#this was supposed to be a crack treated seriously story at most

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Where the Shadows Are

I just wanted to write a cracky Gil-galad origin story, but it turned into angst and drama.

M, 8158 words, Maedhros/Fingon

Warnings: Character death (obvious from the first line), referenced character death, very complicated relationships, PTSD

On Ao3

Ereinion Gil-galad burns.

His limbs wither, his bones crackle, his skin smokes.

Ash twirls in the air.

---

They left their companions on the bank of the Esgalduin, not too far from the derelict Iant Iaur. There were only three of them – Fingon's closest and most trustworthy friends. Maedhros had come alone.

The horses refused to go farther than the bridge, so they dismounted and continued on foot into Nan Dungortheb.

Maedhros had chosen to wear full armor and had armored his mind too against any intrusion. Fingon could discern only his eyes, which kept darting from side to side, and his long braid, which fell heavily from under his helmet. But he didn't need to see Maedhros's face or to share his mind to know what he was thinking. He had made himself clear enough.

Still, Fingon's hand itched with the childish urge to tug at Maedhros's braid just so he would say something, would look at Fingon at the very least instead of walking in solemn silence as one resigned to his doom.

Fingon had opted for agility when choosing armor, which had earned him Maedhros's acerbic reprimand. Fingon had ignored it. He knew what they were doing was right, and he was convinced no ill would befall them until it was done.

They kept near the edge of Neldoreth – the northern border of Doriath – careful not to step too close to the forest lest they be ensnared and lost forever. It would be easy to stray from the path and wander into the ever-shifting mists if not for the strong feeling that they were unwelcome. The beeches stood tall, guarding the Hidden Kingdom, towering over the travelers menacingly. The air crackled with power that did not feel evil but rather all-encompassing, too great to be concerned if two Eldar passing by lived or died.

Yet, it was infinitely preferable to the northern scenery. Fingon exercised all his strength of will to keep himself from turning away from the gnarled, whispering trees, from the barren land where few things grew, from the shapeless shadows that kept stretching towards them with their dark claws, filling Fingon's heart with unspeakable dread and despair. He couldn't imagine how Maedhros felt in this crossroad of power of a mighty Ainu, servants of Morgoth and otherworldly evils. Once again, Fingon's insides twisted with guilt, but he didn't let it deter him from his path. He would do what he had come here to do, and Maedhros would understand.

Ahead, the road curled slightly, leading them deeper into the shadowland. Fingon's right hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and the left felt the arrows in his quiver. They walked for a few more hours, aware how their footsteps, even their breath, echoed in the silence, tensing at every strange whisper and rustle, yet stubbornly pressing forward.

"Here," Maedhros said, stopping abruptly.

It was the first word he had spoken since they had left their companions, the first word he had spoken to Fingon since Himlad.

He took off his helmet, and for a moment, Fingon was overcome with a longing to reach out and touch his beautiful face. But he knew his touch would not be welcome at the moment. The guilt rose again, but soon enough, the excitement over what was going to happen made him forget about everything else. With his heart hammering in his chest, he waited for Maedhros's instructions.

"No," he said the second time.

---

"No," Maedhros said the first time Fingon asked him.

"No," he said the third time and many times after that.

Fingon never argued, never got angry, never despaired. He only kept asking and asking.

No matter how mighty the mountain, the steady trickle will wear it down. They both knew it. It was only a matter of time.

"It is all right, lie down."

---

Círdan's face was the first thing that came into Ereinion's view. He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes again, the sun had moved close to the horizon, and Círdan had disappeared. Suddenly panicking, he tried to rise, to find him, but he was unable to move.

Círdan's hand on his forearm was as gentle as it could be, but it still hurt. Nevertheless, Ereinion was comforted by his presence.

"What happened?" he asked.

It came out weak and hoarse.

"There was a storm," Círdan said.

He sounded calm, but by now, Ereinion knew him well enough to notice the undercurrent of tension in his voice. He waited for Círdan to continue.

"Something must have truly enraged Ossë. I have no recollection of such mighty storms on Balar. We found you on the shore this morning."

Disconnected bits of memory started returning to Ereinion. He remembered the horror in front of the giant wave that rose before him, remembered how the sky had darkened, remembered the voices yelling at him to run.

"There were others," he said. "On the shore."

Círdan cast his gaze down. "You should rest," he said.

Ereinion's eyelids burned. He was thankful Círdan didn't mention the tears that slipped down the corners of his eyes.

"How did I survive?" he whispered.

"That is a question that I wished to ask you," Círdan said.

Ereinion had no idea how to respond, how to explain to Círdan what had happened when he didn't understand it himself. He could not explain how he felt like he had grown into the ground – firm and strong, how when the wave had come, he had bent backward at an angle that should have broken his back, how he had not felt the need to breathe underwater.

"I was lucky," he said.

There was finally a smile on Círdan's face.

"I am glad you were."

Ereinion fell asleep, and when he woke up again, Círdan was still there, holding his hand.

One particularly cold winter –  especially freezing in Himring – Ereinion sat shivering in Maedhros's hall. His father and their host, the only two people remaining in the hall except for Ereinion, were speaking in low voices with no intention to retire for the night.

---

Ereinion grew up thinking the Lord of Himring loathed him. Even as a young child, he could feel that Lord Maedhros avoided him at every turn, answered him curtly and rarely even looked at him. Ereinion would be happy to stay away from Maedhros whenever he appeared in Hithlum and never visit the frosty Himring Hill again, but his father seemed determined to make them get along.

Ereinion pulled his woolen cloak closer around him and walked to the fire roaring in the fireplace. His fingertips felt like icicles were hanging from them. He stretched his hands to the fire.

"Get back!"

He didn't even have time to think about obeying the raspy order when a hand fell on his shoulder and yanked him away from the fireplace. He found himself inches away from Maedhros's furious face.

"Never get close to fire," Maedhros said.

His voice was nothing but a snarl. The light in his eyes was blinding. His teeth were bared and seemed sharp in the shadows of the hall. His grip on Ereinion's shoulder was getting more painful every moment. It was the first time Ereinion remembered Maedhros touching him.

"Do you understand?" Maedhros snarled again, shaking him.

At that moment, he was more terrifying than any creature of Angband could ever be. To his utter shame, Ereinion's eyes filled with tears, but before he would completely embarrass himself by starting to weep, he was snatched into the safe embrace of his father.

"What are you doing?" his father spat out.

He was speaking in that low tone that meant he was truly livid. Ereinion whimpered.

"No need for tears, yonya, Lord Maedhros is sorry for frightening you, isn't he," his father said ominously.

Maedhros ignored him, still looking into Ereinion's eyes.

"Do you understand?" he repeated.

Ereinion nodded quickly. Satisfied, Maedhros straightened up.

"I apologize if I scared you," he said, his features once again schooled into the usual mix of distaste and indifference he must have reserved solely for Ereinion.

With one last glance at him and his father, Maedhros left the hall.

It took centuries for Ereinion to realize that the look in Maedhros's eyes whenever his gaze fell upon Ereinion wasn't hatred.

It was fear.

He felt dispirited not only because they had been on the way to the Falas for nearly a month, or because they had fought off Orcs more times than he could count, or because his father had sent him away when he was planning a great battle, or because he did not know yet but felt that he would never see his father again. In addition to all of it, he was also worried about how Lord Círdan and the Falathrim would receive him.

---

The day Ereinion approached the high walls of Eglarest was a bright, sunny one. He expected it to be dreary in accordance with his mood, but it seemed like spoiling the weather was not one of his curses.

He was worried not only because he didn't know Lord Círdan, or because he was going to be a lonely Noldo among the Falathrim, or because his father had slain Círdan's kin on the faraway shores of Valinor. Ereinion was under no illusion that he was an ordinary Elda despite his father's best efforts to convince him otherwise. Lord Maedhros wasn't the only one who kept his distance from him. Others did too, even his father's closest friends, though it took Ereinion a while to understand. Their dislike wasn't as noticeable as Maedhros's, who would not or could not hide his. Surely, Círdan, who was wise and older than Ereinion's grandfather, would immediately see that Ereinion was cursed.

Ereinion had met Lord Círdan only once a few years ago when the troops of the Falas had come to the aid of his father during Morgoth's attack on Hithlum. However, the meeting was brief, and Ereinion was young and still unaware of his curse. Most likely, Lord Círdan had not had time to notice the strangeness of the King's son.

Círdan welcomed Ereinion and his companions warmly. There was a feast, games, songs and renowned Falathrim wave dances. But the entire time there was only one thing in Ereinion's mind. He knows what I am. What exactly he was, Ereinion himself had no idea. He doubted many knew. His father did, of course. Lord Maedhros certainly did and hated him for it. Others perhaps didn't know the details but knew or suspected that there was something wrong with him.

A week later, when Ereinion's companions departed for Hithlum, Lord Círdan summoned him. On his way, Ereinion tried to appear bold and self-assured like his father, but it was hard when all he could think about was if Círdan would exile him from Eglarest. Of course, if he was going to do it, he could have just sent him back with his companions, but perhaps he found Ereinion dangerous enough to cast him out into the wilderness all alone. Sometimes Ereinion suspected that if not for his father, it would have been his fate. He wondered if he could find his way back to Hithlum or if he would be better off trying to reach Nargothrond.

Círdan's kindly smile did nothing to reassure him. Most people smiled to his face. But unlike them, Círdan didn't avoid his look.

"How do you find Eglarest?" he asked after offering Ereinion a seat and pouring him tea. "Have you settled in?"

"I have, thank you," Ereinion said.

He meant to sound polite instead of wary, but he wasn't successful. Fortunately, Círdan didn't seem to take offense.

"If you need anything, do not hesitate to tell me," Círdan said.

Ereinion nodded slowly. The conversation wasn't going in the direction he had expected.

"Have you ever gone fishing?" Círdan asked.

It took Ereinion a moment to comprehend the question.

"A few times with my grandfather," he said, "when I was very young."

"Have you ever fished in the sea?"

"I have not," Ereinion answered seriously.

Círdan seemed amused by his answers. Ereinion fidgeted in his seat, unsure what it meant.

"Have you ever sailed?" Círdan asked.

"No, Lord Círdan."

"Well, that is unacceptable," Círdan said. "I invite you to go fishing with me the day after tomorrow. Do you accept?"

Confused, Ereinion nodded.

"Very well. Now how about a game of checkers? Unless you had something else to do."

"I could play checkers," Ereinion said. "But I am not very good at it."

"I will tell you a secret," Círdan whispered, leaning over him. "Neither am I."

Half-asleep, Maedhros thought he had misheard him.

---

"We should have a child," Fingon said.

"Hmm?" he said, snuggling closer to Fingon and pressing his lips to his bare shoulder.

Fingon turned in his arms and looked into his eyes.

"I want us to have a child," he said.

Maedhros snorted. "And I want a jar of Vanyarin strawberry preserves."

He frowned when Fingon's expression didn't change.

"I would give you a child if I could," he said, fully awake now. "But none of us is equipped to bear one, as I am sure you know."

Fingon was still staring intently at something, his eyes narrowed as if he was doing complicated mental calculations. Maedhros's heart tumbled unpleasantly in his chest.

"Perhaps you wish…" He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Do you wish to be with someone who could give you children? If so, I will not stand in—"

"What? No!" Fingon laughed, finally roused from his thoughts. "I want to have a child with you."

It didn't comfort Maedhros, which he was sure was plainly visible on his face. Fingon rolled his eyes and put little kisses on Maedhros's mouth until he got a smile.

"Never worry," he said. "I want no one else but you."

Maedhros thought that was it. It was not.

"Artanáro is looking forward to riding out with us tomorrow," Fingon said, oblivious to the tension or determined to ignore it.

---

The dinner with just the three of them was supposed to be intimate, but instead, it was tense. Ereinion's father was the only one talking. Lord Maedhros answered only in grunts or monosyllables. Ereinion felt too awkward even to eat, but no one noticed it.

Both Ereinion and Maedhros grimaced. It seemed like disliking Ereinion's Quenya name was the only thing they had in common.

"No," Maedhros said.

It didn't surprise Ereinion. It didn't disappoint him either. Contrary to what his father had said, he was not looking forward to riding alongside Maedhros. But the blunt refusal still hurt his pride.

"I have promised him," Fingon said in an urgent whisper.

Maedhros shrugged with one shoulder. "I have not."

Fingon put his cup down with a clang. "I would like to speak with you alone," he said and stood.

Maedhros followed him to the adjacent room. Before entering, Fingon turned to Ereinion.

"Finish your dinner and call the nurse to take you to your room, yonya," he said.

Ereinion nodded, but as soon as the lock clicked, he slipped out of his seat and tiptoed to the door, pressing his ear to the wood.

"Would it kill you to be nice to him for once?" he heard his father's exasperated voice. "He is a child!"

"A child you keep shoving to my face despite knowing what I think of it!" Maedhros spat back.

They were talking in Quenya. Ereinion spoke it well enough, but he still had to strain to understand them, especially Maedhros.

"If you only gave him a chance," Fingon said, "you would see—"

"No, Findekáno!"

The anger in his voice alarmed Ereinion. He had never heard Lord Maedhros speak to his father that way. He had not heard anyone speak to his father that way.

"No," Maedhros continued. "You broke your promise. My only condition was that I would have nothing to do with him. You promised me that! And it was not the only promise you broke."

"What are you talking about?" Fingon asked quietly.

"Do not pretend you cannot understand. You know what I mean. When you brought me back from there, and I was not in my right mind yet, you promised me that I would never be forced to do the things I had done again. You swore it over and over until I believed you. And then you forced me to do it yourself! I trusted you with my darkest secrets, and you broke my trust."

"How can you accuse me of such a heinous thing?" Fingon cried. "You agreed to it!"

"I agreed because you would not stop asking!"

"Exactly! I was asking. I never forced you!"

"You knew well what you were doing. You knew if you kept pressuring me, I would eventually give in. You knew I felt indebted to you. You knew I would do anything to repay you. You knew I loved you more than anything. You exploited it. You got what you wanted. The least you could do was to keep your word. But then you name the boy Artanáro and you force me to relive everything every time you push him to me."

"I never knew you felt that way."

Ereinion almost kicked open the door and ran inside because his father sounded so crestfallen, so defeated. What right did Lord Maedhros have to make him so unhappy?

"You knew," Maedhros said. "You just chose to believe it wasn't true."

There was a moment of silence, then Ereinion's father continued in the same desolate voice.

"Even so, whatever real or imagined slights you believe I am guilty of, it is not his fault. I am to blame for all of it. He is only a young child, and he has something of you in him, in his fëa. It burns so brightly."

"He has nothing of me!" Maedhros shouted. "I did everything I could to make sure of it, and if you know what is good for you and for him, you will pray that I succeeded!" In a lower voice, he added: "I am not even sure that he has a fëa."

Ereinion had to close his mouth with his palm, so they wouldn't hear his muffled sobs. He didn't know why he would have anything from Maedhros, and he wanted nothing from him, but the entire conversation was unsettling, and his claim that Ereinion might not have a fëa was too much. He could not stop the tears. How could it be possible? All Quendi had fëar, and despite his title, he was a simple Elda, born from a mother.

His father must have been as shocked as he was because it took him a while to answer.

"Never say that again," he said, deceptively calm. "Never. He has a fëa. I know it. I feel it. And you would too if you gave him a chance!"

"Have you heard a word I said, Findekáno? No. I wish no part in raising him! I am not his father! You are! Though it is beyond me why you would want a child at a time of war."

"Because I am alone!" Fingon cried. "I am alone! You have all of your siblings. I have no idea where mine are, if they are still alive! And now, with Father gone and Lalwendë and our cousins too, I would be more alone than ever if not for my son. I wanted a family, Russandol. Why is it so hard to understand?"

"You have me," Maedhros said.

"Do I? The moment I come between you and your oath, you will not hesitate to slay me."

"Why would you ever come between us and our father's oath?"

"You cannot even bother denying it," Fingon said bitterly.

"It is such a foolish idea that denying it has no meaning," Maedhros answered. "I would never hurt you."

"Can you not see that you are hurting me right now?" Fingon asked. "Please, Russandol. I want us to be a family. If only you knew him. He is such a sweet child and so clever! You would love him if—"

"Stop it!" Maedhros spat. "Enough! It will never happen! He is not a child. He is born of darkness. He is nothing but a—"

Ereinion didn't understand the Quenya word that Maedhros called him, but he knew it was nothing good from his tone and from the way his father's voice sounded when he roared: "Don't you dare call my son that!"

Ereinion heard a loud thud, and the door he was leaning against shook with the force of Maedhros's back hitting it.

"Do you hear me? If you ever call him—"

Fingon suddenly fell silent, and when he spoke again, there was no trace of anger left in his voice.

"Russandol, can you hear me?" he whispered. "Are you with me?"

Ereinion frowned. What a strange question! Where else would Lord Maedhros be? He hadn't left the room unless he had jumped out of the window, which was unlikely. But when Maedhros spoke, Ereinion understood what his father meant. There was no other word to describe Maedhros's voice but absent.

"Let go of me."

"Yes. Sorry. I did not mean to. I only…"

Ereinion heard Maedhros slump down on the floor. His father sat down too.

"May I touch you?" he asked quietly after a while.

"Don't."

"Yes. Of course. I am sorry."

The door was shaking on its hinges. Ereinion heard nothing but the strange, harsh way Maedhros was breathing. Ereinion himself did not dare breathe for fear of being discovered. He wanted nothing more than to run away, hide under his covers and pretend this was all a dream, but he was afraid to move.

"Hold my hand," Maedhros said after a while.

Ereinion heard his father shuffle closer to Maedhros. Gradually, the door stopped moving, and the terrible sounds quieted down. Ereinion let out a breath.

"Let's forget everything we said and did today," Maedhros said in a muffled voice. "Let's never speak of it again."

Ereinion could feel his father's hesitation in the way he sighed.

"Are you sure it is a good idea? I believe we should discuss—"

"Please."

"All right."

They began talking in quiet murmurs, too low for Ereinion to hear. He felt like an intruder. Carefully, he crawled away from the door and slipped out of the chamber as fast as possible.

They did not go riding the next day.

He heard the familiar warm laughter and peeked out from under the covers.

---

"No, stay," Ereinion mumbled when he felt his father sit up on the bed.

"What is it, yonya?" his father asked, smiling and laying back down. "I thought you were already fast asleep."

Ereinion shook his head. "Tell me more stories," he asked, then added after a pause: "Tell me about my mother."

The smile disappeared from his father's face. "I have told you about her," he said.

"Tell me again. Please."

He was tucked safely under his father's chin. Ereinion loved his nighttime stories. When he talked, it seemed like everything was all right, there was no war outside their window, his grandfather wasn't gone, and they weren't in mortal danger.

"She was kind and smart and beautiful," his father started. "She loved you very, very much."

"What did she look like?" Ereinion asked.

"She had dark hair and grey eyes," his father answered.

"Do I look like her?"

"…A little, yes."

"I wish I had a portrait of her or a keepsake to remember her by."

"She saw little point in portraits. She was not a sentimental person. She was… a woman of action. She did not even make things for herself."

"She was a jewel-smith, right?"

Ereinion had heard bits and pieces from his mother's life before, but it was always so difficult to get his father to open up.

"Oh. Right, yes. From a family of smiths."

"I wish they had left Valinor with you. I would love to have a big family."

"You can always make your own family, yonya," his father said.

"Did Mother do so?"

"She did."

"Did she have many friends?"

"Of course. So many. Everyone loved her."

"Even Lord Maedhros?"

His father cleared his throat. "Yes. They were great friends."

Ereinion didn't ask why Maedhros hated him if he loved his parents so much. He knew from experience the question upset his father.

"I would like to talk to her friends, Father. Can I?" he asked instead.

"Her closest friends died in that clash with Orcs that took her life too," his father said quickly.

"Oh." Ereinion wiped away a tear. "Father, when will I be allowed to visit her tomb?"

"You are still too young for it. She was buried in the place she fell to commemorate her valorous deeds. It is now too close to the territory claimed by the Enemy. Maybe when you grow up a little, and we take back our land, you can visit her. All right?"

Ereinion nodded, unable to speak. He buried his face in his father's chest, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he could. He felt hollow and raw. He pressed closer to his father, trying to find comfort in his warmth.

"Oh, Ereinion," his father said, his voice breaking. "I am sorry. I am so sorry."

He stroked Ereinion's hair until his sobs died down.

"I am sorry," he repeated.

"Please stay with me until I fall asleep," Ereinion asked.

"Of course."

"Tell me a happy story. One from your childhood."

"Gladly."

Ereinion untangled himself from his father and got comfortable under the covers, letting the even voice of his father carry him to sleep.

Círdan sat next to him on the low cliff overlooking the Sea. He said nothing for a few moments, just watching with Ereinion how the waves crashed against the rocks.

---

If it were anyone else approaching, Ereinion would have hidden, but by now, he had learned to recognize Círdan's footsteps, and he wouldn't hide from him.

"We miss you," he said then.

"I apologize for my absence," Ereinion said.

"No one blames you. You may take all the time that you need."

"I cannot afford it anymore. Now that…"

"That you are king?" Círdan offered when Ereinion trailed off.

Ereinion scoffed. "What king am I? My people are scattered, slaughtered or enslaved. My lands are overrun with the Enemy's troops. My uncle is the High King now. He, at least, has a kingdom to rule." He turned away from Círdan. "I should have been on the battlefield."

"You could not have helped," Círdan said gently. "Your father sent you here to keep you safe. You are too young to fight. Incidentally, that is what I need to talk to you about."

Ereinion's shoulders tensed. Círdan had been nothing but kind to him, but lately, everything in his life had turned upside down, why not this?

"I am listening," he said.

"The Enemy's forces are advancing, Ereinion," Círdan said gravely. "Soon, they will reach our walls. The Falas will not stand. You are not safe here anymore. I believe you should leave Eglarest before too long."

Ereinion did not move. Was it as he had feared? Had Círdan gotten tired of housing someone like him? Now that his father was dead, Círdan had no obligation to keep him anymore.

"Where would I go?" he asked quietly.

"That is a hard question," Círdan said. "There are no safe places left in Beleriand anymore. Doriath would be the best option, but unfortunately, it is out of the question. I would send you to Nargothrond if I had any hope that it would stand. With Felagund gone, its fall is only a matter of time. I was thinking… We have received news that your Fëanorian cousins survived the battle."

"Of course they did."

"Himring is lost, but they have a fort farther south, on Amon Ereb. It might stand for longer against Morgoth. You will be safer there. Lord Maedhros was a dear friend of your father. I am sure he will welcome you with open arms."

Ereinion's laughter was hollow.

"Lord Maedhros would sooner personally hand me over to Morgoth."

"That cannot be true."

"I will not go to him, Círdan," Ereinion said. "I will set out to look for Gondolin. Perhaps the Lord of Eagles will take pity on me and send his eagles to carry me to my uncle's kingdom as he did with Húrin Thalion and his brother Huor."

"I cannot let you risk it," Círdan said.

Ereinion raised his head and tried to give Círdan a reassuring smile. He wanted to part with him on good terms no matter what.

"I know you promised my father to keep me safe," he said, "but he is dead, and I release you from your promise."

"I care not for my promise," Círdan said. "I care for you."

Ereinion was silent for a moment.

"Truly?" he whispered then.

"Yes, Ereinion," Círdan said with a smile. "You will always have my support."

"Then I would stay with you if I may," Ereinion said.

His voice broke on the last word. He slumped down and didn't resist when Círdan pulled him close.

"Of course," Círdan said, caressing Ereinion's shaking shoulders. "Wherever I go, you will be welcome."

It was so boring in Himring! Ereinion could not even explore it the way he wanted to. There were locked doors and guards at every corner. Ereinion wondered if it was how the fortress always ran or if Lord Maedhros had prepared for his visit.

---

Having successfully evaded all the guards and nurses that his father had left to keep him company, Ereinion turned another corner in the maze that was the fortress of Himring. His father had gone with Lord Maedhros to visit some waterfall or a cave or an old tree or something. Ereinion couldn't care less. What he cared about was that he was supposed to be with them. His father had promised him! But then the plan changed. Ereinion knew why. It was so unfair that he was ready to tolerate Lord Maedhros just to be with his father, but Maedhros would not do the same for him.

Bypassing the stables, which was the first place where his father's guards would look for him, Ereinion came across the dovecot. To his surprise, the door was unlocked, so he pushed it open with some difficulty, then closed it behind him.

He grinned, looking at the pigeons nesting around him and high above. He had always wanted to visit a dovecot but was not allowed to visit the one at home. He approached a pigeon and brought his hand to pet it, but the bird hissed and spread his wings, flying away. Ereinion frowned and approached another one. This one did the same and even took a few more pigeons with it. Ereinion rolled his eyes. Of course, Lord Maedhros's birds hated him. He decided to try for the third time and leave if he failed.

"Hello, birdie," he whispered, carefully raising his hand. "I only want to pet you. I will not hurt you, I promise. Will you let me?"

The bird didn't move, so Ereinion slowly lowered his hand and touched its soft feathers. The bird pressed its wings to its body at first and then hissed and suddenly bit Ereinion's hand.

Ereinion cried out and snatched his hand away. Blood trickled down his palm and stained his cuff. Tears sprang to his eyes. The wound was certainly painful, but the rejection hurt more. Rubbing his eyes with his uninjured hand, he stormed to the door and yanked at it. It did not open. Ereinion tried again and again, pulling it with all his might, but the door didn't budge.

Ereinion let out a scream of frustration and kicked at the door. The pigeons cooed and flew in distressed patterns above him.

"Is anyone there?" Ereinion cried, desperate. "I am locked here! Help me, please!"

He called and kicked and beat at the door until he was exhausted, but no one came. Defeated, he found a relatively clean spot and sat down. It was getting colder. The stories of his people's ordeal over the Grinding Ice came to his mind. He hoped he would be found before he froze to death. Trembling, he curled into a ball and waited.

He woke up to urgent whispers. He blinked blearily, and the concerned face of his father appeared above him.

"Ereinion!" his father cried. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

Ereinion's teeth were chattering too badly to speak. He raised his arms, and his father picked him up and wrapped his cloak around him. Ereinion sighed as the warmth surrounded him. He looked over his father's shoulder and only then noticed Lord Maedhros.

He looked stricken, his face pale and his eyes wide. In his hand, he was holding a dead pigeon. Ereinion looked around and gasped. The dovecot floor was covered in pigeon bodies. Every single bird was dead.

Ereinion knew then that he had done it. He didn't know how but he had. He knew that Lord Maedhros knew it too.

He averted his gaze and buried his face in his father's neck.

"Take me away from here," he whispered.

His father hugged him tighter and walked out of the dovecot, leaving Maedhros standing amid his fallen birds.

"I believe it might be the power of my foremother Melian that awakens in me when I am next to you," Elrond said.

---

Another successful battle and another night Ereinion and Elrond spent sitting before a fire, once again discussing the mystery that had puzzled them both since their meeting. Ereinion could find no explanation for the way Elrond's song became stronger or for the way power thrummed in his veins when they fought side by side. He didn't know why he could break armor and ribs with just a fist, didn't know why at the moment of the blow, it felt like his arm shot up from his shoulder, stretching longer than it was possible. He could not fathom how sometimes the enemies fell dead before he would touch them or why at times they hesitated to strike him even when they had the chance. He had always believed he was cursed, but recently his curse had turned into a gift.

The shadows dancing around him gave him an otherworldly appearance that made it easy to believe his claim.

"It does not explain the surge of power in me, however," Ereinion said.

"Perhaps you have a connection to Melian?" Elrond suggested. "Or another Maia? I have not heard of other unions similar to Melian and Thingol's, but I do not possess all the knowledge of Arda. Do you think you might have Maiarin blood?"

"Certainly not on my father's side," Ereinion said.

"What about your mother?"

For a moment, everything around Ereinion – Elrond, the fire, the woods – disappeared and was replaced by his chamber in Barad Eithel and his father's low, comforting voice telling him stories.

"I do not believe she existed," he said.

It was the first time he said it aloud, the first time he allowed himself to think about it, but the moment the words left his lips, he knew them to be true.

Elrond said nothing. He didn't even look shocked. Only his tilted head and his slightly furrowed brows betrayed his curiosity. Ereinion loved that about him – his patience and his compassion – was thankful that Elrond gave him time and space to think and to elaborate if he so chose.

"My father told me stories about her," Ereinion went on, "but he was the only one. As a child, I was angry that everyone seemed to have forgotten her, that there was nothing left of her, no proof that she had lived. Now I know why."

"I always wondered about it," Elrond said carefully. "I am not sure if you know, but your father and Maedhros—"

"It was hard to miss."

Ereinion grimaced at his harsh tone and sent an apologetic look to Elrond.

"My father kept pushing us together," he continued, suddenly compelled to spill out everything he had refused to think about. "Maedhros did not want it, did not want me, and did not hesitate to show it. Every time, he refused me, and every time, my father gave way and tried to appease him. Every time, my father chose him over me. And yet, he never stopped trying to involve him in my life. I think he believed Maedhros was my father too. Maedhros vehemently disagreed."

Elrond's frown deepened.

"Was your father someone who could bear children?" he asked.

"I do not believe so."

"Neither was Maedhros." Elrond tugged lightly at a braid, which meant he was deep in thought. "Perhaps they had the help of someone else."

"No," Ereinion said. His mind was reeling with childhood memories he had worked hard to suppress. "It was something that had occurred between them only. Whatever the secret of my birth is, it made Maedhros resent my father and hate me."

Ereinion was grateful Elrond didn't insist Maedhros had not hated him, even though he knew he wanted to. They rarely talked about the Fëanorions, but Ereinion knew his and Elrond's impressions of Maedhros differed somewhat. He could not imagine Maedhros being kind to a child, let alone to a child whose home he had destroyed. He had not even been kind to Fingon, and he had supposedly loved him. Ereinion hated the anger that rose in him when he thought that Maedhros had cared more for his hostage than for his closest friend's son.

But it was not what troubled him now. Neither was it the mystery of his conception.

"My father lied to me," he said. "My entire life."

"You cannot be sure of it."

"I am." The certainty he felt surprised even Ereinion himself. "I worshipped him," he said. "Despite everything, I thought he was the perfect father. How do I reconcile this image I have of him with the revelation that he was a liar?"

"I am sure your father loved you very much," Elrond said.

"Yet it did not stop him from making up a dead mother I mourned for."

He was startled when he felt Elrond's hand over his. When had he come so close? Still, its warmth comforted him.

"Sooner or later, we have to admit that no one is perfect," Elrond said. "Even First Age heroes, even our parents."

The smile he gave Ereinion would seem pitying had it come from anyone else. Coming from Elrond, it made Ereinion smile too.

"Says someone who is nothing short of perfect," he muttered.

"Well, I am neither a First Age hero, nor a parent," Elrond laughed.

Ereinion laughed with him. Anger released him from its grip. His father's lies were far behind him and mattered little now.

"I care not how I came to be," he decided, "or what it is that makes us work together so well. Let loremasters debate it. I only care that it does."

"I will not argue," Elrond said.

He shuffled even closer to Ereinion. They sat together until dawn.

"It will do," he declared then.

---

Fingon crouched down and watched Maedhros examine the yew sapling they had stopped by. Maedhros didn't touch it but looked at it for a long time in silence.

Fingon's breath picked up. "Are you sure?"

"It is young. Hopefully, it has not been completely corrupted yet. It is close enough to Melian's power, yet grows in the heart of the shadow. We will find nothing better in this land."

It wasn't quite reassuring, but Fingon decided to trust Maedhros.

"What now?" he asked, impatient.

Maedhros sat down slowly in his heavy armor. He unsheathed his dagger and took one of Fingon's braids between his fingers.

"Cut it off," he said.

Fingon complied.

"Now your hand," Maedhros said. "Not too shallow."

Fingon made a painful cut on his palm. The blood rained over the braid coiled before him. Maedhros brought his hand to him, palm up.

"Now mine," he said.

Fingon's hand twitched once when he brought the blade to Maedhros's skin, but he took a breath and made the cut. Maedhros's blood dripped from his closed fist and mixed with Fingon's own.

"Make a few cuts on the leaves and the stalk," Maedhros said. "But do not touch it."

Fingon nodded and quickly carried out his task. Maedhros squeezed his fist, and a few drops of blood fell over the cuts. Fingon did the same. Maedhros took the braid and wrapped it around the sapling.

"Focus on what you want," Maedhros said. "Imagine the child you wish for with as many details as possible."

Fingon closed his eyes and opened his mind. He could feel Maedhros's too, could feel his fëa. He showed Maedhros their son, showed him his smile, his tiny hands, the tuft of red hair—

"No," Maedhros said, pulling back immediately. "I will stop this, Findekáno. I promise I will stop this instant if you do not hold up your end."

His voice was trembling. Fingon shook his head and grasped at Maedhros's arm.

"No, please," he said. "I am sorry. Please, go on."

Maedhros took a deep breath and nodded. Fingon showed him a different picture this time. He gave their son his father's eyes, his mother's brows, his sister's smile, his brother's nose and his own dark hair. He wished for a bright, burning fëa for their son, wished for him to be strong, kind and just.

Maedhros started chanting in a harsh language that made Fingon's ears bleed. Hearing the unbearable agony in his voice, Fingon came the closest to putting a stop to it, forgetting everything and going home with Maedhros. But they had come too far. He could see their son and he loved him already.

A few strands of his fëa reached out to Maedhros, who retreated as far as he could. Fingon felt incorporeal, more fëa than hröa, but it did not disturb him. A part of him split from his fëa, but it did not make him less. That part soared, went where it was supposed to go, guided by Maedhros's fëa, and Fingon tried to clutch to him, to the traces he was allowed to keep.

And then an overwhelming power crashed against his naked fëa. Fingon cried out. It was so mighty that he thought it would tear his fëa apart and pulverize his body. Yet, it was not evil. Its purpose was to grow and protect. Fingon knew then that it was the magic of the Queen of Doriath that Maedhros stole and bound.

Evil came later. It came suddenly and painfully. It came from everywhere – from the ground, from the trees, from the air itself. Fingon could do nothing but curl in on himself and keen as waves of pain contorted his body.

But when it was over, he heard a child's cry.

Fingon opened his eyes and beheld a baby boy where the yew sapling had been. All the pain, doubts and guilt immediately vanished, replaced by pure, overpowering love. Fingon quickly blinked the tears away because he could not live even a moment without seeing his son's face. Carefully, he took the baby in his arms and brushed a finger over his brow. He could feel the warmth of his young fëa. <i>Artanáro</i>, he named him in his mind.

"He is beautiful," he whispered and only then remembered that he wasn't alone.

Maedhros had fallen in a heap under a dead tree, shaking violently and dry-heaving.

"Russandol?" Fingon called.

"I am fine," Maedhros rasped. "Tend to the child."

Fingon still made to run to him, but his son started wailing, and he hurried to soothe him. He swaddled the infant and fed him the flask of milk he had put close to his skin to keep it warm. Out of the corner of an eye, he watched how Maedhros turned on his back with effort, breathing heavily, then somehow crawled up and sat, leaning against the tree. There was blood all over his face. His gaze was unfocused, wandering. Fingon put Artanáro in a makeshift sling and approached Maedhros.

"Let me see your hand," he said.

Maedhros didn't move. Fingon sat by him, took his hand, cleaned the wound and bandaged it.

"You did something wonderful today," he whispered, gently wiping the blood from Maedhros's face with a damp cloth. "You created something wonderful."

Maedhros's lips moved soundlessly.

"What is it?" Fingon asked.

"A perversion," Maedhros said almost inaudibly. "He is a perversion made of darkness."

Fingon was overcome with a fury so intense, so blinding that he had to turn away quickly and take a few deep breaths to be able to get his anger under control. He is not in his right mind, he told himself, I should not take his words close to heart.

He turned to Maedhros with a forced smile.

"Rest a little, then we will leave," he said, trying not to betray his anger.

"I thought," Maedhros said faintly, "I thought you would chain me from a tree by my wrist and leave me here." He laughed at Fingon's horrified face. "It is only the natural conclusion of all you have done to reach this point."

"I have asked you not to make such jokes."

"You have, yes."

Fingon leaned his forehead against Maedhros's.

"I know how exhausted you are," he whispered. "I am grateful beyond measure for what you did for me. For what you did for us."

"Is my debt repaid?"

Fingon sat back with a sigh.

"You were never indebted to me, Russandol."

"If you say so."

Maedhros closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. Fingon watched how clarity returned to them almost forcefully as if Maedhros caught the fragmented pieces of himself and pushed them back together.

"We should leave," Maedhros said. "It is not safe here."

Fingon nodded and glanced down. Artanáro was sleeping peacefully by his chest.

"Look at him," he whispered. "He is a miracle."

Maedhros made no answer. Fingon's heart sank. Maedhros had said he would not be a father to their son, and Fingon had promised he would not have to be. But secretly, he had hoped seeing the child would change his mind.

"Will you not hold him?" he asked.

Maedhros's face was stony.

"Your idea. Your decision. Your son."

He stood, leaning on his sword, and put his helmet on.

"Come," he said. "We must hurry."

They walked back the way they had arrived, but this time Fingon wasn't as calm. His neck was prickling. He felt eyes on him and kept an arm around his sleeping son, trying to move as quietly as possible.

He stopped when he heard ominous rustling close to them. Maedhros had also stopped, his sword half-drawn.

"Down!" he cried then.

Fingon ducked, curling around Artanáro. Something – a hideous shape of legs, eyes and teeth – jumped over him. Another one clashed against Maedhros, who staggered but did not fall.

Fingon drew his sword and plunged it into the creature that had dropped before him. Maedhros was in a violent battle against two of them. Fingon sent two arrows into what he hoped was the heart of one of the creatures. It collapsed, and Maedhros cut down the other one.

"Run!" He yelled. "Quick!"

Holding his bawling son tightly, Fingon did, but he was intercepted by another creature. It lunged for him, but before it could dig its claws into his flesh, Maedhros pounced on it and rolled with it down the slope. Fingon had no time to go after him. He was surrounded by three more. Never in his life had he drawn arrows so fast. He felled the last creature a moment before it would impale Artanáro and him on its sharp sting. The rest of the creatures scurried away.

"Russandol!" Fingon called after he had made sure his son was not harmed.

Maedhros suddenly appeared before him and cupped his face with a shaking hand.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Fingon nodded.

"The boy! Is he hurt?"

"No," Fingon said. "Look."

Artanáro had stopped crying and was now sniffling softly. Maedhros inclined his head. Fingon could not see his face behind the helmet, but he heard his shuddering breath of relief. Fingon took his hand and brought it down to Artanáro's face. He didn't have to guide Maedhros as he brushed a finger against their son's cheek. Artanáro smiled, and Fingon clearly heard Maedhros's gasp of wonder.

He quickly pulled his hand back and walked away without another word, but now Fingon followed him with a lighter heart. No matter what Maedhros said, Fingon knew they could be a true family.

His roots wither, his branches crackle, his leaves smoke.

---

Ereinion Gil-galad burns.

Ash twirls in the air.

#silmarillion #gil-galad #fingon #maedhros #cirdan #russingon #elrond also gets a scene #silm fic #ask to tag #this was supposed to be a crack treated seriously story at most #but now it doesn't even warrant the tag #zwc fic

[halfdeadfullgay]

Here’s that Danny Phantom fic that I started like two months ago. It’s mainly a crack fic treated seriously that I lost motivation to continue writing. I might come back to it later idk. Anyways ignore this hot mess of a fic as it just bounces around with no real plot lol

ignore any inaccuracies with dc comics or out of character writing this really is just a crack fic, definitely not beta read or proof read

404 - Title Not Found

Part 2 - Tumblr Part 3 - Tumblr

Ao3

Where to start with the Ghost King’s story? Most ghosts already knew at least a bit from hunting him down in his earlier years, way before he was able to clam the crown but now Clock Work was telling Danny that he could either make a mythos version or have the actual story of how a halfa became Ghost King, The Ruler of The Infinite Realms be told for as long as he ruled.

Out of all things that came with being Ghost King, he didn’t expect to be told to that he could mostly make up the story of how he even got to the crown.

Danny with the help of his sister and friends; made his story. It was mostly truth. How he defeated Phriah Dark, the many fights with ghosts and then calming the crown when he turned 18. There were parts that were completely fake. Mainly how he became a halfa. He didn’t want to have the portal accident be connected to him more than it was. He had accepted the way the accident would follow him around. Not just being the whole reason he was Phantom but the pain that still lingered.

When human, he would get shaky, phantom (no pun intended) pains all ever, along with some effects that were easier to manage. At first he didn’t understand the phantom pain, he still had all his limbs but after talking to Vald, who had surprisingly chilled out and stopped messing with Danny(for the most part), it had to due with the fact that he was dead. His whole body thought that one part was dead every other hour almost, sometimes the whole thing.

He had gotten used to it, well as much as he could. Obviously he had the mental side affects to deal with too. Sometimes he would nightmares of some of the more tougher fights. His friends and CW thought that the nightmares were because of Phara Dark and the portal accident. Of course some were but there others too. Mainly Spectra’s mosquito epidemic including the “hospital” and Nocturn.

Being stuck in what should be your desired reality along with everyone’s and seeing all your classmates including your own sister slowly become sick with some kind of ghost virus is the kind of shit that sticks with you. He tried to avoid most nightmares by staying in ghost form but just like when he would be forced to his human half from exughst in a fight; the same would happen with the more sleep he missed.

Sam once asked him if he blamed her for the accident. Of course, he didn’t. No one knew what could’ve happened. While he held no blame for Sam, he blamed himself sometimes when things got bad.

-

Today was like any other, do some basic royal stuff and then visit other realms/places in the human world to see how the ghosts that resided there were treated. He had gotten use to all the moving over the last few years. He typically loved going to other realms. It was a break for the most part. A break from being King, a break from being Phantom and a Fenton.

Though today was different. He was to visit Gotham, the city said to be alive itself. He lived there when he wasn’t in Amity or the ghost world but hadn’t been back in a while due to problems in Amity.

Living in gotham was an easy way to watch a lot of the dead that roamed there. Particularly a specific living dead who had came back a few years ago. Danny was supposed to see how the pit rage progressed and if it was still affecting years later. Danny had ask CW if he had to since the lazura pit had been around for quite awhile, didn’t they already know and because of the fact that it was creepy to basically stalk someone. He was just told that everything changes and it’s best to always double check.

Now he was invisible and moving through the shadows of Crime Alley. He watched the tops of buildings and alleys. He had chosen Crime Alley as a place to live when human. He knew that the living dead he was supposed to watch had claim over Crime Alley so it was easy to watch. He was careful to not interfere with any part of Crime Alley.

He would stop something if he saw it but knew not to mess with someone else’s haunt too much. Although Danny thought it was creepy, Red Hood was an interesting one to watch. Danny picked up on the fact that Red Hood liked Night Wing but disliked the Batman. Sure Danny could just figure out his identity but that a. be more creepy and b. that would ruin the fun.

But he had messed up when returning home after watching The Red Hood. He was in his human form when heading back to his apartment. He didn’t worry about how dangerous Crime Alley was. Of course he was a bit paranoid sometimes but not really.

One minute he was walking the next he was cornered in the alley next to the apartment complex. Apparently that got the attention of The Red Hood as when Danny started pushing the muggers away and was getting ready to fight; he appeared behind the them and scared the rest off.

Danny kinda just looked at him before saying thanks and quickly heading up the fire escape to his apartment. He wasn’t supposed to interact with the dead that he was meant to watch but now he could feel Red Hood’s eyes on him as he went through his window.

-

Jason usually knew who was following him but for some reason he couldn’t figure it out this time. He felt like he was being followed, he knew that he was. He had oracle check the cameras in Crime Alley but still nothing.

It annoyed him that he couldn’t figure it out. There was no rumors about any out of towners. It wasn’t till one night when he noticed someone fighting against some muggers in the alleyway of next to the apartment complex he lived in. He was about to stop his patrol for the night so why not end with scaring off muggers.

When all was said and done, he watched the man thank him and leave. Jason watched a bit too long as he saw him go into his apartment. He couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity with that man. Red hood left to the top of the apartment building. Yes he had multiple safe houses but he liked living in crime alley, more or less to stay away from the Bat.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dead on main #not finished #fanfic #dp fanfic #jason todd #red hood #danny fenton #danny phantom #cross posted on ao3 #crack fic #not serious #hot mess fic #ghost king danny #au #dp x dc crossover #404 - Title Not Found

[kyouka-supremacy]

If we’re talking about sexism in BSD can we talk about Dazai Osamu’s Entrance Exam? (Not the anime adaptation) I really really really hated how Dazai and Kunikida would talk about Sasaki right in front of her like she wasn’t even there?? And just how they generally were with her…Reading that light novel was a genuinely unpleasant experience more times than I’d like to admit solely because of how egregiously gross it was when it came to Sasaki's character and how the guys would treat her. I've never seen anyone talk about it but it's been bugging me for a while now.

(个_个)

I understand how that's all sorts of fucked up. I haven't read the Entrance Exam novel but in my opinion the Sasaki / Kunikida / Dazai anime scenes rub just as wrong. There's really the whole deal of talking in front of women like they were lesser / objects which is plain atrocious. But then again, the bsd novels produced the unfamous Naomi description, so it's really the author giving their worst apparently.

The sexism in bsd is pathologic. Something I've brought up before but that is really explicative to me, Dazai going “The murder must have occurred in the early morning, because that's the only time of the day a woman wouldn't be wearing make-up”. And it's probably silly of me to pick up on such a small thing when wearing make-up is debated within feminist spaces itself, and it's probably something I have personal issues with, but the way in the story it serves the role of an objective hint, something plain and unconfutable, that women are expected to wear make-up at every hour of the day and them not doing so is just absurd and unthinkable… To me it really speaks of how the world of bsd is a world were women are expected to fit a determined ideal that is very distant from reality, and the author really has a very limited understanding of what women are actually like irl.

If we’re talking about sexism in bsd, can we talk about what was up with the Yosano / buisnessman (?) scene in chapter 7? It's been two years since I've watched and read that scene, and I still can't figure out what it's supposed to mean or convey. First, Yosano is shown being tame and overly polite towards someone who was being extremely rude; then, after he hits her and tells her to know her place, she replies “Well, a thousand pardons, sir. Would it be more womanly for me to crush your puny ××××× under my heels, perhaps?”. Now, her reply is somewhat funny, but really, doesn't mean anything. And I'm not talking about the censure. Why is her behaviour so fluctuating and inconsistent? What does womanhood has to do with anything here? Why would she be so polite and then suddenly backtrack? Really, why was she being polite in the first place to someone being so vulgar and disrespectful towards her? Honestly, that doesn't feel Yosano at all. At most it feels like that's supposed to portray how a woman is expected to react in an imaginary and unrealistic world, but that has so little standing potential irl, not even Yosano in this manga could hold the charade for long, and the result ends up looking awkward and nonsensical. Every time I see this scene I'm just like… What is going on here. Not even in a judgemental way, just as in “I seriously can't understand what the author was trying to say with this”, and frankly, I don't think they do know either. It really makes evident their struggle to write female characters, like women were this strange, foreign, very abstract concept that's impossible to crack or relate to. And when the answer is so simple, that you shouldn't write women as an unknown and indecipherable species, but simply as people— it would almost be endearing if it wasn't so detrimental. I won't even get to her “It is an era of equality for men and women” line which, put in the context of this manga, comes off as the most unfunny joke ever. Here, I can see what the author was trying to do alright, nodding to irl Yosano Akiko feminist viewpoints, but making the character Yosano talk in cheap feminist slogans to rival mcu movies ends up doing her a disservice more than anything, and I doubt it would leave the actual Yosano Akiko positively impressed at all.

If we’re talking about sexism in bsd, can we talk about how Kouyou should be the next pm boss, and the fact that the spot is canonly reserved for Chuuya instead is insane and nonsensical and outrageous to the point that even CHUUYA agrees on the fact that she should be the one? You know, Kouyou, the powerful ability user, experienced, senior in hierarchy, who has been shown to be both loyal to the current boss Mori and close to him on a personal level? Compared to Chuuya who never wanted to be the boss in the first place? But he gets to be either way, because the concept of a woman pm boss is just unthinkable. I feel like there's more reasons to cry for that Cannibalism stage play scene than the Flags' voices.

If we’re talking about sexism in bsd, can we talk about Higuchi? Can we talk about Lucy? Bsd offers so many examples of its sexism, we could be here to talk about it for days. At this point I feel like I might come across as someone who loves hating on things, but in reality every time I write a post of this kind it's a desperate prayer to the author: “Prove me wrong! Please, prove me wrong! Write women with layers and agencies! Expand on their virtues and flaws and ambitions! Dedicate narrative arcs to them! Prove me wrong!”

#On one hand I'd say let's try and keep the negativity levels low but on the other you know what? #Actually speaking of this from time to time can be helpful for everyone. #And I truly get how genuinely frustrating it gets ESPECIALLY to see it ignored and not talked about so like. #I've changed my mind in reality we should TALK about this. And if you need to vent about this in my inbox feel free to. #nobuko sasaki #akiko yosano #kōyō ozaki #bsd #bsd negativity #mine #people asks me stuff #If the wording sounds dramatic in some points there's a very simple explanation for that and that is: I like to be dramatic

[xxsycamore]

🍕 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙃𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙀𝙮𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝘼 𝘽𝙞𝙜 𝙋𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙖 𝙋𝙞𝙚,

► A story about Italian vampires, secret admirers, and pizza.

Galileo x MC • rating: G • wordcount: 1,863 • characters: mc, galileo, francis, leonardo, napoleon, comte, dazai • tags: Pizza; Secret admirer; Romance; Cliché; Feelings Realization; Crack treated seriously  • masterlist

a/n: I don't know. I don't know.

I blame the English Ikesen twitter for informing me it's international pizza day (in a very creative way), which led to me going "haha three italians in ikevamp" which made me remember one very bad movie full of pizza and cliché, which led to me coming up with this. I don't even like pizza that much.

Idk if I should label this as crack, but don't take it seriously either way.

MC and Galileo's first encounter described in this fic is canon and you can read a translation of it here - many thanks to @cirillafionariannon

I wanted to try my hand at writing for our new two vamps, and this could also be an early Valentine's Day fic! Hope you enjoy!

Fun statistics!: the word pizza appears 33 times in this fic.

Leonardo was in Comte's room, lounging around with a drink and listening about his friend's most recent trip to the 21st century. While Leonardo was a man with passion for knowledge, not everything that Comte talked in great detail about was to Leonardo's interest. Mind trailing off in random directions while supposedly continuing to be a good listener, he suddenly feels the need to interrupt his friend.

Waving a hand in the air and looking over the Gucci shades that Comte actually bought for himself, he motions a pause.

"Forget about that, tell me if they made an International Pizza Day in the future yet."

"…Why, there actually is a day like that. It's the 9th of February, if I remember right."

***

With a little over a week remaining until Pizza Day, or Just Another Thursday as 19th century Parisians know it, Leonardo mobilizes the mansion into preparing something grandiose for the occasion.

"We're going to feed the whole of Paris with pizza."

MC blinks in apparent bewilderment. With the amount of crazy stuff happening around the mansion already, one would think that feeding the whole of Paris with pizza would find its place low in her list.

They're all gathered in the kitchen as if it's some kind of conference hall, with Leonardo using a blackboard to illustrate his schemes. So far he's drawn just one giant pizza taking all of the blackboard. He taps the chalk against the board.

"Think of it as a charity. While everyone would be free to help as well as consume, we'll prioritize those who are in need."

Dazai raises a hand. "Let me guess, you always wanted to invent a giant stove and this is your mastermind plan."

Leonardo enthusiastically points at Dazai with the chalk in his hand, "Esatto! But not exactly a stove. While fixing various gadgets for people in town, I had this idea of making a massive hot plate," he draws an oval under the oval supposed to be pizza, "which is a metal plate heated by charcoal underneath. Some of you will help me assemble it, others will get the word around town. And for those who are incompetent with cooking pizza…"

"I can give out a lesson or two." Napoleon says, with a raised hand. "I love the idea. I have volunteered in food banks a couple of times already around town. I'd be glad to help."

"Heh, Napoleon, knew you had that Italian blood still running hot in you. Alright then, it's settled."

***

MC is in her bed, staring a hole through the wall. Eating in bed is something she rarely indulges in, moreso if it's pizza, but she can't help it. As she chews with eyes squinted in deep concentration, she tries and tries to make just any connection between recent events and the possible reason behind all of this.

Just a couple of days ago, some white haired guy with a half-up hairstyle started coming to the mansion.

"Pizza delivery! Miss, that's for you. You don't owe anything. Enjoy! Bye!"

Wait, pizza delivery in the 19th century? It was strange the first time, and it's still strange the tenth time it happened. Some of the residents advised she don't eat it, but in the course of events (and hunger) she found out that's some damn good pizza. The best she had ever since she came here. And it was addressed to her. Is this a secret admirer situation?! Very strange.

Of course she suspected Leonardo. With his pizza hype recently it only made sense, but also that would be too easy. Placing the box on the nightstand, she sighs and goes over the possible leads in her head one more time.

***

The next day she takes Napoleon's pizza cooking class and conveniently stays behind until everyone else leaves the kitchen - namely Vincent, Mozart, and Jean. Napoleon takes the bait and praises her efforts at perfecting her pizza-cooking skills, being more than willing to give her some extra lessons.

Then they have clichéd and intimate dough kneading moment where he stands behind her and guides her hands; she pokes her nose into some private topics as carefully as she could, taking the conversation in the direction of love and cooking a meal full of love. Still, nothing she samples for the sake of learning tastes nearly the same as that same pizza delivered to the mansion's door every night.

***

Looking out of the window up at the moon that is nearly full, MC can't help but remember about a recent encounter with a strange man. It happened when she had to deliver some Blanc to Isaac who was working late at the university. In one classroom there was a white haired man with beautiful purple eyes looking through an old-fashioned telescope. There was something intriguing about him; about the shooting star they saw together, the timing, his comment about "still looking at the stars even in this day and age". The name he introduced himself with. All of it, full of mystery.

And yet the biggest mystery of her life currently revolves around pizza.

***

The man with white half-up hair approaches the merchant brig ship has recently docked at the Seine. Night has long fallen but the light inside is unmistakable; of course it's his friend baking pizza again. On his ship, nonetheless.

"Again, Galileo? That's the sixth time this week. I'm not going out this time. And please be careful not to burn down the ship, okay?"

The other whitehaired man doesn't as much as acknowledge the other's presence, too absorbed in his craft. The parmesan falls from between his fingers like a snowstorm over a tomato-red sea; in the next second he's at the cutting board; going left and right like a madman. Or like someone inlove.

The other sighs.

"I'm hearing something about a pizza charity in town. Basically everyone's gonna cook a giant pizza together and then give pieces away. Sounds like your thing, eh?"

Galileo's eyes dart towards his friend for a mere second, his hands never pausing.

"Where are you taking all my pizzas to, anyway? And I'm not participating."

"As you wish."

He exits the kitchen, opting for the company of the moon outside instead. The gentle lull of the waves make him crave a nap ever if it's technically close to his sleeping time. He notices the telescope nearby, unused by his friend in some time, which is awfully unusual of him.

"Man, this stress-cooking is going to ruin him."

***

The day finally arrives. The masses are buzzing around the square where Leonardo shows his invention that aims to leave everyone with a stomach full of delicious pizza, so long as there are enough hands to help. And they are. Soon the place gets overcrowded, the air smells like heaven, and the chilly February day gets as hot as a midsummer one.

All MC can think about is her secret admirer. With all the pizza being passed around and under her nose, she swears she's not crazy when she claims she didn't catch a whiff of That One Pizza. Will the whitehaired man be here today? Is it him, after all, stating that all he does is deliver it to her door, yet lying? No, there was no trace of such feelings in his demeanor; not the thrill of seeing her, nor the hope of learning something more about her in those short encounters. He was merely a proxy. But whose?

Defeated, the reason why the smile hasn't already left her face is solely the fact that she saw a lot of happy people today. Pizza really does bring people together; Leonardo was right all along. He was excellent at what he did, but he did it only with the people in mind; not a lover, much less her. She liked helping him today. And Napoleon too, who thankfully didn't think anything about her strange behavior the other day.

***

With the sound of street musicians who joined the celebration drifting in the distance, MC walks along the Seine, admiring the moonlight dancing on the surface. The noise and the hustle had gotten to her, so this little walk was welcomed, and it matched the feeling in her heart. The emptiness wasn't only there, though.

"Haha… I made so much pizza yet it seems like I didn't eat anything all day."

"I can see that. The growling of this belly of yours could be heard all the way here."

Eyes widening at the sound of that voice, she looks at the direction of a docked ship. The man exiting it seemed familiar, along with the voice, and it took just a couple of seconds to remember.

"Ahh, you're the…"

"The man with the telescope. I didn't think we'd meet again."

Right, this is the man who introduced himself as Galileo. The silence was awkward, his earlier comment not helping much, but she still felt good about seeing a familiar face. Though, they're barely more than strangers. Or maybe after having their second encounter, they're not strangers anymore?

MC stares at the fullmoon high in the sky, and surprisingly, so does Galileo. She giggles and breaks the silence.

"It's like a big pizza pie."

That's the single most absurd thing Galileo Galilei has ever heard in his life, being a person who devoted himself to astrology.

He scuffs at her remark, too taken aback to even say anything that won't ridicule her. He decides to spare her.

"So? Are you hungry? I've got some pizza on the ship."

Ah, pizza again.

"Sounds great."

Hoping for a distraction, she followed him on the ship. If anything, with all the pizza flavors she tasted recently, her palate would hopefully forget about the one that her secret admirer makes for her. What a silly story. She's sure it all ends tonight, the person likely pranking the whole of Comte's mansion in relation to the whole pizza cooking event or something.

"What a yummy smell. I must be really hungry. Did you make this yourself, Galileo?"

The man visibly tenses a little, possibly at the fact that she remembers his name. He should've given her a different one, after all.

"Yes."

MC bites into the piece, mind elsewhere. She wonders if she'll be sick of pizza ever since today.

Wait.

The flavors clash in her receptors and realization hits all at once; she looks at Galileo.

This taste!

"It's you."

The man with the beautiful purple eyes hums at her, without a clue what she is talking about. He hasn't shared his pizza recipe with everyone other than Francis, the look of recognition on MC's face not making sense to him.

He would soon come to know; but not tonight.

With the assurance that she must be mistaking him for someone else; and with the need to help her get home due to the late hour, their second encounter soon comes to an end.

And for Galileo, who barely kept his composure in the face of the one he strangely fell hopelessly inlove with, he swears he'll make sure this time it truly would be their last.

Unless the stars have other plans for him.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran   @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou  @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @tiny-wooden-robot @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikevamp galileo #ikemen vampire galileo #ikevamp francis #ikemen vampire francis #ikemen vampire galileo galilei #ikemen vampire francis drake #ikevamp galileo galilei #ikevamp francis drake #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp dazai #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevampire #ikeseries #cybird #ikevamp fanfic

[streaminn]

"..after some time" still fits streamer enid, bc they separate for years to ultimately be healthier for each other

i admittedly haven't read most of the streamer wednesday content, i should probably binge it

eldritch farm isn't really happy?? like. enid is going through what amounts to psychological torture in a way?? all of that mind warping shit drives people insane and is basically just wednesday gaslighting? idk if that's the right word, but i think it fits?

i think demon baby is probably the closest to starting and being happy, but didn't enid need to go to hell or smth??

Nawh, I say it don't count because I started the streamer Enid au with them happily married albeit with some distance. Sure they miss one another but it isn't that distressing

Like yeah sure, shit went down in nevermore and them needing to be apart but overall, Wenclair are content and enjoying themself. They just get even happier when they get to reunite

As for eldritch farm, Its pretty happy too in the way that Enid is lowkey.. Not that bothered

Like yea, her memories have been altered to include a woman she has never known but she's aware of that fact. She's aware that she has lived a life without Wednesday and now for some reason, she has another set of memories where she does

It's wack, it's odd but Wednesday is treating her right and isn't that all one wants? Like sure her wife is weird but what can you expect when you're dating something beyond your comprehension

Aka, eldritch farm is not that deep, it's lowkey crack but I like to make it spooky at times because it's fun. Overall very chill fluffy au with horror aspects but she rolls with it

Enid isnt seriously being driven insane, that's the devotion au

And demon baby? Enid had to go to hell like midway through the plot because as mentioned before, mortals aren't supposed to be tied to demon babies and it started taking a toll on Enid

So Wednesday skedaddled with the kid because she didn't want Enid to die, Enid didnt like that and went to get them etc etc, they figure it out

But it isn't exactly in the start and yeah, ofcourse there's gonna be conflict, it's what drives the story

Still overall rather happy and goofy though

[snarkythewoecrow]

Thank you @mollymagician for the tag! This was a fun distraction from things I should be doing, so very very welcomed!

What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don't care about anymore?

hmmm... I suppose I had a few, but off the top of my head, I'd say either Hawkeye/Trapper or Hawkeye/Margaret from MASH or Duncan/Methos or Methos/Amanda from Highlander the series

Which ship would you consider your first one?

Probably Hawkeye/Margaret MASH, little me was very much into that show and loved all the potential hurt/comforts

Your first fanfic was about which couple?

Honestly, could have been any of the above, but the first ships and fandoms I shared any fics for would have been for Interview with the Vampire, having read the book and then been unable to stop myself from writing

Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?

I don't remember what I ate for breakfast when I woke up at noon (which wasn't that long ago)

Have you ever gotten into ship discourse?

Not really, just blocked people and curated my online enough to avoid it

Did you use to have any NOTP or have one currently?

Not really? Idea, I have ones that are just really aren't faves but I will read fics about them if compelling enough

Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?

Tony Stark/Steve Rogers

Currently, do you have any OTPs?

Too many to list or even try to list--fickle and free, my heart loves deeply but doesn't like to commit--you'll find that one day I'm endeared to a pairing and the next I love another--but thankfully, for my own sanity and those that read my stories, I always come back around to each and everyone, even if it takes a bit of time

Is there any couple that, to this day, that you are extremely mad about not getting into?

I don't think so?

Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they're kind of interesting?

Not really

Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

Never really paid attention enough to notice or care, definitely ship things that piss off people though, both past and present

What is your favourite crack ship?

JARVIS with Darcy is honestly one that I kinda love--though really, is anything truly crack if you believe in yourself enough when writing it? Because if the writer is confident enough, the reader will not just accept those crazy things, but might even fall in love with them. Crack treated seriously is honestly a favorite trope of mine

What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?

😅😂 aim a round of buck shot at AO3--I am chaos incarnate in what I read and how I find it. Rhyme or reason does not exist. Simply vibes. But I suppose, in spirit of the question, I can narrow it down to Buck/Eddie of 911, Dream/Hob of Sandman, and Steve/Tony of Marvel

What do most of your ships have in common?

usually the potential for power imbalances--be it physical, financial, emotional, sexual, you name it--and not necessarily in a healthy way, though just because I like pairings with that potential, doesn't mean I don't also love ones with potential for comfort and softness

What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

Nothing really? I don't think?

tagging @plotbunnypettingzoo @buckybeardreams @kingofdarkness00 @father-salmon @underwater-ninja-13 @limetimo @thefangirloutof-time @mammameesh @bluesimplicity73 @skrybspryt and anyone else that wants to do this

#tag games

[the-frostiest-of-flakes]

You Can't Just Piss in the Sewer PART 2

Summary Casey finds out about the sewer activities and decides to do something about it.

Word Count 785

Warnings None. It's just crack treated seriously.

Author's Note BEHOLD! The sequel no one asked for (including me)!

I have been haunted by this story ever since I made the first chapter. It was just supposed to be a oneshot but here we are. (I'm all done now though I prommy. It's out of my system)

The first chapter can be found here. And if you'd rather read the story on ao3, it can be found here.

✧⋆✧

A lot had happened to Casey Jones in the past year.

He had lost his job, met some teenage mutant ninja turtles, saved the world, got his job back…no big deal really.  This was just his life now.  Unfortunately, since it was supposed to be a secret, it left him with very few talking points when someone asked him what he had been up to lately.

Like right now, at his grandmother’s quarterly family dinner.

“Casey!” His grandmother exclaimed, ushering him over the threshold.  Her apartment was small and cozy as always, with the aroma of fresh cooked food permeating the space.  “Come in, come in – no, leave your shoes at the door.  What have you been up to, my boy?”

“Just the same old same old,” he replied, slipping out of his shoes.

“Oh, something exciting must have happened, you’ve got such an important job after all.  And we’re all very proud of you for not getting fired again.”  

I’m never gonna live that down, am I?   Inwardly sighing, he plastered on the most believable smile he could muster.  “Nope.  Nothing at all.  It’s been completely normal, average work days for the past year.”

She hummed.  “Shame.  Well, run along, everyone is in the living room right now.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

With that, the old woman scurried off, heading for the kitchen.  Casey took a deep breath before plunging into the crowded living room, which was filled to the brim with his immediate and extended family.  Grandma Jones’s dinner affairs were large, important events.  No one wanted to miss out.  Especially when doing so meant falling behind on family gossip.

A hand gripped his shoulder.  Spinning around, he found it was his Uncle, Greg.  “Hey, kid, I need to talk to you for a second.”  The man pulled him aside before he had a chance to respond, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear.  “Listen Casey, I know what I’m about to say is nuts, and if your ma or pa heard it they’d throw me in the loony bin.  So this stays between us, y’hear?”

“Uh, sure.”  He wasn’t sure what his uncle was going on about, but he was one of the sanest, most truthful people he knew.  Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad.

Greg took a deep breath, pausing dramatically.  “I saw the Sewer Monsters.”

“The what?”

“The big green monsters that run around the sewers!”  He flung out his hands.  “I thought it was just an urban legend but…I saw them.  I was workin’, doin’ a safety check, when I found them pissin’ in the sewer like animals.”

Casey’s blood ran cold.  “What – what did they look like?”

“Like giant humanoid turtles.  And there was another one that looked like a rat!”

He gritted his teeth.  “You don’t say?”  I’m going to kill those idiots.

“Just…make sure to keep an eye out for them.  I don’t know how often they leave the sewer, but I don’t want them jumpin’ you on the job.”

“I’ll keep my guard up.”  He gave Greg a nod and soft pat on the arm before turning to leave.  “And thanks for telling me.”

—

Casey breathed out slowly through his nose, leveling his gaze with the four mutant turtles in front of him.  He was going to chew them out, yes, but he knew damn well they wouldn't listen if he wasn't at least moderately calm.

"You can't go around using the sewer as your own personal urinal."

Mikey snorted.  "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a sewer, brah.  It's not like we're peeing behind trees or something."

"That's not the point-"  Movement from behind the line of turtles caught his eye.  It was a certain anthropomorphic rat trying to sneak off.  "Hey!  You're a part of this too."

Splinter froze for a few beats, narrowing his eyes before reluctantly rejoining the group.

“You can’t just piss in the sewer because it’s disgusting.   Donnie, you’re a genius with a high tech lab, but you don’t have a bathroom?! ”

“Well when you say it like that-”

“Wait–”  A thought had occurred to him.  “All those times you said I couldn’t use your bathroom because the toilet was clogged–”

“Was a lie.  Yes.  Try to keep up, Jones.”

He groaned, turning to leave and find himself a much more productive and relaxing use of his time.  “Alright, whatever.  Just get yourselves an actual bathroom.”

“Or what?” Raph piped up.

Casey could feel a smirk taking over his face as he pulled out his hidden trump card.  “I’ll tell April.”

The cacophony that rose up behind him as he left the sewer was music to his ears.

#i have no excuses. i am a danger to society #frosted words #crack treated seriously #bayverse turtles #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #casey jones #leonardo hamato #raphael hamato #donatello hamato #michelangelo hamato #master splinter #creative writing #fanfiction #ao3 link #funny

[duckprintspress]

Creators Spotlight: November Works by Duck Prints Press Creators!

Our creators had a busy November! Check out some of the works they created…

Breath of life. by MizuShiba / @mizushibart

art || ​call of duty: modern warfare 2 || m/m || ghost / soap || general audiences || no major warnings apply || complete

summary: So close. So intimate. Yet its not enough.

other tags: smoking, cigarettes

TUMBLR – TWITTER

*

​Kinkiest ship on the ocean (1-15) by FPwoper / @fpwoper

fiction || our flag means death (tv) || various, see tags per chapter || various, see tags per chapter || explicit || creator choses not to use warnings || 8,045 || complete

summary: Kinktober 2022 – OFMD Edition

31 (short?) fics featuring all kinds of kinks!

The chapter summaries will include the ship and tags for each fill because everything is rather fluid in this.

Chapters might not be updated daily.

This has been split in two, see the series for 16-30

other tags: (Tags and ships are included in every chapter description)

AO3

*

​Kinkiest ship on the ocean (16-31) by FPwoper / @fpwoper

fiction || our flag means death (tv) || various relationship types || various pairings || explicit || creator choses not to use warnings || 11,103 || complete

summary: Kinktober 2022 – OFMD Edition

31 (short?) fics featuring all kinds of kinks!

The chapter summaries will include the ship and tags for each fill because everything is rather fluid in this.

other tags: (Tags and ships are included in every chapter description)

AO3

*

​Kinky fuckers by FPwoper / @fpwoper

fiction || our flag means death (tv) rpf, new zealand actor rpf, new zealand comedy actor rpf || various relationship types || various ships || explicit || creator choses not to use warnings || 28,690 || complete

summary: Kinktober 2022 – RPF Edition

31 (short?) fics featuring all kinds of kinks!

The chapter summaries will include the ship and tags for each fill because everything is rather fluid in this.

other tags: (Tags and ship are included in each chapter description)

AO3

*

​Idiocy Can Sometimes Be Catching by FuziPenguin / @fuzipenguin

fiction || gokusen (tv) || f/m || sawada shin/yamaguchi kumiko one-sided || explicit || no major warnings apply || 1,972 || complete

summary: It’s the first time Shin has ever seen so much of Yankumi’s skin. Predictably, his body reacts. Unpredictably, his regular brain takes a back seat to his second brain for a moment when he offers to throw away Yankumi’s cheerleading outfit for her. Instead, he does something else with it. Something she would probably hit him for. A lot.

other tags: Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, Masturbation (male), angst, Shin is 18 years old

TUMBLR – AO3 – PILLOWFORT – LINK

*

​That’s NOT A REAL TROPE you Hack Author! by Lucy K.R./Boomchick / @boomchickfanfiction

fiction || scum villain’s self-saving system || m/m || luo binghe/shen qingqiu, mobei-jun/shang qinghua || explicit || no major warnings apply || 126,603 || complete

summary: In a world that is a story come to life, bringing fanfiction tropes into play can lead to unexpected concequences… Especially if the fanfiction author had no idea what those tropes were supposed to mean!

A post-canon story of love, humor, hurt, healing, and most of all TROPES.

other tags: crack treated seriously, humor, hurt/comfort, happy ending, identity reveal, onscreen injury, animal endangerment, explicit sexual content, fix-it of sorts

TUMBLR – AO3 – TWITTER

*

​spring moves under ground and under skin by Puck Malamud / @theleakypen

fiction || mo dao zu shi/the untamed || platonic or familial || lan xichen & nie mingjue || teen & up || no major warnings apply || 1,840 || complete

summary: A pre-canon fic in which Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue become close when Nie Mingjue attends the Lan sect’s guest lectures and Lan Xichen takes some time to figure out that he’s ace.

other tags: Pre-Canon, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Platonic Physical Affection, Unaware Ace Lan Xichen, minor Lan Xichen & Lan Wangji, Best Friends, Increasing Intimacy of Address

AO3

*

​На высокий берег, на крутой | Onto the high bank and steep by Puck Malamud / @theleakypen

fiction || goncharov (1973) dir. matteo jwhj 0715 – beelzebub || platonic or familial || andrey “the banker” daddano & katya goncharova; background “lo straniero” goncharov/katya goncharova; background andrey “the banker” daddano/”lo straniero” goncharov || general audiences || no major warnings apply || 669 || complete

summary: Puck gets in on the Goncharov nonsense with a small missing scene fic where Katya invites Andrey out for lunch in order to get his measure.

other tags: Missing Scene, Awkward Conversations, Complicated Friendships

AO3

*

You know you don’t need a better moment to go check out some fanfic! And don’t forget to leave some kudos and love!

#duck prints press #creator spotlight #ofmd #goncharov #svsss #mdzs #gokusen #call of duty #fanfiction

[sapphic-loser16]

Fanfiction Master Post

wow this is overdue :)

Star Wars: Rebels

Point of Impact | Gen. Audiences | 7,014 words | hurt/comfort | tw. for ptsd and depictions of death by T-7 ion disruptors

There were times that Garazeb Orrelios wished he had died on Lasan.

Not that he would ever say it out loud. Karabast, he’d rather be fed feet-first into a sarlacc than admit that to anyone. But some nights, when even the stars seemed dim, when the Ghost was silent as the grave, the thought would creep up on him, wrap its slimy tendrils around his heart and squeeze tight.

(In which Zeb has a Bad Day, and Ezra finds his footing in the Ghost Crew

Stars Go Dim | Teen and Up (Mature) Audience | 12,235 words | ongoing multi-chapter | tw. for ptsd

There were things that Zeb just… knew. Things others didn’t. Things others couldn’t.

He himself never noticed. To him, it was the most natural thing in the world, to be part of the Force. Colors were sharper, noises louder, things unseen felt. How could he know that no one else felt every living thing in their very soul? How could he know that the feeling of oneness, of connection was completely, solely his?

(In which I make Zeb Force-sensitive because why the fuck not)

Linked Universe

Umbra | Gen. Audiences | 664 words | whump | tw. for implied/referenced character death, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced MCD

In which Hyrule has a bad time with Shadow.

Plan C | Gen. Audiences | 1,778 words | crack | tw. for mentions of cocaine

He was never supposed to use Plan C. Plan C was only for the most desperate and dire circumstances, when forever had fallen apart and the universe was being torn apart at its seams, when life and limb were on the line. He hadn’t even known about Plan C until he became a captain in the Grand Army of the Goddess, when it had been whispered in his ear in the dead of night by a certain Sheikah general. Long after the War of Ages, when his thoughts had kept him awake at night, he pondered how the war might have changed had he the courage to put The Plan into action. Now was one of these times.

The Devil Went Down To Faron | Gen. Audiences | 1,191 words | song fic (in which I mean it’s based off of The Devil Went Down to Georgia)| no tw

The Devil went down to Faron, he was looking for a soul to steal…

(In which Sky tells a story)

Horizontal Square Dancing | Gen. Audiences | 1,178 words | humor, slight crack | tw. for brief suggestive content

In which Warriors just wants some sleep ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Chiaroscuro | Teen and Up (Mature) Audience | 138,000+ words | ongoing multi-chapter | action/adventure, character study | too many tws to list, please check ao3 | if you’re going to read any of my works, please consider this one! It’s my favorite :)

Chiaroscuro: The contrast of light and darkness

Hyrule has been shattered. A dark and familiar force is helmed by the Yiga Clan, and no one is safe from their tyranny. A dethroned princess battles against insurmountable odds, desperate to reclaim the land again in the name of the light. At her side, a boy fights, unaware of the part he will play in destiny. The Chain is thrown into this dangerous new world tasked with dispelling the evil that has pervaded every corner of their home. Will they be able to succeed? Or will they to fall to the darkness?

(Or, what makes a person good or evil? Is it the circumstances of their birthright, or the measure of their heart?)

Rules for Unruly Hyrulians | General Audiences | 2,546 words | humor, crack treated seriously | tw for brief depiction of giving birth | based off my art

Really, the rules were simple.

“Alright boys, listen up. All of you know the drill, but we seemed to have trouble in the last town.”

The Chain stood in a line. Time strolled back and forth like a drill sergeant. Warriors had to fight the urge to respond with ‘sir yes sir’ and a salute.

“Hyrule, what is the first rule?”

He stepped forward. “NO ADDING TO THE POPULATION, SIR,” he yelled. Time grimaced and nodded. At least his zeal was to be admired.

“Sky, what is the second?”

“No subtracting to the population, sir?”

“Very good.” He strode down the line and looked Legend, Wild, and Four in the eyes.

“The next one?

“Stay out of the hospital, the newspaper, and jail,” they droned in unison.

“And Wind. What is the final rule?”

He beamed brightly. “If you do end up in jail, assert dominance quickly and efficiently.”

Time sighed. “Good. We might just make it through this village with no incident.”

(In which everyone is a chaos gremlin)

Chiaroscuro Universe (LoZ and LU adjacent)

On First Meetings | Gen. Audiences | 607 words | first meetings | no tws.

In which Ganondorf gets lost, and makes a new friend

A Brief Interlude | Teen and Up (Mature) Audience | 806 words | tw. for MCD and torture

In which a bit about Melora is revealed.

Chiaroscuro Shorts | Gen. Audience | 29,000+ words | ongoing multi-chapter | check Ao3 for tws

Heyo lads, it’s Chiaroscuro shorts! Basically little vignettes that I couldn’t find a way to fit into the main story go here, along with some alternate scenes and other stuff. If there is something you want to seen, just hit me up in the comments

Legend of Zelda

Symphony in Blue | BoTW | Gen. Audience | 526 words | introspection, angst, character study | tw. for mentions of past character death

There he slept, and yet she despised him

(In which post-Calamity Zelda reflects on what she has lost)

Just A Little Game | BoTW | Gen. Audience | 961 words | fluff, kids just playing around | no tws.

In which everything is just one big game.

Tumblr Drabbles (requests open) | LoZ | Gen. Audience | 9,400+ words | ongoing multi-chapter | check ao3 for tags and genres

Bunch of silly little drabbles, no overarching story

Twilight Terrors | TP | Gen. Audience | 3,524 words | hurt/comfort | check tags for tws. | co-written with @piratesofhyrule

Midna has a very not-fun no good night with her wife.

#legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #chiaroscuro fic #sapphie writes #twilight princess #breath of the wild

[a-random-fandom-friend]

#30 for AO3 wrapped!

Thank you a lot for this ask !

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Ah. Well. See, it all started when @pigeonneaux started sharing her drawings. Because she did a beautiful drawing of Renard being beaten with a riding crop, because in one episode of season 4, a minor, quite frankly pathetic villain holds his riding crop against Renard's cheek. It's supposed to be a powerplay. I thought it was, quote, "Just fucked up enought to work".

I wrote a story for Pige. These two characters who hate eachother, meeting for a quick hatefuck, where sex is still a way to fight their dumb squabbles. Kind of a Crack Treated Seriously, kind of a proof to myself that I could write anything. It's pretty good, and fun too. Not my most emotional or philosophical piece, but you know, it didnt have pretention to be.

The first problem is, I shared it.

I shared it with friends on the vdf discord server, knowing yeah it's crack, yeah it's cringe, no I dont really ship that, but it is so cursed i want to show it. Inflict psychic damage, all that.

The second problem is, they liked it.

At a moment when I had a lot of creative energy and not a lot of serotonine from my other works, a tiny group of people cheered really loud for it, encouraging me to write this cursed thing. They all knew it was cursed, but all knew it was also very funny. And... so I did.

I wrote a follow up, a quick 2k written in one day. I never did anything that fast. Then they started talking about AU to make it work, even with the villain canonically dead. He's just been recruted by the big villains of s6, so now he can keep being pathetic and fighting with our hero.

I'm writing an AU after writing 3 pwp.

I published the first fic. My friends came to raz on me. People I didnt know commented on it.

Now this character, minor pathetic villain that dies at the result of his own plan in the same season he's introduced, and that nobody mentionned since... now he's being talked about. He's beeing shipped with other painfully average guys. He's cited as a cursed little man, cringefail compilation incarnate.

I think i created this. It is so funny. It is so terrible.

#vdf #renave

[tiralja]

Ok, I have to scream about this somewhere but nobody I know cares about trashy trasmigration bls so! Here we go!

You ever read something with such a stupid cracky premise that there is no way yhat you can take it seriously? Like a 35yr old dude getting thrown into his students smutty bl book about a world that has holy relics that are dildos and whos main character exists just to get fucked by all the characters there? Like one of those really smutty ones, with love interests that crossed the line between pushy and outright abusive sometime last century? Exept this isn't that main character. The MC's supposed to be this longhaired twinky pretty boi and instead they get this muscly teacher who has and will punch the main leads face in if they don't start behaving soon.

So it's one of those stories, where the new main character changes the plot, charms the main leads and has to complete a stupid quest (it's those gd dildo relics, they were stolen and he has to find them) and it's all fun and games!

Until it's very much not.

It's only been like 30 chapters but so far we have gotten:

A long flashback into the original MC's timeline and seen a glimpse of how had it actually was for him (real gd bad, holy shit that's some graphic whump)

Good old race inequality (this is a fantasy setting, some races in there are treated p damn bad)

Both of the current main characters companions getting slowly worse over time as the main character doesn't allow them to fuck him (one of them is also very gd unstable and has tried to get into his pants multiple times, including that time he made an obedient clone of the MC, fucked it on top of his sleeping body and then when that wasn't satisfying enough woke the man himself up so the clode could finish on his face. This man is certifiably insane) and hints that they also have bad backstories them both.

Add to all that that apparently the original MC also exist int this world, has stolen a legendary sword, is going around killing hordes of demons and also knows the current MC by name.

This is just!!!!!

I love it when the story you start reading for crack takes you by the scruff of your neck and trows you right into the deep end of some actually really interesting plot and characters!

Like, what is that psychos deal, how long untill the sweet seeming companion completely cracks, and most importantly, what the hell is up with the original main character?

#Talks #Rants #Long post #It's just #I wanna know what happens next so bad #The story has gotten further and further away from slapstick ideas of a dude trying to avoid getting dicked down #To showing a world that could have gone so gd dark #And still has all the seed sto end up there anyways #Because so far #The reason our MC didn't end up beaten up #Slashed #His bones broken #And then taken by force anyway #Is because the sadistic main leads tend to like the fight this new one gives them #Which retroactively makes the original MC so gd tragic #We get a glimpse into his head #And all of that did happen to him #But he couldn't fight back #Which made it even worse #So now it looks like #It could be that the original MC got influenced by our current MC maybe? #When they shared that long torturous moment #But I can't know #Because i ran out of chapters #This could have been a readmore #But I'm on desktop on mobile #So I don't know how to do that #Just scroll past if you don't wanna know

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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@twitchchatvroom  @parkeepingparker

#wilbur soot x reader #ghostbur x reader #jschlatt x reader #mexican dream x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: swearing #tw: death #tw: near death #tw: blood #tw: panic attack #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: grief

[yinses]

relationship headcanons

gojo satoru x instructor!reader

rating: t

a/n: we all obsess over gojo, now it’s time for him to simp over you

— you’re a teacher over at the sister school and have been rivals with gojo since before your own graduation. you’ve come close but have never bested him, so you’ve put all your frustration into raising the next generation of sorcerers to be stronger than his class ( and ofc to take out curses)

it’s all seriousness for you but fun and games for gojo. not everyone simps for him, believe it or not. the man is challenged on the daily but it’s less of an annoyance when it’s you. maybe because you don’t call him out for it. there is no boisterous demand for a showdown or obsessive rivalry. you bide your time and out your efforts into your students where it matters the most.

he can tell you want to make a bigger point. that the entire jujusu kaisen institution doesn’t need to rely on him to solve their problems. you truly believe that you can bring stronger comrades to the table. the goal of besting him was just a side objective

— you’re attractive. he’s attractive. there is no denying it. maybe under different circumstances he might have already taken you to bed by now but the chase is more thrilling. he’s known you for over a decade now but he doesn’t know the intimacies of your past. it’s a gamble how many people you’ve dated or what your experiences are like, but he does know he definitely has a chance.

the sexual tension is always there. more prominent for gojo because honestly he finds you determination so fucking sexy. the man is dominant but to be pinned down by your thighs ascends him. he has your number and is never not in your inbox. you rarely respond but he knows you read them, especially since he squeezes little updates about his class progress in between romantic poem quotes and blasts from the past.

you never answer his facetime calls but occasionally you’ll indulge a regular call, if only to voice appease him enough to stop him from filling your voicemail box. as you’re preparing dinner in your kitchen, he’s going on and on about little things that shouldn’t matter. but he doesn’t really have anyone else and it shows.

the man is an open book. confessing sprinkles of his frustrations around jesting stories about his cute little students and the bakery he now coined his favorite just two kilometers from his house.

sometimes he reminisces about school. about how visiting the sister school to see you was his favorite part of the semester. but he also delves into his own small class and how he misses the shenanigans the use to raise yaga’s blood pressure frequently. sure shoko is still here but geto- fuck, the guilt cracks in his voice. you don’t say anything still, what could you anyway to a man you shouldn’t adore baring his soul to you? but before a decision can come to head he’s swapped back to his usual self.

‘so that bakery has this delicious tiramisu. why don’t you let me eat it off of you one of these days? i love dessert in bed.’

across the city, gojo smiles so hard his cheeks sting when you hang up on him, shoulders more at ease than they’ve been in days.

— he never shows up for his meetings with yaga, god forbid there be a special invite from the croaking old bastard. but fuck- if you’re there? the man is on time just so he can secure a seat next to you.

you know this guy manspreads. thighs wide enough to align them with yours. you’re not jumpy, reading easily between the lines as you give him a curt glance from the corner of your eye. it’s a useless scold, because you only recieve a cocky grin.

god and does it egg him on. this man feeds on crumbs of your attention. his arm lounging comfortably along the back of the couch, fingertips dancing along the edge of your shoulder and tickling the collar of your neck.

it’s the fact that you’re consensual to it all that keeps him going. sure you bite back and huff with your cute little irritated pout- but you never say no. and that’s all the fuel he needs.

he can hear everyone just fine- like they’re sitting right there. but catch him leaning close, shoulders knocking together while he whispers in your ear. he’ll ask you to repeat things he definitely did not miss. ask you to explain things he obviously comprehends. you roll your eyes but coddle him anyway if only to cure your own boredom.

bonus: off to the side, miwa watches the two adults conspiring, foreheads just a breath away from tapping. she’s rooting for gojo if only for the benefit of seeing him around more. she’s been wanting to ask you to invite gojo-sensei to guest speak for months.

— fighting with you is basically foreplay. he’s never been so intimate with his infinity, absorbing every punch and jab. not enough to hurt terribly , but it’s physical contact from you and he won’t pass it up.

he’s supposed to be showing off for his students. itadori, his biggest fan, front and center as his own personal cheering squad. he can beat you but not demolish. you actually bring a challenge, which is why the two of you are often a treat at the exchange event.

gojo wants nothing more than to pin you down when the two of you grapple close for comfort. he knows he can get away with a nice hard grind or two, even thinks you’ll let him.

but his inner thoughts are his own downfall when you manage to get on top instead. not that he’s complaining. his infinity is strapped tight to his body, just barely keeping you at bay as you try to force your limbs to keep him in place.

this is bad. so bad because you’re leaning close- the hair from your sloppy bun whispering at his cheek. and your face is right there, near enough that he could flinch and you would be touching.

it’s entirely too intimate for a fight between instructors at a public event but damn he’s willing to let his guard down. besides what the fuck is he supposed to do when he can feel your mouth moving against the barrier.

‘is this how our first kiss is going to be? just you, me and the infinity?’

jesus fucking christ if you thought he was strong enough for that. it may as well be ‘pass go’ for gojo. because one second you’re held up by the invisible void and the next you’re tasting something sweet.

he’d just eaten a pack of chocolate covered cherries.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo blessings #some queso.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

if I can never give you peace — two || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 5.8k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers // Ao3

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): Descriptions of violence, Threats, kind of dark in general

First · Previous · Next

The car is late, you think as you smooth over the fabric of your skirt, your mouth twisted in a disapproving scowl. Annoyance is one of the few emotions that ever appear on your face, and you don’t even bother to hide it. You have only been standing there, waiting, for a few minutes, but it already disrupts your perfectly well-oiled routine. This is just one of the many changes that have come with Jungkook taking over, but it could be the one you are the least fond of.

You used to have the routine down to a T. You knew exactly when to leave your apartment so that the car would stop in front of you right as you reached the pavement. There were small hiccups every now and then — traffic, last-minute phone calls —, but most of the time, it went perfectly. You liked that. Having that kind of control, when your life had always been completely out of your hands, was comforting.

That went out the window the day you started working for Jungkook.

When the car stops in front of you, five minutes, that’s three-hundred seconds, after the agreed-upon time, you take a short breath before opening the door and stepping in.

There, of course, is your new boss, sitting with his legs widely spread on the leather seat. He changed your discreet sedan for a limousine, which you find obnoxious, but you didn’t protest. You liked to think that you were better than that at picking your battles

“Mr. Jeon,” you say with a nod, voice even.

Jungkook grins when you call him that. You know he enjoys the title, the power it indicates, particularly since hybrids are supposed to only ever have the same last name as their owners.

“Lot of work to be done today,” he comments, and you know he’s just saying that to rile you up. You used to report to Mr. X, but you worked on your own more often than not. Now, you’re basically Jungkook’s glorified secretary. You wouldn’t particularly mind the change if it didn’t mean that you had to sit and watch him superbly ignore your carefully crafted schedule, as he had every single day for the past week.

“Indeed,” you reply without batting an eyelid. “This morning, you have a meeting with Suga,” this one he should go to, he never misses them, “then you are supposed to eat with Fred Lucas,” chances were he wouldn’t show up to that and make you take him to a fancy restaurant instead, and you would be the one to have to handle the situation with him, “and later today I think it would be important for you to pay a visit to the Mystery Room.” That place was one of the few legal aspects of the business at the moment, if you ignore the drugs that get sold there, and it was not a location you should lose right now. “They have been quite… difficult, since the change in direction.”

That last one is new, and you’re not sure how Jungkook will react to it. Of course, there is plenty more work to do, but you’re trying out new methods to get him to do at least what really matters. You don’t understand why he would hire you if he doesn’t let you do your job, but hey, at least you’re alive. And so is your family.

You don’t know how long that will last, though. Unless Jungkook seriously gets his act together, it won’t take long for someone to think that they can do the same thing he did, and have him murdered. You’re even mildly surprised it hasn’t happened yet. That’s the thing, when a leader gets killed. It weakens the whole structure, and it gives people ideas.

The grin disappears from Jungkook’s face and he nods gravely at that last piece of information. That catches your eye, because it’s new. You tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, he spent the last week riding the high of his victory against Mr. X, and that he will be efficient if there’s trouble, at least.

“Cancel that second thing,” he says. “I want to eat at that restaurant I went to last week. You should get me a reservation there.”

Or not.

“But you can go meet him,” he adds, and you blink.

“Mr. Lucas is expecting to see you,” you say, in case you weren’t clear.

“And he doesn’t get to demand my presence like that,” Jungkook snaps. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from wincing. His voice sounds harsh, cutting. Dangerous. “Did he think that I’d go ask for treats because a human joined us? That’s not how that shit works.”

Okay. He’s not wrong here, but you don’t know about this— approachto the situation. Fred is, indeed, one of the two human leaders who decided to immediately join Jungkook when the news of the death of Mr. X and the uprising of hybrids in various parts of your branches in the city spread. You wouldn’t be surprised if he expected a treatment of favor for that, too, but you’re not sure letting him know how little his gesture was appreciated was the way to go.

“I don’t think—”

“He’s replaceable,” Jungkook says with a dismissive movement of the wrist. “I’ll swap him for one of my men the second he makes a mistake. It would be a lot better if no one forgot that.”

The look he gives you makes his message crystal clear. You feel your mouth getting dry, but you know nothing is showing in your expression, and that at least is a relief.

“I’ll go to the meeting and get you your reservation, then,” you say, pulling out your phone. “Does the rest of the schedule work for you?”

Jungkook frowns, and the tiniest feeling of satisfaction spreads in your chest. You know he’s just applying pressure and waiting for you to crack, but you won’t.You’re used to contorting yourself to please everyone. You’ve made it work for years, and it will take much more than those childish games for you to snap.

Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past week.

“Fine.” Then he closes his eyes and leans back in the seat. You raise an eyebrow at the sight. You know it’s not because he trusts you, but because he doesn’t think you have the guts to do anything to him — and because, even if you did, he’s pretty confident he wouldn’t have any trouble stopping you. You hate that you find something endearing in that vision. Jungkook was genetically designed to be handsome, and he is.More than that, though, when you look at him right now, even though his long bunny ears are skillfully hidden under a headband, he looks cute.

And he could — and would — take less than a second to snap your neck.

“This afternoon should be fun at least,” he mumbles under his breath, and you hide your grimace.

Shit. That can’t be good.

It’s been clear to you from the very first day that Suga knows exactly what he is doing. It’s also been clear that this isn’t his scene. Being at the forefront of operations, taking the lead — it’s obvious that he would much rather stay in the shadows. You’re not sure how important he was to Jungkook’s organization before, since no one has bothered trying to inform you of that, but you suspect that he’s usually more the type to be in the field.

Right now, though, he’s standing in front of a small group, exposing what the recent developments have been. Sitting behind Jungkook, you listen to him attentively. Those reunions should become less frequent, but right now things could still change completely, and you cannot afford to be taken by surprise.

You are, however, starting to feel less and less comfortable with the fact that nothing seems to be coming out of them. Sure, Yoongi informs you of the people who have sided with Jungkook and of those who are openly opposed to him — a minority, so far — but there is a large group in between that seems to be in no hurry to take position. And you don’t like it.

It hasn’t been long since Jungkook has taken over, but you should at least have gotten someintel by now. You’re not sure what isn’t working here. For now, you don’t want to risk provoking anyone by offering your services. Worry is starting to gnaw at you, though. You could all be driving into a dead-end street at full speed, and that stupid struggle you’re having with Jungkook just isn't worth dying over.

“So not much has changed,” Jungkook comments, tapping his fingers onto the table. He looks nonchalant, but you notice a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wonder if he understands more than he lets on.

“Things have been stagnant,” Yoongi admits without batting an eye. “There hasn’t been any open rebellion, but communication is lacking.”

“That needs to get better.”

“We’re working on it.”

They probably are, but it doesn’t look like that’s going well. Word has reached your ears that some of the branches have been keeping hybrids at bay as discreetly as possible.

“What about that Mystery Room thing?” Jungkook asks, frowning. “What’s going on over there?”

“The what?” Yoongi frowns.

Jungkook looks puzzled — pissed, actually — for a second, then glances at you over his shoulder, and the attention of the whole room suddenly shifts to you. You straighten your back, swallow.

“The owner of the bar has missed a payment to us,” you state calmly, “and it seems that he has no intention of making it and is trying to get out of his contract with us. It would be better if we didn’t lose it right now.”

“What do you mean, ‘it seems’?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his golden eyes at you. His voice sounds more like a hiss, and this time, you struggle to hide your reaction. You haven’t forgotten what it felt like, when you thought he was going to kill you. It’s affected you more than you’d like to admit.

“I have a contact who—”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, and you close your mouth.

“I’m going there today,” Jungkook informs him, and Yoongi nods.

“I’ll be around.”

The two men have a silent exchange of looks. Their relationship is somewhat atypical, not something Mr. X had with anyone. It looks like they genuinely rely on and trust each other. You suppose someone else would find it touching, but you don’t have it in yourself. Especially not when that means they both have it out for you.

“Haven’t you been following what we’ve been talking about here for the past week?” Jungkook snarks at you, and you blink. “Any information you get from now on needs to get to Suga so he can factor it in.” At that, you give him a disbelieving look. That just won’t work. It can’t. Not for the first time, you wonder how much he underestimates you, exactly. If he knew anything about the way you work, about how many contacts you have and how much information you’re usually juggling with, he would never ask that of you.

Yet you nod. You don’t know yet if you’ll send a believable amount of intel to Suga, or just absolutely drown him under it until they tell you to stop, but once more, this just isn’t worth fighting over.

Especially when fighting over something can so easily mean dying over it, in your current situation.

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

He looks displeased, and you know it’s because all he’s waiting for is for you to slip.

“I shouldn’t even bring you to these meetings. You’re not even taking any notes. That’s fucking useless.”

It takes everything in you to bite back a scoff at that. You could tell him you don’t need to take notes when Yoongi is talking about minimal changes in a landscape you know on the tip of your fingers, that maybe you would if he said anything of value, and that this wouldn’t be an issue if people actually feared him.

You marvel at how annoyed that quip makes you. You suppose you don’t like it when your competence is questioned. You don’t like the threat either, though. You don’t want to risk falling out of the loop.

“I’ve gotten you a reservation at that restaurant,” you say. “If things are done here, I’ll be on my way to meet Mr. Lucas.”

Changing the subject. Deflecting. Trying your best to live to see another day. It seems like it’s all you’ve been doing for the past week. You know you can keep it up for a long time, you’re patient enough. You also know that this game is set up to make you lose.

Right now, as Jungkook looks at you, clearly not amused by your attitude, there is a terrifying moment during which you fear that he might just drop the charade. The only point of this whole thing is to get rid of you. He could decide he only wants to do that any second.

“Yeah, right. Be on your way.”

He dismisses you like you’re some low lackey, but that, at least, isn’t anything new, and you know how to handle it. You bow politely, then exit the room.

“You really wanna keep her around?” Yoongi asks once you’re gone, and Jungkook groans.

He doesn’t know why he had expected you to break easily. He’d seen you work for Mr. X, do that same shit he makes you do and survive as long as you had, so he should have known you’d be good at it. He supposes he’d been used to you making decisions for him, back then, and had thought that was a normal thing for you, that you wouldn’t enjoy being in the position of taking orders. But you were, after all, just someone who worked for others that whole time.

Not that he gives a fuck about it. He couldn’t care less why you did the things you did. All he wants is to give you a taste of your own medicine. Dangling a false chance of survival in front of your eyes and let you handle the rest yourself. So as long as you push through… well. He’ll let it slide.

It’s not like you can keep doing it forever anyway.

Fred Lucas worries you. He’s always smiled too widely, been too loud, made too many jokes. You know Mr. X considered him to be some sort of buffoon, but also kept his distance from him. Mr. X didn’t like people who pretended to wear their hearts on their sleeves.

“Always a pleasure to see you, (Y/N),” he greets you warmly when you walk up to him and you give him a nod. If he’s upset that Jungkook isn’t there, he doesn’t show it, just like you don’t show your distaste for his use of your first name. “I’d like to discuss with just you, though,” he adds, eyeing Hector, who’s standing beside you. The fact that you still have him by your side is the only good thing that has come from working for Jungkook so far.

You don’t like that. You’re all too aware of the fact that this is his land, and that the only reason why he’s saying that is that Hector is a hybrid. If that gets back to Jungkook, it wouldn’t be good for Fred — but you don’t think he’ll go down without a fight. You glance at Hector, who looks as placid as always and offers no help. The gears in your head are turning fast. Before, you were protected by how indispensable you were considered by Mr. X. That is clearly not the case anymore, but Fred likely isn’t aware of that. Yet.

On the other hand, sending Hector away would show weakness, and you can’t afford that.

“Hector goes where I go,” you say.

Fred’s smile widens even more.

“Of course, of course, can’t trust anyone those days, can you?”

You wonder if it’s a jab at you and how quickly you changed sides, but he is more or less in the same position, so you could just be paranoid.

“Come on, come on in, let’s get ourselves a drink.”

You don’t want a drink, but you do follow him in. The sooner you do that, the sooner you will be out of here.

Fred has a lot of things to say. Most of it isn’t relevant to anything that is happening right now, but you’ve never been able to tune things out. You always worry you’ll miss an essential piece of information. So you listen as he babbles about his business — getting weapons in and out of the city, something he is decently good at — but also about his family, his friendships, and his favorite kind of alcohol. You let him pour you a glass, even if you have no intention of touching it.

“I hear you,” you manage to interrupt him, “but I am curious to know why you wanted a meeting with Mr. Jeon. It seems to me that you have the situation here under control.”

Flattery has always worked on Fred, and you have no issue in using that against him.

“Of course we do,” he gloats. “It’s just— There are a lot of rumorsfloating around those days, you know?”

You do know. You suspect Fred has heard the same things as you. You also suspect most people have been very careful not to let those things reach Yoongi’s ears.

“People are talking about a ‘human opposition’ forming,” Fred gasps dramatically. “Can you believe it? Some people are really not happy about being led by a hybrid.”

That seems to be more concrete than what you’ve heard, which means that Fred could be exaggerating things… or that he was contacted to join that opposition. And you don’t like that second possibility, not at all. You trust Fred about as far as you can throw him, and that means you certainly don’t trust him to not try and play both sides.

“That was to be expected,” you reply calmly. “I do not doubt that Mr. Jeon knew such a reaction was coming.”

Fred narrows his eyes at you, trying to gauge what you knew then and what you know now. Which isn’t much, but that’s not something you plan to let slip out.

“Do you know of anything specific?”

You see from the glint in Fred’s eyes that he knows the game is on. If you know something and he doesn’t tell you, he will look suspicious, but he could also reveal too much, and you doubt he wants to play his cards so soon.

“I— don’t, unfortunately,” he finally says, and you nod. Either he hasn’t heard of the Mystery Room, or he is voluntarily hiding it from you. Regardless, that limits how useful he is to you. “But the word on the street is that Jungkook may not know what he’s doing all that well.”

You send him a sharp glance. He’s taking a risk in telling you that, you both know it. That doesn’t make the information any less precious.

“I see. And, again, I don’t suppose you know where this— ‘word on the street’ is coming from?”

He shrugs, a true picture of innocence, and maybe you’d have believed it if Fred hadn’t been in the business for longer than you. He knew, he just wasn’t telling because he wanted to preserve his opportunities if something happened.

“I have to go, then. Thank you for the drink, Mr. Lucas.”

“Please,” he says, holding out his hand. “Call me Fred.”

That won’t be happening.

“Goodbye, Mr. Lucas.”

Once you’re out, you take a second to collect yourself, Hector following like a shadow and waiting for you silently.

“Is everything okay?” he asks after you’ve mulled over the conversation that just happened for several minutes.

“It’s fine,” you say as a reflex. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Fred had taken a gamble when he’d proclaimed his allegiance to Jungkook. He’d bet on him coming out on top, and yet you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t think of a reason why he would do that instead of carefully waiting to see how things would go, like everyone else. You didn’t like this. Not one bit. “We need to get to Mystery Room,” you add.

“Of course,” Hector nods, gesturing towards the limo, and you don’t bother repressing a groan this time.

“God. That’s so tacky.”

That brings a smile to Hector’s lips, but you don’t smile back. You never do. Instead, you climb in, roll your eyes at the whole thing, and let yourself be driven away. You can’t come to a conclusion about Fred Lucas just yet, but you have no intention of forgetting about him either.

It takes you a few seconds, once you’re out of the car, to understand that something isn’t right. You’ve never been good with feelings — instincts, as hybrids call them — and the air doesn’t feel particularly tense or charged to you. Hector stands a little close to you for comfort, and you piece things together from there. There are a few cars around, but not too many, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the middle of the afternoon. Still, you can hear voices from inside, and you know there’s an argument going on there.

“Let’s go,” you say with a decided nod, and Hector leads the way, shoulders tense, ready to pounce if needed. You trust him to do his job, and that’s a lot, coming from you.

You frown when you walk into the bar, taking a few seconds to let your eyes get adjusted to the lack of luminosity, and that frown only deepens when you hear the argument going on and recognize Jungkook’s voice. God. The concepts of subtlety and discretion are completely lost on him, aren’t they?

Making your way through the room, you try to evaluate the situation. Yoongi is leaning against a table, looking bored out of his mind, though you’re sure he doesn’t miss anything from what is going on in the room. As if to prove your point, his golden eyes flick towards you for a second when you approach, before looking away, clearly uninterested. Other than him, it seems that the only other people present are the owner and various employees. You think it’s stupid and dangerous that they showed up here basically alone but, for the millionth time today, you grit your teeth and don’t say anything.

There are five men around, including the bouncer and a security guard. They’re probably armed, and that’s to say nothing of anyone you cannot see. Outside of Yoongi, though, no one pays attention to you, not until the bartender asks loudly “Mojito, as usual, Miss (L/N)?”

It’s a bit early for that, actually, but you give him a nod. The Mystery Room isn’t quite your scene — you’ve always been one to prefer classy restaurants — but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re well-known here, and everywhere, actually, which is something that everyoneknows, except your own boss. That is obvious by the way people’s attitude shifts when they see you. The owner bows to you politely. You acknowledge it with a curt movement of your chin. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. He doesn’t look happy about it.

You wait until you have your glass in your hand to say something. The silence that fills the room is heavy, and you can feel Jungkook’s anger emanating from him, having lost the men’s attention. He’s the man who murdered Mr. X, took over half of his operations without anyone noticing, and their fucking boss, and they’re still treating him like a low-life hybrid.

“You haven’t been paying what you owe us,” you say, almost lightly, when you get your drink. “Has business been slow?”

You know it has. You know people aren’t too sure what to think of Jungkook yet. You also know they’ve still made money. Better yet, you’re sure the men in the room know youknow that. You’re giving them an obvious way out. All they have to do is say “yes”, and you’ll come up with something. You won’t let them go off scot-free, but there’s no need for this to end in a bloodbath, either.

“That’s not the issue,” the man says, voice raspy, and you don’t let it show, of course you don’t, but you’re still taking the hit. They’re underestimating Jungkook.

This might be the last mistake they make.

“I think it would be better for everyone if we could work through whatever issue there is,” you say slowly.

Better for them, really, especially because this is you giving him a second chance. There won’t be a third one.

“I’m afraid we don’t, uh, approve of the recent change in direction,” he replies, a stupid grin on his face. He’s mocking you and your infamous overly procedural speech. You know people say you can’t accept who you’re working for, that you can’t take the idea of having blood on your hands.

You may not care, but you’re well-aware of it, and you really don’t appreciate him saying that to your face. You’ll have to make an example out of him.

You sigh and shake your head at his answer. You’re not going to enjoy this. You’ve seen people’s attempts at rebellion against Mr. X, even if those were few and far between, and no matter how much of a fight they put up, it never ends well. For them.

You’re prepared to just leave the place and arrange for it to be set on fire during the night, when Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of it.

“What’s your problem with the change in direction, fucker?”

The mood changes immediately. Hector’s hand on your shoulder gently pulls you back, and Yoongi hops off the table to come stand next to Jungkook, hands in his pockets. He looks nonchalant and relaxed. He could probably easily kill everyone in this room and not get a drop of blood on his jacket.

The owner squares his shoulders and walks up to him. He’s slightly taller and much larger than Jungkook.

“Listen, bunny…”

You barely have the time to widen your eyes at the word, to think about all the ways Jungkook has made it clear that he’s not your typical rabbit-hybrid before his right hook connects with the man’s jaw, so fast you would have missed it if you’d blinked.

A moment of stunned silence follows, during which the man stumbles backwards, hand coming to cup his face in disbelief. And then, he seems to decide that it’s a good idea to retaliate. The dozens, hundreds maybe, of fights you’ve seen Jungkook win flash before your eyes. He doesn’t stand a chance.

People start moving around you, but it seems like it’s only a fistfight. No guns are drawn, for now, and you’re reminded of how much you fucking hate watching people fight. You take a step back, bored already at this stupid display of strength and violence. Still, you can’t help it when your eyes are drawn to Jungkook. There’s a— curiosity within you. How much has he truly changed, in the past two years?

For one, he certainly isn’t pretending this time, isn’t trying to make this fight last for a few more rounds. There iscertain showmanship there, though, you note. He’s giving time for the owner to recover while he takes out some of the other men with hits of surgical precision. He wants them to seewhatever he’s going to do to their boss. Hector and Yoongi keep the fight contained, don’t let anyone escape or call for help, but Jungkook doesn’t need their help. No one here is a threat to him, and it doesn’t take long for the men to be on the floor, groaning in pain.

The owner pushes himself up, spits some blood on the floor. Jungkook turns to face him and beckons him closer with a flick of his hand. He looks amused.

“You fucking piece of—”

This time, Jungkook doesn’t go for the head. His fist gets the man in the ribs, and that first punch is followed by dozens of others, not giving the man any respite, not letting him breathe. When the man falls back, Jungkook doesn’t stop, though the hits slow down, based on what you can see and hear. You have to clench your jaw to stop yourself from grimacing at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, of the bones underneath clashing. It was drowned out, back when he fought in a ring, but knowing it was there disgusted you back. You don’t know why, you just hate it. It makes you sick.

When Jungkook finally gets back up, he hasn’t even broken a sweat. There are five men on the ground, clenching different parts of their bodies and crying out in pain, and he isn’t even out of breath.

“You should fucking reconsider,” he spits out.

They won’t have to. This place will be gone soon enough.

His eyes meet yours as he walks out, and his expression turns to a disgusted scowl. It almost draws a scoff out of you, but you hold it in, and instead, you follow him dutifully.

Jungkook doesn’t speak to you in the car, eyes instead on his bloody knuckles. It will heal fast, you know, and that’s probably why he doesn’t bother taking care of it. When the car stops, you look outside and find yourself faced with your own apartment building. It’s not even five in the afternoon yet. You turn around to give your boss a quizzical look.

“You’re not needed anymore,” he shrugs. He doesn’t sound like he’s playing this time, though you’re still sure that he wants to get on your nerves.

You hate that it’s working this time.

“The day isn’t—”

“I think you’ve proved exactly how efficient you are today,” he says, obviously dismissing you. “I have no fucking idea how you got this job.”

You bite your tongue not to reply. You don’t care about the job, you don’t care about his opinion of you, you barely even care about the Family. You should just nod, give him the usual “yes, Mr. Jeon,” and walk out. But something keeps you in place a little longer than it should, and that’s how much you hate jobs that aren’t well done.

Your voice sounds distant to your own ears when you say what you’re supposed to, your body doesn’t feel like your own when you walk out and close the door. Your breathing quickens while you hear the car leave behind you like it’s all happening in a dream, your head spins, and you stand frozen in place, staring right in front of you.

Is this your life now? you wonder, feeling your heart thumping like it’s trying to get out of your chest. Are you going to let yourself be so disposable, so mediocre, let everything you’ve spent years building fall apart? This isn’t the time for pride, you’re well aware of that, but it’s still eating at you inside.

You walk back to your apartment like you’re in a trance. There’s a heavy weight on your chest, and you realize you have to make a choice. If things stay like that, you suppose Jungkook will have your head at some point. This is a fight of patience. One you cannot win. But if you make yourself indispensable, then maybe, maybe you can survive it. You’ve done it once already.

You brush aside the little voice mocking your reasoning, telling you that you’re doing this because you don’t want to lose your status. Not because it’s wrong, but because you know that’s not enough of an incentive for you to take a risk. You need something stronger than that. Even if you know it’s a lie.

That doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you dial Yoongi’s number. You’re happy there’s no one to see you, because God, you couldn’t take your carefully crafted facade crumbling right now.

“Yes?” he answers quickly. If he’s surprised to hear from you, it doesn’t show.

“What are the plans for the Mystery Room?” you ask, satisfied that your voice doesn’t quiver, even if you’re a mess right now.

There’s a silence at the other end of the line, and you suspect he’s considering not answering you, so you take the initiative.

“You need to at least replace the owner,” you say, kicking off your shoes. “You can convince him to sell to us,” — convince, one of your favorite euphemisms — “or get rid of him and get the place from his family. Burning the place down is also an option. We can’t let what happened slide like that.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi says.

“Also, it would better if Mr. Jeon could avoid fighting with people. The last thing we want is people who think they can challenge him.”

“He can take them.”

“That’s not the issue. If people think they have a chance, they’ll keep trying. We don’t want them to do that.”

Another, longer silence.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’ll listen to you.”

“And you think I will listen to you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s strange, you know you’re gambling your life right now, but the tension you were experiencing earlier has been replaced by an eerie calm. You feel detached from everything.

Maybe you’ve been doing this for too long.

“You don’t have to,” you say, “but this is my job. I’m good at it. If you just let me do it, it would be far more efficient than whatever has been going on for the last week. I know you don’t trust me, but you can probably come to the same conclusions as me in this situation at least.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. This is an explicit critique, something you would never have risked with Mr. X, and it’s the most open act of defiance that you’ve ever done — and it’s to convince them to let you workfor them.

“We’ll see about that,” he replies dismissively, and your shoulders fall at first, but then he adds, almost reluctantly, “I’ll take what you said into consideration.”

“Good. We also need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting. I’ve gotten some important information about the opposition to Mr. Jeon, and I think—”

As you explain the situation to Yoongi, you feel yourself calming down. Maybe it’s because you’re doing something that’s familiar to you, you’re not sure, but you can breathe again, and that solidifies your conviction that you’re making the right decision.

Finally, you’re ready to take back your life.

Tag list: @chaiwivluv @mintyrae @btswdwsmhrdt @xxquenwxtchxx @fekitza @kimmieloveswho @deeepvibes @lonleycoffee @gookiebts @kpop-baka @taecallsmenoona @mimiinluv @dabbingangels @jooahchu

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook #jeon jungkook #hybrid jungkook #bts mafia au #bts hybrid au #candywrites #if i can never give you peace

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // Ch. 12

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognition, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 18.1k+

Warnings: Abuse and violence, mentions of past sexual abuse, mentions of putting down hybrids, discussion of insomnia caused by a traumatic event, panic attacks, derogetory language

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Phew, that was long one. Please comment and reblog it really motivates me to keep writing. And I always love receiving asks so don’t be shy ;)

"I can't believe this is happening! Why can't I receive good news for once?" After the initial shock, you were fuming. "Work of months has been destroyed and for what? Because someone decided not to take the proper safety measures to save some money. People could have been hurt in there! Seriously hurt. And it would have been on our heads!"  

Namjoon was holding your phone, the email you had received opened on the screen. "You didn't know they hadn't taken the necessary precautions. It wouldn't have been on your head."  

"Can you imagine what would have happened if we had been filming? If the actors and the crew were inside and the building collapsed on us?" The chair scraped against the floor as you raised to your feet. You couldn't stay sitting anymore. "I don't even want to think about that. How many people... If we would even get out of there alive. And it isn't only us. What if the earthquake hadn't hit at night? And the workers were still inside? What then? This is wrong on so many levels I can't even begin to count."  

Five point six Richter. That was the magnitude of the earthquake that had hit Virginia. It had been felt in Washington. They said it had affected a radius of two hundred kilometers around the center of the earthquake. No one had expected it and no one had been prepared. In the email there was a detailed description of how the earthquake had caused the sets for The Raven Cycle to collapse in on themselves, because the respective protection measures hadn't been taken. The earthquake had hit at night, waking up everyone in the area and causing panic as people flooded the streets. They had discovered the ruined sets in the morning.  

Protection measures were of utmost important in every environment and you were baffled that a film studio with such prestige would disregard them so easily. You had half a mind to storm into the building you had just returned from and make a scene in front of everyone. They had put everyone in danger, not only the actors and the crew and all the people working there but also the passersby who could have had metal rods falling on their heads.  

How could they allow this? How could they be so careless? It wasn't a building made for only a couple of days of use with light materials. Filming would take place there for the better part of the summer. In a few months you would have been there. You could have been there.  

"And now you have to leave?" Namjoon asked, jaw tense. "Can't you wait a few days and go later?" You knew what he was thinking. You didn't want to leave either. It was the worst time possible for you to leave. The two hybrids in the guestroom, the injuries you had to tend to, Jimin and Jungkook, Jimin's past. But it wasn't your decision to make.  

"I can't, they have already planned the whole trip. It isn't like I have a choice. The message is clear, I will be flying to Virginia in two days. As the director and showrunner, I have to be there. They have called everyone important in the project and I am one of the lucky ones. And it isn't like I can refuse unless I have a very important reason. And I can't exactly tell them I am nursing to health a stray hybrid until he and his friend can live on their own again, instead of reporting them to the hybrid services."  

Namjoon's face scrunched up at the mention of the services. They were anything but kind to hybrids. They thought they could do anything to them if they were strays before they had to give them to a center. The times he and his small pack had to run away from them weren't few. It disgusted you, the way some people behaved.  

You landed back on your chair with a huff, tired of pacing. Namjoon must have got a headache from the way his eyes were following you. "This is just what I didn't need. I thought we wouldn't have to go to Virginia until summer!"  

You felt like banging your head on the wall but you settled for laying you head on the desk. It collided with a dull thud.  

It wasn't only the destroyed set and what that meant for the show. Slowing down of the production, a larger budget needed (oh, the irony) and the bad press you would get if it got out.

People in the area must have suffered. Flashes of collapsed buildings, shattered windows and  cracks in the streets ran through your mind. No, it couldn't be that bad. You prayed it wasn't that bad.  

Namjoon frowned. "What are you supposed to do there? You aren't going to help rebuild the sets. What do they need you for?" You could see the worry in his eyes. His instincts calling him to protect you, to not let you leave. You appreciated the fact he was fighting it.  

With your cheek squished against the desk you said, "No, I'm not going to rebuild the sets, but they need me there nonetheless. There is a legal part of this whole thing I have to be there for. And me being there might help the ones doing the rebuilding."  

Namjoon sighed, giving up on trying to keep you here. "Will John come with you?"  

"Most likely," you said, raising your head from the desk and sitting back on the chair. Your back hurt from the awkward angle you had bent your body in. "I will ask him but I'm pretty sure he will say yes. He always comes with me when I'm working out of California. He has toured half of the world being my bodyguard. And this time.... This time I don't think he would let me go without him."  

 "It seems you do tend to travel a lot," Namjoon noted. There wasn't any judgment or disdain in his voice, he was simply stating a fact. If anything he looked at the cream and gold world globe on your desk with longing. He had told you he had never left California, created and bred in Los Angeles. You didn't like how he said "created" but you couldn't correct him. "It must be nice seeing all those places."  

 The gold of the globe caught the light, distorted figures moving on the polished surface. "It's nice when it's properly planned and when I actually want to go. And there aren't any natural disasters involved. I can't say that's true this time. It's the furthest it could be from the truth." You groaned. "What am I going to do now? I can't leave like this. There are so many things going on."  

 Namjoon was too close to what he looked like talking to you about the ending of the Book Thief. "How long will you be gone?"  

 "A week?" The email didn't specify. A week was how long most work trips that didn't include filming lasted, but this wasn't a normal work trip. This had never happened to you or to anyone you knew before. You had heard of disasters but nothing like this.  

 Your fingers had subconsciously started drumming a tune on the desk. A tune that had comforted you once. A tune he used to hum long before he turned it into a song. You stilled your hand.  

 An earthquake. Five point six Richter. Shaking buildings, rattling shelves, trembling chandeliers, cupboards opening and dishes and glasses falling to the floor. The kind of thing you see on the TV. The kind of thing you don't ever expect to witness. No one expects a disaster like that to strike out of the blue, but that's the way it is. There is no one to warn you, no one who can.  

 You didn't go to dinner. You told Namjoon not to wait for you, you would eat later. Climbing down the stairs, you stopped in front of the door and knocked. The reply was the same and Yoongi opened the door like every time.  

Every room had a medical kit in the bathroom, the one in this had to be restocked twice in the past few days.  

 Hoseok gave you a small smile and extended his broken arm. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you started telling him of the time you had spent in the Caribbean Sea. You had stayed there for a few months and had spent most of that time in Jamaica and Puerto Rico. The sandy beaches, the endless turquoise sea and the colorful houses didn't fail to bring a smile to your face. The people had been welcoming and kind, eager to help with any problems production faced. They invited you to nights full of dancing and music and included you in everything like you belonged there.  

 The movie you had filmed wasn't one of your biggest hits. It wasn't nominated for an Oscar and although it did earn much recognition and was played at multiple international film festivals, it wasn't as successful as your other films. But it was the most fun you had had filming. The actors were incredible both at their job and out of it. You had spent some of the best nights of your life there.  

 As you fastened the splint in place around Hoseok's arm, you told him of the night they had lit large bonfires along the beach and all the people in the area had gathered around to have a few drinks and dance. Your mind, however, wasn't on the story. A fractured arm and a rib wasn't something you should be treating at home. It didn't matter how many first aid classes you had attended, a lot of things could go wrong. But it was either this or nothing. When you had suggested taking Hoseok to the hospital, Yoongi had almost bitten your head off.  

Hoseok was laying back against the pillows with his eyes clothes when you were done. He was doing better. Having regular meals and being able to wash made the improvement more evident. He didn't complain when you were treating him but you could see his eyes clenching shut when you were applying salve to the most tender spots. The stories helped. They distracted him and you could work easier. He rarely spoke but lately he had been brave enough to voice any questions he had and you had readily answered him. Progress. Progress you hoped wouldn't halt now.  

"This is it for today," you said, rubbing your hands together and getting up. "In a few days you won't have any trouble moving around on your own. Not anything too strenuous, though, no running or jumping around."  

"Thank you." Hoseok spoke softly, like being any louder would break an unspoken rule. Like it would get him punished.  

Yoongi was sitting on the chaise lounge by the glass wall, facing away from you. The fire pits were lit all the way along the balconies, flames licking up the darkness of the night. He didn't look at you while you were there, only stealing glances when he thought you weren't looking. When his eyes met yours he would scowl and look away.  

"There is something I wanted to tell you," you started. You didn't know how else to say it so you jumped in head first. "I was called to Virginia for work. I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow." Yoongi's back stiffened, his tail stilling in the air. Hoseok's eyes turned impossibly wide. "I don't know yet how long I will stay there but it will be some time before I can come back. I thought you should know because I won't be able to treat you."  

Yoongi huffed. "Who will be our caretaker then?"  

You paused by the door. "Do you think you need one?"  

"Is this a joke?" Yoongi's fists clenched. There was no blood on them anymore.  

It wasn’t a secret that hybrids were treated like pets, that included having someone babysit them when the owner was gone. You had been through it before when you had left for New York shortly after you had adopted Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook. Everyone had expected you to ask someone to take care of them. You hadn’t. They could take care of themselves and each other just fine.

It was the same now.

“If you think you need a caretaker I can hire one for you, but I doubt you do,” you said. “I think you can survive in the Castle without me for a few days. If I’m gone for longer than a week, Helen my housekeeper will come over to do some cleaning. She usually comes over a few times a week. And the gardener comes by quite often. ”  

Yoongi looked stunned but schooled his features quickly. Hoseok’s ears were pinned against his head. You closed the door behind you.

Why did your work’s timing had to always be that bad?

An earthquake. A fucking earthquake.

In the kitchen, the table was served. The mouthwatering smell of the food drifted in the air. Jimin, Namjoon and Jin were sitting around the table, Jungkook absent once again. No one had touched their plates.  

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” you said taking your seat. Your plate was filled with a generous slice of meat pie and fresh salad. Your stomach grumbled. You hadn’t noticed you were that hungry.

“We wanted to wait for you.” Jimin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, it hadn’t since the day he had come running to you, begging you to take him with you to work. Jungkook spent most of his time at the atelier and he slept in Jin’s room at night. Every time he didn’t show up for meals, the light in Jimin’s eyes dimmed further.

You picked up your fork and knife and cut into the pie. The taste was heavenly, not that you had expected anything else from Jin. You told him so and delighted in the way he got flushed and tried to cover it by a terrible joke he must have come up with on the spot. While you ate, you didn’t speak much, thinking about the best way to bring up the news crawling up your throat. Namjoon squeezed your hand under the table.

When your plates were empty and Jimin was laying his head on Jin’s shoulder, you decided it was time. You put your fork aside. You started by the email, the email that had looked so inconspicuous at first because you received emails like that all the time. An email labeled “important” was often not as important as the people sending it thought it was. You couldn’t have guessed what it contained inside. You hadn’t been prepared.

Your leg was moving up and down on the metal foothold of the stool, mimicking your racing heartbeat. An earthquake had struck Virginia at night. You repeated the dry words of the email, of someone who hadn’t felt the terror of the earth shaking underneath their feet. Five point six Richter, strong enough to knock down the sets they had been building for months. You were required to be there in two days.  

Jimin’s bottom lip was trembling. “How long will you stay?”

You shook your head. It was the same question you were asking and had no answers for. Even if you called someone in the company they wouldn’t have anything but speculations for you. “I hope no more than a week.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Jin asked. “What if there are aftershocks, or if it was a warning for a larger one coming?”

Jin’s question brought an dreadful shine to Jimin’s eyes. You had thought of that as well but your mind was troubled already as it was. Questions of your safety would take this too far. For once, you didn’t trust the company you were working with to keep you safe. You would have to do research before you left and take all the necessary precautions. You wouldn’t risk it like they had.

Namjoon wrapped his hand around his glass but didn’t bring it to his lips. “John will be with her. They will be alright.” It didn’t calm down Jimin who hugged himself tightly, dropping his head to his chest.

You couldn’t watch him suffering anymore. Getting up, you walked to him and hugged his from behind, prying his hands away so they were over yours instead. “I promise I’ll call you every day and we will text. It’s like when I was in New York and you texted me every day about what you got up to and what you were thinking. Your texts made me forget all about work and how tired I was.” Jimin sniffled but his cheeks remained dry. “It’s only a few days. They’ll be over soon. You won’t be alone here.”

Jin ruffled Jimin’s hair and the cat hybrid wrapped one arm around the oldest, pulling him into the hug. You placed a kiss on both their head, making Jin flush again. He wasn’t used to physical attention the way Jimin was but he craved it too and you were trying to make sure he felt as loved as he was.  

Namjoon held Jimin while you and Jin cleaned the table. He grabbed Jimin’s thighs lifting him up and carried him to the living room. The younger laughed all the way there, telling him to put him down. His tight hold around Namjoon’s neck told him a very different thing.

But you weren’t done yet. You had one more person to tell.

The atelier’s door was half open. You knocked once on the wood before opening it all the way. The room could be described as an organized mess. Two canvases were set up in the middle of the room and three half-finished ones stood against the cabinets. The floor was covered in newspapers splattered with all the colors of the rainbow and paint tubes were lined on the tables in no particular order.  

“I finished dinner, you can take it,” he said, gesturing to the tray on one of the tables with the hand not holding a brush.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” One of his ears perked up as you walked closer. The canvas he was working on now was a blend of shades of purple, orange and yellow with no definitive details. “What are you painting.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know yet.” Moving forward with no destination. You knew how that felt.

Jungkook hadn’t distanced himself just from Jimin but from everyone. He didn’t run to you to hug you and scent you when you came back like he used to do. He didn’t come up to the living room to watch TV and talk until you were too exhausted to keep your eyes open. He didn’t show you his progress on the paintings. He didn’t annoy Jin while he cooked (the oldest liked it even if complained). He didn’t come to meals. Meals were family time.

Being in the atelier now was different to any other time. It was the stifling feeling of an empty page, which used to be ecstasy. It was wrong, something missing.

“I have to leave for Virginia the day after tomorrow,” you said, ripping the band-aid off. The times you had said it today were too many. Surprised doe eyes turned to you. You explained the story once again and waited.

Jungkook seemed to be bracing himself for something. “Can you take me with you?”

“Take you with me?” you repeated, dumbfounded.  

He nodded. The brush he had been holding had fallen to the floor at some point painting the newspapers in a shock of deep purple. Neither of you had noticed. “I won’t bother you. I’ll listen to everything you say. You can leave me at the hotel. I won’t cause any trouble, no one will know I’m there.” He lowered his head. “I need to be away from here.”  

“Jungkook…” Your hand touched his cheek and you felt the way he clenched his jaw under the touch. “If this is-”

“Don’t,” he begged, pulling away. A pained desperation coloring his voice. “You don’t know what I did. If you did-” He took a sharp breath. “Can I come with you? Please.”

Stifling. You hadn’t considered taking any of the hybrids with you now. You had planned on inviting them along when you would go there for filming, a much more fun part of your job. This would be a busy trip and most likely far from enjoyable. It could be dangerous. But Jungkook’s eyes were begging you. He was fading away locked up in the atelier avoiding everyone.  

“Okay. If you really want to, you can come with me. I’ll help you pack the essentials,” you said. Jungkook visibly relaxed. Maybe you should have pressed more. Insisted on him speaking with Jimin before you left or after you came back. But you were exhausted and a headache was brewing behind your temples.  

Jungkook glanced at a canvas covered with a white sheet at a corner. You’d let it go for now.

When Jimin sneaked into your room late into the night, you didn’t say anything pulling up the covers in a silent invitation. Jimin crawled underneath and hid in your arms. Against every expectation you fell asleep. Orange bottle untouched in the bathroom cabinet.

The days leading up to your departure were every kind of hectic. Panic had taken over the studios and the atmosphere was tense in every meeting. No one wanted to admit the colossal mistake that could have cost the lives of so many people. The press was another matter entirely. The project could get a bad reputation before it was aired. It was emotionally exhausting, your brain working in overdrive, coming up with solutions to problems that may or may not arise. You had to be prepared for the worst.

At home it wasn’t much better. You had started packing for the weird end-of-spring weather in Virginia. The Raven Cycle books and a little research had provided you with enough information about what to expect. Dry, warm and with a possibility of thunderstorms. It could also get cold at night so you made sure to pack a few sweatshirts.  

You helped Jungkook pack his things in a similar way. He had a habit of wearing long sleeves even when it was hot so you packed a few more sweatshirts and hoodies for him. He continued not talking much but he looked calmer now that you were leaving. All you wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything was going to be alright. But you didn’t think that would be welcome.

Jimin had timidly offered to take care of Hoseok’s injuries while you were gone. You hesitated at first. While they had been here Jimin and Yoongi hadn’t interacted much. You had expected they would talk, figure out the strange tension between them, but they had kept to themselves. You gave in in the end. The worst had come and passed and you trusted Jimin to provide the basic care Hoseok needed.  

He came with you to their room before dinner and you explained to him what you were doing. Hoseok was a little more withdrawn than usual but  he didn’t protest, smiling at Jimin.

You had a long talk with Namjoon in your office the night before the day you were scheduled to leave. There were a lot of things to talk about and you tried to get everything out. All your worries and all the things you thought he should know. When you were spent and his reassurances were buried deep in your chest, he brought you close to him, rubbing his face in your neck. He places light kissed on your skin, his lips trailing up until they were touching yours.

The house was silent. You opened your eyes blearily, staring at your phone. The ringing of the alarm had stopped, leaving large numbers reading the time on the screen. The blinds were closed hiding the morning from you.  

There was a weight on your chest. You looked down to find tired eyes staring up at you. Jimin made a small sound in the back of his throat and nuzzled against you. His blond hair was soft against your fingers as you combed through it. A loud purr escaped him as you scratched the base of his cat ears. He held on to you tighter but the alarm was clear, you needed to get up and get ready. You had a flight to catch.

“No, don’t go,” Jimin whined.

You massaged his head down to his neck. “I have to get up. I’ll miss the plane if I’m late.”

In the shadows of the room you could see the pout on his full lips. “What if you miss it?”

“If I miss it, I’ll get in trouble. And I’d rather not get in trouble.” Jimin snuggled closer to you and you could smell the vanilla shampoo he loved. Mia had said in the early days that she had smelt vanilla and muffins on you and you had guessed that was Jimin’s scent. The shampoo must serve to accentuate his natural scent.  

His cat ears lowered as his tail wrapped around your bare leg. You suppressed a shudder at the feeling of the soft fur against your skin. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I know, that’s why I have to go.” You untangled yourself from the hybrid and pressed the button for the blinds to retreat. The morning light spilled into the room. It caught on Jimin’s curls painting them golden. You had an urge to capture the moment with your camera, the way he looked so soft, hair mussed and eyes still dreaming. Carving the image in your memory, you walked to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the day.

Getting dressed for a flight was different than getting dressed for any other work day. You liked to wear something comfortable that wouldn’t look too bad on camera. You weren’t the kind of celebrity to get mobbed every time you went out but sometimes paparazzi could get wind of where you were going and show up at the airport. When you were traveling for premieres or events, fans and paparazzi would fill the place.  

The previous night you had set aside a pair of loose black pants and a red top. You would also take your leather jacket with you because it could get chilly on the plane.  

Jimin, wearing his stripped white and blue pajamas with the little pink hearts, clung to you like a koala all the way to breakfast. He only let go of you when you placed your large black bag on the floor and took a seat at the kitchen island. Jin was finishing up with cooking, taking the pots off the stove. Breakfast was almost ready.

John would be coming later to drive you to the airport. The black SUV had turned into a sign you would be traveling. Because of the sheer volume of the luggage you always ended up with, a large car was needed to drive you to and from the airport. This time you had packed two suitcases and your handbag. You had been tempted to fill a sac-voyage as well but you quickly abandoned the thought.  

Namjoon arrived, looking wide awake. The opposite of Jimin and his drooping eyes. Only one was missing. And you weren’t compromising today.

“Jungkook?” you asked. The others exchanged a glance. It told you enough. “I’m going to go get him. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Their gazes followed you as you left. They probably didn’t believe you could get him to come up. And any other day that could have been the case.  

The door of the atelier was closed but you were sure Jungkook was inside. The amount of time he had been spending in there was unhealthy but you were the last person who could judge him, having spent the majority of your so called break in your office. You knocked three times before opening the door.

Jungkook was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, lost in a place that used to scream comfort. Did it still? You couldn’t feel it anymore. The canvases were all in their places and the paints and brushes had been tidied up. Sitting on the paint splattered newspapers in his completely black clothes, Jungkook looked lost.

“We’re having breakfast upstairs,” you said.

Jungkook’s eyes cleared, just enough for most of the fog to disappear. One bunny ear drooped down and he swiped it away from his face. “Can’t Jin bring it to me?”

You shook your head. “Jin isn’t bringing anything to you. You will be coming to breakfast and eat with us like you used to.”

He lowered his head, both ears falling in his face. “I can’t.”

“You very much can and you will.” You tried to be gentle but you were firm on this. “You will come up and we will all eat breakfast together. We are leaving in a few hours for the other side of the United States and I have no idea when we will be back. You aren’t doing anything here and everyone wants to see you and spend some time together.”

“Not everyone.” It was so low he probably hadn’t meant for you to hear.

“Everyone,” you said, kneeling by his side. “Everyone wants to see you.” You brushed his bangs off his face, petting his ears in the process. He didn’t relax the way he usually did, melting in your hands, but he did lean into the touch. “One breakfast. That’s all I’m asking for. You said you’d listen to me if I took you with me to Virginia.”

He couldn’t disagree with that and when you offered him your hand he took it.  

Jungkook and Jimin had had a special bond. That first night you had seen it in the way Jimin cried begging you to help Jungkook, to heal him. You had seen it in the way Jungkook, beat up and having trouble breathing, was asking Jimin if he was injured, if he needed to be treated first and Jimin had cried every time Jungkook flinched but smiled and squeezed his hand to ease the pain. Nothing had changed the longer you spent with them, the way they loved and cared for each other only becoming more apparent.

Jungkook had gone to Namjoon crying, saying he had hurt Jimin but you couldn’t imagine him doing anything but loving him. Misunderstandings preyed on everyone and they were hungry for those who loved each other. They would get through it, you assured yourself. They were strong and they cared too much to continue hurting each other like this. You cared too much too, you wouldn’t let this get out of hand.

They needed a break, that’s what it was. Jungkook had been right, the trip would help put some distance between them to think clearer. You would make sure when you returned they would be ready to face whatever had happened between them.

Jimin lit up at seeing Jungkook but the light dimmed when the younger didn’t even glance his way. You sighed into your orange juice.

After breakfast Jungkook carried up his suitcase while you went to another room. Three knocks and a question of who it was. It had become routine. Hoseok smiled at you, he had been doing that more and more.  

You sat down at the side of the bed, Yoongi watching you from the chaise lounge, his ears standing alert. “I’m just here to check on you one last time before I go. Jimin will take over after this.”

Hoseok was sitting with his back against the headboard. He hadn’t been able to do that without hurting the first days. “When will you be leaving?”

Touching his arm to inspect it, you said, “John will be here in about thirty minutes but the flight isn’t for another two hours. We have to be early at the airport because the process to get on the plane takes a long time. Do you want to hear about the first time I got on a plane? That’s a funny story.”

Hoseok nodded enthusiastically so you started recounting the time you were sixteen and you had to take a plane to get to the film festival that was held in France. The short film you had directed would be played there. The only problem was that you had never been on a plane before and the prospect of flying wasn’t appealing to you in the least. It just happened that the flight was far from calm.

The check up was finished halfway through the story but Hoseok touched your arm, wordlessly asking you to finish it. At your arrival in France Hoseok’s smile dissolved.  

“I have to get going, John will be here soon,” you said getting up. Hoseok had met John only after you had told him of the time both of you had gotten lost in London. John had been insisting he knew what he was doing leading you deeper into the maze of streets. Because of that a few more stories the bodyguard had guest-starred in, the fox hybrid hadn’t looked as terrified as some people did at the side of the giant of a bodyguard.

“Thank you for,” he gestured to himself “this. And the stories. Thank you for the stories.”

You stopped by the door. “It was my pleasure.”

John was at the Castle right on time, parking the SUV close to the front door. He helped you carry everything to the car, which meant he carried the three suitcases while Jungkook insisted he could help. The bunny hybrid did help but only because John took pity on him and let him help with putting the suitcases in the trunk.  

You lowered your sunglasses. No wind and no cloud in sight. You would have a calm trip.  

You hugged all the hybrids, letting them scent you. Jimin’s eyes were growing misty and you hugged him extra hard assuring him you would be back soon. You rubbed your forehead against Jin’s and kissed his cheek in goodbye, his skin warming up under your lips. Goodbyes were hard and you’d thought you’d gotten used to them. Saying goodbye to Taylor and Zayn before tours, to your aunt the rare times you could visit her, to your friends, to the actors and the crew.  

And yet your chest was tight.

Namjoon was talking with John by the car and you heard him asking John to take care of you and Jungkook. John replied he would protect you with his life. John was your bodyguard but this had been more than a job to him for a long time.

From the corner of your eye you saw Jimin approach Jungkook. He reached to touch him, hug him. Jungkook flinched. Jimin’s hand hovered in the air before going limp. He backed away, his chin dropping to his chest and jaw trembling.  

You bit the inside of your cheek. A hand landed on your shoulder and you turned to find Namjoon standing next to you. You weren’t the only one who had watched the youngests’ exchange. You hid in his arms, forgetting about the world for a moment. The two hybrids who loved each other too much, the trip you had to take, production being halted, that godforsaken earthquake. He nosed along your neck, his warm breath tingling your skin.  

Jungkook got into the car first, an escape, and you followed soon after, a necessity. The house got smaller and smaller behind you as the car drove away. The Castle fading in the distance. Another trip. Different reasons, a different disaster, but familiar territory. Once you used to be excited about these trips, exploring a new place and living new experiences. Where had that part of yourself gone?  

But you weren’t alone this time. Jungkook was looking out of the window, his head laying against the glass. You would take him to that yogurt shop you had liked so much and you would show him the park you wanted to film at and take him to that endearing small cinema. Yeah, you would do that.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The hotel towered over the rest of the buildings in the area. It wasn’t the same one you had stayed on your first visit last year, more grand and definitely more expensive. The company had gone all out. An admirable attempt to quell your anger, yet it continued simmering underbeath your skin. A young man was waiting for you outside, taking the suitcases from the car and leading you to the lobby.  

Jungkook looked around with wide eyes and an open mouth. There was so much glass and marble, almost everything was made using these two materials.  

The receptionist smiled at you wide, her teeth white and straight like her uniform. She welcomed you to the hotel and handed you two key cards, white with a gold line on front and the room numbers in cursive. Two cards.

“I was sure I’d forgotten something,” you muttered.

The receptionist’s smile faltered. “Is something not to your liking, miss?”  

Two cards. One for your room and one for John’s. You had notified the company about Jungkook accompanying you but you hadn’t requested another room. Granted, you had thought they would come to the conclusion on their own. One more room would have cost them a lot, though. Easy way out. But you couldn’t exactly blame them. At hotels, owners rarely bothered to spend money on a room for their hybrids.

You held the cards like a magician ready to do a trick, showing them to John.  

“Shouldn’t there be one more?” he asked.

The woman behind the desk blinked a few times. “More? Two rooms were booked in the name Y/N Y/L/N. Is there a problem?”

You sighed. “No, I guess there isn’t. Or there wasn’t supposed to be.” Jungkook watched the exchange shifting from foot to foot. His black hoodie was a size too big and he was drowning in it. “Do you have any available rooms in the same floor.”

“I’m afraid we don’t, miss. The rooms on the top floor are all booked for the night.”

“Great.” You couldn’t think of another solution, you would have to make do. “Thank you. We’ll be going now.”

“Have a nice stay,” the receptionist said.

The elevator was as luxurious as the lobby, a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. John had your black bag slung over his shoulder. The man with your suitcases was already gone, you would find them in your rooms when you arrived. There was a mirror to your left and leaning your back against the wall your gazed at your reflection. With your black circles hidden with concealer and carefully applied makeup, you looked just a little tired from the flight. You had brushed your hair on the plane and it fell in waves over your shoulders, curling at the tips.

Jungkook hadn’t been to a hotel before and it showed as he tried to take everything in. The lights that were on even in the afternoon, the golds and whites, the mirrors and glass and the velvet seats. It was wonderful but still it wasn’t the best hotel you had stayed at.

The elevator’s doors opened with a ding and you walked into the well-lit corridors. Doors were on either side with a sitting area at the front. You had stayed in many hotels over the years but they were nothing more than a place for rest. Sleep and shower, that’s all you did in your room. And sometimes breakfast or dinner if you didn’t feel like going out.  

Stopping in front of a white door, you checked the numbers on the cards again. The two rooms were very close, only a few meters distance from each other.

Two rooms. Right.

You handed John his key card. “So, we’ve got two rooms…” Jungkook looked at you curiously. “I hope you don’t mind staying in my room with me for now. Unless you would prefer staying with John and his snoring.”

John pointed a finger at you. “Hey, I don’t snore.”

You hummed. “Sure you don’t. What I have been hearing all those years must be the pigs outside.”  

Jungkook was trying to hide his laughter behind his hand and doing a poor job of it.

John dropped your bag by your feet. “Do you hear her? No respect for me. That’s what I get for listening to your every whim for years. I’ll go to my room now and snore in peace.”

You giggled as John struggled to swipe the key card right. With an ‘aha’, he managed to open the door and get inside. You swiped your own card, the door clicking open at the first try. Both of you had been doing it for years but John was more of a fan of traditional keys.  

The company had booked a suite for you, which you guessed was one of the best in the hotel. The door opened to a grand living room with white velvet couches and armchairs and a 75 inch TV. You took off your sneakers before stepping on the wool carpet, it was white with veins of gold running through it.

You fell on the couch, taking off your backpack and placing it on the floor. “I’m sorry for this, I thought they would book three rooms for us.”

Jungkook looked at you from where he was still standing by the door, his hands pulling at the straps of his backpack. “Why would they book three rooms?” There was a gap here. Hybrids stayed with their owners, that was the norm. You realized that was what he had expected.

“We are three people. I thought you would want your own room. I told them you would be coming with me for the tickets but they didn’t change the rooms they had booked.” You threw your head back and closed your eyes. “Everything is going so well already.”

There a shuffling of feet from the door. “I thought… I can stay with John if he doesn’t mind or… I can…”

You opened your eyes. Jungkook was looking at the floor, his ears drooped at the sides of his head. “What are you talking about?”

Jungkook hugged himself. “I don’t want to bother you.”

And it clicked. You got up from the couch. “Oh, bunny. You aren’t bothering me. I only wanted one more room because I thought that’s what you wanted, that you wanted your own space.” You didn’t touch him, remembering him flinching and pulling away, but you stayed close to show him you were there for him.  

“Oh, I-” He flushed, not knowing what to say. You had been past that stage and it was unfortunate to see the shyness and hesitance come back.

“Come on, take off your shoes,” you said, motioning for him to come further into the room. “I desperately need a shower. Then we can rest. I don’t have to do anything until late tonight. Do you want to go in first?”

Jungkook sat down gingerly on the couch. “No, no, you can go in first. I think I’ll sleep a little.”

You stopped him before he could lay down. “Here?”

Confused, he looked around at the furniture. “Should I take the smaller couch?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said. “But there is a huge bed in the bedroom. If you feel uncomfortable though, I could take the couch.”

Jungkook shot up at that. “No, no way. You have work, you should sleep in the bed.” The redness creeped into his cheeks again. “I would like… I would like to share, if that’s alright.”

You gave him a smile. “That’s more than alright. Come in, then.”

You were planning to make the most out of this trip.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Jimin had memorized everything you had said about checking and treating Hoseok’s injuries. He had memorized the pills he was taking, the salves you used and the times you checked on him during the day. Before you left, he had even looked up all the injuries Hoseok had on Google and read all the information he could find. You had told him Hoseok was well on his way to recovery and he didn’t have to worry much. But he was worried. He was very worried.

He had thought he had been ready, that he could do this. But standing outside their door, second thoughts were smothering him.

What if he did something wrong and he hurt him? What if he made everything worse? If he pressed too hard, if he used the wrong cream, if he wrapped the bandages wrong…  

Seokjin would have been much better at this. He took care of them like a parent, he would have been a better choice than Jimin. But Seokjin was the one to cook all their meals, he had enough on his plate. Yoongi could have done it but… He had only glared at you and sneered something that sounded very much like a refusal.

Yoongi…

He hadn’t talked to him since the day he had chased him to the alleyway. The older didn’t leave the room he shared with Hoseok unless it was absolutely necessary. Jimin didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this… This stasis they were trapped in. He had expected someone yelling, accusing. Sharp words, that didn’t match the soft voice he had been used to. There had been none of that. Nothing at all. He wasn’t sure what he preferred.

Hoseok smiled a little at him when he walked into the room. He was sitting up in his bed with his reddish tail in his lap. Yoongi, laying in his own bed, didn’t acknowledge him but his dark eyes were burning Jimin’s skin when he wasn’t looking.  

Hoseok patted the bed with the hand that wasn’t in a cast. His smile was smaller than it had been in the morning. Your absence wasn’t affecting only them. Jimin had heard you telling stories to Hoseok, you had done the same with Jungkook. But he had no stories to tell, nothing worth sharing. He hadn’t traveled the world, he didn’t have interesting and famous friends, he didn’t have a job or childhood memories by the beach.  

Silence spread, only broken by his apologies every time Hoseok winced. He was holding back for his sake and it made his stomach clench. He left the room like there were hell-hounds on his heels.  

The second day you were gone everyone woke up early in the morning, like all the days they had to be up early to see you before leaving for work. You might not be there but his body demanded he wake up and drag his feet upstairs for breakfast. A book was laying cover up on the table. One of the leather-bound classics you kept on the top shelves of the library. Namjoon read it at night before going to sleep.

Seokjin placed a plate of pancakes in front of Jimin. Pancakes were his favorite.

Belly full, he trudged to the second level.  

“Good morning,” he greeted, coming through the door.

Hoseok’s fox ears twitched. “Good morning,” he said with a small smile. Yoongi remained silent, standing by the glass wall.  

Jimin fetched the medical kit from the bathroom. Everything he would need was in there. “Did you sleep well?” He tried to make conversation. It wasn’t easy when he felt like he could erupt at any moment with Yoongi’s gaze on him. If he hurt Hoseok, Yoongi would never look at him again. Or he could do so much worse. But Jimin had already lost him years ago.  

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied, fumbling with the blanket he was sitting on. “I had a weird dream. About being at the lake. There was a statue there and he was talking… It was good, though.”

There was a small Greek style statue on the half-empty shelves of the room, a Kouros you had explained to him. “It must be because of that.” Jimin motioned to the shelves. “There are pieces of ancient Greece all over the house. The first show Y/N directed was about Persephone and Hades, the Greek god of the dead. Greek mythology has a special place for her.”

“She talked to me about Greece a little but she didn’t say anything about the show,” Hoseok said.

Jimin opened the medical kit, remembering watching the episodes one after the next, hanging from every word the characters said. “The show is so good! I couldn’t stop watching it, I didn’t want to get out of the cinema room for anything. The characters were perfect, Persephone was so sweet and kind but she-” He stopped himself, cutting off his rambling. The cream in his hand was getting warm.

Hoseok sat up straighter to help his work. “But what? Why did you stop?”

Jimin startled. He could at least do this, he could speak about the show. He had watched the episodes multiple times and he had asked you so many questions, some of which you hadn’t talked your way around. Hoseok didn’t wince as much as the first time and maybe Jimin go a little carried away, but he didn’t make any mistakes and Hoseok even asked questions and talked with him.  

The cat hybrid had to suppress the shivers the eyes on his back sent down his spine.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Greek gods, fantasy, romance and mysteries. That’s what made you rich. That’s what got you this huge house and more money than anyone would ever see in their lives. The Castle. Yoongi scoffed. What a pretentious name for an even more pretentious house, but that was the way it worked.  

Yoongi disliked rich people on principle. Privileged, arrogant and self-entitled were only a few of the adjectives he would use to describe them. They thought they could control anyone because they had money and money made the world go round. Money could get you everything and that’s what they wanted. Everything. In long coats and designer sunglasses looking for entertainment in the most dubious places, feeding off the struggle of the others. Watching enraptured as others fought for their lives.

All of them were the same. It didn’t matter if they were hiding behind smiling masks or surface philanthropic acts. They were the same. And you were just like them. He refused to believe anything else. Despite how hard it was getting. But every time he was slipping, he would remember the pleads and rough hands. His resolve didn’t crack.

He heard all the stories you told Hoseok. Not that he wanted to but there wasn’t a chance he would leave him alone with you. Most of them were funny and although he didn’t want to admit, there were parts the corners of his mouth had lifted up without his permission. He was grateful for those stories, they made Hoseok forget. One rare time, when you were telling him about a disaster on set that involved three spoons, a maraca and a lost script, Hoseok had giggled and Yoongi’s heart had come close to bursting out.  

Every morning and every night you would have a different story for him and it made Yoongi wonder if they were all true or if you were coming up with them on the spot. Not that it mattered, it made Hoseok smile and that was enough. Yoongi had found himself waiting for the times you would come into their room and start talking. You had a way with words.

And now you were gone, leaving them alone in the house, alone with no one watching over them like a guard dog (except that damned wolf hybrid, but that was another case entirely). There were a few things he knew about the world and one of them was that hybrids weren’t left alone in a house that cost more than his handlers would make in their whole lives. He didn’t like surprises and he hated how full of them you were.  

Jimin had been the one to take over and you must have been somewhere in Virginia laughing at Yoongi’s expense. The younger looked good, his cheeks were full and there was a certain glow on his soft skin. Jimin had always looked beautiful but now he was ethereal. He couldn’t keep his eyes away.

Hoseok pressed a few buttons on the TV remote and groaned. After Jimin’s excitement about the show in the morning, he had decided he would watch the show. Jimin had showed him how to put it on but Hoseok was having some trouble.

“Give that to me,” Yoongi grumbled, taking the remote. He searched for the title among the options (there were too many of them).  

Hoseok pointed at one of the pictures. “That’s it! That’s it! “Land of the Gods”.”

A girl wearing a flower crown was gazing at him from the screen. He clicked on the picture and the synopsis and the episode list appeared. “Are you seriously going to watch that?”

“It must be good if Jimin was so excited about it. He was so excited he got me excited.” A smile stretched his lips. Yoongi was weak.

“What do you know about Greek mythology?”

Hoseok shrugged. “Not much but I don’t think I need to. The show has to be good if it got her where she is now. I’m sure she must have been great at her job to be this successful.”

If anything, there was no doubt you were successful. He could see it everywhere he looked. One night he had been watching the news, Hoseok long asleep, and they had talked about your newest project set to start filming in May. One of the greatest directors of our generation, they had called you, predicting high ratings and large audiences. But success didn’t necessarily mean talent and Yoongi told himself he didn’t care enough to see if you had it.

Contemplating, he sat on the bed by Hoseok’s side. “We should discuss when we are leaving.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened, his tail fluffing up. “Leaving?”

“Yeah, leaving. You’re better, aren’t you? We should be gone before she comes back.” Yoongi threw the remote on the bed.

“Oh.” Hoseok’s fox ears lowered. “I wanted to thank her, it feels wrong to leave like this.”

Yoongi sighed. He could understand Hoseok, he didn’t want to leave either. He wasn’t stupid. Having a warm meal three times a day was more than they could dream of in the streets. It was more than they could dream of when they had a roof over their heads and murky water on their tongues. These few days Yoongi had eaten and slept more than he had in three years but it had to end. It was nothing more than a polished dream. He didn’t want your pity and he wouldn’t have accepted to come here if it hadn’t been for Hoseok.

“I think she would appreciate us leaving more than a thank you,” Yoongi said. “We don’t know how long she will be gone and we have already overstayed our welcome.”

“We… yeah.” Hoseok gave in. “But you should talk to Jimin before we go.” Yoongi stiffened. “I have seen the way you look at him, you know. I heard you that first day. He is the only reason we are here now. I can connect the dots. I don’t ask you about your past because I know it hurts you but I ask you this. Talk to him before we go. Jimin… Jimin looks like a part of your past that shouldn’t hurt this much.”

Yoongi clenched his jaw. Because Jimin was the most painful part of his past. Everything that had happened to him, everything he had been through didn’t hold anything to the pain he felt when thinking about Jimin and his delicate features. Nothing hurt more than the images of that night ingrained in his brain. He didn’t deserve to forget, he didn’t even try.  

“I can’t talk to him.”

Hoseok scooted closer and Yoongi reached to steady him. The fox hybrid would laugh at him, he had the all clear to move on his own and he didn’t need help with something as simple as this, but he didn’t push him away. “Why not?  

“I just can’t.” Hoseok raised his eyebrows at him. “Hobi, just let it go. Jimin wouldn’t want to talk to me, there is too much you don’t know.”

Hoseok turned his head away. “Yes, because you don’t tell me.”

“Hobi…” Yoongi placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles, there were no bruises there. “What happened, it’s better if you don’t know. I don’t want any more people being haunted by what I did.”

Hoseok’s eyes softened, taking Yoongi’s hands in his own. Every touch from Hoseok was like a brush with the sun. “If you think anything you say could change my opinion of you, you don’t know me at all. You saved me, Yoongi. You saved me when I thought I was done for, when I thought I wouldn’t live to see another day. If you weren’t there, if I didn’t have you…” A shaky breath fell past his lips. He squeezed Yoongi’s hands in his and Yoongi squeezed back. “I would have never gotten out without you. You are all I have.”

Yoongi touched Hoseok’s cheek, nosing against his neck and breathing in the scent of cinnamon. “And you’re all I have.”

The first episode of “Land of the Gods” played as Yoongi laid next to Hoseok with the younger’s head on his chest.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The workers kept looking at you like children who had been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar and it wasn’t even their fault. They had been following instructions and using the materials the company had sent. The one who had decided to forgo the safety measures because they were too expensive had yet to admit to anything, but a storm was brewing and you would watch until the end. They could say whatever they wanted about you but no one’s life was at risk on your watch.  

You hadn’t been alone in the sentiment, most of your co-workers siding with you and calling meetings after meetings on the matter. You had taken it up to yourself to send a lengthy email to the president and were waiting for a reply that wouldn’t take long to come.

In the meantime, you were stuck with damage control. The meticulously designed sets had turned into ruins and rubble. A lot of expensive equipment had been destroyed and the replacements had yet to arrive. The first night you had a short meeting at a building the company was renting and then drove to the set to survey the damage. You had gritted your teeth at the sight of broken blocks like legos. There was nothing more to see.

You came back with heavy limbs and dust on your jeans. The air-conditioning was on and Jungkook was sitting on the couch watching a superhero movie. It wasn’t one you recognized, an older one than those you usually watched. You changed into your pajamas after taking a shower for the third time in a day (your skin barrier was set to be destroyed soon) and joined him in the living room. Neither of you had had dinner so you ordered food from the first place you found on the web. The delivery was fast and you settled on the couch, eating pizza and watching an old Samuel L. Jackson film.

Fortunately, the earthquake hadn’t caused any major disasters but you had heard that a couple of people had been injured. The most damage in the area had been to the TV show sets. That was alright, you could work on that.  

Your schedule wasn’t much different from usual. You woke up early, the sun peaking over the horizon and showering the room in its morning glow through the thin curtains. Reaching for your phone, you turned off the  alarm before it could start ringing. You woke up earlier but you scheduled it every night regardless of that. Jungkook blinked his eyes open as soon as you moved a little, he was used to waking up early too.  

At breakfast it was only the two of you, John and the hotel staff. It was way too early for anyone else. Jungkook didn’t leave the hotel and you spent most of the day outside. The first days were the most crucial and therefore the most busy. Go there, take this, fill this out, talk to him/her. An endless task list. And there were a lot of things you had to figure out yourself.

“You should come with me today,” you said, digging your spoon into the bowl of yogurt. You ate a generous breakfast to propel through the morning.  

“T-to work?” Jungkook stuttered, his hand loosening around the spoon. He was eating pancakes with maple syrup and you had a feeling about who he was thinking of.

You rolled the spoon between your fingers. “Well, you don’t have to come to work with me. We could drop you off at a coffee shop or a park if you want to. You can’t stay cooped up in the hotel room all day.”

John nodded in agreement. “I think it’s a good idea. You need some fresh air, staying in three rooms can’t be good for you.”

Jungkook dropped his head to hide his flushed cheeks. “I’m alright here, you don’t have to worry about me. Really.”

“But that’s what I’ll do at work if you stay in here for one more day,” you said. “You can go anywhere, there is a whole city to explore. And if I have any breaks I can call and I’ll come find you.”

Jungkook looked down at the pancakes. “I don’t think I should be out alone.”

“Of course you can. You can wear a collar and no one will say anything. We packed a few didn’t-?” Wearing a collar would protect him from the hybrid services, especially with your name and number engraved in the back of a charm. But you realized it wasn’t hybrid services he was afraid of. A hybrid alone in the streets could be an easy target, Jimin and Jungkook had been together that night and still… But it was broad daylight. “John could come with you,” you offered.

“No, no, he should be with you,” Jungkook protested weakly.

You exchanged a look with John, after years you were perfect at reading each other. “I actually think John would have a much better time with you. The only thing he does with me is follow me around and wait for the day to end. And it’s not like I’m in any danger there, I’m surrounded by a lot of people and some of the places have security so…”

“Or she’s trying to get rid of me,” John said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Not that I’m complaining, waiting outside of those meetings gets very boring very quickly. Who will drive you?”

“It won’t be hard to find someone. I’ll catch a ride with Will, he has plenty of space in his car.” Will was the assistant director and he had been dragged to Virginia with you. When you worked it was rare to find one without the other. He had been with you for a few years and he was your right hand on set, he could get everything you asked done in a matter of seconds and often better than you could have done them yourself.  

Satisfied, John finished his sandwich. “It’s settled then, I’ll go with the guy while you run around like a mad woman.”

“It isn’t so much running around today,” you mumbled. In comparison to other days, that was.

Jungkook picked up his fork again, his nose twitching. “Thank you, but I really don’t know where to go.”

You smiled. “That’s the most exciting part. There are so many places you can choose from. John knows the area a little, he knows a few places worth visiting.” John saluted with two fingers on his temple. “Is there something you want to do?”

Jungkook shrugged. “The park maybe? I would like to walk a little if that’s alright.”

“Fine by me,” John said. “Let’s reconnect with Mother Nature a little.”

You shook your head. “As if the sets aren’t in the middle of nowhere. They’re like thirty to forty minutes from the city, I spend most of my day in a car.”

“Stop complaining. It’s partly your fault,” John reminded you, which only caused you to complain more.

Jungkook let out a cute giggle at your bickering. He looked small in his oversized hoodie, it was a gray one this time with design of black swirls interwining and forming a heart. He would have to change before going out. He would melt otherwise.  

They dropped you off at the set, having spent most of the thirty minute drive (John was a fast driver, always following the speed limit though) listening to music and talking about whatever came to mind. Jungkook had insisted on coming with when John dropped you off instead of waiting at the hotel for John to come back. He didn’t care that the drive would be more than an hour for him. You stepped out of the car, adjusted your backpack with all the papers and files inside and sent flying kisses to them while John rolled his eyes.

It was one of the good days, everyone was in a relatively good mood, they were listening to you and the conversations about the problems you were facing rolled smoothly. Will had taken over some of the most tiring tasks ignoring your protests so you were left to do most of the talking and the moral support part.  

They worked quickly but there was no doubt that the sets wouldn’t be ready for filming to start on the initial date you had set, you would have to rely more on the sets in Los Angeles and film some scenes earlier than planned. Time was precious and you couldn’t waste it sitting around doing nothing.

Will was more than happy to give you a ride back to the city, you had many things to discuss on the way. You hadn’t been at this park before. It wasn’t the one you were considering for filming but it was just as nice. John had texted you where they were and you had typed the address in Will’s GPS. It was way past lunch and you wondered if they hadn’t left the park since the morning. That was a lot of hours spent in a park.

You followed the cobblestone path, tall trees framing the way adorned with green leaves and tiny flowers. Sending a quick message to John asking him about more specific directions, you stopped at a bridge arching over a small river and rested your elbows on the railing waiting for the reply.  

You missed home in a way you hadn’t before. Home hadn’t always been Los Angeles, it had taken a long time for you to see it that way. It had been your hometown at first and that would always remain a part of you but it had been years since you had stayed there for more than two weeks. Home had been a suitcase and a vague idea of belonging for the most of your adult life. Being at a new place every few months, often more than that, you traveled and met people, you explored new places and learnt their secrets and culture. Los Angeles was just the base you returned to before you were gone again.

And then you had met Taylor and Zayn and suddenly you had a reason to come back other than necessity. They had become your closest friends and you held a new appreciation for the city because that’s where you spent time with them, strolling through the streets and going to the beach or staying inside watching movies or baking.  

And through Zayn you had met Jacob and Los Angeles became more and more to you. The two of you had decided to build your life there together. That was gone now but the City of Angels had sneaked into your heart and made a home for itself there. Yet you hadn’t missed it like this before.  

Texts and calls were fine for some time but not nearly enough. Jungkook was withdrawn while you talked to the other hybrids and Jimin’s voice got smaller and smaller every time the youngest refused to speak with him until he stopped trying. Namjoon and Jin tried to comfort him but the only person who could help was the one shutting him out. On top of that, Jimin tended to Hoseok’s wounds, the two hybrids were still at the Castle and you hoped they wouldn’t leave until you got back. You wanted to check in with Hoseok one more time before they were gone, back to the streets.  

The streets… Those damn streets. Where Hoseok had been beat up, where Jimin and Jungkook had been attacked, where they didn’t know which day would be their last, starving or being beaten to death. You had done all you could, when they refused any more help, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough.

A whistle made you turn around.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” John called to you.

“Me?” you called back. “How long have you been here? Did you eat lunch?”

“We went to a restaurant nearby, John ordered the best from the menu. I told him to wait for you but he said you would be late,” Jungkook said.

You ruffled his hair and he shuffled closer to you. “Late… I’m not late, I didn’t say I would be back for lunch.”

Jungkook chuckled. “When are you back for lunch?”

You gasped. “You have been spending too much time with John. He’s corrupting you!”

On the other side of the bridge, the path opened up to a large expanse of grass with a few trees sprinkled in. Jungkook had his sketchpad with him and sat down against a tree with pieces of black charcoal, a method he had been experimenting with.  

Next to him, you pulled out a notebook from your backpack, it was your personal space where you could write anything and everything. Drawing faint thick lines on the paper, Jungkook told you excitedly about his day with John, who was sitting at a bench talking on the phone with his family.  

A shine you hadn’t seen in a while was back in Jungkook’s eyes. You took photos and sent them to the hybrids at home and rolled around in the grass. He pointed at the clouds and what each of them looked like. There was turtle, an elephant and a vase, although you insisted it looked more like an Egyptian cat.

Jungkook came with you to work later and although he was shy and stayed away from everyone else, trailing behind you like a lost puppy, he was smiling. Fascinated, he listened to your conversations about the show and the sets and admired the designs. Your co-workers cooed at the cute bunny hybrid and he flushed hiding behind you.  

When the day was over and you were back at the hotel, you realized it was the most fun you’d had since coming to Virginia. Freshly showered with his wet hair sticking to his forehead, Jungkook slipped into the bed next to you.

“Did you have a good time?” you asked. In the quiet of the night it felt wrong for your voice to be louder than a whisper. “You can be honest with me. I won’t take it personally.”

A small smile simmered on Jungkook’s lips as he turned on his side to look at you. In the lights of the city coming through the window, his chocolate brown eyes seemed black. “I had the best of times. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It was nice having you there, it was… different. A good different. You should come again tomorrow, to the sets outside the city this time.”

“I would like that,” he whispered.  

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jungkook repeated in a breath.

It would be nice to have him with you. He wasn’t distracting you, on the contrary you were more focused because you knew he was there watching you, you wanted to show him the best of you. This was far from the most exciting part of the process of making a film but it was necessary. Well, it wouldn’t have been necessary if someone hadn’t decided to purposely forget all about the safety measures but you had already dedicated too much of your energy being angry about it.

Once the actual filming had started you would take Jungkook with you and show him the behind the scenes of how a TV show was made. If he was fascinated with this part then he would love filming. The actors were incredible and they had found their connections to the characters, channeling them at the table readings, it would be even better when they were in the costumes on set.  

“I liked it,” Jungkook said. “I really liked seeing you work.”

You smiled at the bunny. “You used to see me work every day at the Castle.”

“But it wasn’t the same.” Jungkook laid his head on his hand. “You looked different there,” he said. “You looked powerful, like you could do anything. Everyone looked at you like you had all the answers.”

“It was a good day, I guess. It isn’t always like that. I might look confident and like I have everything under control all the time but that’s far from the truth.”  

For all of your fame and the praise you received, you did make mistakes, you got stuck and felt helpless against some problems. Not everyone listened to you and you got into arguments with the executive producers sometimes. And you weren’t always the one who was right.  

“Looking confident is half of the job, even when you don’t feel like it. It’s one of those situations where ‘fake it till you make it’ is a requirement. When you want to be heard you have to look and act like you are sure of what you’re doing, especially when you are a young woman at an important position. If you don’t, people begin to doubt you and if they doubt you, they will begin to talk over you and disregard your opinions. That was the first lesson I learnt on this job.”

At seventeen, you had been in charge of directing “Land of the Gods” and it wasn’t all smooth sailing, much less at the beginning. You were young, too young for most of them. You couldn’t direct such a project they said. They questioned your every move and decision, every correction you made and everything you said to the actors during a scene. They didn’t take you seriously until halfway through filming and even then they didn’t hesitate to question your authority. A constant battle of wills.

But it had gotten you here. You couldn’t complain.

“You’ve done so many things,” Jungkook said as if in awe. “All those shows and movies. And they are all so good. You are so talented. I could have never achieved what you have even if I wasn’t…” He left the sentence hanging.

You adjusted your position, laying on your forearm. “I don’t believe that, I think you would be marvelous at whatever you did. You have the dedication and that’s half of the job done. About me…” You let out a small chuckle. “I was very young when I started, I’m still young considering my profession, and I had so many ideas. I still have so many of them.” Or you used to, before the buzz in your brain became just noise. “And I don’t want to wait so long the industry gets tired of me, I have to take advantage of the light as long as it’s on me.”

“I don’t think they can get tired of you, not when your movies and shows are… like that. I couldn’t get tired of them,” Jungkook said. “It’s just- I’m not-” Frustrated, he cut himself off. “You work too much. I’m just… When was the last time you had a break? An actual break without working in any form.”

You opened your mouth to answer and closed it again. It certainly wasn’t this year and it wasn’t last year either. When you had taken a break to buy and decorate the house, you had been answering calls about work when you had been choosing the paints for the walls and writing scripts while you discussed floor plans. Break for you wasn’t a time you didn’t work but rather a time they couldn’t call you to the offices or the set.  

“It’s been a while,” you said in the end. “I’ve got a lot of things going on, I don’t really have the time to take a break. I can’t leave them hanging, they rely on me.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t. Not so much.”  

But that’s how it has always been for as long as you could remember. You were involved in every single part of the process, in every decision, from the scripts, to casting, to the set and costume design, to the actual filming, the post-production and the editing. Supervising and making sure that everything was right. That was your charm, that was one of the reasons you were one of the most sought-after directors in Hollywood. Each project was a part of yourself. If you let those responsibilities go, what would that mean for you? What would they say about you?

The air-conditioning made a small sound as the room reached the desired temperature. The setting wasn’t too low, a pleasant coolness replacing the stifling heat. The thick walls of the hotel kept the heat of the day trapped inside, something that would be very beneficial in winter but a lot less so in spring nearing summer.

“Anyway, I think we’ll be done in a few days,” you said. “We’ll probably be home by the end of the week. The new plans have been drawn and there is only one more meeting I have to attend and that’s more for appearances’ sake than anything else. The rest is up to the crew here.”

Jungkook’s smile wavered. “So soon? Don’t you have any more work? The people here seemed to need you.”

“They don’t need me, there is nothing more I can offer them. My place right now is in Los Angeles, that’s where they need me.” You nudged his foot with yours, your knees were close enough to touch every time you moved. “But that’s not what you’re nervous about, is it?”

Jungkook shook his head, hiding half of his face in the pillow. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Kookie…” You nudged his foot again until your legs were intertwined underneath the thin sheets. “Staying here won’t help anyone. You have to talk to him.”

Jungkook closed his eyes as if the conversation pained him. “He shouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“But he does. You know he has been asking for you,” you said.

“He stopped.”

“Because you never replied. Doing this, pulling away and ignoring him, you’re hurting him more than whatever you feel guilty for. You didn’t see how sad he was every time you didn’t show up for a meal or when he called for you and you ignored him. You’re hurting him and I know that isn’t what you want so why do you keep doing it?”

A sob clawed out of Jungkook’s throat and he tried to muffle it with his fist. Your eyes widened at the sound, instinctively pulling the younger boy into your arms. He didn’t fight you, holding on to you like you were the only thing keeping his afloat, hiding his face in your neck as the sobs he couldn’t suppress fell from his lips.  

“What… What I did to him was h-horibble. I-I took adva-advantage of him,” Jungkook chocked out as his tears dampened your skin. “And I know, I know he’s going to forgive me. But I don’t want him to. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t forgive-” A sob cut him off. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”  

You run your hands through his hair, scratching gently at the base of his bunny ears, something that used to calm him down. “Baby… You should let him have that choice, you can’t take it away from him.”

“I can’t forgive myself,” he muttered, desperation and heartbreak seeping into his voice like water through the cracks of a dam until it breaks.

“If Jimin can forgive you then you can work towards forgiving yourself. All I know is that you love each other too much to continue like this.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

It was the fifth day you were gone. Seokjin had been keeping track, the equivalent of another line engraved on the wall of a cell. He had been going to sleep and waking up alone in a bed that felt too large for one person. He had added more blankets and stuffed animals decorating embellishing his nest but it did nothing for the feeling of emptiness covering it like a veil.  

You called every day and texted them religiously, it was more than he could have expected but much less than what he craved. Jungkook sent photos of the hotel suite and of every place he visited with short captions. Seokjin smiled as his heart constricted.

It was the fifth day you were gone and he was sitting at the large table in the back garden, drinking tea at the time he would have been bringing yours before you had to go back to work. Jin didn’t consider himself a clingy person. He was loyal and protective of the people he loved, he obeyed his past owners and he took care of them. But this was new. It had been five days, the number didn’t change but Jin felt like it had been much longer than that. When his past owners left it wasn’t for long, less than two weeks, he didn’t have the time to miss them. He hadn’t missed them. Two weeks. Five days.

Jungkook would be nagging at him by now, tugging his arm or foot or whatever part of him he could get and if Jin didn’t give in the bunny hybrid would sprawl himself next to the older with his head in his lap. Despite Seokjin warnings about getting splashed with tea or coffee in the face, Jungkook stayed there.  

If you were back from work, a rare occurrence, you would insist you all spent that time together. Like a family.  

Family. Such a peculiar word. It was one of those words Seokjin couldn’t grasp the real meaning of. He was a hybrid, he didn’t have parents, the one who had given birth to him had delivered him to the scientists earning a large amount of money for her services. His first owners had trained him harsher than a pet and treated him like a servant or a living piece of decor. It didn’t matter if he’d thought of them as his family to feel better for himself, they owned him and they didn’t let him forget.  

He didn’t know what having a family felt like. But he guessed it felt a lot like the mornings before you left for work and Jungkook was bickering with Jimin about how much he could eat while Namjoon was smirking into his coffee.

“A penny for your thoughts?”  

Seokjin startled, the mug trembling dangerously in his hands. Another hand enveloped his to steady it. “How do you do that? I almost had a heart attack.”

Namjoon smiled sheepishly. “You aren’t the first one to say that, about the heart attack. I’ll try to make more noise next time.”

There was only a tiny bit of tea left at the bottom of the mug so Seokjin placed it on the table to avoid any more surprises that could threaten its survival. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, looking at the black backpack Namjoon was wearing.

“I’m going for a walk in the forest. Would you like to join me?”  

“Like this?” he gestured to his casual attire.

“Maybe you should wear different shoes,” he said referring to the slippers he was wearing.

Seokjin was tempted to say no, sugar gliders might be native to forests but he didn’t have the same ease among trees. But he was tired of being in his own company and something inside him was screaming to go and be with his pack. After all, it was impossible to not give into Namjoon’s dimples.

“Okay, I’ll come with you. Just don’t lead us so far away we won’t be able to come back.”

Namjoon’s smile widened as Jin left to change his shoes. His sneakers were in a box under his bed. He had worn them only once because he preferred wearing his slippers in the house or the gardens. These sneakers were the ones he had on when you had gone to the lake before you had to go back to work and be away for most of the day.  

The wolf hybrid was waiting in the back garden for him by the curtain of vines with the purple blooms. The mug was nowhere in sight.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked him.

“Ready,” Seokjin said, not paying any mind to the fluttering in his stomach.

Namjoon pulled the curtain of vines aside, the path stretching ahead. The forest was alive in spring, trees green and tall, creating shade for the small creatures roaming around to hide from the sun. And when a few sun-rays slipped through the spaces between the branches and the leaves, they looked like a touch from the gods.  

Namjoon navigated the forest with practiced ease and Seokjin had a feeling the wolf hybrid knew exactly where they were going. He just hoped Jimin wouldn’t look for them while they were gone, but knowing Namjoon he had probably already told Jimin. Or Jimin could call them. Seokjin wasn’t used to having his own phone and often he forgot he had the device.  

Staying close to Namjoon, he kept his eyes on the ground. A poor attempt to keep his tripping to the minimal. But the forest was conspiring against him. Roots, stones, sticks, everything he could trip over was in his path.  

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Namjoon stopped, turning to look at him. He smirked. “It’s a surprise.”

“No, I prefer no surprises,” Jin said. Rock. He stepped over it, avoiding a possible humiliating fall. “Tell me where we’re going. Is it far?”

“Not too far.” Not too far for Namjoon could be totally different from Seokjin’s idea of not too far. “I swear to you we aren’t getting lost today. I know this part of the forest like the back of hand and I have a good sense of direction. See?” He pointed to the direction of a large tree on his right. “That’s north,” he pointed to the opposite direction, “and that-”

Before he could finish, Seokjin had tripped over a protruding root. He hadn’t seen it, being too focused on Namjoon. He let a shriek as he tumbled to the ground, scratching his hands as they came in contact with the ground fist.  

Namjoon called his name but he hadn’t been fast enough. He grasped Seokjin’s elbows pulling him up so he was sitting instead of laying face down on the dirt.  

“Are you alright?” Namjoon asked, kneeling next to him, and Seokjin felt heat travel to his face and his chest tightening. He had an urge to flee and forget that had happened. Namjoon didn’t give him the chance though. He took his hands in his, turning them over and inspecting the damage. Dirt was clinging on the flesh and Namjoon blew on them to make some it go away. “We need to clean this.” He pulled out a water bottle from his backpack and poured water on his hands. It did sting a little but Seokjin was used to much worse than this.

Thin lines were etched on his palm, none of them bleeding. His hands had taken most of the burnt of the fall. The pride he had been piecing back together hurt more than his body did.

“We should go back,” Namjoon said, letting his hands go. Seokjin mourned the loss then reprimanded himself for it. “Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea.”

“I’m fine,” he said. He didn’t like the frown on Namjoon’s face. “We don’t have to go back. I don’t want to go back.” He cleared his throat. His face, neck and ears felt impossibly hot.

Namjoon regarded him with careful eyes. “Are you sure? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Really, I’m fine,” he repeated. He put one hand on the ground to steady himself and get back on his feet. It didn’t work very well because as soon as Namjoon saw him moving he was helping him up supporting most of his weight. “It wasn’t painful, more embarrassing than anything else,” Seokjin muttered. Despite the low tone, Namjoon heard him and his face smoothed. “Let’s go. We will never get to that place you want before nightfall at this rate.”

Namjoon chuckled shaking his head. “If you say so.” Seokjin expected him to start walking but instead he laced their fingers together. “Is this okay? I don’t want you falling again. If you trip again I’ll keep you up or at least we’ll fall together.”

Seokjin huffed out a laugh, lightheaded. Namjoon wasn’t distant but he wasn’t open with his affection like Jimin or Jungkook or even you and feeling his hand in his had ignited something inside him he was struggling to bury.

They held hands all the way to the secret destination. Seokjin tripped a couple more times, the rocks and the roots were still there and Namjoon was too distracting, but he kept his balance. Namjoon held on his hand tighter whenever he lost his footing and he allowed himself to consider it for a moment before banishing the idea.

The walk wasn’t too long and as the trees thinned out a little, a few large rocks emerged from the ground. They had climbed higher than the level of the house, the forest and the lake stretching under them. On the side the Castle peeked between the trees and the road leading to the city.  

Namjoon helped him up the rock while he complained for the sake of it. They sat down to rest and Namjoon offered him the bottle of water he had used before, plenty of water was left inside. Seokjin insisted they shared it, he had already used half of it on him anyway.

“You like being outside so much, you have walked through most of the forest. You go on walks every day. Why don’t you go out with Y/N? Or around the neighborhood?” he asked. Namjoon wasn’t someone who could be contained in a house, he needed to be outside, and the forest looked too small for him.

Namjoon crossed his hands over his bent knee. “Being in the forest is easier. I can’t explain it but it’s familiar territory. Outside the forest, outside the house, that’s different. I know the streets of Los Angeles, I’ve spent more time on them than I would have liked. And now things are different but those streets are the same. I don’t think I’m ready to go back there alone.”

Seokjin’s heart constricted at the reminder of what the three hybrids he held so dearly had been through. He was spoiled, he couldn’t have survived a life in the streets. But if he was with them… If he was with them maybe it would would have been worth it.  

It was a dangerous world for lone hybrids, people were eager to take advantage of them and hybrid services were always lurking in large cities like Los Angeles. Going outside alone could be an invitation for harassment from a few sick people who thought they were entitled to hybrids’ lives because humans created them, who thought they were lesser. Seokjin hadn’t been allowed to be alone outside, his owners believed it was indecent and disrespectful for hybrids to walk alone or stay alone.  

“Do you want to go outside in the city?” Namjoon asked.

Seokjin hugged his knees. “I wouldn’t know where to go or what to do. I’ve never been out alone.”

Namjoon nodded. “That’s alright. It was nice being out for Spring Cleaning, I saw the city in a different light.”

Seokjin smiled, for him it hadn’t been only the city he had seen in a different light. “I would like to go out one day.”

“I would like that too,” Namjoon said softly.

But Seokjin didn’t think of going alone. He thought of being with Namjoon holding his hand so they wouldn’t lose each other or an excited Jungkook hopping around with Jimin chasing him.  

Namjoon’s phone beeped with a message and he pulled it out of his backpack to read it. A smile spread on his face at whatever he was seeing. Seokjin wanted to lean closer and look at what was making him smile but he held himself back. There were only three people it could be from.

“Jungkook is playing her assistant,” Namjoon said, turning the screen so Seokjin could take a look at the photo. Jungkook was looking to the side, probably at someone talking to him, carrying two folders and a few loose papers. Seokjin’s heart softened at the sight, Jungkook looked content there. Excited and a little confused.

Seokjin took the phone in his hands. “I’m sure he insisted on carrying them for her. Doesn’t she have an assistant?”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, Will. But I’m not sure he’s that kind of assistant.”

“Maybe she should keep Jungkook on set, he could carry anything she wanted,” he joked. Their bunny could pick up all of them without getting tired, Seokjin had been his victim enough times to know that.  

Jungkook had been doing better, his messages were more frequent and he talked more on the phone. He had been doing better but Seokjin was missing him a lot. But he couldn’t be selfish with this, going away had been good for him and if it hurt a little that he needed to be away from them, Seokjin didn’t utter a word. He had heard him sniffling at night, covering his mouth to muffle the sounds. Seokjin didn’t know how to comfort him so he just held him tighter.

Namjoon sighed, taking his phone back and hiding it in the backpack. He sighed. “Jimin is hiding away again. He barely spoke to me before locking himself in the cinema room. I don’t understand what is going on between them. Jungkook had to travel to the other side of the States to get away.  I can’t get a word about what happened from either of them. Jungkook says he did something horrible to him and Jimin doesn’t want to say anything about it. And every time Jungkook pulls back from him I can see how much it hurts them both and I can’t do anything about it.”

“They don’t want us to do anything about it but they need us next to them,” Seokjin said, looking ahead at the sun slowly descending in the sky.  

Namjoon let the silence stretch before speaking, “I’m grateful you’re with us, that you chose to stay. I don’t like to think about how it would have been without you.”

Seokjin turned his head away. “I didn’t do anything special. I am not that important.”

A hand touched his cheek, leading him gently until he was face to face with Namjoon looking into his hazel, almost golden, eyes. “Listen to me when I say this; you are important to us. You are pack and your place is with us here. I’ll be honest, I was weary at first but you fit right in like you were always meant to be with us. You belong with us and we’ll never let you go or get tired of you. You give so much without even realizing it.” His thumb rubbed small circles on his skin leaving burning trails behind. A heavy cloud had covered everything around him and all he could see was hazel eyes. “All I ask you is to let us take care of you, too.”

And before his doubts could stop him he surged forward. Namjoon caught him in his arms, cradling the oldest’s neck as he hid his face in his neck breathing in his scent. Time was meaningless there.

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You were taking a short break. John had delivered your second cup of coffee for the day and a smoothie for Jungkook who disliked the bitter taste of coffee with passion. It was a mostly practical day that didn’t require a lot of moving around. You had been meeting up with people since the crack of dawn and discussing the best ways to cover up the disaster in a way that wouldn’t turn the public against the show or the studios. So far, you had been holding off any reporters from including the overlooked safety measures when publishing the news about the collapsed sets.  

After being inside all day, you had decided to take a stroll around the block. Jungkook was walking next to you sipping his smoothie. He was wearing a simple black chocker with a silver charm.

He was telling you about a video he had seen on YouTube when your phone started ringing. Your nickname for Taylor was displayed across the screen with a photo of her pulling out a tray of cookies from the over.

“Hey, Tay,” you said.

“I called at the right time, didn’t I?”  

“Just the perfect time, I have around twenty minutes before I have to go back. Work has been kicking my ass.”

Taylor laughed. “I’m sure you’ve been kicking its ass too. And better.”

You had told her around what time you would be taking your break. You hadn’t talked on the phone since coming to Virginia and you had missed her voice.

You stopped at a bench and Jungkook pulled out his phone. You felt a little bad for talking on the phone when it was the two of you but you had really missed Taylor and it wouldn’t take long anyway. She had been busy with Astrid, getting to know her better and helping her adapt to the new environment. When you had visited the hybrid had looked enamored with Taylor, you knew your friend would be amazing at taking care of a hybrid.

The conversation soon turned to you but you didn’t have much to share. Work was the same regardless the disaster but Taylor was more interested in other things.  

“It has been almost a year since you and Jacob broke up. Don’t you have your sight on anyone? Any flirts? It isn’t like you lost the one and only,” she said.

Jacob had been far from the one and only. And when she asked, your mind went to dangerous places.

“Just because you found your man doesn’t mean we are all that lucky,” you said. “And how am I supposed to find anyone? I’m too busy.” From the corner of your eye you saw Jungkook turning to look at you with an unreadable expression.

Taylor continued, “Aren’t there any cute boys on set? At work? There has to be someone. Don’t bury yourself in work and forget to live. I’m not saying you need a man to be happy or complete, but don’t you miss going on dates? Getting to know someone like that?”

The answer came to you unbidden but it wasn’t something you were ready to say. “Maybe after the TV show, for now I really have to focus. After that is done and I don’t have to worry about anymore earthquakes, I’ll see where I’ll end up.”

You knew Taylor cared for you and she worried about how deep you threw yourself into work. Maybe there was also a small part that was still uncertain about the way you and Jacob had broken off things and the way you had avoided the topic like the plague for the first months. Like you and Jacob had never happened. But looking at boys and dating had been the last thing on your mind.  

Ending the call with Taylor promising to text her when you got off work, you patted the small of Jungkook’s back. It was time to walk back. The smoothie was half-finished, the way it had been before, like he hadn’t taken a sip since sitting down.  

You asked him if there was something wrong but he replied that everything was alright. It didn’t look like that was the case. He stayed close to you all day, more clingy than he had been the whole time you had been in Virginia, wary of the men who talked to you.

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The blue sky and fluffy clouds reflected on the lake, a huge mirror creating another sky on its surface, a more vibrant but precise copy. No boats cut through the water, it was like there was a part of the sky that had made its home on the ground. Trees extended on every side of the lake, so many of them one next to the other with no end in sight.

The grass tickled Jimin’s palms swaying in the gentle wind. He breathed in the fresh morning.

“One day we’ll go on a boat ride.” Jungkook was sitting next to him, his long bangs falling at the sides of his face. “We’ll see every part of the lake, not just this. We’ll go everywhere.”

Flowers bloomed all around them, white and blue petunias, chrysanthemums and lilies. Jimin wanted to cut the most beautiful one and tuck it behind Jungkook’s ear. He turned to tell him but hands were holding the back of his neck and lips devouring his. He gripped Jungkook’s arms to steady himself from the force of the kiss. The sweet aroma of the flowers filled him up, engulfing every part of his being, the deepest crevices and the smallest of cracks.  

Jungkook pushed him back so he was laying on the grass and Jimin let him, too drunk off the flowers and soft lips. Touches on his cheeks and his sides, caresses under his shirt. He was burning.  

It didn’t take long for the panic to set in. With weak arms, he pushed Jungkook away. The air wouldn’t reach his lungs. The scent of the flowers turned stale and bitter.  

“We can’t,” he tried to say but his voice wasn’t coming out right, sticking in his throat and refusing to flow.

Jungkook pulled back. His eyes were darker than before. “Is this it? Am I too common for his highness? You didn’t have any reservations about the panther hybrid, did you? Are you attracted to power, Jiminie? Or do you open your legs only for him?”

There were sharp blades piercing Jimin’s chest. How did he know? Who had told him? No one was supposed to know.

Two figures were hiding between the trees in the darkness the day couldn’t chase away. Your hands were crossed in front of your chest and Yoongi was standing right behind you.  

Jimin took a step back colliding with the fountain at the entrance of the Castle. The house was looming over him, ominous and tall as if it could touch the sky. His clothes were torn, dirt and blood staining them. They were the clothes he had been wearing the day you had found them.

“I’m sorry but you can’t stay here anymore,” you said. You knew what he had done, you knew his dirty secret and he was paying for it again. He would be paying for it his whole life. A pain so powerful he felt like he was dying bloomed in his chest as rivers of tears rolled down his cheeks. His knees were weak. He couldn’t stand.  

He searched in the faces of his pack, of the people he loved so much he thought his heart would burst. Nothing but sneers and gazes of pity. Whore, they whispered. Slut. Worthless.  

Jimin crumbled to his knees. He was dying. He was sure he was dying. Spasms wrecked his body as he sobbed. He had nowhere to go, he had no one but them. He couldn’t live without them.

And when he thought it was over, that it was the last breath he was taking. He opened his eyes. His chest was heaving, his heart beating like a wild animal scratching at the bars of its cage. He was in their room, the glass wall looking out at the forest. Only the moonlight fought the darkness.

The sheets were restricting him and pushing him down, tangled around his body. Frantic movements born out of desperation took over his body and he stumbled over the edge of the bed, falling hard on the floor with the sheets wrapped around his legs.  

And it overflowed.  

The sobs and tears. He pulled at his hair and scratched his skin. They couldn’t know. No, they could never know. You would never look at him the same way. He would lose the only home he has ever known.

He wanted to scream. Scream until his lungs were empty and his body stopped shaking. Scream until he didn’t feel worthless and used like an old toy forgotten in a corner of the attic.  

There were arms around him, prying his hands away from his hair and skin. He tried to pull away but they only held tighter until he gave in and sunk into their warmth. Blood was rushing to his ears and he only made out his name falling from the other person’s lips. He rocked in his arms, cursing himself and the world. Weak. He was so weak.

Fucking pathetic.

He gripped the hands holding him. He focused on the voice speaking although he couldn’t understand what it was saying. He choked on the bile in his throat, his body shaking with his sobs.  

“Jiminie, breath. Just breath,” the voice said and Jimin tried to listen to it. He did. But it felt like he hadn’t been able to breath for a while. “Just like this. Breath with me. That’s right, like this. Breath. You’re doing so well, Minie.”

Spent, Jimin fell on the chest behind him, shaky breaths leaving his lips. One of the hands rubbed his stomach over his nightshirt.  

“There. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Jimin swallowed with difficulty down his scratchy throat. “Joonie?”

“I’m here. I’m here, Minie,” the other said. Jimin didn’t have the energy to look at him, laying his head on the older’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

His breathing stuttered. Another tear escaping from his eyes, he thought he’d run out of them. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” Namjoon’s voice was unsteady and it hurt Jimin knowing he had been the cause of it. “You’re alright. I’m always here for you but I can’t protect you from your head.”

Jimin’s tail wrapped around one of Namjoon’s arms as Jimin sniffled. “I don’t want to be alone. Please, please don’t let me go. Don’t make me leave.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you. We’ll never leave you. I’d do anything in this world to keep you safe.” Namjoon caressed his arm, moving upwards and pressing his fingers against Jimin’s left scent gland. Jimin’s whole body trembled, shivers overtaking him. Namjoon rubbed his nose against the other side of his neck, leaving kisses behind. Purring, Jimin arched his neck.  

“I love you,” Jimin whispered, unable to stop the tears from falling.

Namjoon kissed over his scent gland and Jimin felt it everywhere. “I love you, Minie. So much.”

#bts #bts hybrid au #btscreatorscorner #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #taehyung x reader #poly!bts x reader #poly!bts #bts fanfic #jikook #sope #bts scenarios #bts angst #bts fluff

[altariaas]

your face all made up (living on a screen) 

Adrien knows, to some degree, that it’s the important things that are the most important to say out loud, but it would help to know that someone’s actually listening. It would also help if things would stop breaking every time he acknowledged his emotions, too. 

i’ve taken a total of three steps into this fandom but sure, let’s skip to season 4 and fall face-first into the Angst™, as it goes. I just think Adrien should get a little raw powers of destruction sneaking out of control in his daily life. as a treat. Post-Rocketear so lots of spoilers etc.

Adrien walks home from the fight against Nino’s akuma with a raging headache, a developing case of massive anxiety, and a purpling bruise the size of a basketball on his shin.

The last one isn’t actually from the akuma. Those injuries got neatly miraculoused away, along with Nino’s heartbroken betrayal. No, the bruise is from Adrien’s incredibly stupid attempt to funnel his tornado of emotions into something concrete by kicking the front gate, only to completely miss and slam his shin into the solid steel rungs instead, sending him stumbling back in a pained fit of trying to think up creative curse words that won’t result in his father murdering him if he overhears.

Metaphorically, of course. Father’s not a murderer, except when it comes to the slow death of Adrien’s social life.

Though he really…can’t entirely blame that on Father, either.

And there comes the developing case of anxiety. Adrien swallows, a feeble attempt to banish the souring feeling in his stomach and the aching tightness in his chest. He wraps his arms around himself, staring up at the mansion and fighting the increasing urge to run. The inside of his cheek stings as he chews at it, already abused from how hard he’d bitten there earlier when Nino had started making…observations. Accusations. Wildly misdirected statements that definitely aren’t any insight to how Nino truly feels about what might be the truest version of Adrien’s slowly splintering self, if he’s going to be dramatic about it.

Overly passionate, Father’s voice echoes hollowly somewhere in the back of his head. Prone to fits of drama, just like his mother.

Spinning abruptly on his heel, Adrien beats a steady path away from the mansion gates and toward…somewhere. Somewhere that won’t make that developing case of anxiety worse, and where no one can witness his fits of drama.

The urge to send the front camera a rude gesture in farewell is violently stifled as Adrien keeps his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like the action will keep everything in neat and perfect and safe from view. He feels more than hears Plagg rustle curiously in his front pocket, but Adrien ignores the action, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

Then the sharp reminder of how it felt when Ladybug ignored him in favor of Rena Rouge comes back and bites him solidly in the guilty part of his feelings, so Adrien pats his front pocket reassuringly.

“Just taking the long way home,” he murmurs.

Plagg’s eyes are calculating, almost greener than usual as they stare at him, and Adrien feels uncomfortably perceived. Not in the cold, bug-under-a-microscope way he feels sometimes when Father looks at him, but a hot kind of uncomfortable, the way he feels when someone looks right past the Adrien Agreste mask and sees—

What? What do they see? An awkward boy stumbling back against a wall because he never learned what his real self was supposed to look like? Hollow flirting and annoying with a capital a?

Fits of drama, Adrien reminds himself. He shouldn’t take it so close to heart. Not when Nino looked so devastated, so heartbroken. Not when Ladybug’s been giving him uncomfortably clear signs that Nino might’ve been right.

“If you say so, kid,” Plagg finally replies. “But I better get that camembert sooner than later.”

A half-smile tugs at Adrien’s mouth. “Sure, Plagg.”

At least Plagg still wants him around, masks and all. It’s a small comfort, but Adrien clings to it, his arms tightening around himself. Sure, things didn’t go…wonderfully, today, but it’s not all so bad. He got slammed into a van a couple of times, and maybe a couple of busted ribs, but that’s nothing, comparatively. And sure, Father’s finding more flaws in him to coldly evaluate than usual, and Nathalie’s growing paler and sicker by the day, and Ladybug’s either freezing him out bit by bit or starting to forget about him entirely and he isn’t sure which is worse, and his schedule is slipping further and further from manageable by the day and Nino dislikes a side of him so much it sent him straight into an akuma and—

“—kid, stop!”

Adrien’s thoughts cut off abruptly as his foot catches, his sense of balance going horizontal as he stumbles, and proceeds to nearly slam the rest of him face-first into the concrete. Plagg’s sharp warning echoes in his ears as he rights himself with a panicked yelp, hopping once while frantically hoping no one was around to see — whatever that was.

“Kid,” Plagg starts, but he doesn’t finish. He’s left the front pocket, his eyes bright green as he stares at him.

Adrien blinks, shaking the slight sense of vertigo off. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

Huh. What did he do? Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien glances at the street he stumbled over. He frowns.

The culprit is a jagged, snaking tear in the concrete, half a meter deep and the length of Adrien’s arm. He stares at the spiderwebbing cracks that branch out of it, fine grains of crushed concrete already scattering in the slight wind.

Weird, he thinks. He doesn’t remember fighting Nino this far down the street. Lucky Charm should’ve fixed that, even if he did.

“Adrien,” Plagg says, and there’s an uncharacteristically cautious edge in his voice. “What was that?”

Adrien cups a hand around Plagg, running a finger over his head in apology as he draws him out of view again. “Lost in thought, I guess,” he says, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

Plagg doesn’t reply, still staring at him with a look Adrien can’t quite identify. He feels oddly disoriented, like he actually did fall and hit his head, and now it’s spinning in retaliation. Across the street in front of him, the stoplight flickers — red, then orange, then red again. It flickers out entirely, before snapping back to a bright, acidic green. Adrien rubs his eyes.

“Let’s…let’s go home,” Plagg finally says, tucking himself back in Adrien’s shirt pocket. He doesn’t entirely meet Adrien’s eyes as he does, but he curls up against his chest, solid and warm, and it’s almost enough to banish the ache that lies beneath.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “Home, then.”

————

There’s a memory Adrien has, from when he was younger. It’s one he holds tightly to his chest, tattered and frayed as it is.

He was much smaller than he is now — barely six years-old, maybe, and small enough to hide behind the large statues his mother would put funny hats on to make his father laugh. She’d done just that earlier, standing tiptoed on the staircase as she’d slipped a terrible orange bowler hat on the pretty lady Nathalie said was from Greece. Adrien had giggled behind his fingers and his father had laughed, an unfamiliar sound that’s faded in memory now, but a bright and real one nonetheless.

It had been a good day, until mother had come down with a cold during dinner and Adrien had jolted out of sleep from a nightmare about giant, ugly orange hats that snatched up his mother with their ribbon-like fingers and took her away from him forever.

He’d sprinted through the house like the horrible hat monsters from his dream were on his heels, slipping in his socks up to the cracked door of his father’s study.

He hadn’t needed to knock, then, or even schedule a meeting. He’d slid through the doorway and barreled into his father, only to be caught by strong arms and swept into his father’s lap, warm and safe from any monsters that dared to follow him here.

“I’m worried about your mother, too,” his father had said. “But it’s just a cold, you see? Nothing to go slipping and falling down the stairs about.”

He’d received nothing but a sniffle in response.

“Alright.” Fingers had pinched around his nose as his father sighed. “How about we read a story then, until you’re not so frightened? Just you and me.”

The book they’d started that night was about a prince and a planet and a rose, and Adrien still remembers the sound his father’s voice made as it resonated where Adrien’s cheek pressed against his chest, his arms holding tight and warm around him, like nothing bad could slip in from outside and hurt him.

It’s a favorite memory of his, one Adrien finds springing back to mind whenever Father gives him a smile, half-formed and distanced as they are.

Lately, though, it’s a memory that stings to think about. It makes it harder to look Father in the eye, for some reason.

————

“And like, I really can’t say this enough, but I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, Nino, it’s fi—”

“No seriously, dude, I’m really sorry, I—”

“Nino.”

His friend finally jerks out from his puddle of miserable apologies, and Adrien gives him a weary smile. “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I dragged you into the boiler room then got akumatized,” Nino says, distressed. “That’s worse than like, the plot of eight different horror movies.”

“Your head was shaped like a giant blue tear, it wasn’t that scary,” Adrien assures him.

“I am ninety percent sure I remember shoving you to the floor,” Nino moans, not reassured in the least.

Part of Adrien’s mind, the part that sounds a little too much like a spurned cat whom hell hath no fury, or however the saying goes, wants to pipe up with the fact that getting shoved to the floor was five-star treatment compared to what Nino (akuma, Nino’s akuma, that’s important) had proceeded to do to him afterwards.

The bus-slamming thing had hurt.

Not as much as hurting Nino would’ve, though.

So instead, Adrien gives Nino the kindest smile he can, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says, “As if the akuma gave you the biceps to pull that off.”

“Hey,” Nino knocks their shoulders together, his guilt ridden expression easing just a bit as he gives him a half-hearted grin. “I’m ripped, bro.”

It takes Adrien a moment to reply, too busy fighting the overwhelmingly — traitor — urge to follow the warmth of contact with Nino like a starving animal. He doesn’t need to fight for too long — his brain throws everyone thinks you’re a joke at him just in time for Adrien to hunch his shoulders in and give Nino an awkward little grin of his own.

Maybe his brain’s a traitor too, though, because he doesn’t remember Nino even saying that about Chat Noir.

He thinks.

Hopes.

Actually, his brain can go sit in a corner if it’s going to keep throwing stuff like this at him. Shaking anything and everything knowledge-wise that belongs to Chat Noir from his mind, Adrien turns his attention back to the scribbled game of hangman they’ve been playing on the corner of Nino’s history notes. Group projects are supposed to be fun, anyways, especially with Nino.

“Uh, c,” he guesses.

Nino adds a single c to the blank letter spaces. Adrien squints at the paper, his mouth downturning at the suspiciously familiar arrangement he has so far.

_adia_t, ca_ef_ee, d_ea_y

“Nino,” he says, carefully.

Nino smirks. “Mm-hm.”

“If this has anything to do with perfume ads—”

“Uh-huh?”

“Then I hate you.”

Nino cackles, scribbling in the rest of the rest of the accursed phrase as Max loudly hushes him. Adrien rolls his eyes and huffs, but he’s unable to stop the small smile of amusement. It quickly fades as his words to Nino echo with an uncomfortable emphasis in his head.

You’re being stupid, he tells himself. Adrien pushes away the nagging feeling. Nino knows he’s not serious. He knows Adrien doesn’t actually hate him. Just like Adrien knows Nino didn’t mean it, when he said all that stuff about Chat Noir.

His fingers tighten around his pencil. He’s not supposed to be thinking about that. Nino apologized, to Chat Noir himself, and just because Adrien can’t get the sting out, it doesn’t mean that Nino meant anything genuine by it.

Overly dramatic, Adrien reminds himself. Way too emotional.

The ache in his chest makes itself known again with a pang, and Adrien bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at Nino from the corners of his eyes.

Maybe he should tell Nino he cares about him, just to be sure. The words form in his mind, only to catch abruptly in his throat, thick and cloying. He thinks of how thoughtlessly he’s been able to tell Father he loves him. Thinks of how easy it’s always been to tell Ladybug how much she means to him.

He thinks of how neither of them seem to like meeting him in the eyes, lately.

He swallows the words, opting to smile brightly at Nino instead. It’s probably for the best. Nino’s always been better at picking up on people’s feelings, anyways, and he doesn’t need the kind of nagging assurance Adrien does. And it’s not like Adrien’s had much luck telling people he loves them, lately. Actually, if you look at his track record, he probably hasn’t…had any luck at all.

Adrien shakes his head, shoving the coldness creeping into his chest as far to the corner of his mind as he can, and sketches out enough blank spaces on the paper to spell fake mustaches are the new sexy.

If he can still make Nino laugh, it’s fine. He wouldn’t be laughing if he thought Adrien was annoying and obnoxious.

So see? It’s fine.

————

Adrien thinks about elastics, sometimes. The stretchy, rubber kind that Mme Thurston uses to pull back the longer locks of his hair while she’s doing his makeup, tying it up in a neat little explosion on top of his head that makes him look like a blond weed. She makes it look easy, twisting the little bands around and around, until they’re tight enough to hold his hair in place.

(Adrien’s hair is always easy, of course. Chat Noir’s hair, on the other hand, would probably give Mme Thurston nightmares. Mainly because Adrien has a fun little habit of shaking his head side to side until it’s an unrecognizable blond disaster, but that’s not particularly relevant.)

(Ladybug doesn’t even need to use elastics, opting for the soft strands of ribbon that hold her pigtails in perfect place.)

Adrien doesn’t normally use elastic bands either, but he likes the way they feel when he’s nervous, stretching and rubbery, then snapping perfectly back into place, like he’d never twisted them all out of proportion at all. The way he can hook his fingers in both ends and pull and pull and pull, but they never quite snap.

Felix has a fun trick with those, when they do photoshoots together.

(When they used to.)

He’ll press a little elastic against Adrien’s arm and pull the end back, just far enough, then let it snap back into place, stinging little red marks when it slaps against skin.

“Stop it,” Adrien scowls at him, but the expression wavers. Playful isn’t a word he uses along with Felix very often, but photoshoots are always more entertaining with him, at least. Or they were, until his mother disappears, and family photoshoots grind to an utter and complete halt forever—

—just for now, his father says, until something changes, until that something happens, until that metaphorical other foot that’s always hanging over Adrien’s head finally stomps its way back to earth and demolishes him in the process—

Felix replies by stretching another elastic between his fingers, shooting it toward him this time like a little slingshot. Adrien snags it out of the air, slotting it between his own fingers to fire back. It misses by a miserable meter and a half, because at the time this conversation takes place, he and Ladybug haven’t stayed up all night practicing their aim by trying to hit the left ear of Le Stryge on Notre-Dame.

Felix snorts, snatching the elastic from the floor, and makes a show of placing the band back against Adrien’s wrist. He pulls it back with a meaningful look, like an exasperated teacher. “It’s the bounce back that hurts,” he tells him. “Not the stretching part. When it snaps back to place—” He demonstrates by releasing the band, and Adrien flinches at the tiny sting. “—that’s the part that hurts.”

Four years later, having up close and personally experienced what a shattered ribcage stabbing into your lungs feels like, Adrien wants to correct Felix on tiny little elastic bands and what actually hurts, but the point, he guesses, is that he still remembers what it felt like.

He still thinks about those elastics sometimes, and how far they can be pulled until they snap back into place. How the little rubber band can make it so far, get so close to breaking, only to snap right back to where it started.

(Chat Noir doesn’t use elastics, either.)

————

For all that Adrien will stand by stuffing the worst of his emotions into a box and never thinking about them ever as a perfectly reasonable way to go about handling things —and whatever Plagg says doesn’t count, he’s a kwami who compares emotions to cheese — Adrien really does believe in communication as key.

Living it out is just. Another thing entirely.

But Adrien’s lived his life with a cold mansion’s worth of words left unsaid, so on principle, he really does believe that if something’s important, you should say it. Maybe nobody will really listen to you, or take you seriously, but at least you’ll have said it, and maybe at some point they’ll remember you said it, and it’ll mean something to them.

But maybe that’s what stopping him this time — he just can’t decide if it’s the idea of not being listened to that scares him, or the idea of actually being heard that’s worse.

It’s not like he wants to tell Ladybug he’s upset. It’s not like he even wants to be upset.

It doesn’t change the fact that he is, kind of, a little bit, (a lot) — but again, on principle, Adrien just — he doesn’t like being upset. It’s all uncomfortable and hot and it sits on his chest like a rock, weighing heavier and heavier until he learns to get over it.

It’s only worse when he tries to say something about it, because that never works. Maybe it’s a really sucky side effect of being homeschooled for most of his life, but every time Adrien opens his mouth to tell someone he’s upset with them and here’s why, it always backfires spectacularly. There’s a weird moment where something happens and the other person says their part, and suddenly Adrien’s complaints sound so stupid he wants to crawl in a hole and hide. There’s a dizzying one-eighty and Adrien’s suddenly the one in the wrong, and the other person’s upset at him, and now he’s got to apologize before he makes it worse than he already has.

And granted, most of those other people are just Father (or Father’s tinny voice through the phone), but he’s already enough to beat the lesson in.

Metaphorically, of course. Always — always metaphorically. Adrien’s never doubted otherwise.

“Maybe I’m just that bad at arguing,” he mutters, swiping darkly at his phone screen.

“I dunno,” Nino says, his voice consoling. “I mean, you were pretty good at it when you argued me into watching that one anime the other night.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t upset with you about that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nino winks at him. “Unless your voice going all high-pitched about why Sailor Moon is the peak of animation is your default setting.”

“I wasn’t upset with you, though,” Adrien shakes his head, cutting him off. “I’m never upset with you.”

And he isn’t, really. Not even when Nino tells him, in an admittedly roundabout way, that he’s annoying and irritating and has loose and shady moral commitment to love and all its forms (or something like that).

He means, it stings, but only in the way Felix’s little rubber band snaps do. Not enough to justify picking an argument with Nino. Not to justify upsetting him, and possibly losing the one friend who’s stuck by him through the worst and actually shares stuff with him these days.

Adrien bites down on the inside of his cheek. If he’s not careful with the way his train of thought’s been steering itself lately, he’s going to accidentally show Ladybug how upset he is, and that’s—

Well, the fallout of that will hurt a lot worse than a little elastic band snap.

A lot worse than it already does, so. Back in your corner, resentful thoughts.

“Uh-huh.” There’s a quiet edge of suspicion in Nino’s voice, and Adrien stiffens, suddenly feeling horribly seen. The look Nino’s pinned on him doesn’t help at all, searching and curious and—

Concerned? Upset? Angry?

Adrien doesn’t know. He thinks it’s concern, but he’s also been thinking Ladybug’s been amused with him when she’s apparently just been annoyed, so who knows, really—

Shut up, Adrien tells his subconscious furiously. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“It’s okay, if you are,” Nino says hesitantly, perhaps having picked up on whatever storm of emotions are slipping through Adrien’s schooled expression. “Upset, I mean. At your old man or me. It’s better to talk to people upfront, y’know? Otherwise…”

Nino’s expression twists in guilt, and Adrien’s lungs feel a little like they’re shriveling up and dying. Or maybe that’s just his chest on the whole, collapsing in on itself and taking Adrien’s ability to breath right with it.

He isn’t upset. He’s not. He doesn’t need to talk to anyone upfront about it, because there’s nothing to talk about in the first place. He’s not going to be overly dramatic about this too, he’s not. He’s just— it’s just—

Is it personal? Was it something he did, that made Ladybug trust everyone else but him? Did he slip up at some point and he just — he can’t remember? She’d told him, she’d promised they were fine after New York, but maybe she’d changed her mind without telling him and decided he needed to figure out on his own where he messed up if he was ever going to be worthy of her trust agai—

“I’ll be — I’ve gotta — restroom,” Adrien stammers, shooting up from his seat and all but sprinting for the doors.

“Wait, Adrien—!”

Nino’s panicked call is lost as Adrien flies down the hall, slipping down the stairs to the bathrooms on the first floor where he’s less likely to be found. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry, or anything so humiliating, but there’s an awful crushing sensation in his chest that makes him think he might do something he’ll regret. Or say something, any of the raging thoughts that bang off the insides of his skull with hurt. Something he won’t be able to take back.

Adrien wavers, planting both hands on the edge of the sink and staring at the white porcelain. His breathing sounds odd in the echo of the bathroom, wavering and off-beat. His vision swims traitorously, so he glares up at the mirror instead, only to falter as he catches sight of his reflection.

He looks…not great. Pale skin and bloodshot eyes in the way that’s likely to make Nathalie call a doctor on him. Which would be just fantastically ironic, considering she’s the one who needs a doctor, even if she’s never going to admit it and keep lying to him. Just like Ladybug, all careful smiles and words chosen with forced, casual caution, staring at him with eyes that are a million other places except actually seeing him.

Stop, he tells himself furiously, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop. Ladybug is not Father. Ladybug is Ladybug, his best friend and partner and he trusts her, he trusts her to have her reasons for not telling him. He has to trust her. He does trust her, he—

A sharp cracking sound tears Adrien from his thoughts, and he snaps his head up to find seven of his own disjointed faces staring back at him. He blinks, and suddenly the faces are clinking to the floor, broken fragments of the mirror scattering around his shoes.

His first thought, apart from a bizarre sense of not being entirely in his body, is a well-timed curse word.

Instead, what he gets out is, “Seven years bad luck,” muttered, almost absently, beneath his breath.

Typical. He wonders if moonlighting as a black cat-themed superhero that leans heavily into exaggerated acrobatics counts as crossing one. Like he needs more bad luck, right now.

What he actually needs, is…

Is…

He needs an escape.

From everything, it feels like, but for now, Adrien will settle for an escape from the school bathroom with all the mirrors that just broke.

…somehow.

————

For all that he throws fits of drama about it, the thing is, Adrien has escaped.

He’s made it out of the house, to school. He’s learned physics and grammar and math that Nathalie taught him six months ago, and he’s learned how to play hangman and cut class and tell your friend’s fortune with folded paper. He’s made friends, real friends, and he’s learned how to muffle loud giggles on the phone at night and what kinds of snack food Nino likes and doesn’t like. He’s learned how to pick up on a whole slew of emotions other than disappointment and apathy and mildly reserved approval, and he’s learned how to tell when other people are hurting.

(He’s learned how to tell how he’s hurting, but he’s unlearned that one faster.)

He’s learned the words it takes to voice that Father isn’t always right, learned how to curl his fingers tight enough into his palms that they don’t shake so much anymore, and he’s learned how to stretch like a rubber band against people’s anger, bending without breaking.

(He’s also learned about the perks of night vision and bone density and six different ways to trip someone up with the leather belt you’ve got tied around your waist like a tail, but he can’t credit school for those.)

And he thinks — he thinks he’s come so far, he’s learned so much, he’s so much stronger now—

Then his father’s eyes soften just enough to resemble the eyes of the man who held him close and told him how much he loved him, loves him, who stayed up all night reading Adrien’s favorite book to him and whose lap was the safest, warmest place in the world, and Adrien—

Hates himself. Hates himself as he snaps right back into place, right back into the Adrien who crumbles at Father’s slightest snap of tone. Hates himself so much it stings.  

Because it’s so much easier to do that, than it is to hate his father.

————

Adrien doesn’t particularly want to go to the photoshoot after school, especially not now that mirrors are literally breaking at the sight of his face, but — and here’s the fits of drama again — like everything else Father’s deigned to want, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Technically, though, Adrien fantasizes as he fixes his eyes upward so the makeup artist can do her best to hide the darkening circles beneath them (“—really, dear, do you sleep at all these days—”), he could give himself a choice. He could make it fun, too, striking the perfect pose before transforming into Chat Noir right smack in front of the entire studio crew, and then Father would have something truly inspired to review that evening. A perfect snapshot of Adrien cataclysm-ing his merry way out of the studio and out into the gloriously free outside, that’s what.

Except then Adrien would have way too many choices to make, and even less all at once. The identity thing, being one. How to avoid Ladybug murdering him and dancing atop his grave, for another. Not that he thinks Ladybug is capable of murdering anyone, of course—

(—no, that’s solely reserved for him and his powers alone—)

—but he can imagine she’d be angry, were he to stage a reveal that way.

Were he to stage a reveal at all, Adrien thinks sourly, blinking until the stiff feeling of the makeup beneath his eyes fades. His makeup artist’s had to use the thick kind today, the extra-strength stuff that’s going to take forever to wash off. He stifles the urge to swipe at it, trying to relax into the feeling instead. Makeup is familiar, consistent. Sure, it’s technically another lie, but it’s one Adrien’s at least aware of. Makeup, he can see through. He can put it on and take it off himself, exercising some tiny semblance of control over what’s being hidden from the world.

Everything else, though…

“Carefree, my boy, carefree,” Vincent implores, his eyebrows furrowing as Adrien snaps himself back to the present. “You look as if you’re being drowned in mud, not soaring above the clouds.”

Adrien’s cheeks puff up as he blows his breath out, short and frustrated. At least Vincent is every bit as prone to fits of drama as he is, he reminds himself. It’s better to be stuck with someone passionate than someone as open as a brick wall, even if it is just Vincent antagonizing him with a camera again.

“Sorry,” he offers, giving him a weak grin. “I’ll get it this time, promise.”

Vincent doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he rambles about lighting and angles instead of scolding Adrien, which he can’t help but be grateful for. It allows Adrien a moment to let the smile drop, staring at the ground instead of the brightening lights around him.

He toes sullenly at the smooth linoleum of the floor, the solid black of Father’s logo glaring back at him from the side of his sneaker. Maybe he should just get more sleep. Maybe all the ugly tangled emotions in his chest are just residual buildup from being overtired, that’s all. Ladybug mentioned the stress getting to her a little while back, her own eyes bloodshot and exhausted. Adrien’s brilliant solution had been to take her to the movies, which had gone just as brilliantly as every other time he’s tried something like that, which is not very well at all. He’d been worried about her, though, even before she’d thrown him from a roof on accident. Ladybug carries so much on her shoulders, and strong as they are, Adrien knows what it’s like to be strung so tightly that even the slightest extra weight feels like it’ll snap you. He sees the same weight in his own eyes, now, even blinded by the studio lights.

His stomach twists. Ladybug’s eyes aren’t half as bloodshot lately. There’s an easiness to her that wasn’t there before, a lightening of tension, and yes, Adrien’s happy she’s feeling better, he’s nothing but glad that she isn’t so exhausted and worn, but…

But she’d trusted him before, even when she was strung her tightest. And now that there’s relief in her eyes, now that he’s taking a backseat and Ladybug adds more allies to their roster by the day, allies that she knows but he doesn't, allies that Alya and Nino probably know too, just like everything else, now that—

Was he the problem? Was it his fault, that Ladybug’s eyes turned shadowed and her movements wavered? He’s tried, he’s tried to be a rock for her, to be something constant and consistent as Adrien himself wants, but the horrible feeling that he’s not enough is now warring with the awful feeling that he’s the problem in the first place, because — why else? Why else would she shut him out like this? Why else would she decide he’s untrustworthy, after all this time, why—

The lights against his vision suddenly flare painfully bright, so bright Adrien’s forced to stagger back.

Vincent jolts away with a cry, waving his hand frantically as the camera sparks and sputters. Echoed cries of surprise ring throughout the studio as the overhead lights flicker wildly, turning the studio into a frightening mockery of a particularly bad nightclub.  

Adrien stumbles again, alarm coursing through his veins like a cold burst of water, and he darts for the intern nearby, who’s fallen over in her scramble to back away from the strobing lights. She’s just taken his hand when the lights go dark, plunging the studio into blackness. Before anyone can react beyond a frightened shriek, the lights snap back on, bright and steady as if nothing’s happened.

Adrien slowly pulls the intern to her feet, staring at the blazing lights as his vision swims, blinking against the sudden onslaught of dark spots in his eyes.

“Is it an akuma?” the intern asks, her eyes wild with fear. “Should we — should we evacuate?”

Adrenaline shoots through Adrien’s veins, his head whipping back and forth as he searches for a spark of purple, for the familiar edge of butterfly’s wings. But there’s nothing out of place, save the sputtering camera Vincent’s fretting over. There’s no sign of garish transformation, no following explosions, no loudly proclaimed demands for miraculous. In fact, if Adrien hadn’t seen it himself, it would appear as if nothing’s ever happened at all.

“It could’ve been the power lines,” someone suggests. “This place is pretty old, you know.”

“With Agreste’s standards?” someone else mutters. “I doubt it.”

“The camera is broken. Unsalvageable,” Vincent announces over the outbreak of murmurs. To his credit, he barely sounds shaken. “It must have been a power failure, or a blown fuse, I suppose. Nothing we can help.”

Vincent’s word is all the rest of the crew needs, and before Adrien can clamber up to inspect the lights himself, he’s being ushered from the studio, another intern furiously muttering about how she refuses to be fired for losing a model to “subpar building inspections” or something along those lines.

Adrien, who is already anticipating Father’s reaction himself, can’t blame her for bailing the moment he’s in the Gorilla’s hands.

————

Adrien is six years and three months old when his father finally finishes reading Le Petite Prince to him, and he comes the closest he ever has to throwing a fit at the ending.

He doesn’t actually throw a fit, of course, because then his father might not read to him ever again. That they finished this book together is already more precious as anything Adrien’s ever owned, and he won’t ruin that with his dramatics.

“Not all stories have the happy endings you want, Adrien,” his father tells him. Adrien feels his arms tighten around his shoulders, where he sits snugly in his father’s lap. “Sometimes you must make the most of what you have.”

Even at a young age, Adrien knows that he has quite a lot. The knowledge only grows as he does, just how much he has from his last name alone. His room alone could rival some people’s homes, Adrien has no right to want for anything.

And yet.

Sometimes, Adrien thinks back to the deep timbre of his father’s voice as he reads about yellow snakes and desert flowers and feels a stinging sense of loss so sharply it takes his breath away.

Other times, though, Adrien thinks about his father choosing to read a story about a boy who could only return home by letting a snake poison him, and wonders what that says about their relationship.

It’s not even Father’s icy tone that hurts anymore, really, Adrien thinks, as he picks at his dinner. Not that he’s likely to hear that tone tonight. Father’s locked himself firmly in his office again, and even Nathalie is nowhere to be seen. It’s quiet enough that Adrien’s gotten away with heating up the cheapest dinner they have in the house, and scouring enough cheese for Plagg that he won’t be complaining for a month.

Well, a day, maybe. Plagg’s a special kind of greedy.

But it’s painstakingly clear that Adrien will be dining alone, tonight. There hasn’t even been a single message fro Nathalie, informing him of all the lessons he’s been falling short in lately. Adrien twists his fork in his hand, setting it down with a weary sigh as dark spots flicker before his eyes again.

At least there won’t be anyone to lecture him, he tells himself, tapping absently on the table. The smooth wood looks immaculate beneath his fingers, the edge of his pinky still a bruised purple from the other evening, when Adrien misjudged the distance from the rooftop to his own window.  

Father won’t be able to lecture him about that, either, so it’s a good thing, really. It’s a good thing, that no one will be saying anything to him about the studio mishap earlier, or the darker than usual circles beneath his eyes, or he way he’s been showing up late more often than not to everything. Not about his slipping grades, or the way he keeps forgetting to hide his glare when photoshoots run longer than they’re supposed to.

It’s a good thing, Adrien tells himself, as his fingers clench around the table’s edge. It’s a good thing that he’s alone tonight. Being alone and unseen is much better than the alternative. It’s a good thing, that he can stew in whatever ugly emotions keep threatening to rise to the surface all by himself, where he won’t risk hurting anyone else with them. He can’t mess anything up if no one’s there to see it, so really, it’s a good thing, it’s—

It hits him, all-encompassing and overwhelming all at once.

Unwanted, thick and horrible and choking, the sensation of being traded out and traded off and stepped over, left behind and left out and laughed at in vicious whispers, closed doors and closed expressions and locking him out, like bars sliding down from the ceiling and cutting him off, trapped in place like an animal in the zoo, entertaining for a heartbeat than easily moved past for something better, unwanted and untrusted and alone, alone, alone again—

Adrien buckles and something howls in his ears, his hands burning as his fingers crunch through wood and his vision whites out.

For a heartbeat, Adrien isn’t Adrien — he’s the swelling of flames as fire catches light, he’s the pull of the undertow as it rips across the shore, he’s the blazing burst of lightning against metal, he’s on the edge of a cliff and stepping off—

And then he’s Adrien again, small and shaking and breathing in large, heaving gasps, trying desperately not to throw up all over the table.

“—drien, kid, Adrien, please!”

Adrien tears his hands from the table as if it’s shocked him. Black flecks drift from his fingers as they tremble, and Plagg splits into three as he flits in front of him, six pairs of green eyes staring at him in blazing concern.

“Plagg?” He barely recognizes his own voice, and his throat feels like sandpaper.

“Breathe,” Plagg orders as his image solidifies back to one, more serious than Adrien can remember him sounding. “You gotta breathe, Adrien.”

He does, in stuttering, shaky gasps, because Adrien will do anything Plagg asks him to. He’ll light himself on fire if he wanted, because Plagg is all he’s got.

Plagg is here, and that means more to Adrien than anything else could.

“Breathing,” he finally croaks out. “I’m — breathing, see? S’all good.”

It is most certainly not all good, because Adrien still feels like he got thrown off a building and into a blender, but Plagg almost looks frightened, looking from Adrien to the table to Adrien again, and—

Adrien freezes. The table. The stupidly, enormous, ridiculously expensive, lonely table his family’s supposed to use. The table he definitely, most certainly felt crunch under his hands.

Adrien follows Plagg’s gaze downwards, and suddenly feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Ice coats the inside of his chest, cold and creeping. The sidewalk. The mirrors, the studio camera, and now this.

“Adrien.” Plagg sounds so very serious.

He could explain most of it away. It’d be — it would be easy.

But this?

Adrien stares at the half-decayed table, ashes still flaking from the sides in a way that’s horribly distinctive of his cataclysm. A spiderwebbed path of smoldering destruction, all tracing back to where his fingers had been white-knuckled at the table’s edge.

Something snaps in the chandelier above him, cracking once and fizzling off into sparks.

It feels like something’s snapped in Adrien’s head. Maybe he’s lost it. Maybe he’s finally gone off the edge, and that — that can be his excuse, when Father asks him what, exactly, he did to the table. He can tell Father they’ve both lost it, they’ve both gone mad, and wouldn’t mom think this was all so funny—

A sound like a sob rips itself from his chest, before Adrien can strangle it into submission. He can’t lose it now. He can’t break down, he has to — he has to come up with a way to explain this, he has to find an escape, or Father’s going to be so angry, and so cold, and…and…

Adrien goes still. Like ice, numb and calming, he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about excuses. He doesn’t have to worry about any of that at all. No one’s coming. Not to check on him. The silence of the house is overpowering, the tiny patter of the vaporized table bits as they land on the floor almost thunderous.

“Adrien,” Plagg repeats, softer this time. “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, he lifts his head, meeting Plagg’s bright green eyes with his own. Something in Plagg’s expression goes tight, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes before he schools them back into careful calm.

“Oh, kid.” Plagg’s voice is gentle. It still sounds like a lament.

Adrien tears his gaze away, swallowing. His fingers, still shaking, curl into unsteady fists. They feel odd, almost scalded. Adrien ignores it.

He can hide the table, he tells himself. He can fix the chandelier. No one will notice. He can hide this.

He’s Adrien Agreste.

He can deal with a couple of cracks in his facade.

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #nino's here as well #he's just not clogging up the fic with his internalizing like adrien is #ml season 4 spoilers #rocketear spoilers #i just have a lot of thoughts about the powers of destruction #and what that could mean potentially #if you weren't cowards mr astruc