#something that would be easy to point people towards to get the gist of whats going on in my brain...

[musubiki]

Do you have a masterpost for your cat witch series? Love seeing all the art when it comes across my dash but I don't know who everyone is or the overall story ;w;

AH unfortunately i do not.,.....everything is just thrown together on this blog in an unorderly way and at this point it would be impossible to organize..,.

i never wrote an actual formal story for them anywhere, I just draw random scenes in my head that i feel like drawing and ramble about things in the story i feel like rambling about!!

but if it helps!! on my blog i think the #ocs tag should have all the art related to my ocs, and #bpp should have all the text posts containing thoughts and lore!! again most of what i post jumps around the story a lot, but the more recent the post the more accurate it is to the current story in my head!!

(theres also a few webtoon episodes if you look up the cat witch's guild on there, but i dont update them anymore due to time and effort lmfao..)

also if anyone has any ideas on what would be helpful summarizing the story in a nutshell... i am open to suggestions...

[bogusbyron]

You BETTER make a fucking LM fashion post. I need that.

note: im not a professional in the slightest . mens historical fashion is a major special interest of mine and all my info comes from my own research which might not be correct so feel free to add corrections but be nice about it or ill cry

ill do a more in-depth post about it at some point when i get the chance and i've actually thought about it in more detail but for now the most fun details ive been working on in my own design is specifically Madeleine .

while probably not brick-accurate (as ive not had the chance to read it and most of my information comes from posts i read and what my friends tell me) i just think its a fun little take on his character using fashion of the time which im autistic as hel about.

one thing about 1820s fashion that usually sticks out to me is the height of all of their collars. One key feature of collars in the early 1800s was that they were quite tall (though by the 1850s they were tall on opposite sides to how they were in the 1800s-1820s. they kind of changed from being high at the back of the neck to high at the front, pointed towards the cheeks.)

This works wonders for my Valjean as he has quite a distinguishing scar down the side of his face near his right eye that would be very easy to identify, as a result, he grew his hair out longer to allow his hair to drape rather lazily down the side of his face. while this was entirely unfashionable, it was better than being clocked as immediately suspicious by Javert.

where fashion comes into play is that all these high collars were also perfect for a character design detail of him looking a bit more mysterious. i'm yet to draw something to properly convey this (i'll probably do it in another post if i ever get round to it, if more people want to hear about my fashion choices for my designs?) i think this is the best i got .

this was drawn quickly and without reference so you'll have to excuse the inaccuracies but it gets the gist across, the high collar and cravat working to conceal a part of his face (and you can also see the draped hair in play). while not totally effective in concealing his identity, that's not wholly the point of course . but i think it still gives him both a cozy kind of look like hes trying to stay warm in his coats but also i hope it also gets across that he's hiding.. Something. he's a little suspicious. but hes nice about it

[xplrvibes]

What happened during the second trap house? I was not present for that era lol

Ok, there is no quick and easy way to explain all of this so...behind a cut we go.

It's never been fully explained, but something happened that caused that entire friendgroup to fall apart. Jake and Corey stopped appearing in snc videos and moved out as soon as their first year lease was up, and while none of the parties involved ever came right out and talked about it, it was pretty clear based on things that were alluded to by all parties that there had been a breakdown in the friendships, mostly due to snc becoming Jake and Corey's landlords (as snc owned the house), mixed with Jake and Corey not wanting to be in snc videos anymore.

Around that same time, snc had a falling out with Kevin Langue (according to Mike, it was because snc asked Kevin to please stop constantly showing up to their house with a camera in hand, while Kevin himself alluded to feeling "used" which is...interesting lol. They seem to have gotten over whatever happened there, but that added to some of the drama). They would also later have some kind of business related falling out with Reggie Webber, who had been their personal channel editor for some time.

Honestly, in retrospect, all of that seems like they all just let business negatively impact their personal relationships, and they all seem to have since made up and moved on from it and regained most (if not all) of those friendships... but all of that definitely helped fracture the group a bit.

And then there was Elton.

The Elton saga is long and drawn out and involves a shit ton of drama. I think if you look through the Elton Castee tags on my blog, you might be able to go down a rabbit hole and get the full gist of what kind of fuckery was going on there for 2 years, but let me see if I can attempt to cliff note it for ya.

When snc announced their intention to flip to the short-lived 25x25 series, Elton (for whatever reason) decided to accuse them of stealing his TFIL idea and started shit talking them up and down every avenue of the internet that he could. Corey, who was at the time still living with snc, made it apparent that he sided with Elton on this matter. Corey announced he was moving out of the traphouse (and purposefully dropped the announcement at the same day and time snc were dropping a 25x25 video which I found interesting) and announced his intention to both "stay out of drama" (lie) and "go back to making dancing and music content" (bigger lie). He then stood happily by Elton's side while he happily and gleefully did whatever he could to shade snc (to whatever the opposite of great success was, cause this just made them both look bad and garnered both a fair bit of enemies). This all culminated in a mutual unfollowing between snc and Elton, which occurred while they all happened to be in Ukraine trying to film at Chernobyl at the same time (also interesting).

At some point in the midst of all of this, an old clip of snc talking about traphouse 1 drama between Elton, Corey and their girlfriends on a youtube membership podcast resurfaced and Devyn and Corey hit the roof. Devyn ranted about them behind her private twitter and then Corey came out and started ranting about god knows (or cares about) what, which culminated in him declaring "I keep my drama off social media LIKE A MAN," which is still the funniest thing that man has ever said, if you ask me. Snc never responded to any of this, but did subsequently delete pretty much all of their old youtube membership podcasts, so I'm sure the drama continued off social media (like MEN).

Anyway, for the most part, snc never commented on any of this (aside from a few very vague posts about cutting negative people out of your life from Sam, and one instance of Colby laughing at negative comments towards Elton in a livestream). All of the rest of the shady comments and shit talk came from Elton and occasionally Corey. And there was plenty of it. Seriously. Elton was an anti-snc machine for a while there. He would've fit right in on reddit lol.

Eventually, Elton got sick of his career suffering because of snc fans coming after him - the barrage of shit from the fans had graduated into them sending him death threats and accusing him of increasingly ridiculous things, like forcing Colby to show self harm scars on a live stream (categorically untrue, and Colby himself has addressed this), and trying to kill Sam and making him cry at the Conjuring House? Idk, I never understood that one at all. Dumb tiktok bullshit that never should have been taken as seriously as it was, but it was getting completely out of hand.

Anyway, soon as it started to affect their bottom line, Elton and Corey reached out to snc and snc agreed to meet with them. They hashed it out, both publicly and privately, Elton and snc refollowed each other, and snc even got invited to Elton's wedding (which Corey, ironically, was not invited to because shortly after all this, Elton and Corey had their huge falling out). Elton was recently at the Farrar School and seems to generally be on good terms with snc now.

Corey, meanwhile, seems to be on absolutely no terms whatsoever with anyone, except for Elton. With Elton, he is on the worst terms possible. They are on threatening lawsuit terms with each other, actually. snc have made it a point to stay out of that drama but don't seem to have any kind of relationship with Corey at all anymore, and Elton, during his falling out with Corey, did allege that Corey was a huge part of the reason that Elton and snc fell out, as Corey shit talked and spread lies about them to Elton so...yeah.

Anyway, there you have it. That second traphouse wasn't exactly a high point in any of their lives.

[pupcarisi]

bratty sonny...go on. i usually see sonny as way too obedient and subservient to be too bratty outside of mild misbehaviour. but i'd love to hear you out 👀

*shuffles and looks through my cue cards*

i feel like sassy!sonny speaks to me. like this is a man who eye rolls and pouts so often. ofc i'm a obedient sonny lover too, since it's shown he would actually shut up when he's told to or corrected.... brat!sonny won't be full on disobedient, but rather i see him as the teasing playful brat type.

my reasoning in short:

1) considering sonny's natural people pleasing tendencies and how he follows the rules almost all the time, being a brat is a safe outlet for him to do otherwise. to mess up without 'real consequences'.

2) sonny likes intelligence, competence and authority (*coughs* rafael and amanda) and he takes on challenges that are thrown at him. dude did law school and the bar while being a detective. crazy work. being a brat means you have to think of ways to challenge your dom (e.g. giving sassy back talk) and when you successfully poke the bear, you get the potential of bringing out the assertive side of the dom, which can be hot. (think of it like purposely making someone jealous because you think it's hot when they're mad)

my long winded full nerdy explanation of point 1:

awhile back i was curious about the idea of using sex and kinks as a fun alternative to rewire one's brain about their own negative experiences/feelings. the gist of it is that through kink and sex, you can change the whole nuance of something negative into an appealing concept instead.

[for background context, one popular psychotherapy method is called cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) which involves trying to change one's perception of their unhelpful thinking patterns and behaviours. these 'unhelpful thinking patterns' tend to be automatic and learnt, which means perhaps you know rationally that it doesn't make sense, but your brain just can't switch off. an easy example i can think of is someone with anxiety might struggle eating alone in public, because they think that the moment they do so, everyone is going to start judging and making assumptions about them (e.g. that they have no friends). but realistically, people really don't focus on these small things. hence, one of the techniques used in CBT is cognitive restructuring, which is identifying one's distorted thinking and replacing it with a more balanced and realistic perspectives.]

IN THIS CASE, since we are talking about sonny who we usually see as a people pleaser..... someone who is a chronic people pleaser might be prone to catastrophising, where they feel the thought of letting someone down feels like the world is going to end soon. and being a chronic people pleaser is DRAINING, having to watch your step because you're so afraid of disappointing someone. therefore, being a brat can be seen as a safe space to explore and address committing mistakes and letting people down. there is technically no 'real world consequences' to bratting, since it is a scene between the dom and the sub (think of it as like a practice). additionally, this serves as proof to the chronic people pleasing sub and reinforces the idea that if he does wrong and steps on someone's toes, it doesn't immediately result in the worst of things as though the world is going to crumble into pieces. brats typically enjoy punishments (aka funishments, if you will...), like they enjoy having their control taken away and asserted towards them. so in a sense, it's a reward at the same time. and therefore, in the long run, it's a reinforcement and motivator.

tada... so think of it as sonny is a brat because it's a fun way to do the opposite of what he HAS to do in normal situations... like cathartic release of some sort. omg i hope that all makes sense and that i did not bore you with my words 😭😭😭

[breakingbranchesbella]

Self-Indulgence; A Criminal Minds Multi-Fandom Fic

Also found on Wattpad, Quotev, and Ao3 under the name BreakingBranches.

CHAPTER 1 - Loose End

Season 1. Episode 15. Unfinished Business. 

  IT'S NO SECRET that the younger you are, the longer time seems to go. Once you reach your fourties' a decade feels like a fever dream. Cassandra was still a little far from that mark. She was still only twenty-six. Twenty-six and she had wasted eight years of her developmental life personally deteriorating her own psyche. Only to be spat out by the big green machine. Now, eight years wasn't a decade, but it was certainly a long time to spend running towards no light at the end of the tunnel. 

  The tunnel had ended. The light still wasn't there. 

  Cassandra wasn't suffering, not really. She wasn't stuck in an endless torture of her own mind. She had passed her evaluation. She had been cleared for the field. Twice now, given she was sitting in the stuffiest office possible with the worst fluorescence known to man. Maybe the second worst, and she would only know this from the memories that this little scene brought back. Except in these recounts, she was on the other side of the desk. 

  "Miss Lorayne, we ask that you answer these next few questions to the best of your ability. Do you understand what I mean by that?" 

  "I do."

————————————

  There was an incessant buzzing in Cassie's pocket. At first, ignoring it had been her go-to solution. That hadn't worked. It still rang on. Over and over. And over again. Nothing but a frighteningly stimulating reminder of why she was here. Sometimes another person's kindness only serves to make you feel more helpless. Cassie had gone from a problem solver to a statistic in just twenty-five seconds. A few months later she was back to her protector role. The only difference was that this role didn't require her to move around every few months. Currently she was stationed in Quantico, Virginia. Sure, she had been given the warning that her days of freedom were seldom with this job. That traveling was still very much a constant, so much so they needed a personal jet. Having a house was just a new sort of feeling. Not a good one. Not a bad one either. 

  From police to FBI, oh how the mighty had fallen. Everyone had their opinion of each other in that part of the world. CIA, FBI, homeland security, the military, and all the way down to beat cops just trying to fill a quota. They all had their specific issues with one another. Sometimes it reached a point where the individual only cared because it was mob mentality. Cassie had her reservations, but she also had to have a job. Work till' you die, the American dream. 

  Physically, she was beyond qualified. Mentally, she met the requirements. Socially? That was going to be a fickle bridge to cross. One she was about to meet much sooner than she would have liked. 

  Today wasn't supposed to be her first day on the job, the role of a profiler and investigative specialist for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Much to her chagrin, it was going to be beyond easy. They had been assigned a case early in the morning, a Sunday. She wasn't given the full details, former serial killer, something about resurfacing. Something about an old vendetta. Something about a former agent who had spent the later half of his life obsessing over a lost case. Something, something, it was always something. Initially, Cassie was to be formally introduced to the team in a timely manner, in which it was supposed to negate any sour feelings or potential problems. Though since the jet was about to take off, she was unceremoniously given a pat on the shoulder, and a general gist of what she was up against. 

  However there wasn't enough time to prepare her for the mixed bag of people she was about to meet. Not entirely in a negative perspective, it all trailed back to her own social issues. She was easier to describe than them, and that was more often than not five simple words. 

'Hard to get along with' 

  The muscled figure stepped onto the plane, inching her way through the first enclosed space. Once she was on the other side of the thin door she was met with six faces. Only one was vaguely familiar, the other five were total strangers. It wasn't hard to place vague description to the silent confused figures before her. Nerdy, jock, kind, snappy, old. That's about the most she processed. There was obviously a lot more that had been described to her, but looking at them now she decided to just boil it down to the bare minimum.  

  "Lorayne." 

  "Hotchner." Cassie stuck a hand out to shake his own. A firm grip meeting an even harder. Calloused fingers met better kept ones. He still had a wedding band on his finger, that was probably the only reason his skincare routine was better. Not that she had any to compete with.  

  Cassie had met agent Aaron Hotchner before. He was working on a case that bounced back and forth between military and federal jurisdiction. She was stationed in America at the time, a fateful meeting that didn't seem all that important so many years ago. Today she was unable to tell if she was thankful for it or not. 

  Green tinted eyes met hazel ones. The stare was neither aggressive nor polite. It was just that; a look. "How is Haley?" Hotch's wedding band was warm, he'd been white knuckling his fist all morning. At first she thought it might have been her arrival that sparked the odd tension in the plane, however when a seventh figure emerged from the back end, she realized she shouldered the blame pretty evenly. It didn't take an analyst to pick out he didn't belong here. He wasn't horribly anxious, but he rubbed the nail head of his pinky against his ring finger. He was angry about something. Most likely the liaison she was told would be joining the team temporarily. This was his old case. He'd have to feel some sort of guilt, nervousness, or pressure over this. After all in some way of describing it, it was his fault this guy was still out there. You'd never hear Cassie admitting such a thing out-loud. 

  Hotch's response about his spouse was interrupted by another voice. A heavy voice, it was filled with confusion. "Hotch?" Aaron turned, Derek was almost out of his seat now. His skin crinkled as his nose scrunched. A half a sneer. "Right, sorry." Aaron took a step to the side, he'd gesture over towards Cassie. 

  "This is the new agent, introductions were supposed to be more formal but..." Cassie could see the way he fought himself to not look towards the odd man out. She piped up. "Liberté, egalité, fraternité." Her pronunciation wasn't that far off. It sounded practiced. It was. "French revolution?" The skinny kid's brows knitted. His train of thought was derailed by the ever consistent Derek. "We all know that one. What the hell does it have to do with this though?" 

  Cassie shrugged, awkwardly rubbing her chin against her shoulder as she did so. "Something about sticking it to the man. I was supposed to start Monday, but they weren't entirely sure when the team would return. You're as upset about this meeting as I am." The atmosphere was honestly much kinder than most situations she had been in. But she was out of her element, a fish out of water. Here everyone seemed casual, when her normal was the very opposite. All eyes were on her. It took her another moment to understand why. Thankfully with the change in pace she didn't have to meet every confused gaze with a stiff position. She was allowed to be as informal as possible. Still, impressions mattered.

  "Cassandra Lorayne, Cassie, Cass, I don't have much of a preference." Tan fingers flexed against her sides. Without her manual of squaring her shoulders, planting her feet together, and raising an arm to her forehead, she didn't know what to do. Aaron was nice enough to pick up the slack. He'd point with all five fingers towards each member. "Jason Gideon, Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, and Max Ryan. Ryan was a part of the initial case eighteen years ago." At each call of their name the member would give some sort of wave or awkward smile, as if the pointing wasn't enough of an indicator. 

  The air about them gave away the notion that they weren't entirely aware of her indoctrination to the team. Cassie doubted it was sprung on them, but the concept was probably only batted around before more important things stole their attention away. Aaron had known for a while, he was the only one lacking any sort of surprise. 

  A few moments of people watching later and the jet was already taking off. Nobody sat properly, instead they'd shift their positions to sit around a clunky laptop that Derek was opening up. Dark fingers pads clacked against buttons, a small ringtone, and there was a woman on the other end. She had blonde hair and a very personal choice of fashion sense. "Talk to me sweetheart." Noone on the jet besides Max batted an eye at his nickname for the woman. Reid caught Cassie's confusion. A cautious smile paired with a tilt of her head led him to notifying her with two fingers half raised. "Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst." Cassie nodded. "Your oracle, yeah?" She'd murmur back to him. He didn't quite catch the reference. She didn't get a chance to explain it.

  "Philly PD confirmed that Carla Bromwell's been dead less than twelve hours. She was forty-seven years old." Hotch and Morgan glanced between each other. "That's odd." 

  "Their age range is older." 

  Elle cut in. "Why would the victimology change?" 

  "That's not the only odd thing, she was found tied with flex-cuffs, not ropes." Everyone was a puzzled as the next person. "That's all I have for you, PD is waiting for you at the crime scene." Morgan just nodded and waved her off with another unprofessional comment. "Thank you baby girl." 

  It wasn't easy to tell whether Cassandra's perplexed expression was due to the new information, or Morgan's choice words for his coworkers. Reid would once again offer some lighting. "It's sort of their thing." It wasn't a very good answer, but a relation like that, one that hadn't violated any rules yet, wasn't something she was able to comment too much on as the newbie. Instead she'd take the high road and sit back with a thick file of the former case findings. Unlike most others on the jet, she didn't spend her time researching other murderers and serial killers. It wasn't from a lack of care, more the opposite. Her former job hadn't been much different, albeit more physical. But she tired from surrounding herself with the worst humanity had to offer. She'd seen both sides of the spectrum, but the most heinous interactions often crossed her desk. If she had put any free time into it, she would have taken the plunge several years ago. 

  Instead of a refresher, this was her first time seeing the details. She'd have to put a good amount of effort into reading up on it. Everyone else was familiar enough. The seasoned veteran of this particular killer didn't seem to keen on the help, which only created another barrier.

  He wasn't stupid, and if Cassie could hear the way her newfound coworkers spoke about him, so could he. It wasn't anything unprofessional just voiced concerns. Cassie wondered if she had listened any longer when those same concerns would be made about herself. She didn't have the time to worry about some other's perception. The folder was thick, it smelled like freshly printed paper. Old records had been tracked down and republished, it beat searching up the initial documents. 

  She'd read over the whole thing twice before flipping back to the first police report and actually thinking about the words in front of her. By all accounts this new method of killing didn't seem to connect the previous offender. If it wasn't for the letter, nobody would have known. Which meant it was someone who wanted to do this, not someone who couldn't stop themselves. Which, Cassie had never found to be an accurate description of a murderer. She knew other profilers would classify that sort of person as an unwilling victim of their own urges. She liked to classify them as dead. But this was FBI, not the lawless land of the military. Blue jeans pressed against the back of leather seat covers, repositioning herself at the previous train of thought. 

  Why had he changed? It wasn't of his own accord, couldn't possibly be. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Her tongue caught between her teeth, sounding off a sort of clicking noise.

————————————

  Carla Bromwell's home was filled to the brim. The news reporters and curious passerby's were enough to give Cassie a headache. The amount of detectives inside was another issue. She'd split off from the two most comforting figures to take a look at the body. Gideon and Elle were headed to the room as well. "Agents Gideon, Greenaway, and Lorayne." The department detective raised a brow, but he wasn't given time to push the subject matter when Max came into the room.  

  "I was wondering when you'd show up." 

  Cassie didn't listen to the rest of their conversation. She might have been interrupting something when she spoke. "It's been processed?" A simple nod was all that she'd need. Kneeling down near the body, Cassie would carefully move her wrists and neck. The photos were an obvious indication that this was a different methodology. Elle took over, repeating Cassie's steps. Maybe it was out of distrust. Maybe it was out of morbid curiosity. "There's no bruising." 

  "The note said 'no fight'." Cassie tilted her gaze up towards Elle. Who was currently distracted with something else. From the looks of it, one could only assume it was whatever Max had said. Bad first impressions, but Cassie was struggling to really care about how the older man felt about all of this. Her scrutiny wasn't solely just from blaming him, more so his attitude. She didn't like it. Which wasn't actually saying much given she didn't like a lot of things. 

  Gideon broke the tense silence. "The wound is extensive, it's violent, he's escalating." Elle went on a sort of goose hunt after that. Not that Cassie would have done any differently, but she just wouldn't have said it out-loud. Her ability to work with others wasn't nonexistent, yet it did need an update to the manual. 

  "Elle's good at this sort of thing Max." 

  "Never said she wasn't." 

  Leveraging herself with the nightstand, she'd use an arm to stand up and take a step back so Max could look at the body himself. There wasn't anything else the could learn from it without the forensics report. Ryan pressed a padded finger against the woman's clothes. "I haven't felt like this around a dead body in a long time." 

  Cassie didn't need to hear anymore. He was taking it too personally. The former MP was no saint, she had her fair share of cases that she wore too openly on her sleeve. She had grown since then, to some extent. And in the areas that she hadn't, she kept hidden.

  As she was stepping out, Reid, Hotch, Elle, and Morgan were all coming back. Hotchner had a paper in his gloved hands. It didn't take a genius to guess what it was. 

  "In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present." Max had taken the note, intent on reading it with his own eyes. The note offered two more context clues, a quote from Max's book, and the promise of a gift in two days. It was all an attempt at riling the former agent up. The unsub was targeting him specifically. Either a grotesque fascination or the perfect means of getting him worked up. An on edge agent is an agent who can't do his job. It was working. 

  They weren't going to find anymore than that. The behavioral team led themselves outside, only to be greeted by more angry reporters and microphones in their face. Cassie weaved through the crowd and dodged into the closest car available to her. A black sedan with tinted windows, a rental, something for the team to use. The department was the next agreed upon stop, from there everyone had done just about the same as her. 

  Unluckily enough she had managed to pick the one vehicle that Morgan was driving. The leather smelt of some bad cleaning agent and the air was humid inside the van. Getting comfortable seemed impossible so she'd opted for the self meditating movements of pressing down overgrown cuticles with her thumb. 

  "So," 

  She turned her head, her eyes lagging behind in the motion of facing him. 

  "So?" 

  "First day." 

   The car stalled to stop. Someone was taking too long to turn. 

  "Yep." 

  "That's all? No questions, comments, concerns? No issues?"

  Cassie's light brown brows furrowed. "Should there be?" 

  "No." 

  "Then, no." 

   There was silence again. The conversation was over. 

  "But," 

   Until it wasn't. 

   "Most aren't as enthusiastic to touch a body on their first day." 

  "CSI had already done what they needed to. I didn't see anything wrong with it." 

  Morgan let out an odd half-laugh, half-cough. "Again, I meant as enthusiastic." He'd tilt his head to the side, still facing forward as he spoke. His eyes never left the road ahead, but he made up for that with other movements. Every time he spoke his right pointer and middle finger would spread off of the wheel and point to who knows what. His right thumb tapped against the leather cover. 

  "I wasn't enthusiastic." 

  Her nose would crease with the rest of her face. An extended proof of her dissatisfaction over the comment, as if the quick change in tone wasn't enough. 

  "It was the first thing you did." 

  "But it's not my first time." 

  She watched as his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. 

  "What did you do before joining the BAU?" 

  "You don't know?" 

  "I wouldn't ask if I did." 

  "This. Homicide investigation. We were all profilers, and detectives, and the law." 

  "Military?" 

  "Yeah. Aaron didn't say anything?" 

  "Didn't get the time to." 

  "Right." 

  There was no more talking after that. Further into the city streets Morgan would trade his hand motions for a thin pursing of his lips. Traffic was entertaining enough to drop any other questions he had. Or, Cassie just wasn't.

  There was no time wasted between parking the rental and meeting with the other timely members of the unit. They made their way inside the sand colored building and pretty quickly they had the entire department working with them. Cassie would take a few steps towards the back, as though she were yet another officer these agents were preaching to. It wasn't only due to her new rank on the totem pole with the team. She was also a little jarred by how quickly they where to adhere to policy and comply. Then again, this was the bureaucratic process, not the militaristic. 

  Hotch lead the beginning of the profile, as he went on the others bounced off of him. They were a real unit. Real as hers used to be. Most likely better. 

  "Over the last two decades, our killer has changed. The age of his victims is more notable." 

  The head detective on the case shrugged his shoulders. "The keystone killer is older, his victims are older too. So?" 

  "Most killers have specific fantasies they act out through their violence. These people fall under an identifiable few categories. He liked young brunettes." 

  "And that means?" 

  Back to the BAU members, they worked fairly seamlessly. There was no indication of a turn, however nobody attempted to speak over the younger Dr. when he chimed in. A commentary on Ted Bundy. Cassie only hoped he was brought up due to his known name, and not some weird fascination. Reid would go on to explain even Bundy had a type, a type that when he started to neglect, lead to his ultimate capture. In the same vain, it lead to more violence. 

  Gideon raised both palms at an angle. "It could be a sign that he's devolving." As though there was some invisible speaking baton being passed between the group, their statements moved from one to another. First with Morgan. "Which could mean he's about to slip up. Though, the devolution theory is just that, a theory, we can't rely on it." 

  "If he is in a frenzy," Hotch interjected, taking the mantle of the conversation again. "We can't tell how fast he'll continue to devolve." 

  "Or how many more victims he'll take before he's finished." Gideon curled his mouth inward. 

  "So, in order to keep that number as low as we can, we need to go over everything. Everything we learned eighteen years ago, everything we got today." 

  The oldest of the BAU leaned back against a whiteboard covered wall. He steepled his fingers together. "We'll start with the older profile, Max," The latter turned away, shaking his head and waving the former off. Gideon sent a look towards Hotch, who cast it over to Cassie. Her eyes went wide, then they scrunched up. Russet colored lips pursed before a curtly nod was offered. 

  "Right the..." She thought, frowned, then continued speaking. "We're looking for a man in his forties now, white. He's thoughtful, meticulous. His former means of killing suggests a law enforcement or military background. Most likely he's stayed in the same area all of his life." Had she been speaking too much? She passed the proverbial stick with a look of confusion. Tossing it's invisible form into the air and hoping for the best.

  Elle would come to the rescue. Then Morgan, then Reid, and back to Hotch for a closing statement. Gideon had meandered off after Max. At least, that was the most likely scenario. She couldn't really see the stern faced agent walking off just because he didn't want to present in front of the class anymore. 

  If he had, she wouldn't have judged. Her own presentation of the profile left a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn't used to this way of phrasing it. It felt clunky, unnecessary. She looked for evidence and facts, not probability. A profile wasn't unheard of in her investigative unit, but it wasn't relied on in the way it was here. Psychology was one thing, making up a killer in your mind was another. She was still skeptical. Openly so when she had been interviewed for the position. They felt her stance was a fresh look. She felt it was a pity situation. 

  After wrapping up the main idea, Hotch gestured for the team to follow him to a carved out space for them. The blinds were up, leaving the goings on inside of the room visible to everyone. Cassie didn't mind. The openness felt fresh. The sun could peak in through the windows. Her old office had been without windows, the light fixtures were bleary, the paint job reminiscent of a filing cabinet covered in dust. She much preferred it here. 

  She appreciated the two whiteboards. Even if it made the room more cramped, it allowed the youngest of the group to visualize his musings. In her past, she would have just strewn papers about her desk and hoped for the best. That seemed viable here too, but with so many members it might have gotten overwhelming. She glanced down at the wooden fixture. It already was.  

  "We should focus on the differences between the crimes, what's he doing that's new?" Hotch breezed past the group, yet another Manila folder in his hands.

  Elle, Hotch, and Morgan opted to sit around the table. Reid stood, phasing in and out of his own little world when the conversation required it. Gideon was beside him, he put more of his eggs in the basket of the exchange. The self-certified genius was good at balancing them between the two. Cassie was comfortable standing as well, just on the other side of the room. "The victim was hit in the head, so that's one." Derek leaned back against his seat. "The note mentioned she didn't put up a fight, so why feel the need to hit her? To show dominance?" 

  Hotch shook his head. It didn't make sense. "He never needed to before." Elle thrummed her fingers along a photo of the crime scene. "But a hit like that wouldn't just scare her, it would knock her out." 

  "—To control her better." The head of the group finished.  

  Cassie's gaze flicked between each speaker, landing on Gideon as he found interest in the abyss. He stared towards a photo, but his head seemed somewhere else. "He switched from a knot, his signature, to flex-cufs." 

  "They're easier, it saved him time." Morgan kept his eyes on Gideon. He'd turn his head over his shoulders to catch Cassie's eye when he finished speaking. 

  "No, no, it's not that. The knot was intimate. It wasn't about the ease of immobilizing her. He chose a completely unnecessary approach." 

  "Maybe we should just forget about this, seriously. It's not helping us to go over what others already knew. Let's pretend he's a new offender." 

  The glass was cool against her arms, she'd trade her hands for her biceps when pushing off of the wall to step forward. A little brazenly, she let a few fingers fall to the head of Morgan's chair, pressing down and holding on as a sort of cane for her posture. "That's the problem, he's still the same person he was. We can't mull over what happened in the past, but we can certainly compare it to the future. He went from intimate, slow, methodical killings. He played out his fantasy with full physical control. So he traded it, for what? A smack to the head and a heavy lidded girl. He can't watch himself take the life from her eyes anymore. Where's the 'fun' in that." Cassie sucked in a breath through her teeth during her commentary. She let it go quickly as she ended. 

  "What I'm saying is—" 

  "—Guys, I have a name." All eyes moved from Cassie to Reid. She lifted her hand off of Morgan's chair and crossed her arms. Her hip dropped at an angle and she balanced more weight on her left leg. 

  "Nibrahs? What is that?" Reid bit the inner left part of his cheek at Elle's question. "It's backwards, S. Harbin. He was an original suspect." 

  "It's not him."  

  Max had finally made his entrance. He brushed off the conclusion, claiming Scott Harbin, S., had been in jail for stabbing someone. Sentenced thirty years, which meant there was no way it was him.

  "Unless he's out on parole." 

  Max didn't seem to keen on the notion. "He's a pervert and a small time thief, he steals undergarments. I interviewed him, twice, he's no killer." There were a few exchanged looks. Morgan picked up his phone and nodded in Hotch's direction, who returned it with a nod of his own. "I'm going to call Garcia, see if she can find anything about him." 

  Max raised his voice, adamant that they were being lead down a dead end. A second wave of looks. Silence. Morgan left. 

  "Jason why are we here?" 

  "Hm?" 

  "Are we here to catch him, or just prove to Max he knows more than us?" 

  Nobody answered, because the only one who could had left. The four remaining didn't have a chance to pick up where Cassie had left off. Derek came back in with a shit-eating grin and a notecard with scribbles on it. 

  "We've got an address for Scott Harbin. He was paroled three months ago, missed his last hearing." 

  "That makes him a wanted man." Elle was already out of her seat, pulling her brown jacket over her shoulders. 

  Leaving the station house required a bit more than a few rental and squad cars. Priorities were higher, everyone was banking on the fact that this was supposed to be their guy. A killer to be put away. It still felt too easy. However, a dead end still pointed you to a different direction. They'd be negligent not to take it. No matter what was about to meet them on the other side. 

————————————

  They'd been banking on the fact that this was their Keystone Killer, SWAT was going to be involved one way or another. It took a few extra moments to get their group in the door after the men in black. They took a more defensive stance and let the first three members of the BAU past. Elle and Cassie were at the forefront, the presence sent a silent figure to dart from behind a cabinet. 

  "Don't move— Hey!" 

  Elle practically vaulted past Cassie towards the man, grabbing him by his shoulder and sending a swift kick to the back of his leg. He stumbled over and she applied her weight to his back to apprehend him. "Are you Scott Harbin?" Cassie felt a hand on her shoulder, and instinctively she moved out of the way. Max looked down at the man being detained. "That's him." 

  "Nice to see you too Ryan." He'd smile up from his cuffed position. Cassie's brows met in the space between her eyes and tilted upwards. "You missed a parole hearing." Gideon commented. It was just an excuse, they had no reason to be here. They had no real evidence. A lawyer could dismiss his name in the riddle easily. But, an excuse bought them time and a search warrant. 

  The agents wandered through his home, picking up what they could just based on his arrangements. He was organized, neat, obsessively so. He needed constant control over every aspect of his life. It made a good argument. Cassie didn't like the feeling of it, though. She stood in front of him, her hands resting on her hips. Her expression gave a lot more away than just a train of thought. She bounced from theory to theory. Moss colored iris' scanned his form. Even going so far as to move behind him from where he sat in the arm of his couch. She couldn't see any injury to his hands. Nothing of note about his posture or physical capabilities. He moved his fingers back and forth, a squeezing motion, an attempt at self soothing. She didn't think this was the guy. As much of a creep as he was. 

  He looked out of the corner of his eye at her. "You finished checking me out?" Cassie locked eyes with him, nothing but disinterest on her face. She wasn't going to say anything, even if she was she wouldn't have had the chance. Elle made her way over, almost gesturing for Cassie to take a position behind her. The two were about the same height, maybe Elle had an inch or two on her. Cass was a little better built physically. Not a hulking mass of muscle, but you could see the beginning of a tone through her short sleeved shirt. She'd take the offer anyway and step around the two. Elle was leaning over in Scott's face, her eyes wide with something beyond disinterest. Fury maybe. "Did she upset you? Make you angry? What? You're fantasizing about hurting her, me? No, no you wouldn't do that. What's the matter Harbin, can't handle a woman who isn't afraid of you?" 

  Scott licked his lips. A sign of enjoyment, a sign of stress, it wasn't enough to tell just from the movement alone. Agitated, probably. 

  Gideon pulled Elle aside. Cassie didn't want to listen. She moved on from the room and up the stairs to the second floor of the home. A few SWAT agents still roamed, but she mostly watched as Morgan and Hotch moved back and forth. They stopped in the entrance of a room for a second. She waited, too many cooks in the kitchen. She wasn't needed anywhere right now. 

  "We need some help in here! Get an ambulance, now!" Morgan's voice was like an alarm bell ringing, everyone throughout the home heard it. Someone called out a response and raced down the steps past her. She was moving with similar urgency in the opposite direction. She was tall enough to see over their hunched forms, Hotchner and Morgan crouched near a woman. Her mouth had been taped shut, her feet tied at the ankles. She was wrapped in some sort of plastic. Awkwardly, Cassie shouldered Morgan to push him out of the way. She wormed herself between the two and pulled out a knife from her back pocket. Carefully she tilted the sharper side of the blade up towards the ceiling and worked it under the plastic. It took a bit of leveraging and gentle 'It's okay, you're okay, its okay' to get the knife to pierce the solution. Once she had it torn enough she moved to pull a blanket off of the bed above them. Hotch helped to cover the exposed woman as Cassie cut, leaving no room for any extended embarrassment. 

  The woman wasn't harmed besides a few bruises on her hips and thighs. That was good enough for Cassie. Once she finished peeling back the last of what was on top, she switched positions with Hotchner and pressed a hand against the woman's cheek. There were too many sounds, too many questions, too many voices, Cassie only focused on the lady's sobs. She did her best to murmur those same former phrases over and over again.

  What felt like far too long of a time later, EMTs came into the room and pushed the three aside. Hotch left the building first, his cellphone indicating his attention was needed elsewhere are the moment. Morgan got out of their way, heading down the steps to reconvene with Gideon, Elle, and Max. Cassie stayed, she stayed until they were putting the victim on a stretcher and carrying her down the steps. She helped at the transfer point, holding the right corner of the stretcher near her head. She hadn't repeated her mantras in a while, the EMTs had picked up the slack for her. Once they could begin to wheel her out, the profiler let them go. 

  Philly PD wanted to be the ones to make the arrest. It looked better to the news reporters already gathering outside. Cass could only hope they had enough sense to not photograph the victim as she was being taken away, but she wasn't ignorant. 

  "It doesn't make any sense, he was a small time creep." Max let out a breath as he spoke. Gideon blinked. "He fits your profile, the age, the background, the obsessive traits." 

  "Still—" 

  "Guys." Cass pulled a slip of paper out of the wipers of one of the rental cars. "It's.. for you," She passed it to Max.

Isn't Scott an inelegant monster. He harbors no light. He is pure evil. Balance is what produces mercy. You'll be reminded of my mercy tomorrow. 

K.K.

  "We didn't get him?" Everyone had started to gather now. The pause was enough to spark concern. Morgan spoke first, Gideon answered. Max was too stuck in his head, going over everything yet again. He was reliving the chase from eighteen years ago. It wasn't pretty. "He's not the one we're looking for. Form a six block perimeter, we have to have seen him." 

  But they hadn't. Nobody had. He had been right outside, waiting for the exact moment the police would file in like ducks after their mother. He had slipped off without anyone the wiser. The atmosphere on the way back was bleak. Everyone shared a similar sentiment of frustration. Cassie couldn't feel proud of her observations from earlier, it had only served to get off the sick freak who was orchestrating all of this. It sentenced another victim to a worse fate. The BAU's methods made her feel stagnant, like she had no more control over what was about to happen than a leaf did over the way the winds blow. 

  "That's got to be a first for the BAU, a killer leading us to another." Hotch commented as the made their way back to the little room they were given for mediation. "No, we all know they make the best profilers, it's how they find their own victims. It's how they think they can get away with it." The oldest would correct.

  "So we're starting over. Run by it again, what do we know about the Keystone Killer?" 

 "He's not dead, or in jail." 

 "He likes playing with us, he's treating it like a game where he's controlling all of the pieces." Elle raised her head as she spoke. Then Morgan, then Reid. 

 "He strangled seven women in the late eighties, stopped for eighteen years, then picked it back up again. Only this time he chose to suffocate them. Ten percent of violent crimes are carried out through strangulation, it only takes eleven pounds to incapacitate a person. Hanging on for a minute longer and that person will never recover." The skinny kid's ramblings weren't bad. Cassie could admire them for what they were worth. He was smart. Probably smarter than she'd ever be. The only difference was he learned his facts through textbook, and she earned hers through practice. 

  "But, he suffocated his latest victim. It's actually more passive than strangulation. What Lorayne was saying earlier, he can't feel the life leave the body." Aaron reaffirmed. 

  "But why? Why, why, why? Why change his MO, it suggests a blitz attack, yet in the past he walks right into his victim's homes without so much as a struggle." 

  Cassie's face lit up, her expression almost elongating in a moment of realization. She had never finished her train of thought from before. They had been so distracted with Scott Harbin that she had just forgotten nobody else was thinking the same as she was. 

  "We keep talking about this as though he's doing it on purpose, but what if it's not. What if something happened that stopped him. A sole loss of confidence isn't enough for such a drastic change. He lost his confidence in his own abilities, not his means of killing. A few years ago I was on a case that involved a serial murderer, similarly to this guy's MO. Maybe a little less showy— in any case, he started to slip up when he changed. And he only changed because he had been in a supply moving accident. Lost all control of his dominate hand. Couldn't kill the way he wanted to. He found another way, but it was sloppy, witnesses were around, we caught him." 

  Morgan leaned against the wall where Cassie had once stood. "So it's an injury?" 

  "Or a stroke." Hotch looked to Reid, who shrugged his shoulders in response. 

  "Either one, there will have to be some sort of medical records, right?" Derek didn't really agree with Gideon. "Alright, so an accident after nineteen eighty-eight in Philidelphia, that doesn't lower our suspect pool by much at all." 

  "It's too many hospital records." Spencer finally answered. 

  "Call Garcia anyways, see what she can find." Pointing towards the exit, Gideon gestured to Morgan. 

  It took a few minutes for Morgan to return, he had a slanted smile. Not good, not bad. "There's a lot of records to go through. Garcia's having them sent over now." 

  Hotch moved towards the fax machine as it sounded off, indicating the first few pages. "Let's get started then." He'd grab a couple, pass them around, and repeat until everyone had a handful. Cassie still didn't sit with her pile, she'd let it sit off on the top of a cabinet next to her while she looked through whatever her current file was. 

  Morgan tossed down a few papers, a frown on his dark lips. "We're looking for a guy in his twenties, is that too early for a stroke?" 

  "I still think it's a possibility. We're looking for a fair amount of loss of mobility." Aaron didn't look up from his stack. Reid did however, happily explaining the statistics around strokes. Something or other, Cassie brushed it off with a laugh that sounded more from her nose than it did her mouth. 

  "Hm?" 

  Reid was staring at her now. So was Hotch and Morgan. She shook her head, biting the inner flesh of her cheek as she did so. They all went back to their own files.  

  Twenty-five minutes in and it felt a little hopeless. The records Garcia had given didn't narrow it down at all. Sure a few names were marked off, but then again too many to count were added. "This is taking too long. Just for a moment let's rule out strokes, what's something else that could have happened?" Cassie mimicked Morgan's earlier frustrated motion and tossed her papers down. 

  "A car accident would have to be filed in police records, especially if it resulted in injury, right?" Spencer tried to pick up where she was leaving off. Gideon and Max nodded. 

  "Back then we profiled him to have some sort of American-made sedan." 

  "Alright, then why don't I call Garcia back, have her cross reference sedan accidents with Philly PD records. That should narrow it down significantly with what we've established." 

  "It's a long shot." Ryan seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes at Morgan, a slip of a few words from Cassie halted that means of response. "It's better than nothing." 

  For the third time that day, Morgan would return from his little 'chat' with Garcia. Only this time he seemed a lot more proud of himself. "'Think I've got something; Walter Kern, fits our age range, military background. ROTC, Air Force, his accident happened right outside of Bromwell's address." 

  He passed the already printed document around. Cassie skimmed over it. He certainly looked like the type. "In his accident he lost mobility of his right side due to spinal cord and nerve damage." Veiny hands rolled up dove-white sleeves as he spoke. 

  Cassie watched as the invisible stick returned to the playing field. It was Hotch's turn. "He installed home alarms with, guess who, Scott Harbin." 

  She sought to grab it before it was taken by someone else. "That's how he could walk right in to his victim's home without issue." And as quickly as she had it, it was taken by Elle. Tapping her pencil against the paper, she'd flick it back and forth with her ring finger. "He got his major in criminology. Shows to how he was able to evade law enforcement." 

  And from Elle to Gideon, "Do we have an address?" 

  "575 Wight Street Southeast Philadelphia. Got you, you son of a bitch." 

  That was probably the first time Max had smiled in the day that Cass had known him. There was no time to mull over it, once again the team was up and moving. SWAT was hesitant, they had failed to catch him the first time, leniency wasn't on their side. Neither was the press. 

 Cass was stuck with Morgan again, Reid too, though he kept to himself in the back of the car. 

  "You were right." 

  Again she was stolen from her thoughts by the brawny driver. 

  "Is that shocking?" 

  "Well, not when you phrase it like that. I was trying to compliment you, you know." 

  "Oh."

  "That's it?" 

  "No, I was trying to think of something to reference that you would understand." 

  "Like?" 

  "A philosophical quote, nothing good came to mind. That's not exactly my thing." 

  Reid was about to say something and Morgan had that look in his eyes through the rear view mirror, something that screamed break-check. Reid no longer had anything to say. 

  "What is your thing then." 

  "Nothing really. Oh, I guess something along the lines of I'm the Chandler to your Phoebe, though that's a bit of a stretch. I only watched a few— Nevermind." 

  Morgan gave a dumbfounded look, but didn't press the issue. There were bigger problems than whatever Cassie got up to in her limited free-time.  

  Gideon and Max took the lead on the entry of the home this time. It was almost deserved.

  They knocked once. 

  No answer. 

  Twice. 

  No answer. 

  It was bordering on three when the door finally swung open. A woman in her later fourties' answered, she had short brown hair and a tired face. Makeup, jewelry, her clothes were ironed. Cassie's nose crinkled. 

  "This is agent Ryan with the FBI, we need to speak with your husband." The woman quickly looked away. She was sheepish, confused. She'd stutter out a response to Gideon. "He's not here." 

  "Do you know where he is?" 

  "Well, I," 

  "Why don't you let us inside?" 

  She stuttered, again, failing to form any coherent sentence. She'd nod anyways and the team followed inside. His wife said something about volunteering at a community center. Gideon notified Hotch, to which Cassie gently pressed her fingers to his raised elbow. He looked at her, doe-like eyes squinting in confusion. She took a step back and mumbled. "Don't send everyone there. He's still intent on giving us that 'gift'." Jason looked her up and down once, then complied without saying anything in response to her. 

  Max had let the reason they were there slip, the murders, the seven victims. 

  "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please." She didn't take very kindly to the notion. Then again no good person would. "What you're suggesting is absurd, and," 

  "—I don't think you believe that Mrs. Kern." Cassie took a step closer to the woman. She was taller than her. Height helped in most cases she had been on before. 

  "Excuse me?" 

  "I don't think you believe that your husband has nothing to do with this. You're dressed awfully nice, he likes you that way doesn't he. Modest, untouchable. Though, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that last part isn't true." 

  "Lorayne," Gideon warned. She should have listened, should have stopped talking. This was her first day, her first case, she had everything to lose. And yet so did an innocent girl. 

  "I'm guessing he has a space in the house, a room, an area, a closet, a chest youre not supposed to touch. Don't look inside of, don't even think about. If you did, Walter would get angry, wouldn't he?" 

  The wife took a step back. Cassie took a step forward. She looked anywhere but the agent's face. "He has a photo-room, but he only worries that I'll mess up his pictures. That's all." 

 "Eighteen years ago you noticed your husband fell into a depression, it seemed like it would never end. Maybe he was more irritable. You were thankful on one hand, he couldn't hit you if he wanted to. But he wasn't the same. Just a few days ago he returned back to his old self, for better and for worse." 

  "How do... no, what does it mean? Did he..?" Cass blew a quick puff of air out of her nose and stepped off to the side. She had said all she needed to. 

  "We need to see that room Mrs. Kern." She didn't miss the way Gideon followed her with a grim expression as he spoke. 

  SWAT was the first to clear the cellar on the left side of their home. It was cold, but well kept even from a quick glance at the stairway. Heading further into it lead to a room covered in photos, newspapers, anything relating to the case. He had a copy of the book Max had written about his experiences as an agent. He was a textbook stalker. Countless photos of past and present victims framed the steel-toned stone. 

  Reid flipped through a scrapbook looking binder. A collection of his killings, a story. There was a chapter missing, like he had referenced in his notes before. He wasn't finished, he had only killed Carla now because he had planned to kill her before. His accident had stopped him. It explained the extended depression. His fix wasn't just the killings, it was the perfection behind them. The consistent evasion, the methodology. 

  "Who's in the latest chapter then?" 

  "Sylvia Gooden." 

  Gideon stepped back into the room, he looked down at the image of the woman. "Hotch confirmed Walter left the community center an hour ago. We need Gooden's address." 

  Thankfully, for as much as a memorabilia fanatic he was, he included everything there was about these women. Including addresses. 

  The team was on the new sight as fast as possible, SWAT and Philly PD were right on their heels. It didn't take longer than a handful of seconds for them to be suited up and ready. Gideon confirmed Walter's vehicle was a block down the street. Preparations to go in were moving fast. Max raised his voice so the crowd of people could hear him. 

  "I want him taken in alive." 

  Which as fun as that sentiment was, it wasn't always a good one. They didn't have a clue what state they'd find Kern or Gooden in. Her life may come down to his. And while rotting in prison before his sentence was earned was the best possible outcome, Max needed to grapple with the fact he might not see satisfaction. 

  The blur of guns and combat boots breezed through the main doorway. Clearing each room was impertinent, and so was following the screams they could hear from Sylvia above. Gideon lead, followed by Morgan, Max, and Cass. Gideon trained his gun eye level before pushing open the door. There must have been eight voices, all yelling some different version of the same thing; 'Don't Move.'  

  Morgan detained Kern. He'd purposefully bash his side off of a full length mirror. A feasible accident excuse would work just fine. Cass made out the hand off to Max from behind her. Kern spoke of the former agent like some star crossed lover. She tried not to pay too much attention to it. 

  Currently calloused fingers were preoccupied in removing the plastic from Sylvia's face. She brushed her thumb against the older woman's forehead, checking to make sure the blood that was leaking was also clotting. It had already started to dry, she hadn't been hit too badly. Most likely because she had struggled too much for Kern's liking. 

  "Shh.. shh.. it's okay, you're okay. My name is Cassandra Lorayne, alright Miss Gooden? You're not hurt anywhere else, right?" 

  The blonde woman shook her head. Her body was trembling. She was sweating, her skin was clammy. It was taking her a bit longer to get the words out of her sob choked throat. Cassie didn't rush her. She'd repeat what she had done with the previous victim hours earlier. A gentle seesawing motion of her knife and the flex-cuffs were off.

  "Breathe with me Miss Gooden." 

  She was sitting up now, her shoulders heaving with another heavy cry. Cassie moved from her kneeling position to sit beside her. She pulled the woman closer and sheltered her within her arms. "You're okay, it's over now, you're okay." And she'd repeat those words for as long as she could. As long as it took for them to feel real. 

————————————

   Cassie was still getting accustomed to the whole private jet thing. It felt too classy, even if half the participants aboard had already slipped off their shoes and curled up under a blanket. Sometime she'd have to find wherever that stash of linens was. Though, for now, she was preparing herself for an earful. Gideon was moving from his seat to her end of the plane. He was at least kind enough to ensure the only one listening was Elle. To which Cassie couldn't mind too much, she felt a sort of solidarity in their methods, so hopefully the other brunette wouldn't be too abrasive in the aftermath of her scolding. 

  "You really think he beat her?" 

  "What?" 

  She had always been told to never play poker. Which was a sad comment given she was actually great at the game, just not great at her expressions. She could hold out in situations that called for a stern, unwavering face. But right here, right now, she was too wound up to keep her feelings to herself. Crinkled features gave a pretty good indication that she was absolutely taken aback. 

  "I asked a question Lorayne." 

  "Err, honestly? No. She didn't give away all of the signs, just some. Some is enough to incite a thought, and a thought is enough to be a fear. Even if he hadn't, she had rationalized that he could. Or, would, if she crossed a certain line." 

  "Alright." 

  "Alright?" 

  Gideon turned to sit down, he was done with the conversation. She'd outstretch a hand to say something else, but recoiled and changed her mind. 

  JJ had an open seat across from her, and Cassie would find comfort in the openness that followed.  

  "Have any of you been told about the time that Gideon was tricked into. . ." 

  So, this was her new home. For lack of a better phrase. It would take some time to fit in, and more effort still. Though, Cassie was able to let go of her fear for just a moment. It was the first time that day she had stopped thinking about the past, and hoped for the future. 

 ———————————— 

Date Posted: 04/24/24  

Not Yet Proofread, too lazy :(.

Next Chapter: 05/02/24

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

killer frequency

based off of this idea i had

1 2 3

ao3

words: 3.8k

The pristine BMW looks out of place among the company of the beat-up sedan and the rusted van in the parking lot, but that’s par for the course, honestly. Steve’s only parked here once when the parking lot had been full—noon on a Wednesday for his reluctant not-an-interview with Owens, who runs the radio station in this backwater town—but it hadn’t been much different then, either. Hawkins is full of cars that don’t hold a candle to his beautiful baby, full of people that, quite frankly, are only slightly weird on the best of days and outright give him the creeps on most others.

Steve sighs and glances down at his too-expensive watch, a gift from the station in Chicago, back before he’d been unceremoniously fired, and he’s incredibly dismayed to find that he’s here a whole twenty minutes early. Though, he supposes, it’s not as if there’s much else to do in Hawkins. Especially not this late at night, not so close to midnight.

He probably could’ve gone to that diner that’s open twenty-four hours for a shitty cup of coffee, but they’re starting to know him by name there now, and not in that starstruck, wow, it’s Steve Harrington, from the radio! way that he’s used to. It’s the same at that Rise & Shine coffee place across the street from the KFAM building. Honestly, he could’ve probably done with a cup of coffee to warm him up. It’s a cold November night, and Steve shivers, feeling the breeze through his jacket.

Awaiting him in what’s probably the only up-to-code building in Hawkins is 189.16–The Scream.

The only station that would hire him after his on-air disaster in Chicago.

What a joke.

“What the hell are you standing out in the cold for?” someone yells from the front doors, and Steve looks up to see Robin, the station’s late-night phone-in show co-producer and one of the few people in Hawkins that makes this damn town bearable. He can see the scrunch to her nose from all the way across the parking lot, and he can picture the way the path of her freckles distorts.“Get inside, dingus!”

Steve sighs and locks his car before heading in after her, sunglasses flicked up to sit pretty in his hair when she snorts at the sight of them. “So, what’s on the docket for tonight?” he asks her, glad that the station is always at a decent temperature, that Owens has the decency not to skimp on heating.

Robin pulls a clipboard out of seemingly nowhere and pouts thoughtfully, humming as she taps her pen on the edge of it. “Walk with me,” she tells him, like she’s a big radio exec in a suit with too-large shoulder pads and not a producer of a tiny radio show in a tiny town in the most oversized men’s blazer Steve’s ever seen. But he walks with her anyway, because he thinks Robin is easily the coolest person in town, and she starts heading up the stairs, towards the door with the currently inactive On Air sign hanging above it. “So, we’ve got ‘Guess that Scream’ up first, then some tunes, take a couple of callers, then a paid promotion, yadda yadda, you get the gist.”

She’s practically frog-marching him into the studio, and he’s not fighting her on it, which has become a daily—or nightly, Steve supposes—occurrence for the two of them. “Alright,” Steve says, “is that segment another—”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite radio host,” a teasing voice says over the speakers, and Steve preemptively rolls his eyes.

Eddie, while generally a pretty nice guy and very easy to bounce banter off of during these long nights, just loves to push Steve’s buttons. Not to mention, he doesn’t even know what the guy looks like, considering he’s in the booth by the time Steve gets here, no matter how early Steve gets here. Part of Steve wonders if Eddie just…lives in the booth or something. He’s the show’s other co-producer and hasn’t made any mistakes as sound engineer yet, which gives him points in Steve’s book, because his last sound engineer somehow screwed up so royally during a show once that Steve’s mic had been muted for half an hour.

But as good at the job as he is, Eddie also gets a kick out of Steve’s disgraced career, and he tends to joke about that more than anything else, just to get a rise out of him. Steve’s, like, half-tempted to strangle the guy most nights.

“Hi, Eddie,” he greets in the direction of the mic with a sigh, and there’s a slight snicker over the intercom before it gets cut off. Steve turns to Robin. “Any new records I should be aware of?”

“A couple,” Robin says with a shrug. “We finally got Love Shack, and that redheaded kid, the one that’s friends with our intern, brought in two Kate Bush singles at around…noon, I think. Said you might as well play some good music for once.”

The intercom crackles. “I’m still of the opinion we should have Owens shell out for—”

“No one in Hawkins wants to listen to Iron Maiden other than you, Eddie,” Robin cuts in, rolling her eyes at Steve, who grimaces sympathetically. She clears her throat and runs a hand through her hair. “Do you guys care if I take tonight off? I mean, you’re all set up, and me and Chrissy were hoping to watch a movie when she gets back from her jog, so…”

Steve shrugs. “Not like the station’s ever busy enough to need both producers,” he says, and that earns him a laugh. “Eddie and I will be fine.”

“You won’t drive each other up the wall?” Robin asks, eyes narrowed in the direction of the booth, and she receives a silhouetted thumbs-up as an answer. Robin gives Steve a bright grin and a pat on the shoulder. “Right, well, cover for my ass if Owens asks, m’kay?”

“You got it,” Steve tells her. “Go home, have fun with Chrissy.”

She squeezes his shoulder and gives both him and the tinted window to the booth a wave before heading out, shutting the door behind her. “And then there were two,” Eddie drawls over the intercom, and the feedback squealing a little makes Steve wince. “Sorry! Sorry. Bumped into the mic, that’s my bad.”

Steve shakes his head and hangs his jacket up on the coatrack, rolling his sleeves up just past his elbows and heading over to his not-so-organized work station. He tucks the headphones over his ears, lamenting the way it squishes down his hair, and he adjusts some of the settings on his soundboard until they’re just right. There’s very few other radio show hosts in Hawkins, and Keith, the guy who hosts a movie critic segment a few hours before Steve’s call-in show, often screws with the settings when he’s done, just to give Steve a hard time.

“You with me?” he asks, hearing an affirmative hum through the headphones, and Steve grins, flicking through the selection of vinyls that Robin’s prepped for tonight. He’s about to say something else, but something cuts through the air, some muffled sound. Even lifting his headphones off his ears, he can’t quite make it out. Maybe…a yell? A shout? A stray dog howling? He shrugs, settles them back on his head, but he’s still kinda concerned. “You, uh…you hear something, Eddie?”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, his voice much clearer over the headphones than over the intercom. “Hear what, exactly?”

Steve glances up to look at Eddie’s silhouette. Even shrouded in shadow, another person’s presence is somewhat comforting in the eerie hours of the night, especially in a town like Hawkins. He plays it cool, though, because he’s not about to admit that some weird noise outside has him paranoid. “Thought I heard someone yelling, or—I dunno, maybe howling?”

Eddie snorts. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Steve, because your jokes aren’t very funny,” he says, and Steve frowns.

“No, I—Eddie, I could’ve sworn I heard something,” he insists.

He can practically hear Eddie rolling his eyes amongst the slight shuffle over the mic. “Jesus H., I almost thought you’d ease up a little,” he mutters. “You probably just heard some cats or something.”

Yeah, whatever that noise had been, Steve is certain it hadn’t been a cat. “Cats?” he scoffs, utterly unamused.

“You know, four legs, whiskers, tails?” Eddie teases, and Steve clicks his tongue. “Uh, not dogs—”

“I know—! I know what a cat is, Eddie,” Steve says. “But, I mean…does Hawkins have, like, a stray cat problem or something?”

Eddie laughs. “Not since those rats moved into the abandoned ironworks building,” he says, so casually, and Steve is so horrified, because he drives past that place literally every night to get to this godforsaken radio station. “Anyway, you ready for the pre-flight checks?”

Ah. This bit. Not one of Steve’s favorites—one of the more annoying bits Eddie does, in fact—but he’ll deal with it over Robin’s microphone dinosaur bit any day. “Do you have to do this every night?” he sighs.

“Every night for the rest of our lives, sweetheart,” Eddie croons, and Steve makes a face at the insinuation he’s going to end up stuck in Hawkins for the rest of his miserable life. “Besides, Owens is paying us to check the equipment before each show, which means you get paid to put up with my pre-flight check bit. But if you’re sure you don’t want to…”

He trails off with a lilt in his voice, as if the offer isn’t supposed to be enticing. Steve just pinches the bridge of his nose, though, because he does want to make sure all his sliders are in the right place before they start. “Alright, alright, fine. Let’s…get through this,” he says.

“Alrighty! This is your captain speaking—”

“Eddie.”

“C’mon,” Eddie whines, “just let me have my fun! My bits aren’t hurting anyone.”

“They’re hurting my sanity,” Steve tells him. Eddie does a few melodramatic sniffs. It’s stupid, but it’s kind of charming nonetheless; that’s what most of Eddie’s antics are like. “Fine. Go ahead…captain.”

There’s a delighted cackle filtering in through the headphones. “Buckle in, folks! My co-captain’s about to spin some painfully vanilla hits—”

“Eddie,” Steve warns.

Eddie sighs over the mic. “Fine, fine. My lovely co-captain—whose incredibly pretty face is utterly wasted on radio—is gonna make sure our record player’s in tip-top shape,” he says, and Steve’s cheeks burn as he slides out a vinyl from its sleeve and lets it play for a bit. “Alright, that’s good. It’s working. Hit stop?”

Pulling a face, Steve does just that. “That’s gonna damage the record, y’know,” he warns, and Eddie blows a raspberry.

“Yeah, well, it’s on Owens’ dime. I don’t mind spending his money,” he says dismissively, and Steve snorts. Eddie’s pretty funny when he’s not poking fun at the worst experience Steve’s had in radio. “Alright, up next—phoneline buttons! Your captain will be waiting to take your call on line one.”

“Thought we were co-captains,” Steve says, trying not to sound like he actually cares that much about a slight at his imaginary status as co-captain in a remarkably stupid bit.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Semantics, my dear Stevie, semantics. Now hit that button,” he says.

With a sigh, because he refuses to let this go on without forcing Eddie to acknowledge his annoyance, Steve hits the button. “Alright, Eddie, ready for you on line one,” he drones.

“Who’s Eddie? This is Captain Donald Key calling. Call me Don,” Eddie says, voice lilting up the way it does when he’s making a stupid, stupid joke, and Steve kind of hates that he knows the shifts in Eddie’s voice well enough to recognize that. Then again, it’s not like he can see the guy’s face, so voice is all he’s got to go off of. Eddie snickers. “Get it? You get it?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Don Key. It’s a riot,” he says flatly. “Anything else?”

“Well, button two’s line two, it works the same. But let’s move to the Eddie button,” Eddie says.

Steve rolls his eyes, because he knows exactly which one of Eddie’s dumb jokes is next in the lineup. “The producer line,” he corrects, though it’s fruitless. There’s no stopping it.

“Like I said, it’s the Eddie button. You know the drill, press it if you need my help during the show, yadda yadda. But for you, pretty boy,” Eddie drawls, and Steve sees his silhouette toying with something behind the window, “you can push my button anytime you want.”

Of course. Steve hums. “Is there an Eddie mute button?”

“They haven’t invented it yet,” Eddie says, deadpan. “Go on, Steve. Gotta press it. Gotta test to see if it works.”

There’s a tiny little post-it that’s always on the third button—the Eddie button, but Steve’s not calling it that—and it says Press 4 Eddie. The adhesive’s definitely worn by now; Steve is half-certain that Eddie keeps taking it off after they’re done with the show and re-sticking it whenever he gets in the next night.

It’s kind of charming, though. That Eddie goes through all that effort for a dumb little joke between the two of them.

“Press ‘four’ Eddie,” Steve sighs.

“This is your brain, Steve,” Eddie says in a lofty, snooty voice, dragging the vowel sound in Steve’s name out. It sounds like he’s doing an impression of Steve with a sitcom rich guy accent thrown on top. “Sorry I made you such an un-fun turkey.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m a turkey now? What happened to the airplane—you know what? Don’t answer that,” he says. “We almost done? It’s getting close to time.”

Eddie tuts. “Sound blaster,” he reminds Steve, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

“Can you be normal and call it a soundboard like literally everyone else does?” Steve asks as he hits a button at random. It’s the womp-womp horn. It’s dumb, but it’s good for a cheap laugh.

“Nope. Sorry, sweetheart, you’re stuck with me, and I happen to enjoy fun. Go ahead and check those volume sliders for me,” Eddie tells him.

Steve cranks the volume of his mic up all the way, leans as close to it as possible, and grins. “Hey there, Eddie,” he says, and he watches the silhouette in the booth jump a foot out of his seat. He laughs, and there looks to be what he’s pretty sure is Eddie’s middle finger joining the usual shape of his silhouette. Steve slides the volume back down to a decent level. “I get you with that every time. We done, captain?”

There’s a bit of rustling as Eddie settles back down again. “We sure are! Coming in for landing, local time—”

“I should not encourage you,” Steve groans.

“I knew you had a fun side, Stevie,” Eddie coos, and Steve balls up a wad of legal pad paper to throw it into the trash can across the room. He makes it. “He shoots, he scores! And with that, why don’t we get our show started, tiger?”

Steve raises a brow, even though he’s pretty sure Eddie can’t make it out from all the way in the booth. “‘Tiger?’ That’s new. Thought I was a turkey,” he remarks, playfully snide. “Alright, introduction first—”

“Then it’s Guess That Scream!” Eddie whoops.

To be perfectly honest, Steve had thought that had been part of Robin’s ongoing joke of telling him outlandish fake segment names. A couple of times, she’d even gotten him to announce them on air before Eddie had been forced to correct him. “Uh, was that not part of Robin’s bit?” he asks, genuinely confused.

There’s a long, dramatic sigh blowing through his headphones. “Nope! This one isn’t even my fault, it was Owens’ idea. He insists we do it tonight. Play a scream, they call in,” Eddie tells him. Owens is a weird guy, and an even weirder boss. He’s nice, sure, but he’s also barely ever at the station. He’d showed up for Steve’s first show and has been in the wind ever since. Eddie clears his throat. “Okay, Steve, you’re live in three, two…”

The ‘on air’ sign above the window to the booth hums to life, the neon buzzing just loud enough to be heard through the headphones. Steve thinks it’s a wonder it can’t be heard on the actual broadcast. He presses the button on the soundboard for the station’s jingle and takes a deep breath to get himself focused.

“Good evening, Hawkins, Indiana,” Steve says, and he admittedly puts on a voice for radio, one that’s much smoother and slightly lower than his natural speaking voice. Robin pokes fun at him for it after every show. “This is your host, Steve Harrington, and you’re listening to 189.16—The Scream. Before we start taking your calls tonight on Hawkins’ only late-night phone-in talk show, I need to let you all know about a special competition we have for you this evening. It’s”—he barely holds back a sigh, but he’s a professional, goddammit—“Guess That Scream.”

“This is actually one of our station manager’s better ideas,” Eddie adds, and Steve’s noticed that Eddie puts on a voice for their shows, too. Steve’s not used to his producers being performers; Robin doesn’t put on a voice, and his producers back in Chicago hadn’t either, but Eddie’s honestly not half bad at it.

He adjusts the headphones a bit. “Here’s how it works, folks. I’m gonna play you a scream, then you call in and…Guess That Scream,” Steve explains, and this is such a dumb premise for a segment. It’s not like he’s above this kind of stuff anymore, though. “We need you lovely people at home to guess why they’re screaming. Did they stub their toe? Maybe…cut a finger off while chopping vegetables? Or discover the corpse of a loved one?”

“Ooh, good one, Steve,” Eddie says. “Now hit ’em with the tape!”

“We’ll play that tape in just a second. Alright, Hawkins, listen close, and then call in to…Guess That Scream,” he says. He’s sure that, judging by the way the sign has switched off, Eddie’s playing some jingle on his end and has their mics muted while Steve looks around for the tape. This is bullshit. He used to have a guy playing tapes for him back in Chicago. He glances up. “Eddie, where’s the tape?”

There’s an annoyed sort of grunt from his headphones. “I gave it to you yesterday, Steve. You could not possibly have lost it in that short of a timeframe,” Eddie says. The tips of Steve’s ears start to burn in embarrassment. “Steve, seriously?”

“Eddie—let’s face it, Guess That Scream is a terrible idea anyway,” he says, and he can sense the irritation in the silence that follows. Steve winces. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t have the tape.”

Eddie sighs. “Well, it may be a stupid idea, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun. We’re gonna need a scream tonight, Stevie,” he says, clearly building up to something. He hasn’t dropped the performative voice. “And, uh…you’re the one at the mic. So…”

Oh, he’s gotta be joking.

“Really, Eddie? You want—you seriously want me to scream? You know this show depends on my voice, right?” he huffs.

“Just do it! We’ve had enough of this stupid jingle, just think of a scream and let it rip,” Eddie tells him, and the sign switches on again.

Steve scrambles to think of something. “Sorry about that! I’m back. Had to step away there for a second. Listen close, and then call in to Guess That Scream,” he vamps, and he settles for what is definitely a terrible idea. He starts off pretty close to the mic and yells out, leaning back from it and going quiet in a poor attempt at mimicking someone falling off a cliff. Cheeks burning, Steve leans back in. “Well, folks, there you have it. Call in with your guesses, and if you get it right, you could win…two tickets to the Amazing Maize Maze, held at the Hawkins Fairgrounds, and one free fried…dough. Fried dough? Uh—just call in at 555-239-KFAM with your guess. Now, here’s some music while you get dialing…this is ABBA’s SOS.”

He slides the vinyl out from its sleeve and replaces the one on the turn table, setting it to play and putting the other one back, and his shoulders slump in relief when he sees the sign turn off again. “Oh my God, Steve, that was…surprisingly adequate. Didn’t take you for a big improv guy. I cannot wait to hear what people think that was,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “How the hell did I get into this mess?”

“Uh…by freaking the hell out and berating one of your guests live on air because he pissed you off,” Eddie snickers, as if Steve needs the reminder of that mortifying day. “Never actually heard that broadcast, but I did hear it was worth listening to. But lighten up, Steve! That Looney Tunes scream is gonna be the highlight of my week.”

Steve balls up another piece of paper and tosses it. He misses. There’s a long couple of minutes of silence before Steve actually gets the balls to say something about it. “Yeah, well, if you don’t actually know what he said to me, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Oops,” Eddie interrupts, and the sign glows once again, “you’ve got a call coming in. Line one, sweetheart. Fade the music out for me and take the call, will you?”

Of course. Steve gradually slides the volume of the turntable down before turning it off and taking the call. Showtime…again. “Welcome to 189.16—The Scream, caller. You’re talking to Steve Harrington, what’s going on with you tonight?” he asks, trying to keep the tones in his voice as dulcet as possible.

“Steve! Thank God I made it through. My name is Joyce Byers,” the caller says, a little urgently, and Steve wonders if Eddie and Robin know her. In a town as small as this one, they probably do. “I’m the 911 operator and police dispatcher for Hawkins.”

Weird details about her job, but alright. “Welcome to the show, Joyce. Are you calling in to Guess That Scream? As a 911 operator, you probably have an educated guess, right?” he jokes, and it’s a little morbid, sure, but it’s not like he’s raking in ratings anymore. No public opinion to worry about now, really.

“What? No! Look, I found a body, and I need your help.”

[gwynbleiddyn]

emoji asks! 👻🌙🙈

i'm gonna do these for both Dyn and Mio! ✨

Maahes

👻GHOST - do they believe in ghosts? what are their "ghostly experiences", if any?

I mean, yeah, for sure -- it's not so much a case of belief for him as it is direct fact that undead exist and they threaten the sanctity of life that he holds dear. Ghosts are just one of many kinds.

Specifically though, in Mio's experience ghosts are usually dissatisfied souls who can't return to their bodies. The 'hierarchy' of life in his mind is simple, there are four groups -- the gods, the ruling family, the blessed dead, and everyone else -- who maintain a certain balance in the world. This balance is imperative to the continuation of life in whatever form it takes. Pretty basic way to boil down the whole culture, but that's the gist of it, and it's why death is so sacred to him.

When you're born, your only guaranteed destination is death, the life you follow between those two points has to bring you to a state of harmony for your death to be blessed, and for your spirit to rest eternally. It's why he's so afraid now that he knows his father had him resurrected, because for him the only 'available' end is yk, basically endless torment, regardless of what harmony he finds in life now. Which is possibly a pre-emptive ghostly experience.

I think they also had issues with grandpa Basekh tho, bitch did not rest easy. i think papa basekh was hundo percent haunted and yk what is silent in the father often speaks in the son etc and so on and so forth

🌙 MOON - what is your oc's greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

god this really changes daily. sometimes it's selfish, he wants to be plucked from the mess of Talisman and squirreled away into a life where he doesn't have to care about the people around him so much. sometimes he wishes Onuris would appear and sort his problems out with blunt force like he usually does, or for Shadiya to sweep away the troubles with a flick of the wrist and a well-placed word. occasionally, he wishes that Amun had simply never bothered to bring him back. these are all fleeting and impossible and he doesn't hold onto them for very long, so the willingness isn't there to see them through.

however, most of the time - and this is probably the loudest wish despite his indifference to the world - he just wants to see Akhenaton in Pelor's light again. he isn't particularly bothered how that happens, only that it does, and i think the desperation of the Shadowfell has finally pushed him to the brink of 'by any means necessary' and he's all but promised his soul to a demon prince, which, yk, i feel is a pretty big hint as to how far he's willing to go. right now, he's worthless, so anyone that wants him? they can have him, because as far as he's concerned he's robbing them blind. bargain of the century.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - what's a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

the desperation. he knows his composure is slipping, people are starting to ask questions - and zinnan knows something of the bargain he's made, which might be fuelling his sudden amicability towards them :) can't outwit the fey when their entire language is bargains and trades, so best to get them onside while they're open to it.

the recent scolding from pelor also doesn't sit well. it's the first time i think he's been faced with divinity that has been wrong. he didn't like it. you know when you really trust someone and you make a decision that's a bit like, "they'll understand why i'm doing this!" but turns out they actually don't and they are livid with you and you feel your trust just break a little bit??? something something pretend to throw the ball for the dog so many times and it'll bite your hand instead something something

anyway he's not telling anyone about that for as long as he lives. embarrassing.

------

Dyn

👻GHOST - do they believe in ghosts? what are their "ghostly experiences", if any?

i think Dyn is very much a pragmatist but given that he himself has an affliction of a supernatural nature, he finds it hard to argue that ghosts can't exist. i also think he kind of subscribes to the idea that the echoes and spirits of people can and do exist long after they are gone -- the land swallows them up, drinks them in and keeps them flowing through its rivers, spits them out into the ground, enables them to dig roots deep in its earth and punch their souls through the soil into plants and trees and even animals.

he's always had this idea, because that's all the land is - life cycle upon cycle, things that feed into other things, everything is connected in some way. the natural order dictates that energy is never lost, just displaced and distributed. therefore, death can consume a physical body, but not the energy contained within it. that must go somewhere to feed something else, eventually.

i also wonder whether he thinks this way as a bit of a comforting story to himself. he lost his mother in a way that will never offer him closure -- she was swallowed up by the Chionthar not far after it cuts through Iriaebor, after a violent and terrifying hunt in which they were the prey for a pack of enthralled werewolves. even after he was turned, he stalked the river for any sign of her body or possessions, but never found anything. and in a way, never being able to bury her and put her to rest kept his grief 'living' - so every river he crosses, every brook or stream or creek, the tributaries that breathe life into faerun, he imagines her spirit calms the waters for a moment to let him pass.

so maybe he would say that ghosts do exist, just not in the way most people picture them.

🌙 MOON - what is your oc's greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

honestly, just freedom. like, his childhood 'dream' was just to live in a cottage by the river, totally self-sustaining, maybe with a dog, and no input from society. just peaceful isolation with a garden in which his life grows.

but as he travelled from village to village with his mother and started making connections with people, he began to change that dream a little. he didn't crave isolation at all, he just had trouble reconciling the pressures of society with his own personal freedom, and the easiest solution was to cut people out entirely.

so the dream continued to morph into something else as he got older, as he established more meaningful friendships and relationships, as he listened to his mother's songs and wrote some of his own - he began to see the joy of living as freely as he did was not so much in the danger that nature offered, but in the unrelenting hope that people ground between gritted teeth to face another day within it. he loved it. he loved them. so the lonely cottage on the river became a homely house in the lower city, walls laden with art and windowsills overflowing with greenery, and room enough for friends.

then, when he's turned into a lycan against his will and forced into a subservient role for some considerable time, with a master hellbent on stepping on everyone else to ensure his own survival and freedom, that kind of puts a big dent in that dream. the gentle notion of a peaceful life feels like it's been violently ripped away from him and in its place is grief for his mother and just hunger, hunger, hunger.

he has a lot of trouble reconciling the loss of his freedom and even into the beginning act of BG3, it's all he can think about. there's no homely house or even a lonely cottage - he dreams of that endless hunger and the master who cursed him, he dreams of sleeping in the cold and of whip-marks on his shoulders, neck rubbed raw from a collar that said he belonged to someone else. it's unpleasant, and bitter, but i think being surrounded by others whose autonomy was also taken from them kind of gives him some grounding. he is willing to give them a way out, so why won't he offer himself the same chance? eventually, he works through it alongside his friends, and it forms a huge part of his understanding of astarion which, rather sweetly (or maybe rather monstrously) builds a strong foundation for their friendship and subsequent relationship, and eventually, he allows his dream to return now that he can see a future in it.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - what's a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

i think he struggles with revealing his lycanthropy - not so much because it's horrifying, he knows people have likely seen worse, but because it's just so intrinsically linked to his loss of autonomy and freedom. he feels vulnerable with it, even though he's physically at his strongest in his shifted form, and it's probably one of the main things that causes a lot of tension in the party early on.

[mymemoirs]

You Will Never Get Used to Disappointment

The word "idealistic" would earn a nod from my sisters or close friends when they have to describe me. Being an idealist means I have certain expectations towards situations, things, people, or even myself. I personally didn't think I set high expectations especially since I am quite "apathetic" as a person. (Yes, it's conflicting but both of them exists within me and people would agree with that description as well.)

I have gone through a lot of disappointments in my life, many of them are forgotten or have little to no effect on me anymore. Along the way, I learnt not to be too hopeful on things I cannot control. I thought I was good at managing expectations and disappointment, especially since I am now a working adult.

Alas, when disappointment came knocking at my door, I never knew how it looks like. Sometimes it came unexpectedly, like on a Monday morning after my two weeks of vacation or during my commute to work. When it dawns on me, I felt as though I'm drowning. My whole body felt tense, my long lost shoulder pain returned, and I had difficulty breathing—let alone focusing on my work. You get the gist—it's a series of discomforts, and I had to sit through it.

Of all times, the issue with my work and graduate application had to happen in the same week. I'd be lying if it didn't cause me to fall back and costs me my confidence. At some point (and I'm still currently stuck in this point), I wanted to give up. Maybe I'm just never up for my dreams of pursuing master's degree abroad and I have to live up with the fact that I'll never leave this place. It's a self-sabotaging thought that I kept on reinforcing since the news. Before long, it's hard for me to imagine that my current situation will ever change and I felt so unmotivated to do anything related to my graduate application.

During these times, I have been doing some daily reading of my old Soka Gakkai Indonesia monthly magazine, Soka Spirits, in an attempt to shelve them in a box. I was planning to transfer the writings of my life mentor to Notion so I can share it with fellow friends or members. I find it's the only 'easy' task I set up for myself compared to others and I've been doing it almost every day.

In one of the stories I read about a Singaporean member working in Hungary, he experienced an economic crisis, and his employment contract was about to be terminated. However, he managed to turn the tides, and these were the quotes from Daisaku Ikeda that resonated with him during his difficulties:

If we do not rise to the challenge now, then when? If we do not strive today, then when? Life is a struggle against the limited time we have on earth. What will have been the purpose of our life if we do not fulfill our mission? If we abandon our dream, no matter how we try to justify ourselves, there will be little left in the end but emptiness and regret. Nichiren Daishonin wrote, ‘You must not spend your lives in vain and regret it for ten thousand years to come.’ - Daisaku Ikeda

These quotes resonated with me as well. I was faced with challenges in my work and the personal goals I'm working towards. My dream might not be much but I will be letting myself down if I didn't strive until the end. With this budding hope, I started to put myself together piece by piece. I'm not exactly running towards my goal, but, as painful and embarrassing as it feels, I'm starting to look at the rejected application. I'm starting to think who I should reach out for help and the little steps I can take.

Yes, we'll never get used to disappointment. But in every disappointment, there's always something to learn about ourselves and the experience. As bitter as it may be, we always have the choice to get up again. Just as I'm rebuilding my castle, brick to brick, I believe I have the capacity in myself to turn the impossible into the possible.

Cheers, Reina

P.S. Good reads about disappointment:

Dealing with Disappointment

[mortyfields]

“Maybe not. But this still isn’t your fault,” he reminded her. While Morty would easily agree that Bubbles should never have dated Boomer, it wasn’t productive to think about the past that way—it only made Bubbles feel partially to blame for the fight that just happened, when it was really not her fault at all. The only two people to blame were Boomer for instigating and Morty for rising to the bait. (And he still didn’t regret his choice to throw the first punch, though he wouldn’t be saying that to his girlfriend again.) She had to know that even if she’d never had any romantic connection to the Rowdyruff boy, he still would have held something against Morty simply for whatever happened between him and Millie that had gotten him so worked up. It really felt like Boomer’s angst towards Bubbles and Millie respectively were somewhat different. While he had mentioned both, citing similar sentiments about their (supposed) feelings for Morty, it was only the latter that he called a name. Why? That thought was going to bother him until he got an answer, but nobody in this room had one.

“I know, but I thought…” he started responding to Bubbles’ speculation about how hard it might be to get over him after how long he and Millie had ultimately been together throughout their years of on-and-off dating. It was a dumbfounding realization to have. His other exes—as far as he knew—weren’t still hung up on him, so he had bought in too easily to the idea that he and Millie could also go right back into an easy friendship with no lingering heartache. He hadn’t even known at the time they’d had that closure conversation, after their last hook-up, that Bubbles secretly still missed being with him and wanted him back. As far as he knew at the time, he was easy to get over, having perfectly platonic relationships with all of his former girlfriends. The only heart he’d known was holding onto the past was his own. With the more newfound perspective that Bubbles felt the same as he did about their first try at a relationship, looking back on his conversation with Millie made him feel like a complete asshole for not even considering that her feelings were potentially just as strong. Morty had totally steamrolled that conversation and told her point-blank that they weren’t in love. He had trusted her to be honest with how she was feeling and tell him if it didn’t match, but did what he’d said really give her any chance? At that point, her choices would have been to confess she maintained unrequited feelings, or else suck it up and agree with him. If it was really true that she hadn’t been over him at that time, he couldn’t exactly blame her for not admitting it; it wouldn’t have changed his mind anyway.

Morty sighed. “I just thought that she felt the same way I did about it. We had a conversation back in September, that we were going to stop getting back together every time we were both single…” He thought back to the gist of what they’d said months ago, adding, “I said we loved each other, but we weren’t in love, you know? And she said…she didn’t want us to hold each other back?” He looked at Bubbles with a hopeless, questioning look, as if she might decipher some hidden meaning in those words that he hadn’t been able to pick up on. Was there a secret code in there that revealed whether Millie still had feelings for him back then—or if she was really over him and Boomer was just going crazy over something he made up in his own mind? Bubbles was sensitive; Morty was realizing he was potentially a lot less emotionally aware than he’d always thought he was. It wasn’t really fair to put all this on Bubbles, though. Millie was her best friend, but she was Morty’s ex; anything relating to her romantic feelings (or lack thereof) for Morty should be addressed between them and not speculated on by him and his girlfriend, regardless of their mutual friendship. That was further proof of his lapse in emotional intelligence. “Sorry…We’ll figure all this out later,” he said. “I don’t want to think about anything Boomer said right now anyway.” Morty closed his eyes, laying back against his pillow for a second before wincing at the reminder of his injury on the back of his head. He turned to lay his cheek on the pillow instead, and that didn’t feel great either, but better. He smiled wanly at Bubbles. I’m still okay, the smile meant, even if it was a bit strained. “When are you gonna break me out of here?” he asked, only half-joking.

Bubbles realized now that agreeing to date a Rowdyruff Boy was a terrible decision on her part. It had been a risk from the start—with her being a superhero and him being a criminal—so there was always going to be judgements and questions on why she decided to be with him, of why in the eyes of everyone else (with the exception for Blossom and Ferdie) — was it Boomer who the blonde decided to have her first serious relationship with. And when she had been asked about it in the past, all the Powerpuff would say in response was how she always found him to be cute, which wasn’t much of a lie, but obviously that was never the real reason to why she dated him. To put it simply, Boomer had been nothing more than a rebound for Bubbles. She wasn’t lying when she said that Morty breaking up with her had left the blonde heartbroken. But now knowing that despite making that tough decision to end their relationship, he had still loved her and only broke up with her because he thought that it was her who didn’t love him enough to make their relationship public even after wanting that for so long; the blonde wished she had fought for them more. She wished she hadn’t accepted their breakup for what it was and wished that she instead had told Morty how much she loved him, and if going public is what was needed for them to be happy together again, she’ll do it. Maybe then she wouldn’t have slept with the first person who tried to mend her heartbreak so soon after their breakup despite her knowing it was no use. And Boomer tried, Bubbles had recognized that, and while she did regret using him the way she had, for what it was worth, the Rowdyruff did help ease some of the pain she felt back then.

Finding out that Morty and Millie were together after that one winter break, Bubbles had been sure that it had been the end of her and Morty. Even if she had wanted to try and fight for what they had, she thought— there was no way would he have wanted to be with her again when now he had the chance to be with someone who never made him feel like they were ashamed of being with him. Not only that, but the blonde knew how much Millie loved him. With the way her best friend looked at Morty, especially after they first got together, how was Bubbles able to get in the middle of that? Had she been jealous when she found out they were dating? She was. And did it feel like her heart broke a little more seeing them as a couple, and how happy Morty seemed to be with Millie? It sure did. But the Powerpuff knew she had already been selfish enough and took Morty for granted by not agreeing to go public in the first place. Even when she had her reasons, and only wanted to protect him…. So, in a way, the blonde agreeing to date Boomer when she not only knew she didn’t feel so strongly for him and had only been using him to ease her own pain, it was no wonder something like this had happened. Boomer being jealous and hurting Morty— it was like a punishment for Bubbles never acting sooner. For never making the right choice. But had the right choice been for her never making their relationship a secret? Or was it how she should’ve been smart enough to never agree to date Boomer in the first place? To never have slept with him that day? Or maybe….. the right choice was that Bubbles shouldn’t have accepted Morty’s confession. Maybe then they wouldn’t have dealt with so much heartbreak and pain. Nor any of the jealousy they’ve felt of the other people they’ve been with if her boyfriend setting his jaw after explaining her side of the story was any indication to go with. But as soon as the thought of never having the chance to be with Morty came, she pushed it away to the back of her mind. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice, but being with him was the only choice she hasn’t regretted making. Both back then and now— Bubbles knows that being with Morty is what she wanted.

Perhaps that is how Boomer discovered that Morty had been the ex she couldn’t get over. Try as she might, it had been hard not to let her feelings for him show even back once they reverted to being only friends again. She tried not to let it show for Morty’s sake, not wanting to make him feel like he had to take her back just because she couldn’t get over him, but she must have slipped up somewhere with the Rowdyruff. “I should’ve never agreed to date him in the first place. It was a liability either way, and now this happened to you, while he’s off who knows where?” The blonde shook her head with a rueful sigh. Dumb old Bubbles and her dumb decisions she guessed. Would Boomer had gotten this explosive if she hadn’t dated him? Did this fight really happen because she dated them both? If that was the case, then why did he call Millie a slut if it was her he was mad about? Because he knew Millie wasn’t over Morty herself. Hearing that news, the Powerpuff took a sharp breath. Millie never said anything about how she felt that day Bubbles confessed to dating Morty to her. Outside of her saying that she and Morty were just friends, so she didn’t need to worry— ‘I’m such an idiot’ the blonde thought, the realization that her best friend had only been saying that hitting her. Millie was in love with Morty too, she reminded. “He said that too, huh?” she began, looking back at her boyfriend. Bubbles knew she had to tread what she said carefully, not wanting to say something that would expose the way her best friends been feeling if she hadn’t told him about it herself yet, especially not when she didn’t know for sure if any of this was even true. For all she knew, Millie could’ve been telling the truth when she told her that they were just friends and Boomer only saying that to make Morty even madder. “Well— you two had dated for years. I won't say it's true but if I couldn't get over you after months of us dating, I can only imagine how much harder it would've been if we broke up after a whole year of us being together, much less years.”

[heliads]

What They Say

Everyone has been warning you away from Peter Hayes from the second you stepped foot in Dauntless, especially after you started dating him. It would be a shame if something were to happen to make you finally understand what they all see in him.

masterlist

It’s a dangerous game that you’re playing, and yet you are not remotely interested in giving it up. You’ve been warned away countless times by friends and your own feeble conscience, but even those words of wisdom won’t be enough to convince you to lay down your winning hand for good. 

After all, why would you ever leave this behind? Why would you ever leave him, Peter Hayes, when you still have the opportunity to keep it all? No one at Dauntless would ever pass up an advantage when it comes your way, and you subscribe to that belief in every regard. 

Even when it comes to Peter. Especially when it comes to Peter. Peter Hayes is the worst of you and the best, what everyone sees when they want to believe Dauntless is made of monsters and also everyone’s best example of fearlessness. Peter may be cruel, but aren’t you all? Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place?

Maybe people try to convince you to leave Peter because they’re afraid you’ll become him. In a way, the only reason you were able to get so close to him is that you’ve already undergone such a transformation. You became your own demon the second you dashed your blood into Dauntless’ vessel during your Choosing Ceremony. Everything that happens after that is merely a consequence of your favorite action. 

Still, that doesn’t stop Tris and Christina from trying to talk you out of it. They’re horrified by the fact that you would ever even think of dating him. Peter is a terrible person, they claim, sick and cruel whenever he gets the chance. They’re not entirely wrong, but then again, if either of them were to pass up the chance at winning this whole initiation over kindness, you’d laugh at them as well. 

You’re stuck in another one of these interventions now. You’re trying to finish your breakfast in peace, but with Tris and Christina on either side of you, both alternating the attack on Peter, you’ve kind of lost your appetite. 

“You have to see it,” Tris says, “surely you have to see it. Peter’s a complete nightmare. What could you possibly see in him that would make dating him worthwhile?”

“What do you see in Four that makes you stare at him all the time?” You counter. 

Tris chokes on the water she’s drinking and has to fade into a blushing silence to regain her composure. After a concerned look her way, Christina takes up the charge. 

“Look, all we’re saying is that we think you’re making a mistake. Peter is bad news and you know it. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up hurt.”

You bite back a laugh. “What could possibly happen, Christina? I already watch my back enough that he couldn’t kill me if he tried. The worst thing he could do is break my heart, and that would just give me motivation to do better in the rankings.”

Christina snorts. “You’re so optimistic. If the thought of Peter breaking your heart isn’t enough to scare you, do you even love him at all? I mean, what do you even do to live with that?”

“Easy,” you say decisively, “I make sure I break his heart first.”

With that, you flash an exasperating grin at both of your friends in turn and stand up, heading towards the exit. There’s somebody waiting for you at the door, and although there’s no way Peter could have heard anything the three of you were saying over the din of everyone talking, he can still guess at the gist of it. 

“Are they complaining about me again?” He asks, slinging an arm around your shoulder. 

You grin. “Yeah, but I’m not too bothered. Tell you what, I’ll listen all they want once they beat me in a fight.”

Peter snorts. “At that rate, they’ll never be able to do so much as come near you.”

“That’s the point,” you laugh, and the two of you walk out, ready for the day’s training to begin. 

In all honesty, you’re not sure that Tris and Christina are wrong to be worried. You’re not blind, you know what Peter is capable of when it comes to getting his way. If he had a chance to secure that final ranking once and for all, even if it came with the cost of screwing you over, he’d do it in a heartbeat. And if you faced the same dilemma, you’d make the exact same choice. No love lost. 

Needless to say, it’s not the best foundation for a strong relationship. Then again, neither of you are really anchoring for marriage at this point. All you want is someone to retreat to at the end of the day, someone who can say your name with a smile and make you forget about every one of your worries for the blessed time you have with him. At the moment, Peter fits that description to a T, so you stay with him. Maybe it will last, maybe it won’t. Regardless, it’s good right now, and that’s all you need to convince yourself to stay with him. 

You’re in the mood for some of that good later that night. You end up staying late after practice, trying to get your punches into the best form you can, but it takes a lot out of you. You’ve heard rumors of some parties going on in one corner of the Dauntless complex, and, desperate for some sort of fun, you head that way after a quick shower. 

The festivities have been going on for quite some time when you finally arrive, but that doesn’t stop you from melting into the crowd immediately. Here, you can lose yourself on a tidal wave of people and laughter and liquor. Nothing more needed. 

At one point, you’re searching for another drink when your gaze is caught by a room leading off from a nearby hall. It’s just outside the reach of the party, but close enough that anyone could dash there for a brief respite if need be. 

It’s also close enough that you can hear the faint trails of voices coming from the half open door. You’re about to brush the whole thing off as just some bored Dauntless looking for a way to spend their evening until you hear one voice more clearly, and know it instantly. 

Your blood goes cold. You’d know that voice anywhere— it’s Peter, obviously, who else could it be? Peter, who told you he’d be going to bed early tonight, that you shouldn’t wait up for him. Peter, who is clearly lying to you now. 

You head directly for the room. You already know what you’re going to see, you think, but it isn’t until you stand over the threshold and catch a glimpse of the interior that you know for certain. 

It is indeed Peter, and the girl he’s with is not you. It strikes you suddenly, how much this hurts. Hadn’t you just been telling Tris about how you wouldn’t care if Peter broke your heart? Yes, they had been your glib words, spoken without a care in the world. How wrong you were. 

You suppose you had always harbored this secret belief that you knew Peter better than anyone else, and that’s why you knew enough to trust him. There was the Peter Hayes that everyone saw, the bloodthirsty boy who always had something to prove, and then there was the Peter you knew. He wouldn’t treat you like the rest, because you were naive and assumed that if you thought the world of him, he surely had to follow suit. 

Don’t you get it now? There is no ‘your Peter.’ There is no more ‘your Peter,’ who walked with you and seemed to speak like all of his words were meant for you and you alone. There is no ‘your Peter,’ who made you think that he would have traded it all away for you.

And why would he? There was never a ‘your Peter.’ There is only Peter now, the Peter who’s been here forever, the one who tricked you with every word and made you fall for him so he could see what would happen. Tris warned you that this would happen, that Peter could never be trusted. You should have listened to her, but you didn’t. It seems that despite all your misguided confidence, you still have a lot to learn. 

You hover there for a moment longer, just standing there like if you blink one last time it’ll all go away and you’ll be fine again. Then everything comes crashing down around you and even as you swear you can hear the sound of glass breaking echoing in your ears, you turn and leave at last. 

An endless spiral of doors and halls pass by as you go. Haven’t you always been like this, always running? Running from your former faction. Running from your family, your home. Now, you’re running from Peter. Will you ever be able to stop? Will anything ever be yours again, or just one last dream to sight your sets on and leave within the span of a year?

Peter comes back late that night. You can hear him in a group of two or three others who stop by the initiates’ dorms closer to dawn than nightfall. He slows by your bunk, you think, but you keep your eyes firmly shut and after a while he leaves your side. 

You try to avoid him after that. Obviously, there’s not a whole lot you can do to keep your path clear of Peter entirely— you’re still in initiation together, after all, and both of you have high enough rankings that you’re often in the same vicinity during training. Still, you can try to make sure the two of you aren’t side by side, and although that absence cuts to the bone, it’s better than the knowing. 

Knowing that you’re not worth to him what he’s worth to you, that is. Knowing that if Peter lied to you about where he was and who he was with one night, he could have easily done it a dozen other times. 

That’s what you repeat in your head again and again, a litany to keep you from going back to him. It works well at first, but the problem is that your thoughts only exist on your end. Peter doesn’t know that you know, and to him you’re just disappearing out of nowhere, transient as a storm-tossed sea and half as comprehensible.

It should come as no surprise, then, that Peter tracks you down within a matter of days. Peter is used to getting what he wants– high rankings, victorious fights, all that and more. Although he’d never go so far as to name you as one of his triumphs out loud, he still considers your relationship proof that he’s won something, so of course he’ll check in to make sure what you have is still functional and thus worth saving.

You’re staying late in the training room again when he finds you. You suppose you didn’t make it all that hard for him to locate you. When are you not staying after initiation, trying to scrape past another level in your skills so you can jump up another ranking? Still, it’s not like you’re willing to give up all your habits just to avoid Peter. The only practice you’re removing is him.

You hear the door open and know it’s Peter instantly; the pattern of his footsteps echoing through the wide room, always proud and never wavering, could never belong to anyone else. You’re throwing knives at the targets and keeping your back straight, not looking at him for a second. Your fingers close around a blade, you throw it. You pin your hopes to the target with the weapon in the hopes of keeping them far away from you.

Peter comes to a stop beside you. Out of your peripheral vision, you can say that he’s not looking at you either. The target will be a good subject of focus for both of you right now.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says dryly, “I was almost getting worried that you were avoiding me.”

The words are carefully chosen, a warning. You suppose this is where you could backtrack and apologize, promise that you’ll do better about spending more time with him. That being said, both of you want a fight, and you’re not about to disappoint right now.

When you remain silent, Peter makes a bitter scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “You’re not even going to deny it? I thought we had something, Y/N. Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?”

You can’t tell him this, so you settle for something else. “I was there, you know. That night at the party.”

You don’t have to specify which night or which party for Peter to know what you’re talking about. He may claim to be jaded and utterly without conscience all he wants, but the guilt still lives inside him, and right now it’s beginning to consume him whole.

“You–” He can’t finish, can’t even get started.

You do the job that he cannot. “I saw you with that girl, yes. So I suppose I should be the one asking you if we had something. Was it worth throwing away everything we had for that one night? Or were there more, to sweeten the deal?”

Peter starts. “I wasn’t throwing it away–”

You stare at him at last, and he almost flinches away from the fury in your gaze. “Of course you were, Peter. What else would possibly happen? Did you think you could keep something like this from me? That you could have her and me at the same time? Not a chance.”

“I know,” Peter pleads, “I know. But it was just that one night, I swear. One mistake. You have to believe me.”

You could have believed him once, perhaps, but Peter left his trustworthiness behind when he transferred from Candor to Dauntless. When he once spoke truths, he clings to lies now, and so you cannot give him even this bit of relief that he demands.

“I don’t,” you whisper, “and all I can think about is that I should have listened when they told me you were trouble.”

Peter sees what you’re getting at now, and his eyes widen. “Don’t do this, Y/N. What we had is good. What we have is good. We can make this work.”

“No,” you counter, “I can make this work. Without you, that is.”

Peter freezes in place, you can all but see the ice creeping up over his veins. “So what, that’s it? It’s all over now forever?”

You lift a shoulder. “I never said forever.”

It’s all the hope you’ll give him for the time being. Truth be told, you did like being with Peter, but you cannot focus on him right now, not when he won’t give you the same place in his heart that you reserved so carefully for him. Perhaps there will be a time after this when both of you graduate initiation with superb rankings that you’re able to forgive him more completely, when this doesn’t feel like an attack against both your character and your future.

That time is not now, though, and so you force yourself to hold still while Peter nods his head jerkily, manages to grind out an apology through clenched teeth, and leaves. It still hurts, this goodbye, even though it was your idea.

It’s what is best for you, though, and in a lion’s den like this, you have to do everything you can to put yourself first. It’s what Peter did, and so it makes sense that you would follow suit. You have always been connected to him in some way ever since you got here, maybe the forced silence is your last tie to Peter.

The thought makes you smile in a bitter, wounded sort of way, and gives you enough motivation to turn back to the target one more time. If you choose yourself, you start now, and that means winning at everything else except the boy you still love. That still may come too, though. Only time will tell.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria

[katsubiatch]

Distant Shores-2

Summary: The heathens came to raid every year, stealing treasures and killing along the way. Your father was the King of Wessex and wanted to strike a deal with the heathens. The heathens and their ruthless numbers in exchange for some lands to farm, riches... and you. You are the Christian princess that is now to marry the Heathen King, a man that you're sure would rather kill you than marry you. This is going to be a miserable marriage.

A Viking!BakugouxReader fic.

The boat ride back to where the Vikings lived was a long one. As exciting as being on the open water was, to see so much open space it got old quickly. The water would spray at you, soaking you to your bones and causing you to shiver. There also wasn’t much to look at other than the deep blue of the ocean, white fluffy clouds in the sky, the other Viking ships floating nearby. 

You also couldn’t really speak to anyone, you did not know their language at all nor they yours. The only one who seemed to know anything was the man that was to be your husband, however he didn’t seem interested in talking. At least not to you. From what you could tell he was grumpy, rude, unpredictable and overall unpleasant. You wondered why these people followed him, weather or not they had a choice in the matter or not. Back home no matter what anyone thought of your father they had to follow, he was King after all. You weren’t quite sure how it worked here but you couldn’t ask either. 

You huffed, drawing the fur closer around your body, the same one that had been placed on you near the start of your journey. He had to have a nice bone somewhere in his body, right? If he gave you this fur, then again maybe he just hadn’t wanted to hear you complain. It felt like you had been on the sea forever, and there was a constant chill to you that you couldn’t shake. You had no idea how some of these men were shirtless, though you supposed it would be easy to work up a sweat rowing as they did. You hadn’t ever thought of that, that there were people who did such a job. You hadn’t been on one of your fathers ships and even if you had you wouldn’t have seen the men working so hard to row.  One of the men must have noticed your staring because he gestured to you and then to the oar that he was holding, laughing and joking with the men beside him. However you stood up, giving the man a smile. At this point you’d do anything to warm up and help. You felt useless this entire time, the only person who hadn’t taken a turn to row. The man looked shocked at you as you stood up, gently touching the oar. You weren’t quite sure how to do this, that much was obvious but the man did his best to instruct you without actually speaking. You figured you got the gist of it and it only took you a minute or so to get in sync with the other men rowing. You laughed softly to yourself before starting to feel the burn in your arms. This was a workout, but judging by the men near you and their large arms this was something they were used to. A few of the men near you let out little snickers and chuckles, shaking their heads. They hadn’t expected such a prim and proper lady to do such a thing. You on the other hand, found things like this interesting and wanted to try it all. 

It did not last long however until you felt a strong hand wrapping around your upper arm and dragging you up, causing you to drop the oar and gasp slightly. Bakugou was barking angrily at the man that had gotten up from his position while gripping tightly on your arm. You couldn’t understand what he was saying but he sounded angry and you instantly regretted your decision. “It is my fault.. not his.” You managed to get out, your own hand touching Bakugou’s arm.  “Quiet you, you are meant to sit here until we get back.” Bakugou growled as he looked down at you, almost snarling as he deposited you back to where you had originally been seated. You grumbled for a few moments, looking up at Bakugou with narrowed eyes, obviously upset that he had pulled you away from your task. 

The two of you were sharing a very long, intense stare. A few of the men around you admired your braveness and said as much, not that you could understand what they were saying to begin with. Soon a spray of ocean water broke your gaze as it came crashing right next to you and you had to move to get out of it’s way. “You sit here, and do not say anything the rest of the way.” Bakugou grumbled as he moved you to a spot where there wasn’t too much spray and threw another fur over you. 

His mood was hard to understand, he could be somewhat kind as you’d witnessed before, but he was also surly and rude. To be married to someone like that for the rest of your life, always having to guess at what emotion he had and walking on eggshells. That was not something that you wanted to deal with, however you didn’t have much choice in the matter. Running away? Well you were in the middle of the ocean and once you got back to land your odds weren’t much better. In a foreign land where you didn’t speak the language? Yeah that wouldn’t be good. So at this point you were stuck, with no much choice other than to marry a man you didn’t know or love. 

It was a day or so later that seagulls were seen flying above and you saw the men getting excited, so you figured that you must be getting closer to home. Well their home, your new prison. Moments later a small town came into view, huts and longhouses, docks and a beautiful beach. You stayed put where you were however, instead of going to get a closer look. You really didn’t want to anger your future any further. 

Soon the men were docking, women waiting with children at the docks smiling happily and waving at what you presumed were their husbands. They were all so happy to see their families some jumped off the boats before they were properly docked and unloaded. You wondered what it was like, to have such a family. You figured you’d never know. Your parents weren’t exactly the loving type, always more concerned with their country and duty. You smiled at watching them reunite, happy for them. Children climbed on their fathers shoulders, heavily pregnant women eagerly hugged their husbands. 

You were roughly pulled from your seated position, a calloused hand gripping your upper arm tightly and hauling you towards the docks. You did your best to fall into step beside him, tripping over your own feet as his pace was quick. “Keep up.” He grumbled as he looked back angerly at you before stopping once they had got to the red head you often saw Bakugou hanging around with. He was huddled close to a beautiful, bubbly woman holding a a newborn baby wrapped in furs. The two were cooing over the little thing before Bakugou walked over to them.  “Look at how beautiful she is, you really outdid yourself Mina.” 

“Well you had a hand in it as well you know.”  You heard the woman giggle but you had no idea what they were saying so you just stayed put, catching your breath from that walk. Bakugou stayed put, looking down at the baby and you could have sworn you saw a light smile gracing his lips. However whatever was there was gone just as quick.  “She is beautiful.” Bakugou agreed and looked at the two. “Congratulations. A new child is a wonderful thing.” “Who is she?” Mina asked, peeking around Kirishima to get a better look at the woman Bakugou was holding onto so tightly.  “Oh don’t worry about her, I’ll explain later.” Kirishima whispered to her before Bakugou drug her along and she stumbled to keep up. You didn’t dare speak up, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of people you didn’t know. It took a bit but soon you made it to a very big long house where many people seemed to be convening and all were smiling at Bakugou, saying words that you didn’t understand and clapping him on the back. You were sure they were all congratulating and thanking him for a raid well done. You got many curious looks as well, however Bakugou didn’t divulge that information to anyway.  There was a large feast prepared, everyone sat in the great hall laughing and feasting. You were set next to Bakugou, picking at your food because you were just too nervous to do much else. Of course you felt out of place, you didn’t understand any of the conversations going on and the only person who you could speak to seemed much more interested in other things. However a bit after this feast started Bakugou stood up and everyone silenced, even the children were quiet in the presence of their earl.  “We are gathered here to celebrate our great raid!” Bakugou yelled out into the crowd, even if it was quiet he felt the need for such celebration. Everyone yelled out, taking drinks and laughing amongst themselves. “We had a very succesful raid and we shall make it through the winter, if not longer! We did strike a deal with the King of Wessexs. He offered us riches and land in exchange for our army should he need it. We also have his daughter, who I am to marry.” He didn’t say the last part quite happily but it was what it was. He was to marry this girl and that was that. “Now weather or not we uphold our part of the deal is to remain seen. After all if he is going to drag us into a lengthy and pointless war we will not participate, and deal with those repercussions later.” At that the men laughed. “Now eat, drink, celebrate our return and our new riches!” 

You hadn’t understood anything that he’d said but you assumed that it had something to do with being back and some kind of pep talk you were sure. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Although while the men and women drank, celebrated and got a touch too feely with each other than you were used to you awkwardly sat and watched the festivities. Children running and playing, wives draping themselves over their husbands and some doing everything they could to welcome them back, men sitting around and talking with each other. Your husband to be was doing just that, drinking and talking with a few of the other men you’d seen him around often. 

You felt out of place some eyes staring at you and definitely giving you the cold shoulder. You were an outsider, a stranger to their otherwise seemingly close knit unit. Even those who seemed to be servants ignored and moved around you. It had been a very long journey and an even longer night. You felt yourself falling asleep sitting up, while you had no idea where you are supposed to sleep. “Get up.” A gruff voice next to you grumbled and gripped your arm, hauling you up from your seated position. Your eyes opened as you stood and looked up at Bakugou. “You can’t fall asleep at the table. Come.” He commanded as he made his way towards a curtained off area. Once you got past the curtains there was an area with a bed, trunks, spare furs and treasures you hadn’t ever seen before. “You’ll stay here with me, in the bed.” Your eyes went wide at that, having never shared a bed with a man before. However you supposed that this man was going to be your husband.  You nodded before looking around the room and noticing that your one trunk wasn’t here, “Your things are not here... you can sleep in this.” Bakugou threw one of his tunics at you, and while it would be big on you it certainly wasn’t what you were used to and you’d be showing more than you were comfortable with. “I’ll turn around.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling and turning around. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, although you knew that he would see it all soon enough you were grateful that he would at least give you this until that day came. 

Days came and went, and most of them would have been spent alone had Bakugou not been so generous as to allow one of his men to escourt you around, it helped that he was also fluent in your language. He had joined the Vikings on one of their raids last summer and while some of the men still didn’t trust him he was loyal to them. His name was Shoto Todoroki and he was quiet but kind. He would translate conversations for you, although most of them held no interest for you however some did involve you and most of the women around were upset that you were taking Bakugou. However you weren’t exactly taking him, you’d been forced into this marriage just as much as he had. You also didn’t think that he’d been too interested in the women either. 

No one wanted to speak to you, and it was lonely although you did have Shoto but there were times that he had other things to do and you didn’t want him to have to hang out with you all day. He was sweet and kind however and much more of a conversationalist than Bakugou. You would get occasional grunts and commands when you were together but that wasn’t often. He was always busy and kept you under watch whenever he was gone. 

A week had gone by since you’d been in the Viking lands and it was time for your wedding. It had been planned quickly and all the traditions were so different from your own. The wedding was on a Friday, because it was Friggas day and she was the Goddess of marriage, love and fertility according to Shoto. You’d bathed in a bath house with Bakugous mother, Mitsuki, to wash away your status as a Maidan. It was usually done with married women of your family however none of your family was here so different arrangements were made. You quite liked Bakugous mother, she was not quite as brash and rude as her son but you saw where he got his personality from. 

After your bath your hair was braided and ornaments were placed in it, another tradition you were not familiar with. You were dressed in a blue gown that had been made specifically for this wedding, it was simple as you’d been told your hair was more important than the actual dress. You’d picked up on a few words here and there, as well as Shoto had been teaching you some things. Especially what to say during the wedding, which was something you’d been nervous of. 

Once the actual wedding started you were feeling nervous, walking down that long way towards Bakugous back, seeing him wearing his best furs and clothes. During the ceremony you did your best to pay attention, although you didn’t understand everything and just went along with what was happening. Exchanging rings, swords-which was strange for you-and a very chaste, first, kiss. Bakugou looked indifferent the entire time, and you felt much the same. You hadn’t gotten to know him since you’d been here, he was always off working with his people or solving their problems. 

There was a large feast held afterwards with plenty of mead flowing and while you hadn’t ever tried the stuff before you decided why not, after all you had no idea what was to become of your wedding night but you had a feeling Bakugou was going to expect something. Where you came from no one spoke of it, however a few cheeky maids had let you in on the secret of losing your maidenhood. You were nervous but figured some liquid courage could help. You sputtered and choked at first, to which your now husband laughed at you for. “Didn’t expect you to want to drink.” He laughed, the mead loosening his tongue a bit. It was the most that he’d spoken to you in days.  “If I am supposed to be your wife maybe I should act like a Viking.” That got another laugh out of your husband who shook his head. This feast was quite a bit like allthe others every night but this one was bigger than the rest and there was much more alcohol flowing through it. 

The night dragged on and soon enough you found yourself in Bakugous large bed, naked and surrounded by furs. He could tell you were nervous and so he took his time. Working you up, only to have you crashing down with such a force that you couldn’t explain. The maids might have told you about losing your maidenhood however they hadn’t spoke to it feeling like this. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore he proved you wrong. You didn’t think that it could feel like this, nor did you think Bakugou could be so gentle and nice. At the end of it you could hardly keep your eyes open and Bakugou cleaned you up and dressed you, covering you up with furs. He might not have wanted this marriage but he wasn’t going to be the biggest asshole in the world. At least not tonight. 

A/N: I did my best to add in viking wedding traditions although it was a little hard because a lot of them involved thins with family and obviously reader does not have family here! Yes I decided to put Kirishima and Mina together, idk why it just seems like a good pairing to me and I’ve seen it in quite a few fics as well! Mina is also a warrior but she stayed behind because she was still pregnant at the time of the raid starting. Also when things are in italics that is when they are speaking the Viking language. Also I am not adding smut in because I can’t control if a minor is going to read this or not plus I am not good at writing it anyway haha. This got a little dry and boring in the middle, I apologize but The next part will start to get a little more angsty and juicy so I hope you’re ready!!

TagList

naiomiwinchester  wannabe99now  @whore-for-anime  moshi-moshi-angie015  ojfugk  angie-1306

[nightswithkookmin]

A quick lesson on ships

Because why not??😌

No but seriously, bare with me, I'm trying to answer your questions. Sit if you have to. Hehe

Uban Dictionary defines shipping as this:

A term used to describe fan fictions that take previously created characters and put them as a pair. It usually refers to romantic relationships, but it can refer platonic [sic] ones as well. (Just think of “shipping” as short for “relationSHIP”.) 9 Apr 2015

Ships can be platonic or romantic or both.

There's fictional ships and non fictional ships too. You ship two people you want to be in a relationship or who already are in a relationship or who you suspect to be in a relationship- perhaps due to queer baiting, ship baiting, romance baiting etc.

In the shipping fandom, there are two sects of people. Those who are Proships those who are Antiships- antis are ironically considered part of the shipping community because for some reason they are always in shippers business💀

Antishippers are those who oppose a particular ship or shipping in general (more on that later.)

Proshippers are well- Pro ships.

Pro-Ship

A term mostly used in fandoms, but can stretch outside of this to include original characters. The core belief is that shipping two fictional characters, no matter if they are family, share ages gaps, considered to be unhealthy, or show blatant signs of being abusive or other generally unsavory behaviours, are valid in a fictional setting.

Pro-Shippers or "anti-antis" are also known as "rainbow meaties" and will use 🌈 + 🍖 emojis together often in their bio on twitter or other social media platforms- usually within fictional settings.

These shippers reinforce the idea fiction is separate from reality and shouldn't be confused with the other.

‘Anti’ is short for ‘anti-shipper’ or ‘anti-[ship]’.

Kindly read through this thread to get the gist of it.

III

IV

Shipping non-fictional individuals is a subset of Proshipping, in my opinion, known also as alternative shipping- as far as my knowledge on it goes.

As with fictional shipping, alt ships have their antis too. People who disagree with shipping real couples in a romantic way for whatever arbitrary moral reasons they have and who feel entitled to go out of their way to correct, stop, police and punish such shippers.

Then there are those who although may be pro real people shipping think they have the right to tell others how they should ship and to what extent they can ship.

Others too prefer to ship real people platonically because they view romantic shipping of real people as problematic.

So to answer your question on Anon's post- there is no such thing as a Proshipper who is also Anti shipping. Thats oxymoronic. Perhaps they might be platonic shippers who are anti romantic ships but not necessarily romantic shippers themselves.

I don't think there's anything wrong with preferring to ship platonically. It is when they assume by virtue of their false sense of moderacy that they are better than others that shit starts to get funny.

Those shippers are delusionally confused beings with a supremacist imperialist complex rooted in ignorance and absurdities.

I usually walk by those quietly. keep it pushing. Gotta mind my business somehow even though most times I just want to pull their hair and bite them and shit😭

I try to keep it classy.

Lord knows I try.

You are either pro ship or anti ship. There's no in between. Those shippers who are shippers but claim they are not are nothing but fraudulent, fake us, simps trying to bamboozle their way through life- pardon my Swahili.

There are a lot of anti shippers moonlighting as shippers in this fandom. It's fascinating.

Personally I think those people are either confused or their desires to appeal to other Anti shippers must have morphed their brains into ass dick hybrids.

Anti shippers in general are notorious gatekeepers, gaslighters, bigots, high key sanctimonious and often have a cis white westernized sense of morality and ethics through which they fliter others and expect everyone and everything to conform to.

They impose their values on others, their ethics on others, resort to manipulation, policing, intimidation and bullying to impose their will etc.

Within shipping, there are those who are Proshipping yet anti certain ships. Most Tuktukkers are anti Jikook. And assume anyone who isn't a tuktukker is equally anti Tae Kook and so go ahead and exhibit anti behaviours towards them.

Think of such groups of shippers as Proshippers with a preference for particular ships if you will.

There are Pro shippers who also feel some kind of way about Shipping real life people or alt shipping.

Here's further resource to help you understand what proshipping is

If you are intolerant with other shippers choice of ships or style of shipping and you traumatize them for it that's Anti shipping. Especially if you feel entitled and justified to traumatize others because you take a higher moral status over them.

You can be proship and not like how certain people, how they go about

Simply walk away, click off, mind your business. You are not the only adult in these streets and leave people to do what interests them.

I think for as long as I can remember, I've always been a proshipper and I ship both platonically and romantically, fictionally and alternatively💀

Some themes in fiction are a hard limit for me such as the R word, pedophilia, incest, child abuse- I just can never find the entertainment in those topics and will struggle through such themes.

But others believe it's just FICTION and those fictional characters aren't really dealing with the imaginary struggles we read about.

Yall do you sis.

I don't really know why people make a big deal of it or try to demonize the concept of shipping as if it were something strange or mysterious- just keep your moral values to yourself. I am not your mother's daughter. we were not raised in the same households.

Then again I think it all depends on the different cultures and social backgrounds we all come from and how entitled, supremacist or imperialist they are.

For Yoonmin, I shipped them romantically but didn't think they were a real couple at all. I just romanticized their interactions and found humor in it. At the back of my head I was expecting them each to one day find husbands or wives and go their merry ways and even harbored the thought they each could very much be in serious romantic relationships with others.

In similar ways, I shipped Minimoni and Vmin.

You can ship a pair romantically and not think at all that they are actually REAL.

A lot of jokers ship Jikook romantically and don't assume they are real. Just as a lot of people shipped say Elena and Stefan romantically even though Paul was married.

Some shipped Elena and Damon too due to their unscreen chemistry and even felt they could be a thing- that was before later it was revealed they had started dating in real life. Even that I was holding on to my Bonnie x Damon fantasies because Bonnie was my bias and I shipped her with everyone romantically- of course I didn't expect any of those ships to manifest into something because it was the character I was shipping not Kat herself. To this day I still love her onscreen chemistry and friendship with Damon and don't see how people could wish for it to be more than that😭

It was beautiful as is. Not everything should climax into sexual intercourse.

But if I felt at some point any of her ships had crossed into alternative ships I would have jumped on those and supported it whole heartedly.

If you assume a pair are a real couple and dating in real life that's alt shipping- a lot of alt shippers suspect a ship is real and that's why they ship them.

There is no such thing as platonic alt shipping.

And for me personally, because I believe Jikook are a real couple and have made that cross over I don't ship any of that pair romantically with other members anymore.

It's bizzare to me to ship someone I know has a partner romantically with anybody else- I make exceptions for Vmin of course💀

I know JK is side eyeing me but I don't care.

I want Tae to be happy too😭😭😭

Tae just wants his bestfriend and soulmate😭

It's too much😭😭😭😭😭😭

He stays shooting his shots🤣

Jimin Harem is real🤭

I must admit, I catch myself slipping on Vmin and Minimoni every now and then- old habits die hard and they don't make it easy 😫

But that don't mean I think Vmin is dating. THAT WOULD BE WILD.

Summary

Proshippers can be Platonic or Romantic shippers and you can ship a pair romantically and not assume they are real at all.

Anti shippers are just assholes trying to beat their values down people's throats.

Alt shippers don't ship their OTP with other players romantically.

I don't know what you mean by Jinkooker...

Do you ship Jinkook romantically or think they are real?? Sis...

Maybe you just ship them platonically or casually.

I ship all the ships platonically.

Especially all Jimin"s Tae's ships. I'd let my self flirt with the idea of romance every now and then.

JK's ships don't make sense to me as ships.

As nonplatonic ships I mean.

I'm fascinated each time I see a hardcore JK x any member ship besides Jikook swearing up and down JK is screwing Namjoon🤣🤣

I hope this helps??

GOLDY

[bosspigeon]

i left a little something on the table for you

Saints and Sinners isn’t the only club in Vapolis, but most of them have the same or similar protocols, to varying degrees of diligence. Still, everyone should know the game by now, no matter where they go. It’s all the same general gist: check your ID, check you for weapons, get the cover charge, then send you in to get wasted and be stupid without the threat of a disembowelment on the dance floor.

Most people don’t want the trouble. They just obey the rules and leave their weapons at home or in their car, though plenty of others do try to conceal a piece regardless, and either let the bouncers confiscate it to give back when they leave, or kick up a fuss and get thrown right back out the door. If they do manage to slip under the radar, most people have the sense to keep quiet about it.

Coyote Knox isn’t most people.

The merc’s clothes are almost always pretty shredded, and Jax knows him well enough by now to know that, while he does wear them like the damage is all intentional, most of it isn’t. It means he’s rarely fully clothed, which makes it pretty easy to pat him down and send him on his way, with several shiny new knives for the trouble.

Well, some of them are new, anyway.

Some of them still have blood on them.

This time, it wasn’t Jax at the door. It should be his night off, and while he usually has better things to do with his free time than hang around the place, Orla wanted him to pop in for a brief consult for some job coming down the line.

He goes to the bar for a quick drink before he heads out, the crowd parting around him like water the second they see who he is, flags down a bartender, and waits.

And then he hears that loud fucking mouth.

“It’s not the size that matters, babe,” Knox is saying, his voice a rough purr. He never smells like tobacco, and Jax has never seen him smoke, so he’s not sure where that rasp could come from, but it’s there regardless, like vodka and broken glass. “It’s what you do with it.”

“Uh-huh,” the bartender laughs indulgently. Jax can’t remember their name, but clearly they know Knox well enough to be comfortable with him. Speaks to their mental state, he supposes. “I still think you’re compensating for something.”

He knows he’s going to regret it, but Jax turns his head to the left, and it’s easy enough to see Orla’s rabid pet merc even through the crush of people vying for the attention of the bartenders darting about like bright dragonflies in neon and mesh.

He’s sitting on the bar with his heavy boot propped up on a vacant stool that several people are eyeing with furious envy, but none are brave enough to try for, considering the little bastard is twirling around a bowie knife like a fucking baton.

“Compensating for what, doll?” the masked merc chuckles, leaning back on his elbow. He’s practically lying across the bar, head tilted back, choppy hair hanging down as he smiles winsomely at the orange-haired bartender who twists nimbly around him to top off glasses and gather orders like they’re used to his bullshit. “I know what I’ve got and how to use it, I just feel like it never hurts to have plenty of options at my disposal.”

“Let a bouncer catch you waving that thing around, and I’m sure Orla will remove a few of your options for you.” The bartender clears some empty glasses from the bar and drops them by a nearby sink, taking a clean shaker to begin mixing cocktails.

Jax is off the clock. It’s none of his goddamned business. He drums his fingers against the sticky bartop and immediately regrets it, scowling and wiping his hand on his jeans. They’re expensive, but at least they’re dark. He can have them cleaned later.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Knox croons, sitting up and raking back his hair. Someone leaves their drink alone for a second, and he snatches it up and knocks half of it back in one go. Disgusting. “I know when to test my luck. I nicked the bouncer rotation from her office last time I was in. Jaxxie’s not on duty tonight, so I’m in the clear. The other muscleheads know not to fuck with me if they’d like to keep their own options intact.”

It’s a good thing Jax hasn’t gotten his drink yet, because he’s pretty sure he’d slam it down on the bar and shatter the glass.

“I’ll have to have a talk with them, then,” he snarls, loud enough to be heard over the noise, and to make the people around him clear the hell out.

The bartender yelps and nearly drops the shaker.

Knox just groans. “Speak of the devil.”

Jax pushes off the bar and stalks through the crowd, and saints and sinners alike practically throw themselves out of his path. Knox doesn’t move from his graceless sprawl across the bar, though he does sit up a bit to watch. His bright yellow eyes track the bouncer’s every move, his pierced lips kicking into a smirk.

The bartender, predictably, makes themself scarce.

“You must be stupider than you look,” Jax says, crossing his arms across his chest.

Yellow eyes flicker down to the open vee of Jax’s silk shirt, and that lazy smirk spreads wider. “Mama always told me smarts weren’t the way to catch a husband anyhow,” he drawls. He taps the tip of the blade against his temple like he’s imparted some deep wisdom and takes a pointed sip of his stolen drink.

Jax curls his lip and doesn’t deign that with a reply. “Hand over the knife, and I won’t throw you into traffic and tell Orla she’ll have to pick up a new poorly-trained housepet from the pound.”

The merc’s quick, Jax will give him that. In the blink of an eye he twists the knife away and arches off the bar, slipping it into some hidden sheath behind his back. He also manages to do so while slurping down the last of his stolen drink, and sliding the empty glass down the bar for the original owner to find. He wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, before he raises them both and wiggles his fingers so the rings on them click together. “You must be mistaken, Sir,” he simpers, fluttering his eyelashes, “I don’t have any knife. I’m an upstanding citizen, and I would never disobey the rules of this fine establishment!”

A frisson of something shoots down Jax’s spine, but he chalks it up to anger, because that’s generally what overwhelms him when he has to see this smug little fuck’s face. He can’t be that useful to Orla, the way she bitches about him.

But he’s still around being a thorn in Jax’s side, so he must be good for something.

It shouldn’t be his problem. He’s off the clock. But he knows Orla would find some way to blame him if Knox got out of hand while Jax was around to stop it. So he grabs the merc by one stout shoulder and starts carting him towards the doors.

Knox, to his credit, doesn’t struggle. What he does might be even more annoying, cackling like a madman and blowing a kiss up at Jax. “Baby, at least buy me dinner first!” he crows as they carve through the crowd, stumbling a bit to compensate for Jax’s much longer stride.

The two bouncers on duty leap out of the way when Jax shoves him through the doors, and the look he gives them both has them cringing away. They must be some of the new hires Orla mentioned. “We’re going to have a talk later,” he promises grimly.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on them, Jaxxie,” Knox coos. His mask is slipping off, and he fumbles to peel it away and toss it to the ground while being dragged along by the arm, “they don’t know any better.” He laughs again, grating and sharp, and he keeps laughing until Jax hauls him out the door and lets him go so suddenly he goes staggering into the hood of someone’s car. Thankfully, the car doesn't seem to have an alarm. Knox raps his knuckles against the dented hood and raises his eyebrows, apparently making the same observation. “Noted,” he says wickedly.

“Next time, I won’t be so gentle,” Jax snarls, the back of his neck still prickling at the nickname.

Coyote flicks his tongue out, wiggling the split prongs, the silver ball embedded in it catching the dull light of the dirty street lamp overhead. “Ooooh, do you promise?”

As far as Jax is concerned, the problem is handled. He gives the merc one last withering look, eyes narrowed and lip curled, before he stalks away to find his own car and get the hell out of dodge before he’s roped into more nonsense. Knox’s raspy cackle follows him the whole way.

He’s halfway home when a sudden, niggling suspicion tickles at the back of his mind. He waits until he’s at a red light to pat down his waist, which feels notably lighter than it should.

“Motherfucker!” he snaps when he realizes his gun isn’t there. He’s not the type to lose things, especially not important things.

Orla warned him on day one the merc had sticky fingers, and he didn’t listen, thinking nobody would be stupid enough to try him.

A part of him, though, is sort of… grudgingly impressed. How’d the crazy little bastard manage to take it? When?

Jax drags a hand over his mouth and grumbles to himself. He’d shake the truth, and his damned gun, out of the merc next time he saw him, no matter what.

A rough voice that sounds suspiciously like Knox croons in the back of his mind.

Sounds like a date.

[raamyun-and-rambles]

Musings of an Alchemist’s Lover

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Albedo x Reader Summary:  Maybe you had a third eye somewhere you didn't know of, a horn that's grown out of you without you noticing or a tail that flicks behind you whenever you weren't looking. Whatever it was, certainly there had to be something noticeably different about you that attracted the alchemist's attention and your curiosity allowed your mind to wander.

-----------

Holding Albedo's attention for more than a few seconds was no easy feat.

Unless it was a topic that tickled his fancy or something of utmost urgence, Albedo would most likely only regard the unfortunate soul with a disgruntled hum, tuning out most of their words until he manages to somewhat catch onto the main gist of their spiel. He doesn't even do anything to hide his disinterest, eyes immediately finding purchase on anything else but the speaker in front of them, musing theories to himself that he'd sometimes let slip into a whisper. This certain trait of his has definitely gotten him into trouble more than a couple of times but Albedo could hardly care. Surely discovering the world's secrets is more important than helping the Knights look for Margaret's lost cat for the umpteenth now right?

Despite being Mondstadt's favorite person and with a reputation that precedes him, Albedo was surprisingly anti-social. He had little to no regards for social interaction and this is further proved when he made himself a makeshift laboratory in one of Dragonspine's cave.

It was quiet, deserted and had almost everything he needed for his studies. If he ever ran out of supplies then he'd be able to call for either Sucrose or Timaeus - or go down the mountain himself to make sure he'll stock up with more than the amount he needs so he can hole himself up for a couple of weeks on end. The scenery was an added bonus, if the amount of sketches he's made was anything to go by, it was safe to say that Albedo liked it as well. Thick snow carpeted the floor as far as the eye can go and streams glimmered under the light of the morning sun. The air was crisp and chilly, it nipped at his nose and made his cheeks burn red, but his cave offered a comforting warmth once he's sank in front of the hearth, nursing a cup of tea or hot chocolate.

Albedo was many things, that much you could tell.

A genius, an alchemical prodigy, a leader, a brother - and most surprisingly, even to yourself - your lover.

To be fairly honest you weren't entirely sure what it was that attracted the Chief Alchemist of the Knights to your side. You were hardly anyone special after all, simply just one of Lisa's many acquaintances who spends one too many hours in the library. You were of average height and build, with a face that you could only describe as forgettable. Neither you nor your parents were well-known within the walls of the city of freedom and you lived a mostly mundane routinary life as a baker until Klee had bounded into your humble store one rainy evening, soaked to the bone and sneezing from the cold. The poor thing was shivering and had asked to take shelter from the pouring rain. You didn't have the heart to turn her away and you were more than just a little familiar about the stories of Mond's most adorable but destructive spark knight. You allowed her into your home, giving her a fresh towel to pat herself dry and a cup of hot milk and freshly baked cookies. The child bounced in glee, thanking you and happily accepting the treats with a smile that could part the skies to make way for the rays of sun. You allowed her to phone her guardian after she had finished eating and you kept her company throughout the entire wait. You turned your attention away from Klee the moment the store bell rang and your (e/c) eyes had immediately met with bright turquoise irises.

"Thank you for taking care of her." Albedo said as he knelt down to assist Klee with wearing her infamous bright red coat and adjusted her mushroom hat so it sat snugly atop her head.

"It's no problem at all, she was lovely company. I'd be delighted to have her around again every once in a while." You chuckled, remembering how she had praised the treats you made for her.

"Albedo onii-chan Albedo onii-chan!" The spark knight excitedly exclaimed, tugging on his hand with each call of his name. "______ makes the best sweets! Her cookies are really good and the bread she makes are really fluffy! She let me help her mix the dough earlier and-"

"How about you tell me all about it when we get home Klee? It's late and I'm sure ______ has to close up shop soon."

Klee deflated a bit but was quick to understand, she turned to you immediately after and flashed you another bright smile.

"Thank you for today ______ nee-chan, Klee will come back to visit another time!"

You smiled at her enthusiasm and you couldn't resist the urge to pat her on the head.

"I'll be waiting for you here then."

Albedo stood up after the exchange and finally regarded you with his attention. "We'll be off then, have a lovely evening miss ______."

"And to you too sir Kreideprinz."

You watch them walk off down the cobbled street, Klee's joyous laughter and excited chatter filling the air despite the pattering of rain against your roof. They took a turn around the corner and disappeared from your view. A small smile tugs on your features and you immediately set to work with locking up the store for the night.

Klee had started coming over more often after that night, mostly dropping by before you close while she waited for Albedo to finish work. It was no surprise that Klee often talked fondly about her big brother, praising him and telling you stories you haven't heard from any of the other residents of Mond while you prepared for tomorrow's next batch of goods. Albedo seemed like a very busy man from the way Klee tells her stories but he always seemed to make time to pick her up, oftentimes buying some bread and sweets before leaving.

It surprised you a little when he admitted he enjoyed having something sweet while he worked. Albedo insisted that it was because it gave him a considerable boost of energy but a part of you thinks it could just be because he had a sweet tooth he just wasn't aware of.

Needless to say it was due to that chance encounter with Klee that had allowed you to meet the chief alchemist himself and your relationship had only continued to bloom from there.

He was - in simple terms - wonderful.

An eccentric, true, but wonderful nonetheless and you never would have guessed that you'd ever end up as his lover nor did you ever imagine you'd be holding him in your arms, sleep slowly overtaking him as you gently ran your fingers through soft platinum locks - much like the lazy morning you were both sharing right now.

Albedo had come home at almost 3 in the morning the other night, with a throbbing headache and eyes that almost refused to open from drowse. He had pulled all-nighters for several days now, refusing to leave his lab for even a moment as he fully threw himself into his work. Nothing could ever stop him when he was in such a state, filled with elation at the mere prospect of a new discovery. It was a side of him that you admired as much as you found it problematic, it was amazing how he could wholly dedicate all his time, effort and energy towards his research but it was a definitely a point of worry that he'd also forget how to take care of himself. The alchemist immediately headed to your shared bedroom, dragging his feet across the floor while he shed himself of his coat, letting out a long yawn before heaving himself onto the mattress' soft comfort. You stirred from your sleep as the bed dipped and knowing it couldn't possibly be anyone else other than Albedo, you immediately rolled to your side and wrapped your arms around his middle, nuzzling into his warmth as his arms found themselves around you to return your embrace. There was an exchange of sleepy mumbles before you both immediately fell back into sleep.

You smile a little bit at the memory, humming softly as you continue to softly card your fingers through his hair. It was more than just a little past the time you both usually woke, but you'll allow it for now. Surely the people could wait a couple hours more for their morning bread and the knights can surely make do without the Chief Alchemist for a moment longer. So long as Albedo was getting the rest he needed you figured a lazy morning in would be alright every once in a while especially after the sleepless hectic nights he had the past few days. The peaceful expression on his face immediately filled you with relief.

"Albedo?" You whispered, afraid you'd break the serenity of the morning.

The alchemist responded with a sleepy hum, lifting his head so he could look at you as his long lashes fluttered open.

A smile tugged at your lips at his sleepy visage before you gently pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you."

He gives you a sleepy smile of his own, heart swelling at the affection before nuzzling back into the crook of your neck.

"I love you too."

His lips brushed against your pulse as he spoke and his breath tickled against your skin, feeling a little playful, you then decided to ask.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

A question you've always been meaning to ask, brought about by a sudden spur of confidence.

"Because meine liebe," Albedo starts, once again pulling himself away from your warmth to hold you with his gaze - you once again think to yourself that his eyes has the most beautiful shade of green - "I love you simply because you are you."

"You're certain it's not because I have a third eye hidden away somewhere or some freaky mutation I somehow have no knowledge of?"

Albedo chuckled lightly.

"Certainly not love, and I'm sure if you do I wouldn't be the only one to take notice of it."

You hum, convinced and resumed patting his hair.

The alchemist assumed his earlier position and sank further into your embrace.

"Besides," he murmured, sleep lacing his words,

.

.

.

"I think you're wonderful just the way you are."

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Ron was right

Theo Nott x Reader

W.C. : 3043

Requestd by @herstory-study​:  Ok I kid you not(t) another idea just popped into my head.. I hope you like it... the gist of it is Theo and the reader have that relationship where they are best friends but also dating but nobody can tell bc they’ve always been super close so I imagine like a bunch of pple (including the twins) have placed bets on whether or not they are dating and I just imagine one day they come back from a date and pple in the background are either groaning/cheering cause they got $ u can take it from there

A/N: I hope you like it, Puff! Feedbak and reblogs are very aprecciated. Happy reading.

*Not my GIF. Credit to the creator.*

It had been a quiet day the first time Theo noticed you. Grey clouds move fast in the evening sky, the light breeze comfortable for every student out in the courtyard to show their house pride and wear their scarves around their necks. His friends talked about the Golden trio and what had they done that week to ruin their mood. Nothing new really. Theo never added much to those conversations, what was the point of complaining about something when you could ignore it. He too was bothered by Potter and his friends adventures and misadventures, but Draco and his friends weren’t the target. But that was just the way Theo saw it.

“Wait until I write my father,” grumbled Draco, sitting in the middle of the bench where Theo had been sitting with Blaise. “ Potter is going to regret it.” he said with a huff.

Pansy arrived just a second after he ended rambling, rolling his eyes as she sat on the grass without a care about her robes. She gave a pleading look at the other boys as she cocked her head towards the Slytherin prince. When neither one of them said anything she scoffed glaring daggers at both before she smirked “Draco darling, Why don’t you tell Blaise and Theo here what Potter did. I’m sure they’d love to hear it.”

Blaise’s protest died down on his tongue when Theo shut his book close “No need.” he said, looking straight in Pansy’s eyes “We saw it all.” 

And it was true, it was hard to miss one of their disputes when they shouted at each other, standing at opposite extremes of the hall as the crowd gathered to witness the latest drama between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

“Doesn’t matter if they know.” Draco said desperately, leaning to rest his arms on his knees “I already have a plan for them to know their place. And plan B in case that one doesn’t work.”

“Maybe you should try plan D for dumbass.” 

They all turned around to the large tree, their gazes lowering to the base of it. There you sat, an annoyed look on your face as you straightened your robes and stood. Your movements were sharp, taking your bag on your shoulder as you stormed away from them, all of them in a state of shock to even try to stop you. 

 “Who does she think she is.” muttered Draco, already jumping to his feet when Theo placed a hand on his chest.

“Leave this one to me.” he said lowly, his eyes never leaving your form as you walked away. Draco hesitated but gave him a slow nod as he sat back down. 

Theo smiled triumphantly, hiding his face quickly so no one would see him and his true feelings. He took off and ran after you, keeping enough distance so you would walk away from the eyes of his friends. 

He kept running, your back facing him as he came to a halt. “Hey!” he yelled, your eyes glancing back at him as you picked up your pace. “Wait, stop.” he yelled again, catching up with you as he stopped in front of you. 

“What?” you said sharply, looking down at his hunched form as he breathed heavily. You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over just your chest as you leaned back. “ Don’t tell me, Draco sent you to do his dirty work?”

“You…” he smiled, trying to keep in a laugh as he shook his head “You just called him a dumbass.”

You frowned, taking in the boy in front of you. Well kept brown hair, milky skin and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, his smile reaching his eyes as he stood to his full height. 

“Aren’t you his friend or something?” you asked confused.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around. “Even I can get annoyed at him.” 

You squinted your eyes, eyeing the boy before you looked up at him “Who are you?”   

He extended his hand with a smile, one you hesitantly took “Theodore Nott, but everyone calls me Theo.”

You raised both your eyebrows, shaking his hand with a nod “Right.” you said “Well, if you’re not here to avenge your friend…”

“I’m not.” he smiled as you mirrored his look.

“Maybe you’re not a dumbass.” you told him, staring into each other's eyes before you realized you had been in silence for too long “I’m going now.” you turned on your heel, resuming your walk to a more quiet zone where Slytherins weren’t complaining when his voice made you stop.

“You didn’t tell me your name!” 

You turned to see him with a smile, a glint in your eyes as you said “Goodbye, Theo.” He stared at you as you disappeared in the halls of the castle, breathing out a laugh as he returned to his friends.  

It was difficult to not think about you after that. Your two minute interaction had him wondering more about you, who you were, what did you like. He started to pay more attention to you after that. 

He thought getting your name wouldn’t have been a difficult task. He felt like the detective he read about when he was younger, sneaking in the middle of the night to behind his father’s back to read the muggle novel he got his hands on not a while ago, reading until his eyelids could barely stay open with only the moonlight to accompany him. He wanted to feel the rush of Sherlock Holmes, and he wanted you to be John Watson. But as he actually tried to get something about you without interacting with you he realized why everyone praised Holmes so much, it wasn’t an easy job.

You always seemed to be with someone, but in utter silence. Muttering a few words with the people around you as you always had something better to do. You were the mystery he couldn’t get out of his head, the thought that kept him up at night, the dream that had him drifting away as his friends talked. He wanted the honor of being your friend.

****************************************

You worked on your herbology research, a pile of dusty books at your left side as you read the one opened before you. Your study partner was someone gathering more information, probably found someone and got stuck in the chat. Nothing new, really. You were used to initiating the study date with your partner and ending it alone. 

You felt someone walking behind your back. Expecting to hear your partner’s voice, your head snapped up at the sound of someone else.

“So,” said Theo Nott, taking the chair next to yours with a proud smile on his face “How are you, Y/N?”

You dropped your quill on the table, tilting your head with a curious look “Who told you my name?” you asked.

“It’s written on your parchment.” he pointed towards your handwriting on the upper part of the paper. “I got to say, it was difficult. Not many people really know you, you're like a ghost in the castle.”

“Maybe to the people you asked, I am very well known here.” you said daringly, and he nodded. “Well you know my name, you can leave now.” You took your quill back up, following the line you were previously reading with your finger when the thudding sound against the table made you raise your head slowly with a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Homework.” he said simply, opening a book as he silently began to read. Not once looking back to you, not saying another until he finished. Taking his things inside and wishing you goodnight, leaving the library without another word. 

It became a routine after you realized he wouldn’t give up. He would always show up, sitting on the chair he did that first night and working on his homework. There were times when you would get there and he was already sitting, books scattered all over the table until he saw you, moving his things to make some space for you. He didn’t bother you, so you allowed it. His presence  warm and welcoming as you studied, you even helped each other sometimes.

A year had passed by since that night, and you didn’t realize when you started to think about him as a friend. The only person you actually felt comfortable calling  a friend. He had been there for your happy days, your rough days. He took genuine interest in you. Telling you about him and his life, sharing his candy and food as you walked through the castle side by side. He asked you about your life before Hogwarts, how was your childhood with a muggle parent. You told him all about your past school, how you lost your friends through the years as you never got to see them and you couldn’t explain your sudden change of school and life. Theo became your best friend and you couldn’t be more happy. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked you.

“I don’t know.” you shrugged, putting a raspberry in his hand as you ate one “Sleep sounds good.” you said with a smile and he laughed.

“Are you sleeping for two days straight?” he said in disbelief, and you scoffed hitting his face with another raspberry.

“Is that a challenge?” you dared, sticking you tongue out to him.

He scrunched his nose, catching the berries in his mouth until you stopped “Stop, your Gryffindor is showing.” he said with a fake look of disgust. You only laughed, shaking your head as you drifted back to his question.

“I’m not doing anything, then.” you commented, waiting to see what he had to say.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade?” he asked simply, your heart beating fast in your chest in both nervousness and excitement. But once you saw  the carefree look in his face your heart dropped. Why were you feeling that way?

“I don’t know.” you said, trying to put the hurricane of emotions inside you at ease “I’ve never seen the fun in going.”

“That’s because you’ve never been there with me.” he said with a smile, tilting his head with a sigh at the hesitance in your face “C’mon, Y/N. You’ve told me you have never been with your friends…”

“They’re not really my friends.” you corrected with your lips pursed “They hardly are the people I hang out with. They’re just there in a silent agreement of company.”

“Am I not your friend?” he asked and you knew you had already lost the small debate.

“You know you’re my best friend.” you said with a small smile, one he returned as he held your hand, a warm tickle in your hand where his skin touched yours. 

“Then it’s settled. I’ll go get you from your common room.” he said and you nodded, praying that the emotion flowing inside you was slipping in the look of your face.

Little did you know that Theo was feeling exactly the same. His stomach was doing flips inside of him as you smiled at him. He wanted so bad to tell you it was a date, that he had just asked you out on a date but you had just said it, that word that left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

You’re my best friend.

Maybe he had been in the beginning, but not anymore. Or maybe he was, but he didn’t want to be your best friend. 

Many had noticed how the Slytherin and the Y/H/H had grown closer over the past year. Theories of what was the core of their relationship were made. How did Theo Nott get close to you? Did you have a deal no one knew about. Where you friends, partners, lovers. No one knew, and neither did you. 

The weekend arrives and just as promised Theo walked you from your common room to Hogsmeade, hand in hand as you talked through the snowy streets full of students. 

You were oblivious to the crowded mess, talking inside a bubble no one could bother you. Not even the redhead pair that stared at you as you walked past them. 

"Are you seeing what my eyes are seeing, George?" 

"We wouldn't be twins if I wasn't, Freddie." 

*******************************

"MAKE YOUR BETS, MATES!" yelled George from the top of the table in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. 

"Our lovely Y/N."

“Friends"

"Or lovers."

"With none other than Theodore Nott." 

They said, finishing each other's sentences with the invisible link the pair shared, that invisible string that made them shout the exact same words at the end. They wore grins on their faces as more bets were placed. 

"What do you think, little brother?" asked George jumping form the table 

"Friends or lovers?" 

Ron rolled his eyes, turning to Harry who was already making his bet with a smile in his face. Ron scoffed "I don't care about snakes business. They can be whatever they want." he said bitterly. 

"Someone jealous?" taunted Fred as Ron turned with a red face to his brother. 

He angrily pulled some coins from his pocket, slamming them in Fred's hands as he muttered "Lovers." 

*******************************

You had the time of your life at Hogsmeade. Theo was right and you told him so when the sun started to set, a few stars shining on the sky as you walked back to the castle. He smiled, hugging you closely with genuine joy in his face as he promised to take you again on the next trip there. 

However the next day, the murmurs and eyes from everyone in your year followed you everywhere you went. 

You were never shy, but the constant attention had you on edge the entire day. Finding refuge in the far table of the library, hidden in between the shelves where the only source of light was if you had a candle with you. 

You stayed there until late, waiting until the library was practically dead, you doubted madame Pince was still there, but you could never know. You had made it to the end of the day. 

"What are you doing here?" Theo's shushed voice came from behind you, his eyebrows scrunched together as he sat next to you, closer than he usually did. 

"I'm hiding." you whispered. 

For a moment his stomach dropped at the thought that you might have been hiding from him, that he might have let something slip on your day together and you knew how he felt. But you started ranting about your day and the looks you received from everyone and he understood, he had gotten the same looks all day long. 

"Don't worry." he murmured, opening his arms for you and you leaned on his side. "Draco probably said something about you again. I'll talk to him later" he sighed and you chuckled. 

He looked down to you, a loving look in his eyes as you kept chuckling. How could someone be so breathtaking just by doing such mundane things like leaning against someone and talking? Since the first time he saw you he knew you were beautiful but, Merlin, now you were gorgeous. 

"He is never forgetting about that, is he?" you laughed. Staring at the table, you frowned when Theo didn't say anything. 

You turned your head up to him, finding him already looking back at you. You didn't realize when you had leaned so close to him, his breathing blowing softly against your face as you gazed into his eyes. The little flick in them waking up all the butterflies in your stomach as you could have sworn his eyes moved to your lips for a fraction of second. 

You froze, realizing what that could mean when you felt him lean closer to you, his eyes closing before someone cleared their throat behind you, making you jump apart from one another. 

"The library is about to close." said professor Snape, looking at you with a glare before he settled his eyes on Theo. "Take your friend with you Mr. Nott. Directly to your common rooms." he said painfully slow.

You both nodded, clumsily taking all your stuff as you walked around him and practically ran out of there. No one said anything, your eyes on the floor as he walked you to your common room. 

"I'm sorry." he said once at the door handing you your books, your hands brushing against one another, making the blush in your face deeper. 

"No, I… You don't have to apologize." you stuttered before the words left your mouth. 

Heavy silence settled again between both of you, the tension making your stomach turn as you wished your feet would move and get you out of there. Of course, they had other plans. 

Theo wished you goodnight in a mumble, turning around and walking away just as you dropped your books on the floor, calling his name. 

"Yeah?" he asked, never meeting your eyes. You felt your mouth go dry, your hold in his wrist loosening as you breathed heavily. You brought your hand up to his cheek, smiling as he leaned in. He had closed his eyes and you ran your thumb across his cheek bone, waiting until he looked back at you. You started to lean in, his eyes widening as he realized what you were doing. His smile widened, cupping your cheeks as he closed the space between the two of you in a soft kiss. His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours with a smile that reached his eyes. 

"Remember when I told you I wanted you to be my Watson?" he breathed out with a smile "Well, I'm not so sure anymore."

You chuckled, moving to kiss his cheek as you rested your head on his shoulder "Funny, I always thought Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were lovers." you whispered in his ear. He smiled at you, kissing you once more. 

Completely unaware of the audience not so far away, hiding behind a wall with wide grins. "Ron was right." 

TAGS: @fanficflaneuse​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @lupins-sweater​ @accio-rogers​ @gloriousrebelrunaway​ @slytherinprincess03​ @not-today-anxiety​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @infinity1o1​ @haphazardhufflepuff​​ @deafgirltingz​

[jimlingss]

The Art of Benefits

➜ Words: 9.8k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, FWB!AU

➜ Summary: There's only one aspect of your life that's missing: sex. But you know yourself. You catch feelings as quickly as you catch colds. But when your friend arranges a meeting with a certain Park Jimin, you'll become inclined to learn the craft of detachment, aka. the art of benefits.

➜ Warning: sex, sexual discussions, toys, sucking dick, period sex, etc.

cr.

[2nd Year Fall Semester]   Life as a sophomore wasn’t shabby.   Assignments, papers and midterms came and went with decent grades that you eventually forgot about. Lectures, club meetings, and studying took most of your time too. But Christmas was arriving and that meant it was sweater weather. It also meant that snow was dusting from the sky and you were watching couples cozying up and keeping each other warm from across the dining center.   It was unfair really. You were cold too. In fact, most of the time you happen to be cold. And while relationships were too much of a time commitment for you to take on, you deserved a cuddle buddy just as much as the next person. Or a fuck buddy. Either works really.   You’ve never been opposed to a friends with benefits relationship.    The only problem is, it would never work for you.   But if you somehow learnt to detach your emotions, it could be the most efficient thing yet. After all, good sex with another warm body was the only aspect in your life that you were missing.   “I mean it’s possible. A lot of people start friends with benefits relationships on campus,” Wendy says as she stuffs her face with her sub sandwich and muses mid-chew, “There’s actually a lot of candidates to choose from.”   You’re exasperated at her nonchalance. As if it’s as easy as going to the supermarket and picking someone up. “Who?!”    You need someone who would be on the same page as you, with the same priorities, a good sex partner who wouldn’t catch feelings either. But frankly, you don’t know that many people.    “Well, what about that guy from your class that you were crushing on? Didn’t you say he was super smart? Might help you on your assignments too.”   “Namjoon?” You shake your head. “He’s got a girlfriend.”   “Okay. What about that older guy in your board games club?”   “No. Seokjin’s graduating next semester.”   Wendy hums, eyes flickering around the dining hall center as she contemplates. “How about Yoongi? From what you’ve told me, he seems pretty cool.”   You loll your head to one side and stab your sweet and sour chicken. “I’m not going to sleep with someone from work. That sounds like a disaster waiting.”   “Jungkook?”   “That’s weird. We went to the same elementary school together.” You can still remember his bowl cut hair as clear as day, and not to mention, the two of you share a group of friends. If things go downhill, it would be a complete mess. The epitome of inefficiency. Which is counterproductive to your goal.   “Taehyung?” At this point, Wendy’s just listing out random people that you know, but you play along just for amusement.   “Nah. Yena has a crush on him.”   She takes another clean bite of her sandwich. “What about that guy that works at that McDonalds that you find cute. What’s his name? Hugo? Howard?”   “Hoseok,” you correct with a feigned glare that makes her smile. “And that’s a big fat no. He doesn’t even know I exist. What am I supposed to do? Waltz up to him and ask to be fuck buddies?”   She grins. “Well, I mean—”   “It wouldn’t work,” you deadpan before she laughs and in turn, makes you giggle too.   The chatter of the room settles in your ears as background noise. You gaze out the window to the sparkling snow piles that reflect the lampposts soft, white light. The sun has long fallen even though it’s only six p.m. The low lights peeking through the somber clouds covering the horizon does little. You dread the thought of having to venture out into the cold and catch the bus home.   You don’t notice how Wendy’s looking at you while she sips on her water. Not until she hums. “You know what? I know someone I could hook you up with.”   Your brow cocks and the corner of your mouth twitches. “Is he a fuckboy?”   Your long time friend shrugs with a glint in her eyes that makes you unsure if she’s serious or not. Wendy once joked that she had a boyfriend from Northern Canada and convinced you hard enough that you legitimately believed her for a good month. So you can never be quite certain when it comes to her. For all you know, she could just be making it up to entertain you.   “Sort of, but he’s a nice one.” Wendy stays vague. “He was my lab partner.”   You stare at her and when her expression remains blank, you scoff. “Sure, sure,” you draw out the syllables with a small laugh and bat the air with your hand just to end the conversation.   And when it’s never discussed again, Wendy moving on to tell you a story about something she suddenly remembers, you’d one day come to realize that was a terrible, terrible mistake.   //   That one day is now.   3:50pm. Wendy: hey i set up a meeting what that guy 3:50pm. Wendy: third floor library  3:50pm. Wendy: he’s in a red hat btw   The text comes right when you’re leaving your last lecture of the day.   3:51pm. Y/N: what guy   3:53pm. Wendy: your future fwb   3:53pm. Y/N: ?????????????????????????????????/ 3:53pm. Y/N: ???????????????? 3:54pm. Y/N: wtf i wasn’t SERIOUS   3:54pm. Wendy: wat   3:54pm. Y/N: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING   3:56pm. Wendy: lmao too late 3:56pm. Wendy: at least meet him he’s waiting sis   3:54pm. Y/N: can’t you cancel?????????   3:57pm. Wendy: n a h   You nearly burst an artery in your temple at the emojis and memes she spams to you.   3:59pm. Wendy: I already told him the gist btw 4:00pm. Wendy: don’t chicken out   With no other choice, you make a u-turn and head towards the library with too many thoughts swirling inside your brain. Chances are this stranger is going to see you, think you’re ugly as shit and try to back out of it. It’s going to be awkward as all hell and you’re not sure you’re ready to have this traumatizing memory for the rest of your life.   Then again, you wonder how Wendy even convinced this dude to meet up. If he’s really that easy going. If this is a typical thing people do now. Or maybe Wendy showed a picture of you on your insta and he agreed afterwards — it wouldn’t be the first time she did that, much to your embarrassment. But you hope it’s the latter case. At least that eliminates the possibility of him trying to backpedal his way out of it after seeing your face.   You also wonder how the hell you’re going to find him. The library is full of students, the rowdy ones and the studious ones being disturbed by them. You wonder what he looks like, what he’ll be like. Third floor. Male. Red hat.   You arrive at the appropriate floor and begin scanning the premise, walking around as your eyes sweep the area. Almost immediately you catch a brunette hunched over and on his phone by the table. He’s wearing a red cap on backwards, purple tee shirt. He has a frat boy aesthetic.   Not really the type you go for.   Looking over him, you round the computers, bookshelves and tables. But finding no one else with a red hat on the third floor, you sharply inhale and approach the boy with his fluffy cheek rested in his hand, arm propped up on the table lazily. Scrolling through his phone.   “Excuse me.”    Your voice is light and hesitant as if you were asking help from someone at the front desk and not seeing if this was a potential fuck buddy. It’s mortifying to say the least.   His head lifts, brown eyes catching the lights.   You clear your throat. “Wendy…”   “Oh. You’re her, right?” He smiles and thankfully, doesn’t seem to be disappointed. “Wendy’s friend?”   “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”   “Jimin.”   Now that you get a closer look, he’s kind of cute. But you don’t dwell. Or look him in the eye.   It feels like a job interview. But worse. “You were Wendy’s lab partner?”   “That’s me.” He pockets his phone. “I’m a kines major. You?”   “I’m in the arts faculty. Political science.”   “Cool, cool.” Jimin nods and then gets to business without any shame, “So Wendy already told me about it. You’re looking to have a friends with benefits relationship?”   “Yeah….about that….”   “I’m down if you are.” His hand opens up, gesturing to you. You’re not sure how you feel about how laid-back he is, but he remains upfront which you suppose is the right thing to do. “I have a dorm room in the Sierra building by the engineering faculty building if you know where that is.”   “I’ve walked past it before.”   “Cool. Anyway, my last f.w.b. ended two months ago and I kind of miss it,” he quickly clarifies, “The sex, I mean.”   You’re speechless and contemplating if you really want to do this. You know if it works out, it’ll be fairly efficient. You’ve always gotten off by yourself and while it works, it’s not something you’d call completely satisfying. Having someone’s help— good help — is a change you’ve been considering. But a friends with benefits situation has always been one of those ‘what if’ scenarios. You've just never had an opportunity like this to make it actually happen.   Jimin senses your hesitance and leans forward. He lowers his volume. “Are you a virgin? Cause I’m cool with—”   You scoff. “No. I’m not. I just...haven’t done something like this before.”   “Friends with benefits?” His question is answered by your body language. “It’s not bad. Safer than one night stands and more consistent too. You don’t have to go out and find someone every time you want to have sex. And it’s a low level commitment.”   The corner of your mouth pulls and you agree. “It’s efficient. But...I need time to think about it.”   “Sure. Tell me when you make up your mind. I’ll give you my number.” He opens his hand again and you pass him your phone. He quickly types it in. “Take your time.”   //   And you do.   You weigh the pros and cons against each other, considering every possibility and all the consequences. Part of you wants to just go for it. The same part that once decided in high school at midnight that bangs would be a hot look on you. (It wasn’t). The part of you that dyed your hair blue that one summer on a whim. The part that doesn’t want to think and wants to jump head first into things. Jimin made a lot of good pointers too and you’re certain this would be a good outlet. An experience. It helps that he’s quite attractive too and seems to be trustworthy and rational.   Yet, part of you wonders if it would be a bad decision.   There’s a chance that you might catch feelings. For you, it wouldn’t be unheard of either. You have a tendency to catch feelings as fast as you catch colds. And you already know that’s the demise of these kinds of relationships. Once a party gets involved too deep, it’s game over. There’s nothing but heartbreak.   The only way it would work is if you minimize your interactions with him.   The less attached you are, the less likely you are to develop feelings for him since the only way you would like anyone is if you knew them. So the less you know, the better the outcome.    It’s an equation.    It’s the art of the benefits.   And if that works, if you master the art, it would solve every potential issue.   The dorms for sophomores are bigger than the ones for first year freshmen. Instead of a single room with two beds on either side by the walls, there are private bedrooms with just a shared bathroom, a main living space and kitchen.    “Bathrooms are over here,” Jimin gestures. There’s one room at the end of the hall and another one beside his. “Both my roommates are out, so you don’t have to worry. They’re pretty nice.”   You feel awkward lingering at the entryway with your backpack on.   You clear your throat. “Can I get a drink?”   “Oh yeah. There’s new water bottles by the sink, I think, and there’s orange juice in the fridge if you’d like.”   “No, I mean, do you have anything alcoholic?” you correct and he blinks at you owlishly before smiling. You drop your bag and find it in the fridge, a whole vodka bottle. You fill a shot up with a glass on the drying rack. The clear liquid burns as it travels to the back of your throat. The bitter taste nearly makes you gag, but you feel your face warm and you ease even more, knowing it works.   In the meanwhile, Jimin studies you, standing from across the kitchen island. His hands are casually dug into the pockets of his gray sweats. “We won’t have to follow through with this, you know. I’m fine either way.”   “No,” you quickly refute, irrationally afraid he’s changed his mind. And the words spill out of you as you cringe, “I’m horny as shit, I’mjustnervous.”   The guy smiles, eyes slightly crinkled when he does so. “Of what?”   “A lot of things.” You don’t pour a second shot even though you kind of want to. But you have things to do tomorrow, so you can’t nurse a hangover and you most certainly don’t want to be drunk while doing this. “If you didn’t notice, I don’t do this often.”   While you’re at it, you tell him, “I don’t know how to suck dick.”   He leans against the counter, grinning. “Okay. I don’t mind.”   “Also, if you haven’t noticed either, my ass is kind of deflated.”   Jimin shrugs. “I’m more of a boob man anyway.”    You narrow your eyes, not sure if he’s lying or trying to make you feel better.   But there’s no time to dwell when he seriously asks— “Do you still want to do this?”   It takes a second for you to muster your courage. And once you do, you know you won’t back down. “All right. Let’s do this!” You walk into his room like you’re about to go fight off a monster.   Behind you, Jimin grins and it takes a good moment for him to calm you down.   “Are you okay with kissing?” he asks, door shut and distance closed. He’s intimately close and you nod.   Finally, your brain stops overthinking and you let yourself feel. Jimin’s lips are full and plush, and they’re good against yours. The soft smacking fills his room. The two of you kiss until your lips part and he begins to lick into your mouth, tongue entering without much hesitation.   You fall back onto the mattress, noticing that the bed’s been made sloppily, but better than your own. The pair of you keep kissing and he hovers over you, capturing you against the sheets. Pathetically enough, you already begin to feel your center throbbing and it’s a relief when you both get rid of your clothes.   He doesn’t talk much — doesn’t give much commentary or even dirty talk. But you don’t mind. All you’re offering after all is soft sighs and quiet moans.   Jimin squeezes your breasts and fingers you for a good minute. He’s surprised to see how wet you are, even letting out an ‘oh shit’, but you make no efforts to come up with an excuse. The stretch feels good from his thick fingers, but you bet it’ll feel good around his girthy cock too.   He goes to grab a condom from his drawer, but pauses.   “Do...you want me to eat you out?”   “I’m good,” you politely decline, afraid it might be too intimate. You’re not sure where the lines are drawn, but it’s something you’ll have to gauge while you go. “Do you want me to suck your dick? You might have to teach me though.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “I’m good too.”   As Jimin rips open the condom package, you turn yourself around and get onto all fours. He doesn’t protest and when he enters you, it feels good enough for you to fall forward into the pillows. His cock is of average size, but he’s girthy and your cunt stretches to accommodate him.   He groans in his throat when you clench — and the sound gets you off, making you squeeze again. Jimin pounds into you, his pelvis hitting the meat of your ass, cock drawing in and out against your tight, warm walls. You do your best to meet his thrusts halfway, jerking your hips back and you stifle your moans with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. The sloppy sounds of slapping and the creaking of his bed makes you glad his roommates are gone. And while the sex is not mind-blowing per se, it’s still good. Enough that you climax once he rubs your clit several times and he unloads into the condom too.   It’s easier than you thought it would be. Not a big deal whatsoever. It took ten minutes in total and it felt good.   It’s just sex — and that’s exactly it. Just sex. The very lesson of the art of benefits.   You pick up your clothes off the floor, slipping them back on. “I gotta get going.”   There’s no snuggling, no cuddling, no pillow talks. And it doesn’t seem like he minds whatsoever.   “‘Kay.” Jimin picks up his phone off his bedside table to check his texts and waves goodbye without even looking at you.   You leave, walking yourself out and humming as you stride down the hall.    You’re glad you went through with it.

[2nd Year Winter Semester]   You run there with your sandwich stuffed in your cheek.   By the time Jimin opens the door, you’re still chewing while panting. It’s a comical sight by the way he smiles at you. You’re already winded before anything’s started. “I hadn’t eaten yet and I needed to get my blood sugar up.”   Jimin’s lips are quirked. “We can always eat beforehand, you know. There’s food in the fridge.”   “Nah, I’m good.” Having meals with your friends with benefits is the last thing on your mind.   He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”   You use his bathroom, releasing your bladder and rinsing your mouth thoroughly. You know yourself and you’re not a novice on how these relationships work. The less interaction and knowledge you have about him, the more you can keep your distance.   “G-God,” he exhales shakingly, hand fisted in your hair. “You’re getting b-better at this….”   Jimin watches through heavy lids as you’re slobbering over his cock. He tries his best to watch, but when you run your tongue over the weeping slit at the bulborous head, his eyes shut and his head naturally knocks back. You’ve gotten better at a lot of things in the few months that have passed, namely sucking dick, but your jaw aches and you wonder when he’s going to cum.   It’s worth it though. You might be the one kneeling in front of him, but you feel powerful. It’s too easy to make him crumble. To make him moan like that. It makes you wet to hear him and knowing you could bite off his dick or make him lose a load, the sheer power eggs you on.   Like you were taught, you inhale, ease your muscles and take Jimin as far as you can.   He chokes as his cock hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflexes threaten your endeavour but you keep them at bay and Jimin’s hand in your hair tightens. Especially when you swallow.   “Fuck. I-I’m going to cum.”   Thank god. Finally!   Usually, you let off so he can cum elsewhere (god forbid in your hair) or if he accidentally does it in your mouth, you spit it out on tissue. But this time, you made a commitment to yourself. You came here with a goal. So you inhale again and deep throat him, sucking as much as you can.   With his curly pubic hair grazing your nose, Jimin cums. His groans staccato. His cock twitches.   And you swallow the bitter, white fluid that comes out in ribbons.   After a few seconds, you finally withdraw. Jimin opens his eyes, staring at you in wonderment. There are strands of saliva from between his softened cock to your lips and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.   “Not gonna lie.” You clear your throat and swallow down the remaining taste. “That’s really nasty.”   Jimin bursts out laughing.   “Thanks.”    “It’s the least I can do.” You stand up, shaking your left leg awake. It feels like pins and needles when you step around. “I’ve sat on your face like twice already.”   You toss Jimin his pants off the ground and you get your cardigan back on.   “You wanna come over on Friday?”   “Uh…” You grab your phone from your jacket that’s also been discarded and check your calendar. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy on that day.”   His brows raise, but he doesn’t question it.   “How about Saturday?” you offer.   “No. I have a kines exam scheduled.”   Your face twists in disgust. “On a Saturday?”   “Yep. I know. It sucks.”   You sympathize, but you’re also surprised. “I didn’t know you were a kines major.”   “What? I thought I told you.”   “Guess I forgot.” You put yourself back together and a thought strikes you. Your eyes light up and you turn to your friend with glittering eyes. “Does that mean you can crack bones? I’ve always wanted to go to a chiropractor since my lower back always hurts. You should crack it for me.”   Jimin grins. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do that. They don’t really teach you that kind of stuff.”   “Oh.” Your eyes dim and you don’t try to hide your disappointment. You almost thought you could get a little more out of him, but you suppose decent sex is enough.    As you grab your bag, you notice that his phone lights up. “You got a text from Victoria.”   “Thanks.” He reaches over, but the curious expression on your face must be visible, since he says, “Don’t worry. She’s not my girlfriend or anything. She’s just someone I’m kind of into.”   “Nice!”   The corner of Jimin’s mouth quirks at your genuinely excited response even though he never looks away from the screen. You’re psyched though. If he has an interest in someone else, there’s less chance for anyone to catch feelings. Fewer connections. More distance.   “If you ever want to end this, just let me know.” You throw your backpack on that’s heavy with your laptop and textbooks inside.   “Yeah.”   “I’m going now.”   “Bye.” Jimin’s fingers fly across the screen to text the other girl back and neither of you spare each other a glance. The door shuts moments later and the noise echoes through the walls.

[3rd Year Fall Semester]   In spite of being a junior now, things have relatively remained the same.   According to course outlines, lectures are more in-depth in their content, but there’s still assignments, papers, and midterms. The grading schemes haven’t changed and you know there’s a shit ton of work waiting for you in the coming months. But you find pleasure wherever you can.   The door opens, but it’s not Jimin on the other side.   “Hey, Y/N.” Taemin, his roommate, is eating chips. “He’s in his room.”   “Thanks.”   You shuffle inside and after briefly greeting Jongin, the other roommate, who’s busy playing Animal Crossing on the living room couch, you beeline to his room. You find Jimin hunched over his messy desk, rounded spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he’s tapping furiously across his laptop keyboard.   He glances at you. “Sorry. I need a second.”   “Take your time.”    You set down your bag and shed your coat, tossing it aside. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you don’t ask. Instead, you pull out your phone and run through your usual apps. With no messages to answer or anything to scroll through, you check your email and find the words ‘emergency’ in one of the subject lines.   After a minute, Jimin saves his document and closes the lid of his laptop. He stretches above his head with a groan and turns around, only to find you now hunched over your own device.   “Sorry,” you mutter once you feel his gaze on you. “My manager needs me to fill out my timesheet and send it to her.”   “I didn’t know you worked.”   “Just part-time at the admissions office here on campus.” You go quiet as you skim over your email again to ensure it makes sense. “It’s a pretty easy gig.”   He hums and you finish, shutting your laptop and sticking it back into your bag. That’s when you finally get a good look at the boy across the room — dark hair, blue shirt and gray sweats — and you notice how tan he’s gotten. It’s a good look.    Your mouth tugs. “Did you travel over the summer?”   “I went to the Caribbean with my family for like two weeks.”   “Fancy.”   “It was alright.” He gets up and re-stacks the textbooks on his desk into a single pile. Jimin notices the stack of flyers he was supposed to distribute. “Oh yeah. Do you want to join the crayon club?”   Your brow lifts. “The crayon club?”   “Yeah, you can come colour every Wednesday night and just hang out with people.” Jimin grins boyishly. “My friend wanted to make a club and he made me the communications executive. I’m supposed to get people to join. You don’t have to, but the first meet and greet is this Friday, and the more people the better. There’s gonna be free food by the way, if that helps.”   You’re not sure that's a good idea.   The two of you have never really met up outside of his dormitory, aside from the first time you met at the library.   “Let me check my calendar.” You grab your phone again and thoughtlessly mumble, “Sometimes I’m busy on Friday. I’m part of the board games club and we meet up every other week…..don’t judge.”   “I’m not.”    Still, Jimin's smile widens and you feign a pout.    You’re free this week.   “I’ll come if you make me an executive too,” you quip carelessly while tossing your phone aside. “It’ll look good on my law application.”   Jimin quirks his head. He didn’t know you were aiming for law school. “Okay.”   “Wait.” You’re taken off guard, eyes as wide as saucers. “Seriously?!”   He with a small laugh. Jimin gets up and closes the distance, making you lean against the headboard until he’s completely hovering over you, mere inches away. “We actually need a position filled anyway, so you just saved me some trouble.”   “You better keep your promise, Park.”   You end up showing with Wendy and Tiffany in tow — the former who wants to raid whatever food there is and the latter genuinely interested in colouring as a means of relaxation. It’s a bit awkward to meet so many new people at once and Jimin’s friends at that, but you can tell they’re nice at heart. Albeit, a bit rambunctious and too friendly. And you’re a bit horrified when one of them tries to eat a crayon to further advertise the club.   “So, what’s up with you and Jimin?” Tiffany asks, peering up at you as she colours in the lines carefully. She’s unaware of your arrangement with the boy. It’s not something you’ve told many.   You feign ignorance, not wanting to get into the details with strangers around. “What do you mean?”   “Are you dating him?”   You scoff. “I wish.”   Immediately, Wendy’s brows raise to her hairline and the words that fumbled out of you thoughtlessly finally sink in. “I mean, no, we’re not. Not I wish.”   Luckily, Tiffany spares you and doesn’t pry. But you’re mortified and you glance at Jimin from across the room laughing noisily with his friend. You turn away from him, trying to create more distance.

[3rd Year Winter Semester]   With exam season here, you and Jimin hadn’t seen each other in a while.   Luckily, Spring break was approaching, so you at least had something to look forward to. The idea of being able to lay in bed and sleep in automatically puts you in a good mood. Jimin, however, seems less than stoked.   You watch from the bed as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up before you’ve gotten a chance to. He was frowning when he opened the door, greeted you with one word and in general, has been quieter than usual.   “Is….everything alright?” You wonder if you did something to piss him off, but then he says—   “I flunked my final.”   Oh. That explains his bad mood.   “The one you took this morning?” you ask.   “Yeah.” Jimin deflates with an extended sigh. “I didn’t get the first twenty questions and then I fucking ran out of time….”   There’s a pause that lingers.   “Well, you’re not sure if you actually failed, right?” You lean closer to him, quirking your head to the side. “The marks haven’t been released and who knows, the prof might curve it.”   “Maybe. I don’t know.” Jimin scrubs a hand over his face, uncertain and stressed. “This ruins everything. I’m trying to get an internship at a clinical rehabilitation facility and I want to apply for a masters and now...fuck.” You’re surprised. You didn’t know he had so many goals. “I’m screwed.”   Jimin flops back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. You loom over him, blocking his view.   “Does the internship look at your GPA?”   “They want a three point o average or more.”   “What do you have now?”   “Three point five.”   The corner of your mouth pulls and a rush of air leaves your nose in a snort. “Then you’ll make it! Even if you failed one exam, it wouldn’t tank past a three. It can’t be too bad, right?”   “Yeah, I guess.” Jimin sighs and absentmindedly tugs on your strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and is grazing against his cheek. “I just don’t know anymore.”   “It’s going to be fine,” you reassure, slapping your hand on his shoulder. “You’re just overthinking it.”   “Maybe,” he hums.   A sudden thought comes across your mind and your small smile turns devious. “Let me make you feel better.”   You shift to straddle his hips and instantly, his hands lift to your waist. Jimin starts to grin as you pull at his shirt, trying to get him to strip. And you do your best to pleasure him.   It doesn’t take much effort considering Jimin’s hand is already tightening in your hair the minute you run your tongue along his shaft. But he doesn’t let you suck him for too long, eager to feel you inside instead and pleasure you just the same.   It’s eager and messy sex. You’re on top until your thighs begin to burn and you lose your pace. Then he re-repositions the both of you, so you’re flat on your back and he’s doing most of the work. You end up cumming twice. Once around his covered cock and the other time after he coaxes you around his stiff tongue and eggs you on, even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.   It feels good. Better than good.   Over time, the pair of you have gotten to know each other’s bodies better, what works and what doesn’t.    Your relationship with Jimin is an investment that feels worth it.   “Hey…” You’re both facing away from each other as you put your clothes back on. Jimin turns his head and you cast him a glance. “I was thinking of maybe starting birth control…”   He blinks.   “If you go get yourself checked out and make sure you’re clean, we can do it without condoms.”   You pull down your sweater over your head and you both stare at each other. He looks surprised and responds in a delayed manner, “Okay. Cool. I’m down. I’ll get myself checked out this weekend. I haven’t really slept with anyone else since this started though.”   It’s your turn to be caught off guard. “Really? What...about that girl you were into? Vicky?”   “You mean Victoria?” He jumps as he puts on his sweatpants, getting both legs through at once. “Nah. It didn’t end up working out.”   “Oh.” He’s entirely nonchalant about it, so you merely nod.   Jimin walks you to the door and you notice that he’s in a better mood than earlier. You hide your smile to yourself, glad that it was mutually beneficial.   Two weeks later, he gets an email before the two of you get down and dirty, and you’re the first one in his life to know that he got the summer internship. His excitement is infectious and you genuinely feel happy for him.

[4th Year Fall Semester]   It’s so close, you can taste it.   A whole new semester and cart of overpriced textbooks later meant you were a senior now. It also meant that there was just this year left and you were out of here. Finished at least one degree. A step closer to making the big bucks and being a whole ass adult.   The idea is both exhilarating and frightening.   2:20pm. Jimin: Wanna come over?   The text mocks you, but the temptation is tangible. Like a carrot tied at the end of a stick that’s attached to a hungry rabbit. You’ve been sexually frustrated since last night, feeling it in your loins since morning, and fidgeting and rubbing your thighs underneath tables and desks. The thought of getting that sweet relief properly is enough for you to want to ditch class altogether, but you can’t. Not for the next few days.   2:22pm. Y/N: can’t. 2:22pm. Y/N: I’m on my period :((   2:23pm. Jimin: I don’t mind   2:23pm. Y/N: really???? 2:24pm. Y/N: are you sure   2:25pm. Jimin: lmao 2:25pm. Jimin: yes   You brace through the rest of the lecture, paying more attention as the anticipation swells. And when it’s all over, you race across campus to the dormitory building you’ve become familiar with.   Jimin opens the door before you need to knock and he plants a chaste kiss against your lips in greeting. You’re taken off guard, but don’t pay too much attention to it. “How was class?”   “Good. You?”   “Same,” he hums.   You drop your bag in his room and gesture below your waist. “I’m going to need to wash up. The nether regions are a bit…”   He smiles. “Sure. I got spare towels I can set down too.”   You self-consciously linger for a moment as he goes to his closet to the upper shelf. The towels are luckily green and not white. “I’m surprised you’re okay with it. Having period sex, I mean.”   “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jimin pushes his blanket aside and puts a towel down. “As long as you’re fine with it, then I am too.”   “I don’t know. Doesn’t blood gross you out?”   “Not really? Most of the time I’m the one making the mess, so it’s actually nice to have someone else make the mess for once. Plus sex is sex. What’s there to complain about?” His brow lifts and he looks at you. You scoff and it makes Jimin grin.   You wash yourself up and he fucks you in missionary position on top of the towels. The pair of you have only done so a few times before. Typically, you’re face down, bent over, on all fours or looking away from each other. But the change is welcome. Jimin hovers over you and you can kiss him when you want to.   “F-Fuck.” A pitched moan unintentionally spills from you when he hits a spot at your walls that has your toes curling. “Ji...min.”   It’s more lubricated than usual, making the strokes easier. He goes softer too. Deeper. Jimin presses your thighs to your chest and makes you feel him all the way to your throat.   The boy smiles tenderly at your reaction in spite of panting himself. “Feel good, baby?”   “Y-Yeah.” You nod, eyes shut tight. You grip his forearms when he bottoms out again. “Always does.”   Your warm walls pulse around his thick cock and you end up cumming soon after. He groans into your neck at how you tighten around him like a vice grip and he thrusts into you one more time before his cum fills you.   The pair of you jump in the shower together to get cleaned up and then you’re picking up your clothes while he tosses the towels in the laundry.   “What were you working on, on Thursday?”   You blink, realizing that you texted him vaguely about being swamped and unable to come over, and that’s enough for you to unload and go on a tangent. “God, don’t remind me. It was my fucking thesis. I barely managed to finish it but I don’t even know if it makes sense and now I have to edit like fifty pages by myself before giving it to my supervisor, so that’s fun.”   It feels good to let it off your chest.   Jimin smiles subtly at your venting. “I could always edit it for you.”   “What? Seriously?”   “Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not in poly sci, but that might make me a bit more unbiased. I’m not doing much these days either.”   “Oh my god.” There’s an overpowering urge to bow at his feet or suck his dick until you’re gagging or do both. “You’re a life-saver!”   Jimin laughs and it’s the sound of angels singing. “Just send it over. I can get it done by tomorrow. You have my email, right?”   “Of course I do. Duh!” Your grin is big enough that your cheeks hurt and he has one that matches it as well.   //   A few weeks fly by and things calm down enough that you can finally breathe. But that’s when you receive a little text from a certain someone that has you skeptical if you can rest easy.   6:48pm. Jimin: I have a surprise for you 6:48pm. Jimin: I forgot about it   You’re not sure what it is, but asking would be like pulling teeth with him. Jimin hates spoilers and he likes surprises all too much.   Lately, you’ve both been getting into some freaky shit. Buying toys, blindfolds, handcuffs. As adventurous as college kids with a limited budget can get. It was rather fun for the pair of you, and expectedly, some experiments work out better than others. It sends goosebumps all over your skin every time he talks dirty. You like it when Jimin spanks you too. Although, you’re still unsure about the whole candle wax on your body idea.   But there’s one thing for sure — Jimin can most definitely not role play for his life.    The whole school girl fantasy lasted a good five minutes before he started bursting into giggles and breaking character every other second. Playing doctor only made you realize how ticklish he was too. And the tickle fight that followed was definitely not something one would call ‘sexy’. Even if it did lead to the deed being done.   “Hey.” Jimin greets you with a grin and a chaste peck against your lips. “How was studying?”   “Fine.” You brush off the question quickly, too curious of what he has in store. “Jimin, I’m not going to use that twelve inch dildo unless you want to drive me to the ER.”   He bursts out laughing. “That’s not it. Good try though.”   Instead of going to his room like you usually do, Jimin leads you past the kitchen area to the table. It’s been cleared off and you give an inquisitive expression. He grins and then gestures to it.    “Lay down.”   “What?”   “Just lay down.” He takes your hand, guiding you on it and you obey wordlessly. It doesn’t seem like any of his roommates are home and you hope they don’t come back any time soon lest they find you lying face down on their dinner table.   You feel Jimin round the table and pull your ankles together. You tilt yourself up to peek at him, but then he barks— “Down.”   With a pout, you return to your position, arms folded underneath your head. You hope he isn’t about to rub spices on you and roast you in his oven like it feels like he’s doing.   You feel the gentle pressure of Jimin’s hands against your spine, his thumbs pressing into your skin and he hums, “Relax. Okay. Breathe in for me.”   An inhale is taken and his hands suddenly press into the middle of your back. You hear your bones crack loudly. It catches you off guard and you turn yourself with wide eyes. “You know how to do it?!”   He boyishly grins. “I might’ve learnt a thing or two during my internship.”   “Keep going, keep going.” You flip yourself over again, gesturing to your back and he laughs, going down your body and cracking your bones. You become butter in his fingertips, lower back feeling better already.   “Lift your leg for me.”   You follow his instructions to a t. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask sleepily, lulled by his care. If he massaged you too, you might just cream your pants.   “I got this, I got this,” he reassures with a bit of arrogance. “I’m not a professional, but I know what I’m doing. You trust me, right?”   A noise is made at the back of your throat.   “If you break a bone on accident, I’ll sue you,” you mumble as he turns you over. “God, feels good.”   After a while, Jimin gets you to sit up and continues. He looks nice when he’s concentrating. Expression blank. Lips plump and in a line. Brows only slightly furrowed. “Considering you don’t have any ailments, you don’t need to get your bones cracked often. You should stretch and do some exercise instead.”   You scoff. “Having sex with you is enough exercise.”   To prove your point, you latch onto his arm and tug him towards you. Jimin smiles and the two of you break a sweat against each other on the table before either of his roommates come home.

[4th Year Winter Semester]   It was an invitation that you would’ve called yourself crazy for offering a year ago. But if it wasn’t for him editing your thesis and taking a load off your mind, you would’ve had a harder time.    You had him to thank for that.   “So?” Jimin’s seated across from you at the restaurant booth. It wasn’t surprisingly difficult to ask him to grab a bite with you. For some reason, you thought he would reject. “What’s the big news?”   Instead of answering, you reach into your bag and slide the envelope across the table.   He’s curious and takes it, pulling out the letter to read. You sip on your water, watching his expression intently. He mutters the words and it takes him through the first paragraph before he realizes. Then, at once, Jimin’s eyes widen. His mouth drops and he looks at you proudly.   “You got into law school?”   “Three of them,” you tell with a cheesy grin.    “T-That’s….fucking amazing. Holy fuck.” He reaches over and hugs you. It’s awkward considering there’s a whole table in the way, but you appreciate the sentiment. You’re giddy and giggling at how excited he is. It makes you feel like the first time you opened the letter yourself.   Jimin presses a kiss against your hair before withdrawing. “When did you find out?”   “Two days ago. I really thought I wasn’t going to get in since I got rejection letters last week from the other schools, but then three of them came in rapid succession.”   He shakes his head, still in awe. “Congratulations. Seriously. You deserve it, Y/N. God knows how hard you worked.”   “Thanks.” You smile to yourself, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. “I was thinking of maybe leaving the city to a different uni, but….I’m going to stay with my parents for as long as I can to save up on loans.”   “Yeah, sounds good.” He nods. “Moving out can be expensive.”   “What about you? Have you applied to your masters program yet?”   Jimin laughs. “Actually, I was planning on telling you that today too. I didn’t bring any fancy letter with me though.”   You lean closer, sitting on the edge of your seat. “You got in?”   “I did. Yesterday.” His enormous smile causes your own to expand. “I’m gonna do it part-time while working at the same facility I did my internship at.”   You’re happy for him and you can tell by his expression that he’s genuinely excited for you too. The pair of you were taking steps forward for your future and while it was a little scary, for now, you enjoy the victory and pig out at the restaurant with little restraints.   At the end of the night, you’re both wine drunk when you stumble back to his dorm room and soon, you’re trying to muffle your whimpers with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. It doesn’t help when he presses the humming vibrator to your clit harder.   “J-Jimin,” you sob, fingers twisting into his sheets. You’re slumped against the headboard as he surrounds you.   “Louder,” he commands, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. The cold air of his bedroom made your nipples hardened, yet you feel hot all over, under his gaze and ruthlessness.    Your hand curls around his wrist. “Your roommates are sleep—” You cry and keen against his chest when he plunges the toy into your swollen cunt that’s leaking down your ass and thighs.   “It’s okay,” he murmurs in a low voice against your ear, “Let it go.”   You feel the toy nudge against your cervix, the vibrations trembling through your body and you orgasm hard with your forehead pressed against Jimin’s shoulder. Even then, he continues to draw it in and out of you, studying how you’ve creamed around the vibrator, how your slick is dripping to his sheets that are already stained with the scent of your shampoo.   “J-Jimin,” you whine loudly, not knowing if you’re trying to lean away from his touch or closer. “T-...too m-much!”   “You can take it,” Jimin softly coaxes and you nod.    You cum again after a minute and he immediately kisses you with a big smile before peppering pecks down to your neck. It makes you feel ticklish and winded.   “Hey...Jimin…”   “Hmm?”   “Are we still gonna do this after we graduate?” you ask in a quiet voice, laying back in the ruined sheets. “I’m gonna be busy and you are too.”   “We’ll figure it out.” He flops beside you and you both face each other. Jimin’s arm is draped over your waist and you stare at one another for a moment before he closes the distance.   Jimin nudges you for a languid kiss, your noses brushing as his soft, plush lips press against yours. It’s unhurried. Slow. He urges your mouth to part for him and his tongue slips in as you whimper, giving you a chance to properly taste him.   Sloppy, wet noises fill the room while heat rises to your cheeks. But you’re unbothered while swapping spit with Park Jimin. It’s lazy, yet it feels good. So much so that you’ve relaxed entirely.   In the back of your mind, you know you should get up and put some clothes on. Any cuddling or post-sex touching has largely been unprecedented before this and it’s not good to make habits you’ll have to eventually break. You should get your sweater off the floor, or at least slip on his purple t-shirt….   But you give into the temptation and shut your eyes for one second. One mere second.    That’s enough for you to doze off.   When Jimin realizes you’ve accidentally fallen asleep, he smiles to himself and tugs the blankets up to your shoulders, securing you in warmly.   //   You stifle another yawn with your hand.    It’s 9:30 in the goddamn morning and way too early for you. There’s a reason you pick afternoon classes, go to work afterwards and then go see Jimin to end your day off. There’s no situation good enough that warrants your alarm blaring before eight — but you suppose a graduation ceremony could be an exception.   “There’s so many people,” your dad gasps in wonderment, looking around the vast hall. “Do you know them all?”   “No.” You hold in your sigh. “I don’t.”   For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been running around looking for your parents after they’ve wandered off and gotten lost. If they weren’t spamming their cameras on their phone and telling you to smile in front of the odd statue or the meaningless bulletin board that wasn’t even part of your faculty, it was calling your name as loud as they could to find you in the crowds.   You’re happy over their enthusiasm but also burdened. It’s a lot of mixed feelings.   “Y/N?”   Dark hair and brown eyes — a certain someone who you weren’t expecting to run into is staring right at you with a boyish smile. “Jimin?” He looks good, a suit underneath and a black graduation gown over it that falls to his calf. His gown has a golden hood and tassel while yours is white — the colours symbolizing your different faculties and areas of study.    “Hey.” His gaze is warm. “You look nice.”   “Thanks. You too.”   You don’t linger on him for long, not when his parents are right by his side. You divert your vision and greet them politely. Jimin surprisingly looks a lot like his dad and his mom has a kind face. They seem like sweet people and you’re suddenly breaking into a sweat. “Nice to meet you.”   Your own parents make themselves known and you feel like your worlds are colliding as they shake hands and exchange names, congratulating each other on their child’s graduation.   You’re about to get them moving along when your mom nudges you. “Is this your boyfriend?”   Her voice is way too loud and you feel yourself burn in embarrassment.    “No. He’s just a friend,” you whisper it sharply but much your dismay, they look unconvinced.   You miss the way Jimin smiles to himself.   “We should get a picture!” his dad declares and your own dad looks even more elated at the idea of spamming more pictures. You already had to delete a hundred blurry ones, but your mom ignores your groan and pushes you both towards some weird artwork on the wall.   “Stand over here! Over here! Smile!”   Your parents end up sitting next to each other on the rows and you have no words, forced to sit at the bottom with the rest of your graduating class. It’s a wonder that the Arts Faculty was scheduled right before the Faculty of Kines. Fate or coincidence, you’re not sure yet.   But it’s still nice to see Jimin walk the stage and be able to cheer for him.   “Congratulations, Mr. Park.”   He grins. “Congratulations to you too, Miss L/N.”   It’s certain that the numerous celebrations with family, friends and relatives will be chaotic, so you take advantage of the opportunity while you still can. You steal just a little moment for your selfish desires by standing outside before you’re both bombarded by your circle of people.   “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you.”   “Oh, stop it with the sappiness.” You can’t feign a roll of your eyes when your smile is so big.   He swings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and laughing. “Why? Don’t like it?” And the little shit slyly leans in to whisper, “You like it when I call you my baby though.”   “Jimin!”   He laughs and you sigh with a smile.   You’re glad you ran into him.

[Post-Graduation]   You open the door, welcoming yourself in.   “Hey.”   Jimin’s on the couch and glances at you, unfazed at how you’ve waltzed right into his apartment with little warning. You’ve always knocked out of courtesy for his roommates, but ever since he moved out of the dormitories, you find little need to make him walk all the way to the door.   He’s watching a thriller and you flop down on his couch, leaning over to plant a quick peck against his mouth as a greeting. “How was work?”   “It was okay. A bit busy. I met this nice old lady and we chatted for a bit. She called me handsome, so there’s that.” He grins and you scoff lightly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder as you watch the main character venture into an abandoned house on screen. Jimin loves his praises, so you’re not wholly surprised he’s kept a mental note of it.    You’re not sure why it’s important though. Anyone with eyes would agree he’s good-looking.   “How was class?”   “Awful,” you mumble, feeling tired against him. You came over to get rid of some sexual frustration, but you’re not even sure you have the energy to do anything anymore. “Commuting was brutal this morning. Traffic was backed up on the highway and I was late, and yesterday I had to drive back at night. My parents are driving me nuts too. I can’t study properly.”   Jimin hums a soothing note and slings an arm at the back of the couch where you’re sitting, letting you lean into him. It goes quiet as the two of you watch the suspenseful scene and then he absentmindedly pipes up after a minute, “You could always move in with me.”   He continues, “It’s closer to the university and it’s quiet during the day, so you can study. We could always study together too.”   It’s a good idea, but— “I can’t afford that.”   “I don’t mind paying rent for a while. It’s the same either way.”   It takes a second for the words sink in and then you’re peeling yourself off of him.   Your gaze is met with Jimin’s, eyes locking into one another and the movie is left in the background. “As roommates?”   He shrugs. “There’s only one bedroom, but sure.”   A studio apartment. One bed shared. Two people.   Watching movies. Having sex. Eating together.   It doesn’t sound bad to you whatsoever, but you contemplate it. It swirls around inside your head and you murmur, “Isn’t that breaking the rules of being friends with benefits?”   And you don't know why but Wendy’s words from the other day are echoing inside the caverns of your brain at the worst moment. “You know, your relationship with Jimin isn’t exactly normal.” You weren’t sure what she meant and you still don’t know. Not when she had advertised and encouraged this kind of arrangement all those years ago. When she had told you many people got involved in each other like this.   But you’re starting to wonder if something is off.   Did you do something wrong? Did your relationship with Jimin spiral out of control? But everything feels normal.   After three years, you’d think you would’ve mastered the art of benefits by now.   You sigh, getting a headache. Yet, Jimin merely shrugs.    As if the definitions and boundaries don’t bother him whatsoever.    “Is it?”   “Kind of. I mean, living together, being mutually exclusive. It almost sounds like….”   “Like what?” His brows lift. “Like we’re dating?”   You feel hot in your face, skin toasted like a furnace. Maybe you’re being delusional or silly. Maybe he’s going to laugh at you. “This is what couples who are going to get engaged do.”   “Maybe we should date then…?” The pitch of Jimin’s voice raises at the end, not necessarily a question but neither a statement. It’s questionable like he’s unsure how you feel. Like he’s playing a guessing game. And then he smiles at your shocked expression.   Jimin turns to face you fully. His gaze is heavy, earnest. “Maybe we should date.”   This time, it’s repeated as an assertion.   Confident. Unwavering. Sincere.   Jimin leans in to kiss you as if he can’t resist anymore. It’s tender, taking you off guard and you lean into him, finally allowing yourself to become surrounded by him. Mind. Body. And soul.   When the two of you pull away, he smiles while catching his breath. “I-I’m down if you are. This apartment can be yours and you can study here and sleep here and whatever. We can eat together and I’ll buy you take out or cook. It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m cool with anything. We can keep being friends with benefits, if that’s what you want….so…......what do you want?”   You exhale lightly, feeling warm. “This...is a lot.”   “Is it?” Instantly, Jimin appears panicked and you hold back a laugh. “We’ve technically been together for three years and...what we’ve been doing recently is basically dating. In my opinion.”   “Did Wendy put you up to this?”   “No.” He shakes his head. “Frankly, the person I talk to most these days is you. And I like it that way.”   God, you hate him.    You pull Jimin in for another kiss, an aggressive and eager one. Enough that you can feel the heat off of his own face. You move to straddle his thighs and when you break apart, you muster a glare at him. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard not to catch feelings. You’re ruining all my efforts, you know that, Park?”   He grins. “Is this a yes?”   “It is.” This time, he’s the one to kiss you, sealing your lips together as he smiles against your mouth and squeezes giggles out of you. Even if he doesn’t say it, even if he’s saving it for another day, you know from his tender touches that he loves you. And it’s mutual.   No longer do you need to worry — leave right after the deed is done or be panicked when you’ve accidentally fallen asleep in his bed. You’re unashamed when he kisses you harder as a greeting, when he holds your hand, when you go out together. You can have pillow talks without needing to guard yourself, cuddle him, call him yours.   And when Christmas arrives, meaning sweater weather and snow dusting from the sky, you have someone to keep you warm. Someone who you can come back to and call your home.