot) and jumped from time period to time period, looking for a place and moment where he could install himself as the next best coming since Jesus, and revealing future technology and knowledge everywhere he went. He altered history with reckless abandon and relocated dozens upon dozens of bamboozled followers to eras they had no business being in.

While the team struggled to deal with Willard, Sherwin got attached to the 21th century, Lucy figured out how to deal with her restored family now that she’d uncovered the sordid truth of their ancestry, and Flynn wrestled with the self-hatred and guilt that threatened to tear his own newly-reunited family apart. And after the team returned from a jump with a damaged ship to a timeline where Connor was dead of a disease that didn’t exist before they left, taking his vital expertise and resources to the grave with him, Jiya and Rufus had to A: figure out how to undo his death, and B: develop a way to keep anybody else they cared about but who couldn’t come on a jump from being lost or critically changed by random divergences to their personal history, poofing out of existence because of family tree disruptions like Amy, or being hijacked by the enemy like Jessica. Objective A was accomplished with another jump, and objective B with what Rufus, who had the crucial eureka moment, got to dub the Wellsaday Cage (a portmanteau of Faraday Cage and H.G. Wells, the author of the first ever time machine story). The Cage ensured that everybody inside it shared in the temporal bubble that made it so the team didn’t get swept up by the effects of their actions while they were on a jump and always came back to the altered present as their old selves. BOOM. So many problems and four-dimensional puzzle induced-headaches solved.

/S4; Willard from the 14th Century

No sooner did the team stop Willard and start bickering among themselves about how – if at all – to fix the mess he’d made of history, than the remnants of Rittenhouse (their cult annoyingly unscathed by what Willard’s had wrought) reared its ugly head again. The remaining followers, a motley bunch who had rearranged the once unassailable hierarchy with blood and backstabbing in the wake of the purge of all Rittenhouse’s biggest and most actually influential figures, fought with a zeal only found in true believers who had seen their cult’s long-awaited judgement day pass by without so much as a lightning strike and doubled down on their faith regardless. Nothing the Time Team did could stop them – until finally, after an inexplicable delay of four seasons, they returned to David Rittenhouse and smothered the entire organization in the bud by killing him before he could start spreading his ideology in the first place.

/S5; Rittenhouse Redux

Preventing the birth of the Rittenhouse cult altered the history of the USA beyond recognition and, since it was Rittenhouse’s relentless urging and unlimited funds that made time travel possible, erased everything that had occurred because of it in the previous seasons. The team made a number of jumps to win some lotteries and make some jackpot investments to help themselves and the loved ones they’d saved with the Wellsaday Cage start over, and everybody set themselves to the task of adjusting to their new reality and dealing with the scars left by erased timelines only they now remembered.

Then time-travelers from centuries into the future started showed up. The team hadn’t had to wonder who the good guys and the bad guys were or what side they should be on since they cottoned on to the truth of what Flynn kept saying in S1. Now they were left questioning everything again. Who were these people from the future? What did they want, and could they be trusted to tell the truth about that? When they started contradicting each other and the cracks in their initially united front started to show, who could the team believe? And what would happen when the team fractured along long-dormant fault lines of trust (among themselves, and toward the future travelers) and philosophical disagreements over what time travel should or shouldn’t be used for and allowed to cause??

Much tension, very suspense. Wow. They figured it out eventually, though. And hey, guess what? Flynn’s inexplicable inability to come up with a sensible Plan B to kill David Rittenhouse all the way back in S1 wasn’t so inexplicable after all! Turns out it was a remote intervention by a distant-future scumbag – let’s call him Gabmucs – who read about the dude’s many different deaths in a history book about the Time War Era and the development of the tech that would come to shield The Future He Comes From from being affected by all that temporal chaos from the past. (Based on Jiya & Rufus’s Wellsaday Cage, but applied to the whole solar system past a certain point in time.)

Gabmucs thought all those ideas about oppression and suppression and world domination sounded right up his alley, and set up some kind of outcome enforcer tech (derivative from the Temporal Shield just like the Temporal Shield was a derivative of the Wellsaday Cage) around David R’s life to ensure only one specific fate from the many timelines centered around him would come to pass, and so his ideas would come to fruition no matter what. When the team first discovered David’s existence, Gabmucs’s technology had detected Flynn’s intentions and befuddled his senses until he just couldn’t think straight enough to kill the guy anymore. The eventual failure of this tech was what prompted Gabmucs to manipulate a team from his own time to go back and help him intervene in person. And while he was there, he might as well take some crucial steps toward disabling the Temporal Shield, so he could go home afterwards to a world steeped in glorious Rittenhouse-flavored evil tailor-made to his tastes.

He just wasn’t very honest to most of his team about the motives or objectives of their mission, and they didn’t take kindly to finding out the truth. Especially when one of them (let’s call her... uh... Niwrehs? /o\ I hate character names almost as much as fic titles) had fallen in love with Sherwin. (In the end, Niwhrehs stayed in the 21st century. And my wish of having both a distant past and a far future member on the team was fulfilled! Also, this season definitely has the modern team visiting the future AT LEAST once!!)

/S6; The Future

And just when they thought that was finally the end of it, Stanley Fisher arose from his ever-worsening stupor of visions and turned out to have become a temporal eldritch demi-god. A bored temporal eldritch demigod. Having seen literally everything there ever was to see, in every timeline that had ever been, he started changing things with the biggest impact possible, purely so he could experience something truly new again. And he didn’t need a time machine to transport himself to the past.

Which is what finally brings us to antiquity, and the massive, unimaginable changes he could cause by knocking history off course that far back... AND GLADIATOR FLYNN! :D The special effects budget goes through the roof! Old Rome! Ancient Egypt! The Aztecs! Atilla the Hun! Cavemen and Medieval knights and pirates and samurai and and and... WOOLY MAMMOTHS!! Good thing the far future guys left universal translator tech behind!

Wait, wait, back up, whaaaat?? WELL, you see, because of the accident that gave him his visions, Stanley was never affected by the timeline changing the way the rest of reality around him was. Even though it seemed like he was at first. But actually, every time the timeline changed, he instead absorbed the quantum imprint of the new version of himself and all the memories, visions, viability, and temporal capability that came with it. This slowly drove him crazier and crazier with every edit to the timeline, the human brain utterly unequipped to handle so many realities crammed into one mind – until the last jump of S6. That one tipped him over a critical mass of timelines into near-omniscience, and rearranged his physical and psychic being to finally accommodate it all.

(Look, no time-travel story can be called a real time-travel story unless everything goes batshit insane at some point, okay?)

Jiya had been experiencing the same thing, just on a much, much smaller scale, since she was shielded from most of the timeline changes by either being part of the jump team or being safely ensconced inside a Wellsaday Cage. But when it became clear that the team didn’t stand a chance against Stanley, she made a desperate gamble and told her past self what happened to Stanley... and how she could replicate it in herself. Jiya expected to die when she returned from this jump, but instead of being absorbed by the new timeline’s eldritch Jiya, that Jiya made sure they remained two separate entities. Girl Jiya rejoined her team, Eldritch Jiya transcended into Demi-Goddess Jiya, and between two time machines and a walking force of quantum nature, they kicked Stanley’s ass. Demi-Goddess Jiya absorbed his temporal whatever and became full-blown Time Goddess Jiya, who then merged with the timestream itself and ensured that all the time travel fuckery was finally, FINALLY, fucking over, and this season finale would be the definitive show finale. And everybody lived happily ever after.

EVERYBODY.

Yes, even if they were erased three hundred timelines ago. Yes, even if nobody was supposed to remember them anymore; she’s god now, she can fix that. That and so much more. And she does! Because she’s nice like that. Fuck ‘fate’ and ‘destiny’, the Goddess Jiya’s in charge now, and she makes sure time travel will not continue to or ever newly hurt her friends and family again.

/S7; Temporal Eldritch Demi-God Stanley Fisher

THE END

(Sorry Paulina, your scribbles will never come to anything. Or maybe they will, but your results will be relentlessly trolled by time!Jiya.)

[justgottafinishthischapter]

Building Character: Sorting Hat

So recently on my main channel, I started breaking down different kinds of people you’d find in the four houses of Hogwarts when it dawned on me that this could be a useful character building exercise. So, I’m going to lay out all 48 archetypes that I named and show how this can be used to outline a character.

The Sorting Process:

My method for sorting characters is to lay out all of the archetypes I’ve found in the Hogwarts Houses, and then compare to the traits of my characters and use a score sheet to determine the best sorting for a character. I’ve already made a score card here. Luckily, all four have been given the same number of archetypes, and now it’s time to meet the archetypes.

GRYFFINDOR

The Jock

Bold, confident, adventurous, and boasting a strong quidditch team, it’s no surprise that Gryffindor is viewed as the Jock clique of the four houses. The house values of determination and relentlessness makes for quality athletes. The stereotype of the brainless jock also persists, as Gryffindor is the house most likely to be considered less than impressive in the academic sphere. Jocks also tend to form close-knit bonds with others like them, just as lions move in prides, and Gryffindors tend to behave similarly, preferring to stick with large friend circles of their own kind. This archetype could just as easily be dubbed “The Frat Guy”, but Jock is more gender-inclusive.

The Brat

Time to rip the bandage off. Gryffindor is spoiled and pampered. Between the text itself and the author who wrote it, the general opinions of the fanbase, and the clear bias of the school staff, Gryffindor is painted as the best and favorite house. It hogs most of the spotlight, and there’s even a general consensus that the other houses are all inferior to golden favorite Gryffindor. This sense of self-importance, entitlement, and blatant unfair favoritism can give Gryffindors an unpleasant and arrogant ego. This can lead them to breaking rules, bullying, and belittling other houses due to this innate sense of superiority and impunity.

The Coward

Counter-intuitive as it might seem, cowards actually fit in nicely with Gryffindor. After all, bravery is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to rise above it. The story even frames this as the most noble kind of Gryffindor. Those who act in spite of their fears. Many of the major Gryffindor characters could easily have been in other houses, but instead chose to be brave.

The Champion

When Gryffindor is flavored with Hufflepuff, they can become a champion, someone who fights in the place of others. Someone who fights for those who cannot protect themselves. The Champion can also champion against something, such as fighting against inequality, tyranny, or corruption. They can even fight on their own behalf. This is simply an archetype not afraid to raise a fuss, call people out, and issue a challenge.

The Explorer

The Ravenclaw among Gryffindors, the Explorer is constantly seeking out new things. New places, new friends, new experiences. These are the Gryfindors who fear boredom or getting stale. Life is an adventure, and there’s no point living the same day twice. Even a bad experience is a chance to learn, grow, and explore something that they didn’t know before.

The Diva

The Slytherin variety, the Diva is proud, flamboyant, confident, and ostentatious. Whereas the Slytherin Star archetype chases fame because of ambitions, Divas have powerful personalities that command attention and recognition. Stars perform to rise to power and glory. Divas perform because it makes them happy to pursuit their passions. Even someone who doesn’t perform can still be a diva if they’re dramatic, over-react, and live for that tea. They can be temperamental, flighty, and a bit vain, but they’re made to entertain.

The Risk-Taker

Gryffindors aren’t known for planning head. They’re reckless, headstrong, and fly by the seat of their pants, and the Risk-Taker is no exception. They don’t let rules, traditions, or the risk of repercussions to stop them from doing what they want. They’ll take any dare, climb any mountain, and ignore any safety warning in the pursuit of thrills and adventure.

The Immature

Just as Ravenclaw’s wisdom can make it more mature and responsible, Gryffindor’s tendency to act without thinking about the consequences tends to cause Gryffindors to behave childishly, inappropriately, and stupidly. It’s no surprise that the house that loses points the most for breaking the rules, talking back to teachers, and childish pranks is the house whose values encourage irresponsible behavior.

The Genki

The Japanese subculture of Genki is characterized by an overzealous, energetic, and upbeat personality, one which is usually loud, outgoing, and talkative. They wear their hearts on their sleeve, and speak their mind openly. This zest of lively bubbliness is often viewed as charming and likable, which fits the image of the popular Gryffindor.

The Monarch

Gryffindors are often seen as the house of leaders and heroes. As the king the other houses follow and bow to. Leadership isn’t all just crowns and a fancy office. It involves making tough decisions and having the nerve to push yourself and others forward. The image of “The Good King” enforces the Gryffindor values of leading by example, and that just and moral leadership will produce a just and moral world.

The Popular

It’s no secret that Gryffindor is kind of the house of the Popular kids. Their friendly and social nature makes them people that others want to be around. While the Gryffindor ego can branch this archetype off into the Alpha Bitch and the Jerk Jock, the verdict still stands that the most popular people in Hogwarts are likely a part of this house. Even the house itself shares this popularity, as it is the most liked and often preferred of the four houses.

The Fool

The Prankster. The Class Clown. The Fool is someone who isn’t afraid to push the envelope to get a laugh. Gryffindors are unarguably the most social house, and that desire to impress and bond with others can compel them to stop at nothing to entertain themselves and others through their antics. However, they also tend to get in trouble for this behavior, and they have to be cautious: as sometimes the risk outweighs the humor, only making them a laughing stock, rather than a laugh riot.

HUFFLEPUFF

The Sidekick

Much as it stings, this House is a mass production house for sidekicks and comic relief characters to balance with the typically Gryffindor protagonist. Hufflepuff’s values of loyalty, friendship, and integrity make for very good friend characters. Hufflepuffs as the main character are pretty uncommon, mostly popping up as the support of the team. The healer, the defender, the plucky bard with an inspirational speech. But that loyalty and integrity is truly commendable, as they are some of the most dependable and trustworthy figures.

The Paragon

When “Too Good for This Sinful World” is taken literally, these characters have moral fibers so squeaky clean that they legally cannot say “fuck”. This archetype is the living embodiment of Lawful Good. These are the characters who play by the rules always. Who decry any action that means taking the low road. The Paragon comes in two different flavors depending on the tone. They’re either the one good person who win because they played fair and who people should strive to be like, or they’re the noble idiot walking right into a trap because they’re too naive to realize that they’re the only person playing by the rules.

The Heart

Some people can lie, cheat, and steal. Some are good at pretending they’re a different sort of person. But, not this Hufflepuff Archetype. They feel too often, too strongly, and too genuinely to pull off hiding how they feel. This archetype is a bit of an open book. What you see is what you get. That’s not to say that they never tell a lie, but they’re also more likely to come clean about it sooner or later just to get it off their chest.

The Hero

Although Hufflepuff is mostly a support house, occasionally, they get to play the lead. Most common in Shonen Anime, this Gryffindor/Hufflepuff hybrid archetype fights for what’s right because it’s the right thing to do. Think of this archetype as the White Knight. A crusader against injustice who fights with integrity and does so for the good of the people. They fight because somebody has to. Because they don’t want people to be afraid, alone, or injured. They strive to be a beacon that lights the way in dark times, and gives people something to hope for.

The Councilor

The Ravenclaw hybrid of Hufflepuff house, the Councilor is someone who helps others by listening to their problems and offering advice, guidance, or support in whatever capacity they can. They care about the well-being of others and offer themselves as a trusting confidante. They are gentle and reassuring, having the patience and open-mindedness to help others deal with their issues in a positive and healthy way.

The Entrepreneur

The Slytherin among Hufflepuffs, the Entrepreneur is someone who combines the hard-working work ethic of Hufflepuff with the ambition of Slytherin to be humble business owners. Their distinction from the Slytherin Workaholic is that Slytherins work to climb the corporate ladder. Hufflepuffs work because they love what they do and enjoy doing it. A less leader based sub-archetype is the worker bee, a hard worker who takes pride in doing a good job.

The Knight

The Knight is someone who is devoutly loyal to a cause or person. Their word is binding, and if they say they’re with you, they are with you, for better or worse. This also makes the Knight very easy to turn to the side of evil, as all it takes is swearing their loyalty to an evil person or cause for them to become a crusader for injustice and cruelty.

The Self-Righteous

Another Hufflepuff that can stray into villainy, a Hufflepuff can be a total villain if they mask their villainy behind a facade of being morally virtous.  The Self-Righteous is the embodiment of the religious extremist. Those who commit atrocities in the name of God, King, and Country, even if their God, King, or Country distinctly condemns such behavior. However, because they assume they are fulfilling the desires of something which is intrinsically righteous, that must make them automatically righteous as well.

The Puppy

The cinnamon roll. Sunshine personified. The Puppy is an upbeat optimist that generally sees the good in others. Like a newborn puppy they are excitable, friendly, eager to please, loyal, sweet, and happy. Some might say that they’re too optimistic, crossing the line into naive, gullible, or foolish. But the puppy’s optimism is often backed by a strong conviction and a desire to help that makes them much more resilient and strong-willed than people might assume. They make great friends as they’re always eager to help others in any way that they can, and even when upset with a person will usually look for a nicer way of airing their grievances with people.

The Peacekeeper

The Peacekeeper is someone who strives to help others live harmoniously. They break up fights, help people settle their arguments, and only fights to maintain peace. They are sensitive souls that can’t stand fighting, hostility, or bullying. They just want people to get along, and they’re willing to do what they can to make that happen.

The Caretaker

Hufflepuffs are very aware of other people. They’re the most socially intelligent house. This archetype is composed of those who take care of those around them. They’re the friends who remind others to take their medication, to ask them if they remembered to do their homework, or to make sure they’ve had something to eat. They care about the well-being of others, and will gently nurse, encourage, and support the people that matter to them. However, this archetype can also go so far that it needs itself, putting so much of their attention and time on taking care of others that they need someone to remind them that self-care is also important.

The Mundane

So many people focus on the fact that Hufflepuff is the house of modesty and loyalty that they tend to overlook that the house is also the catch-all house of students who don’t fit into the other three houses. So, this Archetype is for people who aren’t really exceptional in anything. They aren’t brave like Gryffindor, Wise like Ravenclaw, or Cunning like Slytherin. They’re the “normal” or “average” person. Someone who doesn’t come across as being important or impressive. But Helga Hufflepuff saw the value in accepting anyone as long as she had room at her table.

RAVENCLAW

The Nerd

The first thing we think of when we hear Ravenclaw, Nerds are walking encyclopedias with a treasure trove of facts and information. They tend to study because they enjoy learning. For them, school was fun, and the library is an important place. If the burning of the Library of Alexandria angers you, welcome home ya nerd.

The Geek

Nerds know facts, Geeks know pop culture. If you know what year the first issue of Superman comics was written, you’ve found your label. A geek lives for cosplay, fandom, conventions, shipping, fanfiction, and memorabilia. And they are not Nerds. Nerds and Geeks are different, but can overlap. However, you don’t have to know book smarts to be a Geek.

The Bookworm

Not all Ravenclaws are brainiacs. The Bookworm has a love for reading that is not directly tethered to book smarts. For this archetype, reading is a relaxing hobby.  It is often a trait among introverts, especially as a way to decompress, and they also tend be loners who prefer their quiet alone time.

The Valedictorian

Expect this archetype to have the highest grades, to be part of every club or organization, and has probably run for class president. A Ravenclaw with an undercurrent of Slytherin, they are ambitious in their intellectual pursuits. The main thing keeping them out of Slytherin house is their love of learning and knowledge which overshadows their ambition to achieve.

The Advocate

Just as the Valedictorian has elements of Slytherin, the Advocate has elements of Gryffindor. The advocate champions the rights of the underdog, stands up to hypocrisy, and points out logical fallacies in any argument. They hold up the light of truth and knowledge to combat ignorance and prejudice through their insight and knowledge.

The Dreamer

The Hufflepuff among Ravenclaws, The Dreamer is a Ravenclaw who believes in the inherit goodness of the world. These Ravenclaws may be seen as overly optimistic and naive, but this just speaks to Ravenclaw House’s knack for marching to its own beat, and standing out in a way that shows the house’s unique and open-minded world view.

The Scientist

Typically the standard “brain” of a team in fiction, most team brains tend to be nerdy in math and/or science, such as Pidge, Edd, and Entrapta. The Scientist is invested in scientific endeavors. They seek knowledge, but can easily be warped into the Mad Scientist, as characters like Lord Orochimaru, Rick Sanchez, and Shou Tucker cross the moral line as they perform inhuman experiments in pursuit of knowledge. They tend to value logic and the scientific approach, and will seek out evidence and statistics to reach a conclusion.

The Investigator:

Those who thirst for answers, The Investigator’s interest in knowledge is directly impacted by a desire to know and understand more. However, unlike the Scientist that may use this knowledge for personal gain, The Investigator prefers exposing the truth and uncovering the facts. They love cracking codes, solving riddles, unearthing secrets, and exposing the truth.

The Adult:

Ravenclaw is a house associated with wisdom, and with wisdom comes maturity, responsibility, and leadership. Expect these people to be mom friends and dad friends, offering advice, taking care of others, and typically being mature for their age, and wise beyond their years. They behave like an adult, even from an early age. They may get a bad wrap for being boring instead of young and reckless, but they are also sensitive, stable, and trustworthy.

The Creative:

Ravenclaws tend to think outside the box, and that wild imagination and intelligence tends to leak out as writing, painting, dancing, acting, and any other creative endeavor. Even those who lack the talent to be an artist themselves can still fall under this archetype if they appreciate and value the arts and creative acts.

The Unconventional:

Ravenclaw is known for being a little odd. Ravenclaws revel in their unusual eccentricities. They’re fine marching to the beat of their own drum. A bit of a nutty genius, artists like Salvadore Dali, David Bowie, and Mozart are known for being unusual. Entire artistic movements like cubism, avaunt guard, and club kid fashion follow this zany mindset.

The Cloudcuckoolander:

Separate from the Unconventional, the Cloudcuckoolander is someone whose mind is a strange and unusual thing to outsiders. They come off as almost being detached from reality, their head in the clouds, and seeming odd in their mannerisms. People tend to treat them as delusional or crazy, but they show themselves to be strangely insightful into others.

SLYTHERIN

The Mastermind:

Exemplified by a ruthless pursuit of power, the Mastermind treats situations like a game of chess, always plotting to give themselves the upper hand. They are cunning, ruthless, and goal-oriented, usually with an emphasis on control, dominance, and authority. They usually gravitate toward leadership positions and can be very skilled at getting others to comply with their wishes. This archetype is usually seen in villains like Regina Mills, Princess Azula, and Cersei Lannister. However, occasionally, this archetype gets to be seen in a better light with characters such as Daenerys Targaryen. And sometimes it’s played for laughs, such as with Brain and Plankton’s plans for world domination.

The Perfectionist:

This ambitious go-getter is characterized by a strong drive to be exceptional in everything they do. These are the characters who strive for the highest accolades, the top marks, and mastering anything they put their mind to. Often either a cry for validation or as a means to pursue their ambitions, this type of Slytherin is all about standing out by rising above the rest. They are driven by a desire to be their best self, and they’ll work themselves ragged to hold themselves to that high standard.

The Workaholic:

Tangentially related but distinct from the last archetype, the Workaholic is someone who basically treats their entire life like a business or a job. They have a planner loaded to the brim with a schedule that always keeps them moving, and leaves very little time for other things and people unless they can manage to pencil them in somewhere. These ambitious folks are very likely to succeed in life, but their social lives tend to suffer as a result.

The Detective:

Often mistaken for Ravenclaws, or straddling the line as Slytherclaws, The Detective archetype of Slytherin is someone who studies and learns things not for the simple joy of learning as true Ravenclaws do, but more often for the challenge, thrill, or to get what they’re after. This archetype views knowledge as a vital tool and weapon in their endeavors. Even if they enjoy learning, the knowledge they seek out is specifically related to what they are trying to accomplish.

The Tactician:

Like the Detective that teeters on the Ravenclaw line, the Tactician tends to straddle the line with Gryffindor. They can be brave, heroic, and reckless, but this archetype’s main distinction from a Gryffindor is their Slytherin tendencies. Whether they’re ambitious, clever, or strategic, they lack the brute force simplicity of a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor will rush in guns blazing, while a Slytherin knows the value of a sneak attack. Heroes like Percy Jackson, Link, and Katsuki Bakugou make full use of their cunning in the heat of a battle, looking for weakspots, analyzing the battlefield, and always willing to find a pragmatic solution to whatever they come across.

The Sincere:

The archetype to bleed over into Hufflepuff, this archetype is blunt, direct, and doesn’t sugar coat things. They are brutally honest. This can come across as mean and unsympathetic. But, even if it seems like they’re just dumping salt in the wound, it just means that they don’t pretend. They can be depended on to give the whole truth no matter how much it might sting. They might openly mock their friends, but when someone needs them, they can be depended on to give the most genuine feedback. And when things look bleak, this is a friend that can usually be relied on to offer their support. And if someone is too weak or scared to fight for themselves, The Sincere is the kind of friend who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty on someone else’s behalf.

The Charmer:

Ever aware of their public image, the Charmer is a Slytherin whose ambitions are met not through power, but through playing the social game. Experts at winning people over, these Slytherins can be just as ambitious and clever as any other. However, they choose instead to recruit and convince people to follow them and do their bidding with their charms and communication skills. They’re good at arguing their case, and speaking in such a way that people feel compelled to help them. This archetype often masquerades like they’re one of the other houses, especially Hufflepuff. But don’t let their charms fool you. They’re as Slytherin as they come.

The Rebel:

The Rebel is a Slytherin who much like Gryffindors view rules as more of a suggestion than anything else. They’re just trying to have fun and enjoy life, and rules tend to get in the way of that. Often pranksters, couch potatoes, or troublemakers, The Rebel tends to balance between being misunderstood and actual delinquency. However, their rebellious nature can drive them to question old norms and traditions and try to view the world in a new way. Their refusal to bow to old paradigms can mean that Rebel archetypes are champions for change and growth, for better or worse.

The Star:

A primadonna through and through, The Star archetype is one whose ambitions are focused directly on fame. All of their ambition and hard work is all in pursuit of that loftiest goal: the fleeting spotlight of celebrity. Whether they want to take Hollywood by storm, receive a standing ovation at center stage, or go viral on the internet, this archetype is determined to be in the spotlight and make a name for themselves. They can be divas, and may even be competitive with other performers, but it’ll all be worth it when they receive accolades for all of their talent and accomplishments.

The Rogue:

The Black Sheep. The dark knight. The Rogue is the typical anti-hero. Skirting the line between hero and villain, the Rogue is a pragmatist, able and willing to do what needs to be done without letting morality or personal feelings get in the way. Cynical, snarky, mean-spirited, and roguishly charming, the Rogue isn’t quite a bad guy, but being good does not mean being nice. Like The Sincere, The Rogue is unabashedly themselves, and lives earnestly.

The Survivalist:

The Slytherin mindset is one known for being pragmatic. A Slytherin will do what they must to get ahead. The Survivalist embodies this practical approach to problems, being flexible and adapting to situations in order to gain the upper hand. The Survivalist can be someone who survives in the wild, but it can also be someone whose loyalty, opinions, strategy and behaviors can easily change and adapt to new situations in order to thrive. They can thrive in a fast-paced high-stakes situation, and can usually improvise very well should their plans suddenly change. This ability to quickly adapt to circumstances makes this one type of Slytherin that’s hard to knock down.

The Competitor:

Fans of reality shows know that some of the greatest players are also some of the most diabolical and cut-throat. Evel Dick and Danielle were a wicked power duo in Big Brother 8, and Dan got 1st and 2nd in Big Brother 10 and 14 respectively. Slytherin and Gryffindor can both get competitive, but they play in different ways. Slytehrins are far more pragmatic, and have less of a problem lying to someone’s face to get ahead. These tactics, while underhanded, are great game moves. Dan hosting his own funeral in season 14 is still regarded as one of the most brilliant plays in Big Brother history because of how completely he flipped the power in the house. The Competitor can be a total monster, but they also tend to be monstrously entertaining.

Now that I’ve laid out the archetypes, I can start evaluating my characters. Looking over my protagonist, I’m pretty sure he’s a Ravenclaw, but let’s put the character to the sorting hat’s test. My character would fit into: [Gryffindor] -The Monarch [Hufflepuff] - the Heart - the Councilor - the Peacekeeper - the Mundane [Ravenclaw] - the Nerd - the Geek - the Bookworm - the Advocate - the Dreamer - the Adult - the Creative - the Unconventional [Slytherin] - the Perfectionist - the Charmer So this matches what I assumed, that he was a Ravenclaw main, and a Hufflepuff secondary, but I didn’t realize how far he was from being a Gryffindor or Slytherin. So his ratio chart would look like this:

While it’s not hard to sort characters, some aren’t always as clear-cut and I hope this writer’s aid helped you better define your character’s traits.

[notaburgler]

I’m gonna beat you

Fem!reader

Triggers: cursing and sexual themes (at times)

Summary: You work as a waitress at a restaurant along side many of our lovely haikyuu boys. Your goal: get more tips than Oikawa!

You always hated how Oikawa would make off with more tips than you. Yes, he was good looking. Yes, he was charming. YES, he was the senior server at the chain restaurant you both worked at; but you were an attractive, smart, and amazing waitress!

It was a nightly ritual for the servers. After the doors closed and the customers were gone, you’d all sit at the large round table in the middle of the restaurant and count tips. It was a game- who made the most that night? You always came in second. He’d beat you by a landslide. How?!?! You were one of three girls working there, and most nights, you were the only girl. Seiko was the only other female server. She floated between serving and cooking and tonight, she was on cooking duty.

Kiyoko was the hostess, seating patrons and making the rotation fair. She knew of the game all of the servers played, and never picked favorites. But you had to wonder why when large groups crowded the lobby, Oikawa always managed to wrangle them into his section.

Yachi was a nervous wreck around people, but she was efficient and detailed. She did most paperwork and scheduling and helped in the dish pit when it was needed, but begged for staff not to come to her with complaints about the schedule. She’d panic and direct them to the assistant manager Ukai to solved them. She just couldn’t handle the stress. She tried serving one night when staffing was low… never again. It was a complete fuck show. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” she may as well have changed her name tag to I’m sorry instead of Yachi.

Tonight was no different than any other Saturday night. Being so close to the university filled your pockets quite well on weekends. The only difference about tonight was that you were going to beat Oikawa and get the most tips, you could feel it.

You had the largest section and it was packed full. The head chef on staff, Kuroo, had the hots for you. The bussers were sweet and kept a close eye on all sections, but the flash of a few extra dollars made their eyes pass by yours a bit more often. The stars were aligning for your triumphant victory over that cocky bastard Oikawa. It helped that the new guy had the small section next to Oikawa, and since he was the senior server, he was training.

The new guy was good. This was his first night alone and he seemed to be keeping up. Kyoko made sure to send what she thought would be easy orders his way so he wasn’t overwhelmed. He was a bit stoic though. He didn’t smile much and was pretty straight forward, but the customers seemed to like him and left a few bucks under the centerpiece.

You watched him fumble around a bit, Oikawa having to take a moment to correct him, ignoring his customers waving hand and impatient expression. It was gold. Tonight was the night! You could feel it deep inside of you. And the look Kyoko gave you from the podium up front made you that much more confident you’d destroy that cocky bastard tonight.

The group entering was loud, as most of them were. With a good bar on site and being so close to the dorms and fraternities, you saw quite a few young, drunk men come stumbling in, unable to properly control the volume of their voice. But drunk men meant lowered inhibitions; which meant great tips for the only girl on staff.

“Place us with your hottest server!”

His letterman’s jacket told Kyoko he hadn’t accepted he was no longer a high school football star. “Our hottest server is Oikawa.”

She glanced over, Oikawa smiling and laughing with a table of two older women. He could charm the pants off of anyone. At times, he’d even be able to make straight men question their own sexuality. He really was good at his job, and it drove you up the wall.

The drunk college boy grumbled, “I meant your hottest chick server.”

Kyoko hated these types and her eyes falling back to you, silently asking if you were up for the task showed her clear irritation in them already. You nodded. It was your turn to fill another table, and your pockets were lighter than they should be for how late in the night it was. There was one other table you needed to tend to before them, and you knew you’d need to prepare for all of the remarks about how cute you were and if they could get your number. Even Terushima wasn’t as bad as drunk college guys, and he was relentless.

Luckily, Kyoko was on the receiving end of most of his advancements. And lucky for her, her boyfriend Tanaka put a stop to them as they happened. As the bus boy, he was able to keep an eye on everything that happened throughout the restaurant, even eyes on his precious girlfriend.

You turned your back for one second- ONE SECOND- and Oikawa was already trying to steal your loot right from under you. With a charming smile and his sports knowledge, he lured the large group of drunk men over to his section like a fisher man with a weak catch. But you had something he didn’t: boobs.

With a quick adjustment to your top, you caught the attention of the leader of this pack of hungry wolves and beckoned him back over to the dark side. Nearly floating across the floor, he was led astray from Oikawa's clutches and landed dead center of your target.

“I thought you said you wanted the prettiest server?” A pout on your lips in a playful fashion, “am I not pretty?”

It was sleazy and way below your moral code. But Oikawa would be defeated tonight. You would reign supreme and scream your battle cry upon victory. You would have his head!

“Your the only server worthy of taking our order hot stuff.”

Hot stuff? Was that even a compliment anymore? The demeaning qualities of these delusional pledglings… ugh. You were gonna be in for a long night with this crowd.

You forced the corners of you mouth to curl. You probably looked more like the joker than a woman thrilled to be waiting on such classy lads, but you didn’t really care much. Your mind was wandering over to Oikawa's section where an eruption of laughter caught you off guard. Those women were eating up everything he said, even running their old, wrinkled fingers along his hand with flirtatious eyes.

You couldn’t let that wet paper towel beat you!

“I’ll be back in a bit to get your drinks ordered.” You turned and fled back to the kitchen.

Normally, such low ball tactics weren’t your thing. You preferred to get the job done the honest way. But today… today you’d play dirty.

“Kuroo!” His head darted up at your angelic voice, “I need you.” Words that stopped his heart and made him ascend to the heavens.

“Kuroo!”

He shook himself. Was he daydreaming again?

“What’s up sugar puff?” His nicknames always made you blush, and this time was no different.

After composing yourself, “I’m gonna beat Oikawa tonight.” You clenched your fists and stomped in excitement.

Without thinking, he grabbed the closest item, a broken broom handle, and smiled a wicked smile, “I’ll help.”

Did anyone like Oikawa?

You tried to hide the snicker that forced it's way up your throat, “no no…” his enthusiasm was endearing, but a bit too much. “I mean, I’m gonna get more tips. And you are a master schemer.”

That look. The look on your face made the butterflies in his stomach flutter uncontrollably. He could barely hold himself back from what his desires egged him to do.

“Ok…” he tossed the broom handle and went to work.

“Oh!” His hands grabbed at your shirt, “Kuroo! What the fuck?!?”

****

Oikawa's head turned to the commotion in the dish room. His usual smile faded for a split second, he recognized that voice. There was no doubt that you were up to something, he’d have to pull out the big guns tonight.

He was well aware of your desire to beat him. He never worried too much. He had each customer that sat at his tables wrapped around his finger the second he waltzed up to their seats and spoke. You’d made it abundantly clear that one day you’d make more in tips than him. He figured the sound was just you attempting some low ball move. He wasn’t wrong. He scoffed it off as some inferiority complex and walked off with a smile, his next order was up anyway.

He got to the window to see Bokuto sliding his plates to him, “order up.” His big goofy smile made the bile in Oikawa's stomach rumble upwards.

Bokuto was fun and always the life of the restaurant. Alongside Kuroo, the two were a great team. Kuroo cooking and Bokuto prepping, the food was flawless each and every time. But when Kuroo was on break, and Seiko was nowhere to be seen, Bokuto ran the kitchen, that’s when the chaos ensued.

He was a walking disaster. The only reason he wasn’t constantly in the hospital, or the building was still standing and not a pile of smoldering ash, was because of Kuroo. With a watchful eye, he guided the reckless prep cook into success. But the man burnt water if left unattended.

Oikawa grimaced, “Did you cook this?” Most of what Bokuto dished out was garbage.

“Yup. Specially made, just for your customers.”

Oikawa reluctantly grabbed the dishes and took in a big breath. He repeated over and over to himself, please don’t suck, please don’t suck as he placed the plates in front of each person.

“Enjoy your meal…” he couldn’t even say it with confidence. Bokuto's cooking was like feeding toxic waste to lab rats.

He scurried off, scared of the reactions. He couldn't bear facing them if that owl looking disaster had messed it up.

As he made it to the bar, his eyes caught you leaving the back. Something was different about you this time- something… sexy?

He couldn’t place it. Your hair was the same. Your posture was a bit better than before. Your smile bigger. But given your current table and the patrons staring happily at you, why wouldn’t you smile. Drunk college kids in this town tipped great! Their mommies and daddies paid for everything, and none of them had any concept of what’s too much money. He stared in question, wonder just what the hell happened to make him unable to remove his sight from you. He’d always been attracted to you. This was proven by his countless attempts to ask you out on dates only to be denied with a harsh no.

When he got closer, eavesdropping on your conversation, he saw it. It was your shirt.

You hadn’t changed it. You hadn’t adjusted it, only unbuttoning the top button to show more cleavage, something Seiko did all of the time. But that wasn’t it. It was what lay under either that thin fabric.

Your nipples were protruding out like you had been in the arctic tundra with no protection from the harsh elements. They stood attention and were thrust out slightly by the change in posture.

“Oh really?” He hummed to himself waiting on the drink order, “two can play that game.” His eyes falling to the older women he had been shamelessly flirting with all night.

****

Back and forth and back and forth, both of you attempting to outdo the other. The other waitstaff felt their restaurant was turning into a glorified strip club with the amount of skin showing and bulges resting on the edges of tables.

“Kagayama, Tanaka, Noya.” You curled your finger to draw them close. “I’ll show you my bra strap if you guys spend more time on my tables than Oikawas.”

Like golden retrievers, the three enthusiastically nodded their heads. Kagayama would have done it either way, you knew this. He hated the guy. He had watched him for so long, hoping to one day be taken under his wing and shown how to serve and get the best tips. But Oikawa ignored his request and moved along like the self centered, clogged salt shaker he was.

You took your break, albeit reluctantly, and counted your cash in the back room. Based on the large bulge of money in Oikawa's pocket, you had to have been almost one hundred dollars behind him. How?!?! You had done it all: showing more skin, Kuroo took off your bra and shoved your chest against the freezer door, you flirted and bent over farther to show off the goods. You played nice with the kids and smiled when they broke the glasses. How was he ahead of you?

You passed Oikawa as you came back. He was waiting in the back for a salad. His toe tapped furiously on the ground. Kagayama had been on salad duty for a few weeks and it was working out just fine. The customers loved how beautifully arranged they all were. The lettuce laying perfectly, the toppings strategically placed to allow the color to pop. The dressing- not too much or too little. If only the kid didn't take forever to put it together. When people ordered salads, all of the servers grumbled internally while maintaining a pure smile. It was a task and a half to get it out to them in a timely manner. Kagayama, the perfectionist, would not allow any of his masterpieces to leave without his stamp of approval, even if it meant they would waist for it. And since the person waiting to deliver was Oikawa, he gladly took his time.

When you returned to the floor, your section was bustling. You noted the new guy had helped keep your customers happy while you were gone.

“Thanks.” He was cuter up close.

This was the first time you had really been near him. He normally worked the morning shift to train. But now that you saw him up close, it was a surprise how good looking he was.

He didn’t speak, he only nodded and went back to his tables. He sure was a strange guy though. You hadn’t seen him smile, but his customers always seemed to be happy.

Kuroo summoned you to the window, “Bokuto is cooking all of Oikawa's meals tonight.” That devious smile, “the idiot has to learn somehow.”

Although this was good news, you also knew Bokuto had been improving over the course of the past few months. He had been cooking at home to practice and used you as a test subject for his concoctions. His food was nowhere near as gastronomically astronomical as Kuroos, but he was good enough to pass off as a cook now.

“Thanks.” You grabbed the plate and left.

When you saw Oikawa sneak off to the back, you made your move, quickly dropping off the plate and heading to his section to scan the people.

One table seemed happy, but Bokuto's food showed they were already not thrilled- no need to interfere there. Another table had already placed the tip and were getting up to leave. You weren’t above backhanded tactics to get better tips, but stealing tips from anyone was not your style. The older women… yes! The older women would be perfect. He had been working on them all night.

You weaved through the people and tables. Your eyes glued to your target like a heat seeking missile. “Good evening ladies.” Your smile brought comfort to them, “your server, Oikawa, will be right back. He just has to put some cream on his rash.” You bowed slightly, “is there anything I can get you while you wait for him to put some cream on his large, itchy rash?”

The collective looks spreading across each face was priceless. This young, handsome boy that had been charming them all night long was doing what?

“No thank you dear.” Her sweet voice was a bit shaky. You wondered if it was from age, or from the information they had just gained.

As you left, you saw them getting up and leaving. A quick peek to the table made your cheeks burn in excitement. Only a few measly dollars tossed to the table.

The games got dirtier and dirtier as the night went on: Oikawa spilling spaghetti on your white shirt. You bumped into him “accidentally” a few times forcing him to spill drinks and drop plates. He made comments about your girlfriend and how jealous she was that you flirted with guys at work, and you told a clearly straight man that Oikawa thought he was cute and handed him Oikawa's actual phone number.

You passed by him as he swooned some young college girls and dropped off their food. “Oikawa..” you said in a yell like whisper, “I saw you didn’t wash your hands. Go.” You pointed to the restrooms in the back and raised your brows.

The girls quickly looked down at the plates he had just had his hands all over. “Ladies, it’s just a gag. Our servers are so playful.” He growled his last word as his eyes seeded holes into your sauntering figure heading back to the other side of the restaurant.

An order up for tour section brought you back to the counter of food waiting.

You grabbed your next order and placed it in front of your customer, “anything else?”

Her face contorted as she looked down like you had placed the severed head of her mother in front of her. Once you noticed, you gasped in shock and retrieved it as quickly as possible.

“I’m so sorry!”

A rush order was placed. “Oh! An issue with the food? Kuroo is normally so good.” Oikawa snagged his order, the same order as yours and walked away. The bastard stole your food, switching the plates.

“That son of a bitch.” A snarled rumbled from the pit inside you and coiled around your larynx.

****

The end of the night had finally come. The last customer leaving with a full stomach and a smile. All of the tables were bussed, cleaned, and reset for the next day.

The cooks cleaned the grill, and the bussers did the dishes. You were assigned to vacuum the floor and the new guy, Iwaizumi mopped the hard surface. The bartenders, Tsukishima and Lev stacked clean glasses and counted his tips. No one bothered comparing their tips to them. They beat the wait staff every night- no exceptions.

Now was the moment of truth. You all gathered at the large round table as normal. All servers present. Akaashi, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Daichi, Atsumu, Matsukawa, Suga, Semi, and you.

Your nerves trembled leaving your hands weak and your brain a bit cloudy. That night was busy and you weren’t so lucky as to have the more cute servers over the down right handsome ones working with you. In all honesty, you’d rather have had Tadashi, Hinata, and Kenma as the other wait staff. They were tipped well, but weren’t the type to flirt or charm. Kenma was the worst, and somehow barely trailed behind you in tips almost every time you worked together.

You saw his stack of cash and that stupid grin pointed right at you. He was such a cocky asshole and all you wanted was to hold his head under water until the bubbles stopped coming up. But instead, you aggressively counted your money.

Once finished, Daichi instructed everyone to write down how much, just like every other night. Of course, anyone could choose not to disclose the number, but the competitive nature and relationship you all shared, it came as no surprise that everyone was eager to win.

The assistant manager, Ukai, although he wouldn’t encourage this type of behavior, totally encouraged this type of behavior. Even the cooks were involved, anxiously waiting to hear who came out on top.

“Alright alright! Everyone be quiet!”

No one was talking. Just light banter while they waited. Their assistant manager was a weird guy, but he was fun and didn’t mind the games they played while on the clock.

Matsukawa started, “two hundred and fifty three dollars.” He smiled. This was a huge number for him.

Atsumu huffed and rolled his eyes. If Osamu has been working that night, the two of them easily would have beat everyone. “Two hundred and seventy eight.” He smirked.

If there was one person everyone hated just as much as Oikawa, it was Atsumu. He was just as cocky and just as much of an asshole. He made your teeth grind when he spoke.

Everyone else outed their numbers: Daichi, Akaashi, Suga. It was a shock that Akaashi didn’t get more. He was so pretty and sweet. Normally women would walk in and practically throw their wallets at him. You guessed tonight was just an off night.

It was time. Oikawas stupid smirk made you shake with rage.

“Three hundred and forty five dollars.” He slammed a pile of cash in front of him to show his earnings.

Instantly you rose to your feet and celebrated. “I did it! I finally beat that deflated volleyball! ” You screamed in celebration, “four hundred and two, you moldy cantaloupe!.”

You cheered. Kuroo coming out from the kitchen to join. The two of you danced to your own little tune, if you could even call what you we’re doing dancing. It looked more like what Beavis and Butthead did when they danced than any actual dance moves.

You turned to him to high five when his lips pressed to yours, “good job.” You blushed.

A clearing throat drew your eyes from Kuroos to the table, “four hundred and twenty two.”

“Huh?” A collective hum of confusion.

“I made four hundred and-“

“We get that!” Oikawa kicked his chair out, “but how? That table of old ladies wouldn’t leave all night.”

Iwaizumi sighed, “Those women are the wives of some crazy rich business men. Their husbands have been out on a business meeting on the other side of the globe for a few days now, so they came here to get out of the house.” He explained.

He rolled his eyes, “They commented on my arms and left me a tip of four hundred dollars. I didn’t even do anything other than wait on their table.”

When he mentioned his arms, and lifted them to show, you understood exactly why those women tipped him so well. The drool practically fell from your mouth seeing the tight muscles twitch as he moved.

“There you have it.” Ukai said getting up, “now go home and relax. And no bullshit tomorrow.” He glared both you and Oikawa down. He put out to many fires that night for his liking.

You glared at Oikawa from Kuroos strong arms, “I still beat you, you overgrown weed.”

[closetdwellertales]

a heart more loyal

Whoever finds this, please know: I was a knight, once, and the land had not known a heart more loyal.

My friend (I hope I am allowed to call you so, for your hands will soon grant me the greatest gift), I know the purpose of your visit. I know what is coming, but I cannot find fear within me. My hand writes these lines as steadily as always, and the quill shivers, its trusty iron end almost dulled down. It has followed me through victories and failures. It has written my story in orders and signatures under the death sentences. I never cared to leave another memoir, for I never desired fame – and I do not desire it now. Please, read carefully, as it is a will; and even the worst of the worst are allowed a death wish.

I was a knight, once. You do not know my name, yet I had one, and it was spoken with respect. I never desired fame, but it followed me like a loyal dog: it slept by my bed and licked my hands. I was among best of the best. I dined with kings and made friends with jesters. People and beasts alike feared the cry of my horn. I had a bleeding heart, you see, easily driven to sympathy. Never did I ignore a reaching hand, a cry for help; never did I pass a battle, either.

I entered maturity under the welcoming glow of my lucky star. I did not know strife past what a heart may bear, nor did anguish touch my soul in times of struggle. Respected by most, loved by many, I basked in peace; and I knew that, should the age make my limbs leaden and my eyes weak, I would spend the rest of my days as a relic of a troubled past, amusing my children and grandchildren with the tales of my glory. No regrets, no shame would follow me into the old age. Perhaps at times I would glance at my armor, still shiny but abandoned, and feel a rush of blood, a useless quickening of the heart longing for another battle; but the pain would be soothed, and hollowness filled, by the warmth of my loving home.

I was a knight once, but the armor and the shield are no more. They were never displayed with pride, telling many a tale of courage and victory. Instead, forgotten, they rusted away. The dust under your feet may as well be the sad remnants of their shine. I took a piece of my broken sword and forged it into the iron tip for my quill, and it remained just as deadly as when it had been glistening at my hilt. The feasts and fights of my glorious youth are but a bleak memory. They thundered away and fell silent, only a distant echo still ringing in the vacant halls; and not a soul is left to listen.

My dear friend, I know the surprise you must feel. Now you must be looking with anger and confusion at the results of my toll: the dark towers of my castle, the blood-soaked fields of the land I once called mine, the rising smoke that threatens to overcome the heavens above. I am a beast among beasts, a plight among plights, a demon among men. In a dark fortress I sit, ruling over my domain with iron and fire, and not a heart may turn to me in sympathy; no lips may utter my name without disgust.

If I truly was a knight, you must say, what could have brought such a descent? What made me turn away from worldly pleasures and seek satiation in pain and suffering? Had it been a bitter love, a broken heart? Had it been revenge against a mightier foe? Had a friend betrayed me in times of need, or a liege robbed me of what was rightfully mine?

No, my friend, none of these were the reason of my fall from grace. My love stayed faithful, my friends loyal, my patrons generous; and no foe was mightier than the hand that brought them down. No, there is no need to seek the root in other places, for me myself was the reason.

Perchance you have heard of the old fairy king of the Losol forest. Know that it was my sword that brought him down, and my dagger that drew the last drops of blood from his stilling heart. Yet the old beast did not die at once, for the other folk does not live as we do; and, before his eyes closed to the daylight once and for all, he managed to utter a curse; and what curse!

I was born under a lucky star, but I did not know that its light was to shine no more. I took his crown from him, and it turned to useless twigs in my hands; I took his gold, and it turned to leaves. Oh, it was a dreary day when the fairy king cursed me. Ever before, he said, my life was a blessing; now it was to be torture. Ever before my every wish would come true; now, the curse would twist my fate and give me the opposite of what I sincerely desired. I took his life, he said, and so I was to live no more.

I was reckless, young; I did not believe the dying beast. Yet, since that dreadful day, my victories turned sour, my gains bitter. The kindness of my heart turned poisonous. When I desired peace, war would break out; when I wished for love, animosity would slither in. My old friends were thrown into poverty and grief, and their wails rang clear over the ashes. I wanted my loved ones to feast and celebrate; instead, a different feast was prepared for them, and only vultures attended. My home was broken, my beloved land in disarray. Oh, how many times I cursed my pitiful existence! Not even the fairy king could hate me more, dying, than I did still alive.

In vain, I tried to break the chain that fettered me. I turned to magicians, old wizards, witches who dabble in light and darkness both; but none of them could vanquish the curse that was sealed with a dying breath. The more I wished it gone, the stronger it remained. I despaired, I fought, but all for nothing. In the dead of the night, I could hear the voice of the dead fairy king; he laughed, he rejoiced in my pain!

Thus, I had only one way left; and I forged salvation from misery.

I taught myself to hate, to despise everything good and light; I learned fury, I planted seeds of darkness within my soul. Oh, how it ached, how it resisted! – but I was just as relentless with myself as I used to be with my worst enemies. I gave myself every repulsive habit, every deep and twisted desire that I knew in those dead by my hand. I fled from company. I threw curses at those approaching me until I was shunned from everywhere. I looked upon my past friends and lovers with repulsion; I kept reminding myself of every bit of luck they had until envy burned out love. I tore away my heart and replaced it with bronze. I weeded out every sprout of sympathy. ­I ached for love and friendship to blossom, so I denied myself both and bore the torture of seeing my familiars prosper. What a miserable, pitiful creature I was!

Yet I was not done; for my love brought endless destruction that my hatred could not so easily correct.

I sought souls as dark as mine; I found unity in them. I sowed the hatred and fed on the harvest. They were naturally repulsive; tender from birth, I had to learn their ways; and experience overcame nature. They obeyed me easily. Dirt commanded dirt, and the disease spread. I was repulsed; I gained respect. I wished them ill; they prospered. Knowing the art of battle, I gave them much and promised them more, and my troops brought me victory after bitter victory.

I ached for peace, so I commanded war.

How my soul grieved! – for every soul grieves its own death. I dissected it, replacing its very nature, and the seams never healed. Yet I was getting used to my misery. I delighted in things most unholy; what should have brought anguish, made me laugh. I ordered this fortress built, and from its heart I sent away the doves of fake treaties and ravens of attacks. I spilt blood to obtain and burned the spoils. I learned the art of magic, and the terror of my reign grew stronger. Even my very servants learned to fear me, for the darkness of my soul overshadowed theirs.

Yet I was not done.

I ordered every story about my knightly days burned; I took down memorials; I tore away pages. I threw my very name into the waters of oblivion and watched it sink. Who would suspect that such a grisly figure had known days of camaraderie, of love and fame? The knight was gone; only the king remained.

Even so, after all these years, my soul ached. Sometimes, after a day of dark madness, I would see a single ray of light come through the heavy clouds and weep; useless, empty tears! – like the rotten and disgusting ichor seeping from a fevered wound. I wished for love and respect; I obtained hatred and repulsion. I wished for salvation; I saw the entire land unite against me. I saw heroes rise to strike me down, the cries of their horns making my heart stir. Their steeds trampled my burned fields, their swords stroke down my armies. Young hearts, reckless hearts; I cursed every one of them, knowing that my curses will never come true. I wanted to take them down; now I see my armies broken, my fortress besieged. You must be one of them, my friend. I heard your horn at the gate; I must hurry.

For, as you see, lately I tried very hard to wish for life.

I spent hours upon hours, seeking enjoyment in my existence, thinking of the smallest blessings, the bleakest gifts; and now I want to keep living more than ever. Just as a single ray of sunlight finds its way through the storm clouds and lights the silenced battlefield, the sunset of my life is lit up with sublime clarity. I know that, with my death, this land will finally enjoy peace and happiness. My heart trembles with bitter bliss. Please, hurry, my trusted quill, for I will be needing you no more; you have served me well, you may lay to rest. Please, hurry, my friend; let your sword be as sharp as mine was when it cut down the fairy king, and let your luck be mightier. Don’t hesitate; deliver the greatest gift you could have given me; I am here, I am waiting.

My friend, if I may ask for a single favor: erase all my victories, all my bloody gains. Take down my kingdom, destroy my fortress, don’t leave a sign of anything that misery constructed; let dust and grass cover the battlefields; let rust eat away the obsolete swords. Oblivion is the highest reward I could ask for; let the terrors and fire wash away as a heavy dream before the dawn.

Farewell, my friend! My heart aches for rest; please, bury it in the ground of my beloved, hated, tortured land.

I served it well, and it had never known a heart more loyal.

[aethelar]

Hi! I love your fics, particularly the ones about Newt/Artemis or 'what if Newt had a stutter' or those sorts of things, and I was wondering, could you do one for what if Newt was deaf?

Massive thank you to @natural--blues​ and @pluto-pepsi​ for advice for this piece; any signs mentioned are BSL and taken from this video dictionary 

Newt knows drums. Not by their sound and not with his ears; he knows them with his fingers, vibrating against his fingertips, or with his feet, by the shockwaves they send rippling through the ground. When they’re loud it feels like they’re in his chest, punching through his ribs until his heart pounds with their relentless beat, beat, beat.

These are the drums he feels: the hippogriffs’ hooves as they gallop across the field with the wind at their backs; the booming erumpets stamping their feet in a mating dance that demands a response; the war-time shells landing in muddy - bloody - fields and leaving craters in their wake.

He doesn’t hear them whistle as they come. The shells. He feels them when they explode, but he doesn’t hear them whistle. He doesn’t hear the warning shouts, the panic, the wailing alarm and the frantic scramble of soldiers retreating to shelter.

There are a lot of things he doesn’t hear.

When he was young, the biggest thing he didn’t hear was himself. He screamed, because children scream, and he felt it in his vocal chords and rattling through his lungs. When he was happy he yelled, when he was sad he cried, when he was startled he shrieked; and he knew in theory that sounds could be loud and loud could be bad but he didn’t know that he could be loud too.

He learnt, in the end. Loud was when you intruded on other people in a way that they couldn’t ignore. Loud was when people stopped to stare, when they turned to each other and tutted, when his mother fretted anxiously and signed for him to stop with jerky, embarrassed movements. It was ok to make noise, he was allowed to make noise, but it had to be quiet noise. It wasn’t ok to be loud. Newt didn’t know how to tell the difference so he choose to keep silent instead.

My poor egg, his mother said, twisting the first movement into an N in the nickname sign she gave him. Life is too hard.

That’s a lie. Life isn’t too hard. Some of Newt’s creatures fly, but he can’t, so he fetches a broom and wobbles precariously up to meet them. Some of Newt’s creatures see in the dark, but he can’t, so he sticks markers to the walls and feels his way towards them with his hands. Some of Newt’s creatures hear, but he can’t, so he rests careful fingers against their sides and feels the way their ribs vibrate when they sing. Life isn’t too hard. It’s beautiful, whether you can hear it or not.

But when he was young his parents believed his life would be hard. They kept him close. They learnt sign language, teaching themselves and Theseus as they taught him, and the bedtime stories they told him were as much for them to practice as for him to watch. He can’t hear, they’d say when people tried to talk to him, which was true enough. And, he doesn’t understand, which was far less true than they thought it was. They talked to people for him and sometimes they translated and waited for his answer, but sometimes it was quicker to answer on his behalf.

Newt was born wide-eyed and loud with curious, reaching fingers and he didn’t know that he was deaf. Deafness was something he learnt, like he learnt to be silent, like he learnt that life was hard, like he learnt that his parents did the talking and Newt did the standing to one side to watch. They didn’t mean to teach him that. They didn’t mean to teach him a lot of things, but they worried and they hovered and he learnt them all the same.

Hogwarts is… It’s a lot. It’s different. It’s noise in the way that noise is something you can’t ignore, a cacophony of lights and spells and paintings moving on the walls, of too many people to focus on and too many of them behind him where he can’t see. Newt turns his head every time something flickers in his peripheral vision because he has to, because what if it’s someone talking to him and they think he’s ignoring them; he struggles in the common room where the light is low and the flickering firelight isn’t bright enough to see mouths by; four people talk at once and they cover their mouths and turn their heads and he can’t follow their lips and when they look at him expectantly he doesn’t know what any of them said. 

He feeds his dinner to the owls and dangles his feet out the owlery window and thinks, sourly, that if the other kids were deaf like him they’d be more considerate about how carefully they spoke to people. They’re rude, he decides. Rude and pushy and too close and too many; Newt doesn’t like them and he doesn’t see why he should have to. People have always been his least favourite kind of creature and sharing a dorm with four of them doesn’t change that. 

(He’s deaf, his parents say, it’s hard for him to be around other children, you have to understand.)

(Newt not liking people has very little to do with being deaf and very much to do with growing up with only his parents and his brother and his hippogriffs for company, but deafness is an easier thing to blame.)

It’s a bad start, and it only gets worse. Newt is made to sit at the front of the classrooms and he hates it. The only difference it makes is to single him out - he’s no deafer at the back of the room than the front, there’s no point to it. Are they expecting him to lip read the lectures? It doesn’t work like that. Some of the professors try to speak slowly for him, some of them speak with unnaturally exaggerated mouth-shapes and repeat themselves; Newt ignores them all and focuses instead on copying things down from the subtitle-charm running on the chalkboards. Sometimes it skips words. Sometimes it lags. Sometimes it picks up homonyms or someone gossiping at the back of the room. Sometimes it takes up too much space on the chalkboard and the teachers get annoyed and turn it off so they have space to draw a diagram; they explain it while they draw and stab the chalk at the important symbols with stern faced emphasis to their words and Newt has no idea what they say. Some teachers give him meticulous hand-written notes, which is thoughtful; some teachers think his brain doesn’t work because his ears don’t, which is not.

As for the students - perhaps if Newt hadn’t already decided that he preferred creatures to people it wouldn’t have been so bad, perhaps if Newt smiled at the hopeful ones that tried to gesture and write notes to talk to him, perhaps if he refined their crude signs into an actual language and taught them how to talk - but he doesn’t. He doesn’t like people, remember. Some of the students laugh at him for being friendless and nerdy and covered in feathers and, yes, sometimes, for being deaf, but when the teachers give them detention the deafness is the only thing they ever cite. Special treatment, someone sneers in astronomy class; none of the other nerds have teachers protecting them like that. It gets caught in Newt’s subtitle charm and written on the chalkboard; they get detention and Newt sinks further in his seat and pretends he doesn’t exist. So do most people, in the end. It’s easier for all involved. Newt retreats to the lake and talks to the mermaids until his hands cramp in the cold and reminds himself that people form only a fraction of intelligent life on the planet, and it’s not a fraction he has to get on with.

My poor angel, his mother says, fingers fluttering in sad, drooping wings. Life is just too hard.

It’s not. It’s not. Life isn’t too hard and Newt isn’t an angel, he’s a boy and he’s annoyed and his brain works just fine even if his ears don’t. If life is hard, it’s because people treat him as deaf first and Newt if they remember. If life is hard, it’s because the teachers make so many unnecessary allowances for him that he doesn’t know anymore when he’s done right and when he needs to improve. If life is hard, it’s because everyone has decided it’s hard, and when Newt is sixteen he’s expelled for keeping dangerous creatures on school property but everyone shakes their head and says he’s deaf like that’s the real reason, that’s the only reason, because of how it apparently makes his life so bloody hard.

He’s angry when he goes to war, thoughts tripping with silent spells and his words muffled around the handle of his wand. He’s angry and reckless and wild, wide-eyed and speechless with bitter, swearing fingers, the dropout, the deaf boy whose life they said was ruined because it didn’t have sound.

(the different boy whose life they said was ruined because no one could imagine a life without sound)

Theseus finds him in the med tent and Newt is angry there, too, but it’s a different kind of anger, unsure and afraid.

He hadn’t heard the shell whistle as it came. He hadn’t heard the warning shouts, the alarm, the other soldiers retreating back to shelter.

He’d felt the explosion when it landed. The sound punched through his ribs and the shrapnel tore through his side; the pain sent him to what was left of his knees and throbbed in his chest. Like a drum. Beat beat beat in time with his heart, loud and impossible to ignore.

Newt, Theseus says, knuckles shaking as he rubs them together. He pulls him into a hug, careful of the potion-soaked bandages, and Newt can feel Theseus’ hands still signing against his back. Newt, Newt, Newt.

I’m sorry, Newt says where Theseus can’t see. They were right. I couldn’t hear. I wasn’t good enough. I’m sorry.

The healers don’t speak sign. They have a translation charm active. It reads his words out in a bland, feminine monotone, and Newt knew they cast it but he doesn’t know they left it running. He keeps signing, clamping his elbows against Theseus’ side to stop him turning to look, awkwardly forming shapes with only his forearms free to move, and he says all the things he doesn’t want Theseus to know and the translation charm reads them out loud for everyone to hear. Everyone except Newt.

It’s too hard, he signs, defeated, and in his white-cotton sheets with the bones in his hip slowly knitting back together, he even believes it. He’s deaf. He can’t do it. Life is too hard.

It’s not, Theseus signs back, and he grabs Newt’s chin when he glares and turns away. Being deaf isn’t going to stop you, he signs with stubborn fingers and a determined scowl, and if it doesn’t work then try another way. 

Sign language is so much more than fingers. Theseus’ hands say try another way and his eyes say Because I know you and I know you can and the way he messes up Newt’s hair and smiles says You’re deaf not stupid, you idiot.

Theseus stays with him while he heals. He stays, and he worries, and he even hovers, but he doesn’t talk for him. He doesn’t pretend Newt’s not there. He doesn’t act like Newt won’t be able to manage without him. Not to the healers who ask him how is brother is doing, not to the officers who look at Theseus when they discuss Newt returning to the front. Theseus translates, when Newt wants him to, but he only translates; he doesn’t talk for Newt and he doesn’t answer on Newt’s behalf. He never has, not in the park where the other children played and Newt’s too-loud laughter said all it needed to, not in the shops where Newt pointed and mimed and even wrote out the things he needed and the vast majority of shop workers tried their best to understand, not in Hogwarts where Newt’s brain worked just fine and he learnt his way through textbooks and class notes and finger-spelled the charms that sign language didn’t cover until he’d fixed them in his mind and mastered them.

Newt can’t hear. Theseus can. When his bones have reknitted and his muscles regrown Newt transfers to a different regiment, and then Newt can ride dragons. Theseus can’t. They both survive the war.

Newt never really learns to like people. He’ll always prefer his creatures, prefers talking to them slowly and wonderingly with gentle movements that are careful not to cause alarm. They talk back, in the tilt of their heads and the flutter of their wings resettling over their shoulders, in the twitch of their tails and the way their ears lie flat against their skulls. Sound is one way to communicate but Newt is more than his lack of hearing and there are so many more ways to talk than speaking.

When she is eight months old Addie the nundu sits back on her haunches and lifts her right paw in a clumsy wave. She brings it to her chin with her claws in and pushes it forwards with her claws out and Newt is so startled he laughs.

Hello beautiful, he repeats back to her. It’s the same greeting he’s given her every morning since he rescued her and he does it again, grinning and holding back tears and however hard life is or isn’t it’s all worth it just for this.

She butts her head against him and her purr reverberates through his chest; he feels it in his ribs and his lungs and the steady beat, beat, beat of his heart.

[multsicorn]

[this is from ep 32, as i am watching for the first time, replies are welcome but please don’t spoil me!]

I can’t figure out whether - or how much - I think Wei Wuxian’s demons are getting to him.  And how much I think, well, he has a point.  Like he says’s: he’s always been arrogant, like this.  Also: reckless, inappropriate, flippant.

Yet the assembled clans have a point, too.  Wen Ning killed people, and more people, and whether it’s their true motive or not (my verdict: it’s complicated), and whether this is actually, after all, in-character for him, or not… Wei Wuxian doesn’t address their point.

He addresses a whole bunch of other things, and I love him for it.  I love the way he calls out random redshirt number five who says that he always admired Wei Wuxian (I don’t even know who you are~ yes, it’s an arrogant bastard thing to say, but what can I say, I have a weakness for those).  I love the argument he makes that he’s been driven to everything.  ‘You can attack me, but I can’t defend myself!?’  Because he’s not entirely wrong - he was driven out, he was ambushed unprovoked - nor is he entirely right!   He’s responsible for killing innocents!  Even if he didn’t want to, or mean to.  But, in any case, that bit is entirely Wei Wuxian.

And I love it!?!?  

I love even more when his laughter starts turning into crying - tears in his eyes - when he says, I shouldn’t kill this one, I shouldn’t kill that one!?  Cause we saw that he was in fact SUPER FUCKED UP about killing Jin Zixuan, but he can’t, y’know, apparently be anywhere but on the defensive in a situation like this.  So call it all someone else’s fault for setting up the situation, that’s a brilliant idea, Wei Wuxian.

But he just can’t stop fighting, stop arguing, stop justifying or defending himself, stop being angry about the way that the people who’d become his family-in-exile were killed… and why should he do any of these things?  I may say, Wei Wuxian, it’s being a smartass this far down the road that gets you killed; but if he’d instead back down, if he’d let down his guard, would he even be alive up there on the roof?  No, probably not…. and in any case, he wouldn’t be himself.

And it’s just fascinating to me to think: maybe the question isn’t whether the demon flute’s affected him at all or not.  It has, at certain points, in certain ways.  But if the question is whether he’s lost himself - no, he fucking hasn’t.  THIS IS HIM, up there on that roof, clever and relentless and underneath the laughter as serious as ever.

And it’s… not quite him?  Not TYPICAL of him, to throw an arrow back into someone’s chest, to bring up his flute to kill everyone in that yard, I daresay, if ‘need be.’  But could such actions be typical of anyone?  (Someone, maybe, but not anyone one’d care about.)  But it is like him to say - even before and without the flute - to say, fuck rules, fuck consensus, fuck any and all of you, I’m doing what I need to do.  And since this is what he needs to do to know he’ll stay alive…..

When you’ve assimilated the demon flute, yeah, maybe it’s not about corruption after all.  Maybe you’ve mastered it that much.  But you still can’t escape the consequences, the situations, that both following and using it, in the context of everyone else, have brought you to…!

[blouisparadise]

As promised, here is the second part to our established relationship bottom Louis fic rec list. Part one can be found here. Happy reading!

1) Give and Take | Explicit | 1837 words

Sometimes Louis just needs.

2) Just A Trim | Explicit | 2260 words

“Harry. Darling. Can you explain to me what I’m looking at, before I rip your throat out through the phone?” “That would be me, holding a braid of hair in my hand.”

Or, the one where Harry gets a haircut, and Louis, along with the rest of the world, loses his mind.

3) Lips Are Like The Galaxy’s Edge | Explicit | 2360 words

Harry licks over Louis’ hole slowly, deliberately, and his tongue is like velvet and Louis’ skin is burning at every junction where Harry touches him and it’s all so good he thinks he might cry. He licks a few more times, moaning softly like he’s relishing the taste of Louis and that’s just, well, fuck.

4) Louder Louder | Explicit | 2931 words

There's really only one way to get Louis out of a mood this terrible, and Harry is prepared to sacrifice his entire evening if necessary.

5) He Steps Out, The Crowds Lose Their Minds For Him | Mature | 3022 words

The exact moment Harry feels his resolve break is when he pads into the bathroom one evening, yawning and scratching his arm to see Louis standing in front of the mirror, eyes downcast as he spreads one of his hands out on the slight bump of his tummy, rubbing over the jumper he’s wearing. Which, Harry is pretty sure, belongs to him.

It comes out accidentally. Accidentally, as in he didn't want it to come out yet, but it did. “I want a baby.”

6) Reckless | Explicit | 3028 words

Harry thinks it's criminal, the way Louis looks in his suit, sharp and expensive.

The feeling's mutual, judging by the way that (at his mother's wedding, no less) Louis leans in and says, "I bet you can fuck me without ruining that suit."

Harry does his best.

7) Handprints And Good Grips | Explicit | 3330 words

Harry wants to pull them down and suck him off. Harry wants to never take them off and eat him out over the lace. Harry wants to push them aside and fuck the imprint right into Louis’ body.

8) Painless With Immense Distance | Explicit | 3793 words

“You know when we talked about kinks and stuff awhile back and you said you wanted to try something?” Harry continues with a devious grin. Louis’s a bit lost and he tries to think about exactly what Harry is thinking about which honestly could be a handful of things.

“Prostate massage?” Harry asks like it’s as common as the sky is blue.

9) All In My Mind | Teen & Up | 4305 words

Louis and Harry find out they're expecting, and tell the boys. kind of.

10) With All My Surrendered Hearts | Mature | 4810 words

Louis beams, no, he fucking glows at that. He’s always been gone for this boy, ever since they met at ages fifteen and seventeen, back when they both worked at the Doncaster golf club, with grass-stained knees and evenings spent pushing each other into the ponds. It’s always been one of their quirks to add a bit of poetry. ("Because sometimes I feel like those three words aren't enough," Harry had explained.) Louis feels like he’s holding a flame inside of his ribcage.

Or, the one where they're long distance boyfriends, and Louis rides Harry while wearing his snapback.

11) Folded Up All Pretty (Fit Into You) | Explicit | 5655 words

“Missed me?” Harry laughs into his mouth, and it ought to be awkward with the way Louis’ tongue pushes at his teeth and the stretched out corners of his mouth, but really, it isn’t.

12) Heart Beats Slow (I Wish You) | Explicit | 6011 words

“These,” Louis pauses with a half-eaten toast in his hand and a stale bite of buttery bread still in his mouth, he feels like choking on it, “are girl’s pants. Why would I look good in girl’s pants? Do you not like my current choice in underwear or what?”

Or, the one where Louis loves panties and Harry loves Louis.

13) Want It All The Time, Need It Every Day | Explicit | 6306 words

Louis visits LA a week before the boys head to Australia for On The Road Again.

He and Harry have some catching up to do.

14) That Ugly Ass Yellow Shirt | Explicit | 7502 words | Sequel 1 | Sequel 2 | Sequel 3

"This," says Louis, holding up a shirt from the box, "is the ugliest fucking shirt I've ever seen."

15) Casting Lines | Explicit | 7554 words | Sequel

Amidst the noise - the dog whining, Jamie's shrieking, Evie's giggles and bird noises, and Daniel asking loudly, again, about ice-skating - Louis leans in to press a kiss to Harry's smiling mouth. "Hi."

Harry doesn't loosen his grip on Evie's ankles where they hang over his shoulders, but he kisses Louis back and murmurs a quiet, "Hey, love."

16) Cease the Day | Explicit | 8195 words

In which 1D Day takes on a whole new meaning.

Instead of a seven hour livestream, the One Direction team deem it more profitable to offer an entire day spent with any one member of the band for the highest bidder. What happens when the same buyer wins both Louis and Harry for a day?

17) Forever, Uninterrupted | Explicit | 8578 words

Harry finds a mysterious picture in Louis' bag one night and drives himself crazy over it. It's definitely not what he thinks.

18) Spice Up Your Life | Explicit | 9501 words

After a conversation with his Uni friends, Harry worries that his relationship with Louis has lost it's spark.

19) Anything Goes | Explicit | 10275 words

Harry probably shouldn't be amused that Louis has a death grip on his hand and is dragging away from an event that, you know, they should be at. And he still probably shouldn't have that god awful smirk plastered to his face when Louis shoves him into the bathroom and steps in before locking the door.

20) You Are My Favorite Place | Explicit | 10347 words

It had gutted Harry when he saw the headlines splashed across the gossip rags, the ones proclaiming the house he planned to make their home in LA was a bachelor pad. With both of them doing more producing and writing, Harry knew that they would need a place here so they wouldn't have to travel so much. As soon as he'd seen it and how remote it was, he knew it would be perfect.

It was so much more than some stupid bachelor pad.

Shaking his head, Harry glanced over at Louis. He was smiling, the one that Harry loved the most. His eyes were crinkled and his mouth was stretched wide; he looked so pleased that Harry had to lean over and kiss his temple. “So what do you think?” he asked, pressing the words against Louis's cheekbone. He pulled away to usher him into the house and they dropped their bags in the expansive entryway.

Harry had changed a bit of the decorating since the last time Louis had been there, making it more like the house the two of them shared in London. This one was more open, with more windows and more space for them to be themselves. No interruptions, no looking over their shoulders, just the two of them to break in all the new furniture.

He couldn't wait.

21) Can’t Blame Gravity | Explicit | 11931 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

They have a tradition on their birthdays.

22) We Should Get Jerseys | Mature | 12147 words

Harry is a hockey player, and Louis is his slightly melodramatic boyfriend.

23) Let’s Take the World By Storm | Explicit | 14656 words

Harry lifts his head off Louis' chest to look at Louis' face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

“I don’t know, but our sex life feels a bit boring, ‘sall,” Louis says, completely avoiding eye contact.

“Boring.” Harry says flatly. He doesn’t say anything more, and Louis looks up to see that Harry seems to be mulling it over.

“Yeah, boring," Louis says, and keeps talking before Harry can pipe up. “I mean, think about it. We’ve been dating since X Factor, and now things are starting to drag a bit. We don’t even have the time for handjobs anymore, much less actual sex.”

24) Dreams Can’t Take The Place Of Loving You | Explicit | 15496 words

In which Liam is the go-to ring guy, Niall's relentless, Zayn is family, and Harry and Louis are disgusting.

25) I Would Follow You (To the Moon and Back) | Explicit | 20355 words

Everyone has baggage, some people sleepwalk, some have obsessive exes, and others turn into anthropomorphic wolf-like monsters that destroy furniture and run rampant in the forest. Perfectly normal.

Or the one where Harry and Louis have been dating for six months, Harry is a werewolf, and it's a full moon. This time they're going to get it right.

26) All The Diamonds You Have Here | Not Rated | 21603 words

It hits Louis now, how fucking close to the precipice they’re standing. Or, an au feat. investment banking and children.

27) Love Like Wildfire | Explicit | 21744 words

Louis was an Omega and a Prefect. Harry was an Alpha and a little rascal. They were mates, drawn to each other since they first met in the Hogwarts Express. They worked well like that, or at least they tried, which only made their relationship way more interesting.

28) Sort Your Head And Facedown | Explicit | 26426 words

Harry gets sent to an alternate universe where most everything is the same and most everything has changed.

29) What This World Is About | Explicit | 34472 words

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[backtothestart02]

To Trust is Not to Falter - 1/1 | frary fanfiction

A/N: My first frary/reign fanfiction to fix the angsty mess that was the end of 2x05 (since I was hurting when I recently watched it). Enjoy! (if you decide to read it, lol)

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing and @hamaheaven for reading it over and making sure it was in character and realistic. You guys are the greatest!

Synopsis: 2x05 - alternate ending - Francis confesses to Mary that Narcisse is blackmailing him. 

“There is something else going on.”

A frustrated sigh slipped out of him as he turned back to the fireplace, staring down into the flames with an intensity that did nothing to calm the storm inside of him; the need for her to just stop talking. What he wouldn’t give to just miniaturize himself enough to go down into that fiery pit, to cease to exist because then he wouldn’t have to make awful choices that went against everything he believed in. Everything Mary believed in.

He wouldn’t feel weighed down every moment of every day for the foreseeable future, not knowing if that day would be his last if Narcisse grew tired of blackmailing him and decided to take pleasure in a riot and execution instead, Mary’s head on a pike beside him as he’d foretold.

Worst possibly than all of that is that playing the puppet to Narcisse’s strings, Francis would become a mirror image of his father, tearing the country apart in violence based off on the whims of a Catholic noble who thought he knew best.

“Lately you’ve been…distant…”

And then there was that.

“…acting as though you’re haunted by something…”

He turned back around.

She knew him. She knew him so well. Everything inside of him screamed to just tell her. Who could he trust more than Mary with his deepest, darkest secrets, with the worst side of himself? No one. Bash, maybe, but he didn’t want to endanger either of their lives by forcing them to carry the burden that weighed him down every day. He already felt guilty for killing his own father, despite his conviction that it was absolutely necessary. Narcisse’s blackmail intensified his emotions in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“I need peace…and quiet…” he muttered under his breath, walking past her.

But she would not be silenced.

“You need to trust me, to share things with me.”

He trusted her with his life. But with this? How could he share this with her knowing her life might be the cost of the knowledge he bestowed upon her?

“Not everything can be solved by talking, by love, by you. There are things we cannot change, that cannot be undone; things that I don’t tell you to protect you.”

Her voice rose as she tossed the item in her hand to the side in her frustration.

“Protect me from what?”

She was relentless.

“Your death!”

The words silenced her. All he could see was that intense, confused, shocked look in her eyes, and all he could hear was her heavy breathing filling the space between them. His fingers tingled. Her skin warming and then cooling as he stared right back at her until she gathered enough thought to speak again.

It was all about to come undone.

“What are you talking about?” she asked carefully.

“Mary, please,” he begged, tears welling in his eyes.

“Francis.”

She came to him and clutched his arms.

“Don’t make me say any more, please.”

“You have to tell me, Francis.” He shook his head, unable to form words. “You have to tell me, or the distance will grow between us, the country will fall apart. Your decision tonight cannot be undone but future poor decisions can be prevented.”

“I can’t,” his voice broke. “I can’t lose you.”

“Who has threatened me?” she demanded.

Her voice alternating between soft and imploring, between the whispers of his wife and the firm demands of his queen, told him he was going to tell her. He couldn’t think of another thing to tell her to throw her off course.

“Narcisse.”

Her eyes widened, and she released him.

“This is further punishment then? For what I did to his son?”

“He is not just trying to punish you or me. He is trying to rule France with me as his puppet.” He pushed his hair out of his face, frustrated and desperate and scared.

“How can he do this? We can imprison him just for the threat alone.”

Francis’ shallow breathing finally led way to the devastating truth.

“He is blackmailing me.”

“With what?”

Mary was nearly delirious with her impatience, but it was impossible for him to speed up what he needed to say. It was so hard. He felt like he was ordering her death sentence with every breath he took.

“With the truth of my father’s death.”

Mary paused, her brows furrowed in confusion. She folded her arms against herself. Francis couldn’t look at her.

“But Montgomery killed Henry.”

Francis squeezed his eyes shut to prevent the tears from flowing and turned away from her. He clutched their bedpost and slowly sat down on the bed.

“No, he didn’t.”

Mary made her way to him and stood in front of him, waiting.

“What do you mean?” she asked gently, and he wanted to fall into her, let her hold him, just live in that moment for eternity so he wouldn’t have to face the world again.

Instead, tears streaming down his face, he looked up at her.

“I killed him.”

Her eyes widened.

“Francis.”

He swallowed hard.

“He had gone mad.” He shook his head, remembering his anger and grief when he’d shouted his explanation at the play-acting nanny Narcisse had hired to torment him. “He was going to kill me, so he could marry you, and then kill you, so he could rule France and England and Scotland – all of it!” He took a slow deep breath and looked at her. “I couldn’t let him do it, Mary. It was the only way, I couldn’t…”

She came and sat down next to him on the bed, shock reverberating through her.

“So, after Catherine and I…”

“Yes.”

She took a slow, deep breath.

“And how does Narcisse come to know of this? Did anyone see you?”

“He has Montgomery.”

“But there is no evidence it was you.”

With an effort of will, he pushed himself off the bed, crossed the room to grab the bloody piece of wood delivered to him earlier, and held it out to her.

“Is this…?” She held her hand out hesitantly, and he gave it to her.

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.” She turned to him when he sat back down beside her. “But still, there’s no way for this to prove you’re the killer. Even Montgomery’s words are nothing against the King’s. How did Narcisse know for sure?”

“The nanny.”

She straightened. “What about her?”

He sighed, tucking some of the wild locks behind his ear.

“He paid her to pretend to be my father.” Her disbelieving look pushed him to continue. “To pretend to be possessed by him, but only when I was alone with her.” Reluctantly he met her gaze again. “I didn’t believe it at first, but…she knew details about my father that a commonplace nanny in the castle would not know. And with all this talk after the plague of seeing ghosts and black riders and a reckoning…I started to believe anything was possible, even my father’s ghost coming back to haunt me for killing him.”

“Oh, Francis.”

She placed her hand on his cheek. He let himself lean into it, feel the cool softness of it, believe in that single moment that everything was okay again.

“Finally, it got to be too much…I was so convinced that when she made the accusation…I admitted to it, and conveniently – conveniently…” He lifted his head to look away, disgusted, infuriated by how he’d been manipulated and deceived. “Narcisse was in the room when it happened. I should have killed him on the spot, but I…” His shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want to be like my father.” He fisted his hand resting on his knee.

Mary covered her hand over his, willing him to relax with her there beside him.

All emotion left his voice.

“I ordered the guards to take the nanny to the infirmary and make sure she didn’t leave, but Narcisse went there later and had her released. Now he has Montgomery and the nanny to use against me. Even if we insist it is a baseless rumor…people may still believe it. I’m sure many would. The truth means nothing when people would rather believe the lie.”

Mary sighed and pulled him toward her, resting his head against her neck and taking his weight when he leaned into her.

“I’m so sorry, Mary…so sorry. I didn’t tell you because if it ever came to light, I wanted you to be able to say honestly that you didn’t know. Then only I would be executed because you would have no part in it.”

She closed her eyes at the words, at his reckless selflessness and need to keep her safe.

“Shh…it’s okay,” she soothed, rubbing her hands down his arms, over his curls, his cheeks, holding him to her.

After a long while, he lifted his head to look into her eyes, tears still streaming down damp cheeks.

“I’ve sentenced you to death.”

“No.” She cupped his face, holding it in place, forcing him to look her in the eyes and not look away. “You’ve been honest with me. If Catherine and I had killed Henry, you would have known because you found out.” She attempted a smile, but it didn’t last. “We would be in the same predicament now if that had been the cause of his death.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’m glad you told me, Francis. We will fight this together. We will beat Narcisse.”

“But how?” His voice faded in the last breath of his question.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, a tremulous smile back on her lips. “But whatever the future brings, what’s most important is that we face it together. You said that, remember?”

He nodded slowly.

“No matter what comes up against us, I will fight at your side. I will not leave you. You just have to let me.”

“I love you, Mary,” he said, watching her as she wiped his tears away.

“I love you, too, Francis,” she returned. “I always will.” She took a breath. “We may not have a solution now, but we will find one.” She stroked his face, gently brushing her fingertips over his golden locks.

"I understand now why you acted the way you did today, but if he corners you again, we will fight it. And if we must cave to his wishes until we can find a way to undermine it, then we shall do so together. We may falter as King and Queen in the beginning of our reign, but as long as we stay united as husband and wife, nothing will stand in our way.” She leaned forward and smiled genuinely. “We will be unstoppable.”

He nodded, the hint of acceptance of hope in the brief squint of his eyes when he tried his best to smile at her.

“Thank you, Mary.”

She softened, a smile on her lips as she closed the last bit of distance between them with a gentle kiss. A distraction – and a much needed one at that – Mary deepened the kiss, pushing him back onto the bed and encouraging him to touch her.

There would be no more talk tonight.

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[mediocreronpas]

Izuru, Kiibo, Junko, Korekiyo, Hoshi, Tanaka, Ouma, and Angie with a cuckoolander/SHSL Fantasy Writer S/O

These two were so similar that I decided to combine them, hope you don’t mind.

- Mod Teruteru

Izuru Kamukura

- He feels like you should be less interesting.

- But you kind of aren’t.

- The way you kind of just wander around aimlessly for hours is amusing.

- How you can turn a trip to the mall into an amazing and well detailed fantasy story is a skill that you have that he thinks is cute.

- You start yelling the introduction when you open your front door and search for a piece of paper.

- He would read your stories and piece together what outings they were.

- A story about picking up a queen and king to take them to a safe house when them and their kingdom was being attacked… that time Sonia and Gundam had to get their house gassed due to termites and you let them stay here for the week.

- One about a wood elf and a drow elf being forced to judge an eating contest between two trolls by the human chef the trolls captured to make the food… When Akane and Twogami had an eating competition at Teruteru’s house and Hanamura forced you and Izuru to stay in case something bad happened.

- Keeping you out of trouble while you were in a floaty state was something else he did.

- He basically kept you from doing anything weird.

- Not that you knew what you were doing.

Kiibo

- He’s so confused by you.

- How could you not know any kind of human standards when you started living in the human world from the very beginning?

- He doesn’t know why you think magic exists either.

- There’s been plenty of scientific studies from thousands of years ago that proved magic to be non-existent.

- He’s shown them to you

- But no.

- The chocolate you get in your basket every year is from a rabbit, and the gifts you get that aren’t labeled from anyone is from santa.

- He does like it when you write stories with someone you say was inspired by him.

- Like a steampunk robot boy and his faithful teenage inventor.

- Or an ancient stone guardian in the shape of a teenage boy.

- When doing things weird, Kiibo doesn’t know when to stop you.

- Usually it’s too late.

- But he enjoys learning about regular human life with you.

- So that’s a perk.

Junko Enoshima

- She loves how you just kind of float around the halls.

- You’re never really sure what your next class is, and neither is anyone else.

- Especially since you call them things like scrolling and training.

- You light up when Junko knows that the things you are talking about are english and gym.

- When you walk on the street together you spout descriptions about them as if they were stone roads filled with peasant owned stalls. Then you looked at Junko and described a beautiful pink haired queen being forced to walk the peasants road because her horse carriage was in the shop.

- Then Junko would tap into her queen persona and yell “Bow down peasants! Your queen has graced you with her presents!”

- You love it when she changes personalities, by the way.

- You’ll play along with whatever she pulls with full enthusiasm.

- Even if you both get in trouble.

- Which is an aspect she loves.

Korekiyo Shinguji

- He finds you extremely interesting.

- The way he met you was the first interesting thing.

- You were just sitting in an empty classroom all by yourself, staring at the ceiling.

- He kind of just sat at the opening of the door until he decided to approach you.

- And when he did you snapped out of your little trance and scooted backwards a bit so your back touched the wall.

- “After his long winded observation, the onyx haired vampire decided it was time to introduce himself.”

- Shinguji put a finger to his mask covered mouth.

- “Oh? Am I the onyx haired vampire?”

- “His stance was fierce yet sophisticated. Though it intimidated the elf a bit, it also intrigued them.”

- You stood and looked him in the eye.

- “‘They got up from their resting spot to make themselves look more dangerous.’ My name is F/N L/N. I am a lythari in search for the Glass of the Forgotten. Have you seen it in this area by any chance?”

- You were kind of confusing him, then he realized.

- “You mean this pair of glasses I found in the other room?”

- As soon as your sharp eyes met with the glasses, they became soft and friendly. You had come out of your magical adventure status and into your regular head in the clouds one.

- “Hmm? Can I have those please? A friend of mine lost them. I can’t remember which though…”

- Since your first meeting, you had kept hanging around Shinguji, in search of things that you could turn into fantastical stories.

- This just gave Korekiyo all the more reason to study you and your ‘magical’ antics.

Ryoma Hoshi

- He is constantly pulling you from possible embarrassing situations.

- A lot of face palms are in order.

- You even wrote a book with the two of you as inspired characters.

- “The most deadly sin of all.”

- It’s about a reckless satyr and their intelligent gnome partner in search of the demons of the seven deadly sins, Greed (Togami), Wrath (Nidai), Gluttony (Akane), Lust (Teruteru), Envy (Hajime), Sloth (Himiko), and Pride (Ouma). So they can defeat them, collect the relics they hold and summon the devil king so they can kill them once and for all.

- It’s already a bestseller.

- So much so that you and Hoshi get recognized on the streets and complimented on for the general descriptions of the characters and the lovable arc the gnome goes through as he tries to get over his past as a criminal so he can get closer to the satyr.

- Whenever this happens your imagination explodes and Hoshi has to stop you from yelling some sort of line you would write in a book.

- You love calling Hoshi’s tennis matches battles.

- He sometimes wishes that he was up there to stop you from yelling stuff like, “Go Hoshi! Smite the beast right through the heart!”

- But he appreciates the enthusiasm.

Gundam Tanaka

- At first he thought you were just playing along with his act.

- Then he noticed how you were doing it all the time.

- You always stayed in a floaty state of mind until Gundam went into character.

- Then you became somewhat of a supervillain with a super intense voice.

- You were kind of like, all of what Gundam wanted to be when he was younger.

- You once sang a rock version of “You’re Welcome” from Moana to him while pretending to be a demi god.

- He absolutely loves the things you’re willing to do to prove that you were magic.

- Wait are those his deer?

- Whenever you weren’t in your state of magic and adventures, you barely knew what was going on.

- You’ll just switch from badass relentless supervillain to a little soft rabbit who was dropped off in the middle of who knows where.

- Whenever this happened, you would walk over to Gundam and quietly ask him what you need to do.

- Gundam gets fuzzy feelings when he thinks about this part of your personality.

- But for some reason when he thinks of your villain persona, he feels like he’s getting a burst of adrenaline.

- He can’t decide which one is better.

- So he asks you what you think.

- “‘The high elf scratched their head in confusion. They didn’t really know how to answer this.’ Well how about, ‘They said in a low voice. ‘You love both sides equally instead trying to like one half of a person better than the other.’”

- Gundam thought on this for a bit, then he laughed.

- “You are correct as always S/O. It was foolish of me to ask such a question.”

- Then you went back to your fluffy state.

- “Mm, I don’t know. It was just something I came up with on the spot. You don’t have to take it seriously.”

- Then Gundam laughed some more and caressed your face.

- “Its okay. You’re right. I should love all of you. Not just some of you.”

- “Thank you.”

Kokichi Ouma

- You started off as rivals.

- In your eyes, you began your meeting with him with a duel. He had insulted your mechanical friend and you wanted revenge.

- You constantly referred to him as a black hearted halfling who used his magic to lie and manipulate people.

- While he called you a delusional asylum escapee.

- When he tries to mess with you, you tend to have your head in the clouds and unknowingly ignore him.

- When you do this he starts whining loudly.

- When he did this the first time you snapped out of your trance and glared at him.

- “The mighty high elf angrily stared at her rival for interrupting their peaceful visit to their mind palace. ‘You’re lucky I don’t blink you to the Ethereal Plane.’ They growled. ‘For what reason do you have for interrupting me?’”

- Then Ouma blinked at you and smiled.

- “I was just trying to save you from your own insanity. One more minute inside your own head and you would have gone bananas for real!”

- You continued glaring at him.

- “Or maybe not. Who knows, I am a liar after all.”

- You laughed.

- “‘The opinion of my sanity is my decision and my decision alone.’ Then the high elf smiled. ‘There’s no room for any opinion even close to one made by a shorty like you.’”

- But you both learned to settle your differences.

- You stopped calling each other names. You agreed to stop making fun of Ouma’s height as long as Ouma stopped teasing your soft kitten like side.

- And whenever you went to your soft side, he...sometimes lets you know what’s going on.

- Not always.

- I want to make that clear.

- You would always cross your arms and make a cute huff when he didn’t

- Which is why he didn’t often.

Angie Yonaga

- She always finds your strange mannerisms as a blessing from Atua.

- Whenever you began spouting whatever about two pixies traveling the world together, she would out her hands together and says two or three words in a language you don’t know to thank him.

- She loves and triggers your soft side a lot.

- “Uhh, Agnie, can you please help me write my next book. My fans are getting antsy.”

- “Okay S/O! Do you want to pray with me? Atua may have some good ideas he wants to share!”

- “Ah, okay.”

- Then you and Angie would get into a prayer session.

- Thanks to Angie’s prayers, you have written plenty of amazing books.

- But this was mostly because some of these prayer sessions can last for a long while. And when they end you’ll just sit down and write mindlessly then publish a book without really knowing what it was about.

- As long as Angie had helped you, you thought it was a good book.

- Which she found really cute.

[coffee-for-himchan]

Definite Betrayal (Himchan mafia/gang AU pt.4)

Word count: 8.9 k+

Genre/warnings: Mafia/gang AU (Contains swearing and violence, more than the previous parts but still nothing too excessive)

Summary: It was certain now - Jongup knew something the others didn’t, but Himchan was determined to find out what it was. This was the first time you got caught up in something as horrible as your lover’s harsh everyday life and reality - a betrayal, and gunfight and the conclusion that not everything someone promised always turned out to be the truth. With shots and tears mixing up in the air, you couldn’t do anything other than clinge to Himchan’s side and pray for everything to unfold in your favor. For everything to be fine again.

THIS IS PART 4 // PART 1 CAN BE FOUND HERE // PART 2 IS HERE // PART 3 IS HERE

He shoots.

Recharges, and once again. Shoots.

He shoots like there is no tomorrow, because if he won’t watch his steps and cover his head, there might in fact not be one.

He shoots right where it will hurt the most, and where it will drain the most blood.

He shoots like he saw it when they did it to his family, with no mercy shown and an emotionless face on.

He shoots so that they won’t survive, but he will.

He shoots. Recharges, and shoots again, because he has to become the best. In order to never let the most important people of his life slip away once again. Ever.

“Take it easy,” Himchan said, leaning against the wall as he watched the kid get furious every single time he didn’t hit the set up targets exactly in the middle, “The only thing you’re going to achieve if you’ll continue in that pace will be fatigue.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jongup said calmly, making Himchan chuckle in response. He was such an animal, reckless and relentless, and, on top of that, hard to understand. Wired in a different way and missing a few screws. But for some reason, Himchan had found a liking in the kid, seeing some of his own morals and features deeply hidden in between Jongup’s fiery temper. He had to be watched closely at all costs, but for some reason he’d gotten most of Himchan’s trust already.

Most, because he’d never get the full package. No one who betrayed their team in any way or fashion for any reason could ever achieve that, no matter how hard they tried.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you that you shouldn’t talk like this to older people? “Respect” - does that word ring any bells, hmm?“ Himchan asked, earning an annoyed glance from the younger. “How about you land a decent shot before you talk confidently like that-" 

Shoot.

Perfect, in the very middle of the target, and, on top of that, the bullet went right past Jongup’s nose, making him flinch in surprise. 

"Did I miss, or did I hit it?” Himchan narrowed his eyes a little, trying to make out the outline of the target, “I don’t quite see that well in the distance..”

The look on Jongup’s face displayed a mixture of utter terror and plain admiration. He tried to wrap his mind around it, and to how Himchan was able to have such perfect aim even thought his vision was nowhere near perfect. It scared him, yet made him want to look up to this man who had been a complete stranger, and, on top of that, an enemy just a few months ago.

“How?”

Now Himchan was the one smirking, even thought it was usually Jongup’s default facial expression and not his. They looked at each other, with a half-tense, half-amused expressions written all over their faces, until Himchan finally moved, dropping his weapon and cracking his fingers.

“You know your aim is better than mine, right?” He asked, eyeing Jongup up and down, “And it will probably be like that forever, no matter how hard I try to polish up my skills…”

“.. I, in fact, might even be the most useless one of all in our team. Youngjae is better than me at shooting as well as you, and Yongguk is the man with the plan, always keeping an eye open to how the situation might unfold and being good at backup, as well as being good on the frontlines. So say, when you saw me out there for the first time, what were your thoughts about me?”

Silence hung over their heads for a moment, as Jongup thought carefully of what to say next.

“I thought I’d bring you down with ease, but your reflexes are way beyond anybody’s,” Jongup had to admit, even if that didn’t come from his heart, but rather escaped his mouth quite unwillingly.

“Say, do you think this ability of mine to save my own skin could be useful for the team?”

Needless to say, the answer was no. It was good for him, but it was of almost no use for the gang.

“Exactly, it’s beyond useless. But there’s something else I’ve learned to do just to not feel like I’m completely unneeded..”

“… I’ve learned that if you put yourself out there for a whole hundred percent the moment you step out and make your first shot, you will burn out relatively fast. Your issue is that you don’t use your head, but rather act upon emotion. Being invested in the thing that you do, and having the right attitude, which is often tied together with frustration, anger and fury, is always useful. But if you don’t keep a cool head and don’t focus, you won’t get far,” Himcan said, walking a few steps to the front.

“I can concentrate and keep a cool head when everyone else is losing it, as well as I can think a few steps ahead. So for me, even with my bad vision, it will always be much easier to hit a target perfectly than for you, who’s always lost in the moment and in emotions, not thinking of what will follow, not even realizing the target isn’t a potential enemy but just an object that can't move or fire back..”

Jongup’s blood could keep boiling, but that wouldn’t change all of these facts even in the least. Himchan was right, just as he always was.

Clashes of opinions, threats and word fights - it all had happened between these two over the years, but even after all of that Jongup couldn’t help but admire Himchan. He wanted to hate him, but couldn’t, simply because there was nothing to hate. No flaws to point out and no weak spots to hit.

How could someone who was nothing special be so perfect and non-ordinary? And how could someone with a lower skill still be the best in many situations, even taking over the leading role at some point and leaving the others to follow his well thought-through commands and instructions?

How comes Kim Himchan was like this, and how could he be tricked?

“I’m afraid Himchan isn’t home, so whatever you were planning to attempt to do, it won’t work or go unnoticed. That is…Unless you came to meet up with me…”

It was a staring contest, a battle of who could keep their grounds stronger and longer. Jongup definitely didn't want this encounter of yours to start off like this, and as he saw you reacting this way after you caught him sneaking into your home, he felt cold sweat dripping down his neck. He didn’t anticipate this at all. Acting upon emotion, not thinking ahead. He was doing it again, but, if this was the truth, he could use it well.

"Am I that see-through?” he asked, tilting his head and curling his lips up into a smile, “Say, you’ve gotten much braver. And smarter. Is this Himchan’s work?”

“Why do you think that everything in this world revolves only around Himchan?” you gave him a curious glance, and just for a second he thought that maybe his initial perception of you was wrong all along, “You know, I’m an independent human being as well, or at least I want to be one. I’m not Himchan, and neither am I something that Himchan shaped or worked on tons to become the way he wants it to be… Unlike you…”

Unlike him.. That might even be the truth, as there was no one other than Himchan who cared as much as he did and strove for Jongup to become flawless and perfect in every way and discipline possible and imaginable. He’s been taught a lot, and scolded even more by no other than Himchan and only Himchan. 

He, to some extent, if he wanted it or not, was indeed Himchan’s work of art. And a damn good one.

“Hold your tongue and know how to talk to someone like me,” Jongup suddenly hissed, and you knew you’d been successful. He was slowly caving in, and now the only thing left to do was to pray he wouldn’t go havoc.

“Why should I? Last time I checked you were not my man, and my man is the only person I’ll pay all of my respect to.”

“Is that the same man you want to get rid of now, or am I mistaken?”

Bingo. This was it, or at least the closest you’d gotten to it yet, so you played along just like you’d practiced it.

“What makes you think like that? I’ve just pulled a few bullets out of him not too long ago. If that isn’t saving instead of getting rid of, I don’t know what you mean-”

“The wine was poisoned,” he looked directly at you, and only got a small smirk in return.

“And you almost made me go down as well as him, as we were both about to share the bottle together. Good thing I noticed right on time..”

“Does he know?”

“He doesn’t, but he will soon enough if you won’t care to explain this whole "crying over his almost dead frame and proclaiming your never ending love towards him just to try poisoning him a few weeks later” thing. And ideas on where to start?“

Tension and silence. Your mind started racing as you understood this was going in the planned direction, but you were still nervous about it. You had to remind yourself you weren’t talking to the Yup you knew anymore - to the person you could share a laugh with and the one who escorted you outside whenever Himchan was busy with things, because they both were so close. This was the murder machine version of Yup, otherwise simply known as Jongup, who could pull all different types of moves now, if he wanted to. You had to keep your guard up high and you had to be careful.

"Honestly? I don’t want to cause any harm,” you told him with a stale expression, as if you were talking about something completely unimportant, “I do appreciate everything he’s ever done for me, and.. I do love him. A lot, in fact. But there’s one thing I love just slightly more than him, that thing being-”

“Freedom..”

“Oh, look at you, finishing up my sentences. How cute is that?” you tilted your head a little, and chuckled under your breath, toying around with the rings on your left hand, “But that is not the point. The point is, I’ve tried everything. I’ve done all I could, and I’m still trapped here. The poison wouldn’t have been strong enough. It would’ve knocked him out for a while, and I’m more than sure one of you would’ve noticed soon enough and gotten him some much needed medical attention. That’s the reason I cried and tried to do my best when stitching him up back then, and that’s also the reason I took care of him for this whole time he was incapable of doing anything on his own without hurting,” you took a deep breath, saying the ending part right to his face.

“I love him, with all of my heart. But I’m not stupid enough to know I’m better off without him, so I’ll do all that is possible in order to leave.. ”

“.. But now, care to explain why you’re here?” you smirked, seeing how his body got tense.

“That is all I came for. Some information.”

“Oh, really? Not to slit his throat in his sleep, and mine as well, if you’re already at it, because I always lie next to him? Oh no, you must’ve known he was away, so all is fine. Whatever it is, you can tell me, and I can help. If you help me in return.. ”

You saw him considering. Trying to think three steps ahead, perhaps, but, since he was Jongup and could only act upon emotion, that was nowhere near possible.

“I don’t trust you,” he simply said, narrowing his eyes and stretching out his body, “Because I don’t know you that well. I’m not aware if you’re lying or not, and I probably won’t be able to understand it, so I don’t want to tell you anything. Not in the least-”

“Then don’t, you know where the door is,” you told him, turning back to the piano, “Just know that in that case, Himchan will get to know about your little nightly visit, and I’m sure he won’t let it slide. You know he doesn’t like betrayers.. ”

“I didn’t know you were such a little pain in the ass,” he snapped, but tried to keep his calm as good as possible. He was still hesitant, but you simply remembered what Himchan had told you. Acting upon emotion. You should’ve made him feel just enough of those emotions to get what you wanted.

“I want files. What type of files, I’ll only tell when you word what you want to get from me in return. So spit it out, while I still consider exchanging some much needed mutual help.”

“Don’t play dumb, you know the answer. I want to get away, as far as possible, and I want him to stay alive and healthy at the same time, but that will have to be your concern. I will be somewhere on the other side of the world by then, learning to live without him, but having all of my freedom back.”

“In that case, let’s call it a deal,” he smirked, stepping a few steps forwards. You clearly listened to what types of files you had to get, and how you could do that. You heard him tell you that he needed them as soon as possible, and that if something went wrong, you would be the one to pay the full price. You only nodded in response, trying your best to remember the load of information, and you only spoke when he had already turned around to head out the door.

“Say, Yup, why the hassle?” you called, making him slow down his walk a little, “Aren’t you happy with what you’ve got? And what do you intend to do with those papers?”

“Let that be none of your business,” he paused, looking the other way, “It’s… Family stuff. Nothing interesting, really. Just do what I told you to do and I will fulfill all of your commands.”

He shut the door behind him, and you heard his footsteps going all the way down the staircase. You got back into a sitting position on the piano chair, tilting your head upwards and closing your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Baby, I didn’t know you could be so impressive.. ”

You opened your eyes, looking at the source of the sound just to see no other than the initiator of this whole fool’s theater standing just a few feet in front of you. The small smile on his face indicated he was more than satisfied with how this conversation went down, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“I didn’t know either.. ” you chuckled, looking at him as he made his way over to you and took a hold of both of your hands, pulling you up so you were standing right in front of him.

“I guess I’ll have to enlighten you to the meaning of the paperwork he wanted to get his hands on now,” Himchan said, holding you close, with a mixture of admiration and affection flowing through his voice, “But before any of that let me tell you how proud I am of you. Really, I don’t think I could’ve handled the situation this well, so I’m pleasantly surprised you did amazing. I mean, not that I ever doubted your success, but still. Thank you.”

A simple “thank you” from Himchan was always enough to make you feel satisfied with what you had done. He always managed to sound so sincere when he said it, radiating a wave of warmth with his tone that went all the way down your spine. He knew exactly how to make you feel worthy, as his compliments and praise always came from the heart.

“I did like the part about respecting your man though, we didn’t rehearse that one,” He grinned widely at you, swinging your frames from side to side, “And the part where you said I didn’t shape you, because you’re perfect inside and out the way you already are. But most of all, I liked the part where you said you loved me.”

“Get yourself together, tuff mafia leader,” you chuckled in between his longing kisses that were placed all over your mouth, “I know you’re basically overflowing with love, but it doesn’t match your face, or your positions.”

“No one has to know I’m like this, right?” he mumbled, placing a final kiss before speaking up.

“C'mon now, this is only the start of what will turn out to be a long, painful adventure. I’ll show you what he wants to get his hands on.. ”

The study was a room you didn’t enter too often. There were various things, including a bunch of maps, folders, paperwork and books scattered all over the place, and you slightly scoffed at the sight of so many unsorted papers. Himchan was.. Quite messy, to say the least, so keeping the house alright and tidy was always more or less your responsibility, even thought he did join in whenever he had time to help. The study, on the other hand, had always been kind of a forbidden zone. He once said to keep away from it a long time ago, simply because he didn’t want you to get majorly involved into his quite dangerous and risky life, as well as he didn’t want you to accidentally throw something important away. As time passed, he didn’t say a single word about it, and even called you to come in when he was there, giving you a pouty look on sleepless nights and asking you to get him some coffee to fuel his sleepless engine, as well as maybe give him some kisses if you were at taking care of him already. It’s not like he wanted to keep you away from there, but at first he hoped he could have his gang life and your unusual relationship two separate things. It took him some time to realize the following, but he indeed found out it would be better to maybe not keep you in the dark all the time about important things, so you knew what was going on and could act properly. At this point, he hoped you’d visit more often, as that might guarantee your safety a little bit more. Oh, and you could help him clean up the place, or at least advise him on how to sort all of the files, as not only the room was quite a mess, but he himself was a mess as well who didn’t know how to sort his things.

Oh, and let’s not forget the most important and intriguing part about the room. There was a safe.

He made his way to it, carefully fiddling for a few seconds with the code in order to open it up. You stood in the middle of the room, not knowing where to look or what to do, until he turned around to face you, holding some paperwork in his hands. His footsteps were soft and inaudible on the carped as he made his way to the old, wooden desk, leaning against it and handing you the papers.

“This is.. Channie, what is this?” You asked, eyeing the page up and down and trying to make sense of it.

“I’m aware this looks like meaningless scrabble, I deeply apologize for not being able to make my handwriting look decent or readable at that point, as I was in a hurry. But you’re currently holding some information that could determine many things, but, most of all, B.A.P’s further success and the ability to win and survive.”

It took you a moment, and you slightly jumped as Himchan put an arm around you, tugging you closer to his side.

“I want you to know everything, in case you’ll get involved, so how about we go and discuss it over a cup of coffee? Just take another look at the paper, and let’s go.”

You read the bits and words over one more time, handing it back to him and letting him escort you to the kitchen right after. The feeling of slight anxiety and unease kept creeping through you as you waited for the water in the kettle to heat up, and it didn’t get any better when Himchan sat right across of you at the table and handed you a cup of coffee.

“Look here,” he instructed, putting the page down on the table and pointing at a few separate words. You did as told, inspecting it closely and trying to get your mind to think.

“These are a few locations of some more or less dangerous people, and a few locations we’re trying to avoid at all costs, simply because we might not be able to deal with them with our current skill and lineup. This one,” he pointed at a few words with a pen, drawing a circle around them, “Is the thing he needs, or so I believe at least. Have I ever told you how me and Jongup met?”

“Yes, you told the story not too long ago, I remember quite clearly.”

“In that case you must know he betrayed his gang and got taken along by us. So many things to tell, oh, i feel this is going to be a long rant, I hope you don’t mind…” He said, taking a sip of the warm beverage and leaning on the table.

“I’ll be honest, everything I’m going to tell you are just assumptions or facts that indicate nothing. Jongup had come to me months ago, asking if I knew what had happened to his previous gang. It was quite hard to convince him we’d eliminated them all, because, since he was a part of it, there were men that he for sure knew didn’t participate in the mission.  It was hard to convince him we’d gone after them afterwards, and, since our conversation from back then ended with an argument and I was sure he didn’t believe anything I said, I figured I maybe should be completely honest with him, so I gave him another gun and told him the location, alongside everything else I knew as well. I wanted him to trust me, and you can only earn trust by not letting people down and not lying, so I was completely honest towards him, but I don’t think he did the same to me..”

“.. He came back the next day with quite visible scars all over his face. I asked him what had happened, but he only hissed in response, saying it was none of my business and that he would manage himself. But there was something I found out about that night that he wanted to keep quite from me, but wasn’t able to.”

You sat there, quietly listening to Himchan and how his beautifully low voice calmly told a story that could only be classified as a movie or book scene. For a second you started wondering how you got into a situation like this - how this turned out to be the harsh reality you lived in as well as your everyday life.

Thoughts about what you’d told Jongup earlier kept crossing your mind.

Freedom.

That term seemed so distant now, as you didn’t know it’s true meaning to you anymore. Was he robbing you of your freedom if the only reasoning behind his actions was to keep you safe because he loved you? And how did you come such a long way, from waking up every morning and looking at Himchan sleeping soundly right next to you just to cry to doing your best to take proper care of him because you loved him? God, so many questions and so little time and ability to think. You watched him carefully as he explained everything in detail - the things only he knew and the things he kept away from everyone but you. You’d earned his trust completely, and only you could see how all of theses situations truly made him feel.

How, in reality, he was nowhere near the being the “tuff guy” he wanted to come off as.

In reality, he crumbled behind the thought that someone who he’d put so much work and trust in was now certainly about to pull a few moves against him. Hurt was hidden deep inside his stare, and you could only imagine how had it was for him to hide it up and contain himself so no one would find out. You’d last seen this stare the evening you came home from the airport - the way he looked at you in painful disbelief, because he thought he could trust you, but was apparently left alone in this big, uncertain world again. Over time you learned to spot the times it was especially hard for him to contain his emotions and hold his grounds in order to do the best and most convenient thing not only for himself, but for everyone around him, and you learned to be supportive at those times. Your hand traveled across the table, softly landing in his and toying around with his fingers as he kept telling and explaining. For anyone who watched from the side, it might seem like he didn’t care. But you knew he did by the way he squeezed your hand and held it tight in his. He was grateful he could simply talk and let it out without having to keep up a guard.

The next few days were the calm before the storm, or so Himchan thought at least. He came back every evening, more stressed out than usual, and it didn’t help that he had to hold all of those feeling in for most of the day, up until he came back home. You’d try your best to make him relax, but all of your efforts were let to waste. There was nothing that could calm him, and when the faithful day finally came around the corner, he even looked relieved about it, finally not having to hold so many things in and keep them hidden away from everybody.

It was you and Himchan, out there on the streets, casually walking back home from a quick trip down to a cafe. Despite the circumstances, your tried to keep your everyday lives more or less the same as they were, not to come off suspicious and to keep yourselves away from worrying too much in a four wall environment with no escape.

You had to make just another few more turns through this quiet and at most parts abandoned neighborhood to get to the main street that lead to your apartment complex, when it finally happened.

The storm. It came without prediction, and it hit hard from the very first second.

“Himchan hyung, beware!” is all it took for Himchan’s reflexes to kick in, and he quickly grabbed you by the waist with one hand, using his other hand to get hold of a gun, and went to hide out behind a car.

It was Jongup, you knew for sure. His voice, since day one, had even haunted you in your nightmares at some point, and you couldn’t mistake it for anyone else’s. His silhouette appeared right behind the corner just at the time he screamed out, and he quickly went into hideout behind a vehicle, barely missing a few shots that went just centimeters past his head.

“Hit up Youngjae,” Himchan instructed, tossing you the phone, and you tried to do as told, as well as tried to stop your fingers from shaking. Right as you were about to hit the “call” button, his number popped up on the screen. He’d been just a second faster than you.

“Two minutes, we’ll be there! God, we’re too late, hold on,” he screamed through the phone, and you silently prayed that they were somewhere in a car and Junhong was behind the steering wheel, because, even though he was the worst driver, he was the fastest of all.

“Care to explain?!” Himchan’s angry yell that was directed at Jongup snapped you back to reality, and you flinched a little at the sudden noise of gunshots and yells. Himchan had you tightly pinned to his side, holding you carefully so that your whole body would be protected, if not by the vehicle in front of you, then by his body. He noticed your flinching, and just for a second turned his head to face you.

“You alright, (Y/N)?” he asked in a worried tone when a bullet hit the car, making both of you jump in surprise.

“Don’t think about me, idiot! Mind over emotions, did you forget?! Concentrate,” you yelled out, and his smirk that followed irritated you oh so much. 

“What are you smirking about-”

“You’re so right, babe. Mind over emotions. Just stay right where you are in that case while I take care of everything, so I wouldn’t have to worry about you and exchange the balance between those two elements of battle,” he calmly said, tightening his grip around you as he pulled you into something like an embrace, letting you hide your face in his chest while his head rested on yours, a devilish smirk plastered over his picture perfect face as he shot.

“Your time’s up, Jongup. I knew you couldn’t have been trusted, you little piece of shit,” one of the guys from the other gang yelled, and Himchan glanced over at Jongup. 

He’d never seen him so.. Scared. Standing in hideout, breathless, and not knowing what to do. His clothing was torn by bullets, bullets that luckily only managed to cause less to no damage to his flesh as they flew by, almost hitting him and tearing apart his clothing in the process. His hair was a mess, falling into his face as he panted heavily, and tried to hold up a gun in self-defense. 

Tried. Because he wasn’t quite able to at this point anymore, he’d been physically and emotionally drained.

Loud noise suddenly filled the air, making you move your head in order to take a glance at what was happening. You’d been right - it was Junhong who was behind the steering wheel, making close to impossible, lightning fast and sharp maneuvers as their van appeared out of nowhere. This was the first time you saw the B.A.P guys in full action, and you had to admit you were more than simply impressed. How fast and sudden they moved in order to get out of the vehicle, and how they each knew their positions exactly and had everything under control right as they stepped out into the fight scene.

“Tell me about it,” Himchan said as Youngjae quickly approached, sliding over the car and landing next to him on the other side just before some bullets were fired at him, “Because I was just casually minding my own business until a betrayer of ours ran around this corner and ruined my date.”

“So you know, yeah?” Youngjae wasted no time, turning around and gladly offering a helping hand at defense.

“Probably less than you, but yeah, I know what they’re after.”

“Let’s put the puzzle together, in that case,” Youngjae said, trying his best at concentrating on shooting, watching his head and talking at the same time. You watched him carefully, just to find out that all of the stories about Youngjae being the best shot, right after Jongup, were true. He moved sharply and with incredible accuracy, hitting targets before anyone else did, in places that were fatal or stopped any possible movement.

“Did you know he was involved with his old gang?” Youngjae questioned, and continued right after Himchan’s nod, “But, like, to what extent?”

“As much as I’d kept track of it, it’s been only a few times, all of them resulting into arguments between both sides. I mean, who would want to hold a conversation with someone who betrayed half their team and left them to die just to be scooped up by other guys who he could be of use to afterwards?”

“Dear leader Mr.Kim, you made a horrible mistake,” Youngjae chuckled a bit, earning a chuckle from Himchan in response.

“Everyone does at some point, and I have a mastermind like you to cover and fix all of my mistakes. Guess I put a little too much trust into him to let him off alone without questioning. So, what’s the reason behind all of this?”

“You do remember what happened to his brother, or at least what he told you had happened, right?”

Everyone on this side of the car knew, and there was no need to discuss it.

Jongup and his brother were both taken along by the gang long ago, but only one of them survived while the other one went missing. Jongup had been told he was most likely dead, and, as he saw how everyone assumed “missing” meant the same as “dead”, he decided he’d had enough of it. That was days before the faithful first encounter with B.A.P had happened, and years before the seemingly last one would take place.

“Turns out he’s been alive and well for a good amount of time…”

“Youngjae, I appreciate the dramatic pauses and your theatrical tone, but we really don’t have time for gasping at every sentence and being shocked and surprised, just talk on already,” Himchan hissed a little, and Youngjae knew not to make his leader angry. After all, he was probably right.

“Long story short, I’m going to try and tell it in key word sentences. Please tell me how I did afterwards, as I’m trying to get this manner of speech down as good as possible. Makes me sound collected and smart,” Youngjae went all out again, getting to the main point painfully slow. 

“Brother goes missing, Jongup is convinced he’s dead. In reality he’s a lucky bastard who managed to escape and get ties with other guys to train, get better and go collect Jongup at some point when he feels like it would be the right time, which took him long enough, it’s been years already. Instead of successfully getting through his master plan and seeing Jongup on the other side of the line at the day of the encounter he finds Jongup to be missing, and in his pain and despair thinks of the worst, failing the mission and getting captured. Jongup, on the other hand, was probably sipping on hot chocolate with Junhong-ah somewhere at the base at that exact same time, nowhere near dead, just in another gang…”

“.. Well, and you can imagine the rest. Jongup gets information and threats, as well as offers to exchange his brother for some useful information. Still not sure what that information might be, but-”

“Remember about the locations? That paper is all he wants. Locations of other gang’s hideouts and any other information that would be of use for them to sneak up and get a rid of everyone first before they got rid of them. It’s still a mystery to me how he knows I’d gotten my hands on a bunch of those, but fact is, he knew.”

“You know what else it was they wanted to get rid of?” Youngjae smirked, letting a bullet past him. You watched in horror, trying to understand how the hell these guys could keep so calm and collected, even managing to tease each other and laugh, in the middle of the gunfight. Were you really the only one who was trembling with fear?

“Us, my friend,” Youngjae smiled, firing again, “There’s still a bitter feeling of revenge that was aimed towards us for getting rid of their leader, I guess. Towards you, to be honest, because if I remember right, he was on the right, and I was clearing the left and not the right side.”

“Really? God, let go of it already, what’s done is done,” Himchan chuckled, “Wasn’t my fault he can’t watch his head..”

“Step out, asshole, so I can see you well! I won’t aim at you before I get the answers,don’t worry,” the same guy from before screamed, and Jongup stirred in his place, not even thinking of obeying.

“Why did you bring your friends along? This is not how we made the deal-”

“I didn’t know, okay?! I did as told!”

“Stop lying, you warned them. Himchan was the only one left without warning, but he can collect himself and adjust to the situation in the blink of an eye, just like he did when you screamed out earlier. Who’s side are you on?!”

Silence followed, and you watched closely as Jongup’s head spun around in different directions. His shield in the form of a car was under gunfire, about to give out at any moment, and his teammates were looking at him in disbelief and deep hurt.

“You’d grown a lot since we’ve switched sides, and, to be honest, I thought that you’d grown up to become at least a little bit smarter, but there you are, just the same ol’ stupid kid from a few years ago. Didn’t your mama teach you family comes first and friends come second?”

A scream escaped him, and you watched as he fired again and again, just like he learned it a few years ago. Shooting, recharging. Shooting again like there was no tomorrow, shooting the people who hurt his loved ones in order to hurt them more than that.

“The deal was that you’d be on our side. The deal was that you’d get us the information and help us defeat B.A.P, and in exchange you’d get back your brother. Who’s side are you on?!”

“You have one guess. I’m Moon Jongup of B.A.P, and I will always be,” he screamed out in despair, making the lad who was speaking this whole time chuckle.

“Himchan, good job, really. I wouldn’t be able to mess him up this much to make him believe you actually gave a damn about your men and give him.. How should I say it.. The feeling of having something like a family around him? It really did fuck with his mind. Guys, you hear me? When we get them, spare Himchan, he’s too good at this to die today.”

“Well, if that isn’t a compliment..” Himchan muttered, and you stirred in his arms, trying to get a look at his face. The smirk had drained off, and he was as serious as ever, carefully thinking through on how to get out of this situation as good as possible, with less to no damage to anyone.

“Good thing I predicted this all along,” he said, making Jongup’s eyes widen, “So don’t you worry. I knew that a betrayer would betray again, so I didn’t have my hopes up too high for the papers, I just wanted to put an end to you and B.A.P.”

“And Jonghwan.. ”

“Has been underground for weeks already! Did you really think I’d wait forever for a lost kid like you to make up your mind and finally decide if you’d go against your own people or not for the sake of your brother? I knew you would make a dumb decision again, so I did it my way - the right way, getting rid of the unneeded obstacles in the way first.”

You clearly saw it. Tears.

You’d never think that this was possible at all, but there he was. Trying to catch his breath as tears kept slowly rolling down his cheeks, indicating he had no clue about any of this. Indicating he’d been doing all of these horrible things against his own people for absolutely nothing. Indicating he was left alone in this world.

Memories of the night when Himchan took two bullets to the chest slowly crept back into your head, and you held your breath at the familiar sight and feeling. The way Himchan looked up at you back then, smiling weakly and having no other choice than to trust the fact you’d be able to help. Jongup was living through the same thing - he was trying to do the impossible in order to save someone he loved and treasured dearly, but in his case it ended fatal, unlike in your case, where Himchan had successfully recovered and was right there, with you. Holding you tightly and protecting you at all costs.

“I’m out of bullets, guys. Cover me, please!” Jongup screamed out as shots kept firing his way, but no one moved. He stared in plain horror as all of his teammates refused to listen, standing there and not doing anything about the fact that Jongup was left defenseless, with nothing up his sleeves to help him in a situation like this.

“Oh, look who’s left all alone. Does it feel familiar, Jongup? Do you remember this scenery, where a man stops shooting and sends the rest off to die?” the guy, who you were sure at this point was the leader, screamed, “How does it feel to be the one about to die, because you fucking deserve to?”

It was a moment in time, when everything happened too fast and too coordinated for you to catch on, but the next thing you knew Jongup was in the middle of the street the shooting was on, standing there with bare hands and tear strained cheeks while the leader of the rival’s gang commanded everyone to stop shooting.

Tap, tap, tap. Jongup’s footsteps echoed through the whole street as he walked forwards, making himself more than just an easy target. 

“That’s right. Come to me, and beg me for your life. Drop on your knees and kiss my feet, and I’ll consider if I should spare you. I might even be kind enough to give you a position, after a few round of punishment and making sure you wouldn’t pull anything on us, of course-”

“I am Moon Jongup of B.A.P, and will forever be,” his voice sounded broken and distant, shaking as tears kept rolling down his eyes, “And if my teammates decided I did wrong and deserved to die, I will fully accept it. Just end it, already..”

“Himchan, do something about it!” you screamed into his chest, not wanting to see the sight in front of you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“End it? Like this?” a bullet was fired, hitting him Jongup in the shoulder and making him flinch, but not stopping him from walking forwards, “Or like this?” another bullet was fired, brushing against the side of his head but not hitting it, leaving a not too deep, long, red scar on the left side of his head.

“End it like you want to. In the fucking heart, come on. Or are you too used to letting your scums that you send off to die in order to save your own fat ass every mission do all of the dirty work for you?”

“You little piece of shit, loud mouthed even at a time like this.. I swear, I’ll show you-”

Shoot.

“Plan 14, resume. Daehyun, cover Jongup,” Himchan yelled out, and hell broke loose.

Himchan pinned you closer towards him, covering your body in order to keep you protected. You found an angle that you could watch from, and saw the guys acting as fast and professional as always. Jongup was being pulled along by Daehyun, who was getting covered by Youngjae (who was famous for his sniper-like aim, and could handle the situation well even though he was on the other side of the shooting scene). Yongguk and Junhong were taking care one of each side, just like Himchan and Youngjae used to do it in the past, and the infamous leader of B.A.P was right there with you, aiming at everything and everyone who saw through this plan of theirs and acted fast enough to stop it. Almost fast enough.

It was him who had just shot. And it was him who had just robbed this gang of their leader, for the second time in the spawn of a few years.

Leaderless, they let fear overcome them. Their formation crumbled, and, as more people cried out in pain and went down, the others were paralyzed with terror, not knowing what to do or how to act. One by one, they were taken down, until the last guy simply threw his gun away and put his arms up in defense, smiling and awaiting the white noise that would follow after he’d get hit.

“We did it,” Youngjae simply said, turning around and sliding down to the ground, leaning against the side of the car and running a hand through his hair. 

“(Y/N), how are you?” Himchan’s soft voice snapped you back into reality, causing you to jump. 

You hadn’t even noticed, but now, when no gunshots filled the air and everything was silent, you could make it out clearly. You were trembling, your hands gripping onto Himchan’s jacket for dear life. All of your muscles were stiff and flexed, and your breathing was heavy and all over the place.

“Look at me,” he instructed, cupping the side of your face and turning your head so you would face him. Your eyes met, and he saw the fear and shock that had taken over your body immediately.

“It’s alright,” he said, holding you tightly and pinning his forehead against yours, “Everything’s been taken care of and all of us are alive..”

“B-but.. Yup-p-”

“Yes, Jongup included,” he said, closing his eyes and shifting a little, “It’s over, and everything will be fine..”

“Talking about Jongup, where is he?” Youngaje suddenly turned and questioned, making the two of your disconnect your foreheads and look at him. It took just a few seconds for Youngjae to get up, and Himchan followed, still holding you tightly and preventing you from falling down, as you felt like your knees were on the edge of giving out.

The tree of you made their way to the other side of the street, catching a glimpse of Daehyun helping Jongup get up from the ground. You looked at him, as his tear strained cheeks and the shoulder wound, and couldn’t help but feel your heart clench.

“Himchan hyung, I-I really thought they had Jonghwan-”

“Since when are you calling me "hyung”, hmm? I thought “respect” was a term that, despite trying very hard, I was unable to teach you,“ Himchan smiled a broken smile, confusing Jongup about what his tone could possible mean.

"I had to know, okay? I had it planned out, I would’ve gone myself and tried to eliminate all of them, but it all went wrong.. And I tried to get them the information without involving any of you, but.. I couldn’t do it on my own. I couldn’t get it, they wouldn’t believe me. They came after me, and I was just able to warn you, and.. ”

He looked at everyone around him, meeting their shocked and surprised facial expressions. Jongup could never be seen this way - so lost and vulnerable. The murder machine and tuff guy in him faded away completely as he stood there - hurt not only emotionally, but also physically, tired, hopeless and on the edge of giving out.

“.. I’m sorry for being a betrayer, even thought I didn’t mean to. Do anything you want to with me, Himchan hyung,” he said, throwing Himchan a glance, “I owe you my life. Twice already.”

Himchan’s hand unwrapped from you, and he stepped forwards, facing Jongup. One quick movement of his hand was enough for him to be holding a blade against Jongup’s neck, just the way Jongup had done it not too long ago.

You wanted to scream out. To go and wrap your arms around Himchan’s frame and pull him away. You wanted to hit his back with your fists several times and scream at him to get away, to stop this madness, but you were paralyzed. Paralyzed with fear, as the person holding up a knife to Jongup’s throat was no other than your sweet Himchan. Your savior and protector, the guy who stole your kisses and had wrapped you up in his arms every evening he came home.

He was a killer, after all, and this wasn’t just a facade. Soft Himchan wasn’t the real version of him, and neither was leader Himchan, or killer Himchan. They were all one, all summing up perfectly to become one person who could act any of these ways at every given moment.

“Remember how you told me you could kill me right there and right then, on the spot, if you wanted to?” Himchan tilted his head a little, smirking at Jongup who closed his eyes, letting another tear slide.

“You told me I wouldn’t be fast enough, but we could easily put that to the test today..”

“As you wish.”

Loud noise filled your ears when the knife came down on the pavement with a thud. Himchan lowered his now empty hand, his eyes fixated on Jongup as he stared back at him in utter disbelief.

“I didn’t save you in first place just to get rid of you afterwards..”

That was his phrase. The sentence he told you in your early days, when you even used to be scared of him raising a hand, because you thought he’d hit you. It was the sentence he always told you in order to calm you down, and in order to make you understand that he was a man who kept his promise. You’d almost forgotten it by now, but as you heard it being said again, you couldn’t help but think how many times he had already used that phrase in his lifetime.

“How bad’s the damage on the car?” Himchan turned to Yongguk, who muttered back that it didn’t look that good anymore, but was probably still driveable.

“In that case, leave before anyone who shouldn’t see you arrives. I’ll let you know about our future plans, but for now, get away and stay hidden. Enjoy some free time to catch a breath, will ya?”

With that, Daehyun, Youngjae, Junhong and Yongguk climbed into the vehicle, and, making sure it indeed did still work, drove away. Himchan insisted for Jongup to walk back home together with you two, just so you could treat his wound, and he silently obeyed, hanging his head down low and following you silently, walking on Himchan’s left as you were on his right.

You’d gotten better at first aid, being able to take out the bullet without having to call up Jihoon to do it instead and bandaging the wound neatly. Jongup stayed silent, lying on the living room floor and only flinching slightly at the pain as Himchan had gone off to the kitchen to do something only he knew about.

“(Y/N), can I ask a question.. ” Jongup faced the floor as he spoke up, and you hummed in response, finishing up your masterpiece of a bandage.

“The whole thing with the poisoned wine.. It was just-”

“A setup,” you finished it for him, making him nod in response, “I’m surprised you believed it.”

“Apparently, I believed many things that weren’t true..” his voice cracked, and your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

“I hope I can get hugs afterwards too,” Himchan chuckled as he saw Jongup wrapped up in your arms, with his face buried somewhere in your shoulder as he let tiny sniffs escape him, “I’m really in need for hugs, you know.”

Turns out Himchan let another side of him that not many knew about slip - the “master chef” side only you and a few others knew off. He’d prepared dinner, and, to be completely honest, you thought it was quite amusing how the three of you casually sat in a little circle in the middle of the living room floor, eating dinner as if a betrayal, a shooting and a bunch of deaths hadn’t happened earlier today.

That evening Jongup got another scolding from Himchan. To not trust people easily, and to always fact-check before going to such extents. To act by mind rather than by emotion, and to go straight to Himchan, or any other of the B.A.P guys really, if he had a problem. Jongup left in the middle of the night, looking broken, but thankful for how this night ended for him.

He was still Moon Jongup of B.A.P, and he would be forever. He had to prove himself now, but he was still a part of the gang, not being called a betrayer to the face. He was just called the dumb, lost kid, who eventually would be guided into the right tracks and would be forgiven at some point.

Almost forgiven, because Himchan doesn’t forgive betrayers.

“Can’t sleep?” Himchan chuckled as he sat down beside you, receiving a nod from you in response. You’d unconsciously wandered to the piano, and sat down at it, watching the pearl white keys but not pressing them down.

“Can we play?”

You could, and he smiled to himself as your hands slid all over the instrument, making the easy melody seem like it was much harder than it really was. He kept smiling when your hands came to a stop, and he slowly tangled his fingers with yours, letting you play around with his hand.

“What are these scars from, Channie?” you asked out of the blue, stroking over the little red marks on one of his fingers.

“Does it matter?” he asked in response, leaning in to kiss you as you turned your head from his hand to his face.

“Let that be a story for another time. And now, if you don’t mind, let’s go to bed-”

“And cuddle,” you said, making him laugh out loud.

“Hey, don’t laugh! You requested hugs, and cuddles are basically hugs..”

“I’m so glad I have you,” he said, standing up and pulling you along with him. As you laid in his grip that night, you couldn’t help but think of how much more worse it could get in the future. Another problem had been faced and solved, but it for sure wasn’t the last one, right? Himchan had a dangerous life, and, as he solved a problem, another one would come up on the horizon.

After all, he was a time bomb. Getting closer to disaster with every passing day.