#maybe he can do research on empty graves first to see why empty but

[thepinkhaired-rayofsunshine]

this is a half formed thought but like

danny sorta taking up residency near/in random cemeteries, like he just pops in every so often and takes care of ghosts n stuff there. and maybe if someone comes around to try to descecrate something or do bad shit in the cemetery, he or maybe one of his allies haunts the fuck outta the bad people n stuff

and maybe the cemetery hes in, is the one where jason todd was supposedly buried and he notices one day that there is an empty grave where there shouldnt be. so he starts tracking jasons body down bc hes worried jason was taken by grave robbers or smth and wont stand for the living disrespecting the dead, ESPECIALLY a kid?? and maybe it hits close to home for danny that its a kid his age that died and the body is missing

and he tracks jason down after a while but only to find out that hes with the League or maybe its been empty for a long time and he finds red hood and is REALLY confused because thats a reanimated dead guy many years past his death date

im thinking of this with like, immortal, unable to age or die danny, but i could totally see it as a king danny thing or even grown up danny just trying to catch a damn break but being constantly hounded by ghosts and stuff for help

[dangerously-human]

I know everyone always talks about acts of service as a love language with the Lockwood & Co bunch, and of course I see it but I'm not convinced it's first choice for all of them. Pondering this subject kept me up for an absurd amount of time last night, so here, presented for your consideration:

Lucy prefers to show and receive love as quality time. This requires a degree of vulnerability and honesty that contributes to early tension in her relationship with Lockwood, of course. We see it early in the show with Norrie; in the books, the sister she maintains any sort of warmth with is the one who's around most often. It's most obvious with Lockwood, of course, as evidenced by the things that show their relationship deepening: the way Lucy particularly enjoys cases or evenings at home when it's just her and Lockwood, their first journey to the Other Side, the two significant walks together in The Empty Grave (the cemetery and the one we don't get to see, post-necklace). I think this makes a lot of sense for someone who didn't grow up being Seen or particularly wanted; quality time shows Lucy that she is worth knowing and understanding and actively choosing to be around.

George's is absolutely acts of service, no doubt. From the little things like cooking what he knows his friends enjoy, to his insistence on having enough time to research a job to make it as safe for them as possible, he's a guy who puts more stock in actions than words. I do think he's a bit into the gifts thing with Flo, though, and that would probably increase over time - starts with licorice, naturally, and sort of works its way up from there.

Kipps is also thoroughly acts of service, and this is part of why it's so agonizing for him to lose his Talent, because he can no longer protect the people he cares about in the way he's most accustomed to.

Flo I don't think we have as much textual evidence for how she loves, though with her job, gifts would be a natural one, and we know she deals in a currency of licorice and favors. Obviously, the many massive ones she does for Lockwood, despite them going against her personal code, or for George, with apparent benevolence, acts of service for her, too. I also headcanon that touch is a big one for Flo, primarily on the receptive end - precisely because she's spent all this time cultivating a bristly exterior (not to mention grimy and smelly) that seems specifically designed to ward anyone off from getting too close, but we know that's exactly the effect of her ghost-trauma. And George, sweet, all-in, nonjudgmental George, would be the one to see past that exterior, so once she trusts him enough for a hug, they're bound for life.

At first glance, Holly seems like a natural choice for acts of service, but actually I don't think that's really a strong love language for her, that's more by role and habit, you know? No, for Holly, I actually think touch is a big one (though maybe not the biggest - our POV character doesn't particularly like her for most of her time in the story, remember, so we wouldn't be likely to see as much depth, naturally). But I think of Holly grabbing Lucy's hand when she's especially scared and finding comfort in that, and the animosity override required, and I figure that had to be pretty important to her. I'm open to suggestions here, though.

And Lockwood... I know we all remark upon it constantly, but good grief, this boy is so overflowing with love, where to even begin? Obviously there's the acts of service, he's hardworking and self-sacrificing to a fault and he'll do anything to protect his people - but it's words of affirmation I think is primary for him. Think of his constantly expressed admiration for his team, all those casually dropped whammies he lays on Lucy in particular, the way he seeks and thrives on praise. Of course, you can't discount gifts, either - think of the tie he intentionally wears to win Lucy back, the spirit-cape (mostly the second time, but, I am counting the first at least somewhat, even though it also falls under acts of service), and who could forget the necklaces? Plus, I think touch took him a bit by surprise, but all the hand-holding is hard to ignore; and for the show, you've got his obvious "not like this" dilemma when Annabel!Lucy cups his face, or the way he grounds himself in grabbing hers while he's spiraling after the undercover DEPRAC officer sacrifices himself for them; and then, moment of my heart, in The Creeping Shadow, when he's sharing the cape with Lucy and clearly having A Moment about being this close to her (beloved dork).

[sneezingpotatoes]

Fire and Ice (Part 1)

Soooo this fic has been sitting in my drafts getting old and I don’t know why I haven’t posted it yet lol I really like this fic and I think its really cool. I think I was just waiting until I completed the fic to post it, but I don’t know if I ever will (just like all my other fics ROFL shhhh I know i'm a clown) So imma just post it and see if people like it. If yall enjoy it then I might continue working on it but its great to get some feedback on it first to see where Im going to go next on this fic. I might just post all my other fics that are getting old in my drafts honestly lol like I have a lot of great projects that are just sitting there because of years of writers block and no inspiration LOL gg. Maybe this will be part 1 of my draft grave yard hahaha XD can I get an F in the chat pls—

ANYWHO, enjoy XD

Fire and Ice

The soft sound of snow crunching beneath the soles of tall, black buckled boots echoed throughout the cold, frozen forest. The thin and naked trees were mostly still, apart from the occasional winter birds that would rest against the snow-covered branches to watch the tall, slender Prince as he casually strolled through the Sagano forest. The Prince shoved his hands into the front pockets of his black, skin tight jeans, releasing two light sniffles that faded into the still winter air. He sighs inwardly, just wanting to finish crossing the forest so that he could return to his cottage. It was a long way through the forest and he was still near the beginning. He was super exhausted from exterminating a Witch’s nest that took way longer than he anticipated and he was just so ready to return to his safe space and recover. He hadn’t intended on catching a head cold on his mission but it was a small price to pay for his gracious victory. He stops walking for a moment, allowing his eyes to slowly close shut as he can feel his nostrils tremble subtly. A muted hitch jerks his shoulders upward, transforming the feeling of a light tickle into an irritating burning sensation. Before he can secure and entertain the presence of the sneeze, a soft snap of a twig immediately pulls his attention away, forcing him to be alert as he quickly swivels a 180 and grabs the hilt of his sword, shifting into standby for anything that were coming his way.

“Hey. Nijini.” The cocky voice sounded familiar. Deeper than he last remembered. More arrogant and determined. More… Mature. The Prince’s ears perk up instantly as he hears a roar of flames crackle from behind him. He swiftly turns around quickly enough to see a man appearing from behind a huge cloud of smoke and flames, revealing his old childhood nemesis.

“Jeborra.” Nijini grimly acknowledges. His tone was plain and lifeless, as if he had no soul, let alone any emotion period. The fireborne child left a medium sized dark, ashy patch where he was now standing, along with smoke that drifted and twirled around his bulky torso.

“Ah, he speaks! Hmph. Remember me?” Jeborra asks blandly, as he smothered the wisp of flame that was dancing around in his palm. It had been a long time since Nijini had seen him last, but he could never forget Jeborra, seeing how he had sworn to kill him, and made it known that he wouldn’t stop until he had fulfilled his promise. This was his chance. The months of stalking, tracking, eavesdropping and research had finally paid off and he was not about to waste it.

** ** **

“IM GOING TO KILL YOU!! EVEN IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO, YOU HEAR ME?!”

Nijini releases a short sigh, instantly being brought into a flash back of them in their younger years. It was a thundery night; They were both drenched from the rain, but it didn’t seem to bother them. The roads were empty at this time, except for their two trembling bodies. Jeborra was lying on the wet ground as if he had been knocked down, blood dripping down his face from the top of his head and cheeks. He had bruises all over his body and was trying to stand up by using his wet wooden pole to support him. He coughed into a shaky, cupped hand, allowing a sputter of blood to seep out of his mouth with a grunt.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Jeborra yelled, exhaustedly after he managed to weakly stand up. “I’M THE TRUE PRINCE OF THE OTATSU FAMILY!” Those eyes… He would never forget those revenge-filled, murderous eyes. “I’LL SHOW YOU!!! I SWEAR!!!”

The heavy raindrops and thunder seemed to carry his voice away along with it as Jeborra released exhausted huffs into the cold air. Nijini was silent. Hands bloody, face and torso splattered with blood that wasn’t his own that was slowly being washed away with the rain. He gave Jeborra a cold glare before turning his back to him without saying a word.

“SAY SOMETHING!!” Nothing. “SAY SOMETHING TO ME, DAMN YOU!” Silence. “SAY SOMETHIIIING!!!!”

** ** **

It wasn’t a pleasant memory, Nijini would admit, but he understood why Jeborra had shown up, and it was no surprise. He wanted his revenge. And he wasn’t going to stop until he got it, or died trying.

“As the true prince of the Otatsu family, it is my duty and my sworn promise… to kill you.” Jeborra stated, grimly, giving Nijini a spine-chilling stare that would scare any ordinary person. The violet-eyed man only gives an irritated grunt in response. He didn’t need this right now. “Eager to die now, are we?” Jeborra smirks as he sees Nijini tighten his hold on his hilt. 

He notices the shade of light pink coating the tip of Nijini’s nose and shares an even wider grin. His plan was working. He decided to strike mid-winter so that the cold weather would push their bodies to work harder to fight off the decrease in temperature. A true prince would be able to win a battle in extreme conditions without a problem, he thought to himself. This would be the ultimate test in his eyes. It had been snowing for the past week, but today it was still and silent; the calm before the storm… Or the eye of the storm. With this forest, you’d never know, seeing how the heavy magic radiating off of it could change the weather whenever it wanted to. The only audible sounds heard were from the occasional caws of the winter birds rustling about in the trees, and the soft, barely audible sniffles from Nijini.

“Any last words, Nijini?” Jeborra asks, now using his flaming hands to wield his dagger. He watches Nijini like a hawk as he stares lifelessly at his bulky frame, violet eyes staring into his own orange orbs. Within the blink of an eye, Nijini’s eyes fall shut and his shoulders rise a hair before he subtly tenses up and silently jerks forward for a split second, releasing a shaky breath afterwards that is exhaled through his twitching nostrils and turns into vapor from the cold winter air. Damnit. His hood and dark bangs shift a little from the sudden unnatural breeze that carries over to Jeborra, causing his beige bangs to dance a little. The first excuse of an unsatisfying sneeze did nothing but stir the itch roaming in his sinuses around and aggravate it even further. The fireborne raises a brow in suspicion as he watched the dark-haired man jerk forwards again, a little harsher this time, with a slight grimace on his face. The same unnatural breeze brushed past them both with more force, causing Jeborra’s jacket and bangs to flap around more vibrantly.

“Nnh’kt!” Nijini aggressively jerked forwards for the third time, pulling his sword out of his sheath from the force of the irritating sneeze. The forceful wind returned like a wave, knocking past both of the men with a stronger force, pushing Nijini’s hood back, off of his head and making the trees begin to dance around. He blinked a few times as the breeze had suddenly vanished just as fast as it had come, returning the forest back to a still and quiet ambience as he quickly wielded his paper-thin sword in both hands, returning to his proper battle stance with two light sniffles.

“What is this? Dark magic?!” Jeborra yelled, surprise and anger clearly heard in his voice. The surprise leaves just as fast as it had come once he realizes how desperate Nijini must’ve been to use artificial magic. Everyone in the Nogami Village knew that Nijini didn’t inherit any elemental abilities from his parents, let alone receive the birthmark of the Otatsu Clan. It made Jeborra’s blood boil, knowing that Nijini, his older brother, was crowned the Prince of the Otatsu family, even though he didn’t have the birthmark or any powers for that matter. “Relying on witches for power? How lowly of you. You are unworthy of being a Prince.”

After those gruesome words left Jeborra’s mouth, without hesitation, he instantly dashed forward, dagger closely trailing behind in his tightly gripped palm. Nijini swiftly shifts his silver blade across his torso to block the incoming dagger and shoves him back, quickly striking the core of the fireborne’s chest with the butt of his blade, making him take a step back with a dry cough to catch his lost breath.

“Riveting.” He angrily mutters through his hand, having a mouthful of smoke seeping out from between his fingers. This energy… This anger… I’ve seen it somewhere before… The prince ponders to himself, noting the same glint in his brother’s eye that matched the glint that his father used to have when they sparred for practice. A lot of the strength and determination Jeborra was giving off reminded him of their father. As the fireborne slowly dropped his hand from his face, a sly smirk was revealed, as well as five flaming darts that he must’ve wisped together. The outline of his orange orbs began to glow a light neon as he dashed at him again, throwing the sharp lines of fire at the man with lightening speed, one by one, hitting nothing but trees and snow piles as Nijini deflected the projectiles with his blade. The last dart Jeborra threw was deflected a smidge too late and was sloppily aimed upwards and nicked the side of his cheek.

Nijini flinched a bit at the sudden strike of pain on his face, shocked at how he almost missed that last dart. Almost immediately, he finds himself hugging the flaming knee of Jeborra and is sent flying into the nearest tree trunk. A grimace coats his face from the abrupt rush of pain in his abdomen and forces blood to slowly drip from the corner of his mouth. Damnit Jeborra, I don’t want to fight you…!

“You know… I don’t see what Dad ever saw in you.” The approaching footsteps from Jeborra’s feet melted the snow with each step he took. “You’re just another measly human.” Nijini released an audibly pained grunt as the fireborne pressed his foot directly onto his ribcage, applying a great deal of pressure. “Squirm like the disgrace you are.” Nijini grabbed Jeborra’s hot foot, trying his hardest to breathe, ignoring the searing and sizzling sounds coming from his charring skin. He could feel his own arms trembling from the lack of strength he knew he once had, uncertain of why he wasn’t able to shove his foot from off of his chest.

He could feel the mild flames scorching his chest and his hands, having no choice but to allow the aching pains to take over his mind and thoughts; the scent of burning flesh was filling the air, forcing a demented grin to creep onto Jeborra’s face. The grim glare in Jeborra’s eyes gave him a brief glimpse of his father, stepping on his chest from a previous sparring match years ago as if they were in the same position. ‘You’ll never be my heir if you can’t even get out of a simple hold! GET UP! You useless human, GET UP AND FIGHT ME!’ He could hear his father screaming in his ear already from the vivid flash backs. Nijini didn’t hate his brother, and he wished Jeborra didn’t hate him too, but he knew that there was nothing he could do to change the mind of his muleheaded younger brother. Whenever he felt a certain way, he was going to be like that whether Nijini liked it or not. The Prince used his father’s angry memory to give him the strength to push Jeborra’s sizzling foot again. He closed his eyes, pushing intensely against the force of his brother’s foot, feeling his energy quickly depleting in the process. Come on… Move… G-ge— “Hih…” Get off… “Huh…!” The prince slowly loosened his grip on the scorching shoe resting on his chest, softly hitching again before dipping forward with a snappy sneeze.

“Nn’Tch..!” The sudden mixture of air and slight spittle that seeped through Nijini’s clenched teeth seemed to brush over the fireborne’s foot and freeze the flames and part of his leg with a thin layer of ice from the intense rush of air. Even though the sneeze was weak and quite snappy, the reaction from the elements seemed to be far greater than one would’ve anticipated.

“… What the hell...?” Jeborra was once again stunned with surprise from the sudden freezing of his leg. He immediately removes his foot, trying his best to melt and shake the ice off, having another quick sneeze catch his attention.

“’NN’tchh..!” The second sneeze vigorously kicks up a pile of resting snow, having the cold breeze freeze the snow up against Jeborra’s lower body and part of his torso. The fireborne releases an awkward yelp as he feels himself losing his balance and begin to slowly tip forward towards the Prince.

“Hh-hh—!” Before the dark-haired man could flinch forwards with another sneeze, Jeborra had toppled down to the ground, placing one of his warm hands over Nijini’s mouth, trying to prevent him from sneezing and causing another of his body parts to freeze, but— “Hih’Tchhmpf!” Failing miserably, and only smothering the sneeze and freezing his hand to Nijini’s mouth in the process.

“What the—? Ew, I’m stuck!!” The fireborne whines through a pile of snow, finding it odd and discomforting that he cannot melt the ice as fast as he usually could. The Prince snuffles lightly to himself, feeling extremely lightheaded from the whole ordeal. He was just as surprised as Jeborra was. He would never use any false magic, even though he knew he didn’t have any abilities. But what else could it have been? None of this had ever happened to him before in his entire life, so what changed to make this happen now? “Why can’t I melt myself free?! What kind of magic is this?!” Nijini could only lay there and glare at the gray sky, unable to speak even if he wanted to. It was becoming very hard for him to keep his eyes open, as he felt himself blink twice before falling into an unconscious haze.

“No, no, no, stop. It’s not good enough. Do it Again.”

“Again?! BUT—”

“You heard your father. Again, child!”

Nijini gripped the wooden pole and grit his teeth firmly before running back to the beginning of the training course. His entire body felt broken and worn from the continuous running, jumping and swinging he had been doing. As if the freezing cold weather wasn’t enough, it was also beginning to rain, and this was making it difficult for him to hold on to the wooden pole correctly.

“In my day, if I backtalked any of my superiors, I was sent to the torture chamber for a week. Be grateful, boy.” The brawny man muttered, arms crossed and becoming impatient.

“Trial 274!” Nijini yelled at the top of his lungs, nearly wheezing from the soreness of his lungs and chest. Each breath felt like sharp needles were poking at his sides, but he couldn’t show his pain. Not again. If his father saw a glimpse of weakness or fragility, he would beat it out of him. No matter the circumstance, he had to show no pain or fear.

“State what you did wrong last trial.” His father declared in a firm tone, voice striking down his ears like thunder in a rainstorm.

The child hesitated, trying to remember how and when he had faltered. He had done this so many times that each trial was starting to jumble together all into one. Did I jump before I was supposed to? Did I stab too early? Did I say the wrong trial number? The teen closes his eyes, feeling his arms start to burn from holding the wooden pole up to his side for so long. Even though it was freezing outside, he still had sweat beating down his clammy cheeks. He gripped the pole tighter, trying his hardest not to shiver. All of his pondering was starting to make him think about how cold he really was and how much he wanted to go inside already.

“Did you forget, boy?” His father questions, voice so deep and grim that it makes Nijini’s heart race.

“N-no sir!” The child instantly replied. He honestly did forget, but he didn’t want to get punished for it again. He had to think fast for an answer.

“Out with it.” The child stood there, shivering in fear now rather than from the cold. “Now.”

“I swung too early…?” He asked, curling in on himself as he watched his father slowly approach him. He defensively brings up the wooden pole as he glares at his father’s broad shoulders looming over his small body.

“Answer with confidence, boy.” His brassy voice shook every bone in his tiny body. “Even if you are uncertain, you must answer without question.” Nijini nodded his head in understanding. His violet eyes widened as he watched his father pull out a long pole that was glowing a bright, fiery orange from the obvious heat radiating from it. “Do not lose your head, boy. Clear your mind and focus on what is in front of you. One distraction can be fatal. Add 100 more trials tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep in the box.” Instantly, Nijini felt a searing pain strike the back of his legs as the brassy tone of his father cut through the heavy rain. “Go on, boy.”

The slamming of the iron door rang through Nijini’s head as he fell onto the cold, concrete ground. It was dark, cold and lonely in the box; nothing but… nothingness filled the room. Most people would lose their sanity and breakdown in the box, but Nijini was different. He and his father both knew that.

“Why are we wasting our time on this disappointment?” The faint voice of his father mumbling beyond the door courses a tremble through his bones. “He doesn’t even have the Otatsu marking! I wouldn’t let that boy take over my position even if I were on my death bed!”

“Honey, please!” His mother plead, “He is still our firstborn son! He must inherit the title! Maybe if you weren’t so hard on him—”

“HARD ON HIM?! THE BOY DOESN’T EVEN HAVE ABILITIES! HE’S NOT MY SON-!”

“Jini? Hey, ‘Jini! You in there?” Jeborra’s gruff voice greets the Prince awake as he attempts to mumble a response, only to find the firebornes hand is still frozen onto his mouth. Mmpff??? “Yeah, still trying to thaw out here.” A wince escapes from Nijini as he tries to sit up, almost forgetting about the burns on his chest and hands.

“I’ve never seen any dark magic like this before.” Jeborra muttered, pondering to himself. “The ice is gradually decreasing my core temperature and preventing me from producing a flame. I can’t even make a simple wisp of flame.” Jeborra quietly sniffles to himself, as if he were ashamed of doing so in the presence of his enemy. He couldn’t help it though. He had been stuck lying in the snow face first for about an hour, unable to produce a single flame. How could this have happened?! This wasn’t a part of the plan! And why the hell did I have to get stuck in this position?! It’s like I have icicles for handcuffs! Nijini can see his younger brother in turmoil within himself and he can’t help but feel a little sympathetic for him. Something in his gut tells him to snap his fingers, in which he does as if it were a natural movement, and all of the ice binding Jeborra immediately cracks, freeing both of them. The fireborne’s eyes widen for a second and he abruptly sits up, scanning his arms and legs to make sure that all of the ice was actually gone before standing up and glaring at his older brother. “E-explain yourself! Explain yourself right now!” He orders, voice sounding uncertain and a little intimidated.

“I haven’t the slightest idea about any of this. I can assure you I haven’t dabbled in any dark magic though.” The prince mutters as he stands up as well, rubbing his arm underneath his running nose. “A true prince relies on his own strength and capabilities. I would never dishonor the Otatsu name.”

“The lengths you would go through to cover up a little white lie. Hmph. I would say I’m surprised, but I knew it all along. How human of you.” Nijini sighs, finding it useless talking to such a muleheaded individual. It was giving him a headache, that was for sure.

“I don’t have time for this Jeborra. If you’ll excuse—"

“Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, peasant. I can’t just let you waltz out of here. You’ve committed a grave crime against the family name, and for that, you must pay with your life.” He says, halting the prince and summoning a flaming dagger in his right hand, wielding it in his stabbing position. “I’ll be sure to let dad know thahh… T-tha-heh…” Nijini raises a curious brow as he watches his younger brothers’ ferocious facial expression waiver into a more clumsy and tense grimace. His brows furrowed in question as he tried but failed to keep his stern glare on Nijini. The dagger that was barely being held in Jeborra’s hand wisped around as if some force were trying to blow it out as a muted hitch causes his shoulders to jolt upright. “Heh…! HESsch!” The fireborne ducks forward slightly for a snappy sneeze aimed at the ground, producing a small wisp of flame that seeped through his clenched teeth. Steam floats from the ground as the few spittle droplets from his mouth are like hot water on cold snow. The force of the sneeze forces him to throw the dagger towards Nijini, but it vaporizes into the cold air before it hits him. Jeborra pauses for a moment before ducking down two more times and producing two more small wisps of orange. “HEschn! Hessch!” What the—? *Snff, Snff!* Why am I…? *Snff!*  He sniffles wetly a few times, giving Nijini a death glare as he wiped the underside of his nose with a curled index finger. He can feel his cheeks getting a fire-y hot from his anger and frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! He snuffles again, finding it hard not to as so much liquid is trying to escape from his nose. The last two sneezes must’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I’ll Snff! Let dad know how Snff! Much of a rat you truly Sdff, Sdff! A-arehh-H-HESsch! HEgssch! Sdfffg! H’EGSSChk!!” Okay, this is getting out of hand. If I keep sneezing like this, I don’t know how much longer I’ll last… Jeborra takes in a long, wet snuffle into the curl of his finger, feeling the rush of cold air tickle his sinuses, but he swallows it down to the best of his ability and summons another dagger in his hand. He needed to end this quickly as well so he could properly tend to his nose.

“Jeborra, we needn’t fight... We both are clearly not in ideal fighting cond—”

“SHUT UP!” He snapped, eyes immediately turning ferocious as they usually were. His hair started flaming a vicious red as he allowed his anger to fume. “I don’t care! I’ve waited so long for this moment and nothing is going to stop me from ending you!!” His voice rang throughout the forest, causing all the birds to flee from the area and leave the two brothers alone standing in the middle of the pathway.

“Are you honestly that naïve little brother?” Nijini said smoothly with a soft sniffle. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself which earned a confused, angry look from Jeborra. “You decided to pick a fight with me in the dead of winter, despite being a fireborne. Look at your dagger.”

“What does my dagger ha—” He began, taking an irritated glance at the dagger wisping in his hand before realizing what was actually happening. The dagger had shrunken to the size of a dart during the time they were socializing without him noticing. He grunts, using a burst of flame to inflate the dagger back into its actual size again, only for it to wisp around as if it weren’t stable.

 “Your body temperature drops faster in cold weather. It’s like a candle that’s slowly being burnt out. Can’t you tell? The more you use your abilities, the more you’re hurting yourself.” Nijini says with a sigh, folding his arms as if he were trying to teach a child simple math. “And your sneezing certai—"

“ENOUGH!” The fireborne exclaims in both aggravation and irritation. The loudness in his voice makes Nijini wince slightly from it aggravating his headache. “How dare you talk down to me like a child?! I don’t need my fire; I’ll end you with my bare hands!” He allows his dagger to taper away before charging at his brother with a balled fist. The prince swiftly shifts to the side, dodging his punch with ease. He can tell that Jeborra doesn’t have the same energy as he did earlier. This isn’t good. If I don’t stop him soon, he’s going to burn himself out and waste what little energy he has left. It wasn’t hard for Nijini to evade all of his brothers’ lackluster attempts at punching. It was sad to watch, actually. The always upbeat and energetic Jeborra that was always on a mission had turned into a wheezing, sniffling and exhausted mess.

“O-Okay, huff… You proved your point… I-I’m, huff… I’m done now…” Jeborra weakly surrendered, panting and wheezing with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Please stop this and save your energy. For both of our sakes.” Nijini muttered, feeling exhausted himself as he approached the wheezing fireborne. “Are you alright?” His voice sounded tender for once, rather than emotionless. Brotherly concern was present in his voice as he rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I…” The fireborne pauses for a moment, staring at the ground and catching his breath before he immediately swivels around to try and punch the prince while his guard was down, but Nijini catches his warm fist in his hand with a sigh.

“I’ve had enough of this, Jeborra. We—Nng’Tchuh!” The sneeze was sudden, catching the prince off guard and forcing him to shove his head to the side to half-stifle an irritating sneeze towards the snow. It kicks up the snow and almost forms a weak snow-nado around them but tapers off into a slow breeze. He drops Jeborra’s fist, not wanting to chance freezing his body again, knowing that if he came in contact with another ice attack, it could be very damaging to him.  “Deverbi’de…” He mutters, pinching his nostrils shut with his fingertips, trying his best to prevent another sneeze from coming on. “I’b goi’g.”

The prince walks past his younger brother with a huff, surprisingly without a fight from the fireborne and continues his trek back home. If that brat was so hellbent on killing him, then he wasn’t going to extend his olive branch any farther than he already had. That brat needed to learn the hard way. He was too exhausted to care about it anymore. Of course, he doesn’t get very far with plugging his nose as an irritated sneeze finally slips past his fingertips and pulls him out of his annoyed thoughts. “Uh-PSshgk!” The sneeze pretty much tears out of him as he instantly brings up his sleeve to wipe away the moistness on the lower half of his face. A thin breeze quickly wisps by, practically shoving his bangs around to the point where they slap his face, as if the wind were upset with him for that itchy sneeze. Before he can even wipe his face, he shivers into his arm with another feisty sneeze. “… HUH’Nngshh…!! H’EKshuh’gk!!” The tickle must’ve been stronger than he anticipated as another one had immediately trailed behind. He coughs as two forceful gusts of snow get kicked off of the ground and blown into his face from the unnatural breeze aimed at his direction. A sigh escapes him as he wipes his face off and sniffles a handful of times, beginning to pick up his pace so he can get home faster.

To the average person, it looked like the forest had cast a loophole spell and made all of the trees look similar to the point where you wouldn’t know if you were going forwards or backwards. For the most part, it was true, only if you strayed away from the path. One of the elite witches in the past used dark magic on the forest to trap and kill those who were in search of her home. Eventually she died, but there hasn’t been a witch powerful enough to lift the spell, so Nijini uses it to his advantage to keep his home a secret as well. After all, he isn’t exactly the type to slide under the radar. He is a prince after a—

“Sdff, sdff! Guh…”

The prince stops dead in his tracks and looks to the side after hearing two wet sniffles that weren’t his own. He sees a trace of red hair from his side and immediately recognizes who it is. The fireborne approached his older brother, sniffling like a rabbit on the topside of his hand. He looked a lot worse from when he left him last. Jeborra rested a fatigued palm on his shoulder in order to steady himself.

“P-perha-aps we c-could… a-agree on-n a t-truce for the time be-eing?” The fireborne asked, teeth chattering from the ungodly cold. How long had he been following him? Nijini’s stomach churned with unease at the thought of him trailing behind whenever he sneezed and felt the backlash from all of the cold gusts of wind that he unknowingly summoned. After a brief moment, the prince agreed and not a second after the word left his mouth, the fireborne leaned his entire body weight on the prince, needing help standing upright. His body is barely giving off heat… I need to get him to my place with haste.

 “So… How long were you waiting out here for me to reach the forest...?” The prince asks through a strained voice, trying to make conversation in order to make sure his brother stayed conscious and somewhat functional.

“Nng… I saw you entering the forest about two hours after I got there…” He muttered, leaning in closer to the prince in order to get some of his body heat. It worked a little, even though his insides were still cold. Nijini blinked in surprise. Why would he do such a thing? He’s putting his health at risk over such a silly grudge.

“Would you have waited there all day for me to show up even if I didn’t come?”

“What difference does it make? I’d wait here every day until you came so I c-could e-ehh-HUH… H’ESsh!” The fireborne ducks forward for the snappy sneeze, jerking the prince over with him. The tiny flame that threatens to flare from between his clenched teeth immediately tapers and turns into smoke from the cold winter air extinguishing it. “H’EGSch! HR’GSSh!!” Nijini almost falls over with the repeated jerking forwards. He himself feels so exhausted to the point where he would’ve allowed them both to fall face first into the snow if he could to give himself a break, but he pushes through and yanks the fireborne back upright and forces him to keep moving.

“We need to hurry and get to my cottage before you sneeze away the last of your energy and mine. I can’t trek for the both of us.” The prince says, trying to keep his heavy breathing under control.

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

[pars-ley]

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex 

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?" 

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab." 

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics. 

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is. 

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?” 

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm. 

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands. 

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented." 

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this? 

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there. 

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds. 

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave. 

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking. 

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside. 

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze. 

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?" 

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?" 

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building. 

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No." 

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

 "Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline. 

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before. 

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is. 

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie." 

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?" 

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after. 

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks. 

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade. 

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice. 

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

[chocolatecakecas]

Expect the Unexpected: dadstiel father's day ficlet

based off this anon's genius ask

They were late. Not that they actually had a strict schedule to stick to, but when it came to hunts, Claire didn't like to mess around. She did take this very seriously after all.

But the drive took longer than expected and they didn't get to the motel until around three am, and it took them longer to get out of bed this morning, which was admittedly Claire's fault. And they forgot to steam out their suits with the bathroom shower, so now they're late, in slightly wrinkled suits, speed walking through the parking lot at almost ten thirty am. And yeah maybe Claire's freaking out a bit, but what if the messy suits give them away, or what if another hunter got here already? Maybe they should run? The parking lot is empty so it's not lik-

"Hey, slow down, I don't think they bodies are going anywhere" Kaia laughed, gently grabbing Claire's hand to pull her back.

"I know, but we said we'd get there by nine thirty an-"

"Claire. The case isn't gonna disappear if we're forty five minutes later than we wanted to be. Okay?" Kaia assured, as she forced Claire to stop walking for a moment.

God why did she always have to be right?

"I know I know it's jus-okay fine" Claire sighed in defeat, but Kaia rewarded her with a quick peck on the lips, and pulled her inside.

They both flashed their badges with practiced confidence, and were easily lead to the correct room. The secretary didn't even bat an eye at their slightly wrinkled suits.

Yeah so maybe Claire was freaking out for noth-

"Agent Joel, and this is my partner Agent Cyrus"

Fuck. There's no way

(read rest under the cut)

"Clai-"

"Agents. I didn't know you were also assigned this case"

Because standing over the dead body on the examining table, was Castiel and Jack, in that ratty trench coat and a too big suit respectively.

Well, apparently another hunter did beat them to the case.

"Uh could you give us a moment to confer?" Cas asked attempting to hide his surprise, and the coroner nodded and left without a word.

"Claire! Kaia! I didn't know you guys were working the case too!" Jack started surprised, running over to give each of them a quick hug. They had met a ton of times over the past year, sometimes he even came and hung out at Jody's. And after the initial shock of Cas having a three year old who looked like he was twenty, Claire honestly liked the kid.

"Hey Jack, Cas. We didn't know you guys would be here either? I guess wires got crossed or something?" Kaia shrugged as she gave a little wave to Cas. But before Claire could say anything, Jack was tugging Kaia off to the side, talking a mile a minute about god knows what. And Cas was making his way, over to Claire.

"Hello Claire. I'm sorry I had no idea you two would be working this case. Jacks just been begging to go on another hunt, and this was the closest one to the Bunker. But we can try to find a diff-"

"Nono it's not a big deal. We can just find a different case. It wouldn't be fair, since the kid seems pretty excited about it" Claire said trying to shrug it off.

It's not like she was emotionally attached to this particular case, but it's been a while since her and Kaia had been on a hunt alone. So yeah maybe she was looking forward to it, bu-

"Well, maybe we could all work the case together? That is, if you'd want to?" Cas offered with a slightly nervous smile.

Okay so, it's not that Claire doesn't like Cas, she's seen him a lot over the years, they text and talk all the time, and he's been there for her a lot lately. Claire actually really likes the guy, but it's not like she's gonna tell him that, but it's just-Cas always treats her like she's the same naive teenager she was when they met again six years ago. And she's grown and learned a lot, she's a professional hunter now. At least Dean, and hell even Jody, gets that, they see the changes, but Cas.....

Claire glances over his shoulder to see Jack and Kaia laughing as to themselves, and she feels something pull in her chest as she quickly looks back to Cas.

Damnit.

"Uh sure, could be fun I guess? Besides we haven't seen you or the kid in the a while, but you have to explain why there's four FBI agents working this single murder case" Claire asserts, but Cas smiles brightly anyway.

"Deal" Cas agrees with a little tip of his head. God what a fucking dork, Claire thinks with a fond eyeroll.

“Also, Joel and Cyrus, really?” Claire teased as she walked over to join Kaia and Jack.

“I let Jack pick them out, and he insisted on picking our favorite singers” Cas sighed fondly, causing Claire to tip her head back in laughter.

And just like that the Coroner came back in, and they each took turns asking the routine questions, Jack with maybe too bright of a smile on his face. The guy was twenty-five, and his friends dared him to spend a night alone in this local old house that was apparently, haunted for real. And when his friends went to pick him up in the morning, they found him bleeding out in the foyer, with giant gashes all over.

So they decided to check out the house first, where Kaia and Jack both got tossed across the room by some creepy looking guy with a giant meat cleaver. Which basically confirmed Claire's theory of it being vengeful spirit, and they went back to Cas and Jack's room to research who the guy might be. So simple salt and burn.

And overall, things were actually going really great, Claire got to spend time with Kaia, plus she got to see Jack and Cas and share some laughs doing what she loves. She also got to help Cas show Jack some of the ropes, give him some hunting tips, which was awesome, since she's never gotten to be the teacher in this situation.

"Alright so tonight, why don't Kaia and I check out the house to make sure it's really gone, while Jack and Cas go find the guys grave?" Claire suggested as she stole a french fry off of Kaia's plate, who hummed in agreement

"Oh we get to burn the bones? I've only gotten to do that once before!" Jack began loudly, but quickly changed to a whisper after a warning look from Cas, they were in a crowded diner after all.

But the only one who hadn't spoken was Cas, who's face was scrunched up in thought.

"Claire I'm not sure splitting up is the best idea" Cas supplied carefully, which made Claire roll her eyes in annoyance.

God there he goes again, acting like Claire's some dumb kid. As if she hasn't handled herself just fine for years.

"C'mon Cas, me and Kaia hunt alone all the time, hell I've even done a ton of solo hunts. It'll be more effective this way, you burn the bones, and if it doesn't work we'll know immediately and figure out another way to waste the guy" Claire continued and watched as Cas looked from Jack to Kaia and back to Claire, sighing in defeat.

"Okay, but we'll all stay on the phone in case burning the bones doesn't work" Cas bargained, which Claire assumed was fair, and they all went back to eating happily.

So they split up, Claire and Kaia set up a salt line in the foyer, rock salt guns loaded and ready to go, with Cas and Jack on speaker at the cemetery. But of course, torching the bones didn't work. So now they had a pissed off, homicidal spirit chasing them with a giant meat cleaver, as Claire and Kaia raced around the house looking for the object it might be attached too while Jack and Cas yelled through the phone.

So yeah things were going pretty great actually.

Until they weren't.

"Cas I had it handled, I didn't need-"

"Claire I know, but it already sliced your arm and it was lunging right at yo-"

"But I was fine. I can take care of mys-"

"Claire, I know that-and please stop throwing your arm around you're going to reopen the wound-Claire, I was only trying to pro-"

"Well I didn't ask you to, I didn't ask you for any of this. I'm not some dumb little kid. I've been doing this for years, and I'm good at what I do, I can handle some stupid spirit. And I certainly don't need you to protect me from anything, since you did a pretty shit job of that already" Claire shouted, turning to look at him.

And when she caught sight of his wide, ashamed eyes, she felt something drop deep in her stomach, all of the fight draining out of her.

"Cas no I didn-I just-" Claire groaned running her hands through her hair, daring a glance over at Jack and Kaia who were frozen on the bed, looking at her with a hint of sympathy in their eyes. Her eyes darted back to Cas who's looked the same, except they were mostly filled with guilt.

Great. Just fucking great.

"Ya know what, I'm gonna run to the drug store-get some more bandaids. I'll be back" Claire huffed slamming the door behind her, and trudging across the motel parking lot to her car.

As she walked into the drug store, her mind was racing, rage still burning away in her stomach, and she mindlessly examined each box of bandaids.

This was stupid. The hunt was over, the guy was dead, turns out his murder weapon was the obejct they had to destroy. So it doesn't even matter anymore, but Claire's just so-

She tossed a box of bandaids back on the shelf. Maybe she should have just let Cas heal-no. Just another thing Claire thinks he needs to do for her.

And where does Cas get off trying to assume what's best for her? She can handle herself just fine, she's almost twenty four for gods sake. She's been hunting on her own for years now, and she's damn good at it, even Jody says so. She's grown and learned a lot so why can't Cas fucking just back off? And who the hell does Cas think he is, anyway? She doesn't need him to protect her, she doesn't need someone to save her, definitely not Cas of all peop-

With a huff Claire shoves another box back on the shelf, maybe a bit too aggressive and digs her palms into her eyes to ground herself.

What is she doing?

She forgave- or as close to forgiveness as you can get with this kinda thing- Cas a long time ago. She didn't wanna live with that rage and pain anymore, it was weighing her down and it fucking sucked. So she's made "peace" with it. And if she's really being honest, she really does like Cas a lot, he's like some doofy, powerful guy, who says some of the weirdest and funniest things she's ever heard. Plus, he sure as hell cares a lot, and he's tried to make it as "right", as possible and respected what Claire wanted. 

But just because Claire's made peace with it and thinks he's a good guy, doesn't mean she's not allowed to be pissed.

Claire quickly swipes a brand of bandaids and gauzes she's used before, and weaves her way through the aisles. But she catches something out of the corner of her eye that has her stopping in her tracks.

A Father's Day display.

Something drops deep in the pit of her stomach, as her heart leaps into her throat.

And she's instantly transported back to age five, with memories of homemade cards, barbeques in the backyard, and her dad with a bright smile as he carefully opened her gift. A new tie.

She feels her phone buzz in her pocket, effectively breaking her out of the trance. She quickly swipes at her eyes before reading it. 

It’s an apology from Cas.

Claire feels herself rubbing at her eyes again, the grief and pain of loss mixing with guilt and affection and confusion and anger all at once, struggling to gain dominance.

But before she can even process it all, another text come through, asking if she can grab some of Jack's favorite snacks, with way too many emojis.

And before she realizes it, a wet laugh escapes, as she squeezes the phone in her hand. She quickly glances back up at the display, a small, somber smile pulling at her lips.

And she makes a choice.

The next morning they’re all lingering in the parking lot before saying their goodbyes. Claire offered to check them all out, dragging Jack along before leaving Kaia and Cas alone.

"Here, you should be the one to give it to him" Claire says quickly stuffing a bag in Jack's hands.

"But it's from all of us?" Jack questioned, familiarly tilting his head, and Claire couldn't help but smile.

Last night Claire went back to the drugstore, now with Kaia and Jack in tow under the guise of picking up dinner. They each signed the card, even convincing Kaia to write something too. Jack even insisted on getting him one of those cheesy #1 Dad mugs, because apparently even though Cas didn't need it, he liked to drink coffee.

"Yeah I know, but you picked out the mug. So you can give it to him later" Claire assured, and quickly stalked across the parking lot with Jack in tow.

Jack can just hide it in his backpack and give it to Cas when they get home, so he can read their messages in a place where Claire is preferably, not present.

But to Claire's horror, annoyance at her own self because she should have seen this coming, Jack immediately handed Cas the gift.

"Happy Father's Day! It's from all of us, I know it's early but I thought you should open it while we're all together!" Jack declared with a bright smile, while Kaia gently found and squeezed Claire's hand. Cas just looked over at Claire and Kaia, confusion swimming in his eyes

"We all picked it up from the drugstore when we went to grab dinner last night. Thought it might be nice" Kaia answered evenly, but Claire could tell she was nervous. She knew she was worried about how Kaia fit into this fam...well whatever it was.

Cas simply nodded as he worked to recover from his initial shock, he slowly pulled out the mug first, smiling as he read it.

"I picked out the mug! But Claire put the quotes around the Dad, she said you'd think it was funny" Jack informed him, which only caused Cas to chuckle warmly as he pulled out the card.

Claire thought her heart might hammer out of her chest as she leaned into Kaia's touch. Damnit, why couldn't the kid have just waited until he was home.

"Thank you. All of you, thi-this means so much" Cas choked out, voice thick as he finished reading with a disbelieving smile. He hugged Jack first, pressing a kiss to his head.

"See, he loved it? You should talk to him" Kaia suggested in a no nonsense tone, pressing a kiss to Claire's lips before walking towards their car. Cas stopped her of course, wrapping her in a tight hug, and Kaia whispered something Claire couldn't make out, before she pulled Jack over to the other side of the lot. Claire looked at Cas, noticing his eyes were shining, and quickly looked at a rock on the ground as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"That was very kind of you. You didn't have to do all that for me" Cas said softly as he cautiously approached Claire, leaving some space between them.

"Yeah well, I don't know. I saw the cards at the store and I thought it might be nice..." Claire trailed off, braving another glance at Cas who's eyes were a little misty. Her eyes flitted to the side to see Kaia giving her an encouraging and a nod towards Cas, before turning back to Jack.

Well, it's now or never.

"Look Cas. I'm sorry I blew up yesterday, and I appreciate your-your apology. But I don't need you to protect me, you gotta know I'm not some dumb-"

"Claire, I know. You've become an incredible hunter, I'm not worried about your hunting skills or think that you need protecting. I just worry and want to protect you because I care about you" Cas stated sincerely.

Oh.

And yeah she knows Cas cared and she knows he was only trying to help, and maybe logically she knows that Cas was't acting like that because he thought she was a some inexperienced crap hunter. But hearing it is just-

Something warm swims in her stomach, as her heart thumps against her chest, as she swallows thickly.

"Listen, about the card, I- I know you aren't him, and you'll never be him okay? So you aren't my dad and I’m not looking to replace but-but you're kinda-you've kinda been like a Da-a figure lately and I know you said you care and I appreciate-and I car-I feel lik-"Claire attempted to choke out, but the next thing she knew, she's stopping and flinging her arms around his neck, hoping it'll convey everything she wants to say.

And it must, because Cas' arms wrap tightly around her, and she finds herself grabbing the back of that ratty trench coat, smiling to herself for a moment.

When they pulled away Cas gives her a soft smile, as she quickly wipes at her eyes.

"You and Kaia should come for dinner next Friday at the bunker. Deans texted me about it six times, and I'm sure Jack would love to show you his room....if you wanted that is-of course you don't hav-"

"Yeah Cas, that actually sounds kinda nice. Haven't had a chance to bother Dean in a while, anyway" Claire shrugged with a smile, which he easily returned.

And later as Claire drove back to Jody's, one hand on the wheel, the other loosely grasping Kaia's, she found herself really looking forward to next Friday.

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[rotworld]

3: Salamander

The apprentices of Magister Hezethril seem to be dying of horrific accidents with suspicious frequency.

->contains gore, murder, non-consensual touching, yandere, threats, and extreme power imbalance (basically teacher/student).

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There’s a commotion in the hallway. A crowd of apprentices, swarming together in a sea of black cloaks, have gathered in the open doorway of the alchemy laboratory. But there’s no excitement among them, no jovial anticipation. They’re whispering and weeping, clinging to one another anxiously. Your heart skips a beat. It can’t be. Not again. You push your way through the crowd, refusing to believe it until you see it with your own eyes, ignoring the voices all around you.

“...looks like Bianca…”

“...the third this week…”

“...couldn’t have done this to herself…”

“Excuse me,” you mutter, shouldering past a pair of gawking boys. You’re hardly a step into the room when the stench hits you, sharp and unnatural, rust and ozone. Something pale green and foul-smelling is spilled across the stone floor, dripping from an upended cauldron, but what’s worse is the blood. You can follow a trail of pain and slow suffering; a bloody handprint on the glass case in the back of the room. A smear across the table. A spattered drag across the floor, all the way to the lifeless body of an apprentice, her hands frozen in rigor mortis claws in front of her face. Her mouth is still open in a silent scream.

“What in the seven hells is going on in here?” 

The words crack like a whip through the tense air, cold and razor sharp. The crowd parts silently, allowing Magister Hezethril into the laboratory. You make way for him, scrambling out of his path. The Magister is imposing in his long red robes, towering above the apprentices and pushing them aside with webbed hands. His bronze skin turns ink black halfway down his extremities, his nails lacquered with gold. He sweeps forward wordlessly, tendrils of long black hair waving in his wake. His frightening eyes, spots of gold in black sclera, fall upon the dead apprentice. He scowls in distaste. “Who was in the room when this happened?” he asks.

A trembling apprentice steps forward, a young man with blood on his hands. “I was,” he says hoarsely. “I came in to use the lab. Bianca was already here, working on something. She dropped something into the cauldron, I didn’t see what. But all of the sudden, she was gasping and convulsing. She started,” he swallows hard, his hands trembling, “scratching. At her own throat. I tried to stop her, but she fought me. She just kept scratching. There was this awful, wet noise, and then she…” One of the other apprentices puts an arm around him as he begins to sob.

“I see,” Magister Hezethril says. He turns on his heel and walks away. “Clean this up,” he orders, leaving shaken apprentices in his wake. Some scatter, eager to be far away from the gruesome mess, but you stay with a handful of others. The young man who saw Bianca die sits, unresponsive, against the wall. He’s going to need all the help he can get. Several apprentices cover Bianca with a white sheet and take the body away. You and a few of your peers begin scrubbing blood from the floor. You wince at the fleshy chunks of tissue among the mess.

Luca finds something in the bottom of the cauldron that makes him wrinkle his nose. “She was poisoned,” he mutters. “This brew was extremely toxic. No one in their right mind would have brewed it, but there’s some kind of residue in the bottom. I think she was sabotaged.” He pinches a fine, ashy dust between his fingers. You can’t recognize it anymore, singed as it is, but you believe him. The smell in the room leaves a distinct burning sensation in your throat.

Beside you, Sheila squeaks, “Sabotage?” She’s had to leave the room twice to vomit, and she looks like she might need to again.

“It’s not unheard of,” Phoebe says, shrugging. She wipes Bianca’s bloodied handprints from the cabinets. “Lots of mage apprentices die under suspicious circumstances. It’s new apprentices, usually. Young, impulsive, trying to compete. They just want to get ahead.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Sheila insists. “What’s there to compete over, anyway? The Magister hates all of us.” 

That gets a bitter chuckle from everyone in the room. Working together, you get the laboratory cleaned up in no time, every trace of blood and poison mopped up and disposed of. It leaves an empty feeling within you. It feels like you do this more and more often lately, erasing all traces of your fellow apprentices. Memorial services, if there are any, happen in the distant hamlets and villages where the apprentices came from. Life in the Magister’s tower goes on uninterrupted and you’re expected to behave as though the sudden holes opened up at certain desks and in certain dormitories simply do not exist. 

The others are thinking about it now. You can feel that heaviness in the air even with the body gone and all traces of death washed away. Accidents happen anywhere you gather inexperienced mages, but not nearly this many, not so close together. There’s a field south of the tower full of fresh graves and wooden crosses. “Why isn’t the Magister doing anything?” Sheila whimpers. “Is this what he wants? Are we all supposed to kill each other until only one of us is left?”

“Of course not,” you insist. You give her the water pail you were going to use to rinse your hands, letting her take it first. She sniffles as she scrubs Bianca from beneath her nails. “The Magister must know something’s happening. Maybe he’s just being careful. He doesn’t want to say anything until he’s certain he knows who’s responsible.”

“Are you kidding? Magisters get off on things like this,” Phoebe says, rolling her eyes. “It’s a power trip for them. You saw how he looked at Bianca, right? Like she was an insect. He only cares about his favorites. Bet you get extra credit for offing somebody.” 

“That’s awful,” you tell her. 

She shrugs. “That’s life.” 

“I assume you’re done in here if you have time to gossip.” 

The Magister’s voice is like ice down your back. Sheila practically sprints from the room. Phoebe sheepishly greets him and keeps her head down as she leaves. Luca eyes the Magister suspiciously but passes without a word. “Magister,” you address him, bowing your head. He holds out his arm when you try to step past him. 

“Just a moment, apprentice,” he says. You’ve heard him speak to your peers, reducing them to tears with nothing but his hard gaze alone. But when he looks at you, his strange gaze softens with affection. He says “apprentice” as though it’s a term of endearment. You shift uneasily, peering into the hallway behind him in search of your friends, but they’re long gone. A sinking feeling overtakes you when he bumps the laboratory door with his elbow, shutting it behind him. “I won’t keep you long,” he assures you. “Solstice preparations will begin soon. Could I persuade you to assist me?”

Could I persuade you, he says. A phrase unheard of, coming from the mouth of an elder mage. They don’t ask favors. They don’t plead or beg. They give orders, and apprentices jump to follow them. Magister Hezethril is no different, but for you, he will dress up the truth in pretty language, will say it sweetly so it scares you less. But you know better. You hear the threat unspoken. His hand hooks beneath your chin, demanding eye contact. The webbing between his fingers is soft and damp, slick against your skin. “Yes, Magister,” you say quietly. “I would be happy to assist you.”

The Magister’s smiles are uncomfortable, too wide and hungry, too inhuman. “Excellent,” he says. “See to it that your schedule is open, I’ll need you the next few evenings for preliminary research.”

“Of course,” you say. “But, ah, I will need tomorrow evening to myself.”

“Oh?” the Magister says, sounding so unconcerned and casual that you almost slip up, forget who you’re talking to. “And why is that?” You try, subtly, to slip out of his grasp. A mistake, you realize too late, Magister Hezethril’s pupils narrow into slits and he corners you against the back cabinets, slamming his hand against the wooden panels beside your head. You hear the cabinet door splinter, feel it shaking and collapsing inward. You hold your breath. The Magister bends slightly from his great height, his gaze piercing and heated. “Where are you going, apprentice?” he hisses. “Why the rush? Are you hiding something from me?” 

“I’m not, I swear I’m not,” you insist, too weak and hesitant to convince him. You can never lie to him. He always drags the truth out, one way or another. “I just...I promised one of the others that I’d tutor them in incantation.”

The Magister makes a frightening, inhuman sound, somewhere between a hiss and a growl, flashing fangs and a black, forked tongue. “This again?” he mutters. “How many times must I tell you that you are above them? They do not deserve your attention. How could you possibly learn everything I have to teach you when you are too busy with these wastrels you call your peers?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, nor the space to breathe. His sharp nails trace your jaw, titling your face towards him when you try to turn away. He looms so close you can smell the fire in his lungs, magic that could reduce you to ash if he so desired. 

“It would be such a shame, wouldn’t it, if another apprentice were to die,” he murmurs, looming inches from you, his breath warming your lips. “Such a terrible waste. So many accidents these last few months. So many dead.” 

“Please,” you whisper, clutching his shoulders. His robes bunch up beneath your grip but it’s worthless. He’s so much older and stronger than you. “Please don’t hurt anyone else.” 

Magister Hezethril tilts his head, drinking in your fear and submission. He traces your lips with the sharp tip of one nail. “Are you available tomorrow, apprentice?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you say shakily. “Yes, I swear, I’m all yours.”

It’s just what he wants to hear. Smiling, he pulls you into his chest. Gently, he smooths down your hair where it ruffled against the cupboards, pushing the creases from your cloak. But he pauses as he does this, catching sight of the thick turtleneck fabric you’re wearing beneath. He toys with it, peeling it down to expose tender flesh. You shiver under the attention, the careful stroke of his fingers along your pulse. “You aren’t just yet,” he says. “But that’s alright. I can be very, very patient.”

You wince when he slices into you, just enough to break the skin. He rolls your turtleneck back up. The wound throbs hot underneath. “See you tomorrow, apprentice,” he purrs. You nod numbly. The laboratory opens and slams the shut, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

[sxfik]

push and pull

part I | part II

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: during a trial, a lawyer must be ready for anything. they should be able to navigate their way through any sudden obstacles or arguments. but through her time at law school, this is the first time her opponent has used kisses as an argument strategy.

or: joon hwi decides it's time to test how far kang sol's concentration can last. you know, to prepare her for the trial. no other reason.

a/n: aaa this was supposed to be peace is not known to man pt. 2 but i just had to write this today, i could not get the scene out of my head. after this will be peace is not known to man chapter 2 because ✨✨ and then a prompt request that was sent in ! this might be shorter than normal but i did leave room for a possible sequel? anyways, i hope you enjoy this <3

Throughout Kang Sol A's time in rigorous classes and with strict professors, there was one thing that was drilled through her head: be prepared for any argument. As she progressed through the ranks, it was clear that students, as well as prosecutors and lawyers, will use anything and everything at their disposal in order to win. Even if it is the lowest or morally dubious argument, if it wins them the case, they will not be afraid to use it.

Kang Sol was never the brightest student in class. She struggled to pick up the concepts as quickly as her peers; she racked her brain every time she needed to name a criminal code from memory. But if there was anything she was good at, it was preparation.

Her biggest mistake her first semester was not having a battle plan and through the minefield that was fighting against Assemblyman Ko, she felt like she was constantly rushed and underprepared. After her 1L, Kang sol took the time every day to make sure she was prepared for anything that would be an obstacle for her. She's always in class with the needed materials already printed out, her course materials pre-read and she takes extensive notes during her lectures, making sure to get even the smallest details. She wrote down anything that could make the exam easier for her. So, during study groups, she was the go-to person for notes and specifics, despite joon hwi, sol B and ji ho's innate abilities to memorize and grasp the concepts. Her contribution was her thoroughness as well as her tenacity. And maybe, that was what made her so essential to her mock trial team.

The annual justice mock trial was just around the corner, and Sol was not going to be underprepared like last time. Joon hwi, Sol B and she poured over their case files, writing their main argument, rebuttal and summary until they were near perfect. For weeks, they'd spent in the library, reading and researching everything they would possibly need during the trial so they could make their main argument as bulletproof as possible. The three of them were going to win this trial, no matter what they had to do.

That preparedness was what found Sol in her current situation, standing in the empty mock trial courtroom, standing at the defendant's side of the table while Joon Hwi had stood across from her, looking over the prosecutor's argument. Her sense of morality was her biggest blessing and her biggest obstacle in Law School. Her belief in right and wrong, and the proper use of the law, made it almost painful for her to argue the other side. But being the wonderful classmate he was, Joon hwi had offered to help her whenever he could, acting as the devil’s advocate.

Han Joon Hwi. Her beloved classmate and next to Ye-Seul, her best friend. He was there for it all: from defending Yangcrates to protecting her sister from Lee Man Ho to defeating Assemblyman Ko. As Kang sol was sinking from her past two semesters at Hanguk law school, he was the one who kept her afloat. Every night she spent at the library, on the verge of exhaustion, he would be there alongside her making sure she took breaks and took care of herself. Without him, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to pull her health up or make it through her first year.

Joon Hwi had always processed his feelings more inwardly, holding everything in and away from everyone as much as possible. During the worst of his grief last year, he would sneak out into the practice fields, running laps until he was exhausted and his breathing ragged. She picked up on what he was doing, when she saw him dip out of the library a little earlier than everyone else. She had snuck out to follow him and watched him as he would run across the fields, until he'd break into pieces on the field. For a boy who had seen her worst, who had helped everyone gain their strength to fight, it wasn't right that he suffered by himself.

So when she saw him declining into the familiar pain, when he was staring into the memorial of his uncle's donation, the man who had meant everything to him, who had died before he could repent for his sins against the law, she sat by him in silence, until he leaned onto her shoulder. If she could, if it was possible, she felt like absorbing all the pain, the regret and the anger he felt inside until he was alright.

She wasn't sure when the lines blurred between them, but her image of him shifted until she was sure he was so much more than a friend. It was as if he had a new tint of color over him, and suddenly, she found herself thinking of him all the time. Now, every time she'd laugh, she'd turn behind her to make sure he was laughing. For every little thing that happened in her life, he was the only one she craved to share it with. Every smile, every little happiness, she wanted to share it with him. Even if she wasn't feeling well, or doing anything exciting, she wanted his presence by her.

Kang Sol was always eloquent, her mind moving at 10 mph and her words even faster. She never ran out of things to say, not until she met him. With Joon Hwi, she had no way of expressing just how much she wanted him in her life, how much gratitude she had for him. He meant so much more than anything she could describe in words so she forced herself to be content with the bits and pieces she could keep in her life.

Kang Sol cleared her throat, gaining joon hwi's attention from the papers and across the room. "Let's get started?" she asked her, looking up from her papers, and up to him as he nodded.

“As the defendant…” he started, his voice echoing in the empty courtroom, voice firm and strong as he delivered the main argument. Watching joon hwi transform into his full prosecutor mode was startling to watch, his casual demeanor changing into confidence. He transformed into something else entirely, his demeanor intense and his voice sharp as a knife. Watching him concentrate and argue was magnetic and with every passing line, she felt pulled towards him. She could feel the nerves build as she watched him, his voice strong and powerful through the room.

He looked up at her, finishing his argument and it felt like the wind was knocked out of her. Sol wasn't sure if it was the fact that she had to present the argument next or if it was his darkened eyes staring into hers, the awareness spreading through her body, that made her forget how to breathe properly. For a moment, the silence enveloped them, the tension between them taut as a bowstring, despite being so far apart from each other.

"Sol?" His voice interrupted the moment as the pressure built in her chest and her throat stagnated. She cleared her throat again, shaking the gaze off her, before starting her argument. As her eyes and her voice followed the words on the paper, her body and mind were somewhere else entirely, every hair on her body aware of his growing presence, his eyes on her. For someone so hesitant to argue against the side she believed in, she was going strong until she made one grave mistake.

She looked up to him for a moment, and he was standing much closer to her now, his eyes molten as he looked up at her, standing in the middle of the courtroom, and her voice wavered to a stop. She didn’t know when Joon Hwi had moved closer, her body too obsessed with the fact that his eyes were on her to ever notice his movements.

He raised his eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Why are you stopping, Sol-ah?" he asked, his voice much deeper, heavy and sweet like honey. He stepped closer then, and she looked down to the papers in her hand, his gaze burning her with intensity.

She continued on with her argument, as he stepped closer and closer, until he was right in front of her place behind the defendant's desk. She looked up then, confident in herself not to waver as the words on her paper blurred together into mush. But her mind and her mouth was on autopilot, her voice growing smaller and smaller as she parroted the argument from memory, his proximity throwing her off. He moved closer then, leaning in until his face was just a breath away from her. His hands reached up to her face, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She felt her mind stutter and her stomach bundle into knots from him being so close that she could see his eyelashes brush against his cheek as he blinded. Her eyes were glued to him, pulled closer and closer, as he laid his finger at her throat, and traced down to the base of her neck.

She shuddered out a breath then, the feel of just a finger on her skin making her face grow warm and red. she struggled to think, to remember what she was doing before his fingers traced up, up, up, towards her jaw. His hands cupped her face, bringing it closer towards him, as his thumb brushed against her cheek.

"I think-" she paused, trying to catch her breath, "I think my argument ends there."

"You think?" he tilted his head slightly, his eyes taunting and teasing.

"Yes," she breathed out, leaning closer and closer, until her lips met his. His lips were firm and reassuring for a short moment, before she pulled away. But their distance didn't last even a second as she surged forward again, kissing him with everything she had. The papers in her hand dropped to the desk, forgotten, as her hands searched for him, finding purchase in his shirt as she pulled him closer.

His hands shifted then, kissing her deeper, as his hands went to untangle her hair from her ponytail, until her hair was loose around her shoulders. His hands tangled in her hair, pushing her closer to him as his tongue brushed against her lip and she gasped, the feel only accelerating the want, the need for him.

Her mind was foggy as he drew away from her lips and down to her jaw, his frantic kisses addicting as he moved down to her neck. Joon hwi tilted her head with the hand tangled in her hair, as he left open-mouthed kisses down her throat, ones that left her panting and gasping, his mouth bruising the delicate skin of her neck.

"Joon hwi-ah," she shuddered out, as he sucked, her breath coming out in soft puffs, a moan growing at the back of her throat.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The loud noise against the door shocked the two out of the moment, as a voice inquired "Is anyone in there?" The two jumped back then, still holding on to each other as Sol looked at Joon hwi, alarm taking over her body.

Annoyance flooded his features, as he looked towards the door, his lips swollen and red from her ministrations.  He was panting, as he looked back at her, his gaze was heavy on her, and for one charged moment, Kang Sol thought of throwing caution to the wind, to pull him back into her. But he stepped back then, away from her desk, and back to his to gather his files. Sol was glued to her feet then, her hands frozen and unable to process what just happened before her rational mind kicked in, and she rushed to gather her files. She ran her hand through her hair, noticing her disheveled state in the mirror, before gathering her hair into a bun and smoothening out her clothes, trying to put on a pretense that she was perfectly okay, it wasn’t like joon hwi had feverishly kissed her until her mind was completely blank or anything.

There was silence between the two as they exited the courtroom through the back entrance, making sure to leave the room as if nothing ever happened. But before they parted, Joon Hwi grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes for a moment as if to say this isn't over, before the parted ways, leaving Sol to process what went on between them, and how she could ask for more, more, more.

[tobiramaika]

Edo Tensei

I don't even know why am I doing this. Maybe to let my sorrow out? Well, either way, enjoy.

Isn't it nice? Peace can be achived, even if temporarily.

You can make civilians and shinobi live together peacefully, regardless of clans.

Tobirama was always skeptical about that, but his big brother showed him that it's not impossible.

Still... why is he smiling? Tobirama can't help but feel hatred towards him and his so called friend as he looks down on them from the tree he is sitting on.

They are laughing, training together, even being affectionate... what kind of brother is that?

Hashirama doesn't care to notice as Tobirama stares at him, rather just drowns in self pity as he had gotten a harsh comment from Madara.

Maybe, perhaps, that will never go away. That little habit of his.

Watching that unfold... all he can think about is how foolish it is.

Tobirama never had any hate in his heart towards Hashirama, but it hurts.

It hurts that he has to walk alone in a flower shop, because he is the only one who remembers.

He shook those thoughts out of his head though, as he already took out his wallet. He greeted a smile to the man wrapping up some roses,

" Good morning Inoae "

The man greeted back, happy to see a regular.

" Good morning, Lord Tobirama. "

He is not going to lie, being called that makes him feel a little icky, he isn't Hokage yet, or is it certain that he will ever be. However, formality is kept.

It's not like it will matter in a few years, right?

He just went on to choose flowers.

Four purple hyacinths for the first bouquet.

Two pink tulips and two delphiniums for the second one.

Two white tulips and two gladiolus for the third one.

They were all so beautiful, yet they only caused silence. He wished he could, but Inoae couldn't look the man infront of him in the eyes. He knows all too well what does this mean.

Tobirama was used to it. Usually he is greeted with silence upon entering a room.

And that silence followed him everywhere.

Well... not the cemetery. Where his brothers were.

He walked his way in, getting more and more nervous as his heart went quicker upon approaching the huge rock where his brothers are laid.

Dare he call it a grave.

Although, he was quite scared to face them just yet. So he decided to go to the left side of it, paying his respect to someone else's brother,

" Izuna, are you listening? I am sorry.. no, I just ask for your forgiveness. I hope you are watching over your brother, he seems to be doing well. "

He had placed the first bouquet of flowers down the cold shiny rock. He didn't know if the feeling in his chest is emptiness, or rather guilt.

It could be both.

Now came the hard part, going to the right side of the rock.

He can't call it a grave, he refuses to accept it.

He had placed the beautiful flowers down, bowing as he spoke.

" Itama... Kawarama... Please forgive big brother, he didn't come to your anniversaries. Even if he didn't come, I hope I am enough. Please don't hate him for this. Are you doing alright.. ? I wish I could hug you both for one last time, " tears streamed down his face as he grabbed his chest, gasping for air " I am sorry you could never make it to 10. I am so so sorry.... this isn't how it was supposed to turn out like... it really wasn't.... "

It was dawn when Tobirama caught his two younger siblings painting their face in the reflection of the river by their house.

He had approached the two giggly smaller ones as he noticed that they have their mothers make up paint in their hand.

It was cute, how excited they were over a few crushed up wet roses..

" Say, what are you doing? "

Itama looked at him, holding a brush for him to take,

" We are wearing warrior make up! Try it too! "

And so he did. He squat down alongside them, copying the motions they did,

" So tell me... Why are they dots? "

Kawarama smiled, clapping his hands together, happy to answer,

" It will bloom like a flower! It's just dots now... But when we will reach 10, it will all be lines, mimicking the shape of lowers! "

Itama nodded, as he adjusted the hand of his older brother,

" Yeah! Hashirama already celebrated his 10th birthday! So it's between us three now! "

Tobirama hummed, murmuring a little 'I see' as he painted his face. That was, to this day his favourite memory with his brothers.

And it keeps repeating over and over, he can't stop thinking about it. It pains him, if not everday, every other day.

Even as he looks through their family album and seems their cut off hair, from the first time they each got a hair cut.

The circles under his eyes barely tell a story compared to how swollen it has became. He had cried all day, his heart crushing.

He stroked over the plastic covering of the hair, sighing to himself in the darkness of his own room, being surrounded by nothing but cold..

... and a bunch of research papers.

" I wish I could bring you two back just by this... I miss you so much "

One thing is for sure, ghosts exist.

Tobirama had found out that a long time ago, by experience.

Turns out, hating your father and trying to please your brother's wishes only results in your dead father's spirit yelling at you whenever you manage to stay up after 5am.

Tobirama sniffed and wiped off his under eyes.

It's time to be stronger, it sucks to drown in self pity, day by day everyday.

And so that was the start of it all. The start of Edo Tensei.

Both the sun and moon had fallen down multiple times while Tobirama spent weeks in his office, only leaving for small wash ups.

He was desperate, he had a goal in mind and he for sure going to achive it.

Sleep was something he... well forgot to do, but came to him naturally. Each time, he had envisioned all the failed attempts that had happened.

It's been months, he is used to it. Used to all the dry tears on his cheek after a few minutes nap, as he still hears the painful scream of his little brothers. He wants to get it right. He so does.

Just what is he missing? What?

He has calculated everything imaginable. So why.. why don't they look human?

Those questions rang louder and louder in his head as he made an attempt to revive his brothers in their - now - family home.

Well, the little hill next to their garden tree.

Itama and Kawarama were sad. They couldn't be as grown up and as human as their big brothers.

They tried to comfort their older brother too.

He was on his knees, punching the ground with his fists as tears stormed down his face.

" Why, why, why? ", he asked, over and over.

Not to mistake him for an idiot though, once he felt two little hands stroke his back, he had wrapped his arms around what he knows as his little brothers.

" It's okay "

" Thank you for trying "

Those small little voices trying to comfort him.. their gentleness... It should be the other way around. It really should.

But why is he like this? It's hard to admit, but Tobirama is ashamed. It should be the other way around.

The ground broke, and suddenly there was water everywhere but around the three of them.

It was almost destructive, flooding everything around them, breaking of their tree, turning into a water tornado.

It took a mental breakdown for Hashirama to notice what's wrong, as he ran there yelling out

" Tobirama! "

That was the last thing in Tobirama's memory before his coma.

Hashirama must have solved it, he guesses. After all, not only their house is new, but their list of forbidden jutsus are too.

[carmeloffie]

A case in suburbia, domestic dynamics, and a forever home. What could go wrong?

the moment i’ve been waiting for! chapter one is up now! read here or under the cut.

Cas and Dean were searching for a forever house. They had been pretty much since Cas got back from the empty. They were ready to distance themselves from hunting. Dean had always wanted a sort of suburban, white picket fence life, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone. And since he already admitted how he truly felt to Cas, why not throw his need for a domestic lifestyle into the mix. Cas was all for it. Ever since Jack had given up most of his powers to Amara, thus causing her to take his place as God and him almost human, Cas had been hoping for a place to raise him like a normal child. The bunker was great for hunting and a place for Cas, Dean, and Sam, but not so much for raising a 5-year-old kid.

House hunting had been a burden to bear, but they were making out alright. Up till this, they’d looked at about 3 other houses. They were all a no for different reasons. The first one Cas decided was in a school district that wouldn’t be good for Jack, the second didn’t have a big enough garage or backyard, and the third didn’t have enough bedrooms for all of their family to stay. With the whole credit card scam they’d been running for as long as they remember, budget wasn’t really a problem, but they didn’t want something extravagant.

There it was, 538 Chapel Street in Pine River Crossings. It wasn’t too far out of Lawrence, only a few hours' drive, and all the houses looked nice. Very cookie cutter, but that was sort of the appeal. They couldn’t guarantee that they would fit in with the traditional, upper middle-class people, but what the hell, if they could kill god they could take suburbia.

A few days passed, and they were set up to look at the home. They drove the hour and a half to the next medium-sized town with the belief in their minds that this was the one. It had all they needed, a two-car garage, a respectable school district, and two guest bedrooms. They were so caught up in this concept they made the mistake of not checking the news for the nearby areas. Once they arrived, a realtor who showed them around the dwelling greeted them. It was all they could ask for and more practically too good to be true, especially for people like them. The actual presentation of the house went over without too many problems. The person exhibiting the residence commented on how it had been on display for almost a month now, which was the first red flag. A house as nice as this, in a densely populated area, would usually not be on the market for that long in weeks unless there was some hidden con.

They signed on it not a day after seeing the house in person. It was all set up and they could officially start moving stuff in the next week. They officially shared the good news with everyone the day after they signed. Sam was beyond happy for them. Not only would he finally have a space to himself, he was proud of his brother for living the life he’d always wanted. Jack was thrilled that he would get to go to actual school and have friends that were his age and not cosmic entities. In the meantime, Cas did more research into the neighborhood. There was their hidden con. The newspaper Cas had pulled up on his phone said, “Local Couple Murdered in Own Home.”

“Dean, look at this.”

Okay, that was a setback. A murderer on the loose in the neighborhood they were moving into was not exactly what he had planned, but he had delt with worse. “Alright, that could be a problem.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than a problem,” Cas retorted.

“Is it our type of thing or just something local law enforcement could deal with?”

Cas read on in the article, “the couple was stabbed, there was no sign of forced entry, neighbors reported nothing amiss besides lights flickering before the murder. The weapon, as well as the perpetrator, was never found. No official suspects have been labeled, everyone has seemed to have an alibi.”

“It definitely sounds like our thing. Lights flickering, no breaking and entering, and all.”

They decided they could pose as residents, as it seemed perfectly normal for the newcomers to be concerned about the literal murderer on the loose. Since Cas was newly human, and Jack was, well, 5, Dean thought they might need outside help. Being out of practice to spend more time with your husband and child really had its fallbacks. Sam was off the table as backup. He was out of town and Dean didn't want to interrupt his first weekend without him in god knows how long. Plus, they needed someone who wouldn't draw too much attention to their family dynamic.

“Hey, Cas, what do you think about calling in Claire to help us with this one? You think she’d do it?”

“Calling her in for help is a good idea, whether or not shed actually do it is another question.”

“I’ll call and ask, and if she wants to help, and if not then I can think of something else.”

He kept his promise and called Claire not an hour later. He decided it might be best not to tell her it was undercover work, or that it was taking place in a white picket fence neighborhood, as that might turn her off from it almost immediately.

“Hey Claire, its been too long since we’ve talked,” he started.

“Hi Dean. what do you want, there’s no way you’re just calling to catch up if you’re starting with ‘its been too long.’”

“You got me there. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me and Cas on a hunt. Its not too far from the bunker and we’d have you back home in a week.”

“Sure, that works. When do we start?” She hadnt seen Dean and Cas since they rescued Cas. That was over a month ago, she’d been meaning to visit, but she’d been so busy with hunting, and getting to know Kaia again now that she was finally back. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to reconnect and not miss out on anything too big back at home.

“If you could come down here by Wednesday, that’d be great.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She was tempted to sign off with an ‘I love you’ but she was never a lovey-dovey person in that way.

On tuesday she promised Jody she’d be extra careful and would be back in under a week. Kaia told her to make sure to call every day and update her on what was happening. Claire agreed, promising to keep in touch. She spent the rest of the day driving down to Kansas.

Back on Dean and Cas’s end, they were trying to get the house set up for 4 people when they had no furniture prior to this. Cas had always loved furniture shopping even before he had a use for it. When he worked at the Gas-and-Sip, he would browse the home improvement magazines in his spare time. Dean was pretty much the opposite. He had never had reason to care for it, so he didn't. Maybe his hatred for Swedish furniture was rooted in his deep-seated commitment issues. It didn't matter much why he hated it, he just left most of the choices up to Cas. there was then the issue of appliances and such you couldn't find in a furniture store. That was left up to him. Cas sent him out to Walmart to get things for the kitchen. That was something he could do. He picked out a mixer, some silverware, and a pioneer woman kitchenware set. It came with pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a few normal sized plates. That was enough for him to consider it an absolute steal. He brought his finds home to the bunker, setting them on the table designated for things that were to go in the new house. Jack was sitting on Cas’s lap, pointing at things on the computer.

“What’re you guys finding?” Dean asked, hovering behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Djungelskog!” Jack exclaimed, showing Dean a photo of a large stuffed brown bear.

“I thought you were looking for furniture?” Dean directed the question more at Cas, but he was still looking at Jack.

“We are. Jack just got us a bit sidetracked. We found the majority of what we need. Among other things not of as grave importance.”

Dean looked over the shopping cart and then gave the go ahead. Not before adding the stuffed bear to the cart, though.

The next day Claire arrived. Everyone was thrilled to see her. Jack ran up and threw himself around one of her legs and Cas gave her an awkward dad side hug. Dean wondered when he would tell her what the hunt would actually consist of, but he didn't want to interrupt the moment.

A few hours later, Dean fixed everyone a real dinner and had them sit down at the kitchen table. The realization dawned on him that this was going to be his last sit down meal officially living in the bunker. Everyone sort of just sat in silence for a beat. Perhaps reflecting on their own lasts of officially living there. “Claire, I sorta forgot to add this when I called you, but the case is a lot of undercover work. Also its in a suburban area.”

“And why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“Well to speak freely, I wanted you on this case and I was worried it would make you not want to come.”

“It almost does, but i'm already here now, and i wouldn't want to waste a days driving on something i'm not actually going to do.” She guessed this would probably take longer than a week. “And i'm guessing this isn't just something you decided to do out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“We bought a house in the area, and we just wanted to make sure it was safe,” Cas explained.

“Hang on, you bought a house for real and you didnt even think to tell me? You didn't think that that was valuable information?”

“It didn't come up in our phone call,” Dean said.

“And? That’s no excuse to leave your daughter out of major life events!” The ‘daughter’ part just sort of came out without her noticing, but seconds after she said it she regretted it. God, how embarrassing.

“You’re right. We should’ve told you sooner. It was kind of a recent decision, though, so you haven’t been out of the loop for too long,” Cas said.

The next day was moving day. Dean loaded the appliances into the back of Claire’s car, since the back of the Impala was already full. Claire took her own car, while Dean, Cas, and Jack rode in Baby. Their real furniture was being delivered as they spoke. Cas offered to ride with Claire, but she assured him she’d be fine by herself. The drive wasn’t even that long, especially compared to the distance she drove yesterday.

Dean was silently nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was written all over his face. His first real stable house, with the man he loved, and his two kids, he could only hope that he didn’t mess it up. Cas put a hand on his shoulder showing he saw how Dean was feeling.

They turned onto Chapel Street and pulled up into the driveway of the house. It somehow looked bigger and more daunting than it had during the walkthrough. Claire arrived almost ten minutes later. Everyone just sort of paused in front of the house for a minute, reveling in the stability most of them had never had.

[hypo-critic-al]

Korean Frankenstein musical is quite good!

(MY SUBJECTIVE REVIEW)

After two musical adaptations, which are Frankenstein: a new musical and Frankenstein metal opera, I have discovered, not a secret of life as Victor did, but another very nice adaptation of Frankenstein! It’s name is "프랑켄슈타인 뮤지컬" or simply "Frankenstein musical".

I was watching Frankenstein a new musical stuff on YouTube when I stumbled across a Korean Frankenstein video with English subtitles. Maybe I can give it a watch, I thought...

And oh dear, I wanted more!

I don’t understand a single word of Korean but thanks to a few subtitled songs and Google Translate on my side I got to understand some parts of a plot.

Before I explain the plot I have to say that this is a very interesting and fresh take on the book. If you want to know my thoughts on it and what it is about, then you can read further.

(SPOILERS)

(warning! This story talks about murder, abuse of all kind, suicide intention, incest marriage, and other topics that may be triggering and unpleasant for you. You are free to scroll past this post if you want to avoid reading about these. Thank you.)

(The photos used in this post are from various sources, productions, actors etc. They are used to illustrate and show how the musical looks like. I don’t profit from using them.)

THE SCRIPT: Overture plays and we see a man in a lab leaning over a body on a table. Voice of a man and woman try to stop the said man from doing anything further but then a lightning struck outside of a lab and a body on a table sits up.

The whole story begins here:

It’s 1815, Napoleonic Wars are coming to their end, we meet one Henry Dupré: soldier surgeon and body grafter. He values the life of the others, it’s so precious to him that he doesn’t heal only soldiers from his side, but also his enemies. For this, a crime of espionage, he is to be executed and shot.

However, at the last minute, a soldier from higher ranks stops this. It is no one else than Victor Frankenstein. Victor takes Henry to his lab where he presents him his research and a reason he saved Henry: to create a strong, perfect, possibly immortal human soldiers from dead bodies.

Henry is sceptical at first, he doesn’t want to play God, but later agrees and joins this experiment.

The war has ended, the lab is closed before they could finish their project, so both of them are coming to Victor’s hometown: Geneva. People are celebrating the end of the war at the castle of their Mayor Stephen, Victor’s uncle. People are dancing and chatting and soon they start to spread rumours about Victor. Victor’s older sister Ellen and her cousin who also is Victor’s fiancee Julia are trying to prove rumours wrong but it’s too late. Victor leaves the event and goes to Frankenstein’s mansion.

Meanwhile, Julia is sad at the fact that Victor is cold and ignores her, but she still has hope that he will love her like he did before the war.

Henry and Victor continue their experiment in the old Frankenstein’s mansion, but Henry sees that people of Geneva don’t like Victor and hate the name of Frankenstein, so he asks Victor’s sister Ellen about it.

She then tells him a story of their family:

When they were children there was an epidemic. Their mother got ill and their father, a doctor, was unable to cure this sickness. He was so desperate that he started to believe in alchemy and the medical practise of the Middle Ages. Their mother died and young Victor, full of grief and denial, dug up his mother’s body and secretly tried to bring her back to life. Superstitious people, seeing that Frankenstein’s father used strange medieval remedies and seeing the grave of his wife empty, start to think that Frankensteins are witches. They burned down their castle and while escaping, Victor’s father sacrifices his life to save Victor.

Ellen and Victor go to live with their uncle Stephen and their cousin Julia and since then Victor is obsessed with life-creating. Once, he tried his theories and reanimated dead Julia’s dog, who became savage and feral afterwards.

Uncle Stephen doesn’t like Victor and decides to send him to study abroad. He then became a soldier and we know the rest of the story.

Victor is unable to reanimate a body, it seems that the brain cannot withstand the electric current and he needs to find a fresh brain. While drinking at a bar with Henry, Victor’s butler Runge, who was helping them with their experiment, tells them, that he has promised money to a mortician if he provides them recently dead body. However, it seems that a money-blinded mortician killed a young boy whom Victor knew and now wants more money in exchange for the boy’s brain. Victor lost his temper, killed the man and escaped. Henry takes the blame and is soon to be executed.

Runge, Julia and Ellen know the truth about his experiment and Victor’s crime but they doesn’t want to lose him. He tries to tell the court that he is a killer, but Stephen denies it, saying Victor is insane and ill after the war, so the court dismisses his testimony and Henry is sentenced to die under a guillotine.

Victor asks Henry in jail why he sacrificed himself and Henry says that Victor must live to fulfil his dream and that he must finish his experiment in a memory of him.

After his death, Victor takes Henry’s head and uses it as a last part of the Creature whom he brings to life. Runge and Ellen are amazed to see the reanimated Creature but Victor is crazy, he believes that he resurrected Henry.

However, they see the Creature move around weirdly, trying to come closer to his creator. This freaks Runge out and he attacks him, thinking the Creature wants to strangle Victor. Monster tried to defend himself, bit the butler’s neck and Runge died.

Frustrated Victor, seeing that this isn’t his Henry but feral Creature, wants to shot him but the Creature escapes the lab.

Three years later, Victor and Julia are celebrating their wedding. He is still anxious and thinks about Creature. Mayor’s servants then rush to him, announce him that his uncle, Mayor Stephen, has disappeared.

Victor distances himself from guests and that’s when the Creature appears before him.

Monster, who read Victor’s diary, which was in coat which Creature have grabbed before his escape, blames Victor for Henry’s death, he argues that he didn’t want to be created, left alone and later almost killed. Then he tells his story to scared Victor:

The Creature was running from Victor and after some time he found a village. He couldn’t overcome his hunger and decided to eat a dog. Turns out that the dog was of Eva, the wealthy owner of a fighting field and she sends her arena warriors to capture the Creature.

(This is where Google Translator began to fail, so I had to deduce things. When there is something I couldn’t understand, I put a question mark after it.)

The Creature sees Catherine, a servant in said fighting field, being attacked by a bear(?). He kills it and Eva, seeing Creature’s amazing strength, doesn’t punish him, instead she enlists him to her fighting arena as one of the gladiators.

Creature’s whole purpose is to fight with other fighters. Eva and Jacques, Eva’s husband, are constantly punishing and verbally abusing him.

The only person that shows sympathy for Creature is Catherine, who is also abused by her masters, fighters and other people from the arena, to which she was sold at a young age. She cleanses his wounds and she dreams of escaping away, to the North Pole, where there are no people to abuse her. Creature is fascinated by her story and wants to run away, too.

One day Fernando, creditor of the arena, promises that he will free them out of debt if the Creature wins against his fighter. He then approaches Catherine, promising her freedom if she adds strange medicine to Creature’s water. She is blinded by a promised freedom and does so.

The Creature is defeated in a fight, but Fernando’s plan is revealed and Jacques announces that the next day Catherine will die in the arena.

Monster is left alone, miserable, angry, longing for love and thirsty for vengeance and revenge upon his creator, he sets the arena on fire and finds Victor in Geneva.

Creature here ends his story and announces that this is the beginning of his revenge and escapes. Victor learns soon after that his uncle was killed and the court blamed his sister Ellen for murder. He arrives too late, Ellen is already hanged.

He then takes her body with intention of reanimating it, his lab is however destroyed by a Creature. Victor pleads Creature to kill him, but the Creature laughs, telling him that revenge is not over yet.

Day, when Victor feels the Creature would come he gathers people with guns in front of his house to kill Monster as soon as he appears. Suddenly, they hear Julia’s scream inside the house. Victor knows who to blame, and cries, asking why the Creature killed her and not him. Creature, who is standing near Victor tells that if he wants to avenge his dearest ones, he can find him in the North Pole.

While running there, Creature is regretthing his sins and while looking back at his life he finds a young boy lost in the woods. He calms the crying boy by telling him a story of a man who fought against God by creating life. The boy is curious and says that the Monster in the story is the Creature telling him this tale. The creature is annoyed by further questions, pushes the child into the water and continues his path to the Arctic.

Victor, from the last strength, reaches the Creature and fights with him. Creature stabs Victor’s leg with a knife and Victor shoots the Creature. Creature then says that because of a leg injury Victor won’t leave the Arctic and by following him to the Arctic he basically just punished himself.

The Creature dies, saying that justice was done and calls his creator "my friend". Victor sees that he is the one responsible for his tragedy, he was successful in revenge but at the expense of losing everything, and calls his creation, the last thing that somehow cared for Victor Frankenstein, his friend. He then slowly dies with his Creature in his arms.

—————————

Whew! This took me longer than I wanted to. First my draft got deleted, then again...

This musical wasn‘t directly sticking to the source material, but it is referencing it pretty often. For example, character of Henry Dupré was inspired by Henry Clerval, Julia=Elizabeth, Ellen is falsely acussed of murder as Justine was, instead of burning down a cottage of DeLacys, Creature burns down a fighting field etc. And is Runge a parallel for an Igor? I think he is.

Victor and Creature stay pretty similar to the book. Victor’s actions are affected by his pride, he doesn’t care about morality, God, etc. His actions may come from love of those he lost (his mother, Henry...) but he is careless and revenge blinds him that he slowly destroys himself. He may fight against God, but he faills to take responsibility.

Also, how could he think he would revive Henry by stitching his head to a creature’s neck? That’s dumb! Victor, I know you want your boyfriend back, but that is awful.

The Creature wants to be loved but instead he is hated everywhere he goes. He reads Victor’s diary and is mad at him, he doesn’t see that although Victor tries to make strong corpse soldier but he doesn’t know the thought process behind it and a fact that Victor tried to revive Henry by making the Creature.

So the Creature shows him a simple revenge plan: Runge attempted to kill me – I killed him. You are resposible for Henry’s death – I kill your uncle. You are responsible for my creation – Ellen dies. You tried to kill me and abadoned me – I kill Julia. Now if you wanna take this further and destroy yourself even more, come to Arctic.

And Victor does. And monster uses the same logic later, too. They both thought of stopping this chase to Arctic stuff but they were blindly following their rage for one another which resulted in their death.

I can’t judge things further because I didn’t watched full show.

But the music is pretty much fantastic! Just epic. I don’t care very much for flaws If a musical has great music.

Also if you look at actors, singing, dancing, costumes... I feel like a lot of money went into this musical. And a lot of money have returned from tickets. I think I read somewhere that this is considered the best original Korean musical in Korea. Because other musicals that are this popular are Broadway musical productions.

This may be a clichè for someone but I truly enjoy smart double acting roles. Not the ones like: okay, we don’t have enough actors, let’s make this one play another role. No, not like that. I like those meaningful ones. Kinda what Hamilton did. Here it is too. You see, it is obvious that the actor playing Henry plays later the Creature. A person whom once Victor adored is now a person whom he hated the most. And actor of Victor plays role of Jacques in second act. Isn‘t this cool? A person who rejected him is now a person abusing him. Every named character plays another role similar to the one in first act. I think Eva is played by actress of Ellen, Ellen stands by Victor’s side and agrees with everything he says. That’s also Eve’s relationship with her husband Jacques, played by actor of Victor. Soft, loving Julia is Catherine here. Actor of Runge plays the role of Jacques’ servant. Etc., etc.

One thing I didn’t like much was a difficult story. I know that Korean audience may have different taste, but to me, a Western listener, it was a bit confusing plot. They added unnecessary stuff to it, changed some things and sometimes it’s really confusing. (Hey! That’s what Jekyll & Hyde did! They left only key things from the book and changed everything. And this musical is comparable to J&H then. It’s not Frankenstein: a new musical that is similar to J&H, it’s this! This is a Frankenstein adaptation that follows the story path of J&H. That’s interesting.)

And I didn‘t mind this, but couldn’t they left the names unchanged? Why couldn’t Victor’s fianceé have a name Elizabeth? And why you have Jacques and Eva? You could have one character, only Eva for example. Jacques is just here, slapping the Creature (the only reason for having them both is their double acting roles, which I understand). And there is Ernest erasure as always. And no Robert Walton, too! They cut this character. The more I look into it, the more I feel that this musical was made by someone who liked Jekyll & Hyde.

(END OF SPOILERS)

To sum up, this musical appears to me as a nice, original take on the original book. It has interesting parallels to the book, references it throughout this show, and takes inspiration from Frankenstein movies. It feels like a blow of fresh air.

The music is very likeable. If you like Wildhorn-ish kind of stuff like I do, then this is, I don’t know, it feels more complex and confident than what I am used to. Maybe you won’t like it, maybe it becomes your favourite musical, this is just my opinion.

And don’t get me started on singing, acting, costume design, sets, choreography... it’s beyond perfect and I think that the West musicals should take notes.

I have talked about some stuff a bit more in a spoiler section but I have to say it here too, this musical has a very interesting take on Victor/Henry relationship that later affects Victor’s actions and his relationship with the Creature. It’s very heartwarming and creepy at the same time.

I think my sole obsession for countless days (I haven’t listened to anything else than these since last March) that are Frankenstein: a new musical, and Jekyll & Hyde musical have a new opponent. New March, new me (It’s still just Frankenstein tho).

So, pros and cons:

PROS:

-good music

-good acting

-good singing

-referencing the source material

-nice take on Victor/Henry relationship

-I like reasonable double acting roles

-simply it’s good

CONS:

-name change of main characters

-no Robert and Ernest (I know, but not even Walton is here!)

-tiring and long story

-unnecessary/bland female characters

-foreign language

I rate this musical 8,25/10. I still haven‘t seen it whole, so I can’t really judge it objectively.

I assume there is no full recording and I can’t find a script either. If anyone has an English or Korean script/bootleg, please, let me know : )

Here is a recording of a few songs performed at a musical press conference, you can set an English subtitles if you want to know the words:

Here is a link to the full Korean album, not all songs were recorded on the album:

And here is an animatic that makes me cry ;-;:

I apologise for bad grammar, stupid reasoning and other things.

I hope you didn’t mind me sharing this musical with you, I like this show and I haven’t seen any people talk about it in Frankenstein (book/musical/etc.) fandom, so I made this post to share it with you.

Have a nice day : D

[danny-chase]

Dick Grayson Week Day 4

Prompt: Bruce hits Dick and doesn’t get away with it

Summary/Notes:

A Spyral fixit where the family finds out about Nightwing 30. Perspectives are from Tim and Jason, but Steph, Cass, and Damian make an appearance. Quotes taken from Forever Evil 7 and 8, and Nightwing 30. Tw for swearing, angst and domestic/child abuse (because canon is terrible and I can’t leave it the way it is).

Edit: I have an AO3 account now yay! Read here

“I’ll be right back.” Tim chirped as he left to pull some files out of his room. He could feel his friends’ gazes lingering on him as he left. He had to suppress an eye roll. He was fine. Your pseudo-dad/adopted-father-before-you-emancipated-yourself loses his memory and suddenly everyone thinks there’s something wrong with you. Figures. Bruce was happier this way. And maybe, one day, he’d be able to get to know him again. Maybe not as sorta-father and son. But Bruce 2.0 liked volunteering with kids, running charity events. Maybe they could be business partners, or coworkers. It wasn’t like last time. But that didn’t mean Cassie, Bart and Kon weren’t worried. No matter how many times he tried to explain, they wouldn’t listen. It was better this way. Bruce was happier without them. Without him. It stung at first sure, but he was over it. He could handle it. Even if the knot in his stomach told him otherwise.

His fingers brushed the lines on the hallway as he strode through Titan’s Tower. The halls seemed so much smaller than they used to be. Logically, he knew they were the same size. But they weren’t the same walls as when he’d first visited. And those hadn’t even been the first wall either. “We’ve had to rebuild this place like at least a million times.” Dick had told him. The knot tightened. Don’t think about it, he reprimanded himself. He’d been having a nice afternoon. It was relaxing, staying with his friends. But he couldn’t walk through the halls without feeling like a trespasser. This was Dick’s team. This was his home away from home. Who was he kidding? He was no Dick Grayson. Dick’s friends used to look to him for guidance, for advice, for help with problems, personal and business related. Tim used to look to him for guidance, advice and help. Stop thinking about him, he tried again. Forget the Crime Syndicate. Forget the funeral. Don’t stress, repress. He paused for a moment, stared aimlessly out the window, took a few deep breaths, cleared his mind and continued on his way.

Climbing the stairs, he decided it was better to use his mental faculties to go through the case he was working on. Jason had called two days ago asking about some of his old informants in Gotham, Penguin was apparently moving back onto the scene and reorganizing the structure of some of the newer gangs. Cleaning house. Informants were switching names, following their own protocols. Bruce had written some contingency in a classified file somewhere. The issue was where. The damn batcomputer had like a billion files on it. And Barbara knew the system, but was busy coordinating for the JLA and had put them on “Do not Disturb” mode for the foreseeable future. He could write a program to search for it. Stupid Bruce and his stupid files that he’d kept secret from them. “It was on a need to know basis.” He could almost here the defensiveness in Bruce’s voice if he tried hard enough. He nearly face planted as he miscalculated the number of stairs. Maybe they should just go back to their old Young Justice base. Or wait till the building inevitably explodes again and just make it better. That would be fun. Designing a Teen Titans base with slides and escalators. Bart would be thrilled. Bart could probably build it in 5 minutes. Dick wouldn’t approve, his brain felt the need to remind him. Tim nearly huffed. Well Dick is de-.

He abruptly lost his train of thought. There was noise coming from his room. Someone was sniffing, was someone crying in his room? Who was even in his room? Everyone was downstairs. Cissie and Steph were visiting in the lounge, Greta left a few days ago, the new kids were in the gym getting a feel for the equipment. The hell? His heart pounded a bit louder as he silently slunk towards his rooms. If Dick decided to haunt him from beyond the grave this was not cool. The lights flickered. Tim nearly screamed. He could feel cold sweat gathering in his palms, his heart racing, thoughts pounding in his skull. It’s just one of Bart’s pranks, no one can get in without access. He slid next to his door and pulled up the camera feed on his glove’s embedded computer. They weren’t in lockdown, but it couldn’t hurt to check. Few clicks here, few taps there and…Damian? Tim burst through the door, half relieved and fully confused.

“What are you doing here?” Tim half yelled, Damian startling on the bed as he burst into his room. Tim flicked the lights on as the gremlin crossed his arms in response. Tim shut the soundproof door, no need to bother Kon with this.

“I was given access to the tower as well.” He stated monotonously. Tim frowned; something was off. Damian didn’t just show up in his room. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the kid in weeks. Not since Bruce went all amnesiac on them. Where was he even staying. Damian shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. There were dark circles under his eyes, he was paler than usual, but flushed, his eyes bright. Had he been crying in here? “Quit gawking at me, Drake.” He spat, jolting Tim back into reality.

He almost opened his mouth to throw some insult back. Almost. He saw the kid’s lip tremble just so slightly, and he bit his tongue. The kid’s hands were shaking. “What’s up?” He replied cautiously. Keeping the demon brat in line wasn’t in his job description. But the kid had had a rough couple months. Dying, coming back to Dick being dead, Bruce losing his memory. He could help with whatever this was and-

“Grayson is alive.”

-send the kid back to Alfred, he knew the kid better than he did. He had his pets at the manor to keep him company, maybe he’d see if Jon would be willing to have a sleepover or something. Spring break was coming up soon, maybe he could take a trip out to Kansas-

“Drake!” Damian was waving a hand in front of his face. Tim blinked a few times. He hadn’t said…had he? That wasn’t right Dick was-

“Richard is alive, I can prove it.” There was desperation in the kid’s voice, water in his eyes. The trash can was filled with tissues, it had been empty when he left. His shirt was on inside out. Tim inhaled sharply. Fuck. Tim had been there. He’d done that. Denied reality. Gone on a wild fairy tale goose chase. Chased insane dreams. Sure, it had worked. But this was different. They had a body. We had a body then, his mind helpfully supplied. There was no real evidence. It had worked hadn’t it? Denying Bruce’s death out of reality? But Dick couldn’t be alive. Bruce had seen him die. Clark saw Bruce die, his brain again helpfully supplied. Tim studied Damian’s face carefully. He looked two steps away from a mental breakdown. Was that how I looked? He wasn’t exactly looking in any mirrors at the time. Dick had try to talk him back down, that was the wrong move. He’d doubled down. But Damian wasn’t him and Tim had no idea what to do. Damian stared at him, studying his face carefully. Tim could feel his palms sweating again, when had he started clenching his fists? His brain was ticking through options, tell Damian he believed him – high chance of heartbreak, low chance of kid running off and doing something stupid on his own. Try and talk him down – still some heartbreak, but can mitigate, medium to high chance of him running off. Call Alfred – should he really do that though? The kid came to him. Alfred’s busy dealing with amnesiac Bruce. Call someone else? Why did the kid come to him in the first place? Damian hated him, he wouldn’t come to him unless he was really sure, or really desperate. Does he think I can replicate what happened with Bruce? Time seemed to move like molasses. Tim swallowed. Now or never.

“I believe you.” He replied. Damian’s eyebrows furrowed, but his shoulders fell ever so slightly, and he rocked back on his heels, uncrossing his arms and leaning into a less defensive stance. Mixed results. He prayed he sounded convincing enough. If he was going this route, he had to go all the way. It didn’t matter that he’d seen the body. It didn’t matter that Bruce saw. He needed to be on Damian’s side with this one. Just like he’d needed somebody on his side back then. Even if it was a crazy side. Even if it was a leave everyone behind and run around on a whim side. Even if it doesn’t work out, at least the kid would have someone to catch him at the end. Why did it have to be the brat though?

“You do not. But you will.” Damian said solemnly, a bit of an edge to his voice. He pulled a laptop out of a bag on the floor and hopped up on the foot of Tim’s bed. Tim quietly settled next to him, careful to not touch him. He was careful. The kid didn’t appear to be looking for a fight, but you never know. Tim glanced at the laptop screen.

“DAMIAN NO WHAT THE-” He screamed. Damian nearly leapt of the bed. His face turned red.

“-tt- Grow up Drake, this is for research purposes only, that is not-” He started mumbling.

“You’re on DICK GRAYSON THIRST POST WEBSITES for RESEARCH!” Tim half screamed, attempting to lower his voice. Damian flushed harder.

“SHUT UP DRAKE!” He countered. Tim took deep breaths. Dear god, he needed to bleach his eyes after this. He did not need to know these threads existed. Fucking reddit. Humanity has gone too far. There were 20k followers. He peeked over again, the latest posts were from this morning. His mouth was dry. These people were lusting over his dead brother. It was sick, it was fucking disgusting it was-

“Wait what’s that picture?” Tim asked.

“-tt- If you would allow me to explain instead of losing your head, I can show you.” Damian grumbled. He clicked on the picture to enlarge it. “I’ve run the calculations, biometrically, the body shape is a 99.97% match.” Tim let out a low whistle. It wasn’t much to go on. You couldn’t see the figure’s face, he was turned away from the camera. Whoever took it was definitely aiming for a certain portion of the man’s body.

“Have you talked to the poster?” Tim inquired. Damian nodded.

“This subreddit is dedicated to…” Damian made a revolted looking face, “capturing casual images of Grayson in unsavory positions.” He nearly squirmed as he finished the sentence. “I was attempting to research the details of Grayson’s perceived passing and came across this website.” That was a different kind of trauma in Tim’s opinion. “The image caught my eye. He has fans in Ireland, that is where it was taken. These fans are apparently experts at picking him out.” Damian scrolled through some earlier posts to prove his point. “It is odd.” He added pointedly. Tim’s mind was racing. It was hardly evidence. It could have been anyone. But he was right. The perverts were good. They even had a few of Dick in disguise doing undercover work, none of his face of course. But Dick couldn’t be in Ireland. Tim went to the funeral. Bruce went to the funeral. Bruce saw Dick die. Bruce wouldn’t lie about something like that. He never told you about the Joker. His mind supplied. No. Bruce wouldn’t. Bruce couldn’t. He wouldn’t put them through that grief. Not after Damian. Not after all the lies. He promised he wouldn’t lie to them like that. The picture couldn’t be real. But Damian kept scrolling. There were more. In multiple countries. It couldn’t be possible. There was no way. People joked his brother’s butt was iconic but this was ridiculous.

“Drake?” Damian sounded so cautious. Tim was confused. The pictures all looked so real. So accurate. Could they be photoshopped? That could explain it.

“Did you get any of the original files?” He asked much too hastily to appear calm. A smile flicked on Damian’s face for a millisecond.

“You believe me.” Damian stated, half disbelievingly. Tim bit his lip. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. If he did, then he didn’t believe Bruce. Damian cleared his throat. “I have already examined a few of the original photographs. Their phones were laughably easy to hack.” He looked smug for a mentally unhinged eleven-year-old. “They do not appear to be tampered with.” Tim could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Dick couldn’t be alive. It wasn’t possible. He saw the body. Bruce was in the cave for a week going over it. Not allowing anyone in. No… Fuck…

“What did you do?” He muttered under his breath. Damian looked at him inquisitively, a determination burning in his eyes. Tim hadn’t seen any of the proof himself. And he believed Bruce unquestioningly. That was the opposite of what the man had taught him. But there was still something off. He looked searchingly at Damian. “Dick wouldn’t do that to us.” He couldn’t. Dick would never do something like that. He would tell them. He wasn’t like Bruce, he was reliable. Dick didn’t keep secrets like that. He wouldn’t fake his own death and leave them to fend for themselves. Not after Damian died. After everything they’d lost, after everything he’d lost. Dick wouldn’t do that to him. Damian’s eyes flickered toward the ground, and he frowned.

“Maybe he can’t tell us.” Is all he had to offer. It seemed like a sore spot. Tim didn’t push it. It was probably driving the kid insane. Dick, galivanting across the world, not checking in, not coming back to tell them he was okay? The odds were astronomically low. Dick was a constant. He was their brother. He was a Robin. Robins don’t do that to each other. Steph did, his brain helpfully supplied. But that wasn’t Steph’s fault. Tim dug his nails into his palms. He needed to know. He needed proof. He needed to see the footage, go over the evidence. He didn’t doubt Dick, but his mind was itching. He wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he knew for sure. Hell, Damian probably couldn’t either.

“Look, here’s the plan.” Tim said, his mind racing. Damian stared at him intently. Wow the kid really was desperate if he was willing to listen to him. “I’ll tell Kon I’m taking you home, that you need some help on a case, then will slip out. Maybe, maybe someone close to the family is compromised.” He said, a bit unsure. That could explain the lie. If there was one. Please let there be one. Damian nodded, stuffing his laptop back into his backpack. Tim crossed the room and grabbed the door handle.

A barely audible “Thanks.” reached his ears as he flipped off the lights.

  Jason groaned as he checked his messages. He really didn’t want to go through the batcomputer files. It would be faster if Tim did it, plus he had a lower chance of accidentally messing something up. Not that the file system wasn’t already a disaster. Touch the wrong button and you’re locked in the cave till Alfred realizes something’s wrong.

Tim had stopped responding to his messages two days ago, and well, he couldn’t wait any longer. And so, he found himself zipping through the tunnel systems that led into the cave. It was better to avoid the manner if possible. Happy Bruce wasn’t high on the list of people he wanted to see. That dude was fucking weird. It made him feel weird. It did feel good to cross amnesia off his yearly family bingo though. Now he just needed someone to trip during an interview and he’d break Cass’s winning streak. At the rate they were checking things off, maybe he should start a second batch and make it biannual. That or change the prompts. They were getting predictable.

He rolled to a stop inside the cave, and nearly rolled his eyes seeing the mess of skid marks on the floor. Seriously, tires are expensive, why his siblings couldn’t park like normal human beings was beyond him.

Someone was clacking away on the upper platform. Oh, thank God Tim was probably here, figuring it out before he could mess everything up. Cass poked her head over the railing, Jason cocked an eyebrow at her as he removed his helmet. She grinned and jumped over it, catching the fireman’s pole and sliding down. Someone was going to break an ankle doing that, could he add that to the bingo cards? Stupid non-work related injury was already on there, maybe upgrading it to stupid broken bone would suffice. Dick broke his nose outside Denny’s at 3am last year during a post mission party. Hands down one of the best nights of Jason’s life. Too bad his family members decided to die at least once a year.

“I’m about to win bingo.” Cass whispered as she brushed past his shoulder. That jolted Jason out of his bittersweet thoughts.

“Bullshit.” He growled back, bingo was his this year. She smugly wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Sorry brother.” She said sweetly, leaning her head into his shoulder. She let out a long sigh. And then Jason finally remembered that it most the squares weren’t exactly fun.

“Wait, the fuck’s going on?” Fuck, he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. Nobody could have died Dick checked that off, amnesia was gone, Gotham destroyed was gone, natural disaster was checked, Joker breaks out and does dramatic shit was gone too. But that wasn’t a good sigh, that was a ‘I’m so tired of this family sigh’, which could narrow it down a bit. Cass squeezed his shoulder.

“Family secrets.” She admitted, giving him a melancholy look. Jason groaned. This family was the fucking worst. Bruce wasn’t even really part of it right now, who the hell was keeping secrets? Damian. Had to be Damian. Little monster was just like his dad. Fuck. Dick taught the kid better than that. What kind of mess was he in?

Cass took him by the wrist and started dragging him towards the stairs. He resisted briefly as they got to the base. He needed to know. “Who’s is it?” He asked, planting his feet on the ground.

Cass bit her lip, looking extremely uncomfortable. Jason pulled back his arms and crossed them, keeping his expression as neutral as he could, but she could probably read his mood anyways.

“HA. HAHAHA HA. FUCK YOU BRUCE! TAKE THAT SHIT-COMPUTER!”

Jason nearly jumped out of his skin at Tim’s screeching from upstairs, Cass was running up the stairs, not waiting to see if he was coming. Jason sighed. It was going to be on of those days. He took a deep breath and headed up behind her.

Tim was doing a victory dance in front of the computer. Damian was crawling out from under the computer, a shit eating grin on his face. They both looked (and smelled) a mess. Definitely neither had showered in a few days, probably hadn’t slept either.

“Todd, you are just in time to witness our victory over father.” Damian greeted, formal as ever. The brat didn’t even through an insult in there. Must be in a good mood. Well that at least explained who was keeping secrets. Stupid Bruce, keeping secrets even while an amnesiac. Screw him.

“Shall we?” Tim asked, offering a hand to Damian, which shockingly the kid took. The fuck did he miss?!?

“Uh, what the fuck?” He managed to get out. There was cowl footage pulled up on the screen. Cass was pulling chairs over from the table. He tiredly took the seat she offered him.

“Waaaaiiiiiit I have popcorn!” Steph called, pounding down the stairs.

“Steph no!” Tim moaned. “This isn’t a joke!”

“What’s family drama without popcorn?” Steph sung back. Damian huffed. Cass snickered. Jason had to smirk to himself. Dark humor was the best coping mechanism in this family. “Besides you haven’t told us what this is!” She accused. Well at least Jason wasn’t the only one who didn’t know. Tim shifted guilty at the computer, his eyes darting from Damian and then back to the group. Damian responded by huffing and crossing his arms.

“Drake did not ‘want to get your hopes up’.” He began, mimicking Tim’s voice perfectly, “-tt-His concern is unfounded, my research has been impeccable, Gr-” Tim shoved a hand over Damian’s mouth. Damian looked downright murderous.

“Look we want to watch the footage beforehand it might be-” Tim squawked as Cass lunged off the table, hopped over his shoulders and hit play on the batcomputer. “Cass wait!” He got out as the video began to play. Steph grabbed Tim from behind and dragged him into a seat.

The screen showed footage from a first-person perspective, they were walking through a doorway into a large room.

“I’m tired of secrets.” Muttered Cass as she slipped in a chair next to Steph. Damian staid standing, glaring intensely at the screen, looking strangely anguished.

“Hey, kid you can…” The invitation died in his throat. The camera moved forward into the room, revealing a beaten Dick Grayson in the center, hooked to countless machines, suspended in a metal cocoon, only his face and chest peeking out.

“Oh my God.” Came a familiar voice from the screen. A growl reverberated in the cave.

“Well Batman…” Luthor materialized on the right, “…You’ve found Nightwing.” He said, stalking forward.

Something clattered on the floor. The camera was rushing forward. Voices from the cave mixed with voices on the screen.

“Why would you want to watch this!?” shrieked Steph.

“Dick? Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here.” Bruce’s gruff voice sounded oddly strained.

“Shut up Brown!” Came Damian in a high-pitched voice.

“He never showed us the evidence.” Tim’s voice squeaked. “We have to watch till the end?”

“I’m sorry I shut you out. All of you. I didn’t want you getting hurt…I’m going to get you out of this.” Came Bruce’s shaking voice. Jason could feel a lump growing in his throat. He didn’t want to see this.

“Fast-forward?” Cass suggested, her voice equally shaken. Jason could barely see the others in the cave, his eyes were glued to the screen.

“No…You need to…leave.” Came Dick’s horse whisper of a voice. “You need to go…”

Damian made an inhuman noise, which allowed Jason to tear his eyes off the screen.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Muttered Tim. “We can’t fast-forward we need to know what happened.” He forced a sense of determination into his voice. “This is why I didn’t-”

THOOM. The sound rumbled through the cave. Jason jumped out of his seat. The camera whipped around revealing the exit sealed off, with Luthor, Selina, and Bizzarro trapped inside.

“-you guys can still leave.” Tim said shakily.

BA-DEEP. Blared through the speakers. BA-DEEP.

“What is that?” Came Selina’s voice, her usual smooth and silky persona dropped. BA-DEEP.

“It’s a countdown. This isn’t just a fancy pair of handcuffs, Catwoman. It’s a bomb.” Came Lex’s gruff voice. The camera turned again showing a timer counting down from 5 minutes. Jason’s stomach painfully twisted at the reminder of another countdown in another sealed building.

“We’re staying.” He managed to get out. He might have heard noises of affirmation.

WHAM. “The door. The walls. Why can’t we break through them?” Came Luthor’s voice.

“This cell was designed to hold Doomsday, Luthor.” Came Bruce’s voice again. The camera showed him messing with the panel. BA-DEEP.

“Is the countdown monitoring his heart?” Selina asked from seemingly far away.

“Yes.” Boomed Bruce’s voice. BA-DEEP.

“Why?” Replied Selina.

“The detonator is hooked into it.” Bruce responded. Jason’s heart sunk. “He died in a death trap. There was no way out.” Bruce had told him before the funeral. BA-DEEP.

“Batman…The bomb…” Dick whispered. BA-DEEP. Jason spared another glance at Damian. There were tears beginning to form in his eyes, but he stared, glued to the screen all the same. “…It only disams…If my heart stops.” Jason could feel his chest tightening painfully. “I die…or we all die.” BA-DEEP.

“Maybe Bruce had a reason for not showing this to us.” Steph said shakily. Jason glanced over. She looked green. Her sleave and eyes were both wet. The sounds of the heart monitor echoed in the cave.

BA-DEEP. “Please…Listen to me…” Dick’s horse voice started again. Tim was muttering frantically to himself. “You still have time to get yourself out of here.” The camera was so close. Jason could see every cut on his brother’s face, could see the sweat on his brow, the blood trickling down from his nose.

BA-DEEP. “I am not leaving you, Dick. I am not abandoning you.” Bruce sounded much more confident that Jason felt. Too bad Bruce didn’t sound confident.

“You aren’t Bruce. And you never have.” Dick replied. Jason’s vision was blurring. All he wanted was some stupid computer files. He didn’t come to the cave to watch this.

BA-DEEP. “The only way we’re getting out of here is together…No…The wires…” Jason dug his fingernails into his palms. “…Every time I disconnect a relay, it fixes itself.” Jason bit his lip.

BA-DEEP. At some point those in the caves had gone silent. “Then there’s only one way to disarm this bomb, Batman.” Came Luthor’s voice. The video jolted violently and Bruce’s cry reverberated through the cave. Chaos erupted on the screen. A cacophony associated with their customary brand of violence echoed through the speakers, obscuring some of the voices.

BA-DEEP. “I’m saving our lives.” Jason made out. The screen was black. Jason glanced around the room. Everyone was tense. Damian was crying. Tim looked horrified. Cass was perfectly still, her expression blank. Steph looked one step away from throwing up in the empty popcorn bowl that lie on the ground at her feet.

BA-DEEP. The camera was moving again. “LUTHOR.” Boomed Bruce’s voice again. Jason caught a glimpse of the man pressing a hand over Dick’s face. “LUTHOR, YOU HURT HIM AND I WILL KILL YOU.” Cass let out the faintest gasp. Bruce wasn’t lying. How the hell was Luthor still alive? The heart monitor was stuttering. BA-DEEEEEP

“Nonononononononononono.” Came Tim’s voice. “It wasn’t supposed to-”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“DICK.” Screamed Bruce. The camera rushed forward.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“NO!” Yelled Bruce and Tim at the same time. Damian had sunk to the floor.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

A fist kept pounding Luthor in the face relentlessly. “Batman, wait-” Luthor pleaded. This was not how Jason had wanted Bruce to break his code.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“YOU MURDERER!” Screeched Bruce, righteous fury echoing in his voice. The heart monitor cut off. A hand reached down to cut off Luthor’s windpipe.

“I have this…” Came Luthor’s strangled voice. He looked terrified. “Under control…Grayson…” The hand squeezed harder. “-kk-!” The man chocked. Bruce lessened up slightly. “It’s not too late, you idiot.” Spat Luthor. Bruce was apparently passed the point of listening.

“YOU MURDERED NIGHTWING.” He growled, tightening his grip once more. Luthor was going bug eyed. The man was going to actually die if Bruce pushed it much harded.

“Batman-” Came Selina’s voice.

“Luthor killed Dick, Selina.” Bruce said, his voice strangled.

“You said this lightning rod was from the future! Maybe we can use it to save him or something? I don’t know-!” She cried desperately.

A flash of light and crackle of electricity resounded through the cave. The screen went black for a moment.

Jason could hear metal clinking on the floor.

“Why are we still watching this?” Jason asked hoarsely. Tim looked at him palely.

“I need to know what happened next.” He whispered.

“If I hadn’t stopped Grayson’s heart, this ‘Murder Machine’ would have detonated and we all would have died. I had to make a choice, Batman. I made him flatline…after I forced him to swallow a cardioplegia pill.” The camera slowly tilted back up to focus on Luthor.

“A what?” Asked Steph and Selina at the same time.

“A drug that paralyzes the cardiac muscles surrounding the heart.” Replied Tim and Bruce in sync.

“Then…” Trailed off Damian. The boy looked up hopefully at the screen.

“And if this boy’s heart doesn’t get a shot of adrenaline right this very second he’s going to stay dead.” Luthor finished.

*kaff*

That small cough was the best sound Jason had heard in his entire life.

“YES!” Shouted Tim.

Damian swallowed. “As I expected.” He said shakily. No one called him out on it.

“Dick?” Came Bruce’s voice from the screen.

“Batman?” Dick’s wobbly voice whispered.

Cass tackled Steph into a bear hug, and Steph laughed widely as they clattered to the floor. Jason just sighed deeply and let his head drop into his hands in relief.

“Drake-” gasped Damian, “-get off.”

“You were right! Damian was right! Dick’s alive. HAHA Dick’s ALIVE!” Jason glanced up to see Tim squeezing the crap out of Damian who was going slightly blue in the face. There were words coming from the speakers still but they fell to the wayside in the celebration. Jason walked over and turned the volume down.

“I’m going to kill them.” Jason muttered under his breath. But he’d save that for later, for now, he just paced back to his chair and sunk into it. The cave was quiet for a few minutes, Dick and Bruce continued on whatever the fuck adventure they were on was. The rest of the video was a blur. By the end, Jason’s racing heart had settled, and the kids had stopped clinging to each other.

“But wait.” Said Steph as the video ended. “If Dick’s alive, where is he? How did you even know to look?”

Jason turned to see Tim babbling. “Well I have a few theories, we recovered more footage as well, you know? Like Damian found pictures of him all across the world so like, we don’t know for certain where he is, but like I don’t know for sure what happened, but maybe someone was compromised so like, he had to stay hidden or like…” Tim continued babbling as the next video began to play. It was once again footage from the cowl. “Bruce shut off all the camera’s in the cave for the next week, I thought he was sulking but like we were able to find some cowl footage that he deleted, and like hopefully from that we can figure out what happened and how to track him down-”

“Turn up the volume.” Demanded Cass from her seat. She was looking at the screen with an odd expression. Damian moved without hesitation. Jason’s eyes followed up to the screen. Dick was glaring into the camera his fists raised and wrapped.

“So, one more time Dick. But now there’s only one rule…You have to win.” Came Bruce’s gruff voice. The pair was in the cave. Dick lunged towards the camera. “You let the crime syndicate capture you. Let them torture you. You let them give your secrets to the world.” Bruce accused.

“Bruce man, what the fuck!” Steph yelled, masking Dick’s response.

Bruce continued “You let them turn you into a bomb. You let them kill you. Before Luthor rescued you, you let everyone WATCH YOU DIE.” He boomed.

“YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” Jason bellowed, knocking over his chair as he stood. He walked away from the screen. Only fucking Bruce. Only fucking Bruce would blame someone for their death. Jason knew that all too well. He walked away from the screen, giving himself distance to clear his head.”

“I trained you to LIVE, and I watched you DIE!” CRACK. Jason flipped around to see Bruce elbow Dick in the face, drawing blood. Bruce’s words cut like a knife. It wasn’t Jason’s fault he died. It wasn’t Dick’s fault either. Neither Steph’s or Damian’s. Damian had unconsciously taken cover behind Tim, who was standing between Damian and the screen with an arm hovering over the kid’s shoulder.

“WHAT THE FUCK BRUCE!” Screamed Steph at the screen, she was also on her feet at this point. Only Cass’s hand prevented her from trying to fight the digital apparition. “WE DON’T JUST GO AROUND DYING WILLY NILLY, IT’S NOT MY-, IT’S NOT HIS FAULT!” Her voice shrilly echoed around the cave, drowning out the audio temporarily.

Dick was on his knees, wiping his bloody nose, looking up confused. WHACK. A powerful kick sent him flying off the platform, crashing into a costume display case. “I have a mission for you, Dick. I need you to do something that will hurt your friends. Your family.” Bruce commanded. He could hear Damian inhale sharply. Tim stopped hovering and pulled Damian tightly into his chest, rushing forward to pause the video, with the boy in tow. His hand was over the button before Cass sprung forward and grabbed his wrist. Jason had never seen Cass look this angry without the mask.

“I deserve to know.” She said with conviction, anger deep in her voice. “I deserve to know what kind of father he is.” She spat. Jason wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“But he shouldn’t, I mean I don’t know if, I mean I don’t know what, I mean-” Tim sputtered glancing from the screen to Damian and back again.

“I want to know the truth.” Came Damian’s tiny reply. He looked so young, he pushed away from Tim’s chest, but leaned into his side.

Cass pulled Tim’s hand back. “I fought him once.” She admitted. “I need to know.” She repeated.

Tim looked at her pleadingly. Bruce and Dick raged at each other on screen. Blood flowed from the cuts on Dick’s back. “I…I…” Tim stammered.

“We all deserve to know.” Steph piped up, leaning against the side of the computer.

“Fight like you’re alive!” Bruce yelled on the screen. CRACK. An oversized die broke on impact with the back of Dick’s head. Dick retaliated, throwing a question mark back.

The words were blurring in Jason’s head, his rage clouding his thoughts, and overtaking his senses. The rest of the world was disappearing, leaving only the screen behind. His vision tunneled. He crossed his arms as tightly as he could, willing himself to stay in place. Stay calm. His hearing cut out. But he could still read his name on his brother’s lips just before Bruce delivered an uppercut powerful enough to knock Dick off the dinosaur.

The next thing Jason knew Cass was sitting on him. People were yelling at him.

“-on’t break the screen-”

“-up I need to see-”

“-op fighting-”

Cass smiled apologetically before tapping a pressure point. Jason allowed himself to fade into the darkness.

 He came to in a medical bay of the cave, with an intense desire to get out. This place was cursed. He needed out, he needed to think, he needed to process, but he needed to get out. He pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed.

“Wait.” Came a voice from behind him. He spun off the bed to see Tim, awkwardly standing on the other side of the cot. Jason edged towards the door. “We know where he is.” Tim offered. Jason glanced at Tim, and back to the door.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” He asked quietly. He didn’t want to be in the cave for this. Tim awkwardly bobbed side to side.

“Uh about that. We’re moving out.” He said quickly. Jason opened the door.

“OMGIT’SREDHOODHIMR.REDHOODSIRPLEASEDON’TKILLTIM-”

Jason slammed the door in the kid’s face. He stared at Tim, who was banging his head into the wall with a hand covering his eyes.

“Do I even want to know?” Jason asked. Tim groaned.

“I called my team to help us move out, we’re going to use the bunker for Gotham operations from now on.” Tim explained. A loud crash came from outside. The door whipped open.

“Heythegiantpennyisn’t-” The kid started. Jason growled at him. “-nevermindbyebye.” The speedster zipped away and slammed the door.

“You decided this without me?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at Tim. Tim looked back at him sheepishly.

“You’re already out voted. Besides you really want to stay here?” He replied evenly. Jason shrugged, that was fair. He’d already tried to leave. “I know you said you don’t want to talk here, but I don’t know when I’ll get you alone again.” Jason sighed. That’s valid, he was planning on avoiding the family for a bit. “Please don’t pull a disappearing act.” Jason looked up at him.

“Why not?” He challenged.

“We don’t need Bruce to be a family.” Tim replied. It sounded rehearsed. That was also fair. “And we need each other too. We found some communications from Dick, Bruce left him stranded when he got amnesia, he’s coming back in a few days.” Jason couldn’t look Tim in the eye anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” He said honestly, looking at Tim’s shoes. What do you say after something like this? After watching something like that. After knowing the truth.

“Neither do we, but we’ll figure it out together.” Tim offered. He looked sad, tired, his face fell before he spoke again. “He…he misses us.” He spoke softly. “On the recordings. I, I don’t think Bruce even told him about Damian.” Jason swore softly under his breath. Bruce was one fucking piece of work.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Jason said after a moment, catching Tim’s eye once more.

Tim shook his head. “The rest of the tape was mostly the same.” He said quietly. “He won.” He added as an afterthought. Jason snorted. Tim gave a warry smile. None of them ever won. Not in the ways they wanted to. Only when the prizes were more pain, more guilt, more heartbreak.

Jason leaned back against the wall. How was this the way things ended up? Was Bruce always this cruel? The man was unrecognizable to Jason. It was inexcusable. After Willis? After Cain? After Brown? Hell, even Tim’s father was emotionally abusive before he died. Why couldn’t any of them have a normal father? A stable parental relationship. It wasn’t fair. And it hurt more because he didn’t even know where it started. Bruce had been a good father to him. Had that been a lie? He’d never looked to closely at why Dick had left home, could it be that…that…? Had Jason missed something like this? Would he ever even know what he’d missed? They didn’t have as many cameras back then.

Tim had crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay.” He said confidently. “As long as we have each other, we’ll all be okay.” Tim squeezed his shoulder gently before disappearing through the door into the chaos that used to be his childhood fantasy. When had it all gone so wrong, he had to ask himself. He hated that he knew the answer. His death was this fucking family’s original sin. But you know what, that wasn’t his fault. Even if it felt like it. Even if Bruce still blamed him. Dick didn’t look at him like a ghost, he didn’t look at him like a kid in over his head, like a regret, like a mistake. It was time for Bruce to grow the hell up and move on. Bad experiences don’t justify beating your kids. Maybe from here, they could move on. Maybe from here on, they could heal. Maybe they could start over. Maybe they could make their own new family. Bruce had abused them, lied to them, manipulated them enough. It was time to rise from the ashes like a phoenix and fly again. He wouldn’t know unless he tried. He didn’t have to give up on Gotham. But maybe it was time to give up on Bruce.

Jason swung open the door, descending into a future unknown, diverging from the circle of heartache and abuse. He had broken the cycle once before, on his own, with a new family made of friends, one of his choosing. And now he chose to break it once more, and this time he resolved not to leave his siblings behind.

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that. 

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching. 

Taglist: @lemonzoey​, @babayaga67​

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder. 

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record. 

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you. 

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try. 

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent. 

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google. 

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals. 

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead. 

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water. 

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you. 

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind. 

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities. 

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night. 

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!" 

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in. 

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous. 

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me." 

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great. 

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest. 

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you." 

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?” 

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar. 

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?” 

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction. 

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization. 

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?” 

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?” 

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.” 

“S-stop it.” 

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.” 

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“ 

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop. 

“-You might be.” 

“Shut it, shark bait!” 

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?” 

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?” 

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.” 

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” 

“Prick.” 

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should. 

You lean forward. 

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.” 

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game. 

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl." 

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all? 

“How old are you?” 

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?" 

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs." 

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction. 

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!" 

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales. 

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case. 

Some things are universal, it seems. 

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice. 

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows. 

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water. 

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious. 

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw." 

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?" 

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?” 

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa." 

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that? 

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.” 

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you. 

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to." 

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity." 

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?" 

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.” 

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow. 

“Thanks…  I think?” 

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please." 

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on." 

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. 

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.” 

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?" 

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention." 

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!" 

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman." 

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close." 

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me." 

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard. 

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything. 

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much. 

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

[9h4mn]

when i was in love | verivery

➞ verivery x ex! reader

➞ angst, post break-up

➞ love, it was a fleeting moment where they could feel a sense of belongingness. how does verivery cope up with the fact you are gone?

dongheon: he is tired and perhaps that is an understatement. taking up law school when it isn't even your dream can easily tire out a person after all. he was a filial son, never the one to disobey his parents.

all those expectations makes it understandable that there are days he'd be very burnt out. he supposes coming home to you can make him remember that by the end of the day there was something that makes him know that it was worth it

"i'm home!" he calls but silence is all he receives. ah, thats right you're not there. for someone who knows he should never be wrong how is it that he can't remember you're already gone?

hoyoung: holding on to the memories wasn't a rational thing when he isn't exactly over you but hoyoung didn't want to be rational. he's heart broken, the poor boy didn't need to be rational.

if he had done things differently, would you still be in his arms? he keeps on thinking of the what ifs and everything that might have made you stay.

for a teacher he was being foolish and it didn't help that the children couldn't read the room. they keep on asking about you and he couldn't bring himself to tell his students that he can no longer marry you.

minchan: the day of your break up should have been the day he realized that everything was over but it took him so the long that when you gave him your wedding invitation, it was there the truth finally sunk in.

you could say that he's a masochist when he decided to go to your wedding. you were dazzling in your wedding dress and he could clearly see the love between you and your soon-to-be husband. had you give him that smile on the last days of your relationship?

minchan is truly happy for you, however, he can't help but think that he should have been the man in front of you in that altar.

gyeheon: before his career took off, gyeheon used to sing in cafes. that was how he met you. when everyone was telling him that he's stupid to pursue such dreams, you were there to support him.

messages left on read, missed calls, and an empty apartment. it was as if you never existed but that wasn't the case. you had became the unreachable which was what you feared gyeheon would become once he debuts.

now that he's a popular solo artist who is praised for his vocals and has his face plastered everywhere perhaps by dedicating all his songs to you, he could reach you one last time.

yeonho: some could say that he is a fool for buying flowers, that he is a fool for having a schedule just to visit you but he isn't having any of that. all their words just falls on deaf ears.

he knows that by now he should have moved on already. this was unhealthy for the both you. he should let you go now so that the both of you could continue on without any guilt or regrets. but knowing is different from doing.

yeonho can't bring himself to forget you, he loved you — no, he still loves you and thinks of you — which is why without fail, he always makes sure there are fresh flowers on your grave.

yongseung: he's a brilliant researcher recognized by the academy and it was an achievement by itself, after all the academy has standards hard to reach. he has his future ready and steady and yet he feels as if its all too underwhelming.

he tries to remind himself that this was what he wanted. you were a temporary distraction, a momentary muse. its his research that needs all of his attention. being a genius recognized by the academy and then the world is what he wanted. but he knows that this isn't the case.

yongseung thinks he's selfish for wanting you back in his life and so he buries himself in his research in hopes of forgetting you.

kangmin: everyone gets their heart broken — kangmin knows that and yet he went around with the belief that maybe he's lucky and things won't change. it was there that made everything even more painful.

when you told him that you love him, did you mean it? or was it a deliberate plan made to break his heart? why? why? WHY? he doesn't understand why you can end your relationship that easily.

seeing you with your new boyfriend makes kangmin think that maybe your love for him wasn't even there in the first place.

©9h4mn | all contents belong to me. do not modify or repost.

[yostresswritinggirl]

100 Followers Special

(And how to participate) you don't need to be a follower to vote ack

~yostresswritinggirl

Hello AGAIN, with your back to back followers special! Exiled here, very tired, as I just closed the requests box for our 50 followers special. I asked for some recommendations and no one helped me so this is what I came up with!

Granted, it's nothing that special, I literally just dumped my notes into this so—

Please make sure to follow the guidelines and read this thoroughly to properly participate!

1. You will be given a long list of fic prompts specific to a character that I've come up with for weeks on end, please don't steal, as I will remove them after this event is done!

2. Voting! You now have the power to influence my writing schedule haha- what you need to do: is to pick three prompts from the list and send it to me; either through reblog tag, a reply, or in my ask box (not anon so we can count fairly, will not publish these answers tho so worry not)! Not in messages tho! It should be in this format:

1. Character - prompt or prompt title

2. Character - prompt or prompt title

3. Character - prompt or prompt title

example:

1. Albedo - Citrinitas

2. Zhongli - Braid

3. Xingqui - Author!Reader

The top three most voted prompt and character will be the next fics I'll publish after I'm done with the current reqs. Speaking of: Voting ends when I finish the current reqs. You'll know it's done once the counter in my blog desc reaches 12/12.

3. In addition to the three prompts, you also get to add your own prompt to it! My prompts list does not include ALL the characters that's why I wanted to give you this option too! Add a fourth number and specify a character, a prompt/idea, and the format of the fic! Format it this way:

4. Character - Prompt/Idea (Format)

4. Kaeya - What's under that eyepatch? (Scenario)

After I pooled the answers, I'll randomly pick between the bonus answers and write them last! So give it your best shot!

4. Tags-list! I thought this would be necessary for this kind of a whim special, so if you wanna be tagged, just put Tag Me! at the end of your vote. Please make sure that you're actually able to be tagged because I just tried and some users are not in my orbit huhu, look here

5. If a pocket watch/series prompt gets chosen, I will only post the first chapter, not the whole damn fic pls. Have mercy,,,

I will post a counter of the top three in my blog description and will be updated as frequently as possible. Any questions, please direct to this post or my dms <3

Without further ado, here is your choice list!

Xingqui - "My liege, would you care to accompany me on my reading break? I've picked up a romance novel and it reminded me of us."

-> Author!Reader: You met Xingqui at Wanwen Bookhouse when delivering a batch of your newly-published book. But as a ghost writer, no one knew it was you that authored such books. Safe to say it was cute watching the noble bookworm fanboy about you in front of you. [FLUFF] [FIC]

-> Headcanons with a reader older than Xingqui who's a close family friend of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. Fascinated after meeting you in a party, the noble boy aspires to become the best man for you despite the difference, promising to be the best suitable partner for you in the future. [FLUFF] [HEADCANON SCENARIO]

Childe - "Hey there, comrade! What a coincidence that we had a break at the same time, care to accompany me for a walk? I promise I won’t lead you to a fight haha... hey, don’t look at me like that!”

-> Antinomy -  The 10th Harbinger (You) and the little shit they had to mentor (Childe), this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers. [FLANGST] [ONESHOT]

Albedo - "Ah, it's you. I've heard of fleeting rumors that you've been pestering a certain someone just to see me. Next time, just come directly to me, I wouldn't mind the assertiveness."

-> Refer to these three as well: Albedo Fic Ideas [FLUFF/FLANGST/FLANGST] [ONESHOT/ONESHOT/SERIES]

-> “You’re Enough”: A year into being the new Chief Alchemist of Mond, Albedo finds himself holed up in his room in the dead of night, haunted as he continuously comes out empty on his research to bring his master back, feeling inadequate. So you reminded him of what he’s capable of. [FLUFF?] [ONESHOT INSPIRED BY You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last]

-> Under the Artificial Sky: Michaelangelo Scenario focused on Albedo’s sketching aspect. Grand Master Varka and Acting Grand Master Jean figured Albedo needed a break and a change of scenery, and sent him off under the guise of a commission in Liyue. What he didn’t expect was another artist from Fontaine accompanying him in this big project.(Albedo and Reader are tasked to paint the new Jade Chamber within 7 days) [FLUFF] [SERIES - 7 CHAPTERS]

-> Albedo SMUT: I had this idea while laying wide awake at 3 AM. The alchemist had been trying all remedies to shake off the stress and fatigue in his system and they all seemed to fail, no amount of sketching or discoveries can pull him away from it. So when you offered a solution he hasn’t heard, he’d jump at it immediately. “You know, some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever.” “Intercourse? If it’s true, then please, I wish to have intercourse with you.” “Wha- wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!” “Convenient, I love you, anything else?” (Two virgin dumbasses do the thing to relieve stress) [SMUT] [ONESHOT]

Xiao - “I’ve taken care of every threat around this area, you can relax now, I made sure of that.”

-> What is it with you and Qingxin flowers? The Traveler had once heard of Xiao’s affinity for Qingxin flowers, and they’re flying companion boldly asked this lingering question to the adepti himself. His pupils dilate and sharpen before Paimon could finish her sentence. (An origin story about his favorite flower, and his favorite person) [SLIGHT FLANGST] [ONESHOT]

-> Just how harmful is adeptal energy to normal humans? You both found out in the worst way possible: silently, deadly. (Slight spoiler: you fucking die) [ANGST] [ONESHOT]

-> Nightmares Taste Horrible: He’s seen that look in your eyes and the ancient soul within it; you’ve lived long ago, and the only thing your soul carried now was the nightmares of a macabre timeline. Was it him or was it demons that brought you that fear? No matter, he’ll protect you even from yourself. (eating the nightmare of a dead soul reincarnated to you) [FLANGST?] [ONESHOT]

-> Go for the throat: The seal that marked you had made it all too late for him to remedy. Bleeding eyes, growing fangs, it’s just another demon to vanquish just like he’s done for centuries. What makes it different was it was sealed in you. (Inspired from Melanie Martinez’s song uhu) [ANGST] [ONESHOT]

Zhongli - “Mortals are capable creatures that evolve and adapt for means of survival, but they advance in ways that changes the world around them. This retirement, may be harder to me than it is to them.”

 -> “In human history, there’s a certain noble and powerful connotation to rulers who braid their hair.” Convince to braid his hair using some historical braid trivia; that long hair behind his back should not be ignored for any longer. [PURE FLUFF] [DRABBLE]

-> History has its eyes on you: A traveling theatre hailing from the land of entertainment finds its way to Liyue for their last caravan. A certain Geo Vision man seems to resonate with your newest script: fighting and protecting your land, building up its nation, before being forced to let go of it. He resonates maybe a little too much. (Musical!Reader with heavy references to Hamilton hehe) [FLUFF] [ONESHOT]

Venti - "Can you hear the symphonies of the wind as it sings to you? That's me, guiding you and protecting you! Whenever you hear it, know that you're safe and sound under my protection!"

-> the one the bard once loved: like actual bard, you are the archer or smth, loved by Venti and Barbatos. Yandere!Barbatos undertones, very unhealthy relationship. This hurts the kokoro. [PURE ANGST] [ONESHOT]

-> The Caravan: (related to the Zhongli and Musical!Reader up there) Your caravan stops at Mondstadt for a whole week before it reaches its final destination. This new fanfare pulled in a peculiar bard who now wants to tag along for the fun of it. "I have no more responsibilities in this free land!" Just what kind of responsibilities does a broke bard have in the first place? [FLUFF] [ONESHOT/HEADCANON]

Diluc - "You look weary, and you still managed to pull yourself here. Here, a fresh and cold glass, on the house. A relieved smile should be enough payment."

-> Abandoned by The Altar: A timeline oriented story focused on your once perfect childhood relationship as Diluc's bride to be, soon becoming estranged after the death of his father and his neglect. You only wish now that he looks at you the same way he did when you heard you were supposed to be together forever when you were young. [FLANFF] (The ending gets better pls; Inspired by Still Into You - Paramore) [ONESHOT]

-> There are No Laws Against Homelessness in Mondstadt: My favorite title out of all of this ahahhaa- who says adventurers can't be broke? You're the living embodiment of that. (Good boi Diluc with a broke ass reader) [FLUFF] (Warning: homelessness) [ONESHOT]

Scaramouche - "Let's go already, the sun is setting and we're nowhere near our destination. If you wanted to linger just to spend more time with me, I would have indulged you behind closed doors anyways."

-> Scaramouche Finally Does the Fandango: Have you ever wondered how Scaramouche is like working with other people? His first assignment was to accompany you in your main region and he sees you in your natural habitat, entranced. [I dunno how to tag this, NORMAL?] [ONESHOT/SHORT]

-> Skincare bitch, how I headcanon Scaramouche as someone actually conscious and always tending to their skin. Look at that smooth skin, cute cheeks, let me pinch, eyeliner glory— In which case, that hat has more purpose than being a frisbee. (May or may not include reader. (based from a reblog convo with chels-void) [GOOD VIBES] [HEADCANONS]

-> Once Supreme: Before Scaramouche, there was someone else higher than him. Before Balladeer there was just a young man fighting for his beliefs and her Majesty. Before Mondstadt, his smile wasn't just for deception. "Someday, someone would take advantage of that smile, Scaramouche. It's not appropriate in this work environment." The day you break a man. (Harbinger!Reader again, and lots of HCs for Scaramouche, same format as Antinomy) [I also do not know how to call this, eventual ANGST] [ONESHOT]

Kaeya - "What are you doing out here in the dead of night? Citizens like you should be cozied up in bed and leaving the patrols to us Knights. Come, I'll accompany you back home."

-> Honey Whiskey: A mysterious band of dancers from Sumeru visits Mondstadt and its taverns to offer a night of alluring dances. What was supposed to be a night of drinking for Kaeya and his troops ended up becoming a tipsy surprise mission when the main dancer steps down from the stage— and ignores him?! How scandalous! (Slightly suggestive themes/You're a bad guy) [COOL?] [ONESHOT] [slightly inspired by song with the same name]

General:

-> A Musical!Reader but with a scenario with every other character, most probably headcanons master post.

-> Genshin Food prompts: From that one post, I ended up making a whole storyline of oneshots related to their special dishes. Oneshots connected to a bigger picture. By impulse you've ended up leaving your normal life behind to pursue your cooking career, starting from Mondstadt, to learn all the cuisines to establish the first ever international restaurant. With the implications of magic and peculiar customers, your simple dream turns into a harder goal. [GOOD SHIT] [SERIES] [CANON-COMPLIANT]

-> God of Time!Reader that hails from Fontaine. Do you wish to know more about their origins and their purpose in this world? [CANON-COMPLIANT] [HEADCANONS] (General since it deals with all the characters/interactions)

▰▱▰��▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Tagslist-for-my-thirsty-homies:

[octalove]

II: Blood and Ghosts

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader tries getting a clue. part one

“Typically, they steer clear of the Village, but that doesn’t appear to be the case as of recent. Oracle found out about an operation out of a Hadley’s Deli there- standard money laundering, but it also could’ve been linked to the shipment of cocaine that we found at the Yacht Basin.”

“Right. So what changed?”

“A better question would be what didn’t?”

A beat. The contrasting silence that followed jarred me from my thoughts as I glanced over and realized that Bruce was prompting me for an answer. Tim looked expectant and inquisitive, but that was sort of his default expression.

“Oh. Sorry. What?” I said apologetically.

“Maroni.” He said simply. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t express verbal disappointment as he turned back to Tim, but I knew it was there.

“Red Hood has been operating out of The Bowery. Maroni and Falcone are stubborn, but they’re losing. He’s pushing them north.”

“So moving to the Village isn’t expansion. It’s desperation.” Tim muttered thoughtfully.

“I believe so.”

“May I be excused?” I asked. Bruce glanced back to me, studying a moment. Scrutinizing every detail; not deciding whether or not to let me leave- rather, deciding why I wanted to. Then, he nodded. Seems he wasn’t in the mood to ask.

I swept up my laptop and phone, and ascended the stairs from the cave to the manor quickly, trying to escape the eyes boring into my back. Only when the cool, lemon-scented air of the manor filled my lungs did I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone. All I needed was few minutes alone. I scaled the marble steps to my room and shut the door.

I hadn’t told anyone that I saw him three nights ago. That I watched him murder a man in retribution for me. My alter ego, anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe because it would mean having to tell them I snuck away. Having to walk through every detail again; sights, sounds, smells. What Red Hood was wearing and what he sounded like, what gun he was holding and how he held it, what prompted him to fire, how many shots and how he acted when he did.

But if ever there was a time to be high-strung and anxious, it was when you were keeping secrets from Batman. And Oracle. And Nightwing. And Red Robin. And Robin. Damian in particular could smell a lie like blood in the water, and he wasn’t too polite to hold your gaze until he was certain you weren’t hiding anything. That, and the art of solidarity was still foreign to him- even if I did tell him in confidence, he would take it right to Bruce. Possibly the police. Maybe a news outlet or two just because it soothed his vindictive nature. I’d been avoiding him.

Evening bled into night, and I was barred from masked business on school nights, so I couldn’t even patrol to ease the anxious energy. Still, that meant less opportunity for Bruce to analyze my musculoskeletal ticks or whatever the hell he did to tell when I was nervous, so I decided it was a worthy trade-off and resigned myself to independent research.

Who the hell was Red Hood, anyway? Half of Gotham was looking for him, the other half was running from him. I opened my laptop.

His debut was The Viper House, a strip club in Little Italy that also functioned as a human trafficking hub when the owner, Renaldo, needed to buy his wife (or handful of mistresses) a new Blue Nile diamond. By the end, the building had to be gutted. There’s only so much crime scene clean-up can do with carpet.

Next came the kingpins. Blowing open a trafficking operation had a short grace period if you didn’t cut out the source. Italian mobsters, the Romani families, the crews that had built empires on drug and sex trade dropped like flies until they found that their numbers dwindled for the first time since Joker finally bit it. The dozens of loyal men on their payroll decided that empty pockets were better than a full grave, and when it came to the business of death, Red Hood was very persuasive. It went on like that for six months; he amassed men, power, weapons, and tech. Most importantly, a potent reputation. This was due in no small part to his creative footwork; he liked to send messages. One file covered an incident where Alphonso Kuznetsov decided to write Gotham’s new player an open letter in the evening column suggesting that if he decided to bring his business to Port Adams, he might find himself in a ‘watery grave’. Kuznetsov was found a week later when a fishing vessel drug an entire coffin from the bottom of the harbor, padlocked and full of water. He was bound, drowned, and gagged with a copy of the very paper that featured his message. Red Hood must have been in touch with his artistic sensibilities; it was all very Shakespearean.

Of course, these were all just words. Rumors and hearsay. All I knew of the Red Hood from my intimate encounter was that he had a quick hand, an incendiary temper, and he didn’t fucking like creeps. All the makings of vigilante, if you chose to see it like that.

I sighed. Two hours and none of my research gave me any indication of why me. Why the hell should Red 57-kill-count Hood care if some goon told me he like the way I looked in my suit? I may has well have been the veiled threats of Kuznetsov’s evening column for all my inconsequence to him.

But it all kept running through my mind. Backwards and forwards. The vitriol in his voice preluding the barbarity of his reprimand. The way he said little Batgirl, like the crime was that I’d been engaged at all. More than the memory, something was telling me to keep digging. Something dragging me back to Crime Alley with the current of the running blood through Little Italy’s gutters.

I had to do something. And if that something wasn’t going to Bruce, then school tomorrow would have to wait.

The morning went along as per usual. I woke up at six, dawned my Gotham Academy uniform, grabbed a muffin and coffee, completed a complicated and well-practiced secret handshake with Tim (that Dick was secretly jealous of), and was out the door at 6:30, keys jingling in Alfred’s hand.

He dropped me off outside the ornate gothic academy, and I waved goodbye as I skipped backward along the cobblestone walkway. Once his black Mercedes was a pinpoint on the horizon, I promptly turned heel from the front doors, heading East toward the Narrows. Catching the subway there would take me as far as the Knight’s Stadium, and from there it was a short distance to the Alley. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in my academy uniform- anyone who gave a shit could pretty confidently deduce that school was in session at 8am on a Tuesday, and no student native to the Alley could afford a private education, so I was bound to draw eyes. I hadn’t packed an extra outfit incase Tim or Alfred got suspicious- that was paranoia puppeteering. I wasn’t used to skipping school. I’d have to make due.

Crime Alley in broad daylight was a brand new experience. At night, at least the smoke unfurling from the sewer grates hit the flickering streetlights and offered an unconventional charm. During the day, it was like shedding light on a foul sin. I was starkly out of place, and even the lapdog-sized rats seemed to know it, scurrying back across gritty concrete when I passed by. I looked for familiar things I’d seen the other night- a run-down apartment complex, a gated liquor shop, a meager but menacing corner-store, busy with glaring laymen reluctantly dragging out their wallets for a pack of cigarettes. I caught the eye of a woman sitting on the curb with a paper-bag bottle for company, and she scowled.

Spurned by the rats, and now by the people, I was running out of options. Sticking close to the buildings that perimetered the square, I moved in tandem with the motion of the locals, so as not to draw any eyes by looking lost. It was an unnerving scape; too quiet for my liking, but just empty enough to feel safely underseen. I made my way past familiar landmarks until I finally stood before the warehouse where I’d been.

I listened; no sound from inside. Even henchmen have day jobs. Jimmying the rusty padlock was just a matter of brandishing a bobby-pin from my hair, and the heavy metal door swung open without much resistance. I cautiously picked my way around crates and boxes, unsure of what I was looking for. Clues, maybe. Proof that he was here and dropped a body in my name, amen.

There was a dark, daunting stain on the floor where Hoffman’s body was. A phantom gunshot echoed in my ears, along with a nauseating sound of flat-back weight slapping concrete.

“Ain’t school in session?” I spun on my heel, meeting the red helm of a towering man draped in leather and armor. My mouth went dry. My right foot slipped back into a fighting stance before I remembered I was in cashmere and plaid, not kevlar. Not that I even stood a chance either way; but at least he seemed to harbor good will toward Batgirl. Wordlessly, I took a few steps back until I was standing over the blood and ghosts of Hoffman’s demise.

“P-please. Don’t- don’t hurt me.” I rasped.

I could play the rebellious, morose teenager and come up with something like it was a dare, or I could offer no explanation and simply cry.

Red Hood’s head tipped one way. His hands were empty- for now. Two heavy-looking glocks hung on his waist. I didn’t want to die on top of Hoffman’s blood stain. There was a level of symbolism there I was deeply unprepared to spend my final moments analyzing.

“Lookin’ for something, darlin’?” I swallowed- unable to say you.

“Wh-What do you want?” I asked.

He laughed, but it was humorless. Lacking whatever key component made laughs so appealing. As though the sound rung off the gravestones of uncanny valley before reaching my ears. “I think we’re both asking stupid questions.” He said. I was fucked. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and could out-draw me even if I had a weapon. I had no explanation for my being here that suited a civilian, and my phone was in my bag, meaning help was a world away.

But just as soon as he advanced a few paces, he stopped, and gestured to the crimson beneath my feet.

“Enjoy the show the other night?” He asked, before pulling something out of his jacket pocket and twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease. A batarang.

“You forgot somethin’.”

Cold, knife-like fear erupted in my spine, driven to the hilt. He knew. How did he know? What the hell was I supposed to do? My terror must have shown on my face, because he stopped fidgeting.

“It’s okay, babydoll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“H-how-“

He moved again, slow, lazy strides until he was no more than an inch from me.

“Who are you?” I asked, figuring if I was gonna die, I should at least know that much.

His hands grabbed mine. The leather of his gloves was cool on my skin, but it barely registered for the closeness of him. I stared at the red bat symbol on his chest, jagged and angry looking. I blinked and looked down slowly as he closed my fingers around the cold metal of the batarang.

“Go home, little bird.” It was a cold, seething demand, his voice snagging on the scrambler to make it sound like a low growl.

“Tell Batman when he’s ready to stop sending his toy soldiers,” His hand went under my chin, tilting my head upward. My breath shook as I drew it, hitching, even though the man before me was faceless. Clean, red monochrome, glinting in the light.

“I’m getting impatient.” *

I walked through the manor door in a daze, the cold steel batarang searing my palm.

Bruce and Damian were in the living room, each invested in their own reading material. The grandfather clock ticked his steady tempo, and I inconspicuously adjusted the bag on my shoulder. Bruce had a steaming cup of coffee on the glass side table beside his leather chair.

“How was school?” He asked, not looking up. My paranoia convinced me it sounded rhetorical, but I shrugged anyway.

“Same old.” A glance, to see if my lie had landed.

Damian was the spitting image of his father. He, along with Tim, operated in the wake of being an only child, so he never did care about how I did in school, or much of anything else in my orbit. If at any point he did, he never thought to ask. Father and son looked like a matching set of dolls sitting there, cross-legged, with dark hair and gaunt eyes, both leanly muscular, and habitually poised; a consequence of being from the upper echelon of each of their respective backgrounds.

“Hey, um, are you going out tonight?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Can I come?”

“Are you certain you want to?” He still didn’t look up.

I blinked. “Um… yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been distracted since the last outing.”

Damian visibly tuned in.

“Oh. Sorry. I had a big paper I was worried about for school, but I turned it in today, so I’m good to go.” I threw him a thumbs up, even though he wasn’t looking.

A beat.

“Very well, then. Nine o’clock.”

I nodded, and headed toward the stairs.

“Y/N,” I stopped, and turned around. He was looking at me now, eyes blue and steady.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you did well?”

“…”

“On the paper.”

I threw him a smile. “The best.”