#the rest are either ugly or lackluster

[afreauxheaux]

The Suns and Cavs have the best city edition jerseys and it’s not even close. They should stop making new ones for each teach every year unless they can make a high quality concept for everyone.

[gojuo]

To be fair, most wigs suck. It doesn't help that the hairstyles are a disappointment. Like, Rhaenyra's hair, she expected elaborate braids like Dany in the later seasons, but she's almost always just hanging lifelessly in a few sad braids.

Poor Rhaena and Baela get the short straw even in this, not only do they have the worst wigs, but they only have two hairstyles, down or huge shapeless buns piled on top of their heads. Rhaenys has at least improved from the weird cone-head-shaped half-updo of the first season, small victories.

Even Helaena has floppy hair now. Where are mom's pretty curls? The only person who serves looks from the first day is Alicent. Those luxurious auburn curls, beautiful, chef's kiss 🥰.

you're right, the wigs are bad which is then compounded by shitty unimaginative hairstyles and a sore lack of hair accessories/jewelry in a time where targaryens are at the height of their power + at their wealthiest. it's so maddening because i just don't understand why a multi million dollar production is so bad in the hair and costuming department !!!! i def think baela got an upgrade this season but it's just ringlets up to her shoulders. it's boring. rhaena is .... my god her hair doesn't even look like it has locs instead it looks like the straw ends of a broom!! helaena and rhaenyra and rhaenys aren't better either, it's all just lame braids taking the front pieces of hair out of everyone's faces then placed randomly at the back of the skull and NO accessories at all! and all the hair stops at the waist too like come on this is a fantasy show AND it's wigs!! why is everyone's hair stopping at their shoulderblades!! why is the hair of my royal ladies not falling down to their butts and beyond!!! why is it all pin straight!! it's not even prettily wavy either!!! no crowns or gemstones interwoven with the braids either!! it's so boring!! literally just add some gold trinkets in the hair + tight curls + thicker and longer hair, i am on my knees begging at this point 😩😩😩

they really could have done so much more with the afro hair but they refuse to. they had the perfect opportunity with rhaena's locs to add some gold hoops or beads or something, anything of the like!! something to break up the monotony of the hairstyle and to just show off the targ wealth! she's literally a targ princess!!! why does she look like she doesn't have 100 maids at her disposal?! just anything like this would have sufficed like look at the material... why does it look like nobody in this royal family takes care of their hair...

and the white girls suffer from having straight hair made worse by the most plain if not downright lifeless hairstyles. everyone has a braid that pulls back the front pieces. the rest of the straight/not even fully wavy loose hair that stays unbraided just goes down to their shoulderblades while looking like it hasn't seen a drop of oil like ever. what the fuck. this is hbo, why are the hairstyles this ugly !!!!! why can't we have gold jewelry and tight curls and colorful ribbons braided into their hair which should be cascading down their backs like silver veils instead of stopping short at the shoulders? and the hair is so thin and lifeless too! why is everything in the hair and costuming department so lackluster? just weaving 2 or 3 tight braids together in opposing directions does not make for a pretty look! it might be intricate but it looks downright ugly. they are the ROYAL family where the fuck is all their hair accessories and jewelry at???? WHERE IS THE HAIR OIL ??????????

instead we get this crap..... BORINGGG

[boarcide]

There is something so good about Akutagawa--a very much feared, boogeyman like figure (even amongst his own men) in Yokohama because of his violence, bloodlust, and steadfast loyalty to a violent criminal organization such as the Port Mafia--given biblical angel symbolism

I don't know, something something about someone whose beauty is so incomprehensible and terrifying to most. He's not physically ugly, he's not--he's beautiful, the type of beautiful that almost feel as if he's not a real person, like he's a mirage, or a painting. But he's beautiful not like those renaissance cherubs and lovely looking maidens for angels, but more like the biblical angels with their beauty beyond mortal grasp, the beauty that brings fear and revulsion towards whoever sees them because they cannot comprehend it. Coming across him makes you understand why angels say, "Be not afraid" when they reveal themselves to mortals. An incomprehensible beauty that very few can keep looking at. A dangerous feat, literally and metaphorically.

(This isn't only with his physical appearance either--for someone who is constantly beaten down both by canon and by the fandom for being "simple", he is a terrifying bundle of different aspects that contradict each other. Like a super machine you open up and you see the intricate criss crossing of wires and bolts that hold it together. He's a mess of nerves and feelings and experiences so profound, so horrific, that you don't know where to start with him. To uncoil him and see him truly bare is almost impossible. Where does he end and the roots that connect him to the earth begin?)

Something about Akutagawa being an angel, a being created entirely to follow the will of "God", obey their every word. Unwavering loyalty to their master while singing praise. Acting entirely on the order of their master--wing always dipped in blood for his sake. A weapon of "heaven' that brings destruction to those who oppose "God" and be one of the many upon which "God" rests upon.

(Almost everything Akutagawa does is for the sake of the Port Mafia, taking orders from the "master" (boss) himself. Willingness and obedience and loyalty repeatedly exploited and used, everything he has done as one of the high ranking leaders handling most of the Mafia's dirty work playing a part so Mori's throne stays high.)

Something about comparing Akutagawa to a certain archangel, finding repulsion in "God"'s cherished creation, the inferiority that came with being "less" to "mankind", and the painful fall from grace to the deepest pits of despair when he confronts the being that created him, molded him, and then condemn him. And to his humiliation, mankind, for centuries, condemns him too.

(He can't be compared to Lucifer, God's most beloved angel. Maybe Dazai did value him, but it doesn't matter, does it? because the difference between the two is that one was cherished and one never was. However, you can compare the rage and humiliation Akutagawa felt towards Atsushi--for obtaining Dazai's approval and affection with no effort, no proper control over his skill or any seemingly differentiating quality-- to Lucifer's refusal to bow down to humanity--a creation inherently imperfect and lackluster, with not the qualities of angels. And as a result? Disgraced. Both by the creator and by ones that held their creator's favor. )

Something about Akutagawa being an angel--someone whose presence means nothing pleasant to those he appears before. A reaper of sorts, responsible for taking life and for souls to see the afterlife (killing both as an order and an act of mercy, for he despises torture and meaningless suffering). A guardian angel watching over "mankind" from afar, where he is not aware and saving him from certain death at his own expense.

There's just something so appealing about depicting Akutagawa--a fearsome, ruthless, and bloodthirsty mafioso, a boogeyman to his own men--as an angel, be it of death, of mercy, a destroying angel-- whatever anyone wants to see him as and use him for.

[darspeaksout]

I Found My Bully On LinkedIn

For some reason, LinkedIn recommended to me the guy who used to bully me in school. As expected, I learned that my career and life overall were better than his. 

He didn’t have a profile photo, which was consistent with the rest of his social media accounts. If I was built like SpongeBob SquarePants and had Nosferatu’s dark circles, I wouldn’t want to show myself either.

I remember he spoke a lot about wanting to beat me up when we were in ninth grade, reason being I’m gay so I deserve it. I got some of my friends who were seniors to fight him for me. Well, all they had to do was threaten him and that was enough to shut him up for the rest of high school. I know it annoyed him to see my friends defending me because he wished he had the same, and I rejoiced in his discontentment. Luckily, we were only classmates in homeroom, after which I was never put in the same class with him again because I was in a higher academic stream. If being ugly wasn’t enough, he had to insult me twice by being stupid. 

Through extra-curriculars, I became close with one of his friends who was surprisingly a decent person. The more he hung out with me, the less he hung out with the bully, to the point that they drifted apart altogether and his friend became mine. We’d be seen spending time together both inside and outside of school. As a result, I had the double-effect of scaring away Count Dracula and making him jealous. And I didn’t even have to lift a finger because I had people in my corner delivering the karma for me.

Every day, I’d walk down the hallways with a different girl because I had a lot of female friends. I just couldn’t help that I was so naturally charming and smelled good always. Although I’m gay, I’m more of a man than he ever was and ever will be. Frankenstein knew this and spent the better portion of his youth hating me from a distance, as I continued to take my sweet time with the girls who’d never look his way, and of his friend who found him pitiful enough to keep around.

I’d see him in the cafeteria eating with the same two people he’d been hanging around since elementary school, meanwhile I had branched out and expanded my social circle. When I considered the success of my academics, the loyalty of my friends, and everything else, it dawned on me that he became a bully out of fear and jealousy. Fear of stepping out of his comfort zone and jealousy because I was able to. He’d noticed that I was gay and knew he had nothing else to use against me. So he latched onto the lowest hanging fruit and kept tugging in the hopes he’d be able to knock down my tree. I grew and grew, while he stayed the same. Same hometown, same group of toxic men, same friendless pothead deadbeat loser he always was and always will be.

I regret that he did not follow through with his plans to beat me up. Then at least there would’ve been a story and some character development on my part. But no - he was too spineless to be a villain and backed out at the slightest opposition from my older friends. In addition to being ugly, stupid, jealous, and homophobic, he was a coward. I’m reluctant to even grant him the title of “bully” because he was incompetent at being one. He had one job and he failed. And just like all the jobs listed in his resume, they too were unimpressive, lackluster, and vapid.

Legend has it that Spanish Smeagol is still at his warehouse job from 2019 and is trying to find his “precious.” I wonder if he ever managed to get a girlfriend and if she looks worse than him. The chances of that are high, and I’m referring to the latter.

I blocked his account so he had no way of reaching out in case he tried. Then I clicked on my page and saw my accomplishments before me: my trip abroad to China, my internships with various humanitarian organizations, every customer service job throughout university, and my position now with the government. I thought about the guy who tried to demand my orientation out of me and the girl who outed me in high school. I thought about the guy in elementary school who approached me with his whole entourage to ask if I was gay, and how he later got expelled for getting into a fight. Why did all the people who were rooting against me end up losing in the end? Not only in their career, but in life? 

Given my history with bullying, I could’ve turned out just as damaged, lawless, and delinquent as them. But I didn’t - why? I think it’s a matter of choice. I was hurting for many years and chose to recognize it, overcome it, and ensure that I would not pass this pain onto others. I made sure I was the last person these people’s unhealed trauma would reach. I cut the cord and in letting go, welcomed my full potential. I found my bully on LinkedIn and learned nothing I didn’t already know.

I logged off and let out a chuckle, remembering that in the end, I won.

[tenaciouspostfun]

BAD Cinderella

theater review.

Not since "Starlight Express" has Andrew Lloyd Webber written such a lackluster musical. The songs you hear throughout the musical "Bad Cinderella" at The Imperial Theatre go in one ear and out the other and are long forgotten even before the final curtain drops. Emerald Fennell's book is nothing to really get excited about either. The premise here is that we visit a town called Belleville where only the beautiful people live; Cinderella is considered bad because she is seen as ugly, and because she spray painted on Prince Charming s statue "beauty sucks". Wow. Deep!

The whole show is a confusing piece of garble, flavored over with outrageously garish costumes (Gabriela Tylesova), Tylesova does a great job, however, with the scenic design.Director Laurence Connor reaches for the campy, the cheap laughs and clearly panders to the diverse audience members. Based on gay themes as well as a clear message that we only look toward the outside rather than the inherent good in people, "Bad Cinderella" has too weak of a plot to be taken as good theater and any message it tries to serve is lost in the confusion.

Cinderella (Linedy Genao) is for the most part good; she has a nice singing voice, delivers the "business" nicely and can dance. In the lead role, however, she is not a big enough talent to deliver like many of today's stars on Broadway can.The same holds true for Prince Sebastian (Jordon Dobson). Dobson cannot deliver the way a star should, he is to one dimensional and at times, flat.While Carolee Carmello as the Stepmother and Grace McLean as the Queen are very good, the rest of the cast for the most part goes through the motions where the acting is concerned.

Bruno Poet's lighting is nicely done to complement the story, particularly the musical part of the show. JoAnn M. Hunter's choreography ranges between decent and ridiculous. At one point in the show, the audience has to watch a Chippendale version of dancers doing push ups and lifting weights shirtless and in leather pants.

"Bad Cinderella" holds to the basic story of the sisters, the mean stepmother; the ball dropping at midnight. Only here the sisters are beyond annoying, Adele (Sami Gayle) has such a nasal voice that she is hard to hear, her sister Marie (Morgan Higgins) has a hairstyle similar to Lady Gaga and uses all the cutesy phrases that don't add up to anything meaningful, nor funny. If all of this is not distracting enough, the constant turnstile staging left most of the audience with vertigo by the shows end.

.........................................................................................................................

The summary and observation of "Bad Cinderella" is the following... As Broadway ushers in diversity (Three of the main characters are of color), not enough is being placed on talent. Many of the actors today on Broadway should not be their.

Bad Cinderella tries to capture the woke audience, and in that case it succeds. This show had Prince Charming as a gay man, marrying another man. While it goes over with some of the audience, it fails with other members of the audience.

Broadway is trying to usher in diversity for diversities sake. Many of the plays and musicals broght forth are not good. The costumes are horrid, the sets for the most part are non existent. This is not a good way to prop up the box office receipts. In the new wave of Broadway, they are leaving behind the older monied white people who are responsible for most of the box.

While thye 2023 season is so far way better than 2022, Broadway has a long way to go in that it needs to get the best talent on Broadway, not actors who check off certain boxes. The writing too has to be made tighter as well as the direction. In Bad Cinderella I do not understand why the direction went the way it did. It was not tight nor coherent and as such made for a painful evening.

Andrew Lloyd Webber, Imperial Theatre, Starlight Express, www.swmnimbus.org, www.triviscompany.com, www.gimmeshelterproductions.com, Broadway, Bad Cinderella, Hamilton, Funny Girl, Prince Charming, Prince William, England, Robert Massimi, Metropolitan Magazine, Mann About Town, Fashion Manuscript, "A Life in the Rye", Swing time Canteen", "The Gathering" The Cort Theatre, Metropolitan Playhouse.





[shotorozu]

Hello!! I hope you're doing well💕 Idk if this been requested before, headcanons about them having a stylish, fashionable s.o? You can choose the characters, tysm!!💖 For BNHA, if possible, please <3

fashionable s/o

character(s) : shinsou hitoshi, bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto, midoriya izuku (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, quirk not mentioned

headcanon type : fluff (x reader)

note(s) : this isn’t that long, compared to most of my headcanons, but i did add four characters! will post more later

»»————-　♡　————-««

shinsou hitoshi

feels like a trashcan next to you.

in reality, his fashion sense is either top tier stuff, or something you can find at dollar tree

and when i mean that, i mean black sweatpants (that haven’t been washed in 2 days) and a black sweater, with a coffee stain on it to match

his fashion sense is quite lazy and comfortable, but that one outfit he wears on special occasions make up for it.

he smiles when he notices how you never-ever wear the same outfit twice in a row. at some point— assumed that you were also loaded.

and how you always find a way to make an ‘ugly’ outfit suddenly not ugly— he doesn’t know how you exactly do it.

hitoshi could look at an outfit in your closet and think “WHY did they buy this again?” but then in the following second, he could go

“oh, that’s why. they always know how to make it work.” since then, he has learned how to trust your sense in fashion

you could probably help him with his fashion sense, and he wouldn’t mind at all— just help him be consistent with it.

sometimes, he didn’t even know that a certain article of clothing would actually look good on him. the more you know

doesn’t mind it when people gawk at you, because of your very boujee✨sense of style. because, who wouldn’t look at you? they’d be missing out.

in short— he adores how you put so much effort with your clothes, and how you’re also effortlessly stylish

“but i’m dressed like a trashcan next to you,,” he’ll say with a hand resting on his nape, and you’ll reply with

“hitoshi, stop saying that.”

bakugou katsuki

appalled when he shows up to your dorm— and sees you wearing the fanciest pair of pajamas he has ever seen in his entire life.

“what the heck??”

“why, katsuki??”

“WHAT’S WITH THOSE FANCY PAJAMAS??”

his fashion sense is fine,, i mean— his parents are canonically fashion designers. so, you’d expect him to carry their sense of style

yes AND no. have y’all seen the official art of him carrying that large suit case? the fit was lowkey horrendous

rolls his eyes when he sees you wear something stylish to the grocery store— when he’s wearing a black tanktop and some sweatpants.

“seriously— is the outfit really necessary? you stand out too much.”

“is that a good thing?”

“not for me.”

okay but,, it’s not that bad as he says it is. he secretly loves seeing you pull up to dates in those nice clothes. he hasn’t seen you reuse the same outfit two times in a row.

but omg he hates having people gawk at you in public because of your clothes. that’s the part he despises the most

“this is what i didn’t like about your stupid style”

“oh? jealous, are we?”

“shut your trap.”

yes, you’re in fact— attractive. BUT THEY GOTTA KEEP THEIR EYES TO THEMSELVES

katsuki actually loves this part on you— but he grows irritated when his parents suddenly asked him if you were interested in modeling 💀

‘screw you and your fancy pants’ he’ll think to himself, when his parents are fawning over your sense of style.

todoroki shouto

shouto is also a fashion icon himself— so you two get a lot of attention for just,, looking fancy as heck, even in the mundane.

he didn’t really care about what you wore. you had the fashion sense of a white crusty family dog? well,, so what? he doesn’t care as long as you’re comfortable.

shouto noticed how you managed to make a plain piece of fabric a fashion statement— and wanted you to show him your closet

so when you do, he’s fascinated. your brain must be LARGE just thinking about what outfit combination you want to wear every single free day.

but he also thought you were like,, the emma chamberlain of fashion— he thought you created every single fashion trend out there today

when in reality, you just happened to know how to put your own touch on an outfit 💀

“what do you mean you didn’t bring back the brown pants trend?”

“shouto, for the last time— i didn’t do that,,”

he’s not convinced yet.

loves it when he walks into your room, and sees you mumbling to yourself on what you want to wear for a specific day— especially when you’re just wearing a sweater of his, instead of your own

even though you probably have 50 sweaters in there 💀

you need to fix your outfit in public? well, that’s not an issue! he’ll literally do it for you, with no hesitation.

fixes your collar when it gets caught in your bag’s strap, and also makes sure he doesn’t pull anything too tightly.

eventually buys you clothes, when he manages to map out your aesthetic, and what you like— even though anything looks good on you in his opinion

the class can only gawk at the two of you, when the class takes another shopping trip at the mall. i mean,, you both stick out!

“jeez. we look like goodwill mannequins next to them”

midoriya izuku

“that nerd’s fashion sense is lackluster at best.” — bakugou katsuki

i mean,, his fashion sense is simple. he never considered dressing in anything flashy— at least until he started dating you

he dressed in simple, and sometimes corny shirts— when you’re dressed in something he’d see in a luxurious clothing store.

he feels so,, out of place standing next to you. which you reassure that he doesn’t! but he can’t help but think that sometimes,,

because of that, he would be very willing if you decided to give him a clothing makeover!

he gets confused sometimes when he sees your closet like,, “i wonder what would this be paired with,,” but he knows to trust you with that

he’s just,, curious. that’s all.

has this fact written in his notebook— it has nothing to do with your quirk or anything related to that, but he does find it interesting

“Y/N wears a new outfit every weekend. i’ve never seen them wear the same outfit twice in a row! i wonder how that’s possible. i’ve seen their closet! and there’s a lot of things in there, and i just..” blah blah blah— when you came across that page, you were so flattered.

at first, he gets really sheepish when he’s standing next to you in public— because of the stares. but he learns to get used to it

“look, sweetheart! your style is nothing short of anything stylish.” he basically feeds you compliments on the daily— but who wouldn’t??

gets so happy when he sees you wear the clothes he bought you— even if he wasn’t so sure if someone as fashionable as you would wear it,,

to him, it’s overwhelming at first— but he does love how you look! he could talk about you all day and night. even if it annoys some people

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

[stutterfly]

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut​ and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit 

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

[hopelikethemoon]

The Itch (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams}

Title: The Itch Rating: PG-13 Length: 4,700 Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, angst, unrequited love, unresolved sexual tension. Notes: :)  Part nineteen of the Moonbeams series.

Ezra slept for four hours after you got him back to the transport. It felt wrong not to curl up in bed with him, to hold him as the lunaxium worked through his system and eased his suffering. 

Instead you tried to catch a few hours of sleep, curled up on the uncomfortable sofa in the common area of the transport. You couldn’t even bring yourself to read through one of the books stacked around the ship — you couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t this new reality. 

“I thought you’d be gone by now.” Ezra said with a slight edge to his voice as he flipped on the light in the room, stiffly standing in the threshold. 

You rubbed at your eyes as you lifted your head to look at him, “I don’t have anywhere to go.” 

Still he stared at you like a foreigner in your own home. You recognized the distrust in his gaze, the grit of his teeth as he set his gaze on you. 

“If you knew about the lunaxium, then you should know that you don’t belong here.” Ezra retorted, folding his arms across his chest. “The full moon is two days away.”

“I’m aware.” You said crisply, sitting up right and resting your hand against your stomach briefly. “But I don’t have anywhere to go.”

He narrowed his eyes, “You don’t have a transport?”

“No. It’s gone.” 

“Well, you can’t stay here.” He said with a shake of his head. “It isn’t safe for you in your… condition.” Ezra’s gaze flickered to your stomach, and it lingered there long enough to make your heart beat a little faster. 

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” You questioned, rising from the sofa and walking towards him. You stopped in front of him, watching as he flinched away from your touch. 

“I don’t.” Ezra admitted quietly. “But you are everywhere on this transport.” 

“Because I live here with you.” You told him, “We live between my transport and here.” You tried to reach out for him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “But something happened and now you’ve forgotten me.”

The distrust in his gaze didn’t falter. “How do I know you haven’t just been squatting in my transport? It’s not entirely secure.”

You exhaled slowly, “Does our bed smell like only I was sleeping in it?” 

Ezra’s lips twitched, “No.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You ran your hand down the length of his arm, curling your fingers around his hand. “I’m not afraid of the beast, Ezra. I can shelter in our — in your — quarters safely. We’ve done it before.”

Ezra rocked his jaw slowly as he held your gaze. “Why don’t I remember that?” 

“It’s complicated.” You bit down on your bottom lip as you hesitantly rubbed your thumb against the center of his palm, trying to convince him to believe you. 

He shook his hand out of your hold, brushing past you as he walked into the room further. “I don’t know what you think this is, but it isn’t it.” He told you and the honesty of those words felt like a knife through the chest. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why you are everywhere in this transport, but… I’m not looking for anything like this. Alright?” 

You tried not to let your expression reveal your true emotions. You fought back the rush of tears you felt welling up in your eyes. It was a rotten time to be pregnant and more emotional than you had ever been in your life. 

“Ezra—“

“No,” He held up a hand to stop you. “Look, the last thing I remember was leaving this ship with no intention of coming back to it. I don’t know how I ended up out there, I don’t know who you are.” 

“I know about that,” You told him, trying to keep your voice light. “The day we met, you found me in an animal trap, and you later told me you were thinking about ending things. Five years on this moon was all you could take, but things changed that night.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” 

You wilted a little, “I don’t know.” 

Ezra’s eyes flickered to your stomach again, his brows furrowing briefly before he looked away. “How long has it been since we ‘met,’ then?”

“Almost a year ago.” Your voice wavered. “I started coming back every month to spend time with you and I was able to stay here during the full moon a few times…” You tried not to get your hope up. “We were making things work until… we made a bad deal.” 

“And I lost my memory of you?”

You nodded. 

“How much lunaxium did I snort?” Ezra said, mostly to himself as he unceremoniously turned to leave you standing in the middle of the room. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a shower.” He told you over his shoulder, “I expect you gone when I get out.” 

“Ezra, I can’t just go somewhere else. The Guardians will kill me and our baby.” 

That stopped him dead in his tracks. “I have never once humored the idea of having children of my own.” He turned then. “I’ve always been careful.”

“So have I,” You retorted with matched annoyance. “But here we are.” You gestured to your stomach. “And I know the beast still knows. He might not remember, just like you don’t.. but he knows.” 

Ezra held your gaze, before it slowly lowered to your stomach. “It’s really mine?” 

You nodded slowly, “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but you were very excited about it.” 

He swallowed thickly, “But the curse…”

“I know,” You touched your stomach. “There’s every possibility that our baby will be just like you, but that doesn’t change anything.” 

“But I don’t remember.” Ezra looked away then, folding his arms across his chest. “I look at you and I feel like I should know you, but it’s just grasping for something in the dark. There’s nothing there.” 

“We can make new memories,” You bargained, with him and yourself. “I’m not giving up on us just because you can’t remember me. We can start over.” 

“I don’t know.” He admitted to you, genuine sorrow in his eyes. “It sounds like whatever we had was just prolonging an inevitable tragedy. This curse… I don’t know how much longer I can hold it off. In the woods — I’ve never felt like that before. That pain ravaged through me and… it’s why I wanted to put an end to all of this. I can’t become like them.” Ezra admitted, his own voice wavering with emotion. “I may not know what we had, but I know myself well enough to know I wouldn’t want to put you through this.”

“Please don’t do this,” You reached for him and he let you curl your fingers around his hand. “I know how hard it is for you, but I’m not going to abandon you when things get difficult. You moved past this.” 

He gave your hand a brief squeeze, “You mentioned last night that you had friends coming. They can take you to safety?”

“Ezra.” 

This was a waking nightmare and the reality of it hadn’t even sunk in yet. Ezra was gone and in his stead was a stranger who looked like him. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember.” 

You couldn’t fight the tears. You bubbled over, your chest seizing up as you sobbed, full body and ugly. You shook as you broke down, the the hurt you’d been trying to hold back crashing down on you heavily. 

Despite not knowing you, he still wrapped his arms around you and held you against his chest. He was warm — real. Real despite not being him. Warm despite the chilly way he spoke to you. 

“I loved you,” You choked out. “I really loved you.” 

“I’m so sorry,” He murmured, kissing the top of your head like it was muscle memory. 

“Please don’t give up.” You sniffed loudly, tears and snot darkening the fabric of his shirt. “Please. There has to be some way… don’t just give up.”

“I’m tired,” He told you, stroking your back in an unfamiliar fashion. “The headaches are blinding, my bones ache to the core, everything burns like it’s on fire… That’s no life.” 

“But you chose to make it one, Ezra.” You told him, your voice cracking. “That was you. Whether you remember it or not.” 

You hadn’t realized how much pain he had been in. He never let it show. 

“Maybe I did,” He looked at you, brows furrowed. “But I don’t know what led me to that realization. I just know what I know now.” 

You took his hand and lifted to your lips, kissing the center of his palm. “This living hand, now warm and capable; of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold. And in the icy silence of the tomb, so haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights. That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood. So in my veins red life might stream again, and thou be conscience-calm’d–see here it is.  I hold it towards you.” 

Ezra exhaled shakily, “Keats.” 

“One of your favorites.” You reminded him as he traced his thumb over the curve of your upper lip. “You always had me read Keats to you. Nightingale, melancholy, bright star.” 

“I wish I remembered.” 

“You might still.” 

“Or you might torture yourself with the past,” He cautioned you. “Is that what you want? To replace old memories with lackluster attempts to rekindle something in me that still burns within you?” 

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. 

“Alright.” He sighed. “But I did warn you.” 

“You’re right,” You told him lightly, trying to convince yourself that things would be okay. “You do need the ‘fresher. You smell like sweat.” 

He huffed a little, “I smell like dirt, sweat, and bed that distinctly smelt like you.” 

“I never once heard you complain about it.” You retorted with a slight taunt to your words.

“I wasn’t complaining now either.” He pulled his hand from your grasp. “You can stay.”

“Thank you.” 

“Are you the reason I have cheese?” Ezra questioned with a mouthful of said cheese as he walked into his quarters, where you had made yourself comfortable on the bed. 

“I try to bring you treats every time I come back from the Block.” You told him, sitting the book you were reading aside. “We’ve also made a few upgrades to the transport… namely a comlink between our vessels.”

“Really?” He bummed thoughtfully as he moved to perch on the bed beside you. “Then we need to get you back to the Block. I’m almost out of cheese.”

You rolled your eyes, “You sure you don’t remember?”

Ezra shook his head, “The shower didn’t make me remember.”

“Damn.” You snapped your fingers, watching him as he scooted back on the bed and leaned back against the cool durasteel. “How do you feel?”

“I took a hit and that helped.” He tilted his face towards you. “Headache’s less.”

“Good.” You smiled a little. 

You should’ve realized he had used lunaxium. He’s more pliable under the influence and right now he seems light — like the man you love. He’s even got that crooked grin as he rakes his fingers through his hair.

“When did we start this?” He questioned.

“We were both lonely and we slept together on the sofa in my transport. It just kind of happened.”

Ezra sank back against the wall beside you, breaking the piece of cheese in half and passing it to you. 

“Thanks.” 

He offered you a brief smile, “You’re welcome.” Ezra popped his piece into his mouth, chewing it slowly. “So you and I were together for almost a year?”

You nodded. 

“How was it? How did we work?”

“Well,” You readjusted against the wall, resting your hand on your stomach. “I was very insistent about coming back for you. I don’t think you believed me at first.”

“I can see that.”

“And then, I don’t know… We just fell into this pattern of existence. I would come and stay for three weeks, I’d go back to the Block for a week and find you cheese, books, those honeysticks.”

Ezra smiled then, “Honeysticks?”

“Your favorite.” Your heart hurt when you looked at him. That smile was too familiar, yet foreign. “We made it work. But then the Guardians tried to make me forget you — they killed me.”

“They killed you?”

“Yeah,” You sighed. “It’s been a complicated few months. My stim stopped working and that’s how this happened,” You gestured to your stomach. “You were hesitant at first. But so was I.” 

“How far along are you?”

“A little ways into my second trimester,” You watched him as he stared at your stomach. “I think the beast was more excited than either of us.”

“I can see that,” Ezra pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“Don’t be.” You reached for his hand, curling your fingers around his. He let you, slotting his fingers in between yours. “I didn’t know how much pain you were in. You never told me.”

“That sounds like me.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “I probably didn’t want to burden you with it.” 

“That does sound like you.” You leaned towards him, resting your cheek against the curve of his shoulder. “I don’t expect you to fall in love with me again, Ezra. I’m not trying to force this on you.” 

“I know.” He exhaled as he leaned his head to rest against the top of yours. He rubbed his thumb over the back of yours. “If it’s any consolation, you feel like a muscle memory to me. This, right now, feels familiar on a physical level.”

“That's reassuring, I guess.” You pulled back just enough to look at him, “We did this a lot. Sometimes you’d just watch me scroll through the net on my datapad… or you’d read to me.” 

“It’s strange to think that I haven’t been without touch. That my body has memories that I don’t have.” Ezra’s voice wavered. “Just your hand in mine feels like more than I have known in five years.” 

His eyes flickered to your lips and you ducked your head, looking away then. As much as you wanted to rekindle a forgotten spark, you knew enough about him now to know it didn’t mean anything. 

“Sorry,” Ezra offered, squeezing your hand gently. “I didn’t mean to make you… uncomfortable?”

“It’s fine.” You told him lightly. “I would just like to take things slower than we did originally.” 

He nodded, “I can respect that.” 

You took his hand and lifted it to your lips to kiss each knuckle. “It hurts to look at your eyes and see how… it’s different.” You only hoped you were right about the beast. 

Ezra dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as he nodded slowly, “I get it. I’m sorry it has to be this way.” 

“It’s really not your fault.” You muttered, releasing your hold on his hand and picking at a piece of lint on your leg. Sure, Ezra had agreed to these terms — but you had caused him to break the deal. “I have a request for you.”

“Another?” He teased lightly. “What is it?”

“My friends will likely be here a few days after the full moon.” You explained to him, “I need you to pretend like you remember.”

His brows rose upwards, “Why?”

“Because Shiva will see this as an opportunity to convince me to leave. For good.” You looked at him then. “You don’t really know them that well to begin with. It shouldn’t be that hard.” 

“Alright.” Ezra shrugged. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

“I will.” You leaned into his side again, resting your cheek on his shoulder as he slipped his arm around your waist. It felt so familiar and yet… it wasn’t. 

Ezra sealed himself off in the common area when the time came from his transformation. Despite how insistent you were that you trusted the beast — he wasn’t as confident. He didn’t know you and your hope wasn’t enough to convince him that the beast would know you. 

You waited in his quarters, listening to the pained sounds from down the corridor as his body broke apart and reformed as the beast.

He had instructed you to stay in the room, but you weren’t very good at obeying him. 

When the vessel grew quiet, save for the sound of your pulse pounding in your ears, you pressed the keypad and opened the durasteel door that stood between you and the beast. 

“Ezra?” You called out cautiously, lingering in the threshold as you peered down the corridor. You heard the metal flooring groan beneath the weight of the beast. “Ezra?” You repeated, staying rooted in one spot as you listened to the lumbering movements of the beast. 

There was a brief second of panic that lanced through you as the beast rounded the bend in the corridor. A moment that told you to hit the keypad and shut the door closed. But you stayed there, eyes wide and foolishly hopeful. 

The beast growled softly, crouching down to a less terrifying height as he moved towards you. He seemed just as cautious as you were, his eyes warily sweeping over you. 

“Hey there,” You held out your hand to him as he approached you. “Do you remember me?” 

At first, you weren’t certain. He sniffed at your hand curiously, breath hot against your palm, before he nuzzled at it. 

“Oh, thank the stars.” You breathed out, moving towards the beast and throwing your arms around him. You pressed your cheek against the soft fur of his chest, melting into him as he hesitantly wrapped an arm around you, his massive hand resting against the small of your back. 

“I thought I lost you too.” Your voice wavered as you pressed a kiss to the side of the beast’s head. He turned and licked at your face in response, before nuzzling his nose against the crook of your neck. 

“I know.” You said as you combed your fingers through his fur. “We’ve been dealt a rotten hand, but… I’m going to find a way to fix this.” 

The beast pulled back and crouched down, rubbing the broad width of his forehead against your stomach. 

“We’re both alright.” You assured the beast, stroking the back of his neck as he stayed there. “A little stressed, but alright.”

The beast huffed quietly, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were exactly what you had been longing to see. Those dark brown eyes looked back at you with such reverence and adoration. You were no stranger to the beast.  

“I wish I had known, Ezra.” You said as you cupped both sides of his head. “You never told me how much pain you were in… I feel selfish now…” 

He lowered his head again, nudging at your chest as a low growl rumbled up the back of his throat. He carefully dragged one of his hands down your side, curling his fingers around your hip. 

The beast nuzzled at the crook of your neck once more, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin there. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch as his warm breath danced over the column of your throat. 

You sank your fingers into his soft fur, relishing this brief brush of intimacy. A part of you told you that this was wrong — but an equally loud part told you to hold onto what you still had with both hands. 

“Ezra,” You whispered, dislodging yourself from the beast’s grasp. He cocked his head to the side, a knowing look glinting in his eyes. He knew you better than you knew yourself. 

It was tempting — really tempting. But you had a feeling you would wake up in the morning feeling guilty, given the fact that the human part of him didn’t know you. 

“As much as I want to,” You started, stroking your fingers through the hair at his jaw. “I think we shouldn’t.” 

The beast snorted, leaning forward against to nudge at your chest. 

“How do you feel about sleeping through the full moon?” You questioned, kissing the top of his head. 

Another rumbling sound escaped him, a quiet bark following as he sank back and sat in front of you. He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you curiously. 

“Just give me a second.” You told him, before stepping back into his quarters. You pulled the mattress off the bed, situating it in the middle of the floor with the pillows and blankets. 

The beast couldn’t exactly fit on the bed with you, though he’d certainly tried in the past. He poked his head into the room, taking a short step in as he watched you fluff the blankets out. 

“I know it’s not much,” You started as you looked towards him. “But I really hate sleeping alone. It’s not the same, and…” You used the back of your hand to wipe away a stray tear. “I miss you. I miss this.” 

Ezra moved towards you, keeping himself low as he crouched in front of you. The beast studied you quietly, before reaching out to touch your cheek. The pads of his fingers were rough, but it still satisfied the need you felt. 

“Can you behave if I take my clothes off?” 

He snorted, blowing hot air right into your face as he made a sound that almost sounded like laughing. 

“I figured you had some manners,” You retorted as you peeled off your shirt and tossed it aside. You wrestled your pants off, kicking them out of your way before sliding under the covers. 

You held them up, waiting for the beast to maneuver himself partially under the covers beside you. He was too massive for them, but it got him closer to you. 

And there was something nice about feeling his warm furry body pressed against yours. You let him envelop you, his arm curled possessively around your waist. 

“I’m sorry you’re trapped inside of a body that doesn’t remember,” You whispered as you scratched at a spot behind his ear. “It kills me to look into your eyes and see nothing.”

The beast licked at your face, causing you to laugh softly. “You should get some rest too,” You told him as you turned to try to fit yourself into the bend of his body. He spread his hand out over your stomach, his sharp claws gently resting against your skin.

His hot breath danced over your shoulder and you tried to ignore the way it warmed you through. There were a lot of things you tried to ignore. Like the fact that Ezra didn’t know who you were. That you may never hear him call you moonbeam again. That he wouldn’t fall in love with you.

Even if he didn’t… you couldn’t leave the beast behind. The beast knew you. The beast loved you. 

You combed your fingers through the hair that covered the back of his arm. “Hey Ezra?”

The beast nudged at your shoulder.

“I love you.”

He barked quietly, licking at the crook of your neck. It was his only way to tell you the same.  

Ezra’s fingers splayed out over your stomach, gently drawing circles over your skin unconsciously. The patterns were unfamiliar, but the weight of his touch felt right. You were finally starting to “pop” too. Your stomach was rounding to prove that a little life was growing within you.

You groaned quietly as you heard the engine kick on to feed power to the support programs on the transport — the quickest way to know the time.

It was morning and there was a very naked man pressed against your very naked body. A fact which wouldn’t be a problem if he remembered you. 

You stirred, readjusting the pillow beneath your head. What were you supposed to say in this position? Sorry we’re naked? 

“I dreamed of you,” Ezra told you, his voice rough from sleep. “You let me into your transport and I felt this pure joy over you.”

Your heart ached. “Your memories aren’t gone, they’re just hard to reach.”

“Maybe.” He rested his forehead against your shoulder. “Last night, did we?”

“You’d be dead,” You laughed before answering him. “No. I thought about it, but it didn’t feel right.”

“So it wasn’t just me? It really was the beast too?”

You nodded your head slowly. “The beast… it’s primal. It’s this understanding that works because that part of you can’t speak to me. Not conventionally, at least.”

“And that’s why we are both naked?”

“Don’t knock sleeping next to a full grown beast until you try it.” You remarked, turning a little to grin at him. 

He mirrored your expression, a grin spreading over his lips as he met your gaze. “I’ll have to remember that.” He drawled out, running his fingers over your stomach again. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” You lifted your hand to gingerly cup his cheek. “How are you feeling?” 

Ezra shrugged, “I feel like I slept.” He leaned into your touch, his eyes falling closed. “I did sleep. I can’t think of a single time I slept during the full moon.”

You laughed softly, “I guess all you needed was to just lay down and relax with me.” You kept the covers pulled up around your chest as you rolled onto your back. “I want to make it clear to you that I understand that you don’t feel the same way I do. I don’t expect you to. I avoided being… intimate with the beast because it didn’t feel right because of this.”

“I appreciate that,” Ezra told you with a warm smile. “I can’t deny that I feel something, but it’s like a phantom feeling.” He explained to you. “Like you’re the limb I’ve lost, but it still itches.”

You pursed your lips together and looked away from his eyes. “I’ll try not to itch too much.” 

“I really don’t mind.” He told you without hesitation. “I’m sorry about before.” Ezra whispered, shifting so he could rest his chin on your shoulder. “You may have spent a year in my company, but I still feel the loneliness of five years with nothing but books to keep me company. My niceties are lacking.”

“You were kind of an ass.” You admitted with a laugh. 

“Alright, alright.” Ezra snorted. “I get it.” 

“Oh, do you?” You shot back with a smirk. “Just making sure you didn’t forget.” 

His hand slid from your stomach, giving your hip a playful squeeze. “Gallows humor?” His lips twisted with amusement. 

“I’m either going to laugh or cry.” You retorted, reaching beneath the covers to curl your hand around his a your hip. “And I’ve already cried more than I care to admit.” 

Ezra’s gaze shifted to your lips, “Slow, right?” 

“Unfortunately,” You bit down on your bottom lip with an apologetic look. 

“Then I’m going to go jump in the ‘fresher.” He leaned towards you and pressed a kiss to the center of your forehead, letting his lips linger there. “I’ll put the mattress back on the bed. I don’t want you doing heavy lifting.” 

“What do you want me to do?” You questioned, running your hand up the back of his arm. 

“Were you this much of a menace before?” He questioned, exhaling shakily. 

“Oh yeah,” You let out a breathy laugh. “I’ll pull something together for us to eat.” 

“I can think of something I want to eat right now.” He drawled out, keeping one hand planted by your shoulder as he looked down at you. 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, “Sorry.” 

Ezra ran his nose down the length of yours,  lingering there as your breath mingled with his. “Slow.” He breathed out, before he abandoned you entirely and moved out from beneath the covers. “I need a shower.” 

You watched him as he walked out of his quarters, unabashedly staring at his ass as he went. It was a good ass. 

A heady combination of shame and regret flooded your system — you should’ve let him kiss you, should’ve taken advantage of what he was offering. But you knew better. It would only hurt you in the end because he didn’t feel the way you felt. It was just scratching an itch for him. 

[enigma-im]

Seventh day of Christmas...

Trope: 1800s Monster (Monster hunt) Relationship: Swamp monster x Human Word Count: 5,883

"Should have gotten this done earlier," I grumble to myself," going to catch a death of a cold."

The sun is nearly set over the horizon as I rush down to the river. With bucket and washboard in hand, I scurry down the path. The water comes into view, the sun making the sight more ethereal. I heave the clothes filled bin near the water's edge. I take my time removing them all, submerging the bucket into the river.

The idle task of washing clothes used to be nice. To be used as an excuse to get away from my loud family. I always volunteered for it as a child, just to stop hearing my sisters scream who took what. These days I'd give anything to go back to a busy home. The quiet has begun to turn my brain to mush, the only interaction I get now is talking to the butcher when I purchase my meats. I sigh, scrubbing away.

With the load finished and clean, and the sun nearly hidden behind the horizon, I lift my bucket to head back home. I perch the bin on the edge of my hip, taking a moment to admire the sunset. The sun truly adds a breathless look to the water this time of day. I smile softly to myself before turning away.

As I take my first step I hear a dull whimper. It is just loud enough to give me pause. Looking around I wait for it to repeat itself. After a few seconds, it sounds again, ending with a bubbly gurgle. Curiosity gets the best of me, setting my bin down to check out the sound. Many images pop through my head as I wander around the grassy bank. Thoughts of an injured animal drive my need to find the source.

Looking through bushes and behind rocks, I hear the pathetic sound from the water. Confused I walk over, looking over a thicket of Maidencanes. Something causes a bit of a gap in the grass, hidden by the tall stalks. I split a path through it, looking to the creature below. There isn't much to see, some thick globs of algae sitting in a long pile. Some netting is caught around it, most likely lost from the fishermen. I huff, such litter.

I take a step back, letting the grass settle back into place. As I try to step away from the water's edge I hear the whimper again. It comes from the grass. I look to the thicket bemused, knowing I just checked the area. Making certain, I part the grass once more and look upon the large glob of algae. I gaze at every crevice and divot, finding nothing. Before I can retreat again, the large pile of algae moves. I startle back, worried for myself more than the whimpering creature. Watching the mound move I catch a pair of eyes glaring up at me, staring through strands of wet grass. I freeze, motionless against the sight before me.

"m-m-monster," I shout, falling on my rear. I scurry back, not looking away from the creature's devilish yellow eyes. As I get my bearings I twist and crawl towards my bin. I shuffle to my feet, reaching for my belongs like a lifeline. I grab the board, surely I can use this washboard to protect myself. As I try to think of useful weapons I hear the wet whimper. I freeze, turning around slowly to stare back at the monster cradled in the Maidencanes. It gurgles, wiggling in the net that cocoons it. The sight is pitiful, their eyes more so.

I twist away from the heart retching sight, clenching my eyes as I fight back the urge that boils forth. My fingers dig into the washboard.

"I will not help him, I will not help him," I mumble under my breath. Another whimper steals my attention, forcing me to look back at it. My shoulders slump in defeat. I sigh, shaking my head at my ignorance.

I set the board down and search through my items for my pocket knife. My father gave it to me as a youngling after I cried about my brothers getting one. The memory brings a smile to my face. I clench the knife and head over to the monster.

"You better not eat me," I grumble to it as I step into the ankle-high water. I flipped out the knife, staring down at the monster. The creature gurgles, wiggling in it's netting. I crouch down and grab a strand of rope and attempt to cut through. The monster still shifts and flails to a point I'm too scared to cut the rope. I try anyway, tugging the netting up to get the knife under it. As I begin sawing the creature jerks, nearly making me cut my fingers. I yelp, falling back into the water. Now wet and annoyed I glare at the creature.

"You better quit this behavior right this instant," I shout," I won't help you if I'm going to get cut." I point the knife towards him, meeting his eyes with a motherly sneer. The creature drops it's shoulders and sulks, falling lax into the water. I cock a brow," better.'

Getting back to work I tug at the netting, plucking the strands easily with my knife. Piece after piece loosens till the creature is nearly free. I pick at the last bit, snapping it with a huff. Before I can stand the creature lifts itself, standing tall above me. Looking up at it from my crouched position I begin to fear for my life.

The muck covered monster watches me for just a moment before turning away and sinking into the river. Nothing is said, no noises exchanged. He is gone. My breath finally comes back to me, rushing into my lungs hard and fast. I clench my chest, falling back on my rear in the water.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," I ramble to myself. Still mumbling the prayer I look to the water, curious and intrigued.

The next day is spent keeping busy. I constantly catch myself thinking about the river monster, scolding myself every time I do. I clean the house, then tend the garden, even cleaning out the pantry just for something to do. The work doesn't distract me as it should. Though I shouldn't be so surprised, it's not like anything noteworthy has happened as of recently like the monster.

As I sit down that afternoon I allow myself just a few minutes to think back on the creature. I think about its nearly glowing eyes, still entranced- enamored- now. It was an ugly being but I can't deny the odd appeal of its horrid physique. It was tall, very built. I dare to consider it as a he, the body of lumber workers or blacksmiths. He is strong.

Giggling like a little girl about the large barrel chest I think about if the monster is still at the river. Surely that would be foolish of me to assume such a thing. What person would want to stay where they were nearly killed with a discarded fishing net? To be fair though, he isn't a person. Either way, he won't be there. I could still check… I shake my head at the thought.

"No, no, no. such ideas would surely get one killed," I try to persuade myself," no, no. that will not do." I stand from the chair and look around for anything to keep busy. My gaze locks on the sheets piled by the washing bin. I should wash it before it gets dark out. Lingering on the idea for just a moment I shake myself from the thought. "no, no," I mumble again walking to the bedroom. I stop at the doorway, glancing back to the bin. I pinch my lips with a grunt.

Racing down the path towards the river I try to think how foolish I'm being by wanting to catch another sight of the monster. The thought is outweighed by my excitement.

I sit by the river, scrubbing at the sheets while looking out at the river. The sun still sits above the horizon, not threatening to vanish behind it any time soon. I see no hint to where the creature may be, becoming completely distracted from my chore to search. My scrubbing slows till I'm just looking at the water.

"Silly, silly girl," I sulk," wishing for such dangers as this."

I stack my items back and turn away from the river with a sigh. It seems the taste of the unknown is done for. I pout as I take a step back up the path. Nearly off the bank, I hear a splash. Blinded by my excitement I drop the bin and run down to the shore, looking frantically around. Around the edge near a tree are rings of rippling water, a turtle scuttling away from the rock it was previously perched on. I sigh in defeat. Taking one more look around I'm startled by a head peaking out in the middle of the river.

"oh," I recoil in surprise. I hardly expected to see him so easily, or at all. He just stands in the water, his head from his nose up visible. Today he looks different. The muck that covered him before is mostly gone, revealing the shining looking skin of his face. The top of his head still has bits of algae and grass stuck to him, but the rest is barren.

"Hello," I call out," I just wanted to check on you, to see if you were ok."

The creature continues to stare, a few bubbles rising from near its mouth. I hum in thought.

"I'm surprised you stuck around, fishermen are quite active up the river this season," I say casually, not expecting him to speak," they are hard workers but they tend to let their lost gear follow the stream till it's lodged in the bush."

The silence stretches on till the creature ducks back under the water and out of sight. Though the meeting was lackluster I can't help the gleeful pep in my step as I walk back home.

I return the next day, forgoing bringing my washing bin. Sitting atop a rock near the shore I watch the wildlife. Ducks swim together on the opposite bank, picking at the bugs swimming in the water. Turtles bask on rocks nearby, and fish flick at the water's surface to enjoy a snack. It's not long before the familiar head pops up in the middle of the river.

I perk up," Hello again river monster. It's a lovely day today, isn't it?"

He just continues to watch.

I ramble on," I don't get out much like this anymore. There is always something else to keep me busy back at the house but I think I prefer sitting here basking in the sun than in my kitchen with all the quiet." I look to the sky, closing my eyes and feeling the heat on my cheeks. "Yea, it's way nicer here," I say.

Glancing at the monster I see him rise higher out of the water before launching an object to the shore. It thumps against the sand with a soft thud, indenting the ground with it's landing. Confused I walk over. A rusted metal object glints in the sun the closer I get. Leaning down I snatch the piece, admiring it before it clicks.

"A fishing reel," I ask, looking back to the monster," more fisherman debris I'm assuming?"

The creature shocks me with a nod. I hold back a startled yelp, keeping cool as I fidget with the object in my hands.

"Trying to clean up the river? I'm sorry they're making that job harder," I apologize," feel free to give them to me so I can discard them properly. Don't want any more monster men getting trapped in fishing nets."

The monster sinks in the water, bubbles rising near his face. He glares at me, sitting up and spitting water towards me before swimming off again. I snicker at the departure, looking at the reel with a smile.

The week is filled with him tossing me more fishing gear and litter. I get more reels, a snapped pole, lures and droppers, boots, and a snapped anchor. The little collection is mostly tossed in the trash, the metal is taken into town for scrap to the blacksmith. The kind man even offers some coin for the scraps. It's an eventful week.

I return, this time with a picnic basket. A few sandwiches and fruits for a lunch by the river. I'm greeted before I can sit down with the creature looking from the center of the river. His whole head sticks out now, the little progress we made last week. Little fins protrude from his head, flickering as I sit on the sand.

"Afternoon river monster, I decided to have a picnic today. I packed a few ham sandwiches with the extra meat I got leftover. Some strawberries were threatening to go bad so I figured I could feed the ducks if I can't finish them all," I ramble on, opening the basket. The monster sits further out of the water, watching curiously as I get out my first sandwich. I take a bite, watching his little fin flicker again.

I hold out the sandwich," want a bite?"

He nods.

Surprised and excited I stand from the sand and walk down towards the shore. I crouch down beside the water, picking a piece off my sandwich. I hold the nibble out.

"Come on then, I'm not getting in to offer this for you," I shake the food. The monster cautiously swims forward, crawling as he reaches the shallows. He grabs the nibble, his cold, webbed fingers grazing mine. I watch him pop the piece in his mouth, chewing it with a contemplative look.

"Good," I ask. He nods," James has the best meats in town and Marley gave me the cheese at a discount." he swallows the nibble and looks to me.

"Thank you," he croaks out before retreating into the water. I watch in startled awe as he disappears into the water. With the final ripple dissipating I sit back on the shore in shock.

"You can talk," I shout.

I think I annoy him the next day trying to get him to talk. He ends the meeting quickly by tossing his litter to the shore and swimming away. I'm not deterred. The next day I try again, baiting him with sly comments and promises of more food. He doesn't take it, spitting more water and swimming away. After nearly a week of this, I give up, letting him keep his secrets.

I'm down by the water with my washing bin, scrubbing at my clothes in silent frustration. I hear when he pops out the water but I can't pay him any mind. I try not to let his silence hurt our fragile relationship but it really bugs me. Ignoring him I continue to run my skirt over the washboard. A thud sounds from beside me, followed by another when I don't react. One more lands beside me, closer than any other before it.

I glare out at him," don't hit me with litter, please" I humph, angrily soaking the next shirt in the water. My finger aches with the harsh grip on the wet clothing, my nail catching on the ridges of the board. I don't pay attention to the water splashing around in front of me, knowing he is just trying to catch my focus.

I jump when something pokes my cheek. Snapping my gaze up I startle again when I see the river monster crouching before me, dripping onto the sand.

"What," I ask tentatively. He stares at me, flicking his fins. I almost speak again before he beats me to it.

"you are mad," he says, reaching up and poking my cheek again," stop it." I flounder at his words. Not sure what to do I slap his hand away and cross my arms.

"I'm not mad, I'm frustrated," I puff my cheeks," it's different."

He shakes his head.

"It is different. Mad is being angry, frustrated is being angry about something you can't control," I clarify," big difference." he tilts his head, cocking a brow. I huff, looking away. I stare out at the water, feeling more than frustrated now. He reaches out a pokes my cheek again.

"Stop it," I bark, knocking his hand away again," you aren't helping the issue. Just go back in the water and swim away like you always do." I twist away in a childish fit. I fully expect him to jump back in the river and leave me to my pouting. I just wanted to have someone to talk to and finding out he could respond this entire time kind of hurts.

As I wait to hear the sound of water splashing I feel something cold bump against my leg. Looking down I see the monster laying on his back next to me, his hands resting on his plant-covered stomach. He meets my eyes and raises his hand to poke at my cheek again.

"Speak," he prods at the corner of my mouth.

"Why," I push his hand away.

He pokes me again," I like it. Speak."

I swat his hand away again, staring down at him confused. He likes my ramblings? It's oddly heartwarming to know he isn't just ignoring me but actually listening. I blush, turning towards the water. I begin another conversation, feeling less one-sided as he lays beside me while I finish my laundry.

This week the daily meetings are a bit more friendly. He makes the journey to the shore, falling onto his back each time and listening to me till I leave. I start bringing treats for him to nibble on while I go on and on about anything and everything. It's nice to have a friend who isn't a merchant in town. Every day I walk to the river I get a bit giddy.

"When I was younger I moved here with a lad I fancied at the time. He made many sweet promises that I left my family up north and moved down here. Though what a fool I was," I nudge his shoulder," not even six months together and he robs me blind. Running off with a little harlot that worked in town. I never felt smaller than then."

"Why didn't you move back," he asks, nibbling on a rag full of blueberries.

I shrug," many reasons. The main one being money. How can I get back there with just myself? I'm no spring chicken, every day comes with new aches I wasn't prepared for."

He snorts," you are still young."

I shake my head amused," I already gave you food, you don't need to flatter me."

I feel him staring at me, I turn to him. He watches me for a moment, studying me before letting his head fall back against the sand.

"Do you want a family still," he asks. I stare off to the side, shrugging before I look back to the water.

"If I could then I would, but I'm not going to get my hopes up anymore," I answer honestly. He hums, his eye lingering on my back for a moment. I can't meet his eyes again, a little forlorn at the idea of having little ones of my own. The image twists my heart

Another day cleaning linens by the river, talking with the monster. I stop in thought as something dawns on me.

"I don't know your name," I say more as a statement to myself," how rude of me to never ask." I look to him, allowing him a moment to answer the prompt. He just basks in the sun with eyes closed. I nudge him with my foot," that was your cue to answer." he shrugs. I nudge him again. He sneers, finally opening his eyes and acknowledging me.

"Don't have one," he grunts. I watch him lounge back in the sand, sunbathing without a care. Biting back a smile I nudge him again with my foot. Quickly he grabs my ankle, growling up at me. A laugh bubbles out my lips, sneaking past without permission as I snicker at his irritated face.

"Do you want a name," I ask. He lets go of my foot, shoving it away to sunbathe again. He shrugs.

Excited at the new objective I tuck my legs under myself and stare down at him. I think hard on a name, petting at my chin in thought.

"Gilbert," I ask, he chuffs," Sebastian," he sneers," Jonathan," he shakes his head," Lily?" he turns to me and growls. I snicker, it fading off as I try to think. Too many names don't fit him well. Harrison, Noah, Ben, are all just not fitting. With a shrug, I suggest the only thing that fits.

"Elijah," I ask. He catches my eye, staring for a hard moment before shrugging. I guess Elijah works.

I chat with Elijah, excited about his new name. as I finish the last bit of sheets I hear a twig snap from the woods behind me. I snap to attention, twisting around to see a hunter walking down to the shore a bit ways down.

"Afternoon miss," he calls out," excuse me for intruding but I could hear voices and I grew curious." I smile to the man, hiding the nerves twisting my gut as I adjust the bin to obscure Elijah. Leaning back on my arms I greet the hunter.

"Sorry, was talking to myself out here," I answer," it's a habit I've picked up while doing chores, makes the time go by faster."

The man nods," I can understand that, I've been caught a time or two doing that same. I just stopped by the warn you about the sighting I've heard in town about a monster living by the river." I stiffen, fighting back the urge to look over at Elijah laying beside me.

"Is that right? I haven't heard such a tale, I guess the townsfolk didn't know I clean my linen here," I call out to him," I best finish this up and head back to my home where it's safe."

"That you should ma'am," he takes a few steps closer," I don't think you would mind letting me keep you company just in case a sweet thing like yourself gets caught by such a horrid demon."

I jump, stopping him," no, no, no. I'll be fine, I keep my father's knife on me at all times. Ain't no river demon going to catch me off guard now that I know." Elijah snorts softly beside me. I nearly turn around, instead, I clear my throat and give the man my most convincing smile.

"If you think so, I won't force my presence where I'm not wanted," he waves as he heads back into the woods," bye, miss." I wave, watching him till he is out of sight.

I fall back onto my back with a long-drawn-out sigh. I've never felt tenser than at that moment. Elijah sits up beside me, looking off to the tree line then down at me.

"Thank you," he says in his grumbly voice. I shrug, still feeling my heart racing.

"I protect my friends," I smile at him," no need to thank me for that." his gaze softens, lingering on me a tad too long before he sits up and head back into the water.

Sometimes the next few days I head back down to the river, excited to tell Elijah about a new shipment of exotic cheeses that Marley got in. carrying my picnic basket I skip down the path. As the water comes into view I see Elijah's head pop from the water. Before I can get any closer I hear a soft murmur of people speaking. I slow my walk, looking up the river to a small gang of townsfolk wondering my direction. As they spot me a few of the men trot on forward.

"Good evening folks," I greet, waving for Elijah to get down.

A man steps forward, a gun strapped to his back," evening miss. Excuse us for intruding on your lunch but we are going to have to ask you to leave."

I look to the man bemused," Excuse me? Why would I need to do such a thing? I've been coming to this same spot for lunch for nearly a month and I cannot think of a reason why I would need to abandon it."

The rest of the group huddle around the older gentlemen, all carrying weapons of various lengths and sizes. They look around the area, focusing mainly on the water.

"Sorry but it's for safety reasons. A demon has been spotted in these parts and with a few of the miller boys missing we can't take a chance losing anyone else," he explains, reaching out to guide me away towards the woods," so for the next couple of weeks have your lunch in the safety of your home while we sort all this out."

I want to argue, to laugh at such suggestions that Elijah would be at fault for those miller boys missing. The words sit on the tip of my tongue but I fight it back. I smile and nod, walking away toward my home. As I'm out of sight I let my true feelings out.

What's going to happen to Elijah if they find him?

I rest at home, restless as it's been nearly a week since I've gotten to see Elijah. His absents begin to tug at my heart as the lonely home feels smaller and smaller without anyone to speak with. I try to fill the void with books or chores but nothing can replace the space he left.

As I sit by candlelight reading I hear a soft murmur from outside. I shut my book, looking to the window to see a soft glow growing closer to my home. Bolting out of my seat I race to the front door, tearing it open to be greeted by a large mob of people.

"Hello," I say confused to the crowd. A few of the people hold common farm tools, other torches. The ones standing before my door hold guns, aiming them to the floor as they glare at me.

"You, Lou Winifred, have been accused of speaking to spirits and demons, of practicing witchcraft, and for the disappearance of the miller boys," a younger man shouts, his face red and hair cut strangely. I scoff at his words, dumbfounded by such things. He didn't even get my last name right.

"What, with what evidence do you make these bold claims," I cross my arms, tapping my foot impatiently.

Another man starts shouting," I saw yas, you were talking to the water and laughing."

A woman yells from the other end of the crowd," and I saw spirits leaving your home at all hours of the night!"

"I heard your voice whispering to my boys as they lay to sleep, charming them to follow you out to the river," one says.

The crowd spout more ridiculous claims till it just a cluster of noise. My head spins as I can't figure out who to address first. This is all nonsense and surely they can't all be so stupid.

"I have done none of those things, I'm but a simple woman trying to live out her days in peace," I snap.

"Then explain why you have not married. You are well in your age, perhaps you promised your virtue to the demon of the river," a man snarls. I fluster at the accusation. That's none of their business who I promise what to.

I try to argue with them but a few men put their hands on me, jerking me back and forth as they drag me away from my home. I fight in their hold, screaming all the while. This is all ridiculous, foolish ignorance forged by fear. What can I do? What is there to do?

The crowd takes me to the river, tossing me to the sandy beach without a care. I scrape my forearm on the rough grains, wincing from the small cuts.

"Let her call her demon and we will all see the truth," the leader shouts to the crowd. They all cheer, looking at me with disgust. The leader crouches down and lifts me to my feet, sneering in my face. "Now call your beast," he snarls. I shake in fear, tears pricking at my eyes as I frantically look to the river.

The crowd waits silently as we all look to the water, the glow of the fires lighting the surface. We wait and wait, nothing happening. The leader clenches my arms till I whimper.

"Call him," he barks. I shake my head, my lip trembling as I do my damndest to not cry. The leader reels his hand back to slap me to the sand. I yelp at the contact, feeling blood touch my tongue as I try to sit up. We hear a splash from the water, everyone snapping their gaze over.

"No," I shout," no, Elijah, don't." the leader backhands me again, shushing me before looking back to the water. The center of the river bubbles furiously, ripples running up the shore. From behind us a few things clink and thump against trees and rocks. The crowd murmurs, pressing into one another as the noises rip their attention back and forth.

"Stop it, show yourself," the leader growls.

The noises stop, the bubbles dying out till the water is normal once again. Everyone waits with bated breath as all is heard is the crickets chirping.

All at once, a large creature leaps up very close to the crowd. Piles and piles of plant debris lay upon a standing figure, the muck making it look large. The crowd screams and shouts, stepping back at the monster looms over them all. I look at him worried and a bit amused. He threw on a bunch of gunk for this.

Elijah opens his yellow eyes, glaring down at the crowd before speaking in gibberish. He takes a step forward, everyone recoiling in fear. A few people run off into the woods while the rest cower in fear. He takes another step, glaring over at the leader who is crouching with the crowd. As he stomps towards him he flicks his hand behind himself, signaling me.

Elijah faces down the terrified man, reaching down and grabbing his collar. I sneak into the river, watching the sight while silently swimming out. The awful man snivels and whimpers while Elijah drags him towards himself. He lets out a horrendous roar in the man's face, spit and grass sticking to his face. Elijah drops the man with a huff. The man collapses to the ground, laying limply at the feet of his mob.

I watch Elijah continue his theatrics, slowly looking out at the crowd before trying to slink back into the water. As he begins to sink in the people come to their senses, jumping up and shouting as they ready their weapons. In a rush, Elijah jumps into the river, swimming towards me as shots are fired.

Elijah catches me around the waist, dragging me downstream as people fire off into the darkness. I hear the bullet pop at the water around us, Elijah grunts as his shoulder bucks forward. Neither of us can pay it any mind as he swims further and further away.

I watch the low glow of the torches fade as I'm dragged far, far away. We swim for what feels like hours, not stopping for a moment until Elijah begins to loosen his grip. His speed dwindles till we are just floating downstream, his hand slow drifts off my waist till he too is drifting away.

"Elijah," I panic, reaching for him," Elijah!" I hold onto him, lifting his head. He is still awake but his gaze is unfocused. I wrap my arm under his shoulder and begin swimming towards the shore. I fight with the stream, angling towards the muddy edge. My feet kick at the ground, gaining distance until I'm left panting in the shallows. I give myself just a second to catch my breath.

Jumping to action I do my best dragging Elijah up the shore. He helps a bit, digging his feet into the mud to push himself up. I manage to get him in a small opening in the woods, a good ways away from the water. I prop him up, getting him to sit as we both catch our breath. It's just one more moment of peace.

Getting straight to work I search over his shoulder, pushing away bits of muck to find the bleeding wound. Ripping at my wet skirt I use the rag to put pressure on his wound. He grunts, twitching his back. I sigh at the sound, he's alive.

"I told you not to come," I try to scold but it comes out weak. He chuffs. I pinch at his wound, satisfied when he grunts again in pain. "I'm serious, you could have been killed," I hold back the rag, satisfied with the wound lack of blood.

"I'm fine though," he glances at me over his shoulder," you would have died." I meet his eyes, trying to stay mad and determined but I can't. I would have died if he didn't come. I don't answer him, looking back to his wound and doing whatever I can to help.

The sun rises beautifully through the trees to light up the open space we sit in. Elijah looks around as I make a crude bandage for his shoulder.

"I think this place is perfect," he grumbles as he looks out to the woods.

"What are you on about," I answer, a little exhausted and angry.

"This place," he gestures around," perfect place to start a family." I stop breathing for a moment. Snapping my head up to him to see a sweet smirk twisting his lips. Confused, I look around the area then back to him.

"S-start a family," I nearly choke on the first words," for who?"

He twists completely around, cupping my cheek," us?"

I stare at him wide-eyed and flustered. He wants to…with me?

"What," I say with a wavy voice. He butts his head against mine, snaking his hand to the back of my neck.

"I want to give you what you've always wanted," he stares straight into my eyes, full of seriousness as he speaks," will you let me?"

"I-I," I nearly sob, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest," I'd love nothing more," I finish with a choked laugh.

I grab a fist full of the debris falling down the back of his head. We sit in the view of the rising sun, the dawn of a new day- a new chapter- starting before us. I press a timid kiss to his wet lips, thanking him for everything.

[firstagent]

Review! Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 47: The Villains of the Wastelands

In this episode, Taichi and two enemy camps fight to determine who’s the most incompetent leader.

Perhaps the most relieving part of this string of filler hasn’t been the shift to lighthearted stories and lack of exhausting life-or-death situations. Maybe it’s because Taichi was relegated to second fiddle status as the show threw the other kids a bone. Now that the bottle has spun his way again, he’s back to consuming all the oxygen in the room and stifling any attempt at enjoyable content. Some eeks through thanks to the sheer zaniness and stupidity of the guest enemies, but the zaniness and stupidity Taichi himself provides is far less amusing. Not only is his stupidity utterly shameful for a Digimon protagonist at this point in the series, but the show’s lackluster effort to portray it as endearing leaves us wondering how to draft our apology letter to Tagiru Akashi.

Bad decisions are the powerhouses of character development. Kid does something dumb, kid pays for it, kid learns lesson. While we love our deeper flaws and repressive childhood traumas, bonehead mistakes are free real estate. Sometimes they even bring out the deeper flaws (yeah, we miss SkullGreymon too)! For the first half of this episode, all Taichi does is make bad decisions. When he learns that Joe and Gomamon were taken in two different directions, instead of exhibiting a lick of common sense and calling for backup, he and Agumon split up, denying him any firepower and denying his partner any chance of evolution. It is a lapse in judgment totally in character for this moron, and hardly the last one he makes here, but also one that needs to be recognized as a disaster in the making.

Not only is Taichi not punished for his hubris, but you knew he wouldn’t be. The reality check that Taichi has needed time and time and time again continues to elude him, allowing him to be the same idiot he was early on, only now with more dangerous knives to play with (at least when he doesn’t tell them to wander off on their own). This is no different than Tagiru continuing to be a rude, boisterous halfwit too stupid to realize his faults all the way up to the point where that’s exactly who was needed to save the world. Taichi may not be quite as insufferable as Tagiru, but the fact that Taichi is rewarded with more evolutions and bigger victories than Tagiru had makes his lack of progress more offensive. Also not helping is nobody calling Taichi out for his stupidity, while the rest of the Hunters cast, to their credit, barely tolerated Tagiru themselves.

Like Hunters, if the main character isn’t going to grow, the job falls to the episode’s guest ally. Nohemon is defeated because he failed at his job of guarding the water source in town once factioning took hold and things got ugly. Which makes sense because scarecrows are pretty useless once the birds aren’t afraid of them. He doesn’t believe in Taichi either, but shows him the way since he has nothing better to do. Until his big shot at the end, he doesn’t actually do anything other than give Taichi bad advice. Even that only works because of a lucky break, but if he wrests some control back in the end it’s something.

The only reason Taichi, Agumon, and Nohemon succeed is that their enemies are somehow even bigger jokes than they are. At lease these jokes are kind of amusing. A Gaossmon who bosses over a Tyrannomon because an evolution failed to disrupt their hierarchy is a fun concept, and Atamadekachimon and Minidekachimon are just made for laughing at. They and their idiot Goblimon armies let Agumon waltz into one camp and manage to set the other one on fire by themselves. The farce only continues from there and goes a little ways into making up for Taichi’s lack of anything resembling competent leadership.

If pointless episodes like these are going to find any value, it’s in serving to make its featured characters more likable. They’re often a necessary evil early on as we learn about the characters and begin to root for them. This far in, there’s no reason to swallow Taichi’s mistakes. He’s a bad decision maker and he should feel bad about it. If he won’t, we have no reason to cheer for his journey. After doing everything wrong and again only pulling out a lucky win at the last minute, he returns home and acts like their teammates getting kidnapped and him weakening his partnership to save them alone wasn’t a big deal. Yamato absolutely should punch him in the face.

My Grade: D+

Loose Data:

This is the first time in the anime we have reason to pay attention to Nohemon, and talking through the crow rather than the face is is a fun touch.

Nohemon asks if Joe was the wimpy human that got carried away. Taichi says yes. Way to stick up for senpai.

Taichi also ignores all of the Nohemon’s good reasons not to split up with Agumon and also gets mad when Nohemon calls him a kid. Class act, this one.

When the episode isn’t about him (and sometimes even if it is), Joe continues to be nothing more than a joke character. Asking for a lawyer? Really?

If shooting a bow and arrow is as easy as Taichi makes it look, then Nohemon really isn’t that special and should have just found a replacement once his arm got chewed off. Anybody would do.

Why are the two camps fighting over water when Team Gaossmon has a large enough reservoir that it floods the entire cave when busted open?

Awfully nice of Tyranomon to stand there like an idiot for a second while Nohemon aims his big shot to stop him.

Much as Taichi and Agumon should have been overwhelmed and defeated in their efforts, a surprise intervention from the rest of the team would have been too convenient an escape. Having said that, Hikari mumbling her brother’s name in her sleep at the start of the episode and greeting him at the end would have offered enough of a BS excuse for how they knew he was in danger that it could have been tolerated.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

[nelllraiser]

no good deed | luce & nell

LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @divineluce​ and @nelllraiser​ SUMMARY: luce asks for nell’s herb supplies to help with her phoenix cleansing. absolutely NO emotional talk or introspection follows. CONTENT: discussion of the lydia plot without specifics, very brief and vague sibling death allusion.

Luce washed her hands in the sink, wincing as the hot water and soap stung the healing wounds. She glanced at herself in the mirror-- she looked like she’d been through hell. Deep purple bruises had blossomed across her skin, but most were covered by winding bandages she’d wrapped over the jagged cuts that ran along the back of her legs. Her back was a mess and it made sleeping a nightmare, but she couldn’t do much about it. A crooked butterfly bandage kept the cut over her eyebrow shut, and the wound was purple at the edges. She looked like shit and she felt it too. But, she couldn’t stop now.

Leaving the bathroom, Luce returned to her room and sat back down at the books she’d borrowed from Rio. The ash had been collected, a piece of the cursed earth for good measure too. The Bloodroot sat in a vase next to the window, the stems dying the water a light pink. Which left… tears, from a phoenix and cleansing herbs. The tears wouldn’t be too difficult-- Leah had said she’d help her with this, so she’d probably be alright parting with a few tears. The cleansing herbs though. Luce couldn’t pretend to know which ones were best suited to a ritual like this. Plants had never been her thing and she didn’t have the coven’s knowledge at her disposal anymore. But… there was someone else who might know. Taking the book with her, Luce made her way out to the greenhouse. And, as she suspected, Nell was there. 

Knocking lightly on the door, Luce spoke up, “Hey.” 

It was no surprise that Nell was puttering about her greenhouse after everything that had happened over the past week or so. In reality, it wasn’t all that much in comparison to the things she’d weathered before. The mad rush to save someone she loved, the devastating blow of losing that same person merely days later— though it hadn’t been in the way she’d anticipated. Frank hadn’t been the one to fell the curtain between Nell and Bex by stealing her life, it’d been Bex herself that had made the severance. The witch wasn’t trying to throw herself a pity party, it was simply that the only way she could think to keep her storming thoughts at bay was to create something, and to care for the plants she nurtured with a gentle hand. The greenhouse had always been a sanctuary of her’s, a place of peace that was her’s and only her’s where she could be alone with herself. She never needed to find the strength to draw her armor within its walls because she didn’t need it’s defenses between the fragile glass panels lining the perimeter. Here she was free to be happy, or hurt, or whatever else she might be feeling at the moment.

But with the sound of a soft knock that changed, and Nell rolled the softness from her shoulders as she went to the door, setting them into their usual and proud position. “Hey-” she began thoughtlessly when she heard the sound of her sister’s voice. A moment later shock was flitting over her face, brows drawn together with concern as she took in the ugly picture Luce made with her collection of injuries. “Luce- what the fuck. What happened? What the hell is wrong with you? I could have closed whatever cuts you have instead of whatever shoddy job you made of your legs,” she chastised while she took in her sister’s bandages. 

A grimace spread across Luce’s face as Nell stared at her, face shifting to an expression of surprise. Maybe she should have put on a jacket or something. Heatstroke would be preferable to getting a lecture. “Slipped and fell on a hike.” Luce said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d been on a hike and she had fallen. Nell didn’t need to know that Morgan had helped with the fall. That Morgan had shoved her down, that she’d thought the other woman was going to kill her. “Yeah, you know me. I’m shit with first-aid.” She said offhandedly, glancing down at the haphazardly wound bandages. “It’s fine, though, I’ll be fine with some time.” Moments like this reminded her of how lucky she’d been all her life-- their mother had always been an option, even if they didn’t necessarily want her help. Now? Mixed messages aside, Luce was never stepping foot in her parents’ home again, not if she could help it. She didn’t need her mother’s help. She didn’t need her pity either. “I’ve got a question for you,” She held up the leather bound book and flipped it open to the page she’d been staring at. “Do you have any idea about what sort of herbs would be used for this sort of thing?”

Nell fixed Luce with a scrutinizing look, arms crossed over her chest as she decided whether or not she wanted to fight her sister on the lackluster answer she’d given. But for once in her life she decided that she was simply too tired, and Luce could give her the answer in due time. Nevertheless, that wouldn’t stop her from mildly calling the fire witch out. “Right. Slipped and fell.” Another disapproving glance flitted over her face before her chastisement continued. “Yeah, but you live with someone who has an entire greenhouse of healing herbs. I’m literally just upstairs in case you forgot. I could have at least scabbed the shit over and lessened the amount of ‘time’ needed.” The mention of a question and the book being presented was enough to spark Nell’s interest, if only for the sole reason that it could provide a distraction from the pity party she’d been throwing herself, wondering how she’d so spectacularly failed at teaching Bex. She should have known. Just because she wasn’t the girl she’d been a year ago didn’t mean she was suddenly equipped to take in a baby witch with her newfound emotional maturity. For a long moment, Nell scanned over the text, lips pursing further the longer she read. “This is about the phoenix that Adam told me he was helping you with? Loved finding out about that from him and not you, by the way.” 

Luce wearily rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that shot across her forehead. “It’s a long story.” She said lamely. She knew that answer wouldn’t be enough for her sister, but hopefully it would do for now. Later. She’d tell her the details later. Right now, she needed to focus. She had the flowers, she had the ashes, she had the dirt. She just needed the herbs and then the hard part-- the phoenix. And the fire. She didn’t have any idea how she was going to get that whole situation figured out, but… she had to try something. Hopefully the ritual wouldn’t be too affected by a couple cans of gasoline. “I mean, no time like the present? Care to help a sister out?” Luce joked weakly.

At the mention of Adam and the phoenix, Luce blinked. Ah. Yeah, that made sense. They were dating, Adam was a decent guy. Of course he would have told Nell about the situation they had on their hands. “Sorry. I’ve been caught up in trying to figure out how to fix shit. Spent a lot more time in the scribrary than I wanted to. Rio-- Winston’s ex? He’s lending a hand with it. Hence the book.” She said, holding the book up again.

A long story. Nell was growing increasingly tired of the ‘long stories’ that seemed to make up the majority of her life since she’d returned to White Crest. How many ‘long stories’ could someone fit over the span of a year and a half, anyway? “I’m sure it is,” she mumbled lamely, once again proving herself to be uncharacteristically not nosy for the time being. Luce had meant her words to be joking, but Nell failed to continue in that vein, unable to find the energy needed for sarcasm in the moment. “Of course I’ll help you,” she said a little too seriously, clutching onto one of the only constants in her life now that she’d lost yet another person in the form of Bex. It was beginning to look as if the only people she’d always have in her life and at her side would be her sisters, and that was a gift she couldn't afford not to treasure. Leading Luce towards a nearby chair, she began to gather the healing poultices she’d made, the ones their mother had taught her. “So you need lavender and sage.” It wasn’t a question as she took another look over the book. “That’s easy enough.” Squinting at the last plant, she was already beginning to search her brain for what the words could mean. “And a white flowered herb?” Of course a ritual wouldn’t be complete without a sufficiently vague ingredient.

“You know I could have helped ‘figure out how to fix shit’.” Nell had failed at making sure Bex didn’t feel alone, she wouldn’t do the same for her sister. “You mean the guy you punched, and then refused to apologize to?” Perhaps she was still a little bitter about the argument she and Luce had following the happening. “Yeah, that makes sense that he’d help. He’s a good guy.” 

A wave of guilt washed over Luce at the defeated sound of her sister’s voice. Fuck. “It’s-- just don’t fucking… fly off the handle, alright?” She said before running a sloppily bandaged hand through her hair. She paused, not entirely surprised by how quickly Nell figured out what kind of purifying herbs they’d need. Sage and lavender. She should have known that. But she’d never paid attention to purifying rituals, she’d never really paid attention to the plants they used at the coven meetings. She’d just accepted the bundle of herbs and lit the ends, allowing the smoke to waft through the air and mingle with the combined power of the rest of the coven. How she’d taken it all for granted. “Cool, yeah. You’ve got that growing in here, right?” Luce said as she followed Nell to a chair, looking around at the greenhouse as she walked. She’d done enough lavender tattoos to be able to spot the tall sprigs of purple. But, she refocused on her sister and stared over at Nell. “The white flower-- it’s Bloodroot. It grows at Lyssa’s Peak and I needed the stuff that grew at the top. Lunar cycles, drawing power from the moonlight, you know.” She said. Rip the bandaid. Just tell her sister what happened. No more secrets.

“I went hiking up there to get to it the other day. And I ran into Morgan. She showed me a way up the mountain and we got to talking and I was in a… mood about shit. About… Lydia.” Luce said, wondering if Nell would understand why she was in a mood, if her sister would get just why the killing didn’t sit well with her. “And she kept trying to figure out what it was and I snapped at her. And then she snapped at me. Because she’d cared about Lydia. Even though she was a fucking…” Monster. Murderer. Torturer. “Even though she was what she was. Morgan lost her cool, I lost my footing, I took a tumble down the peak. But, it’s fine. She helped me down the mountain.” She didn’t need to. She could have kicked me off. She could have let the coyote finish me. She could have let me die up there. 

Swallowing, Luce blinked at her sister’s words. Yeah. Nell could have helped her. Bea probably could have helped her too. But, again, she’d felt like she’d needed to do this on her own. And where had that landed her? Right fucking here, with no magic to speak of and just struggling to make things work. “Sorry. Old habits. And I’ve said that before, and I’m sorry. I just-- fucking, it’s hard to remember that I don’t have to do everything alone.”

“Me? Fly off the handle? Where would you get an idea like that?” There was the sarcasm Nell had been missing before, but it was short lived as she unwrapped the bandages from Luce’s legs, her frown renewed while she took in the extent of the scrapes and cuts. “Yeah, of course I’ve got those growing. They’re pretty good staples. So the sage is obviously for cleansing…” That made sense, she supposed. They had to rid the phoenix of whatever it was that had made them this way. “And the lavender...it’s for healing.” Healing couldn't take place without the cleansing. After all, you had to clean the wound before it could properly heal. Otherwise you risked it becoming infected, a festering thing that wouldn’t even get a chance to scar, let alone fade. “Sure- the moon. It makes sense.” The great glowing woman in the sky was like butter to a witch’s bread, always ready and willing to lend her strength to those who sought it. 

But the mention of Lyssa’s Peak had Nell remembering her own time in the shadow of it, watching the yellow-eyed wolf and Layla attempting to murder Adam while she and Ariana did their best to prevent it. “Lydia?” That hadn’t been a name she expected to surface, and Nell hadn’t heard it since the brief conversation of guilt she and Luce had following her death. Besides, what did Morgan have to do with Lydia? The zombie had cared about the woman who kept innocent people in a basement? Nell wasn’t all that sure what to make of that— especially when paired with the recent revelation that Morgan had befriended Miriam as well. “Her losing her cool was related to you losing your footing or not?” There was a vagueness there that Nell wasn’t ready to let go of. Not when it concerned her sister, and her injuries. “You tumbled down the fucking peak,” Nell hissed, knowing that Luce was lucky to escape with her life, let alone her bones intact. 

Nell sighed, knowing it was hypocritical of her to call Luce out for refusing help while she was guilty of the very same. She knew accepting assistance wasn’t so easy as flipping a switch. “I know.” Apparently Nell was in a forgiving mood, too tired to fight in the wake of the heaviness the past few weeks had held. “Why are you helping the phoenix, though?” Nell knew her sister had a decent heart beneath her barb-like exterior, but she’d never much gone out of the way to help an utter stranger. “Obviously I’m glad someone is- I just didn’t expect it.”

Settling into the chair, Luce cast Nell a wan smile as she listened to her sister speak. As she unwound the bandages, Luce could see just how sloppy a job she’d done. Nothing looking infected-- she wasn’t that stupid, she’d done enough tattoo aftercare to know how to wash wounds-- but it didn’t look great either. The roses on her legs were bleeding red angry cuts, the backs of her knuckles were scratched and raw, and she knew her back looked fucked to hell. None of them seemed too serious though, so with enough time, they’d fade away. “Sage for cleansing and lavender for healing.” Luce repeated, wincing as one of the bandages pulled at scabbed skin. “Good to know.”

“Hey. What did I say about handles and flying off them?” Luce reminded her sister. She’d had a brief vision of what would happen if Morgan had let her die up there, if Morgan had shoved her just a bit too hard. And it was that endless cycle of blood and vengeance, one that she didn’t want Nell to continue. It didn’t matter that she was hurt, it really fucking didn’t. “I’m alive, aren’t I? Didn’t even break anything.” She said with another grin, though the motion made the cut over her eye sting.

Why are you helping the phoenix, though? Luce looked down at her hands. The million dollar question. Why. Why was she doing this? Why was she helping them? Because it was the right thing to do? That had never mattered much to her before. “I don’t know. Because I can. Because I should.” But even those weren’t quite right. She’d never been more powerless in her life, she didn’t possess the flames to be able to really help them. She didn’t need to help them, they were nothing to her. “I just… I don’t want more people to burn. You see the news?” She gestured to the night sky through the glass of the greenhouse. “There are fires sprouting all over the forest, burning shit, running animals off their land, threatening people. Adam called me to help him deal with the situation. And I know more about fire than almost anyone in this town.” Except Mom. And Dad. And probably Bea. “And fuck, I have to try and do something.” 

While Nell continued to work with Luce’s legs, she nodded in confirmation as her sister repeated the words. “Cleansing and healing- and lavender’s also about serenity, and the peace that comes about healing.” It was clear enough why these herbs had been chosen for a ritual such as this, used to drive out whatever had brought the phoenix to this point to begin with. Cleansing, healing, peace. It was a cycle she herself hadn’t yet mastered, not even sure whether she’d washed over the wounds of the past years. If Beltane was anything to judge by...Luce had taken better care of her spiritual wounds. But the problem with letting wounds heal was that you didn’t remember them as vividly once they were gone, no longer a thorn in your side as a reminder of how they’d come to be in the first place. Healed wounds could make for complacency, and make one forget to be cautious enough to avoid the same cuts and breaks a second time around. Her cuts made her stronger, more willing and ready to take care of the people she loved. More vigilant. Was it right to give that up?

A healthy eye roll later, and Nell was tugged from the stormy seas of her thoughts, all too ready to deny Luce’s words. “You know better than to think that’s flying off the handle,” she teased back. All three of them had more than healthy tempers, though all in their own ways. Nevertheless that didn’t stop them from burning bright and hot when the time called for it. Morgan losing her own temper was something of a surprise, but Nell knew Morgan would have never willingly hurt one of the Vurals— even in the case of Luce and her tendency to push away the kindest of people. Morgan was family as well, and she wouldn’t steal another sister from the Vurals. 

Lydia, the phoenix, Morgan, and not wanting to burn others paired with the fact that Nell was more than familiar with the expression on Luce’s face had the younger witch’s sneaking suspicion reaching a boiling point. She knew the look- had seen it and felt it enough in her own features to recognize it in a face that was half her own with their family resemblance. She let loose a long sigh, shoulders deflating while she finished working with Luce’s legs. “I’m glad you wanna help. And you’re obviously right about knowing fire. But it...doesn’t fix it. It won’t fix that way you feel inside about things that already happened.” Bringing food and caring for the families whose loved ones she stole with a rampant shark demon hadn’t fixed it. Hadn’t made it any easier. “I want you to help with the phoenix I just...don’t want you to be disappointed. If it doesn’t do what you think it’ll do when it’s all over.”

The peace that comes with healing. As thought such a thing existed. And maybe it did, but it wasn’t something that Luce was familiar with. But, had she ever really healed from the wounds that she’d suffered this last year? She didn’t know. Maybe this was part of the healing process too. The pain and the anguish and the guilt. Everyone thought of grief as just being sad and healing as just recovering from pain. When her grief had never just sadness-- it had been deep-seated rage and helplessness, frustration and guilt. And so was healing. “Sounds like it’s just what this person will need.” She said with a nod. “I don’t know how much I’ll need but I think a lot? The more we have, the more potent?”

Luce arched her good eyebrow at Nell, nonplussed by the eyeroll. “And that’s not what I’m talking about. Seriously, Nell. I’m okay.” She said, reaching out to grasp her sister’s hand, to squeeze it tight. Her hand was still hot against Nell’s skin, still burning with the flames that refused to listen to her call. She was still here. And she didn’t want Nell to go off and do something that might change that. 

Watching as Nell wound clean bandages over the wounds, freshly daubed with healing poultices, Luce reflected on how things had changed. A year ago, this would never have happened. A year ago, she would have licked her wounds back at the safe isolation of her cabin, maybe drowned her feelings away with more whiskey than she ought to have, and have pretended as though she was fine. But, she wasn’t pretending anymore. She was too tired to play those games, to pretend that the world was anything other than it was. But, as Nell’s words continued, Luce’s gaze snapped up, expression shifting. “What do you mean by that?” She asked abruptly. “I know that this doesn’t change anything I’ve done. And I’m not-- What do you think is going to happen? Nell, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to keep trying. I’m not letting this go.” I’m not letting them go.

Nell held Luce’s gaze for a long moment, feeling far too tired to actually address their shared trauma at the moment. They both knew what was on each other’s minds, and that was enough. She was so tired. They’d both been fighting for so long— all Nell had ever truly known how to do was fight. To refuse to give in, refuse to let the day win and simply allow herself a moment’s rest. She didn’t know who or what she would be without that fight, but occasionally she wondered what it was like for those who allowed themselves peace, whether they were truly happy with the battles they’d let lie, or if regrets haunted them as well. Maybe there was no actual winning. You just lived with the path you chose, and that was it. “Yep- sounds like just what the phoenix doctor ordered.” Not that she actually knew all that many details of the phoenix, but all anger stemmed from somewhere, and most often it was a product of hurt. “Sure, the more the merrier. It’s not really like you can over cleanse something when it comes to things like this.” 

The feel of Luce’s hand against her was enough to melt a little more tension from Nell’s shoulders, and the distant memory of crawling into bed with her sisters as children to hoard their shared elemental warmth was brought to mind while she let herself feel the momentary salve of nostalgia. “I know,” she assured softly. “I’m glad you are.” Her overprotectiveness wasn’t subtle, and Luce understood the source of it better than anyone in tandem with Bea.

Nell straightened from her place before Luce, standing as she began to rifle through the greenhouse towards her sage plants. “I just mean...I don’t know if this is what you’re thinking or whatever but- helping people isn’t gonna make the past sit right. Not really. And also...saving someone from something you think you’ve gone through isn’t gonna fix you either.” Hadn’t she just finished learning that with Bex? Or maybe they’d just been too different. Maybe the feeling of loneliness wasn’t as universal as Nell had thought, and she couldn’t fix her own by putting love into another person who was caught in the throes of it. “It’s not that I don’t think it’s gonna work, and I know you’ll keep trying. I just don’t want you to expect something of it that’s not gonna come.” 

Good to know that burning fuck tons of sage and lavender wasn’t going to create some kind of flower monster-- christ, Luce realized how fucking little she actually knew about magic outside of the flames. But, at least she had Nell here to help. Because she did, even if Luce didn’t often think about it that way. Her sisters were here. They were all here and, ever since they’d been excommunicated, they were all each other had to rely on. She had Nell, she had Bea, they were three and… in the past six months, she’d somehow forgotten about that. She’d drifted back to her old ways, of trying to handle things on her own. But she couldn’t now, it was impossible. She needed them, needed people. She couldn’t do this alone.

“Yeah. Same here.” Luce said, giving Nell’s hand another squeeze before slipping away, pulling the sloppy bandages from her hand to treat the wounds on her hands herself. The poultice stung a bit as she spread it over the open cuts. She kept her gaze trained on Nell as her sister moved away from her, aware of the distance that had just grown between them. “I’m not trying to make it sit right with me. And I’m not trying to fix me, either.” She said sharply. “I know that what I did was fucked. And maybe you don’t think it is, but I do and I’m making… some kinda peace with that.” She wound the bandages back around her hand, covering her raw skin once more.

Staring down at her hands, Luce could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was just the crushing weight of everything that she’d been going through that had finally pushed her to the breaking point. Luce cleared her throat. “I just want to do something good, Nellie. I want to be someone good again.” She said, though the words came out as broken and hollow as she felt.

“I didn’t say that,” Nell replied instintcively in a defensive tone, even if she thought Lydia was far better off dead from what she’d heard. Even though she’d shared her own surprisingly introspective conversation with the fae, there was no question of whether or not the woman was doing more harm than good in the world. But she knew Luce wasn’t as accustomed to life and death judgements as she was, not when she’d simply been an artist with a grumpy streak. She didn’t want her sister to become wrapped up in such things anyway, not when it most often led to a life of constant stress, or having a target on one’s back. “But if you want peace...then you deserve it,” she finished stubbornly, her tone not quite matching the well meaning nature of the words. 

The hardness in Nell’s voice was washed away instantly as she looked over her shoulder back to her sister, recognizing the picture of a person desperately trying to keep themselves together at the seams. Had Nell been so wrapped up in her own world that she’d completely missed what was going on with Luce? She’d known her sister’s fire wasn’t in the best of straits, and that in itself was a flashing red sign in the direction of emotional turmoil. But she hadn’t thought— hadn’t realized it had gotten to such a point as this. Had Nell been too wrapped up in her own troubles and world to see it? A flash of guilt spread through her chest, and she went back to the other side of the greenhouse, moving to check over the bandages Luce had wrapped around her hands.

I just want to do something good. Nell could understand that— when one got to the place of wondering if they’d gone past the point of no return, and grasped at straws for a win. Nell needed a win, too. The feeling of being unclean after going too far...she’d felt it herself on more than one occasion though it was less centered on the suffering of her victim, and more about the shockwaves her actions had set into motion. Adam with August. Jared with the Ring. Bex with Frank. Dave and the shark demon. She’d made more than enough mistakes to know the feeling of desperately wanting to look for the light in oneself no matter how dim it might be- to know that you weren’t just darkness and sharp blades, as much a monster as the thing you’d killed. “I understand.” If this is what Luce needed to face the days coming, Nell would do anything in her power to make sure her sister got what she needed, that she crossed the finish line with arms raised, and a peaceful expression on her face. “So if that’s what you need...then that’s what you’ll get.”

Luce continued to stare at her hands, remembering the way that the blue flames had spread from them to consume the flesh from Lydia’s body, burning away the sinew and skin until there was nothing left. “Sure you didn’t.” Luce said, tone neutral. “I’ve spent the last six months trying to rationalize shit like… she would have hurt other people if I hadn’t killed her, she would have come back to kill us. But there’s no way of knowing if that’s true because I made a call that took away any chance she had to change her ways. I decided that I knew better. And I’m not… that’s not okay. It’s not fucking okay.” She said.

When Nell took her hands again, Luce let her sister fix the bandages wordlessly. For a year, it had seemed like everything she’d done had fallen into the same cycle of anger and rage and pain-- sometimes on the receiving end of that punishment, other times delivering it to others by her own hands. The anger and rage would burn wild and out of control until everything was dead and charred to dust. And it would lie low for some time, before flaring back to life because someone else was hurt, someone else was hurting her-- and endless fucking cycle. She just wanted to be free of it all. This phoenix situation, it was something... different. It was something that she could do and know, without a trace of doubt, that she had done something good. She just wanted to prove to herself that she was still capable of that. Of being more than just an instrument of death, bringing fire and ruin to the world around her. She just wanted to do one good thing. “Thanks Nell.” Luce said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”  

Nell couldn’t rightly say she agreed with Luce— not when she’d been ready and poised to kill Frank in the middle of the Outskirts. He’d been a threat so she was going to eliminate him. It was as simple as that. Except it hadn’t turned out to be so simple as Bex had begged for his life, and Nell had withdrawn her knife. How many chances did people deserve when it came to changing? She’d given Kyle his chance in that basement with Morgan and Bex, even taken it upon herself to help him succeed. But Kyle wasn’t a woman keeping people in his basement. It was different...wasn’t it? “I didn’t know Lydia well enough to know whether or not she’d change.” That was the gamble you took with people, the not knowing. And there was always the chance they could change back if they decided their new route was too hard. Would Lydia have made a 180 turn back to where she’d started if she’d decided ethical eating wasn’t quite the same? What was the straw that would break the back of Miriam’s new life?

“I don’t know if it was wrong,” Nell finally admitted. “I don’t know if it being wrong would have kept me from doing it, too. Probably not. And I’d probably still do it if no one stopped me or you hadn’t already done it.” She was selfish with her wanting to protect the people she cared about. “But I...don’t think it’s fair to condemn yourself with it. Maybe rationalizing it isn’t the answer, but burning yourself at the stake isn’t either.” Nell swallowed briefly, still not all that accustomed to being so open and honest with her sister. “And...I think you deserve to forgive yourself instead of needing to use a phoenix to prove you’re worthy of it. I think you’re worth it on your own. Just because of who you are. I think you can be good without having something to point at as proof.” 

But it wasn’t about that. Not really. Why did Nell want to summon the murderous selkie to her? For control. To have just one thing she knew she could do right. “But I think I get it. Sometimes you just...need one thing to go right. Just to know that...that you’re not a fuck up who ruins everything they touch.” Nell didn’t have fire like he sister’s, but she’d always been just as destructive. “There’s one thing you can do, and not burn a hole through. So...we’ll make this work.”

“Neither did I. But Morgan seems to think that she could have. And maybe she’s right, maybe she’s not. But we’ll never really know.” Luce said wearily. She’d spent so many nights mulling over that exact question. “I don’t want to make those calls, Nell. I don’t want to hold someone’s life in my hand and decide that I’m worth more than them. Because that’s exactly what happened to us and I’m… I’m fucking tired of it.” This town, this fucking town. She’d grown up here, been a part of this world but only now had she really learned the price that White Crest demanded of the people who lived here. This town was steeped in blood and suffering and senseless death. She didn’t want to contribute to that anymore than she already had.

“Maybe.” Luce shrugged, before regretting the action as a fresh wave of pain ran down the wounds on her back. “I also think you have to say that as my sister.” She said, a ghost of her old sarcastic grin flitting across her face. Luce stood up from the chair, collecting the herbs that Nell had gathered for her. Sage and lavender. Healing and cleansing. And the promise of her sister to help her see this through. Side by side, they’d be able to move forward. Luce didn’t know how Nell was holding up with all the grief and trauma they’d experienced in the last year and she wished that she did. Once this was all over, once the dust settled and she could finally rest… She’d try harder to be there for her sister. For both of them. Maybe Nell said that she didn’t need to prove herself, but Luce couldn’t believe that. If she couldn’t be a good person, at the very least, she could be a good sister. 

Reaching out, Luce took hold of Nell’s hand again, looking at her sister intently. “We’ll make this work.” 

[aaluminiumas]

Be the First

Kalifa vividly recalled her first days at CP9: to be accepted, she had to go through a huge number of entrance tests and to obtain a pile of various certificates to become a rookie among other elite combat troops under the notorious Rob Lucci. Oddly enough, her relation to one of the leading assassins of the organization didn’t play a significant part in the whole process: obviously, the World Government was aware of the fact, but she could be certain that her father never petitioned for her. Kalifa was appointed to the post of undercover agent by means of her own strength, stamina, knowledge and skills.

She worked with Lucci from the very beginning. Despite a small difference in age, he seemed significantly older and more mature comparing to nearly anyone she was acquainted with. Although the woman knew what she would be dealing with and what her duties would include, the man nonetheless caused a slight spark of repulsion in her, he gave her an unpleasant impression. Appearance-wise, Lucci did not look like an assassin at all but something about his manners seemed so vaguely intimidating that Kalifa had to admit – this man breathed danger. He was peril incarnate.

She learned about her father’s occupation late enough to be able to compare the two: while Laskey managed to hide his real attitude, Lucci barely disguised his bloodthirst. Unbearably handsome, atrocious and completely aloof, the man stared at people with clear disdain as if the only thing he saw was, in fact, a stink fish that didn’t even deserve his attention. In addition, his movements, swift and economic, immediately exposed his perfect body-control. He already knew the victim’s weak spots – and would hit there without a heads-up – he wasn’t particularly coy not to harness the skill.

That was the first time Kalifa faced his unbiased attitude. Normally, she was surrounded by a group of persistent suitors attempting to touch her or to make a superfluously eloquent compliment – in all honesty, even the indifferent carpenters of Water 7 let themselves whistle in her wake, but Lucci, unlike many others, barely paid any heed to her: even a vase in the headquarters got a bigger scrape of it. His calm grey eyes hardly passed across her – he absolutely did not care whether he was training a confident woman or a garishly painted kabuki actor.

Evidently, for that reason exclusively she recollected her first training. She had already been considered as an equal to those men, and she did not beg for mercy, no matter how hard it was to prepare herself for the future trials. In all honesty, Lucci made no endeavor to offer it to her; while all the erstwhile supervisors before him spilled ribald comments over the woman, this one kept counting the attendees, undisturbed. To tell the truth, the woman was curious: the scuttlebutt fueled by witnesses mentioning a peculiar amalgamation of beauty, devious mind and excessive brutality outmatching the vilest pirates didn’t scare her off but confirmed the statement that this man was unique. He appeared to control even those who didn’t serve under his command – at any rate, Lucci needed a glance to shut a talker up. There’s little wonder how he got his place in the sun – he had become one of the few whose authority remained unscathed even after the destruction of Enies Lobby.

“I will not detain anyone,” Lucci’s cold, quiet voice came. “One whimper, and rest assured… we will never meet again.”

His opening address before the training turned out extremely terse and laconic – and did contain an obscure threat. Kalifa became the first who dared step forward for a sparring round. Kaku, Kumadori, Jabra, Blueno and Fukuro preferred to stay clear and watch: albeit they got an opaque understanding of what was prepared for them, they found solace in being last.

It was the first time when Lucci beat her up.

Kalifa failed to dodge, and despite her outstanding kami-e and soru skills, she hadn’t managed to show the level Lucci would consider satisfactory. Tired of the boring and stultifying pursuit, he effortlessly broke through her tekkai and kept mauling her after his initial powerful blow. Impassive and unaffected, he kept lambasting and clawing her fiercely, not a single emotion contorted the fine features of his visage. Seeing her staggering, he used his shigan against her – and the woman, bleeding enormously, fell on the ground.

However, she did not emit a single sound.

Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed Kaku growing paler. He wasn’t exactly spineless, but he for sure came short of stamina comparing to her… What’s happened, actually? Looks like no one managed to demonstrate sufficient knowledge of such techniques as kami-e and soru, let alone tekkai: they barely maintained it for a second, and it turned out useless as Lucci breached the invisible shield easily with the attack Kalifa calmly repelled. Though, she wasn’t quite positive of it, to be honest: the last memory faded away as she focused on standing up to walk to her room.

Late at night, the woman clenched her teeth trying to tear off the bloodied rags of her clothes – they stuck to the gashes, and stripped off with the skin. Kalifa had to clean out the grazes she could reach, but as the ugly marks covered almost her entire back which was in tatters after the rampant onslaught – it was nearly impossible to swathe every wound. Moreover, the slightest touch caused searing pain in every cell of her body, and she couldn’t move wondering whether she was about to faint or could stay conscious. In fact, she did have the right to go to the hospital juxtaposed between the headquarters and the training site in order to get professional help, but it was obvious what consequences it could entail. Every assassin worked in “field” conditions, and Lucci, maybe unaware, was preparing them for the upcoming trials and impediments. Only a few succeeded, but those who were attested, became the best and later morphed into a legend within the confines of the organization.

Next morning, she stepped forward again. The man eyed her from head to toe with the similar concealed disdain and contempt she had noticed previously – and lambasted her in the same fashion though did not use his shigan for his own reasons: he either thought her to be unworthy of it, or failed to see an equal adversary in her as she knelt after several stabs. Albeit she surrendered shortly, her tekkai seemed to improve and got thicker – though moving much slower, Kalifa managed to resist for a while longer.

“There’s no point in your staying here if you cannot evade a blow.”

The gossip she’d heard were not untrue, Lucci turned out a real monster… As a human being, as a man, as a leader – but to her surprise, his brutality never baffled her: it failed to arouse any emotion inside of her as silent humiliation and battering became a part of the routine. Day by day taciturn insults reduced, Kalifa sensed that she was gradually approaching the ideal she had conjured in her head but the imperturbable pale face remained aloof as ever. In Lucci’s eyes she still remained a pathetic loser, even though she had made a long way to establish herself as one of the few female agents of CP9.

The man had eliminated almost all emotions except for perverse delight at the sight of the power he wielded: spoiled by his own abilities and skills, the intimidating Rob Lucci relished the consternation he inculcated in others, and when he saw her naked back painted in crimson red stripes, he simply grinned under his breath. His fingers lingered across the scarcely healed wounds and pressed on the freshest cut while indifferently muttering that she got off cheaply. He could’ve killed her during that training by aiming an inch higher.

He offered her a chance to be the best.

He improved her skills and knowledge through lambasting her so brutally and ingeniously as he did to no one. She learnt to avoid the most devious attacks; she escaped and hid behind him; she grew stronger: she was no longer Laskey the assassin’s daughter – she got her own name, she was the Kalifa everybody feared.

What about the cost?.. Thanks to an ointment, all the scars got healed pretty well. Actually, no one else needed it just as much: Jabra wiped blood off under his nose and spitted off chunks directly into the sink; Kumadori howled as the most lugubrious and woeful yurei complaining that “his hair were pulled with too much force”… Kaku may be the only to catch his breath after trainings, and Kalifa once took notice of his trembling fingers hovering over a fresh bite on his shoulder. But she was much better. She stood out.

She couldn’t be compared to Rob Lucci but at least she impelled him to respect her – if he ever respected anyone. After the humiliating defeat of CP9 he intended to do her in, just as any top-notch undercover agent would do, but wasn’t it the very same desire she used to read in those lackluster grey eyes all along? Wasn’t it exactly the thought that crossed his mind – didn’t he want to reciprocate in response to his personal setbacks and those of his own department?.. He definitely had a reason to track her down, and he assigned Kaku to be his lapdog in accordance with his ulterior motives. Rob Lucci always had plans – she comprehended it immediately.

The woman approached the mirror and stared into the reflection of the violet eyes. They darkened around the pupil but eventually grew lighter dispersing in the miscellaneous, minuscule streaks. The woman took her red lipstick and slightly tapped it on the lips.

Kalifa was no longer afraid. She had become the best.

And she will keep going.

[dragonjadearts]

Ransom note for bthb? 👀

Ransom Note

Author’s Note: Holy cow this took longer than it should have because I kept putting it off. Anyways, here’s this. Also, this was going to be a lot longer, but I cut it off because it already took me so long and I have even more prompts to do so sorry if it ends weirdly, I’m terrible at ending things

Words: 2k

Characters: Last Dragonborn, Serana, Shadowmere, Llewellyn the Nightingale

Fandom: Elder Scrolls V (Skyrim)

Content/Trigger Warnings: Canon-Typical violence, kidnapping, kidnapping of children

Read it on A03!

Summary: After a long extended quest away from home, Teris is eager to get some much-needed rest at her manor in Falkreath, enjoying the forest and the company of her family. But what she finds when she returns home is anything but peaceful.

There was a warm wind off of Lake Illinalta, carrying with it the scent of salt and salmon. It was early in the spring morning and the sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone roads. Hoofbeats echoed in the morning light, as two riders strode by. They were silent, not out of discomfort but exhaustion. They had been traveling throughout the night and were eager to return home and rest.

Serana sighed, stretching her back. The old vampire had her hood drawn over her head and she squinted in the growing sunlight. Luckily she knew these roads well. She had walked them more times than she could count.

Teris looked out over the forest. She was happy to be back amongst the tall pine trees. Of all the properties she owned, this one reminded her most of home. There were no pine trees in Valenwood, but the scent of soil and cracking of branches was one she knew all to well. After her long journey in the North-western holds, she was happy to return to the forests.

Her mount, the red-eyed demon Shadowmere, snorted as he walked. He too was pleased to be back, happy to be amongst the trees he knew so well. The pond he had called his home for many years now was not far, and the Sanctuary — though now tainted with death and the scent of ash — was also close.

As the small group turned from the main road and made their way up across the unpaved paths, the manor began to slowly appear through the trees. The tall library tower was the first thing to notice. The second thing to notice was the lack of carriage out front. His absence was noted, but not concerning, he was likely escorting someone away or even on his way back by this point.

As Teris and her companion approached the entrance, her long elven ears twitched slightly, noting the lack of noise. It was deadly quiet, unusual for the house. A wave of unease washed over her. She called Shadowmere to a stop and gracefully leaped off his back. There was no sign of her children, who often played around the sides of the house. Her wife and housecarls were also nowhere to be seen and there was no sound of them nearby either.

Serana dismounted as well, just behind Teris. She seemed wary, and though tired, she readied herself. She too took note of the lack of life to the normally boisterous house. “I’ll check down by the lake,” she said, addressing her friend. Teris nodded absently, staring up at the house, a mix of emotions in her eyes. “They’re probably just enjoying the weather,” Serana said, in lackluster attempt at comfort. When that too failed to garner much of a response, she sighed to herself and began to make her way down the hill, to do as she had said.

Teris stood still for a moment longer, swaying on her feet, before she shook herself from her stupor and forced her feet to take steps towards the entrance. With bated breath, she put her hand on the wooden door. She exhaled and pushed it open slowly, not daring to look until it had fully opened to reveal her home.

As she opened her eyes, a wave of fury and fear washed over the Bosmer. She drew her weapon, the purple enchantment casting ominous shadows on the ruined furniture. Her weapon racks and trophies were scattered across the floor, the weapons themselves now gone. There were scratches on the walls and ash marks burned deep into the floorboards.

She stalked slowly through the entrance, pushing open the doors to the main hall without a noise. The state of that room was no better off than that of the entry hall. The long table in the center lay on its side, dishes broken and scattered on the ground. The fireplace at the end of the hall was unlit, and coals and ashes were swept to the side, staining the fine wood an ugly black and grey. On her left, one of the doors to the Greenhouse lay broken off its hinges at an odd angle, only propped up by the still closed door that accompanied it.

Teris slowly took another step forward, careful not to step on the particularly creaky floorboards. There wasn’t much light in here, only the purple glow of her sword, and the green light and shadows cast from the enchanter’s table upstairs. All the wall scones were unlit and dead.

She noticed, however, that the doors to the library were firmly shut, and if she concentrated and closed her eyes, her elven ears could pick up the faint sounds of shuffling from within. She ground her sharpened teeth together, sheathing her sword silently.

She quietly crept to the doors and scanned them for a moment. She turned to the side and with a quick jolt, rammed her shoulder into the doors. They didn’t budge but she was rewarded with the sound of a sharp intake of breath coming from within and the scraping of metal, presumably from whoever was inside picking up their weapon off the floorboards. She smiled a wolfish grin and took a few paces back. Readying herself, she rammed again into the doors. They shook and she could hear something heavy on the other side shift out of the way. Once more she threw herself at the doors, this time stopping just short as they crashed inwards.

To no surprise, not a moment later, a figure leaped out, crashing into her and wielding a sharp weapon. Teris dropped to the ground, throwing the attacker over her shoulder. She quickly withdrew the dagger from her boot and spun around on one heel to kick her attacker in the side. She lunged forward, slamming her knee into his chest and holding her knife to his throat. After a moment, she paused, recognizing the face staring back at her.

“Llewellyn?”

“Oh praise be! Lady Teris! You’ve finally come back!” The bard cried in breathless relief.

Teris stood up quickly, removing her knee from the bard’s chest and extending her left hand out to help him up, an offer he took gratefully.

“What happened here?” She asked.

“Bandits!” Llewellyn exclaimed. He reached up to clutch at his left arm which was soaked through with red. “Nasty pests, they ruined this entire home! I’m so sorry my lady, I tried to fight, I really did, but I’m no warrior!”

“It’s alright,” Teris soothed, a pang of sympathy echoing in her voice. “Calm down. Where is everyone? Are they alright?”

The bard sighed, shaking his head in shame. “No, I’m afraid not. Just over a week ago, Lady Aela had left for Whiterun. Her brothers in arms said they had some sort of quest for her. She took Gunjar with her and left Lydia and Rayya here to protect the home.

But they left just a few days ago to receive some supplies from Falkreath and didn’t return. Not a full day had passed when a group of bandits arrived. I swear on my honor I tried to defend the children, but there were many of them, and I’m a poor coward. They left with the two young ones.” Llewellyn ended his tale with a regretful tone.

Teris was shaking with rage. She ground her teeth together and clenched her hands into tight fists. Taking a deep breath, she let the air hiss out of her teeth, like a snake warning off a predator. “Did they leave a note?” She forced out, still shaking with rage.

Llewellyn shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot but nodded hesitantly. “Upstairs, I believe,” he said. “In the bedroom on-“

Teris didn’t let him finish. She spun around on her heel and marched up the stairs to the bedroom. The upstairs was in a marginally better state than downstairs, but only because the space there was more confined. In fact many pieces of furniture that weren’t laying on their side were laying on the first floor, having evidently been thrown off the staircase and down into the main hall. The bed of the master bedroom was messy, as if it had been hastily made up and the unmade again, and a lockbox full of keys lay open on its side, spilling said keys out onto the floor. A note lay on the end table, blood stained.

Teris snatched up the letter, pulling it open. She read quickly, every word only serving to anger her further. The letter read:

“To whom it may concern:

You certainly have a lovely home and such lovely children. I have never had children for myself, but these ones should do nicely. I think they’ll rather enjoy staying with me for a while longer. Of course if you don’t want that, I believe we can work out a deal.

I want 4000 septims for the safe return of your children. You have one week.

I eagerly await your coin at Arcwind Point.

Yours truly,

Rochelle the Red”

Teris tore the letter in half and threw it to the ground, letting out a scream of anger. Dragon tongue echoed in her throat, begging to be released. She shouted, pulling out her sword and swinging it down in a glowing purple attack that did nothing to help her release her fury. She screamed again, primal fury echoing in her voice and out across the mountains. In the far distance, deer lifted their heads and ran for hills. Birds let out one final cry and turned away. In Falkreath, citizens felt a shiver run down their back as something ancient and angry rippled through time and space. All the way to Whiterun, a wave of uneasy emotions swept over every hunter, sell-sword, and citizen.

Teris fell silent, panting and clutching her sword in her hands. Her ears twitched as the sound of familiar boots climbing the stairs reached her. Serana was silent, waiting for Teris to make the first move.

The Dragonborn growled. She straightened up, closing her eyes for a moment. As she sheathed her sword once more, she felt a wave of calm rush over her. She opened her eyes and turned to Serana. The ancient vampire met her gaze. She recognized the calm cold fury shining in her friend’s eyes. She nodded.

Teris took one last glance around the destroyed upstairs before her eyes settled on Serana again. “Llewellyn is injured,” she began. “Clean his wounds. Then take him to Falkreath and look for those damn housecarls. I’ll meet you in Whiterun once I get the girls.

Serana nodded. “I’ll send word to Aela once we reach Falkreath, let her know what’s going on.”

Teris bowed her head and the vampire stepped aside, letting her friend down the stairs. Llewellyn looked up as she came down, sitting on the turned over side of the table, still clutching his wounded arm. He look exceedingly nervous, even more so as Teris turned her gaze to him and he noted the rage and fury that was shining through it. She felt a twinge of regret and having scared the bard so much with her anger, but she had bigger things to deal with. She picked her way through the scattered home and shoved open the doors to stand, blinking in the sunlight.

The woods were silent now, as if holding their breath in fear and anticipation. The sounds of wildlife that had accompanied Teris on her journey to the house were now silent. Those that hadn’t fled her voice were deathly quiet, as if fearing to make a noise lest they be on the receiving end of her fury.

The only sign of life was Shadowmere, standing proudly where Teris had dismounted him. He locked eyes with her to the side and she swore that if horses could smile, he would be smirking. There was an understanding. She marched to his side and climbed aboard his saddle. There was no hesitation in either of their movements as the hunter spurred the enormous red-eyed demon into movement and they galloped down the hill and onto the main road. They had prey to catch.

[aelaer]

The Blood in My Veins (a serial)

Okay, so I will sometimes let prompts that interest me just sit for a bit and see if they remain in my head or not and yeah, Prompt #608 from @ironstrangeprompts (which I can't tag for some reason) wouldn't go away and I blame absolutely everyone who told me to do it for distracting me from the long multi-chapters I'm desperately trying to write this year. But in return you get Part One of a tumblr serial with absolutely no idea as to where it's going and no update schedule in mind. :P But it's supposed to get to the reveal in the prompt eventually. Promise. Speculation highly encouraged as that helps plot bunnies very much.

Prompt: Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

This is unbetaed; apologies for any errors.

Part 1 - How We Began

Stephen's thoughts were sluggish and his memory spotty as he began to wake up. Worse, he had a headache that was boring into his temples and made the idea of opening his eyes, never mind moving, sound like an absolutely terrible one.

Sound began to filter through the fog. Eventually he was able to distinguish some words within it.

"...waking up…"

"...pulse is still slow…"

"...considering what he was given…"

He recognized none of the voices. Through sheer stubbornness alone, Stephen ignored his pounding head and forced his heavy eyelids open, only to immediately close them again against the sharp brightness of the fluorescent lighting above him. He could not help but groan.

"Right, the lights," someone—female—said, and he felt a cloth placed over his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about the lights, but you'll adjust to them soon enough. I have some water for you when you're ready, too."

Some part of Stephen's brain registered that she had an English accent. The rest of the functioning part of his mind focused on speaking. "Who…" And that was all he could manage at the moment.

"My name's Doctor Summer Weston," she answered.

A doctor? Was he injured? He wet his lips and tried for more than one word. "My... injuries?" What had he been doing to get injured? How bad was it? How much morphine was running through his system?

He felt Doctor Weston's fingers on his radial pulse. (Why was she doing that? Where was the EKG?) "No injuries; your current headache and sensitivity to light are an after effect of the drug in your system. I think you're at the tail end of your symptoms, though."

That… made no sense in a number of ways. Stephen forced his eyes open once more, and the cloth over his eyes made the endeavor manageable this time. "What happened?"

He heard her exhale softly. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Stephen had to pause to think about it, which was both incredibly unusual and rather annoying. He frowned to himself as he concentrated. Was he at the hospital? No, he was off. He was… "Grocery shopping. I was at the store. I think I paid." Yes, he remembered paying. He had decided to walk the three blocks to and from the store and was heading back to his apartment. Beyond that point, his memory became fuzzy.

Doctor Weston didn't say anything about his answer and instead just said, "You need water. Do you think you can handle the light? If not, we can keep the towel on and I can help you up."

He didn't respond, but moved his arm up and pulled the cloth away from his eyes, squinting at the ugly rectangle panels above him. The other doctor helped him up into a sitting position and gave him a bottle of water, but Stephen was too busy staring at his surroundings. While he was on a medical bed, in front of him was a large room that could only be described as a biochemical lab. It had state-of-the-art equipment, much of it looking brand new, and working there was another man and two women all in lab coats. Against nearby walls away from the machinery were several other medical beds.

"Drink," Doctor Weston encouraged, and his parched throat more than anything had Stephen doing so.

"Where am I?" he asked, squinting at Doctor Summer Weston. She appeared somewhere between thirty and forty and currently wore her long brown hair in a messy bun. She was pale and looked tired, with dark bags under her grey eyes and thin lips bent downturned. She wasn't wearing any makeup, either, which was a look he knew on his female patients before surgery but usually not on female doctors (and a couple of non-women doctors, too).

"I don't know," she answered. "None of us do." 

Stephen's confusion (and alarm, though he wouldn't admit that yet) grew. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She gave him a rueful smile. "There's really no easy way to break this: you've been kidnapped, just like the rest of us."

He stared at her in disbelief, half-wondering if he heard her right. His head was still pounding with his heartbeat and that made his hearing less clear, after all. "What?" was what he managed.

"Yeah." The lackluster smile returned. "So, are you an orthopedic surgeon or a neurosurgeon?"

"Neurosurgeon," he automatically answered, then stared at her. "How did you know?"

"The X-rays," was Doctor Weston's inexplicable answer. "I'll show you in a bit," she said as Stephen went to retort. "We should get introductions out of the way. Drink more water."

Stephen frowned at her, but his head was still complaining and for that reason alone he drank instead of demanding further answers that moment. At least the light was becoming more bearable.

In the meantime, Doctor Weston called to the others, "He's fully awake now. Take a break for introductions and water."

One of the women, who was in her mid-forties, he guessed, with thick straight black hair pulled back, and a rich coppery brown skin that appeared in tight and worried lines across her face, shifted in discomfort. She adjusted her narrow-rimmed glasses then looked over to the wall, and Stephen followed her gaze to see a camera in the corner. "How long have we been working?" she asked; she also had an English accent.

"About five hours," Doctor Weston said after looking at her watch. "You should be okay for a few minutes."

"I think so. I have to wait for the centrifuge to finish, anyway," said the third woman, and the tallest of the three women (though maybe it was her natural curly hair giving her extra height). Her white lab coat contrasted sharply against her rich umber skin under the bright fluorescent lights, and just like the others, she looked stressed and tired. She appeared somewhere about his age and was definitely American, with the slightest hint of a southern twang in her voice.

The final one in the room, a balding man with salt-and-pepper hair and perhaps in his mid-forties or early fifties, stepped forward from his work station first. His complexion was a flushed pink and he wore thick lenses, but they did nothing to hide his bright green irises. "How are you feeling?" He spoke with a heavy German accent.

Stephen grimaced. "I've been better," he answered as he was surrounded by the four of them.

"We know what it feels like," the African-American woman replied. "I'm Doctor Jada Ferguson. Hematologist, University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston."

"Doctor Meera Mahajan," said the other unnamed woman. "Pathologist with a specialty in cytopathology, from St Bartholomew's Hospital in London."

"I'm from London, too," Doctor Weston added. "Though from St Thomas' Hospital. Cardiothoracic surgeon."

"And I'm Doctor Steffen Baar," said the man. "I work as a pharmaceutical chemist for Bayer in Wuppertal, in western Germany."

Stephen wrapped his mind around this new information as they introduced themselves and started trying to connect the pieces of this (terrifying) puzzle together. After they finished speaking, he cleared his throat and said, "Doctor Stephen Strange. Neurosurgeon, Metro-General, New York."

Doctor Ferguson made an affirmative noise. "I read your latest publication not that long ago. It was fascinating."

"I've read yours as well," Stephen said, then looked at the others. "I've read publication papers from all of you within the last three years." And there was a reason he remembered their names; they were all brilliant studies and clearly experts in their specialties. Why the fucking hell were they all here?

His face must have reflected his thoughts, because Doctor Mahajan said, "Whoever brought us here wants us to work." She glanced over her shoulder, then added, "Which is apparent." She then opened her mouth, paused, then shut it.

Stephen frowned. "Work on what, exactly?"

Doctor Weston also looked over towards the camera, then said, "Our job is to keep an unknown patient alive. And you've been drafted."

Tagging @walkin-in-the-cosmos (though it’s not tagging right) and @queenofalotofdifferentworlds as requested in the original prompt post.

Full disclosure: In terms of writing I concentrate more on plot and worldbuilding and not really the development of romance. Whenever this serial ends, it'll likely end on an ambiguous, open ending to interpret the relationship's route to the reader's pleasure (what we once labeled "gen or pre-slash" stories, not sure if that's used anymore). It'll definitely not explore anything remotely sexual beyond your usual PG-13 innuendo (if that). So if that's not what you're looking for in this prompt fill you can ignore the rest of the series :)

But if the serial does interest you and you want to be tagged in the next post, I'm starting the clean slate with this first one. Just leave a comment expressing interest in being notified/tagged for the serial, though I'm afraid I have no planned update schedule.

[howtohero]

#296 Return of the Starter-Villain

Hello How To Hero Heads! Today we’ve got some exciting news to share with you, we’ve finally hired a new supervillain correspondent: Everyone’s favorite lameo starter-villain, Smuggles. Say hello Smuggles. ||Hello Smuggles.|| Sheesh, this guy. I know, I know you must be shocked that I even allowed this to happen. Many of you will recall that I never signed off on, approved of, or got along with our last supervillain correspondent, Dr. Brainwave (don’t pretend you didn’t love Dr. Brainwave like a son, I seem to recall you being incredibly broken up when he died.) but that was because Dr. Brainwave was like, a credible threat who posed an actual danger to us and who once genetically engineered a giant monster that ate me. But Smuggles isn’t anything like that, he’s like the lowest of low-tier supervillains. ||It’s true, I was once hired to smuggle several objects into America, including a TSA uniform that was my exact size, and I never even once thought to put on the uniform to make the rest of the job easier.|| You may recall how in our original post on starter-villains we mentioned that he was on the rise ever since he teamed up with fellow low-level supervillains, Perry the Pirate and Charlie the Fish-Whisperer to hijack a canoe. But we’re both please and dismayed to say that our prediction was wrong. In the past three years, Smuggles has made absolutely nothing of himself. ||I once accidentally turned myself into a bowl of ice cream on a hot summer’s day.|| That starter-villain team didn’t even last past that first job, Charlie the Fish Whisperer went on, as you know, to become one of the most feared supervillains in the world and we all live in fear of the day Chuck the Fish Whisperer uses his awesome powers to escape the prison dimension the world’s heroes trapped him in. And Perry the Pirate became a lawyer I believe. But Smuggles, man, Smuggles. He’s no threat at all, so I was thrilled to see his application among the many we received following Dr. Brainwave’s untimely demise. So, welcome aboard Smuggles. ||Thanks! I’m excited to share my villainous insider knowledge with your read-|| Yeah yeah, that rocks man. So, anyway, in honor of our new staff member, we’re going to take a look at what happens when your starter-villain returns. 

A starter-villain is, of course, the villain you fight on your first night out as a superhero. The costumed jaywalker whose swift defeat you use to springboard your career as a respected crime fighter. They will undoubtedly be the easiest villain to defeat that you come up against. As you become more experienced and proficient in superheroism, you’ll look back at your first fight fondly and laugh about all the ways the fight could have ended even quicker than it already did now that you’ve learned and grown a whole bunch. As time goes on and you fight more and more supervillains, eventually meeting your one true nemesis and a whole slew of other villains that you’ll tango with on a regular basis, you’ll even forget who your starter-villain even was. ||I’ve been a starter-villain to over 30 superheroes, and even though I send each of them a holiday card every year, I’ve only ever gotten one response.|| But, as Smuggles just demonstrated, your starter-villain will never forget you. And soon enough, once they’re ready, they’ll ensure that you never forget them again. ||The one response was from Hatman and he just sent a card saying “New phone, who dis?” Like, it was a postcard, a signed postcard. A signed personalized postcard. It said “Hatty Holidays!” and everything!||

It’s very possible that the starter-villain you defeated was also just starting out their costumed career. A crushing defeat on their first night is sure to sit with them, (supervillains being notoriously obsessive, dramatic, and good at remembering how they got their various scars), and they’re going to stew with that for a good while. Even if it wasn’t their first night of attempted-villainy, a defeat by a rookie superhero is sure to make them a laughing stock in the supervillain community. And you know what that means... ||Years of unanswered holiday cards||... revenge. 

Your starter-villain will soon come to see you as their nemesis. Even though you’re perfectly happy with the eternal battle of good versus evil that you’ve already got going on with your actual nemesis. They aren’t going to care that you’re already seeing somebody (off to prison in handcuffs). They’re going to want you for their own. They’re going to spend every waking moment of their life plotting against you. Taking the time to really learn everything there is to know about you. This is just one more reason why it’s so important to to make sure your secret identity is ironclad before you start your superhero career. Because as soon as you defeat your first villain, there’s going to be someone out there working to uncover who you really are. ||Honestly, most superheroes don’t even bother trying to keep their secret identity from me. Many of them have just walked up to me and introduced themselves like “Hi, I’m Joe.” It’s kind of insulting.|| 

For that reason you’d do well to keep tabs on your starter-villain after you defeat them that first night. Their quest for revenge will start immediately and their scheme is just going to grow more and more protracted and elaborate the longer you let things lie. If you’ve already lost track of your starter-villain and it’s been a few years since you’ve been a superhero, I’d start shoring up your defenses. The longer you go without hearing from them, the worse it’s going to be when they eventually rear their ugly ||that’s just rude|| heads again. So put out some feelers, try to find out what they’re up to. If you can’t track them down through your superhero network of contacts, you can even try reaching out to your nemesis to see if they can help. Depending on how obsessive and vindictive your starter-villain is, your current nemesis might also find themselves in your starter-villain’s crosshairs. If you literally have no idea who your starter-villain is, sorry, you’re just going to have be on high alert all the time. 

You may discover that your starter-villain has since turned over a new leaf and is actually now operating as a superhero or working with a superhero-adjacent organization such as the OPG. On the surface that makes sense, I mean, they were barely a supervillain to begin with. So the jump to superheroism is not as extreme as it would be for say Al “Da Boss” Marconi, or Karallaxus destroyer of worlds. But even though it might make sense for a starter-villain to have become a superhero, you must not believe it even for one second. Even if some part of a starter-villain truly wants to be better, you can be sure that an even bigger part of them actually just wants revenge on their starter-hero and joining the superhero community is just one of many increasingly inane steps in their protracted revenge scheme. 

The only way to truly dissuade a returned starter-villain from dogging you forever and always is to either die or pretend you did. Otherwise they will track you down and hunt you to the ends of the known universe. ||And don’t forget the multiverse, Chuck the Fish Whisperer may be consigned to another universe, but that doesn’t mean his hatred has diminished one iota.|| Exactly! A starter-villain will stop at nothing until they’ve repaired their reputation in the form of destroying the person or people who tarnished it in the first place. 

Defeating your first supervillain is an important milestone in the life of any superhero. Unfortunately, it is also an important milestone in the life of that very supervillain, whose life will become utterly subsumed by their embarrassing defeat at your inexperienced hands. Smuggles here is really the exception that proves the rule. ||Wait what?|| Normally, starter-villains become exponentially more dangerous by the time you next encounter them. So you must never underestimate a villain just because you beat them when you were a little kid wearing garish tights and you happened to be doing parkour near your convenience store right when it was being robbed. So why don’t you all take a moment now to check in on your starter-villain and make sure that you’re still able to beat them! 

(All right, that’s a wrap on How To Hero #296. Great job everyone, we’ll see you next week.)

||Um.||

(Oh hey, Smugs. Good work today I guess. In the future we all prefer it when the supervillain correspondent kind of harasses Zach a bit, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re a bit lackluster compared to Dr. Brainwave.)

||Oh well-||

(You know, I didn’t even want to hire you. I was gunning for Snipey McSkullface. That guy has style.)

||In the form of a skull face-tattoo, yes, I’m familiar with him.||

(Anyway, did you need something from me?)

||Er, yes. I was told that this position came with housing?||

(Oh yes definitely it does! You get to move into our super sweet basement! Right this way, follow me.)

||Thank you, it’s tough out there for a costumed smuggler. So I’m kind of in between homes at the moment.||

(Oh yeah? Wearing a distinctive bright costume makes smuggling more difficult? Who would’ve thunk.)

||Sigh.||

(Did you just say “sigh”?)

||So this basement...||

(Oh yeah! Dr. Brainwave used to live there, you know before he exploded, so a lot of his junk is still down there, but don’t worry we did our best to clear out the mutant alligators.)

||What do you mean you did your best?||

(Listen Smugs, at the end of the day mutant alligators will be mutant alligators if you catch my meaning.)

||I’m not sure I do...||

(Ha! Classic Smugs, anyway enjoy your new digs I’ll see you around.)

||Sure... thanks||

||Wow, they really left everything just as it was. All of Dr. Brainwave’s equipment and machinery is still here. This couldn’t have gone better... Now if I just fire up this thing ah, nope, that’s just a feed that shows what everyone else in this building is thinking about. Not what I’m looking for, but I’ll come back for that later maybe... Oh gross, you know what this thing should be burned. Now let’s see, shrink ray, precarious stack of explosives, ah! Here it is! The interdimensional warp gate generator. Excellent. Now, if I just power it up, and set it to the proper frequency. Yes... Yes! Yes it’s working! Oh now they’ll rue the day they disrespected Smuggles. Each of them will pay dearly for how they treated me... now that you’re back old frien-||

Hey, Smuggles? Oh good, Parenthesis Guy got you settled in, just wanted to thank you for your great work today and to check if you needed anythi- What are you doing.

||Oh Zach! Hello! What do you mean?||

Why is there a warp gate open in my basement? What are you doing with that thing?

||Taking my foul revenge on you and everybody else who ever slighted me! The world will crumble before me and my ally!!!||

Listen, if this is about the jokes, I’m sorry about that, but you really don’t want to do this. Trust me, this isn’t going to end well for any of us.

||It certainly won’t end well for you and all of your superhero friends. Ah, there he is. Welcome back, Chuck the Fish Whisperer.||

Oh... this is bad.

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 2: She Wants To Dance Like Uma Thurman, But She Can’t (Vatya) 1/2 - Maeve

A/N: Hello! It’s me, Maeve, again. This is the first part of the second chapter of Girls Interrupted, and I can’t believe it. You won’t believe how much time I spent trying to learn cheerleading terms for this (it was a lot). It makes me so happy to see that we aren’t letting this drought get the best of us. So many prompts! The world could always use some more Vatya, and I’m more than happy to provide because their dynamic is so fun to write. Hope you enjoy it!

P.S. Part two is going to be wacky

Neil deGrasse Tyson would have good pickup lines—or at least Katya thought he would. Sharon was taking an exceptionally long time to change into her gym uniform, and not wanting to walk back to the gym alone, Katya was forced to wander the landfills of her mind.

“Boo,” Sharon smirked, emerging from around the corner.

Katya rolled her eyes. “Some of us have limited lifespans,” she tutted. “How long does it take to put on unisex activewear?”

“Fuck off,” Sharon laughed. “I had to take my face off. As much as I enjoy an irritated Phi Phi, I’m too hungover to hear about my ‘cakey Ben Nye’. Clown white, of course. It’s a real pain in the ass to find foundation, you know?” Katya’s head whipped back as she cackled, and Sharon was quick to clamp a hand over the blonde’s mouth. The abruptness of the action shocked Katya into silence. “What part of ‘hungover’ did you not understand, Zamo?” She snapped.

Katya’s sheepish smile was hidden underneath Sharon’s cold, clammy hand. In a moment of poor judgement, Katya licked the offending palm. “Tastes like soap,” she stuck out her tongue. The spooky teen pulled away in disgust. Sharon was about to retaliate when the blonde fell to her knees. “There is no need to spite me, Mistress of Darkness, for I am currently paying for my actions with the acrid taste of ‘Generic Brand’.”

Sharon wiped her palm on her shorts. “Get up, pussyfart,” she instructed. “It’s too early in the year—even for me—to become Coach Rice’s sacrificial lamb.” Katya did as she was told, and the two hastily descended the stairs that lead to the gym.

Utter chaos had taken over the gym. Coach Rice was nowhere to be found, so Katya and Sharon joined their classmates on the bleachers and watched the madness unfold. A group of cheerleaders in green and white skirts and halter tops practiced stunts across a series of large, green mats. The Back to School Pep Rally was due to begin in less than half an hour, and the throbbing vein on Coach Calhoun’s forehead told Katya everything she needed to know.

In the center of the floor stood a red-faced Violet Chachki. Even when raising the fires of Hell, she looked immaculate. Her uniform was pristine (likely freshly laundered), and not a hair in her high ponytail was out of place. The form-fitting material hugged her body in all the right places, and if Katya didn’t know whose head was attached to it, Katya’s mouth might’ve watered.

Violet towered over the frightened Junior Varsity girl, reducing her to a sniveling mess. Ouch.

Bianca, who was watching the drama unfold from the other side of the gym, finally spotted her friend through the forest of cheerleaders. She snuck her way over to Katya and plunked down next to her.

“She’s been like this all day,” Bianca informed them. She pursed her lips, “It’s nothing new, really. Chachki can’t get it through her thick skull that we can’t all be as perfect as her. Their routine is sloppy and the stunts aren’t clean.”

“Bummer,” Sharon quipped.

Katya frowned. “But that’s not her fault, right?” She turned to Bianca, “Couch Calhoun can’t really blame her.”

Her friend shot her a pitying look. “You’ve clearly never met Coach Calhoun,” Bianca said, standing up and excusing herself to go put the Spartacus the Spartan costume on.

Katya frowned, Can one girl really be expected to carry the weight of both squads? Violet Chachki was by no means her favorite person, but the blonde could still recognize an unfair situation. She returned her attention to the mats where Alyssa and Coco tried and failed to perform a routine lift.

“That was the most offensive thing I’ve seen in twenty years of coaching!” Coach Calhoun Bellowed. “You’re pathetic! All of you! You’ve made me want to stab myself, congratulations! Now get your sorry asses cleaned up because my girls are not ugly!”

Even Sharon flinched at the severity. The two shared a nervous glance. Pep Rallies were usually optional, but since their 7th period was in the place where the pep rally would be held, they didn’t have much of a choice. It was going to be painful to watch.

The cheerleaders weren’t the only issue with the pep rally, either. Coach Rice had been forced to send three members of the football team to Principal Charles’ office due to a locker room jockstrap incident. The man re-entered the gym just before the pep-rally looking rather disheveled. He stormed into the coaches office and slammed the door behind him. School spirit, am I right?

“You sticking around for this shitshow?” Sharon asked Katya. “I need a smoke.”

The blonde took a moment before shaking her head. “Why try new things when you can try nothing?” Sharon gave her an exasperated look. “Stay and watch the show with me?” She begged.

With a dramatic sigh, her friend caved. “Fine, but you owe me one, Zamo,” Sharon grumbled.

Despite all of her complaining, Katya knew that Sharon wasn’t upset about sticking around for the circus. She’d probably get a kick out of the mess to come. Katya, however, found herself compelled to remain on the bleachers by different forces. There was something about the gruesome and horrific that made you want to look when you knew you shouldn’t. Katya would certainly regret it later.

The pep rally commenced with a speech from Principal Charles: school spirit and all that crap. The football players paraded in after, pumped for their game that evening. Next, the Spartanaires performed a lackluster, borderline raunchy dance in their usual out-of-sync fashion. Finally, it was the cheerleaders’ turn.

Fallout Boy’s Uma Thurman was an appropriate cheer remix for the scene unfolding in front of them. She wants to dance like Uma Thurman, but she can’t. Katya grimaced as all of the girls jumped into a double hook at slightly different times than each other. She scanned the rows for familiar faces, finding Alaska first. Her smile looked more like a grimace as she jumped into a hurdler. The clump peeled off into two groups and proceded to butcher an axel turn canon into a drop. Alyssa and Coco were clearly competing for the best leg height in the toe touches that followed. A series of back handsprings, cartwheels, and walkovers later, Katya finally spotted Violet front and center. She was lifted into a scorpion hold cradle for the conclusion of the routine.

Is there anything she can’t do? Katya wondered.

The raven-haired cheerleader remained in the air for a glorious second before she began to wobble. Immediately, the blonde knew something was off: Courtney and Willam kept shifting their grip. Katya watched in horror as Violet plummeted towards the ground moments later. Roxy, who was supposed to be her back spot, stumbled backwards to avoid being crushed, and the cheerleader hit the mat with a loud thud.

Katya couldn’t breathe. It was impossible to tell if Violet landed on her back, her head, or her ass. Her fellow cheerleaders continued to hold their positions, knowing full well that they’d be flayed by Coach Calhoun for breaking formation. Suddenly, there was movement, and the cheer captain pushed her way through Willam, Courtney, and Roxy. Her face was flushed and her high ponytail had seen better days. Violet raised her arms in a V shape and gave her head a sharp nod, concluding the routine.

The other fliers dismounted and the relatively unphased squad began to roll up the mats. Violet slipped away in the crowd of exiting students.

Is no one going to make sure she’s okay? Katya wondered. She didn’t notice anyone chasing after Violet, but Katya had been wrong many times before. Katya poked Sharon. “Did anyone go after Violet?” She asked

“Don’t think so,” Sharon commented. “Betcha she went home like the rest of the bimbettes are going to Thanks for the good time, Kat. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sharon hopped down from the bleachers and slunk off to the locker room, leaving Katya to find Bianca.

Bianca exited the mascot’s private dressing room just as Katya made to open the door.

“Just the assclown I was looking for!” Bianca exclaimed, “There’s a back to school party at Alaska’s tonight. She wanted me to invite you. Something about it coming from a non threatening face. Gotta run, bitch! I have dogs to put through college. Just remember that I refuse to associate with losers!” Bianca sprinted off in the direction of the junior lot.

Don’t be a loser. Got it. Katya made a mental note. She was both over the moon and wholly mortified that Alaska invited her—Katya, “Bozo the Cunt”, your average run-of-the-mill Russian bisexual transvestite hooker—to her party. Katya’s skin felt warm and tingly, and it was in a good way for once! Suck it, Susan, I am putting pants on tonight, she grinned.

The blonde practically skipped back to the locker room to collect her things. At the base of the stairs to the girls’ facilities, she stumbled into a cloud of cigarette smoke. “Sharon Needles, you are one rotten girl,” Katya tutted. Sharon was perched on the third step with a cigarette in hand.

“The most sickening ghoul you know,” she affirmed. “Cancer sticks wait for no woman, babe. Pop a squat?” Her friend offered her a toothy smile.

“I’m all for soaking up your secondhand smoke like a sponge, but I only have a few hours before the ball to turn myself into a biological woman,” Katya apologized with a pout.

Sharon nodded, “Suit yourself, Zamo. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“The Harris County Morgue!” Katya bounded up the stairs two at a time. High school was shit as a whole, but she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of making two new friends in one week.

In the locker room, Katya peeled off her gym clothes. She was slipping into her custard yellow mom jeans when she heard a yelp from the bathroom area. Because it was a day for stupid decisions, Katya zipped up her pants and set out to investigate. She padded across the cold concrete in her bright blue rubber duckie socks. The bathroom area was made separate by the abrupt switch to peppery tiled floor. There was a series of exposed sinks, and bathroom and shower stalls were on the left and right of the sinks, respectively, and separated from the rest of the locker room by brick walls.

When Katya turned the corner, she was brought face to face—well, face to back—with a half-naked Violet Chachki. The cheerleader was examining a scrape on her forearm.

Katya felt a lot like she’d pressed that ‘I’m Feeling Lucky’ button on Google in that moment. She hadn’t known what she was going to find in the bathroom, nor had she developed any expectations for the result. She had said ‘sure, why not?’ and was presented with something (a surprising something) that she now had no idea what to do with.

Thanks, I guess? Fuck. Katya grimaced. 

Violet’s quick recovery on the floor had masked the true damage done by the fall. There were claw marks on her sides and down her back. Either she fell on someone or her bases tried to catch her, Katya deduced. A small first aid kit was perched on the side of the sink. The blonde decided to dig her hole even deeper.

“Violet?” She called softly. The last thing she wanted to do was startle a wild animal. Violet’s head whipped around, and Katya found her ocean blue eyes connecting with piercing brown ones yet again.

“What?” Violet snapped. Her words were merely a gut reaction to being disturbed; it took her a moment to process that it was her cretinous lab partner doing said disturbing.

Katya froze. “I-um…are you…you know? Okay?” She stammered. “I saw the fall, a-and then you got up, so I thought maybe…but then you just now did the, and I heard you. Now, here we are, and your back lo—”

“It’s none of your fucking business!” Violet interrupted. The cheerleader crossed her arms over her sports-bra-clad chest. This was not good.

She tried again, “Are you sure you don’t want help?” Katya was no Dr. Ken Jeong, but she could still tell that it was going to be a real pain in the ass for Violet to dress the scratches on her back by herself. The raven-haired girl hissed. Literally.

“I get it. I’m a bitch. But in no way should that discourage you from believing the goddamn words that come out of my mouth. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help,” Violet’s voice was cold and laced with venom. Katya turned tail and ran back to her locker. She didn’t dare look back.

Katya leaned back against the cool, green metal of her locker and sank down to the floor. Fuck. Just, fuck. That’s what you do, Katya you fuck everything up. She dug her face into her knees. You can’t show your face in biology now. She’ll make your life a living hell. Is that what you want, Katya? Do you want to run away? Do you want to be pathetic? The blonde’s breaths were labored and heavy. Her wet palms grasped for purchase on the fabric of her jeans. Katya needed to calm down. This couldn’t happen here. She frantically grabbed for her ‘birds aren’t real’ shirt and pulled it over her head. Next, shoes. It was difficult with her shaking hands, but she managed to lace up her high tops. Katya was almost out the door when one of her worst nightmares came true.

“Shit!” Violet’s voice echoed through the room. Katya pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did it always have to be her? She couldn’t just leave Violet—even if she was a raging cunt.

I’m not gonna panic, because I don’t do that anymore, the blonde steeled herself. She marched with purpose back to the sinks and put on her sternest face.

“Look, Chachki, I’m going to need you to put your feelings towards me aside for right now,” Katya began. Violet once again whipped around, still unamused. “I’m going to help you whether you like it or not. This might come as a bit of a shocker, but I don’t get off on watching you struggle. I don’t want a leg up. I don’t want to be friends. But if you don’t cover some of those nastier ones up and irritate the hell out of your skin, it’s sure as hell going to be my problem when you’re extra rotten in class.” Neither of the two girls were expecting that to come out of Katya’s mouth. There was no turning back now.

The blonde approached the sink, and with all the courage she could muster, placed her hands on Violet’s shoulders and gently turned her around. Her patient tensed under her touch. “Sorry,” Katya apologized, “I tend to forget they’re usually cold.” The first aid kit on the sink contained a small tube of neosporin and some gauze. She quickly washed her hands before picking up the tube from where Violet had abandoned it. It looked like the girl’s sides were taken care of, so she moved on to her back.

Violet’s skin was smooth but firm under her fingertips. Katya gently traced the red marks until each one was taken care of. She then began to unroll the long spool of gauze just enough to give Violet one of the loose ends to hold at her hip bone. Katya skillfully guided the roll around the girl’s body until there was only a bit left to tuck into a fold. Without making eye contact with the cheerleader, she washed her hands once more and returned to her bag. If anyone saw Katya sprint to her car that afternoon, they never said a word.

Ironically, Katya felt like she could finally breathe in her stuffy car. She was too scatterbrained to remember to put up her sun visor in the mornings and was doomed to regret it later. But the heat didn’t matter now. Katya had given orders to Violet Chachki—orders the cheerleader had obeyed. Violet Chachki. Violet fucking Chachki.

Oh shit! You manhandled God’s gift to this world! What were you thinking? Katya plugged her phone in and put on some tunes to drown out the potential consequences. Elton John couldn’t solve her problems, but he could make the drive home a little less shitty.