#worded this more generally but.. yeah this is the only way id ever be able to tell vanya's story

[monstertsunami]

shaking and throwing up imagining a short and sweet low poly video game set in the zone . one thats not focused on combat or "exploration" in the video game sense but more of just. the vibes. oh it would be so cool for the anomalies to be as unpredictable and ever-changing as they are in stalker. probably playing as a stalker guiding two clients through the zone, trading thematic dialogue as you work your way to the Room..... yet game development scares me :(

[beebotea]

Hewllo!! Id like to drop a msg, i read ur heartsteel kayn's college boy and i adore the little details of his actions u put in ♡!! Id definitely like to see more stories on college boi kayn from you!! ♡

☁️ ˖⁺ academic misfortunes — kayn (heartsteel)

pairing: heartsteel!kayn x f/gn!reader genre: fluff, crack, college!au cw: idk probably ooc, not proofread :0 i.e.: adventures of collegeboy!kayn and his classmate/tutor!reader

aahhh! im so glad you enjoyed it <333 i might do a mini series/collection of drabbles for collegeboy!kayn. please send in any requests or ideas you may have or just thoughts to chat about :DD

spinoff of this post

Kayn isn’t what you’d thought he’d be, to be completely honest. Going off of fancams, fanfics, and the general perception of his character to the public eye, you expected Heartsteel’s lead rapper to be a bit more… cool? Well, at least he certainly tries to come off that way.

However, you quickly learn that Kayn is really just a really, really closeted softie loser boy at best trying to compensate with a big attitude because he thinks edgy is cool or whatever. Of course, he would definitely attempt to murder you if you were to speak of these musings out loud but you couldn’t help but find his off-putting demeanour a bit endearing after a while… something akin to a hyperaggressive chihuahua or a rabid raccoon. But of course, there are other times where you’d wish he’d just fuck off and leave you alone.

“Hey loser.” He calls you from the steps, walking up to where you sit in the lecture hall. “Did you do the homework? Let me copy off of you.” He slides into his usual spot next to yours, throwing his backpack haphazardly on the ground beside him.

“You’re not copying my shit. Fuck off, Kayn.” You roll your eyes at him and continue to read through the slides for today’s class.

“C’mon, have some empathy, yeah? The boys and I had practice all day yesterday.” He was a decent enough liar, but he could have been better if he hadn’t texted you to postpone your tutoring session with a picture of him and Aphelios playing with a random pit bull yesterday instead of attending band practice or completing his homework.

“Kayn, this worksheet was assigned like two weeks ago.”

“So? I had stuff to do two weeks ago!” That part was a bit true; Alune always gave you a copy of the band’s promotion and practice schedule for the month to keep you updated.

It was difficult to refer to him as your friend. You saw him often enough—every day in almost every class. And you’ve worked with him on countless partnered projects by now—he’s only ever able to do work with you (in other words, he scares off anyone who tries to ask you to be in their group or be their partner). But he was always a complete pain in the ass.

When you first became acquainted with Heartsteel’s resident delinquent, you were assigned to be his tutor by one of the department heads at the request of Yone. Begrudgingly accepting the role in exchange for “VIP tickets to all concerts, all inclusive backstage passes at events and shoots, and first dibs to new merch releases,” you began your new job as Kayn’s personal tutor for the various courses he was performing horrendously in. It was by no means smooth sailing when you started. Trying to make plans around his schedule, finding places he wasn’t already banned from to study, getting kicked out of establishments because of his hissy fits at minor inconveniences, and then ultimately agreeing to work at his dorm every weekend instead so you don’t have to hide your face in public. What surprised you the most was how hardworking he actually was when he put his mind to it, even paying attention to your explanations for hours until he could grasp the concept at an intermediate level—or got hungry. What was more was that he even showed rapid improvement, bringing back marks higher than a C- and occasionally reaching the mid to high 70s after a month and a half of beginning his tutoring sessions.

“Okay fine. Just this once, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise.” He flashed you a snarky grin as you pushed your papers towards him, pointing out which ones were a bit more difficult to understand and summarising what should’ve been an explanation done during one of your tutoring sessions.

“You really should start focusing up on your work though, you know. Finals is coming up soon and these exercises are really good for preparation.”

When the professor finally dismissed the class, you found yourself waiting behind for the bright haired rapper.

“Aw you waited! That’s cute.” He sent a quick wink your way as he caught up to you.

“Well you said you were gonna give me a ride to your place so.”

“Just had to ruin the moment didn’t you.” He chuckled, ushering you to follow him. “I hope you’re not scared of motorcycles or anything because I finally got Yone to let me ride it.”

“Huh?”

“Now where did I park it… hm let’s see… Oh! Here!” He grabbed you by the wrist to pull you towards a red and black motorcycle decorated on its sides with white flames. “Sooo whatd’ya think?” He nudged your sides as he grinned at you.

“You are not driving me in that.”

“Oh come on, of course I am! I have a license for it and everything!”

“Kayn you’re literally gonna get us killed.”

“Will not! C’mon, don’t you trust me? After everything we’ve been through? When have I ever let you down?”

“Like literally this morning when you cheated off of my worksheets instead of completing them before hand like you said you would.” You rolled your eyes at him, missing the way he pouted at your words.

“I promised it was a one time mistake!” He took two helmets from a storage compartment in the vehicle and shook them in front of your face, hoping that his attempt to show you his knowledge of roadside safety would sway you in the right direction. “So? How about it?”

With a defeated sigh, you agree with a mumbled “fine” as he threw you your helmet and instructed you to get on behind him. He even took the time to emphasize the importance of ‘holding on [to him] really really really tight.’

“See? ‘wasnt so bad was it?” He said as he helped you off the motorbike, lifting you off the seat by the waist. He helped you steady yourself when your feet finally touched the ground. His hand never seeming to leave its place on your hip.

“It was… fine. I guess.” You couldn’t help but give him a small grin, having enjoyed the ride and being so close to him. Kayn seemed to want to say something else until he was interrupted by a voice calling from the window above you.

“Hey! Kayn’s back!” Ezreal’s green head could be seen poking out from one of Heartsteel HQ’s many windows, waving to the two of you below him. “Hurry up inside! Yone made ramen!”

Before he knew it, you bolted past him and through the front door at the promise of Yone’s homemade cooking.

a/n: def down to write more abt this lovesick loser bad boy (please give me more excuses to)

[desiredmalfoy]

I’ll Be Here, Always

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Genre: Fluff! (I feel like I’m on a roll with the fluff!)

Universe: After Hogwarts :)

Word Count:  0.9 k

Summary: Draco loves to talk to his son, before he is born and after.

{Draco Masterlist} { Main Masterlist }

(Credit to gif owner)

Here is something short, sweet & fluffy! More dad Draco to come :)

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Draco’s need to make sure you were okay amplified. You weren’t allowed to lift anything he seemed too heavy. Which usually meant even just a bag of groceries was too much for you according to him. 

One thing that Draco loved to do since you found out you were pregnant was to talk to your baby. He would lay his head on or near your stomach. Gently rubbing it while talking about everything in your life. He told your baby about both of you. How you met, description of the both of you, about both your parents and your friends. Anything and everything he could think of.

You were currently eight months and ready to give birth. You not only wanted to meet your son but you wanted some relief from being pregnant. Being able to see your toes again was something exciting to look forward to.

Your husband was currently laying down next to you in bed but he got up to sit next to your bump for his nightly routine of talking to him and reading him a story.

“Let me tell you about how your mom and I first truly talked to each other.” Draco spoke directly to your stomach. Placing a quick kiss where he felt the kick of your son. 

“Yeah because your dad wasn’t the nicest to me in the beginning.” You laughed at the memory of your years at Hogwarts. Draco wasn’t one who was exactly good at expressing his emotions. Love and care for another person being some of the emotions he just did not know how to express. He was never mean to you like he treated the Gryffindors but he wasn’t exactly Prince Charming in the beginning. He would make little comments here and there to try and annoy you. A way to try to get your attention. 

“Hey! I was fourteen and didn’t know how to properly express my emotions.” He lifted his head, stuck his bottom lip slightly, and playfully rolled his eyes at you. “Plus I thought that was one way to get your attention.”

You grabbed his face and pulled him close to you, placing a longing kiss on his lips. “I know love, I’m glad you worked through them though.” 

Draco pulled away and went back to your belly. Tapping lightly on it where your son was currently kicking. 

“Like I was saying, I was walking right behind her when the stairs started to shift. She lost her balance from the sudden movement.”

“Luckily for her, someone was there to save her. I grabbed her before she fell off. Can you guess who saved her? You got it! I did.”

“I could’ve died Draco ”, you groaned at your husband.  You ran your fingers through this platinum hair. You wondered if your son would have his hair color. “ I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“And you say I’m dramatic darling. You’re very lucky that I was able to save you.” He leaned into your touch, cuddling you. Once he was comfortable, his hand went back to your belly.

“I can't wait for him to get here and finally meet him.” 

“Only less than a month now and he’ll be here.” You sighed happily while continuing to run your fingers through his hair. “Before you know it he’ll be keeping up all night.”

“I can’t wait to actually read him bedtime stories when he gets here.”

“I’ll always be here for both of you.” Draco said sleepily as he rubbed your pregnant belly. “Always.”

——

The birth with Scorpius was generally smooth. You labored and delivered pretty quickly. Which you consider yourself to be extremely lucky compared to your friends. That didn’t mean it was all a flower path. You both had your ups and downs in parenthood and you were still learning along the way. 

But there was one thing Scorpius absolutely adored, his father reading or talking to him before bed. 

It would instantly soothe him. No matter how fussy he was, Draco talking to him immediately calmed him down.

“The princess was the prettiest in the land. She had the biggest heart ever known. She even managed to melt the heart of the most bitter people out there. She captured the heart of this one prince.” Draco sat in the rocking chair and whispered softly to your son. He placed a delicate kiss on his head. “She was able to show him how to love and what it truly meant.”

You stood in the entrance of the room looking on towards your two loves. You couldn’t ask for anything more in life. Draco continued to rock him to sleep while continuing his story.

“Is he asleep?” You walked carefully to the pair in the corner of the room. Careful to not wake him up. Scorpius was finally sleeping through the night and you did not want to interrupt that.

“Yeah, he fell asleep just a while ago.” Draco got up from the chair and went to place Scorpius in his crib. 

“You’re such a great father you know?” You wrapped your arms around his torso as you both stared down at your sleeping baby. 

“I try but I’m afraid to mess it up.” 

“We‘ll both make mistakes. But as long as we learn from them and keep trying out best, we’ll be okay.” You reassured him. He would still have moments where he was worried about becoming like his dad. But you knew Draco would be the best dad. 

“I know love.”

“We’ll be here to show him unconditional love.”

“I’ll be here for the both of you, always.”

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[somethingwritey]

How is the Rangshi long fic coming? Id love an update on ittttt!

Hello! I'm so glad you're still thinking about my Rangshi fic! It's currently around 20k at the moment—definitely getting a bit carried away!

Because you asked, here's another little out-of-context snippet ;)

-----

“Do you think the spirits would mind if I assassinated a world leader?”

Jinpa jerked his head up at the question, risking a glance behind him at her. Kyoshi knew she must be a sight to behold, laying out across the wide saddle and staring up at the darkening clouds. In her hands, she opened and closed a fan in time to her pounding pulse.

“I don’t think that’s listed as an Avatar duty,” Jinpa stammered, thoroughly taken aback by her proposal.

“Bummer.”

Jinpa was quiet for a few moments, no doubt trying to edge around the subject towards her reasoning. “I take it that meeting with the Fire Lord went… poorly?”

Kyoshi propped herself up on her elbows to stare him in the face. She hoped he could read how absolutely stupid that question had been. She’d emerged from the Fire Lord’s palace by stomping, causing tiny earthquakes as she marched over to the stables. That should’ve been indication enough.

“He’s out of control.” Kyoshi shivered—Rangi’s absence making itself very apparent just then; she could always be counted on for a little extra warmth while traveling.

Kyoshi went back to staring at the sky.

Zoryu’s words about the Firebender still echoed in her ears, doing more to chill her than the night air ever could. She wished she could put more distance between Rangi and the Fire Lord, despite being hidden away in Yokoya.

For a terrifying moment, she wondered if Zoryu somehow knew. If he could see the girl in her cotton shift, laid out on the infirmary bed with her hands knotted in the sheets. If he had discovered a way to look at the bruises on her face and the way her breath still rattled slightly whenever she breathed. Maybe this whole meeting had been a distraction, a diversion to take Kyoshi away from the infirmary and Rangi. Maybe, it was too late.

“Jinpa!” Kyoshi felt her heart pounding in her ears. “Fly faster!”

She worked herself up as they flew, imagining horrific scenes of injury and destruction—rivaling the iceberg or North Chung-Ling - only this time, it would absolutely be her fault. If anything happened to Rangi, the Flying Opera Company, even Hei-Ran and Atuat, she would be to blame.

Kyoshi gripped the edge of the saddle, her knuckles turning white from the effort. She watched the ground grow closer and closer as Yingyong spiralled into a descent. Her chest tightened with every drop in altitude, and once, she almost slipped over the edge and plummeted the last several feet to the ground.

“Quiet evening.” Jinpa seemed on the whole unaware of her own personal panic. He landed Yingyong with ease and dismounted, walking around the side of the bison to assist Kyoshi like he always did.

She didn’t wait for the monk to make it over to her. She tumbled from the saddle, falling hard onto the ground and scrambling back up to her feet.

“Kyoshi!” he yelled after her in disbelief.

She didn’t turn around, stumbling towards the infirmary to what she knew would be waiting for her. Blindly, she pushed open the door and tripped over the doorway, panting and gasping for air, to find -

No evidence of violence. No ransom note or bodies or trails of blood. Just Hei-Ran and Atuat sitting in a few chairs with bowls of noodles, with the rest of the Flying Opera Company still bedridden, but looking more vibrant than before. Even Rangi looked, on the whole, unchanged, propped up in bed. Someone had even taken the time to put her hair back up in its usual topknot.

“Well,” Hei-Ran said dryly, taking in Kyoshi’s haggard appearance. “Are you being pursued by wolfbats? Lion vultures? Spider snakes, perhaps?”

Kyoshi’s face flushed red, and she tried hard to catch her breath - smoothing down her skirts to remove the ruffles.

“Did the monk get eaten?” Atuat asked calmly, taking another bite of her noodles. Clearly, the two women were enjoying the joke at Kyoshi’s expense.

Rangi covered her mouth, looking as though she was trying to keep a straight face for Kyoshi’s sake and failing at it. Kyoshi glared at her.

“Not you, too.”

A little snort escaped Rangi’s fingers, and her eyes went wide.

“Some bison ride you must’ve had,” Kirmia ventured, surveying Kyoshi’s windswept state. “What did happen to that Airbender of yours?”

Kyoshi gestured out the door. “Probably unsaddling Yingyong,” she told them all, still somewhat out of breath. “I, uh, just needed to check something.”

“The Fire Lord put you on edge?” Hei-Ran put down her bowl of noodles, staring hard at Kyoshi.

She forced herself to look back calmly. The last thing she wanted was to let everyone know that she’d gotten worked up over some unfulfilled threats. And now that she was here, even Kyoshi could tell how stupid she’d been. The infirmary was the safest place for Rangi right now, surrounded as she was by Hei-Ran and Atuat and unable to make any wrong move the Fire Lord could use to justify an attack.

Kyoshi forced a smile, relaxing her shoulders the best she could. “Nothing of the sort.” She tucked her fans back into her belt. “The meeting was simply to confirm what he already knew. Pretty big waste of time, actually.”

Hei-Ran was still studying her skeptically, probably trying to pinpoint the reason for Kyoshi’s sudden change in demeanor. Kyoshi dared to look over at Rangi again.

Her expression mirrored her mother’s, lips slightly pursed and head tilted to the side. If Kyoshi didn’t want Hei-Ran to discover the true nature of her meeting with Zoryu, she definitely didn’t want Rangi figuring it out.

Rangi’s station meant everything to her, and she took her job very seriously. If she knew that her own Fire Lord was pondering possible ways to strip the girl of her life - or worse, her honor - she would lose it.

Kyoshi had already seen how Fire Nation citizens treated their disgraced ranking officials. Hei-Ran had been pitied, patronized, pet like an animal. If anyone were to take that tone with Rangi, well, Kyoshi couldn’t promise that she would be able to keep her Avatar State in check.

“Care for some noodles?” Atuat gestured to her own bowl, holding it up for Kyoshi to see.

There was no way Kyoshi could turn down food. She hadn’t eaten since… well, Kyoshi couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d eaten, and she could feel Rangi staring daggers at her.

“Yeah,” she smiled at Atuat. “Noodles would be great.”

////

It was three days before Rangi was able to stand.

Atuat worked on her the best she could, trying to heal the internal damage caused by Yun. She told Kyoshi that bits of his earth dagger had broken off inside her wound, causing irritation and leaving a large possibility for infection. It didn’t help that Rangi was a terrible patient.

“I can get up,” she kept insisting. “I’m fine!”

When Atuat finally let her try, Rangi leapt at the opportunity, getting to her feet much too quickly and nearly doubling over from lingering stiffness and pain.

“Careful!” Kyoshi cried, hovering nearby. The outburst earned her stares from both Rangi and Atuat.

When Rangi straightened up again—slower this time—Kyoshi could see the imprint of the bandages under her shift - wrapped generously around her torso like battle armor.

“Are you sure she should be doing this?” Kyoshi asked Atuat, probably only fueling Rangi’s determination. “She’s still got bandages on! What if she starts bleeding again? We can try again tomorrow! Or next week!”

“Kyoshi, what’s your problem?” Rangi narrowed her eyes.

She was being far too overprotective, Kyoshi knew. She should back off. Let Rangi manage her own recovery. But even though it was inviting Rangi’s wrath, Kyoshi didn’t want her Firebender’s stubbornness to impede her healing process.

Rangi needed to take it slow. Make sure she didn’t make things worse with her rush to get better. As much as Kyoshi wanted to see her girl back on her feet, she knew it wouldn’t benefit either of them if it happened too quickly.

That’s what Kyoshi told herself as she watched Atuat support Rangi and instruct her to gently raise and lower her arms - stretching out her muscles. Kyoshi just didn’t want Rangi to overextend herself. To tear open her wound. To hurry an infection along. Her concern was born from love and care, not selfishness.

Or cowardice.

As if to poke holes in her reasoning, Hei-Ran entered the tent, arms crossed. “Jinpa told me your meeting with the Fire Lord ended… abruptly.” She glanced over at Atuat and Rangi for the briefest of moments. “Rangi, straighten your shoulders. Injuries don’t excuse bad posture.”

Rangi huffed, but obediently did as she was told. She respected her mother’s authority, whether she liked it or not.

Kyoshi picked her next words carefully. Lying to Hei-Ran was never a good idea, but neither was letting on just how badly the meeting had actually gone. “I think… the messages of both parties had ample time for sinking in.”

The words could’ve come straight from Yun’s mouth—vague with just the right amount of high-brow language. Maybe she wasn’t a hopeless cause after all.

Hei-Ran seemed surprised by the response as well. “I see. And what message did the Fire Lord impart on you?”

Shit.

Kyoshi tried to think on her feet. “Politics,” she said at last. “The importance of… political relations.”

“Sounds like the stuff Jianzhu used to preach,” Rangi offered, crinkling up her nose at the mention of the departed sage.

Hei-Ran sniffed dismissively at the mention of the man who’d nearly poisoned her to death. Kyoshi wondered inwardly if the woman ever mourned Jianzhu, despite everything. He had once been her close companion, after all.

Every one of Hei-Ran’s old friends were gone, she suddenly realized - swallowing hard. Kuruk. Kelsang. Jianzhu. The once-inseparable gang hadn’t stayed that way for very long. Hei-Ran was the sole survivor.

Killed after hunting dark spirits.

Murdered by Jianzhu.

Murdered by Yun. And me.

What terrible fates had been waiting for the previous Avatar team, often at the hands of each other. Was that what waited for her? For Rangi? For Wong and Kirimia? Was every Avatar doomed to bring failure and annihilation to the people who loved them most?

“Atuat,” she said sharply, turning to look at Rangi who’d made good progress accompanied by the Waterbender. “That’s enough for today.”

“Yes, Avatar.”

As Atuat moved to help Rangi back to bed, Rangi protested - an angry haze settling over her face as she watched Kyoshi move towards the door.

“What?” Rangi twisted in Atuat’s grip, trying to break free, to run after her. “Who let her call the shots around here? Kyoshi, don’t you dare walk away from me! I’m not through talking about this!”

Kyoshi didn’t turn around. She couldn’t.

“Fine! Go clear your head! See if I care!”

And then Kyoshi made it out of earshot.

She would delay Rangi’s recovery as long as she possibly could, drag it out until the spirits themselves were begging the Firebender to get back on her feet. Because at least here in the infirmary, tucked away in Yokoya, she had people to keep her safe. She couldn’t get herself thrown into another life-threatening situation while she was still recuperating from the last one.

Kyoshi wouldn’t be the reason for Rangi’s obliteration.

And neither would Zoryu.

---

more coming soon! my commissions are open (and so is my ask box!)

[fanfic-archive]

Meeting the Baron (1/7)

Chapter 1. Berlin, Germany 

Summary: A call from your friends, Sam and Bucky, has you packing a bag and flying to Berlin. Maybe they should have mentioned something about the criminal that Bucky broke out of prison, the same man who was locked up after breaking up the Avengers. Maybe they should have mentioned what you were getting yourself into.

Word Count: 2172

The coffee you sipped at was bitter but if you weren’t going to get any sleep, you might as well fuel up on caffeine for the day. At least you got a few hours of sleep under your belt, and that was all you could ask for these days. You were just about to cross from your kitchenette to the couch until you heard your phone ringing.

With a sigh, you picked your phone up from the kitchen counter, becoming curious when you saw Sam’s name on the caller ID.

“Hey, what’s up?” you answered the call, heading for your couch.

“Hey, did I wake you?” Sam asked, pretty sure it was the early hours of the morning where you were.

“Nope” you sighed.

“I’m with Bucky-” he informed you, being interrupted by the other man.

“Hey, Y/n” Bucky’s voice was able to be heard in the background, making you chuckle a little.

“What trouble have you two started now?” you asked, knowing this call couldn’t be because of anything good.

“Nothing…well, we didn’t start it. We could use some help, another pair of hands and all that, do you think you could meet us?” Sam asked, but you could hear that he felt a little bad about it.

“Yeah, of course. Where?” you were always happy to help your two friends, even though the tasks were rarely easy.

“Berlin” Sam stated, making your eyes widen.

“What the hell are you doing in Berlin?” you asked, raising your voice slightly.

“It’s a long story, do you think you can meet us?” he asked again, clearly this was something that he had to explain to you in person.

“Sure, I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll let you know when I’ve landed” you shook your head at him, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Thank you.”

“No problem” you hung up the phone and looked around your dimly lit apartment. Should you pack a bag? Because it looked like you were heading for Germany.

After arriving in Berlin, Bucky sent you the location where you were supposed to be meeting them and you headed straight there. You met the two men in some form of garage, greeting them both with a friendly hug, before they filled you in on everything they had been up to. Which was much more than you had been expecting.

“…and you went in there alone?” you asked in disbelief. Sam and Bucky had just finished filling you in on their visit to Zemo and explaining exactly who Zemo was, it was a lot of information to process in one go. And after all of that, you couldn’t believe that Bucky went to speak with him alone.

“I was fine” Bucky assured you.

“And he wants to break him out” Sam added, bewildering you even more.

“After all of that, you, of all people, want to break him out of prison?” you asked Bucky, eyes wide. When you got a call from Sam, you knew it couldn’t be good, but this was beyond bad.

“Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?” Bucky asked.

“What did you do?” Sam asked accusingly.

“I didn’t do anything” Bucky defended himself but neither of you were buying it.

“Go on then, hypothetically?” you sighed, letting him continue.

“The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element. Now, in this lock up, it’s nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond” Bucky informed you both.

“So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment?” Sam asked, squinting at him.

“Who knows? There could be many reasons…but the point is, these things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated, and with all those bodies flying around left and right, wouldn’t be hard to slip down a hallway or two. And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated, someone could use the chaos to their advantage” Bucky finished, not liking the look on your or Sam’s face.

“I don’t know the guy but I’m guessing all that would be bad” you looked to Sam.

“Oh, it would be bad” Sam nodded.

“In that case, I don’t like how detailed this hypothetical is…” you turned back to Bucky, just wanting him to tell you that all of that truly was a hypothetical.

“Yeah, I don’t like how casual you’re being about this. This is unnatural. Are you…and where are we man?” Sam cut himself off to ask the question that both of you had been wondering. Why were you here and what was going on?

As if on cue, the sound of a door opening and closing got your attention, making you all turn in time to see a man approaching. He was wearing a prison guard uniform, which seemed suspicious after Bucky’s little speech.

“Bucky…?” you asked without talking your eyes off of the man, wanting him to explain what was going on.

But Sam seemed to recognise the man from the way he reaction, Bucky had to get in front of him and stop him from approaching the man. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let this happen” Bucky explained to him.

They quickly made it known to you that this was the Zemo they had been telling you about and, after a little bit of convincing, you and Sam agreed to trust Bucky on this. If he could deal with working with him, so could you.

“So, who is your friend?” Zemo asked, looking to you expectantly.

“Y/n” you told him simply.

“Baron Helmut Zemo” he introduced himself as he held his hand out for you to shake.

You were unsure at first but decided to just step forward and go to shake his hand, but Sam was quick to intervene. “Ah, none of that” he pushed your arm down and pulled you back to his side, shooting a glare at the criminal.

“Apologies” Zemo nodded, seemingly unphased by Sam’s reaction.

Zemo led you all through into another room and pulled a switch, the lights flickering on overhead to reveal a warehouse filled with vintage cars, all of which you were sure were expensive.

“So, our first move is grand theft auto?” Sam asked sarcastically, seemingly unimpressed.

“These are mine. Collected by family over the generations” Zemo informed the three of you.

“Oh, so you’re like…rich-rich” you commented without thinking, more to yourself than anything. But the three men had heard and looked at you, Sam and Bucky seeming unimpressed but Zemo had the smallest of amused smiles on his face. “What?” you asked when you noticed the men looking at you.

“Yes, I supposed you could say that I’m…’rich-rich’” Zemo nodded, using your own term, and you just nodded in response. “I’m a Baron. My family was royalty until the Avengers destroyed my country” he explained as he opened the door of one of the cars and started grabbing his belongings.

“Royalty? So, he really is like…proper rich-rich” you murmured to Sam, they failed to inform you of these details.

“Will you stop?” Sam looked down at you.

“I just wasn’t expecting it” you defended yourself with a small shrug, making him chuckle a little.

More importantly, you also hadn’t expected the criminal to be so…attractive, especially after just getting out of prison. That was another thing that took you by surprise, a part of you hoped that he would turn out to be annoying or rude, otherwise you could see yourself liking this guy.

The next thing you knew, you were on Zemo’s private jet being filled in on the details of Madripoor and the person you were supposed to be meeting there. Zemo had also informed you that he had arranged a place to spend the night, in order to prepare for the meeting tomorrow evening.

It was a small safe house by the looks of it, located in the backstreets of a rouge city, you couldn’t imagine Zemo ever staying here for long, but it would do for now. The four of you were in the main room, a lounge and a kitchenette, talking about the plan.

“Right so, you’re going in as you, Sam as this Smiling Tiger guy, and Bucky as…as the Winter Solider. Where does that leave me?” you asked, cringing a little at the thought of Bucky having to pretend to be that, it can’t be easy for him.

“Unfortunately, I do not have an identity for you to steal but it will be easy to make one for you” Zemo assured you but the three of you were still wondering what he had planned.

“I have a fake ID guy if you need him” you joked, earning a slight glance from Sam before he looked back at Zemo.

“Not necessary. You will pose as my date” the Baron informed you.

“No” all three of you responded at the same time.

“It is the only unsuspicious way to get you into the meeting without having an important name” Zemo sighed, trying to convince the three of you.

“…fine” you gave in after a moment of consideration. How awful could that actually be? And if he tried anything, you would break his hand. You would be fine.

“You don’t have too; we can just meet up with you after” Sam assured you.

“There is no way I’m going to sit around while you two go in there. It’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen?” you insisted. You did not fly out to Germany and then to Madripoor just to sit around and wait for them to come back.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to say that” Bucky commented.

“…oops?” you responded, making Bucky laugh a little to himself.

At some point, you all had decided to get some rest, though you doubted it would come easily. The meeting was important and you all had to be ready, and that meant being well-rested, no matter how unlikely it was to happen.

Unsurprisingly, you found yourself wandering back to the main room when you couldn’t get to sleep. A little more surprisingly, you found Zemo sitting on the couch but neither of your friends, you assumed that they were still somewhere else in the safe house getting some rest.

You ignored the man, heading straight for the kitchenette to get yourself a glass of water, but he wasn’t as dedicated to ignoring you. “Sleeping problems?” Zemo asked from the couch, watching you get a drink.

“Just jet lag” you lied without looking over at him.

“You were not an avenger” Zemo observed as he stood from the couch, walking over to you.

“No, I wasn’t” you nodded.

“So, forgive me for not being familiar with you” he hummed.

“You’re forgiven. I’d rather you not know my name than know everything about me like you do the others” you confessed, finally turning to him, glass in hand.

“I never said that I don’t know anything, I’m a quick learner” he informed you, sounding sure of himself.

“Sure, whatever that means” you mumbled, taking a sip of water.

“So, how do you know Sam and James?” he asked.

“I was just friends with them” you answered honestly. You weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t a superhero, but you were a capable friend that they trusted.

“Just a friend who would risk going against the US government because of a phone call” Zemo hummed, acknowledging that you were doing a big favour for your two friends.

“Eh, what has the US government ever done for me?” you joked dismissively. This time Zemo didn’t respond, he just looked at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. “What are you doing?” you questioned, feeling like he was analysing you.

“Learning” he answered quietly, with a small shrug.

“Look, my friends called me for help, people are dying, and John Walker is Captain America. I’m just trying to help out before things get any weirder” you told him, placing the glass down and planning to leave.

“How heroic” Zemo sarcastically commented.

“I’m no hero, I know how you feel about them” you folded your arms over your chest, you weren’t in the mood to have this discussion.

“Ah, so, you do know me” he smirked a little, having assumed that you didn’t really know who he was.

“Sam and Bucky filled me in. I don’t care, as long as you’re helpful” you shrugged.

“I am” he promised with a nod.

“Good” you nodded back.

“Goodnight, Y/n” Zemo gave you a small smile before turning and leaving the room.

You couldn’t decide what to think about the Baron. You didn’t have the history with him that the others had but you hated what he put them through, but something about him just seemed…oddly likable. The sooner this whole thing was over and things went back to normal, the better.

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: child trafficking, child labor

a/n: just a disclaimer, i am not that well-versed when it comes to investigations and trial procedures at the court. please do correct me i make a mistake. i hope you enjoy this new part! i think we have about three or four chapters left. ANGST is on the next part :’(

seven: if you can’t believe | masterlist

“On April xx, 20xx, at approximately 10:30 in the morning, two unidentified males entered and held hostage the Emergency Room of the Royal Hospital. The nurse in charge of the information desk said that the two males approached the desk and asked if there were two boys (their identities are yet to be confirmed) admitted to the hospital. They claimed that they’re their guardians and wish to have them discharged and transferred to a different hospital. Based on their description, the nurse confirmed that there were two boys who came to the hospital earlier in the morning. However, the nurse informed them that they are not cleared to be discharged yet as per doctor’s orders and if they wish to discuss with the doctor-in-charge, they can. They only need to present IDs or any documentation to prove that they are indeed the guardian.

They did present IDs however, it was not valid and accepted by the hospital. The two males started demanding to see the two boys and insisted that they will recognize who they were. At that point, the nurse said the two males’ were beginning to raise their voices. The nurse asked them to calm down and wait patiently for the doctor-in-charge to arrive. That’s when the two males pulled out handguns and threateningly pointed it at the nurse.

The Royal Hospital’s security was alerted and immediately called the Royal Police. The hospital’s security was able to distract the two suspects until one of the police officers fired a shot. Fortunately, no hospital staff and patients were harmed. It is yet to be identified how the armed suspects were able to enter the hospital undetected. 

The Royal Police cannot release the names of the suspects and any other details as the investigation is still ongoing. However, we are looking at the direction that this could possibly be a  case of child trafficking and the two suspects are perpetrators. 

Please be rest assured that we are committed to solve this case and hold everyone involved accountable. We ask the general public to only believe verified information and wait for the official statements that the Royal Police will release accordingly.

Thank you for your understanding.”

You’re both crestfallen and angry. This paper would probably rip apart from the way your hand is deathly gripping it. It’s never easy to read and hear about crimes committed against innocent people. It’s never easy because they don’t deserve to go through the torment, harm and trauma. You wish you could avoid it, but it would be wrong and unfair to the victims. So no matter how heartbreaking or uncomfortable it is, you read and you listen because you have to be aware of it. You have to know and not turn a blind eye because they deserve to be heard and fought for. 

This black and white statement of the Royal Police is nothing but horrible. How did the kingdom let this pass? For a kingdom that’s so proud of its enforcement of strict laws, how did this crime happen right under its nose? 

It weighs on your heart and ever since you’ve taken hold of this piece of paper, you don’t know how to continue on with the day anymore. You lean your head against the backrest and stare up the ceiling. You breathe in and breathe out, getting yourself together to think, to function.  

Something is telling you that there is more to this hostage taking at the hospital and this case of child trafficking. And you desperately need to know. You’re already aware that the authorized and concerned people are doing their job already, but why is it drawing your attention? 

You release an exasperated sigh and massage your right brow. It’s been twitching due to the boiling anger inside you and you just want it to stop. The only way for that to happen is to find answers. Picking up your phone among the pile of papers, you dial the number of the person you’re sure that can give you any information, big or small. 

First ring. Second ring. Thi---, “Your Highness.”

You’re quick to your feet the moment he answered. “Hey Seungkwan. How have you been?”

Boo Seungkwan is the man to call. A persistent and assertive prosecutor and person in general. Definitely one of the brightest classmates and lawyers you have ever met. It’s no surprise that he’s hired by the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office as a prosecutor. He knows what he’s doing and more than doing, he knows how to fight to the end.

He actually wanted you to join together and you considered the offer. However, due to your position in the kingdom, you realized that practicing in private is more suitable for you.

“Well,” he says and pauses, “I have been better. How about you, Your Highness?”

“You know that you can call me Y/N, right?” You remind him, offering a smile even though he won’t be able to see it. “We went to law school and passed the exams together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, not a big fan of throwbacks. “To what do I owe this phone call anyway?”

“About the recent statement of the Royal Police, is there anything you’d be willing to share with me?” You requested and faced the window that’s overlooking the city. 

You hear him chuckle on the other line. “I knew you’d ask. You do know that I’m risking my job as a prosecutor because I can’t say no to you right?”

“Is it something… big?” You ask nervously, biting the insides of your cheek.

A beat of silence passes and you can tell it is without having him say it. You think your heart is going to explode anytime soon.

“Big or not, it’s a case and a crime,” he retorts. “But this is something that Their Majesties need to brace themselves for,” he continues, warning laced on his voice. “It can shake the cabinet as well because we can tell that one, and if not, some of them are involved.”

There it is. The cold hard truth. There was nothing else to say. It’s more than obvious that the kingdom’s cabinet has been compromised and it will blow right at your family’s faces. You don’t even need to doubt it. But still, your blood runs cold at the thought. 

“Thank you Seungkwan,” you say and breathe out a defeated sigh. “Let’s meet for coffee some other time.”

You hear him say “anytime” and then end the call. 

You toss your phone back on the table and cross your arms as if you’re trying to hug yourself. Your eyes are out of focus and your mind has questions that need answers. This case is not even about protecting your family’s reputation anymore. It’s about your family protecting its people, its children, from this. 

You’ll probably never forgive yourself if you and the rest of your family have failed to do its promise and duty. 

“Your Highness?” Jeongyeon knocks on the wooden door and calls for you, pulling you back to the ground. “Are you ready to go?”

You frown and tilt your head to the side, confused. You don’t remember having errands outside the office today. 

Jeongyeon notices your confusion and says, “Your monthly checkup is today.”

Oh. 

“I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind,” you say and quickly gather your things so that you can leave now. “Thank you, Jeongyeon.”

She nods, understanding what you meant. She keeps the door open and waits for you to pass through. 

What the hell am I going to do? You ask yourself. A million thoughts has started running inside your mind from reading the statement up to finding out that this case could potentially be a crime syndicate. A crime syndicate that the Royal Family failed to prevent. Every day, there are crimes that get tried and solved in this kingdom. But for this particular crime, it doesn’t happen every day and it shouldn’t be in the first place. But, your kingdom must have grown complacent because here it is, a ticking time bomb that will explode anytime soon.

How did this happen and who allowed this to happen?

“Your stress levels are quite high compared to your previous check-up, Your Highness.” The doctor gives you a knowing smile after reading the results of your tests today. 

“It’s because of work,” you make an excuse and return his smile with a sheepish one while scratching the back of your neck. “I think.”

The doctor tried to muffle his laughter, but you can hear him snicker nonetheless. He just nods and mutters an, “alright,” and proceeds to write down the results and updates of this consultation. 

“Although there is nothing to be concerned about, I still advise you to take things slow,” he once again points out the reminder that he gave from the first time you got admitted. “Remember, I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

You nod and purse your lips in a smile. “I promise I’ll try.”

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, but lets it go in the end. 

“I think we are good,” he says and leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “Let’s go back to your yearly check-up, like the usual.”

“Thank you for your time.” You stand up and reach your hand out to shake his. “I’ll see you next year, then.”

The doctor replies with his smile still intact, “I will be here.”

You think about taking the rest of the afternoon off and just go back to your apartment. You suddenly don’t feel so good and present, for lack of a better word. You just want to think alone, away from any distractions. 

On your way out to the door, you pull your phone out from your bag to call Jeongyeon. This floor of the hospital is private and reserved only for your family. It’s something you’re not proud of and you should probably talk to Their Majesties about it. You sigh and hold your phone to your ear as you proceed to the elevator. You're only a few steps away when a familiar voice makes you stop.

“Hey.”

You jump in surprise, almost dropping your phone and bag. You turn around and you’re not so surprised anymore to see a grinning Wonwoo with hands inside the pockets of his white coat. With a roll of your eyes, you finally relaxed your tensed shoulders and walked towards him.

He meets you halfway and holds his hand out. You happily take it, making it easy for him to tug you close to his chest, bringing you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck while his around your waist. Just like that, his breath against your skin made all your worries vanish.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, distancing from him but not letting go. 

“I knew that you’d be here,” he answers, keeping his hold on your arms. “Had to see you.”

You scoff and give his shoulder a light shove. “Shut up. We were inseparable until our last day at your hometown and yet you still want to see me. Aren’t you sick and tired of my face yet?”

He pinches your cheek and kisses the tip of your nose. “Of course not.”

“Well, I’m leaving,” you announce and let go of him, reluctantly (as always). “You should probably get back to work.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you move any further and drags his hand from your arm to your hand, swaying it from side to side as he whines out, “But, I’m on my break. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t really give in easily and it takes a lot of persuasion before you actually do. Jeongyeon can’t even convince you to stop going home late. But with just one request and pleading eyes, Wonwoo has you standing inside his office. 

It’s spacious, but a tad bit messy. There is lots of paper. In fact mountains of them, which you are very familiar with already. A wall of books is on one side of the room while three respective desks are on the other side. There’s a window, which is good, you can see some natural lighting. And of course, a small pantry for coffee and snacks. 

Wonwoo offered his chair for you to sit on as he prepared you something to drink. You still look around and try to keep yourself occupied. Your eyes trail on his desk eventually and you can’t help but smile. If every corner of this room is in disarray, Wonwoo’s desk seems to be the only area that is not. There’s nothing much on it except for a jar of pens, pencils and highlighters, a notepad and some bookmarked books. 

“You’ve met Soonyoung, right?” He asks, coming back with  two warm cups. Coffee for him and tea for you. “I share this office with him and another doctor.”

You nod and take a quick sip. You noticed that it’s almost lunch time on the clock above the door and wondered, “Is this all you’re going to have for lunch?”

“I had some cheeseburger earlier this morning, so I’m good,” he answers and leans against the edge of the desk. “How about you? Are you hungry?”

You smile and shake your head no. 

Then, it got quiet. 

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but you think Wonwoo can sense something else by the way his eyebrows raise as if he’s waiting for you to say something more. He sips on his coffee one more time before placing the cup down on the table. Afterwards, he takes matters into his own hands and swivels the chair you're sitting on by the armrest towards him, catching you off guard.

His actions almost made you drop your drink and you thought for a moment if you should punch him again. “What are you doing?”

Wonwoo just gives you a mischievous smirk before leaning down to kiss your lips. Your eyes dilate in surprise while the rest of your body freezes. You’re just thankful you’re already sat on the chair, otherwise your legs would give up and you’d fall. When you don’t resist, his kiss deepens, demanding. But it didn’t go any further than a few more pecks here and there. You let him be until he decides to pull away, but not without giving one last long smooch. 

“What was that for?” You ask, suddenly shy. 

Wonwoo just nonchalantly shrugs. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

“You startled me!” You hiss and slap his arm.

Wonwoo has started to take pleasure in seeing you all flustered and shy. He finds it cute and he’ll take every chance he gets just to see it. But he knows there’s something bothering you and he’s hoping you give him the chance to hear you out.

“Talk to me,” he says while crouching, almost sitting down on the floor to meet your height. “What’s on that brilliant head of yours?”

You roll your eyes at his choice of words but give in nonetheless, “It’s the hostage that took place previously. There’s a new update about it.”

Wonwoo exhales and moves to massage your thighs. “I read about it briefly earlier.”

You nod and let the silence engulf the two of you once again. 

“Listen, the kids they we’re talk---”

“Wonwoo!”

You jump when the door of the office suddenly bolts open with two unfamiliar boys dressed in hospital gowns running inside. They’re quickly followed by a panting Soonyoung who gives the two of you an apologetic smile. Wonwoo immediately stands up as they excitedly dash towards him while chanting his name. 

“We heard you were on a break, can we play now? Please?” The little one, which you assumed was the youngest, pleads and hops in the hopes of Wonwoo carrying him. The other one, who’s much taller, does the same but he’s only clinging to his arms.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Your Highness,” Soonyoung says (you’re sure he’s teasing) and gives you a salute. “These boys never get tired and I have no idea how.”

You stand up from the chair too and try to get a good look on the boy’s faces, but you couldn’t because their attention is only on Wonwoo. 

“We’ll play, alright?” Wonwoo tries to calm them down.”But I want you to meet someone special first.”

Your heart skips a beat meanwhile Soonyoung’s jaw drops in a silent squeal. 

“They were the kids from the statement,” Wonwoo warrily says while making the boys face you. 

Statement?

Your heart skipped one moment and the next it dropped to your stomach. You didn’t expect it to be them. You really hoped it wasn’t them. You don’t even know how sure you are that it’s them. But when you finally meet their eyes, these boys don’t seem to be so unfamiliar anymore.

It’s them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks, suddenly concerned by the sudden downcast of your face. 

“Wonwoo...” you weakly whisper. 

They’re one of the children adopted from the orphanage.

“Can you ask the orphanage if they can give us a copy of photographs displayed at their gallery?” 

A phone call has never felt so dreadful. You can’t help but bite your nails as you listen to Jeongyeon adhere to your request. A lump has already formed on your throat and you don’t even know how you’re going to swallow it. 

You slide your phone back to your pocket when Jeongyeon said she’d get back to you shortly. You turn around from where you were standing and see Wonwoo and Soonyoung playing with the two boys. It’s bittersweet. For one, you’re glad they are free and happy and on the other hand, it doesn’t sit right why they have to go through terrible and unimaginable things just so that they can be.

And it doesn’t help that it all happened here. 

Wonwoo told you how they got to know them and how he had asked the hospital to keep them here in the meantime, in coordination with Social Services of course. He didn’t need the hostage taking or the police’s statement to know what’s going on because his guts already told him the moment he saw the state of the boys. But then again, what happened only confirmed what he feared the most. 

Wonwoo deviates his attention to you and notices your lost gaze. By the looks of it, he’s aware that this is bothering you. He gives Sam’s hair a ruffle before standing up and walking to where you are.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching his hand out to softly squeeze your arm.

“Yeah,” you affirm, but the palm against your forehead doesn’t seem to agree. “I just… I can’t believe this.”

“It’s okay,” he tries to soothe your distress with his hand cradling your face. “I mean, it’s not. But, it’s not your fault.”

Why does it feel like it is? 

You couldn’t ask him that out loud so you just give him a nod instead. Wonwoo knows you’re hesitant to believe him and he doesn’t like it. He takes your hands and squeezes them. 

“Look at me,” he commands and when you don't, he lifts your chin up himself. “I’m confident this will be solved in no time. Have faith in your people and yourself, hmm? ”

“Okay,” you answer and that makes Wonwoo smile. 

Okay. You’re going to stop wallowing in your own uncertainty. You draw your eyes back at the boys and at this moment, you promised that punishment will be inflicted to everyone responsible for their suffering. 

No matter what it takes.

[sergeantsporks]

Adoption Papers

Rating: Gen, General Audiences

Part 2 of Camila is Hunter’s Mom Now

Camila officially adopts Hunter and Vee

Might be a little hard to explain where they came from, though.

Direct Sequel to “Another Shot at Life”

Ao3

“What’s a social security?”

“What do you mean an ID?”

“Why do we have to do a bunch of paperwork to live here? Luz just lived in Eda’s house for months!”

Camila pinched the bridge of her nose. “Things work differently here than in the Boiling Isles. And if the two of you don’t want me to get arrested for kidnapping, we have to fill out paperwork, and I have to officially adopt you.”

Vee sniffed the papers. “But I’ve already been living here!”

“Yeah, pretending to be me,” Luz reminded her, “Gonna be a liiiiiitle hard to explain why there’s two of us.”

Hunter squinted at the documents. “I used to do paperwork for the coven. But I have no idea what any of this says.” It was all a lot of technical stuff—with a lot of words he didn’t know the meaning of.

Camila sighed. “I’ve filled out most of it, but… we’re going to need to explain where the two of you came from. And ‘wandered in from another dimension’ isn’t something I think we can tell people.”

Luz bounced up. “Ooo! I’ve got it!” She waved a hand. “Vee is my twin sister, separated at birth!”

“Luz, sweetie, the hospital records will say otherwise.”

“Okay, okay, how abooooout… we say that Vee was a home birth, maybe a year younger than me, but Dad took her away with him when he left, and we assumed he’d do all of the registry, but apparently he didn’t? What are they going to do, track him down and ask him? They haven’t managed that yet. We can say that Vee ran away and came home to us.”

“That might work. What about Hunter?”

Luz grinned at him. “We found him living feral in the woods, he was raised by a pack of wolves.”

Hunter stuck his tongue out at her.

“Yeaaah… I don’t think that one’s gonna fly.”

“How about we tell them the truth?” Vee asked, “We say he ran away from a bad situation, and we’ve been taking care of him.”

“What if they start investigating? They’ll ask him questions, definitely, and if they try to figure out who his family is-!”

Luz jumped up and down. “Oooooo, tell them your horrible family chased you, and tried to push you off of a cliff, but they slipped and fell off and died!”

Hunter felt sick. “Pass.”

“Let’s stick to something simple. You and your… uncle… traveled, didn’t have a home, and you slipped away one day. You were camping out in the old abandoned house to hide, Vee found you there and brought you home, and you’ve been living with us ever since.”

“What if they try to figure out who his family is?” Vee asked, “I mean, uncle sounds a lot like he might have just kidnapped him.”

Hunter shrugged. “I’ll tell them my whole family was already dead. Freak boating accident, bodies never found. They were recluses, no one noticed they were missing. I’ll say uhhhhhhhh, I don’t remember their names, because I was a kid, and my uncle never told me our last name.”

Luz squinted at him. “What is your last name?”

“No idea.”

Camila sighed. “This is getting complicated. What if they start trying to figure out where your family lived?”

“Mexico,” Luz said immediately, “But Hunter was born over the border.”

“Does he look Mexican to you?”

“Okay, fine, Canada, whatever!”

“Let’s just… keep it simple, okay, Luz? Hunter, what do you think? This is your story, you have to be able to tell it.”

His story. Okay, who did he want to be? “I think… I think Vee’s idea is good,” he said slowly, “Ran away—I’ll just say he was my uncle. And we were homeless, so there’s nowhere they could track him down to. Even if they DO start looking for my birth family, it’s not like they can actually pull anything up, because I’m not from here. Okay. So, I ran away, made my way to Gravesfield, camped out in the abandoned house for a bit, then Vee found me, uhhhhh…”

“A week ago,” Vee offered.

“Okay, yeah, a week ago.”

“And if they ask for details about your uncle?”

“I’ll just talk about Belos. It’s not like they can find him.”

Camila nodded. “Okay! The closest adoption agency is out of town, but I already scheduled an appointment for tomorrow. First hurdle, guys!”

“First?” Hunter echoed.

“Oh, yeah, we have to get the two of you enrolled in school—”

“School?!”

Luz laughed. “Ohhhhhhh, you’re gonna hate it, Mr. Prodigy.”

“I don’t need school!”

“Yeah? Do you know how to do algebra? How about chemistry? Physics?”

“No?” Hunter looked to Luz. “Those are fake, right?”

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, they’re all very real.”

“I don’t need those.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Camila interrupted, “For now, let’s just… focus on the adoption, okay?”

She looked… nervous. Which made Hunter nervous.

“What… what happens if they don’t believe me?”

Camila rubbed the back of her head. “I… I don’t know, mijo. If they dig deeper, I… but it will be fine.”

Still, Hunter didn’t sleep that night, his mind running through every possible way that this could go wrong. The next morning, when they loaded up in the car, he could see dark circles under Camila’s eyes, too. It did not make him feel better.

Hunter tossed his palisman gently out the window before they set off, the bird fluttering around his head. “You can’t come with us. Stay here and protect the house, okay?”

The bird chirped in affirmation, flapping back to sit on the roof.

Vee fell back asleep, leaning against him, and he resisted the urge to shake her awake and demand to know how she could possibly not be worried about this.

Hunter hadn’t ever gone outside of Gravesfield, and it was hitting him just now how… huge… the human realm was. He watched countryside flash by outside the car window, and even still, they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

And then buildings loomed in front of him, huge and imposing. Hunter pressed his face against the window. “Is this the capital of the human realm?”

“Ha. No. We’re not even in the capital of Connecticut.”

“Seriously?!”

Hunter watched the streets go by. This world was enormous, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

They had the key on this side, and since he was here, Belos was down one coven head—hypothetically, his uncle couldn’t complete his day of unity plans. But if he did, or if he managed to get back through, somehow…

Hunter was almost confident that this world was big enough for him to hide in.

They pulled up to an office building, and Camila took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes nothing. Come on, kids.”

They all followed behind her into the building, and Camila approached the desk. “Hiiii. I’m Camila Noceda, I have an appointment about a couple of adoptions?”

The desk attendant glanced behind her at the three of them. “Down the hall, first door on the right. Right on time.”

Camila gave the attendant a nod. Hunter and Vee both crowded close to her as they filed into the office. “Hello?”

The woman at the desk looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, a thermos on a table covered in papers. “Hey. Paperwork.”

Camila tentatively handed her the packet, and she disappeared into a back room, coming back out after about ten minutes.

“So, neither of these kids is in the system?”

Camila shook her head. “Neither.”

The woman squinted at Vee. “Certainly looks like your other daughter. Why didn’t you report her father taking her?”

“We… we were separating. We thought he’d already filed everything.”

A grunt. “Alright. You. Other one. Hunter. C’mere.”

Hunter looked to Camila, and she gave him a little nod. He followed the woman into the other room, where she read over his form again. “Tell me about your uncle.”

“What? Why?”

“We need to see if we can find him.”

Hunter’s blood chilled. “I’m not going back!”

“Hey, it’s okay. We need to find him because we just don’t know enough about you—not even your last name. So we need your uncle for more information.”

“You won’t find him.”

“Uh-huh. Let us try, at least. Physical description?”

Hunter sighed. “Tall. Blond but greying, long hair, blue eyes. Old.” Face creeping with slime, occasionally turns into a puddle of goop, can’t miss him.

“His name?”

“Belos.”

“There’s one you don’t hear every day. Last name?”

“Dunno.”

“Right. Of course not. Where was the last place you saw him?”

“I don’t know.”

The woman sighed. “You’ve got to work with me, here.”

“Why?”

“Because this whole adoption will go a lot more smoothly. Where was the last place you saw him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Fine. How long ago did you see him?”

Hunter struggled to remember. Kind of hard to tell when he didn’t know how much time he’d lost falling down into a cursed prison of darkness.

But according to Luz, that had only been for a couple of hours, even if it had felt like forever.

“Two weeks,” he said softly.

Two weeks since he’d been rescued. Two weeks since the worst time of his life.

“And you… ran away?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you explain why?”

Hunter shuddered. “Because I was miserable.”

“Specifically?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We can’t take you away from your uncle if he wasn’t a bad parent, Hunter. If we don’t have any indication he did anything wrong, then he can reclaim you any time he likes, and we are obligated to try to find him and return you to him. I understand that it may be painful to talk about it, but we cannot proceed without information about your past life.”

“Fine,” Hunter snapped, “He hurt me, and he locked me up, and he made me run errands for him and would punish me if I failed, happy?”

A slight pause. “What kind of errands?”

Hunting down palisman so he could drain them of their magic. “Uh… picking up medicine for him.”

“Medicine? What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just picked it up. I didn’t ask questions, it wasn’t encouraged.”

“But you ran away, ended up in Gravesfield, where Camila found you a week ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Wait outside, send Camila in.”

Hunter shuffled out. “She wants you.”

Camila nodded, disappearing into the other room, closing the door behind her. Vee nudged him. “Are you okay?”

“She was asking about Belos.”

“I’m sorry,” Luz said softly.

Hunter paced back and forth. “What do you think they’re talking about?” He crept closer to the door, pressing his ear to the door.

“Hunter,” Vee hissed, “Get away from there, it’s rude!”

“I want to know what they’re saying,” he hissed back, “Shhhh!”

He pressed his ear to the door again. The voices were faint, but he could make out what they were saying.

“Obviously, if Vee is your biological daughter, there isn’t any reason for us to keep her from you. I don’t think there will be any difficulty with the transition. But Hunter… Ms. Noceda, you may be rushing into more than you can handle.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know him well. We don’t know where he came from, or what he’s done.”

“What he’s done?”

“He’s a liar, ma’am, you wrote that he was homeless, but he claimed his uncle would lock him up. Those two aren’t exactly compatible. He very obviously isn’t telling us everything—and I suspect he may have been part of a drug delivery system without knowledge. If I can believe him that he didn’t know what his uncle’s ‘medicine’ was.”

“Okay, well, let’s just say that I am really, really, really determined to adopt him anyway.”

“I’m really advising you not to. Let us get him into the system, foster him out, see how he does before you go all in on adopting him. He might not even be separated from his uncle—they might be planning to rob or hurt you and your family.”

“Hunter,” Camila thundered, “is not going to hurt us. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to foster him out.”

Hunter pulled back from the door, feeling sick. “Luz, what’s fostering?”

Her face paled. “It’s… it’s when they sort of send you out to different families to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to go to a different family!”

“You won’t,” Luz soothed, “Mom won’t let them take you away. And you can just run away if they do.”

Hunter started to pace, his chest getting tight. “I can’t start running away here, too! That’ll just make all of the adoption stuff harder, right?”

Vee grabbed his hand. “Hunter. Look at me.”

He did, the fingers of his free hand tapping restlessly on the side of his leg.

Vee gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay,” she said firmly, “We aren’t going to leave you behind. Promise.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good. Now sit down, and just think about other stuff. Like school.”

“I don’t want to go to school.”

“I’ll teach you algebra,” Vee promised, “They had a whole course on it at summer camp—it’s not so bad. And I’ll introduce you to my friends, too. You’ll be a couple grades older than us, but that’s okay.”

Luz bounced up. “Speaking of school, Hunter, is there any chance I can borrow Red? I know we’re worried about using the portal, but Eda and Amity and King and Gus and Willow will all be so worried about me!”

“Use your little…” Hunter clicked his fingers in the air. “Your little yellow thing.”

“My—you think that will work between dimensions?”

He shrugged. “Worth a shot. Might as well try before we open the portal and risk Belos getting in.” Hunter tapped his fingers against the chair. “If there’s natural titan’s blood veins in the Boiling Isles, then there’s a place here where it connects, right?”

“Right. That’s how Phillip—he wrote the diary I was using to figure out my portal—got into the demon realm in the first place.”

“So we might not need the key portal if we can find a place on this side where the worlds intersect.” Hunter’s stomach roiled. “Except that if we can do that, that means Belos has another way to get blood.”

“If I can just get in contact with Eda, she might be able to figure out my portal and then we don’t have to—”

The door to the other room burst open. Camila grinned, her hands behind her back. “Okay, Vee, Hunter, close your eyes, and hold out your hands!”

Vee did what she said, and Hunter followed suit, a little more hesitantly. Something paper settled in his hand. “Okay, open your eyes now.”

Hunter blinked at the paper in his hand.

Hunter Noceda.

Vee bounced up and down. “We did it!”

“They’re still finalizing everything—social security, birth certificates, all of that will take a bit more time. But you two are legally part of the family and under my care, now!”

Hunter Noceda.

The words felt… odd, in his head. But a good kind of odd.

Luz slung her arms around Vee and Hunter’s necks. “Whoo! Two new siblings! I didn’t use to have… well, any! I mean, I had you, but legally!” She shook Hunter slightly. “See? Nothing to worry about, I told you Mom could handle it!”

“Hunter Noceda.” He had a last name, now. A family name. “Vee Noceda.” It felt more natural to say her name—but then, she’d already seemed to be part of the family.

Luz cackled with glee. “Aha! You know what that means? Now the two of you have to wear ugly sweaters for family Christmas card pictures!”

“Ugly sweaters?” Vee questioned

“Christ-mas?” Hunter echoed.

“Ehehehe. Welcome to the Noceda family. You two have a lot of family tradition to catch up on.”

[drwcn]

maybe after today’s acls training i can finally write that chengqing ER oneshot. 

— “Patient male, mid-twenties, motor vehicle collision, eta 3 mins” 

— “What no vitals? No GCS? ETA 3 mins? Who’s on the paramedic team?!” 

— “No one….Dr. Lu hit someone with her car on her way out of the hospital.” 

【A Midnight Conversation in Your Local ER】- Complete

[1] 

The night hunt had gone to shits.

That much was undeniable.

Jiang Cheng heard the panicked shout of his disciples just as he saw the array that he had stepped on.

Fuck.

The ghost of an once mediocre demonic cultivator wanna-be was going to bring Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wanyin - the Sandu Shengshou - to meet his maker. The irony of the situation would be laughable, if he wasn’t so irrevocably screwed.

That was his last thought before his entire body was engulfed by a blinding light and the world he knew disappeared.

The ground beneath his feet gave away, weightlessness paralyzing his body though he did not fall. He felt…launched, his body warping and squeezing and stretching, the air sucked from his lungs into the endless black vacuum.

But just like that it was over. Jiang Cheng barely had time to make peace with his death before his feet touch solid earth again.

Or at least….he thought it was earth, this black, tarry hard thing striped with yellow and white. He stared at it dumbly, breathless and disoriented, barely able to react when a loud blare assaulted his senses and his world went blindly bright yet again.

This time there was pain.

Jiang Cheng clutched Sandu, ready to fight, but then his head hit the ground and everything went dark. When he woke up again, an indeterminate amount of time later, he was in a small tube and had a distinct feeling he was not wearing pants, socks or shoes.

How the fuck do you ‘scan’ a cat???  

[2]

Method actor. The nurse, from the other side of the curtain, mouthed silently.

“Sir, can you tell me your name.”

“Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wangyin.”

The resident paused, awkwardly contemplating how to continue. “Uh…..which is it? Jiang Cheng or Jiang Wanyin?”

“Jiang Cheng, zi Wanyin.”

“Traditional parents?” The resident tried to crack a joke, but it fell flat. The strange man stared up at him with a blank look in his eyes and a frown that was rapidly deteriorating into a scowl. The resident cleared his throat and cast his eyes back onto his clipboard. “Uh, ahem, just the name on your ID please.”

“My what?" 

"Your personal ID….like a driver’s license?”

“Cultivators of the gentry fly on swords or ride horses. We do not rely on carriage valets.”

“Eh… right. Uhm, can you tell me how old you are and what year it is.”

“I’m 39, and the year is jiachen.”

Lu Qi frowned from where she stood by the door, arms crossed, watching her resident and medical student work. 39? He looks like a college student. But he also thinks he can fly, so I guess age is the least of our worries. 

“Jiachen.…?”

The M3 fished his phone out from his scrub pocket pocket and typed it in. “Sounds like the ganji system, like an old timey way to record year used in the past.” He whispers clandestinely to the resident.

“….Right. And uh, do you where you are?”

The man scowled at him. “Am I supposed to?” 

The resident scribbled something on the chart, and then looked up with a plastered awkward smile. “Well, thank you Mr. Jiang for your patience. Wang Fei here is the medical student on our team. He’s going to stay and ask you a couple more questions if you don’t mind. Afterwards we’ll confer with our attending and the team will be back to see you shortly.”

As he turned away, the R3 grimaced and shared a look with Lu Qi, who was the youngest attending physician in their ER, but was not technically working at the moment and so was not on the case. And technically, as the perpetrator who hit Jiang Cheng with her car, she had a severe conflict of interest.

At least this Jiang Cheng dude didn’t seem keen on pressing personal charges against her for MVA or suing the hospital in general… but that being said…

Yeah, they’re going to need a psych consult. 

Unless he’s on acid. 

Well… okay, psych consult either way. 

[3]

"It’s okay, you can relax.” Jiang Cheng said, waving dismissively at the woman standing by his bedside. “I’m not going to take you to the magistrate for hitting me with your carriage - car. You didn’t mean to, and I just came out of nowhere.” 

“....Thank you.” 

“You’re not Wen Qing. I know that now. Your name is Lu Qi. You can call off those psychia - psych - psychics - head healers - or whatever, I’m not crazy. It’s not my fault, you just… look so much like someone I used to know."

"Wen Qing.” Lu Qi echoed. 

“Yeah. Wen Qing. She was a healer - a doctor - like you, but different.” 

“I see. What happened to her?"

"She died. Almost twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry... that's awful.” Lu Qi’s response rolled off her tongue so well, because she had said those word a thousand times during her residency. So much so that it no longer had much meaning to her. Tonight however, she meant what she said. “Were you two close?"

"No, well…yes, maybe. No we weren’t exactly friends if that’s what you’re asking. She...operated on me. Without my consent or knowledge. Took my brother’s golden core and put it in me and then lied with my brother to my face about it. So no we weren’t “close”, but Wen Qing saved my life - well the purpose of it anyway. Saved me from a life of ordinariness.” 

Lu Qi did allow herself to dwell too much on what the fuck a “golden core” was, because her gut response was almost instantaneous. “That’s shitty of her.”

She clamped down on her tongue. 

God, why did I have to say that? To his face?! He was obviously in love with this Wen Qing person and they were encroaching on some dangerous emotional territories, but Lu Qi swallowed down her caution and plowed on nevertheless. There were things she felt she had to say, and since she’d already hit him with her car, how much worse could this shit get? “What I mean is she shouldn’t have. Not without telling you. Besides...there’s nothing wrong with ordinary.” 

Jiang Cheng chuckled bitterly. “Maybe you’re right. Still...she didn’t deserve to die. What her clan did was not her fault.” 

Now that threw Lu Qi off. Did this guy...kill her? 

Lu Qi half wondered if she stumbled upon a Yakuza-esque member whose psyche finally snapped after years of murder and violence. And yet, he seemed perfectly coherent, no flight of ideas, no tangential thought, no hallucations. Even his delusions seemed...logical. 

I must be the one losing, damnit.  

Jiang Cheng scratched a little at his chest, as if palpating for the “golden core” that he spoke of. "She saved my life, but when she needed help, I couldn't save her. But, if I were to go back… I can't say I'll choose differently. My clan needed me, my clan who was almost cleansed by hers. No, no I wouldn’t choose differently. I don’t regret my choices, but I am sorry. Sorry to her, sorry to my brother. I'll always be sorry that she died, and that I failed her when she needed me." 

Jiang Cheng had no idea why he was telling this stranger any of this, but maybe after twenty years, he was finally ready to address this guilt that he lived with. I mean who else was he supposed to tell? Jin Ling? It was nice, to have that face as an audience, receiving his words of confession. 

"She would forgive you." 

Lu Qi had no idea why she was offering absolution as if she had authority in this matter, but when she said it, the conviction she felt was so real, it was almost as though some external force was acting through her.

Which was ridiculous of course, but... 

"How do you know? You're not her." Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I wouldn’t forgive me.” 

"No, but you said she was a physician. So she should know, more than most, that sometimes there is no choosing who gets to live or die."

Jiang Cheng fell quiet at that, and his gaze grew distant. Lu Qi thought perhaps he was no longer seeing her as she was in front of him - white coat, scrubs, stethoscope -  but someone entirely different. The tension he held in his shoulders slowly eased, and he sighed. In the silence that stretched between them, Lu Qi hoped that this strange man with his strange past could find a sliver of peace. 

[4]

— Did you love her? 

— I thought so, foolishly, but maybe I didn’t. Even if I did, it was not well enough. 

— Do you love her still? 

— No... I don’t know. It’s been too long...but sometimes, late at night when Lotus Pier is quiet, I think I do. 

...

— Are you ashamed of it? 

...

— No. No I’m not. 

[5]

The patient known as Jiang Cheng left AMA, that is, against medical advice. It was the term they used sometimes for people who just up and leave without informing the team. 

Lu Qi had gone out to check on his labs, which came back with bonker numbers (I mean really, a hemoglobin of 455, sodium of 200, and a HCO3 of like...3?), but Jiang Cheng was gone from Bay 6 when she returned. The nurse made the overhead page, a code yellow was called, but four hours later, Lu Qi was ready to admit that she was never going to see this Jiang Cheng ever again. 

Somehow, she was okay with that. She had said what needed to be said.  

Her chief had given her a call on her cell and told her to go home and sleep. The guy didn’t look like he was gonna press charges, let’s count our blessings and move on. But the night had just been too damn strange that Lu Qi was all wired up from it and couldn’t possibly fall asleep. She had handover at 10 anyway. There was a change of clothes and toiletries in her bag. She could always take a shower in the anesthesia staff’s on call room and sleep until then. 

Dr. Sun was the anesthesia staff on-call tonight and was currently stuck in trauma OR. They were buddies since medschool; she’d understand.

Sighing, Lu Qi took a seat on the bench across from the bougie cafe in the lobby of the hospital. At this hour, it was the only one still open in the entire facility. The drinks they sold cost an arm and a leg, but Lu Qi needed the pick-me-up after the night she had. 

As she nursed the last bit of her matcha latte, two bickering voices pulled her attention to the front entrance. 

“Aiyo, A-Liang I already said I’m fine! I don’t need to be here!” 

“Fuck out of here with that bullshit, Chen Zhaoxi. You fell off the fucking roof! If Wu Kun hadn’t called me, you’d have gone on -”

It was him! Lu Qi shot up. It was Jiang Cheng! 

But no...no it wasn’t him. The well-dressed man dragging the second man (dressed in red pajamas) into the hospital was not Jiang Cheng. He had the same face - chiselled, handsome, scowling - but it wasn’t him. For one, his hair was trimmed short and neat, unlike Jiang Cheng who looked like he walked straight out of a BL xianxia tv drama. Secondly, his face was softer, eyes younger, and he couldn’t have been older than Lu Qi herself in her early thirties. 

“I was just trying to get to the litter of kittens trapped -”

“Yes, yes, and it was very heroic and I’m sure it would’ve made Wu Kun very horny, and you morons probably would’ve fucked once he got home had you not made a valiant attempt at breaking your neck -” 

“Excuse me,” the security guard manning the information desk chastised sharply. “It’s 4am. This is a hospital! Lower your voices, sirs.” 

“Sorry.” The men apologized sheepishly. 

Then, A-Liang, Jiang Cheng’s doubleganger asked, “Could you please direct us to the ER? This is my brother, he fell off a roof.” 

Lu Bin had no idea what possessed her to interject. “I can take you there.” 

All eyes fell on her. She walked towards them, heart pounding. 

This can’t be happening, this kind of thing just can’t happen... 

A-Liang’s face broke into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Miss -” Then his gaze trailed to her badge, and he corrected himself, “Dr. Lu. I’m Shen Liang. This is my brother Chen Zhaoxi. I think he fractured...well multiple things, please help him.” 

“Of course, come with me. Let’s get him a wheelchair. If he fractured is leg, he probably shouldn’t be walking.” 

“I didn’t fracture -” 

“You, you shut up.” Shen Liang rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He can lose three out of four limbs and say ‘ t’s but a flesh wound’.” 

Lu Qi couldn’t help but chuckle as she put an arm under the complaining Chen Zhaoxi and helped him towards the wheelchair. 

Shen Liang’s smile widened. 

[Extra]

“Holy shit, took you long enough!” 

When Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui finally dragged Jiang Cheng to their portal site, Jiang Cheng realized that the transportation talisman had created a channel through realities between what looked like two metal garbage dumpsters in a back alley behind a food establishment marked by giant yellow bunny ears.

Standing guard there, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen were each munching on a strange layered bread and holding tall drinks contained in...what was it called again? Right. Styrofoam. 

“What is that?” Jin Ling wrinkled is nose at it. Brat. 

“It’s a Big Mac.” Replied Lan Jingyi as if Jin Ling was stupid. “And this is a milk shake.” 

Jin Ling scowled. “I said the bag of gold I gave you was for emergencies.” 

“Yeah but we were hungry.” Ouyang Zizhen defended. He neglected to tell them that the cashier had refused to accept the gold and instead asked for “cash” or “card”, neither of which they had, so Zizhen used a liiiiil confounding talisman he learned from Wei Wuxian. They did leave more than enough gold though...and that ought to cover the restaurant’s cost for their “burger”lary . Reaching into the brown paper bag he held under one arm, Zizhen pulled out a little box that opened to show pieces of... something. “These are chicken nuggets. They’re delicious! Try one! They’re really good with this sauce....hold on...” 

Lan Sizhui sighed. “We don’t have time for this. The portal will close soon. Let’s get Jiang-zongzhu home and we can sample these exotic food later.” 

The boys agreed. 

Jiang Cheng shook his head and huffed. 

[imaginedxlan]

Pike (George Weasley)

a/n: i have an addiction. i’m sorry. take this platform away from me. anyway ENEMIES TO LOVER BITCHES.

You’ve always hated George Weasley. You can’t quite explain why, but the two of you have had bad blood since the moment you met freshman year. it’s nothing either of you said or did, just the general presence of the other always set something off in the two of you. however, you weren’t going to give up partying at his frat just because you hated the red haired boy.

warnings: alcohol & cussing, unconsensual touching but it isn’t graphic(not by george obv), mentions of sex and assault/sexual violence, violence and fratboy!georgie

i’m very serious when i say do not read this if you’re easily triggered or impacted by the theme of sexual assault. there is nothing graphic in this fic but i know it is very easy to be triggered by even the smallest mention. if you ever and i mean EVER need someone to talk to about anything pertaining to the topic, my messages are always open. dealing with sexual assault in any form is one of the most traumatising things a person can go through. please never hesistate to reach out if you’re struggling. i love you guys so much, i never want to go suffer in silence.

if you or someone you know if struggling with a rape or sexual assault, you can call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected to a sexual assault service provider in your area. all my hugs and kisses to you all, i love you with all my heart❤️

saturday nights on campus are nothing short of lively for you and your friends. whether you’re testing your fake ids at every bar on the main street or dancing in a sweaty frat basement, there’s never been a dull weekend.

pike has always been your favorite fraternity to attend . you’d become close with some of the pledges on your floor your freshman year and have become obsessed with shutting down every function they hold at the house. there is one part of pi kappa alpha, however, that you could do without. george weasley.

the six three, red haired monster has been getting under your skin for an entire year now. since you met in your first semester of freshman year, you and george had never been on good terms. between the constant teasing from him or your drunk screaming matches that you’ve initiated almost every weekend, it’s safe to say that you two need to be kept as far away from each other as possible.

your friends have never understood the feud. they’ve always described george as one of the nicest guys they’ve ever met. he takes their coats at the door of every pike party to hide in his room to keep them safe from the drunk kleptomaniacs or vomit that inevitably spews from the mouth of a freshman girl. he’s always kept an eye out for your friends, but when it comes to you he swears if murder was legal you’d be six feet under by now.

as you and your friends got ready in your shared apartment for the night ahead of you, the annual pike’s peak ski themed party, you loathe the fact that you’ll be forced to see him again. you wish more than anything that he wasn’t so close with your friends, but alas, he is.

“y/n, can you please promise me something?” Angelina pleads, making you pause your makeup routine to look at her as if to say ‘go on.’ “no fighting with george tonight, we all need one night when the two of you aren’t at each other’s throats.”

if only it were that easy. there have been times in the past when angie and katie have convinced you to play nice with the boy, but he always ends up starting some type of fight with you.

“angie i’ve told you, i have no problem ignoring him for the good of the group,” you reiterate the countless times you’ve tried to prove to the girls that you’re the bigger person. “it’s him you should be talking to, he always starts it.”

katie sighs, already imagining the screaming match that will ensue tonight. “well if he starts something just walk away, easy as that.”

you mull it over for a minute. as much as ignoring him will make it seem like you’ve run out of insults, your vocal chords could use the rest this weekend. you agree to try and keep your mouth shut around george.

the three of you zip up your obnoxiously bright ski jackets over the black sports bras and jeans you’re wearing. you loved pikes peak, you could put in virtually no effort and still look like you spent hours getting ready.

the pike house is already buzzing with the bass of whatever mix oliver wood put together for the party. it’s not a pike party without ollie behind the dj booth. the high that you’re on as you walk past the pledges fades as your faced with george weasley.

just ignore him.

“look at my most beautiful groupies,” he says with a smile, scanning over angie and katie. “and...whatever that is.”

you can already feel your cheeks heat up with rage and your fists tighten. you take a deep breath and repeat katie’s words just an hour ago, ‘walk away.’ you roll your eyes at the boy and move your way through the party, eventually taking your spot next to ollie behind the dj stand.

“well hey there miss y/n,” ollie greets you, resting his headphone around his neck and pulling you into a hug. “half expected you to be beating weasley to a pulp by now.”

you laugh at his honesty, everyone expects some huge blow up between you and george within the first few minutes of a party. “trying something new, ignoring him for the night. can’t tire myself too much.”

ollie just smiles and goes back to the music. you’re adding songs to the queue and laughing along with him. you almost forgot how much you missed spending time with him, most of your interactions with the boy group ending with a fight with weasley without even being able to talk with the other boys.

across the room, george is watching you actually enjoy yourself and is fuming. he’s so used to being able to get under your skin, so you blowing him off was a major knock to his ego. he thrives on your reactions to his teasing, feeling like he doesn’t even have a purpose at this party now that you’re ignoring him.

you eventually leave oliver behind the booth and find angelina and katie, luckily they’re now where near george, rather dancing with his twin. you’ve always liked fred, but your constant arguing with his brother makes it hard for you to have any sort of friendship with him. this is the first pike party you’ve been to all year that you’re genuinely enjoying yourself. dancing with your friends, drinking without a care. the night is actually starting to look up.

you tell angie and katie that you’re off to the bathroom, the beers and seltzers finally catching up to your bladder. as you make your way through the crowd of people, you finally make it to the bathroom which is in the furthest corner of the house. before you can reach for the handle, someone is grabbing at your wrist.

“let’s go to my room.” the boy slurs, you turn to see a tall boy, far taller than you. you recognise his face but don’t know his name.

“no than-“

“i wasn’t asking,” he cuts you off and grabs your hip with his other hand. “come on i know you want to.”

“no just get off of me!” you yell trying to push his hands away from you but his death grin on your body doesn’t seem to be loosening. using your free hand you start beating the boys chest and that seems to just make him angrier. “you’re hurting me! just get off, i’m not coming to your room!”

even though you feel like your screaming the loud music seems to drown out the noise from anyone who could come and help you. even though the boy is obviously stronger than you, that doesn’t stop you from continuing to hit him in the hopes that his drunken state will take him off of you. your efforts are to no avail as his mouth connects with your neck, sucking harshly, making you scream out again. your head is thrashing, continuing to attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

“no! stop get off of me, please!” you shriek, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. before you can realize what’s going on the boy is ripped from you and pinned up against the wall. you don’t even look to see what’s happening, just trying the catch your breath.

“she said no!” you immediately recognize the voice. george weasley. he fist connects with the boys jaw, almost knocking him unconscious as he’s still pushed against the wall. “what the fuck is wrong with you pucey! don’t you ever fucking touch her again!”

george still screaming as the boy you know realize is adrian pucey, is wailing in pain as george’s fists continue to meet his body. you don’t want to watch this anymore so you grab george’s hand before he can hit adrian again.

“stop, please.” it’s softer than you wanted it to come out but george still hears you. he drops adrian to the ground and takes a hold of your shoulders. even in the dark he’s examining your face for any sign of adrian’s abuse, his eyes land on the growing bruise on your neck and his fingers lightly trace over the mark. his other hands goes to your face, using his thumb to wipe the stream of tears.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, eyes still trained on the hickey adrian unconsensually left on your neck. “i would’ve killed him.”

“why are you doing this, weasley?” you step back from him, crossing yours arms over your chest. “go on and tell everyone how you had to pull pucey off of me. how i was crying like a little baby. how helpless i was, i know that why you’re here.”

a flash a hurt crosses his face, he shakes his head. “is that really what you think of me?”

“of course it is, you’ve never given me a reason to think anything else,” you reply, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks. “just leave weasley, i can’t take whatever’s going to come out of your mouth, not tonight okay? i could’ve handled this myself.”

“yeah you were doing a great job of handling it before i came it,” he scoffs and goes to walk away, kicking pucey one last time for good measure, but stops himself. “would you just stop arguing and follow me?”

you go to protest but figure you’re not in any mood to argue with him. he reaches his hand out to guide you through the sea of people but your arms stay folded against your chest. he rolls his eyes and leads you up the stairs and into a bedroom. you’d never been in his bedroom before. he goes into his closet to pull out a sweatshirt and tosses it your way.

“i’m not wearing this,” you tell him, throwing it back at him and he groans at your stubborn attitude. “why am i in your room, weasley?”

“does the word thank you not exist in your vocabulary?” he asks with a bitter tone. “i don’t care if you wear it, i’m leaving.”

he slams the door behind him and leaves you by yourself again. you look in the mirror on his wall at the disheveled sight looking back at you. your mascara collected under your eyes from your tears, the dark hickey from pucey on your cheek, bruises forming on your wrist and hip. you thought you had cried all the tears out before but seeing the damage he had done pulls sobs from your lips. you’re shaking at the memory of what happened, the thought of what could have happened. you collapse on george’s floor.

almost immediately the door swings open. you’re hoping maybe george told angie or katie and they were coming to take you home but it’s just george standing there. he never left his door, seeing pucey attack you like that made him fear that it might happen to you again. he quickly shuts the door behind him and crouches next to you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“hey, hey what’s going on you were fine a few second ago,” he tries to read your face but it’s hidden in your hands. “look at me, y/n, please.”

you lift your face to look him in the eyes. your puffy eyes and red cheeks make his heart sink. this is the first time he’s looked at you and felt something other than utter annoyance. you look so sad.

“i-i’m so s-scared,” you stutter through your speech. “if you hadn’t come he could’ve, it would have turned into -”

“don’t talk like that,” he begs you, still staying a bit of a distance from you. “i was there, i stopped it. you’re safe now.”

once you calm down he pleads for you to lay down and get some rest. you finally take the sweatshirt from him and wrap it around your body. he leans down to crouch in front of you, your eyes still welled with tears. he pats your head and goes to leave. in reality he would be posted outside the door for the rest of the night, but he’d never tell you that. As he shuts off the lights and opens the door, you squeak out a plea, “can you stay? please.”

george hesitates, he knows showing any kind of compassion for you in this moment will inevitably put a rift in your strict enemies only relationship. the one he’s been so set on keeping since he started developing feelings for you last semester. the only way he could keep you close while also concealing his feelings was to pick those fights with you every weekend. this would change everything.

however, seeing you curled up in his bed, shaking under his blankets, your eyes wide with fear broke something in him. he let out a deep sigh before closing his door again and locking it behind him. he stands in place for a minute, unsure of what to do from here.

“george,” you call out, voice cracking. you hadn’t called him by his first name in months. “thank you.”

“you haven’t called me george in a while.”

“shut up, weasley,” you immediately reply, making george chuckle. he decides to sit on the edge of his bad facing you, watching you continue to shake as sporadic sobs come from your frail frame. it’s breaking his heart. He eventually comes up to lay beside you, careful not to touch you. partly due to the fact that he knows you’re probably traumatised by pucey’s attack on you and also partly due to him knowing he may not be able to control himself from taking you in arms until you stop your terrible shaking.

it wasn’t george that first moved closer, it was you. you weren’t sure if it was the fact that he just saved you from a potentially life shattering situation or the fact that his room felt like subzero but you wanted to be close to him.

“why is your room so cold?” you ask with a shiver. “i feel like i’m in the arctic.”

“don’t be such a baby it’s not that cold,” he scoffs, giving you the same tone he always has. something in you is disappointed, partly hoping that maybe this changed something. maybe you were overthinking him being so doting on you tonight. of course things wouldn’t be different. why would you want them to be? what he did tonight he would do for any girl in thai party. while you don’t get to see that side of him, angie and katie have always talked about how protective he is, you just never thought it would extend to you.

“why’d you help me?” you ask, staring at him dead in the eyes. his breath hitches, he’s not sure why. he would do it for anyone, no questions asked. he’s never been the guy to look the other way when a girl is hurting, but what was he doing all of this for you. surely he wouldn’t bring just anyone up to his room, he wouldn’t stay if they asked.

“i wasn’t going to let pucey hurt you like that, i wouldn’t let him do it to anyone,” he replies, hoping you’ll be off the topic from now on.

“you would’ve killed him if i hadn’t stopped you.” george thinks back to the moment. how angelina had pleaded for him to find you after you’d been gone for so long. how he heard your cries over the music, you screaming no. how pucey had himself attached to you and the rage bubbled over in him.

“would you come off of it?” he asked sternly, fearing if this conversation moved any further he would be confessing that he’s never actually hated you. “i forgot how annoying you were for a second there, i’m getting out of here.”

your heart sinks at his words. you were already in shambles and he decided to be his same old asshole self. it hurt. you immediately sat up and watched as he grasped the door handle but didn’t turn it.

“classic, something gets hard and you’re running away,” you spit at him. you needed someone there, you needed him there, and he was running off. “go on weasley, be the little bitch you are, run off and tell everyone how big bad george weasley beat up pucey just to leave me up in your room where he could for sure do it again.”

“you just love running that fucking mouth of yours don’t you?” george snaps, his face beginning to heat up. this is always how it starts. his tone is playfully arrogant until it switches completely. “you think i would just leave you in here where anyone could come in? are you really that stupid? i would’ve staid outside the fucking door all night if that’s what it took for you to sleep after ehat happened, i just can’t be in this fucking room with you.”

you roll your eyes at how dramatic he is. as if staying in a room with you for one night would kill him. in his mind, however, it might. seeing you curled up in his bed, in his clothes, begging for him to stay, it’s all too much for him to handle.

“yeah sure you would. you wouldn’t go chasing after your brother the second he called that some girl was asking for you. this is all for show, you’re trying to make me seem like the one you can’t coexist with you,” you shout. “then everyone can blame me for this stupid fucking fight we’ve been having for an entire year. you can be the innocent one, that’s it isn’t it?”

george can’t believe how blind you are. how you’ve failed to notice that every time you get up in his face to yell at him he loses his breath. that you can’t see that teasing you is his only way to keep you coming back to pike. that he almost killed pucey because he likes you. he so painfully likes you.

“you’re an idiot you know that?” he yells, taking his hand off the doorknob. “seriously how dumb can you be? you really think i’m doing all of this for my image?”

“then answer my fucking question, weasley,” you spit at him, becoming angrier every minute that he won’t admit his own obsession with how everyone perceives him. “why. are. you. helping. me.”

every word comes out dripping with the venom of your rage. getting george to admit he’s a self centered, self serving asshole will give you all the evidence you need to show katie and angie that this feud is his fault, not yours. he begins to pace around the room, hands going to his hair as he looks deep in thought. your eyes never leave him, watching as he slowly unwinds in front of you. it’s happening, he’s going to admit it.

“you want to know why? you really want to know why i’m doing all this? why i dedicate my fucking saturday nights to fighting with you? that’s what you really want?”

“that’s what i asked isn’t it?”

“because i fucking like you, okay?” he shouts, making your heart stop. your jaw is practically on the floor, this is not the confession you were expecting. his face softens along with his tone, “i like you.”

he’s quiet, almost inaudible over the muffled bass of the music coming from downstairs. you face hasn’t changed, your brain is empty. your completely unable to move. you begin to shake your head after a minute, repeating the words ‘no’ and ‘you’re lying.’

“fuck this,” george finally speaks up, going back to reach for the door. “have a nice life, y/n, don’t bother coming back here after tonight.”

“george stop!” you yell which makes him stop in his tracks. his first name again. it makes his heart ache. he can’t get involved, he can’t fall into your trap. he continues to make his way to get as far from you as he possibly can. “george i mean it! stop running away from me.”

you’re now off the bed, following close behind him. you’re swimming in his sweatshirt, the material falling just below your knees. you don’t know why you suddenly have the urge to touch him, to be with him but it’s there. him threatening you to never come back made your chest tighten, not because you’ll be missing parties, but you’ll be missing him. memories of your screaming matches flood your brain, the absolute high you’re on as you’re staring up at him after shouting something offensive his way. the way you can never seem to catch your breath when he’s around you. the fact that you continue coming back, knowing he’s going to hurt your feelings in some way or another, because it means you’ll be with him. as toxic and backwards as it seems, you’ve never hated george. you were utterly obsessed with him. when you finally reach him, grabbing his hand to stop him fleeing, his whole body snaps to turn toward you. he looks wild.

“what could you possibly have to say to me?” he shouts, making you step back. his words are fueled by anger and hatred. when he sees you back away from him, he immediately regrets his tone. “come to gloat? to make fun of me? save it, y/n. i don’t want to hear it.”

you don’t say a word. on the crowded staircase of your drunk classmates you do the last thing you could have ever imagined doing with george weasley. you kiss him.

he’s completely taken aback, freezing in his place as soon as he feels your soft lips against his. one hand is wrapped around the back of his neck and the other is holding his cheek. eventually, reality hits the boy and he’s pulling you into him by your hips. you wince in pain from the tender bruise aching on your hip from pucey’s hands and george immediately pulls away to see if you’re alright.

“god, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i didn’t realize he hurt you so bad,” he starts to ramble on, keeping his hands off of you to keep from hurting you. “y/n, i’m — i just — i don’t know what to say.”

your hand is still on his face, your thumb stroking over his cheek bone. you can’t believe you had just kissed the boy you had sworn to hate for the rest of your life. pulling your hands away from your body you take a hold of his that are hovering inches away from your hips. you move they to lay against your waist and move yours to return to his face. you lean yourself back up toward him again, capturing his lips for the second time tonight. he didn’t hesitate this time, pulling you closer to him.

as soon as you pull away from each other, you’re soon walking back to his room hand in hand. he closes the door and flicks on the lights. being with him now feels astronomically different. the tension that once plagued any room you two shared has melted away.

“i didn’t want to pressure you into doing that,” he says softly, his palm resting on your cheek as the two of you sit only inches from each other on his bed. “especially after what pucey did to you, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

you stop him from spiraling any further into a pit of blame. “i feel safe with you georgie, i wouldn’t have stayed in here with you, kissed you, if i didn’t. you know i’d be the last to admit this, but you saved me, i owe you one.”

a small smile tugs on his lips. he can’t help but feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s going a thousand miles and hour. “consider the debt repaid,” he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “i don’t think i would’ve ever been able to face you after tonight if you hadn’t come running after me.”

your smile mirrors his, unable to contain the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. the two of you just stare at each other for a while, trying to imprint this moment in your memory forever.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks, his lips so close that you can feel his breath against yours. you nod against his forehead, silently begging to feel his warmth again.

kissing george is like nothing you’d ever felt before. you spent your entire life kissing boys that meant nothing to you, this feels like home. his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every inch of you, memorising how you feel as if you’ll be stolen from him at any second. he’s thought of this exact moment for months, every time you fought, every time he spoke to you, he imagined what it would feel like to have you like this.

“still feels like a tundra in here,” you tell him after you pull away. he takes you by your good wrist and urges you to lay next to him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body wishing he would never have to let go.

“better?”

“better.” you reply, letting you hand rest against his chest, feeling his heart beat. “this is not how i imagined this night going.”

“neither,” he says, running his fingers up and down your side. “never thought i’d get to hold you like this.”

your cheeks heat up, not from your usual rage but from the sudden rush on nerves. you don’t know how to act around him when you’re not about to beat his face in. he gently pulls your face from where it’s hiding in his chest to admire you. he presses his lips softly against yours, then moves to either cheek, then to your forehead.

“what happens now?” you ask, suddenly hit with the realization that you can’t go on with the feud that’s been bubbling between the two of you for the past year. you’ll have to tell your friends that you don’t hate each other anymore, that you did the unthinkable and kissed george weasley.

“i don’t care,” he says simply. “we could continue fighting until my dying breath, i just don’t want to be without you. ever.”

“what a little sap-fest you’ve become,” you tease holding yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at the boy. “who knew the george weasley could be so sentimental.”

“oh shut up,” he nudges your shoulder, pulling his arms from around you to rest behind his head. “you’re the one who kissed me, y/n, you started this.”

you let out a giggle, resting your head against his chest. you talk for hours about everything and nothing at all. eventually you hear the music die from downstairs, your phone buzzing with texts from angie and katie worried sick about where you ran off to. you tell them you’re fine and you’ll explain tomorrow. it’s an unspoken assumption that after all these months of fighting, you’ll be sleeping in george’s bed, cuddled up to him like you have been for the last few hours. you turn from your phone to see him stripping his shirt from his body, going to pull his khakis from his body and your heart stops.

“george i-” you start, not being able to form a coherent sentence. “i’m sorry but i can’t do anything like that, not tonight, not after what happened.”

his face turns down in worry, swiftly pulling a pair of sweats from his drawer to cover his bare legs. “oh my god, no y/n that’s not where i thought this was going at all. i usually sleep without a shirt on but it that makes you uncomfortable i can put one on. i’m so sorry i wasn’t even thinking.”

you sigh in relief, of course he wasn’t going to ask you to do anything like that after what he saw. you can’t believe you assumed that of him.

“no, no i’m sorry i know you would never,” you reply, rubbing your face between your palms. “i’m just on edge.”

he sits next to you, already holding a pair of boxers for you to wear and places them in front of you. he runs his hands up your arms. “don’t apologize to me, you’re allowed to be on edge after that. i should’ve been more conscious of that. i can go to the bathroom while you change if you want, unless you want to stay in your jeans.”

you shake your head, pulling the denim off your legs and replacing them with george’s boxers. you’re safe with him, you remind yourself.

“thank you, george,” you say quietly. “for everything.”

“i’d do it again, a hundred times over if i had to,” he tells you, pulling you into his arms to hold you. “do you want to talk about it?”

you shake your head no and he nods. he lays the two of you back and pulls his blankets other you. your head lays against his bare chest, feeling the most secure you have in your life. george’s breath eventually steadies as he slips into a deep sleep. it’s the easiest he’s ever been able to fall asleep, feeling completely comfortable with you in his arms. you fall asleep soon after him, the arms of george weasley and the walls of pi kappa alpha lulling you into the sweetest dreams.

[swtltlmrvlgrl]

Accidents Happen

Summary:

The story is set in an alternative MC universe where Tony Stark is still alive and is paying for Peter Parker’s college tuition fees. The college life is not really something that he looks forward to, especially when he’s far away from Ned and MJ. But luckily he was able to meet the reader!

This story is part of my one-shot compilations inspired by the song “You Shine” from the musical “Carrie”, wherein two people see the way each other shines.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Fluff, awkward university students, accident, injury

Word Count: 2,906

First Day of School. Peter Parker cringes at the thought. It’s not that he hates school, he just feels uneasy at the thought that he’s new and he doesn’t have his friends, Ned and MJ, with him.

And I’m Spider-Man, I have better things to do, he thought.

If it wasn’t for his promise to Mr. Stark, to finish his college degree in exchange for full access to the Avengers Compound and all the tech that comes with it, he would’ve webbed his way out of the school before he could even get in the school.

Tony Stark, a genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist, initially wanted to enroll Peter in the most elite school in America but good thing Peter was able to convince him not too. With the looks of how the students dress up and the amount of cars outside the parking area, this would’ve gotten much worse if he followed Mr. Stark’s initial plan. Peter adjusts his second-hand, thrift-store-bought backpack and walks straight towards his classroom.

Before entering the classroom, he double checks the text written on his ID to see if it matches the name of the room. He slowly enters the room and lo-and-behold, a classroom that can be converted to an IMAX movie theater, welcomes him.

He scans the room and decides to sit on the desk located a few meters away from the exit door. With his elbow on the desk and his chin resting on the palm of his hand, he observes the students already forming groups amongst themselves. Peter made no attempt to join a clique or to join any group, just looking at his wrinkled plaid shirt over his 5-year old white shirt, he knows he doesn’t belong. But he knows that’s not enough of a reason to just stop making new friends.

You’re an Avenger, man. With all the courage that he could muster, he scans the room and tries to find at least one person who hasn't had any chance to make friends yet.

Before he could turn around to check if the seat behind him is also empty, you walk towards Peter’s direction. You were wearing a blue oversized sweatshirt. A tinge of reds were peaking through the gaps between the folds of your black denim pants and white sneakers also caught Peter’s attention.

This is my chance.

Before Peter could even speak with you, a voice coming from the professor disrupted Peter’s plans.

“Hi class. Good morning.” The professor flashes his name and the subject name on the screen of the projector. “For today, I will be discussing the syllabus, I think we’ll finish early. I won’t be sharing the soft copy of my slide, so please take down notes.”

Bummed that he wasn’t able to talk to you, Peter made a mental note to at least try to start a conversation with you after class. He then rummages through his things, only to realize that he wasn’t able to bring any pens. He vaguely remembers Aunt May borrowing it earlier, but he’s not really sure if she was able to return it. “Oh no.” He whispers and takes out his notebook instead.

Peter is in the middle of pretending that he’s taking down notes, when he feels a soft tap on his shoulders.

“You can borrow this if you want.” You offer a ballpen to Peter.

Peter is taken aback by this sudden interaction.

“Ah!” You exclaim. “Don’t worry, the case is pink but the ink’s black.”

“T-thanks.” Peter stuttered. “I - I don’t mind the color.”

I don’t mind the color?? What the hell does that mean?! Peter smiles at your direction while mentally cursing at his awkward self on the inside.

-----

The professor finishes up his lecture and you start to fix up your things.

“Thank you for this.” Peter interrupts, while you were in the middle of putting your notebook in your black leather backpack. “I-I left my pen at home and -” With his left hand, he rubs his nape, as he hands you the pen with his right. “I’m Peter, by the way, Peter Parker.”

“Y/N. Y/N, L/N.” You respond and push back the pen. “You can have the pen for a while. You’ll probably need that for your next classes.”

“Oh. Uh!.” That… makes sense. Not gonna lie, Peter was a little surprised by your response, he definitely did not include that in his list of possible scenarios. “Right. I’ll just return this tomorrow.”

“Sure! What time’s your lunch tomorrow?” You ask, as the two of you walk out of the room. “My lunch time is...” He looks at the back of his ID, “a little early… 11:30AM. How about you?”

“Ow. Too bad. Mine’s 12nn.”

Your small pout wasn’t left unnoticed (and it was a little cute and Peter couldn’t help but smile.) “Wanna compare schedules?” Peter asks.

“Sure!” you answer excitedly.

“So…” Peter scans your schedule. "We’re classmates in… Literature… and…”

“History.” You add. The two of you looked at each other and smiled.

“I guess we’ll see each other a lot?” Peter comments.

“Yeah. I hope so.” You answer and smile at him.

-----

The two of you started eating together ever since the day returned the pen to you. Seating next to Peter is probably one of the best decisions that you made in your life. Having someone to eat with during lunch time was a thorn out of your chest because eating alone is one of your fears.

Generally, it takes a long time before you can adjust yourself to someone (contrary to the popular belief that you’re “friendly’), but Peter’s obvious awkwardness and warmth just made it more comfortable for you. Knowing that someone is as shy as you, but still trying to converse with you is something that you really appreciate 0 it makes you want to try to converse too.

From having lunch together, you two ended up walking home together, as well. Some days you would wait for him, some days he would wait for you and then some days he has to go earlier because he had something to do for Mr. Stark. Walking home together wasn’t really something that you explicitly told each other to do, it just felt like a natural thing to do.

“Hey.” you say, one day. “Let’s go to the clinic on our way home.”

“Why?” Peter asks, his voice sounds a little worried.“ Do you feel sick?”

You don’t answer and continue walking instead. After arriving at the clinic, you open the door and Mary, the University nurse, greets you with a warm smile.

“Y/N! What’s up?” Mary inquires.

“Hi Mary!” You stride inside and Peter follows. “Can I have some of your bandages?”

“Sure! Why? Don’t tell me you got injured again.” Mary echoes your soft chuckle. “No, not me this time.”

Mary pauses whatever she’s doing and observes you, as you point at the empty chair to where Peter can sit while you look for the bandages in the cabinet. Peter looks a little confused. With a white square bag in one hand, you approach the chair where Peter was seated.

“Give me your hand.” You instruct Peter, he hands you his left hand. “Your other hand, you silly.” You smile.

“I don’t think -” The pain he felt after you touch his right hand stops him mid-sentence.

“Sorry.” You whisper. Peter was wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt that you had to slide up. His hand is swollen as you expected.

“I-” Peter starts. “I fell from the stairs.” Of course that is a lie. Because, he, in fact, fell from a building because he was running late for Literature class. He didn’t really mind it, because it happens all the time and he knows he’ll heal eventually.

You gently place a cold compress on Peter’s hand. “I noticed that you were having a hard time writing a while ago.” You pause for a while and look at him. “You don’t have to explain anything Peter. Plus, since you injured your dominant hand, I just thought you might need help with wrapping this up.”

“My mom’s a nurse.” You mention, while wrapping the bandage around Peter’s hand. “We used to pretend to be injured and wrap bandages during play time.”

Peter hums, amused. “You’re amazing, you know.” He comments. “You’ve always been like this since the day we first met. It’s like, you can read my mind.”

You laugh. “I don’t know why, but I always get that comment about me.” You pull down and button up Peter’s Sleeve. “But I don’t think I’m amazing, though.”

Before Peter could say anything, you stand up, fix the chair and return the bandage to where you got it. “Let’s go home?”

Peter nods and you bid goodbye to Mary.

“Bye, Mary. Thanks.” Peter echoes and waves his hand briefly.

“Take care, you two.” Mary responds.

-----

On your way home, Peter stops in his tracks and points at the ice cream truck by the park. “Hey. Let’s get some ice cream. Sit by the bench over there.” He pauses and looks at you. “I’ll go get you some. My treat.” He winks and runs towards the truck.

You sit down on the bench located under a tree, stretch your arms a little while taking a breath of fresh air. A few moments later, you see Peter striding towards the bench. He stops in front of you, with two ice creams in his left hand - his fingers strategically intertwined to make sure the ice creams won’t fall down. One of the ice cream was probably cookies and cream flavored and the other one was chocolate for sure.

“You know” You comment, as you reach out for what you assume as the cookies and cream flavored ice cream. “If you can hold two ice cream cones in one hand you should might as well try to write with it.”

Peter laughs and sits next to you and hands you a paper towel. “I’ll put that on my to-do list.”

You grab the paper towel that Peter handed you and the two of you proceed eating. You were silent for a whole minute until Peter started speaking again.

“I still think you’re amazing though.” Peter comments. While you were focusing on eating your ice cream, he looked at you briefly and looked away when you started laughing.

“Why are you bringing up that topic again?” A layer of ice cream got stuck on your throat making you cough a little, you clear your throat, and continue. “I don’t think being… hmm… how should I call this?” You pause to think for a second. “Sensitive? I don’t think it’s something amazing.”

“Why is that?” Peter was curious. “It’s like you’re a mind-reader! It’s amazing!”

You chuckle. “Why? Are you going to recruit me to the Avengers or something?”

Did she notice that I’m Spider-Man, too? “Hehe-he.” Peter laughs awkwardly and continues eating his ice cream.

“But seriously though.” You continue, while chewing some of the ice cream cone bits in your mouth. “As much as being...err...hyper-sensitive with other people’s non-verbal nuances is a good thing, especially when I have a friend like Peter Parker who tends to keep their struggles to themselves.”

“Hey! I don’t do that…”

You glare at him, smile a little and take a deep breath. “It’s not particularly amazing when I have to stand in front of many people…” You finish up with your ice cream and crumple the piece of paper towel on your hand. “...and notice every little change in expression each time you utter a word… Or when you sit alone in the middle of crowded places and just feel the eyes of people staring at you, judging you.” You look at Peter and smile a little more as you try to make it look like it’s not that big of an issue.

Peter had finished his ice cream as well. “Y/N…” Peter might not be as sensitive as you, but he looks at you as if he sees beyond your half-hearted smile. Peter moves and scoots closer to you while adjusting himself to face you. He takes your hand, opens it, and takes the balled up paper towel that you’ve been gripping while you were speaking. With his left hand, he puts the paper towel into his bag’s side pocket, while making sure that his right hand never left yours.

“I’m sorry… I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.” You look at Peter. He was gazing at you, looking straight into your eyes.

“It’s fine, Peter. It’s not like you -”

“Y/N.” Peter cuts you off. “Whether or not I wanted to, I made you feel uncomfortable and I have to apologize. Okay?” Peter pauses. “Can you promise me one thing?”

“What is it?” You ask.

“I - I’m not as sensitive as you and I might not always notice whether you feel bad or not.” Peter continues. “If it’s alright with you… can you promise to not hide your feelings when you’re with me? I mean - it’s difficult, you know. Having to hide your feelings all the time. At least if you’re with me… even if it’s for a short time, you don’t have to carry the burden of hiding it.”

You smile at Peter, tears welling up on your eyes. “Peter…”

“But if you’re not comfortable with that, it’s fine -”

You release your hand from Peter’s hand, form a fist and raise your pinky finger. “I promise.”

Peter smiles and entangles his pinky finger into yours. “Promise.”

“Just promise that you won’t fall down the stairs again.” You joke.

Peter chuckles while reaching out for your face to wipe the tear that you didn’t notice fall from your eye.

“If you have presentations where you have to speak in front of the class, whether I’m your classmate or not, I’ll try to be there and maybe you can try to focus on me?” Peter clears his throat. “I mean… just to keep your attention out of the other people.”

You laugh and Peter joins you too. “Thanks, Pete.”

-----

“I have something to buy at the grocery.” You tell Peter while the two of you are waiting for the traffic light to turn green. “You can go ahead.”

“Take care!” Peter shouts as the two of you go your separate ways.

“You too!” You shout back and make your way towards the grocery.

Peter waits until you’re out of sight before he goes to the alleyway to change into his suit and start his patrol. He webs his way up the building and gets a glimpse of you entering the grocery. He nods a little and webs away to find people he needs to help out.

-----

Normal. That’s what Peter would probably describe the first hour of his patrol today - stopping thieves from running away, saving cats that got stuck on a tree and telling a lost man the directions. It was all just normal everyday, neighborhood Spider-Man things.

He was about to take a break when he felt the hair in his arms stand up.

Peter tingle.

“Y/N!” He exclaims as he hurries down towards the direction of the grocery where he last saw you.

I hope I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong. He repeats in his head. Y/N, please, please be safe.

-----

You were on your way to cross the street when a running child and stumbled into you, causing your groceries to fall down. You squat to pick up the groceries, you look up to search for the child, only to find him still running.

Towards the pedestrian lane.

Red light.

Huge truck.

Fast.

You stand up and dash towards the kid, leaving your groceries scattered across the pavement.

Will I make it?

You run as fast as you can.

I won’t make it. The truck’s too fast.

You run faster.

A little more.

You reach for him and you push him towards (what you think is) safety as hard as hard as you can. All the energy in your body had left you and the last thing you can remember was the loud honk from the truck and then everything was silent.

-----

Your eyes are still closed when you feel an arm tightly wrapped around you. You look up only to find yourself swinging in the air while being held and carried by none other than Spider-Man.

The two of you reach what seems to be the top of some building, you're not even sure what building it is because everything happened so fast.

Spider-Man put you down at last.

“Thank you.” You tell him as you pat down and straighten your clothes. “I’m sorry you had to...carry me. Is the - uhm - is the kid safe?” You ask him.

Spider-Man chuckles. “You were literally about to die a while ago and the first thing you think of is the well-being of other people.” He sighs. “Are YOU okay?”

You pause for a second to the sudden idea that popped into your mind while you're face-to-face with THE Spider-Man.

Familiar.

Oddly familiar.

His voice is a little muffled, but you know that voice. You hear that voice every day. And that height. You take a step forward. That scent.

That warmth.

“Peter?” You step closer to the man that you’re 90% sure is your friend, Peter Parker, dressed in the Spider-Man costume. “Is that you?”

A/N: It's my first time writing for Peter Parker! How was it?? Haha. I hope I did his character justice.

I'm so excited to write five different stories with different pairings inspired from the song "You Shine". I haven't watched the musical but whenever I hear that song, I feel so encouraged and it makes me feel assured that somewhere out there, there are people who can see good things in me that I can't see for myself. Next up, Bucky Barnes x Reader! Look forward to it!

Masterlist

[watevermelon]

Cheater!Akaashi x Reader

✧ Summary: (Continuation) Akaashi is still in love with you and begs for your forgiveness.

➳ A/N: It surprised me how many people wanted a part 2 to Akaashi’s initial cheating imagine, but here we are!!  Ask and you shall receive. People want good things for the reader and I agree -- that’s too bad this is what we got instead LMAO ➳  Masterlist ➳  Part One 

--------xXxXxXxXxXx--------

You could’ve gone the rest of your high school career without ever having to hear the word volleyball ever again. The only interest you had in it was from your ex-boyfriend and now any reminder just left a bitter pang in the pit of your stomach. 

Thankfully, Akaashi was not in your class and there actually were not any volleyball players in your homeroom. But that didn’t stop them from popping up in your peripherals or in some rumours around school. 

Some of the members of the volleyball team would shoot looks at you, whether out of pity or curiosity, you couldn't care less. You fostered your own relationships with the athletes individually - whether it was Haruki’s strange brand of humor, Sarukui’s constant references to memes, or Wataru’s lopsided smiles - you knew them. 

You shared, or rather suffered together, in a class with Konoha the year before. A bright first year with no friends yet, Konoha was a nice person and the first one of the entire volleyball team to actually speak to you. He was even the one to introduce you to both Akaashi and Bokuto.

Out of the bunch, Konoha was often a tag-along when it came to hangouts. Whether it was to the arcade or the movie theatres, you and your (ex)boyfriend were quick to include the others. And usually Bokuto and Konoha would come along as well. Looking back, now you felt like an idiot, Konoha was one thing, but Bokuto was always there.

Nonetheless, as a member of the volleyball team, you knew Konoha was close to Akaashi. And there was no doubt which side he would be taking, no matter the moral high-ground. 

There was too much history there and there would be no attempt on your part to salvage the friendships you had with the volleyball team. 

There was no doubt of the curiosity in everyone’s minds the moment you and Akaashi were broken-up and there was a new person he was holding hands with. It went from general confusion to malicious rumours. Akaashi was the silent boy next door, the person everyone thought to be the perfect boyfriend without a bad bone in his body.

Some said that he broke up with you because you were too mean, too boring, or he simply lost interest in your boring lifestyle.

If only other people knew what he had done to you and Bokuto.

You didn’t believe this was the hill you wanted to die on. And so you ignored the carefully whispers that followed you in the hallways. Your best friends urged you to clear your name - you were the wronged party so why must you be the one to continue suffering? But this was not something you wanted to bring up again, not something you wanted to think about and relive after how painful it was the first time.

But it seemed the volleyball Gods really hated you.

Konoha approached you one day, after class had just ended but before extracurricular clubs were about to start.

“Hi.” He stood beside your locker as you organized your things, “Can we talk?”

You nodded wordlessly, packing up your bookbag and following him out the door. He guided you toward the outside fountain by the athletic building, not many students passing by as they rushed home through the main entrance. A part of you worried that some of the other volleyball members would pass by as you sat there together, but then you realized that it was no longer your problem.

You were seated on the edge, silently watching his pensive expression before he finally turned to you.

“I feel like I owe you an apology.” He started.

“What, why?”

“I could’ve told you a year ago that something strange was happening between Akaashi and Bokuto.”

You felt a lump in your throat, not sure what to say.

He shook his head and turned away, “There was something there even before you two were dating. And so even when Akaashi asked you out, I bet you were surprised?’

You frowned, but agreed quietly with a nod of your head.

“We barely knew each other at the time.”

Konoha scoffed, you were unsure why exactly, but he continued, “Out of curiosity, why did you agree?”

You smiled back wistfully at the memory, remembering how you had excitedly texted your friends on how the Akaashi Keiji had asked you to be his girlfriend.

“It was so simple back then.” You explained, “He was the kind, pretty setter of the nationally-ranked volleyball team. It was shallow, based off of what little I heard about.”

“But you grew to love him.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed, “And look what that brought me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Haruki passed by, texting away on his phone, mind on something else before he spotted the two of you. He waved at Konoha first before his eyes landed on you, widening in obvious surprise before he shot you a genuinely wide smile.

“A lot of them miss you too.” Konoha explained.

“Well sorry, I tend to avoid anything regarding the volleyball team these days.”

“Don’t worry, as much as this sucks, we understand.”  Konoha frowned, clenching one of his hands into a fist in annoyance at the situation.

“But I do miss you guys too.” You added.

Konoha smiled, fondly remembering the last time you had all gone to the arcade, “Who could forget the time you beat Haruki at Dance Dance Revolution?” 

“He certainly did not.” You recalled, “He kept challenging me all the way up to mid-terms.” 

Konoha laughed, no one on the team was able to defeat the libero. And yet here you were, all smiles and confidence radiating off of you, bringing the third year to his knees. It made Konoha wonder if the last year could have been different. 

When Akaashi had approached you, Konoha had dutifully stood to the side. The setter was one of his closest friends and never had he approached anyone in the past. He was often busy with the team or Bokuto. And for Akaashi to have asked you, it meant he was serious. And so Konoha had stood to the side, his crush on you mollified if that meant you’d be happier with the setter your age.

If Konoha had the courage to ask you out instead, would you still be close to the volleyball team? Would you be celebrating an anniversary together rather than crying over some lecherous bastard he called a friend?

You sighed and turned to Konoha, registering his earlier words. “Why are you sorry?”

“What?”

“Why are you sorry about what happened with Akaashi?”

“Ah.” He raked an open palm through his hair. “Maybe I could have stopped you.”

“What?” You asked, a confused smile on your face.

“I introduced the two of you after all.” He explained.

“Shut up.” You said in a teasing tone, “No one could have stopped it. I was just dumb enough to fall for him.”

Konoha shot a small grin back at you, “Yeah, you were.”

Sighing loudly, you made sure you had all your stuff before standing. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Konoha held out a hand for you to shake, “I hope we can still be friends.”

It was odd, to feel the small blossom of something in the pit of your stomach. This was Konoha, your friend of two years at this point. This was nothing more than him trying his best to affirm your friendship, you reminded yourself.

“I hope so too.”

And, to his credit, he really did try. It was simple things - you had each other’s chat ID’s from your shared class together and, every once in a while, he would send you a meme or a small tidbit of information. You still had things in common, subjects ranging from the current shounen anime and TV shows you kept up with.

It was refreshing to talk to him. Your friends had your back, but the school’s curiosity was not easily satisfied with time. People were naturally nosy, eager to know the true reasons behind your failed relationship. Both you and Akaashi had yet to even address it and it only got worse with Bokuto’s increasing PDA.

Thankfully, no one was audacious enough to actually approach you about the situation. No one else was involved in your relationship and they had no right to actually point fingers.

That was until someone had the audacity to come up to you during the free period, most of everyone on campus enjoying their lunches.

You were sitting at your usual table, waiting for your friends to come from their respective classrooms when one of the more annoying third-years came up to you.

You recognized her as president of the Fukurodani Volleyball fanclub, this should be fun.

“I think you should apologize to Akaashi-san.”

You closed your book and looked up. The usual bustle of the lunchroom was dying down, many people silencing as they turned to the interaction. 

“What?”

“For wasting his time - he deserved so much better than you.” She bit out cruelly, the other girls behind her nodding in agreement. “And we all think it’s high time you beg for forgiveness.”

You stood up, pure annoyance rolling off of you. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh? I don’t?” She challenged, “Why would Akaashi date you of all people? And now that the two of you are broken-up he’s been sadder than I’ve ever seen him! This is your fault!”

You slapped your book down and raised your chin, “If that’s what you honestly think then you’re as ignorant as you are a meddling piece of shit.” 

The murmurs that followed were obvious, people listening in to your harsh response.

She raised her hand as if to slap you, obviously offended at being called out to the entire lunchroom. “Why I outta --”

But the offending hand never came.

“Leave her alone.”

You could recognize your ex-boyfriend’s voice anywhere. Turning, you saw Bokuto enter your field of vision and grasp at her wrist in a tight hold, held high above your head. Akaashi was standing on the other side in front of you, an arm-outstretched as if to protect you from the group of girls.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.” Akaashi stated clearly, his gaze was unwavering from the girl, but you were sure that the entire room was now listening in. “It was me.”

She stuttered, attempting to save face, “Akaashi-san, surely that’s not true.”

He turned to her, his blank expression now marginally colder. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

The mean third-year visibility recoiled, turning to you and apologizing under her breath. Bokuto swung her arm away, his glare enough to scare away the rest of the group, but the room was still obviously silent. Bokuto scanned the rest of the room with his tough stare, many people turning away and vainly attempting to restart their conversations. 

Akaashi turned to you, an unsure expression on his face. There were words on the tip of his tongue, you were sure, since he looked as if there were a thousand things he wanted to say.

“I’m not going to say thanks.” You decided to start for him.

“I know.”

You wanted to turn away from him again, no words left for you to say or even scream at him through your anger. This was more than just some ex, you genuinely loved Akaashi and thought he was going to be your future. And from the way he acted, it seemed like the setter wanted that as well.

“There’s something I want to say.” Akaashi stated before you could flee.

“Maybe not here.” Bokuto tugged at your elbow, motioning to the nearest hallway with his chin. 

You followed Akaashi wordlessly, Bokuto behind you to make sure you didn’t just run away. You sure that there were more than a few dozen pairs of eyes sticking to the backs of your strange trio.

Akaashi led you to a corner, no one to spy on your conversation unless they hung outside the building from the window. He moved to gently grasp your forearms, but you pushed him off before he could get a firm hold on you. 

He frowned, but looked at you intently. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” You stated back plainly, “I can’t forgive you.”

Akaashi hesitated, a dejected look on his face. “I know.”

Every bone in your body was screaming at you to walk away, to stop looking at his despondent pout and not fall for his sad look. You remembered the first time you fell in love with his smile - how easy he would flash that beaming expression at you. How Akaashi would tell you how much he loved you and it filled your heart until it overflowed.

And now all of those memories were worth nothing.

Screw being a bigger man, your heart had a thousand things it wanted to say.

“I really loved you, you know.” You pushed at his shoulder, “And now I can’t look at you without feeling like I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I was so in love with you I thought this would be it.” You felt your heart crying, but urged the motion down. “Why kiss me and tell me you love me when you had someone else on your mind the entire time?!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Akaashi looked just as anguished, trying to reach out to you with shy hands on your shoulders. “Please just listen to me.”

But you shoved him away this time, “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I love you.” 

His blue eyes bore right into your own, determined and sure of his previous statement. Looking over his shoulder, Bokuto was standing to the side, his gaze stuck on you as well. How the hell was this normal?

“What?”

Akaashi paused, hands coming up to hold you but stopping short again when he realized that was the last thing you needed. “I’m in love with both of you.”

You huffed and took a step back, what could you possibly say to that? There was a sudden flurry of emotions just whirring around your mind -  a rush of elation at being loved, immediately squashed down by the annoyed at Akaashi’s selfishness.

You turned to Bokuto, “You believe this?”

The wing-spiker frowned, but affirmed it in a loud voice. “Yes.”

“No.” You started back quickly, shaking your head. “I refuse to be part of this.”

“It’s true.” Akaashi pushed, moving toward you with an ernst expression on.

“I don’t care if it’s true or not.” You moved away again, but this time Akaashi did not let you evade him. Putting firm hands on your shoulders, he pulled you against his chest. “Stop.”

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, but I can’t.” Akaashi continued, “I love you and it hurts me so much that I hurt you in the process.”

You struggled against his hold until he let go. “How could I listen to you be so selfish?” 

“I know.”

“Don’t involve me in this.” You motioned at the both of them in a wide circle. 

“(F/N).” Akaashi stressed, eager to get you to see his side, but you wanted nothing to do with him or Bokuto. He broke your heart enough, there was no way you were willing to entertain him back in your life.

“What don’t you understand about leaving me alone?” You raised your voice, annoyed that Akaashi was asking anything of you after treating you so cruelly.

“Please let me explain.” Akaashi kept repeating.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing that Akaashi could say that would ever make you think about introducing him back into your life. He was terrible for lying to you for months, maybe even as long as a year, but you didn’t want to exactly ask the length of his infidelity. He was a terrible boyfriend and an even worse person - you were ready to raise hands at both boys if they didn’t let you go this instant.

Bokuto blocked your path this time, “(L/N), come on we just -- “

“What’s going on here?” A gentle hand fell on your shoulder, pushing Bokuto aside as a new person entered your conversation.

Konoha stood tall behind you, his sudden appearance quelling your rising anger. If not, you were sure that you were going to throw hands with the volleyball boys. Bokuto would probably fight you off, but slapping Akaashi would feel cathartic in a way.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Bokuto tried to wave away the other wing spiker. “We’re just talking.”

“(F/N), please. Let me explain it all to you.” Akaashi stressed, moving a step in your direction, to which Konoha challenged when he tilted his head upward. 

“Right, just talking.” Konoha murmured in disbelief before turning to you. “And how do you feel?”

“I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

Both Akaashi and Bokuto exclaimed your name in contrasting tones, but you hardened your expression before turning away from them. Konoha still had a hand on your shoulder as you walked back to the lunchroom.

Your friends were already at your table, some of them standing around pacing while others were angrily chewing into their food. A chorus of your name followed as the two of you neared the table, some of them getting up from their seats to give you a comforting hug.

“(F/N)!” Your best friend was quick to rush you, crushing you between her arms. “We heard that Akaashi and Bokuto basically ushered you away.”

“The whole lunchroom was basically watching that door.” Another stated, pointing to the one you just came from.

Your best friend put her hands on your shoulder, steading your attention back to her. “Please tell me you remembered that men ain’t shit.”

Konoha laughed as he put a mocking hand of offense over his heart.

“Yeah, yeah.” You assured her, “I’m not about to make the same mistake again.”

“Good.” She confirmed, before turning to Konoha. “Okay, only Konoha has rights.”

“Thanks.” He stated back half-heartedly, guiding you back to your lunch and taking the seat beside you.

“When people told us they took you away, we weren’t sure what to do. Go after you? Call you to give you an out? We didn’t even know how long you had been gone for!” She explained, “Thankfully Konoha here came to the rescue.”

You turned to the wing-spiker, smiling as you did so. “He really did, thank you.”

He reflected a similar expression back at you, holding your gaze before springing away to take out his own lunch out of his bag.

“I take it back, the volleyball team has no rights with the exception of Konoha.” One of your friends joked.

As for you, you could not help but think back to the fond expression Konoha just shot you. It was so quick, and yet so genuine, you felt it pierce your heart so suddenly just to rip away from you when he turned away. But not in a bad way, per se.

If anything, this was a nice feeling, for a lack of a better term, to have again. You were not totally healed, still angry at both Akaashi and Bokuto for being complete fuckheads. But a part of you was still alive, happy to see Konoha as your friend and just maybe… maybe something else.

Akaashi and Bokuto returned back to the lunchroom silently, having left their stuff at their now fully occupied table. Bokuto didn’t bother to even turn in your direction, but Akaashi shot you a devastatingly sad frown as he passed. 

A part of you wanted to comfort it, to leap out at the man who loved you for the past year. But you were thankfully steadied back to reality when Konoha put a gentle hand on your own. Akaashi’s gaze fell to the contact, making him stop entirely in his tracks. It was only when Bokuto grabbed his hand did the setter continue walking, but the shock on his face was palpable.

No matter, Akaashi was the last thing you wanted on your mind right now.

You upturned your hand and squeezed Konoha’s smiling at the third-year before turning back to your lunch.

The situation was far from resolved, you still had another two years at this drama-infested school and Akaashi seemed keen on explaining something to you. You were far from completely healed and it seemed the student body would not let this drama go unnoticed.

But you were getting there.

Little by little, you were re-learning to smile and laugh more. Places on campus were no longer bitter memories, but quiet lessons for you to remember. You had your loving best-friends and suddenly, the kind Konoha, at your side.

You had no worries about the rest of the school year, you would get through this with a head held high.

--------xXxXxXxXxXx--------

A/N: TBH for myself i could see this going both ways; reader saying nah OR reader entering a poly relationship. idk - i’ll write it if someone wants to see that ending but otherwise here we are :):

➳  Masterlist

[whitehotharlots]

A movement that cannot be criticized cannot achieve positive goals

The hardest part of talking about malignant trends on the broad left is that, well, you’re not allowed to talk about them. It’s no exaggeration to say that criticism has become fully conflated with violence. If you attempt to engage critically with a left-liberal writer--regardless of how thorough and respectful you may be, and regardless of how powerful, public, or insulated the subject of the criticism--you will be accused of dismissing and erasing the writer, of inciting violence against the writer, and of committing some form of genocide against whichever identity groups the writer belongs to.

Conversely, if you don’t provide specifics, you’ll be accused of making stuff up. The same people who claim it’s an act of aggression to ask for proof when they make claims of victimization turn into immense pedants the moment they encounter a heterodox opinion. 

Unsurprisingly, a discourse milieu in which critical analysis is forbidden is a prime breeding ground for unsustainable (and even horrific) behavioral standards. Never mind improving the world that exists outside their sphere of influence... these people are perpetually on the brink of destroying their allies, their institutions, and themselves.

Today I dug into an especially profane case that highlights both of these points. It’s a matter of public record, so I hopefully won’t get accused of “doxing” anyone for discussing it. It’s also the sort of story where if someone cares about it, they’ll have an opinion of it within a second or two of reading a headline describing what happened. This means it’ll only be of interest to the sort of cranks who read this blog. My goal here isn’t to express outrage or advocate for one side or other--although it is outrageous, and you won’t have to try too hard to see which side I favor. Instead, I’m going to try to move beyond that, to use this instance as a broader cautionary tale in regards to the more horrific tendencies of the identitarian left, and to begin formulating some means of resistance. 

In other words, this might get boring. Even more so than usual. 

The story involves a court case, documented here, in which a young man named Kieran Bhattacharya is suing the University of Virginia Medical School. Mr. Bhattacharya (a white supremacist name if I’ve ever heard one) was subjected to formal censure, repeated psychological evaluations, suspension, and eventual expulsion. This all happened because he raised some concerns after a White Fragility-inspired panel on microaggressions.

This is one of those cases where both sides are going to assume there’s a lot more going on beneath the surface and, like I said, are going to be disinclined toward actually reading the available evidence. Thankfully, the court brief is fairly exhaustive and--importantly--the account provided in the brief has received the approval of both plaintiff and defendant. To stress, everyone involved in this case agrees, legally, that the account provided herein is an accurate picture of what happened. Additionally, we also have audio of the initial microaggression seminar (Mr. Bhattacharya’s comments start at around the 28:30 mark), as well as of the pursuant committee meeting that ended in his expulsion. 

Here is the initial exchange, as documented by the brief:

Bhattacharya: Hello. Thank you for your presentation. I had a few questions just to clarify your definition of microaggressions. Is it a requirement, to be a victim of microaggression, that you are a member of a marginalized group? 

Adams: Very good question. And no. And no— 

Bhattacharya: But in the definition, it just said you have to be a member of a marginalized group—in the definition you just provided in the last slide. So that’s contradictory. 

Adams: What I had there is kind of the generalized definition. In fact, I extend it beyond that. As you see, I extend it to any marginalized group, and sometimes it’s not a marginalized group. There are examples that you would think maybe not fit, such as body size, height, [or] weight. And if that is how you would like to see me expand it, yes, indeed, that’s how I do. 

Bhattacharya: Yeah, follow-up question. Exactly how do you define marginalized and who is a marginalized group? Where does that go? I mean, it seems extremely nonspecific.

 Adams: And—that’s intentional. That’s intentional to make it more nonspecific . . . . 

After the initial exchange, Bhattacharya challenged Adams’s definition of microaggression. He argued against the notion that “the person who is receiving the microaggressions somehow knows the intention of the person who made it,” and he expressed concern that “a microaggression is entirely dependent on how the person who’s receiving it is reacting.” Id. He continued his critique of Adams’s work, saying, “The evidence that you provided—and you said you’ve studied this for years—which is just one anecdotal case—I mean do you have, did you study anything else about microaggressions that you know in the last few years?” Id. After Adams responded to Bhattacharya’s third question, he asked an additional series of questions: “So, again, what is the basis for which you’re going to tell someone that they’ve committed a microaggression? . . . Where are you getting this basis from? How are you studying this, and collecting evidence on this, and making presentations on it?”

You can listen to the audio if you like. There’s nothing there, in my opinion, that is not captured accurately in the written description. Bhattacharya does not yell or raise his voice. He sounds skeptical, but in no way violent or threatening. Nor does Adams, the presenter, signal that she is experiencing anything that approaches fear or trauma. 

Immediately after the event, a professor who helped organize the discussion filed a “Professionalism Concern Card”--a cute academic euphemism for a disciplinary write up--against Bhattacharya, alleging he had displayed a troubling lack of respect for differences (the irony here probably does not need to be explicated).

Soon after that--literally still the same day of the panel--Bhattacharya received an email from faculty asking him to “share his thoughts” so as to help him “understand and be able to cope with unintended consequences of conversations.” The tone of the email is polite and professional, but the text hints toward an attempt at entrapment. You’ll see this a lot in woke spaces--invitations to come to an understanding with one another that are, in actuality, attempts to get a person to say something cancellable.

Bhattacharya took the bait, and, well… 

During Bhattacharya and Peterson’s one-hour meeting, Peterson “barely mentioned” Bhattacharya’s questions and comments at the panel discussion. Dkt. 33 ¶ 73. Instead, Peterson attempted to determine Bhattacharya’s “views on various social and political issues—including sexual assault, affirmative action, and the election of President Trump.” 

At this point, the kid was fucked. He soon after had an uneventful-seeming meeting with a dean. Two weeks after that, a separate panel found him guilty of “patterns of unprofessional behavior and egregious violations of professionalism” and strongly encouraged him to seek psychological counseling. 

Pre-Trump, Bhattacharya still probably would have been fine if he had just kept his head down, gone to a couple therapy sessions, and maybe issued an empty apology. Since 2016, however, the rules have changed. An accusation is now absolute proof of guilt and no amount of ablution can save someone in a vulnerable position. 

Eleven days after receiving the ostensible suggestion that he receive counseling, Bhattacharya was informed that he would not be permitted to return to classes until he had been evaluated. A day after that--before even having the opportunity to seek the mandated counseling--he was given a mere 3 hours notice before having to attend another disciplinary committee meeting. 

This meeting found that Bhattacharya’s continuing behaviors were proof that he posed an imminent danger to the campus community, although the committee did not bother to explain what those behaviors entailed. His behavior was simply noted as “unusual” and this was proof that “Any patient that walked into the room with [Bhattacharya] would be scared.” The following day, Bhattacharya was forcibly removed from campus and told he could not return until he had been screened. He was, subsequently, not allowed to receive sanctioned screening, because of his status of having been removed from campus after being deemed a security risk.

Again, none of what I have described is an exaggeration. None of these details are even being contested. 

Now for my own conjecture: the problem isn’t that anyone genuinely believes Bhattacharya poses a threat to anyone’s safety. The problem is that he attempted to question the ideological firmaments of contemporary anti-racist training. These firmaments are protected with aggressive viciousness precisely because they cannot withstand scrutiny. Had Bhattacharya merely scoffed at them, or even if he had been outright condescending and dismissive, he probably would not have received such a severe punishment. The problem was that he was right, and his accusers knew it.

Understanding speech in the manner prescribed by the peddlers of microaggression theory cannot possibly be codified in a way that won't result in arbitrary punishment. Bhattacharya’s experience demonstrates that with horrific irony. 

The assertion here is that the intention of a speech act should have no bearing on how we adjudicate the morality of that speech act--such a point was made repeatedly in the initial discussion, and stressed once again after Bhattacharya’s concerns have been raised. This standard contradicts how we've processed the morality of speech for centuries, but that's what people are very explicitly demanding.

How is this workable, when literally any statement could, conceivably, be considered offensive by at least one individual? This, I feel, was the point Bhattacharya reaching toward. If you were to say, I dunno, "I love trees" to a group of 1000 people, 999 of them could regard that statement as benign. But what if one person takes offense to it? What if they work in the lumber industry, or they were molested by guy in a Smokey the Bear costume? What if that person then files a report accusing the tree lover of offensive speech? Will the speaker be disciplined? Or will the powers that be take intention and effect into account?

Of course, we're not going to criminalize all speech in this way. Like all extreme and broad-reaching disciplinary standards, this one will only be selectively evoked in order to punish people with heterodox opinions and/or those whose presence threatens the status quo. Someone who says something much more incendiary, like "all men are rapists" or "white people shouldn't get social security" would not receive a reprimand regardless of how much offense their statements caused, because they're saying something that's acceptable in our current milieu. And right now, the least acceptable speech is that which shines a light on the manifest flaws and hypocrisies of corporate anti racism. 

Back to my hypothetical example, if the tree-loving speaker was on good terms with everyone, the complaint would most likely be ignored. But if he had said or done other things that for whatever reason displeased the people in charge, the specious accusation could still ruin him. What's worse, the person who filed the allegation of offense might not have even actually taken offense at the statement--they were just looking for a way to get rid of him.

Bhattacharya was attempting to voice legitimate criticisms about a political movement whose suggestions are functionally unworkable and that, even if it were implemented fully and uncritically, does not contain even a hypothetical explanation in regards to how its goals would result in improved racial equality/equity. Because of that, he was cynically labeled dangerous and expelled from a public university. 

You'd think a group that obsesses over power differentials and their own marginalization would have some grasp of this. Regardless of which side you fall into with this particular culture war, it should fucking terrify you that a movement that’s been tasked with addressing pressing social problems is designed in such a way that any substantial criticism is met with aggressive punishment. 

There’s no way you can win if this is you is how conduct yourself. This is why we’re losing. This is why even if you get all the censorship and deplatforming you can ever dream of, even if every major bank and multinational corporatation professes fealty to your movement, you will still lose. Because there’s no way you can win. 

[crusty]

literally can’t understand what you’re trying to say with the exclusionist post can you reword it

YEAH, I appreciate u asking, here's the gist:

The terms exclusionist and inclusionist are another example of Tumblr/Twitter trying to put people into categories of GOOD and bad, similar to the usage of anti/proshipper.

It's impossible to put people into binary categories, the usage of "Good" vs. "Bad" never works in any given context. This is also why having a gender binary doesn't work. Humans are very complex!

Now, that being said, this statement should not inherently tell people that I am an 'exclusionist'. That leap of logic does not make sense. Nowhere are the words "Asexuals are not LBGT" (which, to my understanding, is the main signifier of an 'exclusionist) anywhere present on my page or my posts.

That's all I said!

(If you want something deeper than my surface-level thoughts, feel free to click the read-more. I appreciate you asking for clarification.)

What do I believe then, if the terms "inclusionist" and "exclusionist" are overused and continuously abused in Tumblr/Twitter discourse spheres?

It's a nuanced situation. That means both sides are fucking stupid. The notion that inclusionists are DA GOOD GUYS and exclusionists are DA BAD GUYS makes the whole discourse pointless and completely antithetical to what the ace community should be focusing on.

Asexuals are people just like the rest of us. The need to consistently belittle them and claim that they do not exist has been tiring ever since the term first became popular/known in leftist circles. Many people do not feel sexual attraction, and there should absolutely be a conversation to teach others that sex is not the end all be all for a lot of people. The topic of "Sex or No Sex" shouldn't be something people actively care about.

//CW BELOW: r slur, CSA mention, heavy subject matter//

Here is a bit of personal information I feel comfortable sharing now.

I distinctly remember feeling very ostracized as a teen. (FOR MANY REASONS, but for this point, I'm specifically on the subject of sex/sexuality.) Everyone around me was falling prey to the horror that is heterosexuality and society's expectations of sex and the exploitation of young girls.

I actively did not feel sexual attraction at an age many of my peers did. I remember arguing back and forth with my dad in 2014 that there was a small community of people online that didn't feel sexual attraction, both boys and girls, and he called me r*tarded, saying that every man wants to have sex, and every girl wants sex with men. I was mortified by what he said to me. It stuck with me long after that conversation. At this time, I already knew my dad was a sexual predator who had no problem ruining my life, so it makes sense why at first the asexual community resonated with me.

//CW end//

From the time I was 15 to about 20, I considered myself asexual to a specific degree. I was a sex-repulsed ace for many years. I remember IDing as demi as a teen, back when I was stuck in MOGAI hell, and later in my life, I focused more on the bigger LGBT labels, searching for the perfect fit.

Eventually, I grew up and realized it was no one's fucking business how I personally felt about sex and what my relationship to it was. Ace is a modifier label to me. When I realized I was a lesbian who had been ashamed of my attraction to women and nonbinary people I was literally euphoric. That was the most important thing to me. Being able to have lesbian sex was literally more healing than anything else in the fuckin world.

Sex is a really fucking personal thing, and when I hit 21 years old I stopped giving a shit about acecourse. I'm on my own now and I got bills to pay and shit to do.

Even though I personally don't think being ace makes me intrinsically LGBT, I'm smart enough to understand that most who ID as ace are also queer in some way. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

----

Now the biggest reason why I stopped associating with the worst fucking discourse-ridden community on Tumblr.

There are a group of asexuals that have been some of the most tone-deaf, obnoxious, bigoted pieces of shit I've ever seen on the internet. The push amongst this very specific portion of aces on the internet to demonize sex completely, lump the LGBT community (a community that is largely filled with people who are, you guessed it, not asexual) with cishets solely on the basis that they are 'Sex Havers' (which is... extremely weird and invasive in general), consistently harassing lesbians and leaving them out of any sort of pride posts/merch, and misusing terms like TERF (a term that should ONLY be used when talking about transmisogynistic radical feminists.... an actual fascist hate group that has caused the real deaths of real women), is not something other aces should be actively supporting, and it should not be up to your fellow LGBTs to teach you shit you should already know. ESPECIALLY if you're fucking white and your main target of harassment is against black and brown people. You got all that time to bitch about shit and somehow no time to reblog a person of colors donation post. Okay.

I'm way past the point of giving a fuck, so please, if you disagree with any of my points, gladly grow up and leave my page. I shouldn't have to hide my thoughts to please a small minority of idiots on the internet. I'm too fucking old for this and so are y'all.

[rosy-cheekx]

Aesthetic prompt- song: "in hell i'll be in good company" by the dead south; vibe: steam off a warm drink, heavy rain on windows; color: cool gray, bronze, red :)

Took me long enough! This fic is months in the making, but I am so excited to finally be able to answer this prompt. This is chapter 1 of probably 3!

A Phoenix Razed

Chapter 1- Rebirth

---

3 days since Great Yarmouth

Tim’s hands encircled the paper cup in his lap. The cup was small, he noted; he could clasp his fingers together easily. Or maybe his hands were just big. The tea was dark, way over-steeped, and the herbal scent bloomed out in waves alongside the rising steam. There was no sugar, no milk, none of the usual accoutrement Tim used to take tea. Just harsh, bitter, black.

It’s what you deserve.

Tim rolled his eyes at his internal monologue, drama queen, and sipped the beverage. Agh, still hot? He sucked in air through his teeth, startling Martin, who he’d forgotten was beside him.

“Tim?” He snapped his eyes up from where they had been resting on the book, lips moving to form words Tim hadn’t been listening to. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, burnt my tongue.” Tim’s words sounded like a shrug, slumped and uninterested, now out of his reverie.

Silence stretched between him and Martin. Or, Tim wished it was silence. The only sound was the low static of the EEG, a rainbow of wires between the machine and Jonathan Sims’ scalp, shaved to accommodate the electrodes. What Tim wouldn’t give for any level of sound other than what they experienced right now. Any less, and there would be an answer to the question, “Will Jon ever wake up?”, and more would mean his heart was working, or lungs, or any other number of body parts to which machines were attached, waiting for any sign of response.

It’s your fault he’s like this.

It should have been you.

Tim exhaled and sipped the tea again, more careful this time. It was still hot—he was pretty sure the burn on his tongue made it feel even hotter—but he tempered his expectations and swallowed a sip of the bitter liquid, letting the raw flavor coat his throat.

“-there’s not much point to this, huh?” Martin asked, slipping a tattered bookmark between the pages of the book he had been reading—he was hoping to annoy Jon with poetry into waking up with Tennyson’s Ulysses—and letting it slip from his lap to the bed, green cover stark against the yellowish-white of the thin blanket.

“I don’t know, Marto, doctors said he might be able to hear us. Maybe dear Alfie will bore Jon back to life,” but Tim’s words lacked the bite and humor that was meant to be there.

“Don’t-” Martin warned softly, shaking his head and pushing his reading glasses through his fringe of curls. “He’s not…he’s still alive. He’s just lost.”

“You’re right,” Tim nodded, placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder lightly before pulling it away as he felt the round of Martin’s shoulder twinge under his touch. “You know what I mean.” He rubbed at the bandages that wound around his abdomen, letting himself indulge in the ache of raw skin and muscle and fat, the hiss of pain atonement for his sins.

Martin sighed, a slow, burdensome sound. “Yeah, I do.” At his words, Martin’s phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID before shoving the phone deep in his pocket, ignoring the call as he did so. “Listen, Tim, you know I’d stay longer if I could-”

“No, I get it, Martin.” Tim stood as Martin did, grabbing the IV bag by his chair for support. “Duty calls. I must away, my love.”

Martin scoffed, the pale sound muffled and diminished by the emptiness of the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to go on without me.” His voice dropped the light in it as he placed a hand on Tim’s. His hands were freezing, Jesus. “Seriously, Tim, if you need me…”

“I’ll call.” Tim waggled the phone in the pockets of the linen pants the hospital had provided. “Promise.”

--

“I hear the Great Grimaldi’s in town.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

He wished the moments after were fuzzy. He wished he could chalk his memories up to delirium or carbon monoxide poisoning. There was the detonator, small and squat in his hands. There was Grimaldi, or Nikola, or whatever that thing was. And there was Jon, kneeling, eyes piercing him in a way he had never experienced before. A moment of true lucidity amongst the madness of the Unknowing.

Tim had pressed the button, resigning this to be his final image, his final memory. The things in the world he hated most, all splayed out in front of him, with the promise of all the things he loved waiting for him. A win-win, really. Go out with a bang, leave a mark on the Stranger, cause some errant destruction, and finally see Danny again. The Stranger would never forget the Stoker brothers, that would have been for sure.

But the combustion and the flames had swept over him like a hot wind. He felt the flames lick the sides of his face, felt smoke choke his lungs, felt impossibly hot ash and air swirl around him in a tango. The building had crumbled around him and Tim had been unable to move, forced to witness every last nanosecond of the chaos he had caused.

And he reveled in it. He had won; he had beaten the Stranger. To know he had avenged the deaths of Danny and Sasha was prize enough.

None of it made any sense. He shouldn’t have survived.

How had he survived?

-

5 Days After Great Yarmouth

“Tim.”

Basira was in Tim’s room, wheelchair parked in the corner and sitting in a visitor’s chair. Her body was tense and still, reminiscent of a panther in some documentary he had watched with Jon. Ready to strike? Or run?

“Basira.” Tim’s voice was careful. “Martin said you weren’t up for visitors today. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Save it.” Basira’s hands were fisted in her robe, the white and yellow one matching Tim’s, declaring them both as patients under observation. Tim frowned, pulling his IV behind him to sit on his bed, wincing as he bent and adjusted himself. “Daisy’s gone, Jon is…whatever he is. I survived because I was smart.”

Her voice was low and sharp, accusing him of…something. Tim felt blood boiling under his skin, as he waffled somewhere between furious and confused. “Excuse me?” He said pointedly, voice measured, squeezing tight the paper cup of tea in his hand.

“Tim, how are you not dead?” Basira gestured with her hand. “Your burns were all superficial. You broke your arm in the collapse, but you managed to survive the fire.” She shook her head and smoothed the fabric that lay there with her hand. “You and I both know you shouldn’t be alive right now.”

Tim took a steadying breath, though it did little to conceal his frustration. “So what, you think I’m fucking magical or something?” He could feel the heat and pitch rise in his voice. “You think I’m like...like those freaks we read about in the statements? Like-like Jon or Elias or like fucking Nikola?”

Basira opened her mouth to speak but Tim cut her off. “You know why I was there, Basira. For Danny. For Sasha. You bloody well know none of this was supposed to happen.” He gestured in the general direction of where Jon lay, dead to the world. “The audacity to assume I-”

“Tim!” Basira cut in, interrupting his increasingly desperate tone. “Look!” She pointed down. Following her gaze, Tim saw the paper cup he was holding. The cup of tea was steaming. No, it was boiling. He could hear the roil of the water, see the bubbles blossoming on the surface. On instinct, he yelped, tossing the cup of bitter black tea across the room, hitting the sink on the far side of the wall squarely. He winced as the liquid splashed across the mirror, the cup rolling to a stop in the basin.

“What the fuck?” He wiped his hands on his robe. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Did it burn you?” Basira asked, eyes passing over him studiously.

“Ah…” Tim turned his right hand over, checking for any splash marks or blisters on his palm. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Basira asked, raising her eyebrow. At Tim’s irritated roll of his eyes, she folded her fingers together.

“You know that’s not normal, right?” It wasn’t a question.

Tim nodded, voice stolen from him as he processed her words. “Are you trying to say I’m fireproof or something?”

Basira shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds weird enough to be right. I’d say ask Jon about it, but obviously…that’s not happening quite yet.”

“This is so fucked,” Tim mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion. “I hate this job.”

--

Tim was walking in a black room. Kind of. It wasn’t black, really, nor a room—just the concept of space, devoid of color or light.

Tim was somewhere and it was dark.

He picked a direction and walked. The space he was in was hot, a dry stale heat pressing in on him from all sides. It was like that prickling heat from being too close to a campfire, where the heat should singe your leg hairs. It should have been painful. He should have been sweating. But he felt…good. Great, even. He felt alive and awake and ready.

He walked for what felt like hours in this dreamscape, not knowing where he was going. He had realized he was dreaming around the point where he noticed he was more floating than walking, being guided like a character in a low-res video game. There was something in the back of his mind nudging him forward, coaxing him along some predetermined route.

Suddenly, he stopped. There was something in front of him, maybe four meters away. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it. This spot in space was the source of all the heat in this room, the warmth surrounding him that was more accosting than comforting. The feeling surrounding him was all-consuming and it made him feel…all sorts of things. Righteousness, anger, betrayal, pain. They were all the emotions he had been feeling at Great Yarmouth, built up upon each other, each idolized in their own way. They were the feelings he had chosen to worship when Jon had stopped being his friend and started being his enemy, when Sasha had been discovered to have never been, when he had looked Nikola in its eyeless face and pressed the detonator. It all felt good to feel.

All of a sudden Tim was struck with a sudden knowledge. If he accepted this heat, this painful destruction, he would never need to worry about being hurt again. He could protect himself, the loved ones he had left (if he still had any), and burn the hearts out of anyone who dared hurt him or his ilk. No one would ever leave him again except on his terms. He understood what the Lightless Flame meant, what it promised, what it could give him in return. He would be able to live on the destruction of those he deemed unworthy of the love of the pyre, those who had so much to lose. Like he had had, once. Like Danny had had. Like Sasha. They had had the world before them, and it was stripped away. The Stranger had the potential to take over the world and he had destroyed every last bit of success it had. And it felt good. He could chase that feeling again and again and again with a family that knew what it was like to love and lose and destroy.

All he had to do was take it in.

-

7 Days After Great Yarmouth

Tim woke up gasping for air. He could feel an icy hand on the back of his neck, colder than anything he knew, dragging him back into reality. He opened his eyes, wincing at the harsh light of his hospital room and yes, he was in his hospital room, not a great expanse of nothing nothing nothing, searching for answers. He reached a hand to the back of his head and felt a frozen rag, dripping icy water down the back of his neck, down his spine.

A nurse was at his bedside, a thin woman with dark blonde hair, checking his vitals with a delicate hand. “Welcome back, Mr. Stoker. You gave us a scare, there.”

“Wha-”

“Your monitor was beeping like mad last night. Said you had a fever of 42, but the machine was probably broken. Thermometer put you more at 40, but still, concerningly high. Gave you some fever reducers and a cool rag, kept an eye on you. Are you feeling any better?”

Tim rolled his neck, hearing his joints crack as he did so. “Uh-” He took stock of his faculties. He felt great, actually. No pain, no stiffness, just a tingling warmth spread throughout his body. Something about that felt...right. But he wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, fine.” He pulled the rag out from under his neck and noticed, for the first time, he was naked.

“Sorry,” she smiled apologetically at the flush that spread across his face and neck. “First rule of fevers: tight clothing comes off. It seemed to have done its job though. You were out for a whole day. According to our thermometers, your temperature’s gone back to normal, but we’d like to keep an eye on you a bit longer, especially with your injuries. They don't seem to be infected, so the fever might have been a latent trauma response to the explosion.” The woman shrugged, her smile light. “Our bodies do crazy things to keep us safe. Even when it hurts.”

“A-apparently so,” Tim nodded softly, squeezing his hands into fists, feeling the nails dig into his palms. At least this wasn’t a dream. He rested his head against the pillows propped behind him and sighed heavily.

The nurse left eventually, when there were no more monitors to check and Tim had promised eight ways to Sunday to press his call button if he needed anything. He settled back into his pillow, listening to the steady beep of his heart amplified on the monitor. The TV droned low in the background, newscasters revisiting today’s tragedies. Had they been on the news when it happened? Tim huffed and shook his head. Not if Elias had a say in it. Probably chalked it up to a gas main.

He grabbed the remote strapped to his bed, and flipped through the channels aimlessly, looking for something interesting…or at least to lull him back to sleep. Kids programming, soap operas, more news, interior design—wait. Tim flipped back to the news channel. Demolition of an old primary school. The reporter spoke to a heated young woman, round cheeks framed by wild curls, who spoke to the camera about the memories and traditions the school represented, how unfair it was to lose such an important monument to the history of her town.

“A shame, isn’t it?”

Tim started at the voice, whipping his head to the door, gripping the remote tight in his hand. The woman standing in the doorway of his room was short and wide, hair cropped close. She wore a grey tank top and black shorts, revealing tattoos of flames licking up the backs and sides of her calves. Something about her face was odd. A little too smooth? The grin on her face seemed wider than normal smiles were meant to be, drooping a little too low.

“Pardon?” Tim managed, grip on the call button tight, even if there was…something keeping him from pressing it.

“About the school.” She pointed to the television as she crossed the threshold, crossing her legs as she sat in the cushy visitor’s chair next to his bed. “So many childhood memories, so many job opportunities, so many opportunities for self-improvement-” She spat the word with malice. “Truly some of my favorite forms of destruction.”

Tim stared at her dumbly. “Do…am I supposed to know who you are?” Her returned chuckle burned him from the inside.

“Oh,” she crooned, more to herself than to Tim. “For keepers of the Eye, you are all so stupid. I am Jude Perry and I serve the Lightless Flame. And, if I’m right, you do too.”

[monsterquest]

Re: Vampires 😑

Anyway. This is me explaining why I dislike the vast majority of vampire fiction/ vampires in fiction and why I think this is a topic that deserves some further thought. This post is not about all vampire stories ever and we’re not discussing folklore here. Yes you can tell me all about some artisanal variety of vampire that’s totally different but the fact of the matter is that mainstream media has a very clear idea of what is being talked about. I’m talking about the movies and series and books that someone immediately thinks about when the word ‘vampire’ is mentioned and what are the common elements that put me off such media.

So who are vamipres generally portrayed as? Yeah I’m pretty sure you can spot the most common denominators. A youthful-looking or at the very least quietly confident and dubiously wealthy white man. More often than not revealing sociopathic inclinations and a “dangerous side” down the line. Stuff that only the heroine of the story can manage. He might have been shown to have mass-mudered his way though the ages, but none of those people went to high school with her so it’s fine. Plus he’s a vegan now. It’s fine. Right.

A key to many of the problems I have with vampires is a fundamental aspect of what they are. Vampires are made, not born. So up until they were turned and became blood-hungry creatures of the night with superhuman powers they were regular people, products of their time and environment. So they are the very opposite of a blank canvas.

First there’s the basic overall depiction, but at the same time what the audience/reader is told to ignore about the commonalities and how this relates to for example race in relation to what is seen as acceptable deviation from social norms. Like who cares where he got his money from and that nobody has ever heard of him and that his ID looks hella fake. Sure... he’s violent and undpredictable, but it’s fine because he’s traumatized. So here we arrive at the idea that somehow a woman can and should be inserted here as some kind of a fix. What are red flags? Who even knows? It’s fine.

Honestly I’m seeing so many problems that I’m not even sure which one to bring up first. I mean the more that I look at it... it seems to me as if vampirism in a way serves as a metaphor for a particular kind of toxic white masculinity and how society is conditioned to accomodate it. 

Let me remind you that 50 Shades of Grey is Twilight fanfiction. That is a fact. Which appropriately anchors this whole thing back in reality in the sense that it should serve as a reminder of intention and motivations behind modern vampire fiction. It both sadly and conveniently also illustrates the point I want to make about the common denominators I brought up earlier. Which brings me to how vampires are fundamentally linked to class.

In Twilight’s example, if you take away the element of blood consumption what you’re left with is pretty much 50 Shades of Grey. I think that alone is pretty revealing in terms of what the story is intentionally telling us. While there’s a constant need to explain why fiction is not reality and how fictional situations don’t necessarily reflect what authors advocate in real life, I feel like vampire fiction is something that deserves to be seen in connection to what it is anchored to. Not so much because the fiction is created with different intentions, but because of the way the reality surrounding it is largely written into it. 

Interestingly, in a lot of media the existence of vampires seems to go hand in hand with that of werevolves. And pretty much every example I can currently think of (Twilight, Vampire Diaries, True Blood) seems to drive home the same general message through the dichotomy established between them. 

Vampires are educated, wealthy and worldly. Pretty much invariably shown as members of the upper class. Signalled as superior in every conceivable way perhaps other than in some aspect which would leave a female-protagonist-shaped cutout somewhere in there, to fit perfectly into this world and fix the vampire.

Werewolves are almost invariably rural, living “close to the land”, with far fewer means and in a different world in terms of affluence. Generally working class people, rarely as highly educated in comparison, often depicted as less rational, more prone to physical aggression, less diplomatic and able to control their emotions. And based on a casual observation, far more likely to be depicted as people of color than vampires. 

And let’s just ignore all of ABO territory and the world of implications that goes with it. 

Some of these things wouldn’t be an issue just by temselves. I just think it becomes one when this is a dominant pattern across much of media that fits this category. Clearly it’s being used to communicate something. And no part of this is isolated from the rest of what makes it (I frankly detest using this word) problematic. It’s far too complicated a matrix to exhaust the whole topic in a single ramble, so I’m not attempting to cover everything that has crossed my mind in relation to this. 

But to me the bottom line is that contemporary vampire fiction feeds into a specific set of patterns, whether consiously or unknowingly, ultimately becoming almost the opposite of what I personally appreciate in Monster Romance. I love Monster Romance for what it can do for deconstructing certain patterns that we see in a lot of media and are surrounded by in daily lives. And much of vampire fiction is in my eyes unable to overcome the baggage that is anchored to it through its rootedness in what already surrounds us.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

one night stand au for the ask game! (if ur still playing lols)

Yes I most definitely am! (Sorry this took us a sec, I had to consult with my better half 💕 )

This one has been unintentionally underwraps for months, but we work on it pretty much every night. This is a HotchReid roleplay fic, set in an AU where Reid doesn't join the BAU until season 3. And ends up meeting/sleeping with Hotch literally the night before his first day. But they don't know they will be working together when they do, not until Reid is walking into Hotch's office the next morning. And as hard as they try to have that be the end of it -- Hotch is his boss after all, they just can't be doing this -- they find themselves breaking the rules they set down for themselves. Again, and again, and again.

There's so much sex in this, we've already written at least 250k words and we're still going. It's so good. But it is... a lot of sex.

The lovely @spencehotchner writes for Hotch, and I'm writing for Spencer.

With +250k in my docs I feel like I kind of have to include a snippet, so it's below the cut. It's safe for work, sorry folks, just super long. Because I ramble like a mofo so my entries are so, so long. We still need to edit/beta everything but we do plan to post it at some point. Some day. It's too good to keep to ourselves.

--

Aaron smiles up at him goofily as Spencer tugs him up. "Mm, I'm coming, I'm coming." He scrambles up and follows him.

He would make breakfast if he could. He would make it so good, and kiss Spencer over coffee, and get to know him all day. He’d ask all the questions he wants to ask-- what makes him tick. What puts that beautiful smile on his face. What makes his brain whir, and his heart spin, and his body go electric. He wants to know all of the things that turn Spencer on, even outside of sex. He wants to know what he wakes up for in the morning. What he tastes like after a good cup of coffee.

Fuck work.

"What time do you get off work?" he asks.

Spencer turns to him, eyes wide and... hopeful. Fuck. Aaron is watching him, with this content and appraising look, like he's thinking of things they don't have time for -- not just the sexy things, but other things. He'd said something about coffee the night before, and for the first time since Spencer got word he'd been offered the position at the BAU, he really wished he didn't have to start today. He'd been looking forward to it for weeks.

But all he wants right now is to drink coffee with Aaron in his kitchen.

"Um, well -- first day and all. New team, new boss. Usually I'm nine to five, normal hours, but I don't know how late I'll be there or... if I'll be off early," he glances at Aaron from beneath his lashes, fingers still tangled together, shower beating against the tile behind them and steaming up the room. He pulls the man with him beneath the spray, straight into a kiss that's wet and slick as the shower warms them and sluices down their skin. 

He tries to pretend he isn't still shaking a little, aftershock tremors of their morning sex, and nerves about what Aaron is going to ask him. If he's going to ask him. 

"Did you have something in mind?" he dares to ask, and it's quiet and barely heard over the shower, but Spencer does ask it. He's proud of himself for that. The affect Aaron is already having on him is palpable, and Spencer likes it -- likes the way Aaron makes him feel. In general, and about himself.

Aaron hums, placing a small kiss on his lips, hiding a smile. "Yeah, well. There's this thing called dinner that people often do at night. I was planning on having it. Was wondering if you'd maybe join me."

It’s not subtle, not in the slightest, but Aaron is through with subtle for the moment. He’s ready to lay it out on the line, here. I want you, I know you want me.

Spencer's heart is about to beat out of his throat, and he smiles so wide he's all teeth and upturned lips and a deluge of pecks to Aaron's own smile that he tries to hide from him. They're basically the same height, the man can't hide a thing from Spencer when they are pressed this close.

"I'd love to," he beams, kissing him again a little deeper, a little more playful, and he's going to make them both late at this rate. But God, does Spencer love kissing Aaron. "I'd love nothing more."

Aaron smiles, pinching his side playfully. "Yeah? Well, I guess that means I'll have to get your number."

Aaron can imagine it now-- being on a case, seeing Spencer’s number on the device in his hand as he texts him good night. Them talking throughout the day today, in the future, little check ins on each other, because Aaron is sure he’s not going to be able to get this boy off his mind. It’ll be a struggle to do anything but text him all day.

He runs a hand through Spencer’s wet curls, playing with the ends of the strands, trying to memorize the way the shower’s steam paints a blush on Spencer’s cheekbones. Watercolor. Aaron could see him as a work of art.

God, he had to be crazy. But going home at night with a random stranger was crazy for him. Standing in his shower the next morning was crazy for him. Asking for his number was crazy for him.

Crazy felt good.

"Play your cards right, you might even get my last name," Spencer says cheekily, giggling and dodging out of the way as Aaron tries to pinch his side again. 

But he's... so happy, so delirious with it, that nothing could ruin his day now. Because he was going to have dinner with Aaron after his first day at work for the BAU, which he'd been dreaming about since Jason Gideon used it a lure to recruit him into the FBI just after his second Ph.D. 

For the first time, in a long time, his life felt pretty perfect.

Aaron grins and steals another long, slow kiss from him, feeling light and airy and good.

Fucking hell, does he feel good.

They get out of the shower and Aaron dresses as quickly as he can, because he really does need to go. As soon as he's dressed, though, he's pulling a half dressed Spencer into his arms to kiss him again.

Spencer manages to get into briefs and slacks and is trying to color coordinate some kind of dress shirt and sweater combination with a tie (literally everything is clean, this shouldn't be this hard) when Aaron is there pulling him into a searing kiss. Still damp from the shower, dressed in his clothes from last night, smiling against his mouth and Spencer can't help how he huffs out a laugh and kisses back with just as much enthusiasm. 

He really didn't want the man to go. But it was quickly approaching 7:00a.m. and D.C. traffic had to be hell, even with a cab. Spencer had always taken the train when he was at MIT, the East coast had a well established system. So he'd decided the week prior he would just do the same here and save himself the daily morning anxiety attack of trying to make it to work on time on his own. That's what public transportation was for. Regulated, mass transit. Set arrival and departure times. A soothing balm if there ever was one.

"Give me your phone," he says with a smile, still so close he basically speaks against Aaron's mouth. He takes the offered iPhone and puts his number in under his name, just his first name. Ready to make the man earn the rest of his personal information.

Maybe, if dinner went well, they'd have... all night to get to know each other. Was it too much to hope Aaron would stay the night again? Probably, but Spencer was in a dreaming mood. Reach for the stars, might as well. With everything going so well, it was only a matter of time before something happened to interfere.

God, he hoped they didn't catch a case on his first day.

Aaron smiles down at the name on his screen. Spencer. He pulls him into one more final kiss, his head spinning pleasantly. There will be more where that came from, he reminds himself. Prays hard in that moment to whoever is listening that he’ll be able to make it to... 

"Tonight," he promises. "I'll see you then."

--

The BAU Section Chief, SES Erin Strauss, is the one to greet Spencer when he arrives at the FBI building in Quantico. She's a stern woman, but friendly enough for someone in such a position of authority, and she seems very pleased that Spencer is there to join the team. Calls him 'Dr. Reid' often enough he knows either Gideon or his former team leader had mentioned it was something he was particular about -- or she was more concerned about his appeal politically than what he can do for the team.

He didn't let it sour his mood, though, because the morning had just been... too good to be ruined by something as trivial as that. Spencer had gotten the job, he was there in the building, had just received his badge and his gun and his ID card for the key-padded doors and a whole slew of other orientation day milestones.

And now he was on the seventh floor, about to walk into the Behavior Analysis Unit, where he can see people milling about busy as worker bees and his chest swells with nervousness and excitement and too many emotions to name. 

If not for Aaron, and their amazing night and morning together, Spencer would be all nerves and worry -- but the morning sex alone was enough to knock a lot of that tension out of his spine and shoulders. He was ready for today, more ready than he'd ever thought he'd be.

Chief Strauss leads him into the 'bullpen', as she calls it, a lower level agent holding the door open for both of them, and then she's leading him to a cluster of desks that must be part of the new team he's joining.

"Good morning," she says, startling a trio that was talking animatedly over coffee -- and then all eyes are on Spencer. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm sure you were expecting him. Is Agent Hotchner in, yet?"

The three standing there very obviously fight rolling their eyes, and Spencer gets the feeling it's not about him or his title as 'Dr. Reid' -- or he hopes not anyway. His hopes are confirmed when a pretty, petite blonde smiles sweetly and sincerely at him and introduces herself as "Jennifer Jareau, but call me JJ", the communication liaison for the unit. A position Spencer wasn't aware existed, but he could definitely see the merits of it. Then, she addressed Chief Strauss.

"Hotch is always here by 8:00 a.m." she says, in a way that was somehow not condescending, but probably should have been. "He'll be up in his office waiting for you, ma'am."

"Thank you. Agent Morgan. Agent Prentiss." She nods to the others, and Spencer merely waves and grimaces a smile, wanting to actually introduce himself and hoping the others understand at least a little bit. He isn't sure he can actually say no to the woman who was his boss's boss. 

"Erin, are you going to let him meet anyone?" says a voice from above them, just a half a level above the bullpen where offices line the walls -- and it's fucking David Rossi. Standing there, in the flesh, and Spencer is actually a little starstruck. Since when had David Rossi come out of retirement? He knows he's gaping a little bit, mouth parted on a million and one questions to ask the man, but at Chief Strauss's huff of indignation, he lets his jaw snap shut. 

Later. He can ask later. 

"Is Agent Hotcher ready for Dr. Reid? I'm sure you all have a case to go over," she says in a drone, and Spencer's stomach drops at that. Fuck, he hopes they don't have a case. He... has a date. That would probably be a bad excuse.

"I don't know," David Rossi says in a teasing lilt, then merely turns to the side and speaks into an open office door. "Hotch, you ready for Dr. Reid." 

Spencer is blushing down to his roots, and Rossi merely winks at him to show he's joking. Apparently, Chief Strauss was being over the top and not just like this all the time. That kind of makes the situation worse, in his opinion.

Strauss doesn't wait for an answer, and starts up the stairs with Spencer following and trying to get used to the team dynamic. David Rossi actually pats him on the shoulder as he tries to slip by. "Don't worry, he's all bark and only a little bite. And I'm pretty sure he still hasn't read your file yet." 

Well, that's not exactly promising.

Aaron still manages to show up about 15 minutes earlier than he had planned on. He had an extra suit at the locker in the office, and just went straight there to get dressed.

Which, of course, meant he had to run into David.

"So," David says, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Someone didn't need a ride home last night."

Aaron keeps his face stoic as he adjusts his tie, sitting down at his desk. "Do you need something, Dave?"

"Who was she?" David just barrels on, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't under the impression that you were on the prowl last night, but I was apparently wrong."

Aaron stares him down.

"That good, huh?" Dave just grins, and grins and grins, and Aaron doesn't let the fact that he's had the most amazing morning in years show through on his face. Nothing can take away the fact that, on his phone, there's a number with the name Spencer beside it.

"I'm an adult," Aaron says, simple as that. "Now, can you leave? I still have to go over the--"

"Oh, he's here!" Dave says, looking out the door. Aaron's blinds are closed, and he raises an eyebrow. "Oh, he's young. Erin are you going to let him meet anyone?" David says as he steps out of the door.

Aaron laughs to himself, straightens his tie again, prepares himself to meet the newest team member. He hopes whoever this is will be good for him-- good for the team. He's nervous. He loves his team, thinks they have a great dynamic. Change is... different. After Elle had left, things had been rocky. No one could replace her, but this new kid was supposed to be something special.

Aaron would just have to see about that.

"Come in," he says, busying himself with some files to look like he isn't anticipating the worst, when a knock rasps at his door.

Chief Strauss knocks at the Unit Chief's door, the team leader that Spencer would be directly under for the foreseeable future, and just walks on in -- in fact, the knock seems a little last second. Like she doesn't usually announce herself when she comes in, and is on her best behavior in front of Spencer.

He's not sure why, it's not like he wouldn't find out how everything works around here eventually. He isn't going anywhere.

"Aar- ahem, Agent Hotchner," again, with the hesitation, acting formal. Spencer looks around the dark wooded office lined with books on Law and sadism and serial killers alike, until he turns to the desk against the wall. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, your newest team member."

Sitting there is a man in a dark suit, broad shouldered, black hair, bent over some files spread on his desk and seemingly very intent on his work. Finishing whatever he was making note of before looking up at them.

Dark eyes. Darker lashes. Tunnel vision stare that pierces through Spencer, and all the breath escapes his lungs.

No.

Strauss turns back to him with a tight, friendly smile; unaware of the bomb that has just gone off inside Spencer's head.

"Dr. Reid, meet your new Unit Chief: Supervisory Special Agent, Aaron Hotchner."